Nathan's feet flew out from under him and he hammered into the deck. Swalk offered him a hand up but Nathan ignored it and climbed to his feet on his own, tightening his grip on the belaying pin. Swalk nodded approvingly before raising his own.

"Keep your weapon up, boy. It does no good to hold it out straight like that; it leaves you no room to react. That is why I keep knocking you on your ass."

"I know, I know," Nathan grumbled.

The Terrapin was making good time down the coast, the horizon-edge rim of trees and cliffs slowly winding by as if the boat was still and it was the world that moved. When they weren't at work the crew passed their free time singing, telling stories, and above all, betting. Betting on mock fights, betting at games... Nathan guessed that at least one wager had been made concerning the number of fresh bruises on his rump.

He'd been largely exempt from working once the sailors discovered his guitar. It was a pleasant surprise to find his playing hadn't changed much provided he played with a pick. However, he quickly grew tired of playing the same songs over and over. After the fifth request for Gaelic Storm's "Devil Down Below" Nathan was seriously considering hiding with Maggie in the cabin.

The belaying pin shivered in his hand hard enough to make his fingers smart. "Know faster, boy, else you will never learn anything."

Nathan responded by leaping forward and slashing at the captain's temple. A wry smirk flicked across Swalk's face before the pin spun in the old man's hands, moving to bat the strike aside. Nathan balled up his empty hand and thrust it towards the captain's stomach, convinced he'd finally land a blow on the old man.

"Good!" Swalk crowed, ducking under the pin at the last moment and pivoting into the blow, flowing past the punch and hooking a leg under Nathan's foot. Nathan stumbled forward, barely managing to catch himself in time to turn into Swalk's next swing, an almost leisurely swipe that still blurred the air. Leaning back, Nathan watched the swing crack past less than an inch from his chin and brought the pin up hard into Swalk's forearm.

Swalk cursed, but did so with a smile as he nodded in satisfaction, rubbing the angry welt and taking a few steps back. "Good! I wondered if you would take the opening."

Nathan shook his head and laughed. "Can't you let me take credit for anything?"

The captain folded his arms and waited for the crew's laughter to die down before answering. "You took the chance, didn’t you? You have good instincts, boy. Precious few of my crew learned so fast as you do."

Nathan shrugged through an aching mass of bruises and leaned against the railing "If you say so. I don't think swordplay is my thing."

Swalk stared hard at him for a moment and then barked orders to the crew before coming to lean at Nathan's side. "And yet you tell me you own a Morseran sword," the old man mused quietly. "Wise of you to hide it."

Something in his tone made Nathan wary. "You say that as though it's dangerous just to own one."

"Boy, you are no more a blacksmith than I a wyvern's scaly pecker, and you carry a Morseran sword without the faintest idea what it is." Nathan started to sputter out a reply, but Swalk raised a hand for quiet. "And then there's your 'wife,' if she is that. Several of my men claim they have seen her disappear, that she takes note of things no blind woman should. Now, it is not my affair. I have been paid and that's that, but the two of you should be more careful. I like you, boy, and would not see you come to harm."

Nathan bit his lip.. "Well... uh... well, the sword's just a sword, isn't it?"

Swalk glared at him so furiously that Nathan thought the old man might gut him. "It is not. Just. A sword." He drew his own weapon and held it out. While the handle was plain the blade itself was unmistakably the same flawless silvery-black as Nathan's.

"I was given this blade when we were both yet fresh-wrought from the heart of the mountain, and no man has taken it from me." A fierce pride glittered in the captain's eyes as his voice pounded out the words like a well-worn prayer. "The nobles may buy our steel, our service and our lives, but rare are those who have earned them."

Nathan bowed his head. "You were a Morseran soldier."

"I am," Swalk corrected. "Remember that and remember this: there are only two ways to win our steel. Either take it from one of our corpses or pay the worth of a life in gold. It is plain to see you have not the wealth to have paid for your weapon. Men will think you killed one of us. Many would try their hands against yours to win the blade, and not just Morserans. Keep it hidden if you want to live."

"I will, sir."

