It was an early start for the group. This far out in the wastes, there was very little to slow the onward drive of the morning winds. Trade across the vast Great Dune Sea was heavily reliant on the morning and early evening winds, also called the “Twilight Winds.”

Every day, just before the rising of the sun, a powerful wind would blow from the southeast and last until noon. As the sun set, the wind would pick up from the northwest. Like clockwork, it would blow. The best traders in Ruin were those that could time the wind perfectly and ride it across the trade lanes.

The overly cramped sloop creaked and protested with each gust, but with Jim at the helm, they were making excellent time. Henry was his usual chipper self as he noted, “You know gents, at this rate, I suspect we’ll reach Rock Bottom well before sunset.”

If Jim and Sasha shared his enthusiasm, they didn’t show it. The young man dragged around the deck, performing the various upkeep tasks on their ship while Jim clung tightly to the wheel. The wind was blowing especially hard that morning, and it demanded all his concentration to keep their ship on the shifting dune peaks.

Shielding his eyes from another blast of sand, Jim regretted not retaining the pair of brass rim goggles he’d used atop the Liberator. Glancing at Henry, he inquired, “How is it you can move about without sand clogging up your gears? I always had trouble maintaining anything mechanical out here.”

Henry rolled over to Jim, happy to engage in conversation. Placing a handful of rigging down, he tapped Jim on the shoulder. “Here, place your hand just above my chassis, but do it very slowly.”

For a few seconds at least, the wind had died, allowing Jim to pull his attention from the wheel. Slowly, he moved his hand closer to Henry. Suddenly, his hand slowed, as if stopped by an invisible force. Pushing harder, his hand finally broke through… whatever it was, and contacted cold metal.

Seeing Jim’s confusion, Henry laughed, “That’s called a repulsor field.”

“A what now?”

“Repulsor field,” Henry continued. “Every ether cube has it. It isn’t strong enough to stop something like, say, a musket ball or bullet, but it stops sand and debris from turning me into a glorified statue.”

Sasha made his way over to the group, happy to be distracted from his own duties. Giving Henry a taste of his own medicine with a slap on the back he added, “You know Henry, my mother always said, find unique friends. I’d say you about qualify.”

From the east, familiar warmth heralded the arrival of another day. Rays of light pierced the distant clouds. As the sun breached the horizon, a new gust of wind pushed Jim into the wheel.

Taking a moment to watch the beautiful sunrise, Sasha added, “Rock Bottom! You know, I’ve always wanted to see it. I hear it’s a pretty wild place.”

Jim nodded, “Yeah, you could say that. Chaotic is how I’d put it. Just keep your money close when we get there. Pickpockets are...” He paused. An eerie droning carried on the wind.

Henry asked curiously, “Are what? Jim?”

“Shh. Do you hear that?” Jim squinted his eyes and scanned the horizon. They were still too far east to be at Rock Bottom. The dronining grew. At first, it could be excused as a trick played by the wind, but soon, they were all listening intently.

Sasha tilted his head, “Wait a sec. I hear it too. It sounds like… buzzing. Maybe insects?” Henry shook his metallic head, “No. The nearest body of water is the river at Freeport. That’s a week away from here. I… I recognize that sound. Like fabric in the breeze.”

The buzzing was faint but growing. “Look!” Sasha pointed to the north. “See that? Something’s coming over the dunes. Jim,” Sasha asked, puzzled, “are those sails?”

Jim strained his eyes. After a few moments, he spotted them. Indeed, small figures were approaching from the north, moving swiftly across the sand. He could barely make out the tiny triangular sails in the distance.

Seconds crawled by painfully as the silhouettes grew closer. Henry was the first to identify them and shouted in alarm, “Bloody hell! Those aren’t ships. They’re skimmers.”

Through the sand and heat haze, Jim could make out small gaunt figures clinging to masts only slightly taller than themselves. He’d seen these types of craft before unfortunately. Pulling his scimitar from its scabbard, he shouted to his companions, “Cannibals. Prepare to defend yourselves!”

Unlike most inhabitants of Ruin, cannibals preferred skimmers over ships. The tiny craft were hardly two meters long and just as tall. They consisted of a shaped pushstone base, raw Manzawood mast, and framed sail.

