The second the liquid touched her lips Rhea could feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins. Within ten minutes, she could no longer sit still. Slowly getting to her feet, she looked around with eyes now wide – basking in the euphoria as each heartbeat pumped the intoxicating powder from her core out toward the tips of her extremities.

In the distance behind the ship, clouds loomed on the horizon. Towering black nimbuses, they caught the light of the moon and blocked out the stars, casting a night shadow across the water below them. The wind had picked up, and the ship was sailing fast, trying to outrun the storm.

Up towards the bow, Rhea could see Az speaking with Venali, while Elijah and Ammon stood by listening menacingly. At the sails were the deckhands, manning the rope and waiting for an order. And at the stern, up on top of the overhang, was Briggs. Reaching inside her robes, Rhea took out another small pouch filled with fine powder and headed for the stern.

As the first flash of lightning cut across the sky and the distant roll of thunder tumbled down the lake, Rhea paused by her pack. Kicking off her sandals, she continued on, walking on the balls of her feet. Coming to the overhang, she could feel the blood flowing hot in her veins, the flush working its way up to her face. Slipping her robes over her head, she tossed them in heap. She stood in her chest wrap and loin cloth, her dagger, the spyglass, and several small pouches hanging from straps. Breathing deep, she felt the pressure grow in the air around her. And, with the bag of powder still in one hand, she scurried quickly up to the overhang.

Briggs stooped with his back to the rest of the ship, his whole attention fixed on the steering oar. Trying desperately to keep it straight, he was struggling to lash it to a mooring ring affixed to the heavy timbers of the overhang. Silently, Rhea slipped around him without being noticed. Standing at the very back of the ship, the wind now whipping over her, Rhea opened the pouch and poured the powder into her palm. Before her knelt Briggs, cursing as he tied the last knot in the rope holding the oar roughly in place.

“A pinch to help him sleep the night. A fistful and you take his life...”

Briggs jumped at the sound of the words, spoken in a distant singsong voice. Looking up he saw Rhea, standing with her scars exposed, the storm raging at her back. Lighting flashed, illuminating Briggs’ face, his eyes bulging with shock and terror.

“What the hell are you-”

Thunder cracked, cutting off the rest of his words.

Calmly, with a slight smile on her lips, Rhea raised her hand and blew the powder into the man’s face. Carried on the wind, it covered him, getting into his eyes and nose, his throat and lungs. Briggs coughed and spluttered. Then, gripping his throat, he sunk to his knees and fell back against the oar.

The dead are possessed of a strange and haunting stare. It is not only out of respect that shortly after death that their eyes are made to close. And as Rhea stood over the man she just killed, staring into his lifeless face, locked in that last dying expression, a cold shiver passed down her spine.

Not far off now, rain had begun to fall on the lake. Moving like a great wall of water, the massive drops churned up the surface, coming closer to the ship with every passing second. Ducking down, Rhea began to root through the dead man’s pockets. Passing over his purse, knife and other articles, she came at last upon a ring of keys. With a tiny squeak of satisfaction, Rhea pulled them free and tucked them into the drawstring of her loincloth. Then, her sinewy muscles straining from the effort, she dragged the body to the edge, and sent Briggs toppling end over end into the rough water below.

The ship had begun to bob on the waves. Carried up and down and pitching front to back, it lurched forward as each great swell passed beneath its hull. Dropping down to the deck, Rhea could see that the argument had become heated, with Az yelling at Venali, who stood with Ammon and Elijah at his back. Between herself and them stood the masts, a deckhand and the galley doors. At the main mast stood the withered old deckhand, looking anxiously from the sails to the water. Craning his neck to look back towards the steering oar in hopes of seeing Briggs, he instead caught sight of Rhea, coming toward him across the deck. Dressed as she was, covered in the runes carved so cruelly into her flesh, her knife swinging against her chest, Rhea struck fear into the heart of the old man. He froze, unable to move or speak.

