I took over at the helm that evening. Since there was a stiff wind blowing along the water in our direction of travel, we surfaced to take advantage of it.

Working the sails with real wind created some confusion. Those who had learned beneath the waves and adapted most quickly found that they couldn’t swim directly from point A to point B in the open air, and had to make the adjustment. My crew really did have to learn different methods of sailing. Their skill levels showed it.

I’d demanded that everyone have the seamanship skill by the time the storm was over. If anyone had been late during my convalescence, I didn’t hear of it. There wasn’t a single person without at least one level in seamanship on board. Most new hands had gained 4 or 5, with experienced sailors gaining 2 or 3 themselves. The average amongst the crew was 8 – a solid rating aboard any ship.

The danger rating of my ship had gone up appropriately. The ship had a danger rating of 2 just by being mine. With the improvement to the crew abilities and the addition of some artillery it jumped to 3. I had no doubt we’d be at least 4 by the time Sadeo and Abner finished the artillery deck.

With the XP I’d given the lowest ranking amongst the crew via the quest and subsequent slaughter, I didn’t have anyone below level 5 – with most of the slave laborers between 5-8. Those slaves who’d been professionals before being chained mostly had levels between 10-12, with some noticeable exceptions.

Hrothgar was a level 17 stonebreaker, which he told me was a shock troop position in dwarven ranks. Krantoron the minotaur was level 25, but wasn’t specialized in fighting and told me minotaurs had odd attribute patterns, so his levels weren’t indicative of how he’d fare against other races at the same level. Zander was a level 21 spearman, and my highest leveled fighter.

The trouble was, they and everyone else at a high level were handicapped by me. I was level 10, and as my cursed crew they were consigned to be at my level plus my leadership skill level, which was at 6. No one in the crew had effective stats above level 16. Those who’d already leveled past it didn’t lose those levels but had them locked away temporarily. The attributes they’d gained for those locked levels were also locked away, to be returned when I leveled up or leveled up my leadership skill.

And Jones had forbidden me to level up myself for now.

So I stayed at the helm after we’d set the sails and most of the crew was asleep below. I stayed up under the light of the moons for the selfish reasons of clearing my head.

Sailing at night was a different experience. Sailors at port lost their fear of the ocean for a time, its vastness tempered by the land it abutted. They got used to sailing the waters during daylight, because you could see the horizons. But at night … at night the moonlit waters of the ocean reminded you of how vast and expansive they were, how powerful, unrelenting and unforgiving they were. She reminded people how small and diminutive they were while in her domain. It wasn’t that the sea hid much more tonight than just a few hours ago, but she dispelled the illusion people have that they can see what matters.

Even aboard a cursed ship – ruling one of the powerful anomalies within the sea – I was forced to remember that I was one of many. Not one of many servants of Davy Jones, but one of many filling the vastness of the ocean. There were denizens of the deep older even than Jones, who would laugh at my ship if they ever bothered to stir the waters.

And within that picture of being adrift in the vastness of unforgiving strength … I found comfort. I felt like I belonged. Whatever it was about me that registered as my Heart at Sea perk, it identified with the place the ocean put me in.

I realized that someone was approaching the helm before I heard them. I did not have total awareness over my ship, but I did have a sense of things pertaining to it greater than normal Captains. Sure enough, Arnaith climbed up to the quarterdeck, smoothing his hair behind his slightly tapered ears and trying to act nonchalant. I disabused him of that pretense immediately by demanding what he was doing up.

Startled, the boy jumped slightly. “Just getting some fresh air.” I was confident he was lying but didn’t press.

I analyzed the boy as he moseyed around the quarterdeck. Everything about his stat sheet was what I’d expect from a half-elf boy in his position. Minor skills in several fields, greater skills with theft and sneaking. There was one outlier to mention to him, but I didn’t know what to do about it yet: Tactician 4.

I didn’t have that skill, but it had been easy enough to read about in my library. It was earned for showing careful planning before an engagement and resulted in a 5% bonus damage modifier for successful ambushes and strategies. It increased by rank, putting the half-elf boy at 20% greater damage already. I had no idea how the boy had earned the skill in the first place, much less leveled it up, but I didn’t think Arnnaith would be willing to tell me just yet.

“How long until we get where we’re going?” he asked.

“Depends on whether whoever we’re meeting keeps coming towards us. Two weeks, maybe.”

“That’s a fast crossing of the sea.”