The rider held onto a crude bar protruding from each end of the frame and, leaning back, “skimmed” along at the mercy of the wind, hovering only a couple of hands above the ground. It was a dangerous mode of transportation for the common man, but perfect for thrill seekers, youths, and half crazed cannibals.

Panic crept into Sasha’s voice. “What the hell are they doing this far east? I count at least two dozen of them. That’s eight to one.”

Henry was unfazed. An icy glee was in his voice, “That’s right. Terrible odds for them, so don’t go killing the lot before I get my chance.”

The clockwork man rolled over to the starboard swivel gun. The weapon’s brass body was nearly unrecognizable under a layer of patina. Henry opened the breach and shoved a gunpowder charge in followed by a healthy handful of grapeshot.

Jim could hear the chants of the cannibals carrying over their droning craft. Streamers fluttered over the top of each skimmer with a loud buzzing sound. Multiplied twenty times over, the sound was loud and more than a little intimidating. Exactly what they were designed for.

The first of the cannibals sailed close enough to be heard over the buzzing streamers. He was mostly naked aside from a tattered loincloth. His shoulders, knees, and elbows were covered in bone armor. Most intimidating was his helmet. Through the sand, Jim could see that it had been fashioned from a human skull. Its teeth had been sharpened and the skull painted with unknown symbols.

With a deep, gravelly voice, the leader shouted at the group, “Chok no gah!” Detaching a spear from his handle, he held it above his head and chanted louder, “Chok no gah!” Soon, the rest of the cannibals followed, chanting the phrase over and over.

Jim gripped his scimitar tighter. “Dammit, we should have brought some guns.”

As the attackers neared the ship, Henry zeroed in on the leader. Jim started the count in his head.

Thirty meters.

“Wait for it!” Henry sighted in the swivel gun. Wakes of sand erupted from the skimmers as they bobbed up and down, sometimes striking the dunetops.

Twenty meters.

Shouting and buzzing filled the air. Hungry cannibals continued to yell, “Chok no gah!” With each meter, their chanting grew louder.

Ten meters.

BOOM. Henry’s swivel cannon exploded in a cloud of choking black smoke. The surprised metal man was thrown backwards as the breach blasted open from its rusted clasps. His body rolled along the deck and struck the port railing. He lay motionless, face blackened from the backfire.

Jim didn’t have time to dwell on his downed friend. A shrill scream broke from the nearest cannibal. Despite the ruined gun, the grapeshot had escaped with enough velocity to do its mortal deed. Blood sprayed the sand as the leader was tumbled backwards.

Hit.

The first skimmer struck the ship with a loud thud. Catapulting himself over the railing, the wild eyed cannibal met the cold steel of Sasha’s scimitar. The horrified look in the young man’s eyes spoke volumes. His first time killing.

Jim shouted in alarm, “Sasha behind you!” Two more cannibals had boarded the ship from aft and were charging at his friend’s back. These were less armored than their leader, clad in shoulder and shin armor only. One of them wore a bandage across his left eye. No doubt, a wound from some previous victim who had been unwilling to go without a fight. He growled through sharpened teeth as he charged with his comrade.

Sprinting to his aid, Jim arrived at Sasha’s side, just in time to bat away the first spear with his sword.

Throwing his weight into the starving man, he shot his scimitar out sideways to slash open the second one on the way down. While Jim rolled across the deck, grappling with the enemy, Sasha pierced the second creature through the chest. Mortally wounded by the duo’s attack, the man collapsed to the deck, blood gurgling out of his mouth.

Jim quickly gained the upper hand against the smaller cannibal. A solid right cross sent the man’s head into the wooden deck planks. Quickly, jumping to his feet, he tossed the limp body over the railing and onto the sand with a sickly thud.

New shouts erupted from all around the ship. The rest of the raiders had surrounded their small sloop and were scaling the railings on every side. Stealing a momentary breather, Jim glanced at Sasha. The boy’s face was ghost white as he struggled with the morality of taking a life.

Jim set his hand on Sasha’s shoulder. He spoke as calmly as he could muster, “Try not to think about it. Trust me. There’ll be plenty of time for that afterwards.”