Swalk laughed. "Sir? I’m not a knight, boy. Captain is enough." The old man smiled and put a hand to Nathan's shoulder. "A blacksmith should know these things."

"Maybe I should say I'm a minstrel." Nathan replied sheepishly.

"Aye, you should; you have fair skill with song. Speaking of which," Swalk pulled out his pipe and began tamping in a plug of tobacco. "Would you mind playing that one about the devil beneath the waves again?"

Groaning, Nathan stole a last longing glance at his cabin. "How about the ‘Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald?’ I promise it's just as good."

Swalk eyed the storm clouds hanging over the horizon. "Never mention wrecks at sea."

"We're being followed. More are waiting ahead."

Swalk stared into the rain where Maggie was pointing, his face rendered into a jagged mask of light and shadow by a fragment of lightning. The captain swore under his breath and turned to her, roaring back over the thunder. "How do you know they are not simply on the same course? For that matter, how do you know?"

"I know," she replied coldly, and her hand tightened lightly around Nathan's. For a moment he ‘saw’ a cluster of light forming the silhouette of a ship, greed billowing through its sails like wind as it arrowed towards the Terrapin. Two more ships, one much larger than the first, waited ahead.

That momentary glimpse was enough for Nathan to instinctively know there was something terribly wrong with the ships. It was a brief look, but Nathan was forcibly reminded of what he’d seen of the Terrapin through Maggie’s eyes: like Swalk’s ship these were charged with emotion, but where the first shone with the inner light of home the others thrummed with… with horror. They seethed with it, and worst by far was the largest one ahead: a strangely muted cluster of minds was somewhere below the deck, churning like a bottled storm of grief and terror.

Nathan stumbled and felt his stomach roil, but Maggie steadied him. Swalk didn’t seem to notice, preoccupied with the ship’s wheel. " They will be waiting just past the Raven's Pail. If we are lucky we will pass them in the storm. If not..."

A soaked and suddenly nauseous Nathan did his best not to finish the sentence in his head. "What's a Raven's Pail?"

"It's a place. A... I think the word is bottleneck." Maggie replied, bracing herself against him. "There are a series of reefs and outcroppings ahead with a single, straight path through."

Nathan glanced uncomfortably at the waves, imagining endless ranks of jagged rocks hidden under the water. Exactly, Maggie's voice echoed in his mind. With a shake of his head Nathan asked "What happens if we miss the path?"

"We die." Swalk deadpanned.

"Fantastic. Whose idea was it to sail this in the middle of a storm? Couldn't we sail around?"

Maggie laughed humorlessly. "Think, Nathan. We've been hugging the shore the whole time. Even this far out the water isn’t all that deep. There are worse things than fish in the sea."

Here be monsters. "Isn't a risk of sea monsters better than a certainty of pirates?"

The look on Swalk's face was answer enough.

Soon rocks lurked between sea and storm like the fragments of a maze dashed apart by impatient giants. Most were little more than narrow points in the water, but weathered blocks of salt-crusted granite loomed here and there. The rain was heavy but Nathan could still make out great stones in the distance, forming broken walls that marked the safe route.

"This shit can't be natural!" Nathan yelled in Maggie's ear.

There's no need to shout. You're right, the Pail isn't natural, but now's not the time. Maggie turned to face behind them, her hand tightening around his. It won't be long now. Nathan, I need you to do something for me.

What?

Maggie shook her head. Walk me back to the cabin, I'll tell you there.

Nathan guided Maggie back to the cabin, careful to keep his feet planted as they went. They stumbled through the cabin door and pushed it closed just as the lamp ignited.

"Young-master-it-is-about-time-you-came-in-the-weather-is-dreadful-simply..." Jabberwisp paused, scuttled away from the lamp, and peered at Maggie for a moment. "Oh dear. Pardon me, young master." The cobbling scuttled into Nathan's coat pocket and lay still. "I do believe this will get... untidy."

"You know more than I do, J." Nathan tried to lead Maggie to the bed but wound up pitching face-first into the covers as the ship rocked again. He turned to see Maggie lock the door, a heavy oaken beast with a heavy plank for a lock, and then turned toward him.