“We don’t have many of the limitations conventional ships do.”

Arnaith nodded but didn’t take the opportunity to ask about the strategic implications. Drat. Maybe he’s not thinking about it? Maybe he got the tactician skill some innocuous way and isn’t even looking to advance it?

“How’d you like to be my assistant?” I asked.

“What?” Surprise flitted across the boys features.

“Sure. I could have better uses for you than working the sails. Your strength isn’t a fraction of what most the crew’s is.” As the boy bristled I added, “And it doesn’t utilize your intelligence.”

Rather than let him keep the satisfied look on his face I kept going. “Besides, you only got level 1 in seamanship. That’s the lowest we have on board.”

“I’m not interested in sailing!”

“So where will you be going when I set you free?”

The question made him freeze. “Home?”

“Where’s that?”

“Elessar.”

“Hate to break it to you kid, but you’d have a rough go at it.” I said. “I’m no expert, but from what I know of the place if you’re not born there you’re second class. Or worse.”

“I’m an elf!” he stated hotly.

I gave him a look. “We all have to face our realities, kid. For me, I was the single child of a retired whore-turned-indentured-servant. For you, you’re only half-elf. It sucks, but that’s enough to get you ignored by the pure bloods and hated by the racists.”

Arnaith kicked the planks of the quarterdeck with his toe. It was an oddly boyish gesture from the kid. “How are you going to be releasing your crew?” Before my heart had time to really start palpitating at his direct question to my insecurity he continued. “Will you pull up to different ports and just let off whoever wants to go? I guess I’d go with whoever’s closest to where I want.”

“If you wanted to go there,” I said. “I’d take you to Elessar. I just don’t know when. Most people I free I figured I’d do it on Antarus – no risk of them becoming slaves again there, and they can travel where they want easily enough.”

“You’d sail all the way to the coast of Elessar. For a boy.”

“I keep my word,” I said quietly. “At least I always try.”

“You’d seriously take your crew anywhere? They could have you sailing around the seas for the next year dropping them off at individual ports!”

“Well, I might make a single stop per nation. And it’s a good thing there aren’t any Madu in my crew, because I’m hardly their biggest fan right now and don’t feel like stopping by Nilfheim.”

We didn’t say anything more for several minutes, until Arnaith quietly asked, “So what’s following you around going to entail?”

“Mostly running messages and errands for me. You’ll essentially be my shadow.”

“Alright, I’ll do it.”

I held up a finger. “There’s one condition.” When I was sure I had his attention, I continued. “I haven’t heard of anyone missing their things yet, but you don’t do any pilfering among the crew. If you want to level your pickpocketing and stealth skills we can talk, but I expect to know of what you plan beforehand and approve. Agreed?” The boy nodded. “And if I ever catch you stealing from me,” I went on. “Then I’ll drop you over the side and leave you behind. Understand?” I saw a bit more defensive fire in the boys’ eyes at my lack of trust, but he still agreed. “Anything else you want to talk with me about?”

“No,” he said, declining the invitation to talk about his skills.

“Very well. In that case move into my cabin. You’ll get up when I do, and there’s no sense having you elsewhere when I need you.”

The boy obviously disliked being dismissed, but didn’t drag his feet too much as he left. I stayed with my hand on the helm until the watch stander struck first bell, then had him get my relief. When I went into my cabin Arnaith was in a bundled blanket in the corner. He wasn’t asleep but didn’t say anything. I moved the lamp he’d lit to its secure holder by my bedside and conducted my reading for the evening, this time on my spell shocking touch. Then I gave my first real order to my new assistant.

“If anyone wants to speak with me, have them wait outside and try to wake me. You might have some difficulty. Do not let anyone inside without my approval. Understand?”

“Yes,” the boy responded, curious about my instructions.

I didn’t elaborate what I was doing to him. It had been awhile since I felt safe enough to expose myself by sending my mind into Tadra, the mental realm. It left my incredibly vulnerable body behind. The benefits it offered me couldn’t be passed over, though. So, with Arnaith as a watchdog, I returned once more.

The mental realm welcomed me back, only my ship was slightly different. It wasn’t a carrack like the Death’s Consort – thank goodness – but it had undergone slight changes. The tattered black sails were whole. There were streaks on the dark colored wood that looked like old blood, and there were rusted chains intermingled with the piles of rope.