Without a pilot at the wheel, the ship bucked and listed violently. Sprays of sand poured over the deck, mixing with the blood of fallen cannibals. Jim, more accustomed to the motions of a landship, braced himself for the coming fight.

More hungry figures poured over the railing. Judging by the look in Sasha’s eyes, Jim was sure he’d reached the same conclusion; we aren’t going to win this one.

Sasha’s voice was shaking, “Do you think you can pull another trick like you did back on the Liberator?” Jim shook his head, “No. I’ll more likely destroy our ship by accident. I don’t really know how to control my powers yet. How bout you?”

Sasha’s eyes shot left and right. Frustrated, he replied, “No fire to work off of. Henry had the matches for the swivel gun.” They dared not turn to look at their fallen friend. A moment of broken concentration was all it would take for one of the men to send a spear their direction. “Besides,” he added, “I’m a low leveled fire awakened. I’d burn out before we got through half these guys.”

Their inundated vessel sagged backwards, its rudder sending occasional sprays of sand as cannibals piled on, adding weight to their already inundated vessel.

Jim could hear Sasha’s unsteady breathing. The young man was terrified. If he was honest with himself, he wasn’t doing much better. Jim’s heart beat rapidly. He stared ahead, unwilling to close his eyes, and controlled his breathing.

Attempting to distract Sasha from their impending doom, Jim whispered, “Then we’ll just have to kill them the old fashioned way.” He pointed at the nearest cannibal, “Look, they have a reach advantage with those spears. When we charge them, try to duck and roll into their legs. They lose their advantage at a short distance. I'll take the right group, you take the left.”

“What? And leave me the scraps?”

Suddenly, a figure whirred by them toward the aft deck. It was Henry. He’d apparently survived his mishap and was about to make up for it. In his hand was the destroyed weapon still dangling from its swivel mount. Henry had ripped the entire device straight from the railing. The muzzle of the wrecked swivel gun was splayed outward and blackened.

Wielding the small cannon like a giant meat tenderizer, Henry let loose his best metallic war cry. He rushed the first group. They appeared as confused as Jim had been during his first encounter with Henry.

It was their undoing.

Metal body collided with flesh. The clockwork man spun impossibly fast striking down anyone in range of his bludgeon. Heads, arms, torsos, nothing was safe. The blood sloshed in all directions across the deck with each gust of wind as Henry cut the outmatched group down in a frenzy.

One man attempted to dive over the railing, but his legs were severed in mid air. He screamed as his body cartwheeled to the dune below. For a moment, Jim caught a look in Henry’s eyes. Despite their artificial glow, he could see it… feel it. Henry was crazed.

The shock wore off, and Jim and Sasha shouted, charging into the fray. Taking advantage of the confusion, the pair closed with a group of five very frightened, very surprised cannibals. Steel met flesh and bone. Screams and shouts filled the air as more men were felled.

For a few moments, the battle was complete chaos. Braver foes attempted to disable Henry by tossing their spears at the spinning clockwork man, but they were simply deflected off his pirouetting form. Henry continued his attack, laughing maniacally with each strike.

A few times, a lucky spear would make it through his attacks but would magically bounce off his repulsor field and into the sand below.

One man pinned Sasha. Both had lost their weapons in the struggle, and the man’s hands were around the boy’s throat. Jim couldn’t save him as he tried to fend off two of his own attackers’ spears.

Contorting sideways, he swatted both away and closed range. The nearest cannibal dropped his weapon and attempted to grab Jim. His efforts were rewarded with a newly severed limb.

From the corner of his eye, Jim caught sight of Sasha attempting to pull something from his boot. The boy’s face was turning purple. Suddenly, in a quick motion, he unsheathed a hunting knife from his boot and plunged it into his attacker’s neck. The cannibal, wide eyed, opened his mouth to scream, but his windpipe was blocked by cold steel.

As Sasha withdrew the blade, blood sprayed the already inundated deck and himself. Frantic, he continued to plunge it over and over into the flailing body of the dying cannibal.