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"We'll be through the Pail any minute: that’s when they’ll hit us. The other ships are waiting, just in case." She braced herself with one hand as the other dipped into her robes and emerged with a slender, almost delicate knife. "Nathan, promise me that whatever happens you'll stay in this cabin."

Nathan shuddered, both at the threat of pirates and the monstrous, deathly tremor in her voice. "Maggie, what do you−"

"Stay here."

Nathan fell silent, suddenly more terrified of Maggie than he had been of the revenant. Her voice... it wasn't her voice any longer. It was more and so much less than human, mortal fury paired with the promise of an apocalyptic reckoning.

"The crew should be able to beat our tail in a fight; a Morseran as old as Swalk is the closest thing to a god of swords there is and he trained them himself. You’ll be safe enough. the other ships, though…”

"But if he can't take the ships waiting, what are we going to do? What are you going to do?" Nathan stammered. Even as he did, he knew what her reply would be.

"My job," she replied, the inhuman snarl on her face lingering long after she had vanished into the shadow of ribbed wings.

First came the sounds.

Screaming, the clatter of steel on steel, weighty thuds that could only be bodies falling. Nathan tried to cover his ears but it did nothing to keep the awful din out of his mind. Something sent a window showering through the air in broken shards, and Nathan glanced up to see a man's face appear in its place, his eyes lighting on Nathan's and crinkling in a smile that made Nathan's skin crawl.

"The wizard is HERE! Keep them off us, we will bring him out!"

The door rattled and, sturdy though it was, Nathan saw the first splinters shiver from it.

'The wizard is here.' They're after me. They're here for me, and I'm trapped in this room. There's nothing I can do.

There was no escaping the fear. It was in him, part of him, coursing through his veins like blood. Nathan cringed away from the hammering at the door, fighting the mad urge to hide under the blankets and wishing Jack was here.

Impossibly, thinking of Jack made Nathan smile, and he felt the bracelet as a sudden weight on his wrist. The thought of his brother lit his mind, pushing the fear back until it was as though Jack was in the room, sitting at the edge of the bed and smiling that comforting, crooked smile that Nathan had loved so well.

Little brother, why are you frightened?

They're here for me, Jack. They've caught me. Is this the part where you say 'What Would Jesus Do?'

No, you're not Jesus. When you stand before God he will not ask why you were not Jesus, but why you were not you. Nathan, you must be what you are.

And what am I, Jack? Nathan shook his head, staring as a section of the door fell away. A coward? An animal in a cage? I'm a dead man, Jack. I'm about to die. I don't belong here.

You belong where you choose to belong. You are what you choose to be.

And what am I?

Nathan could see it as though it was real; Jack's laughing smile, the way he had of slowly shaking his head, constantly amazed that his brother was struggling for such easy answers. He could feel his hand at his shoulder, smell the deodorant he used. Nathan's hand tightened around the bracelet's crucifix and the etching pressed painfully into his skin.

I know. Thank you, Jack.

Nathan carefully got to his feet, wary of the broken glass, then removed his bracelet and walked to his guitar case.

Jabberwisp poked out of his shirt. "Young-master-what-are-you-doing?!"

"They're after a wizard." Nathan pulled out the Morseran sword and weighed it in his hand. "I may as well give them what they want."

"Young-master-you-must-not-the-captain−"

"I want you to stay here J, where it's safe." Nathan gently took hold of the cobbling and set him to the side. "The captain isn't here, they are. They're here for me. You said the wizards were monsters?" The blade went white hot. "Time to live up to the name."

Jarad had been a mercenary all his life. Just like his father before him, if the man Jarad killed had been his father and not just some desperate, lonely soul who had taken a whoreson under his wing. For thirty-five years, countless petty wars between the nobles had kept his blood flowing and his purse full. At least, full enough that he never spent his nights ashore hungry, or cold, or alone. A slaving run was profit enough, but this? Easy money.