The ship was a reflection, but accepted whatever reality I demanded. The chains disappeared.

I then experimented with shocking touch much like I’d first experimented under Marcus’ guidance. You couldn’t do normal magic in the mental realm, but if you tried – and didn’t mentally affect the result – you would get an imitation of the reality. For a novice spellcaster looking for what to expect, it was a wonderful tool – a playground.

My reading had given me some expectations and I tested them. Above water the spell was incredibly useful, and could even be channeled through metallic weapons. Underwater, the results were less than promising. It turned into an area of effect skill – with me at the epicenter. I took reduced damage from air magic because of my curse, but not to the point where I would willing shock myself as a method of combat!

Then I practiced many of the other spells Marcus had shown me here but which I’d yet to pick up in reality. With enough practice, they’d come. Most people with magic never learned more than a few spells. Those who did got them through intensive study and practice.

Maybe I should practice my combat magic more with sea monsters. I tended to only use it when fighting people, but that was an oversight on my part.

I wrapped up with practicing water whip. I felt so close to expanding how many arms I could control in reality! I just had to cross the threshold.

Reluctantly, I departed Tadra and returned to my senses, told Arnaith his watch was done, and slept.

Some people said sleeping late was a skill sailors had. Maybe that was true when hungover, but I’d always woken early when there was work to do. Becoming a Captain didn’t change that, much to Arnaith’s chagrin.

I continued to push the crew to train hoping that the crew status would recognize their efforts and would help boost them along again, but it remained stubbornly void of benefit.

We sailed, trained, practiced, and slept. It was the routine of sailors, and I gave my crew the comfort of that routine. That wasn’t to say we didn’t mix things up. We practiced suddenly switching from sailing on the surface to diving and turning, surfacing only to turn again. The benefits of mobility my ship offered were overpowered, and I intended to capitalize on the disparity whenever possible.

I met with each of the crew and tried to understand them and their skills better. My goal was to know everyone’s skill and incorporate them seamlessly. I fell short of that goal, but I had a positive impact.

I met with Rhistel to go over the ships’ books – really a pretense to have a talk in a different setting. The taciturn elf had shown a level of engagement in the storm dragon akin to my fascination with the sea, likely tied to his own perk Nature’s Empathy. It showed he was a person of hidden depths, and his willingness to treat me as a normal person – with all the lip-service of respect and deference a Captain could expect – made me want to know him better.

I spent a lot of time with Sadeo for that same reason – though the kitsune’s easy familiarity with me was something I actually played up. He was the first member of my crew, and he accepted me not as a Captain but as a struggling man trying to do some good.

My time with Sadeo and his team had nothing to do with trying to level my own artillery skill, of course. That was just gravy.

Burdette and I had several long discussions, during which he kept up his face of cordiality and deference. He’d accepted me as Captain, it seemed, but didn’t like me. I was a means to an end.

Arnaith took to being my shadow with restrained enthusiasm. By the types of tasks I gave him, I teased out what he was really interested in. I was disappointed in the lad for genuinely having no interest in the nautical arts, though he did display a healthy interest in the ship capabilities and our course. Sadeo’s easy companionship also wormed under the boys defenses to the point that he relaxed while on the artillery deck.

After 13 days, the artillery deck was as complete as we could make it. Abner had done good work maintaining the structural integrity of the ship, and we had hardly lost any durability despite the modifications made. The Death’s Consort now sported 16 scorpion ballistae above decks – 5 on port and starboard and three on bow and stern – and another 20 below on the artillery deck with 10 on each side.

The same day we finished the deck, I passed the block on water whip. The change in mentality was one of fluidity – rather than think of each appendage as a whip to be controlled and lashed, you had to think of it as an arm. At the same time, you needed to spilt your conscious control over each. My first practice attempts had some of my whips jerk and freeze as I forgot to focus on them, but I quickly improved. The cap on the spell disappeared – instead for an additional 5 mana I could form another arm, though the slow mana drain of maintaining each arm stacked up quickly. Initial practice gave me a headache at 6 whips and a nosebleed at 7, so I didn’t push any further. Being an octopus with it would take a bit more attunement.

The day after my discovery the winds started to die down, so we submerged to make best speed with the currents.

We were only a short ways from our destination.

“Turn course two-five-zero,” I ordered.

Burdette repeated the command, then reported when his compass indicated we were traveling my indicated heading. Any seaman could man the helm, but this close to our destination I wanted my first mate with his hand on things.