Slicing upwards, Jim cut the last attacker from stomach to neck. His sharpened blade emerged out the man’s back. Coughing up blood, the cannibal stared ahead blankly. His eyes rolled back in his head as he slumped against the railing.

The remnants of the raiders regrouped at the aft deck. Taking a quick break from his wanton destruction, Henry rolled to a stop next to his winded counterparts. Unphased by the fight, he slapped Sasha on the back.

Speaking loud enough for the half terrified cannibals to hear he remarked, “Well, my boy. It looks like there’s only a handful of them left. Would you like to do the honors or shall I?”

Sasha, crestfallen and covered in the blood of his attacker, retched, emptying the contents of his stomach upon the deck. Jim scowled at Henry. “Sasha doesn’t have the same appetite for destruction that you seem to. This was his first time taking another life.”

Jim had been forced to fight for his own life on multiple occasions. The desert was host to any number of bloodthirsty pirates looking for an easy score. He’d wound up with blood on his hands more often than he cared to admit.

Killing was never easy, but each time was a little less difficult. Over the years, he’d grown almost numb to the sight of death. Especially when it concerned cannibals, who he considered subhuman, twisted by many millennia of barbarism.

The remnant of their attackers numbered only ten. Henry spoke, slightly subdued by Jim’s words, “Ah… Sorry my boy. I didn’t know. You two sit back and enjoy the show. I’ll take care of this lot.”

Before Jim could reply, Henry dashed toward the frightened group of cannibals at lightning speed. Despair was written on their faces as their doom approached. In an instant, he was a tornado of death. His spinning form struck any enemy not quick enough to jump overboard. Two more men disappeared into a mist of red.

The rest of the group had already decided to conform to the age old adage, “Discretion is the better part of valor” and, in full panic, jumped for their lives to the sand below. In short order, their skimmers skipped into the distance, wakes of sand following their frightened retreat.

Turning to the pair, Henry was glowing a deep shade of purple instead of his usual blue. He glanced around the blood covered deck. “Well,” he said, tossing the spent swivel gun aside like matchwood and crossing his arms. “You picked a hell of a day to be on deck cleaning duty, eh Sasha?”

***

Much of the day was spent cleaning up the slaughterhouse that had become of the main deck. Henry’s uncharacteristic rampage left a complete mess of body parts and blood.

After tossing the last limb overboard, Jim pulled Henry aside. Sasha roamed the fore deck, green faced and withdrawn. Whispering quietly enough to reach Henry’s ears… or whatever a clockwork man hears with, he asked, “You mind explaining what happened earlier?”

Henry’s usual bright tone was hushed, “I’m… I’m sorry, Jim. I guess, in the heat of battle, I just lost it. I don’t know why. It’s almost like someone else took over entirely, and I was left to observe from a distance.” Henry’s glow darkened a little more.

Jim couldn’t disagree. The being he saw during the battle was nothing like Henry. He was bloodthirsty, almost to the point of insanity. Jim stared at the clockwork man for a moment and asked, curious, “Henry, does your ether cube change colors depending on your mood?”

Henry looked down at his glowing midsection, “Ah, sorry about that. The captain made the same observation from our last few raids. She and I are both at a loss for why it happened. As far as I know, ether cubes don’t change color. My mood is reflected in the level of light I give off, not its hue.”

Sasha finally made his way over. Still sickly, he spoke with his hand over his mouth, “Hey guys, I got the uh.” His words were cut short by a stream of vomit. Sasha wiped his mouth with the least blood covered part of his sleeve and continued, “body parts all cleaned up but, it’ll take all our water stores to mop up the blood.” At that, he scrambled to the railing to empty the remaining contents of his stomach.

Jim glanced at Henry. For once, he was keeping quiet. Sighing, Jim shrugged, “Well, it’ll dry out eventually. In this heat, likely just a few hours. At least it won’t stink so bad by then.”

The sun was still planted above the eastern horizon. Its lower half shimmered and distorted against the sand. The fight had felt like hours but in reality, it had merely been a few minutes.

Through the heat on the horizon, Jim spotted what could only be the clock tower of Rock Bottom.

He couldn’t help but wonder, what will they think of a ship bathed in blood pulling into port?