He watched as Ivatch and Tomm, two more just like him, hewed at the door with long boarding axes. Though he and six others were there to watch the axemen's backs he could still see and pity his fellows keeping the crew busy. For a merchant crew they fought like demons, especially the old captain, but they were not here to kill a few pissant sailors: they were here to steal a wizard.

Wizard, my ass. Jarad had taken a look at the boy through the window and he was a pretty dandy of a thing. Pretty enough to serve as a girl for some of the men, I should think.

Ivatch suddenly screamed as though on fire, seizing his hand and crumpling to the deck. Jarad leaned past Tomm to get a look and stared at the molten remnants of the man's axe head. From the look of things, several drops of liquid iron had fallen on Ivatch's hand and seared down to the bone, setting up an unholy stink. What in blazes?

The door thundered open to reveal a figure wreathed in heat and smoke, a shaft of fire in its hand. It stepped forward, the rain flashing into steam around it, and spoke.

"Heh, always did want to kick open a door."

Jarad reacted as any man accustomed to war might: he roared and swung his cudgel. The figure stepped into the blow and interposed its fiery blade. This close, Jarad felt his skin begin to blister. He dropped his club and scrambled away on all fours as the figure watched, all pride forgotten in sudden fear of this monster.

Something like a smile ghosted across the Nathan's face as the pirates scrambled away. And I haven't even gacked someone yet. "I'll give you one chance. Go back to your ship."

Apparently he wasn't as scary as he thought. The men charged and Nathan heard a wild laughter thundering in his ears. It was only after his sword split the first of them, filling the air with a stink of scorching meat, that he realized the laughter was his own.

The next came more carefully, feinting with his club as he tried to steer Nathan into his fellows. Another man slipped on the deck and Nathan took hold of him with one burning hand, his ears ringing with the mercenary's screams as he poured fire into him. He shoved the half-cooked slab of flesh into the feinting man’s arms and ducked, sweeping the sword through his legs.

His third man down in as many seconds, Nathan got cocky and paid for it. While one mercenary came at him another circled from behind and fetched Nathan a heavy blow to the head. Stumbling to his knees, Nathan lost control.

His clothes went up in ashes, blazing for a moment before becoming so many streaks of ash. The rain vanished into puffs of steam before even touching him, the deck went bone-dry and blackened in the scorching heat pouring from Nathan's body. The men around him fled, their skin blistering, lucky they were standing a few feet away. The man Nathan had de-legged screamed for a moment before his voice trailed into a husk-lunged, crackling rasp, his skin split and bubbling in the heat. The deck began to burn away beneath Nathan's knees...

Then Jabberwisp was there, a small vial clenched in his twigs even as they blackened to ash against Nathan's skin. He put the little bottle to Nathan's lips and the familiar taste of lemon rasped against his tongue. The heat diminished and then faded altogether, though his sword still glowed an angry orange. Nathan's head cleared and he stood. "J, wha−"

"No-time-behind-you!"

Nathan spun. A sword fell, too fast for Nathan to block but not faster than the cobbling. Jabberwisp leapt from Nathan's shoulder like a bolt of wicker lightning, twig-limbs suddenly sharp-tipped and grasping. The man wailed, his eyes a red ruin, and Jabberwisp turned. "Now-young-master!"

Without hesitating Nathan buried his sword in the man's gullet, gagging in the sudden, mixed stink of burnt flesh and voided bowels. He put his foot to the corpse and heaved. He slipped and fell, but the sword remained firmly stuck in the dead man's paunch.

"Crap!"

More mercenaries turned at the sound and hurried over. Jabberwisp crouched before Nathan, twig-hands clenched and ready, but the little cobbling could do only so much. Nathan rose to a crouch and groped behind him in rising panic as the men came, seizing the first thing that came to hand and bringing it to bear as they arrived.

Nathan had a fleeting moment to consider the long, heavy shaft of what had been a boarding axe in his hands before the mercenaries struck. He slashed with one end, fetching one man a lightning-fast blow to the temple before bringing the other, iron-edged tip up to parry a cut that would have opened him like a tomato. He buried it in his attacker's throat and pulled back in time to counter a vicious thrust. The last mercenary paused a moment, evidently leery of ash-streaked, naked men with staffs.