Whoever we were supposed to meet, they had travelled southwest like they were being hounded. It was only when we closed in on them that I held the amulet and realized that they were underwater. That threw my expectations for a loop, as I imagined who Jones’ old friend in need could be. An old retired lieutenant perhaps? Was I going to meet whom I was destined to become?

“Turn course two-three-five.”

“Turning course two-three-five.”

Out of a sense of caution, I had us pass our target and circle around. A quick peek on the surface showed heavy fog, too thick to see more than a few hundred feet. We submerged again and circled back to our objective.

“Alright lads,” I said to my prepared crew. “We’ll see him in a mile, no more.”

They were all armed and ready for whatever might happen. I didn’t expect whomever Jones had sent me for would fight, but they were obviously in trouble and had been fleeing for several hundred miles through the Median Ocean into the Passive from whatever it was.

Someone gasped, the first to see it. The word “steady” died on my lips as I saw and analyzed it a moment later.

Name

Vassaevi (Hydra)

Level

89

Health

54,000

Mana

16,000

Stamina

68,000

Jones old friend wasn’t a person.

It was a legendary Hydra.

The crew muttered and even Burdette swore under his breath. I had the presence of mind to tell our gunners to stand down before one of them got an itchy trigger finger.

Vassaevi was an ancient hydra, known for killing Varinya the Dauntless who had her own incredible regenerative ability, which she claimed was a match for Vassaevi. Though it was a tale several hundred years old, stories about it still survived. Vassaevi was one of the hallmarks of ancient stories – and not all of them were by sailors. Hydra were amphibious and this particular one had plagued ports and cities more often than ships and fisherman.

Vassaevi was massive, with a blue colored body approaching almost 300 feet in length not counting the necks and heads – of which there were myriads. Hydra didn’t grow a head for every one cut off, but instead they grew a new one every decade or so, with regenerative capabilities that meant severed heads could regrow with enough time.

Yet Vassaevi was not well. Of its many draconian heads, some dragged through the water – lifeless. Others were visibly scarred and damaged. Many of its necks ended in stumps. It was ancient in power, but a far cry from the glory of its prime. Old age had worn it down.

Rhistel found his way beside me. “The poor thing,” he said. I looked at him sidelong. Of the many things I could call Vassaevi, ‘poor thing’ wasn’t one of them. Yet Rhistel looked on the scourge of history and felt sympathy for it.

“Rhistel,” I said. “I offer you the profession Menagerie Master.”

Rhistel looked at me startled, then cocked his head. He was looking at me, though, not a prompt.

“Did you get an offer at a new profession?” I asked hopefully.

“No.”

“Fishguts,” I said, and let the matter drop, knowing he was sensitive about his stripped former profession. I’d hoped it would be that easy. Maybe the elf could still earn the profession on his own.

“It’s suffocating.” Rhistel continued, pointing at the creature’s back. “Can you see how it’s being forced down?”

I looked, though I had to tear my eyes away from where some of the hydra’s eyes were watching me forlornly. Of its tens of thousands of stamina, just scant thousand remained as it held its breath. How long had it been doing that? Had it been able to get breaths in the last week?

I could indeed see where the hydra seemed to be forced downward by an invisible plane. That kind of magic looked familiar to me …

“Take us to the surface,” I ordered. “Prepare for battle! There’s a ship up there with mages doing that to Vassaevi. It’s our job to stop them.”

The crew might have been conflicted about saving a creature that typically played a villain’s role in stories, but the promise of freedom after we’d completed my mission – and the calmness of Vassaevi – won them over.

We surfaced with our best speed – which is to say as fast as we’d ever surfaced. I’d have invested some XP in our ascent speed right then if Jones’ mandate had allowed it.

We saw the bottom of a ship as we rose – not a warship, but something like a whaling vessel. It was alone.

Unease stirred in my chest, and my protective attitude for Vassaevi wavered. Could it be …?

We surfaced, the water streaming off Death’s Consort as she broke the calm waves and suddenly blocked the passage of the whaling vessel. Despite the lack of wind, my unnatural flag still somehow fluttered and waved. Despite whatever confidence I portrayed for the crew, my heart plummeted. Despite the thick fog, I recognized the vessel that it was my mission to stop.

The Essential. The last normal ship I’d served on before the ill-fated trip of the Wind Runner. I was going to meet Captain Coe again.