The reflexes came flooding back, and with practice borne of long drilling Nathan sent the short pole swirling around his body in a dazzling series of showy, looping curves, then thrust it forward in challenge. The man's jaw dropped open in surprise for a second before a blade erupted from his chest.

"Where did you learn that?" Swalk asked, flicking the last mercenary's blood from his sword.

"Color Guard. Dad insisted I do something after school. My brother got me into staff fighting afterwards."

The captain blinked, clearly at a loss for words as he eyed Nathan. "Whatever you say, boy, wizard, whatever you are. We have seen them off, that is what matters."

"Captain!"

Swalk spun and stared as a crewman pointed to the distant, massive ship bearing down on them, bristling with men and ballistae. "We can't see that off, captain."

"We-can-if-you-let-me... ahem, we can if you let me help." Jabberwisp peeped from Nathan's shoulder. Nathan, realizing the cobbling was in plain sight and surrounded by the crew, was suddenly frightened for his little friend. Destroyed whenever they're found...

The captain, however, simply raised an eyebrow. "What do you need, golem?"

"Young master, take me to the ballistae. Captain, you and your men should take cover lest you be shot."

"What about us?" hissed Nathan.

"They won't shoot you, young master, they're after you."

Nathan didn't point out that they wouldn't recognize him at a distance and might shoot him anyway. It was that kind of day.

Swalk bellowed orders and the crew vanished into the bowels of the ship while Nathan ran to the ballistae, nerves clamoring. The rain began to fade, bringing the view of the approaching ship to an unwelcome detail. The last remnants of broken stone curved into a long arc behind them.

"J, what are you planning?!"

"Be-silent-young-master-the-calculations-must-be-exact... quickly..."

Nathan hurried to obey the rapid-fire instructions of the cobbling, fetching two crescent-bladed bolts and loading them into the ballistae, then ratcheting them into place.

"Tighter-young-master-tighter-or-it-will-not-have-the-range." The cobbling was scribbling on the rail at dizzying speeds, using the burned twigs of his body to scratch out what looked like mathematical formulae.

"Range?!" Nathan yelped. "They're almost here!"

"Not-yet-aim-it-there-no-a-little-higher... there... yes... a-few-more-seconds..." Nathan could almost see the thoughts whirling in the cobbling's head, though what J was planning was beyond him. What we are going to do with only two shots...

"NOW!"

Jabberwisp leapt up and heaved at the firing pin, sending the first bolt whistling through the air. It passed through the necks of the two men braced against the wheel, toppling their headless bodies in twin sprays of blood. The men nearby scattered as the wheel began to spin rapidly, forced into motion by the storm winds and raging sea. Dumbfounded, Nathan could only stare.

The cobbling adjusted the ballistae slightly and fired the second bolt after a moment, burying it deep in the wheel and stopping its motion cold.

"What is that going t−"

"Watch, young master."

Slowly the ship turned, looping well away from the Terrapin. Nathan stood gaping for long minutes as he tried to fathom what was happening. Whatever it was, the ship's crew certainly understood it: in a panic several of them began hauling at the bolt, trying to free the wheel without success. "I still don−"

"Hush."

Soon the ship had completed a wide arc that had turned it almost ninety degrees. Nathan started to smile as the ship swept closer and closer to the bladed rocks of Raven's Pail. The men began diving from the vessel in droves, and then the ship's front crumpled against a hidden reef like a toothpick under a hammer. It drifted silently under the waves, shoals of men left scrambling in the water.

"J... that was..."

"Yes?"

"That was the most brilliant, beautiful, badass thing I have ever, will ever, could ever see!"

"I know." The little cobbling's voice was beyond smug.

"I wonder what Maggie will... where's Maggie?!"

Nathan turned and stared off into the distance. As he suspected, a second, much larger ship was there. The sails were all tightly furled, the anchor down, but even so it was eerily still, as though it sat suspended in glass rather than churning waves. The wind shifted, and suddenly Nathan could smell the air coming off the ship. That’s when he knew.

Everyone on that ship was dead.