Coming to him, Rhea gave him a gentle smile. “Better make your way to the stern,” she said. “There is no one steering the ship.”

Looking from Rhea to the overhang, where indeed Briggs was nowhere to be seen, the man grew pale. Looking up at his sail, as if torn between these two responsibilities, he made up his mind and hurried to the back of the ship. Crouching in the dark, with the sound of rain growing to a roar behind them, Rhea broke the wax seal and slipped down into the galley.

Now cast into pitch blackness, immersed in stink of the foul air, Rhea made her way by feel alone. The galley was one large hold, divided only by piles of crates, jars and sacs. Towards the front and back, Rhea could hear the sounds of people, moaning or sobbing quietly As quickly as she could, she headed toward the rear of the ship, towards the person whom she had seen through the porthole. Stumbling, sometimes thrown to her front, others thrown to her side, Rhea pushed her way past toppled piles of cargo and came to the place where the woman was chained.

On a low bench, illuminated only by dim light of the porthole, lay a woman in an indescribable state of misery and wretchedness. Stirring as Rhea approach, she struggled to sit up, her matted hair locked into a single large dread, her face stained with tears. Around her wrists were manacles, connected to one another and to the bench by a heavy chain. Looking up in confusion, the woman cleared her throat, making to speak.

“Be easy,” said Rhea, stooping down and gently trying one key after another into the lock. “Do you think you can stand?”

“Yes.”

First one then the other manacle popped open. “Good. Then I will need to ask you to unlock the others. I have some filth to clear from the deck before it will be safe for you to come out.” With that Rhea handed the woman the keys, pausing only long enough to see her get shakily to her feet, rubbing her raw and bloodied wrists.

Heading back up the stairs to the deck, Rhea was met by a tremendous flash of lightning. The bolt cut horizontally across the sky, burning its way into her retina and leaving a brilliant forking afterimage. In the moment of light, she could see the shadowy outlines of several figures standing around the hatchway, hear the sounds of their angry voices, their words carried off on the wind. Feeling the ship swaying under her, she timed her exit to coincide with the peak of the wave, so that the deck seemed to fall away under her as she popped up out of the galley as if loaded on a spring. Landing and taking several quick steps away, Rhea turned, drawing her knife as the first fist-sized drops of rain began falling heavily on the deck.

Assembled around the hatchway were Az, Venali, Ammon and Elijah. Regaining their composure after the shock of having Rhea burst out from beneath their feet, they immediately launched back into their argument, now heated to the boiling point.

“Lock the galley,” yelled Venali, gesturing to the others and glaring at Rhea. “The little bitch is back above board, and if any water gets gown there, we’ll sink for sure.”

“Not until the prisoners are set free,” said Az. “The ship may go down regardless. We cannot leave them trapped down there.”

From the rear of the ship, the old deckhand hurried up behind Venali.

“Captain,” he said in a voice wracked with exhaustion and fear, “the bowman is signaling that we are set on a dangerous heading. I need to untie the steering oar, but I have not the strength to manage it.”

“Well, where the hell is Briggs?” spat Venali.

“I don’t know, Captain. He’s been missing for all of ten minutes at least. He may have gone overboard.”

Venali’s cold eyes fixed on Rhea and he bared his dirty gold teeth. “You, girl, what have you done with Briggs?”

All of a sudden, a great wave tossed the ship, nearly rolling it over. All were thrown onto the deck and the rain began to pour on them in earnest.

“Captain, please,” cried the deckhand, getting slowly to his feet “We must drop the sails and untie the oar. Now, before all is lost.”

“Do it then!” cried Venali, pulling out his own knife and cutting the rope that held up the main sail, causing it to tumble down to the deck. “Five gold pieces to the man who locks that bitch in the galley. Or throws her overboard. I don’t care which.” With that Venali turned, zig-zagging his way after the deckhand and back towards the overhang.

Up in front, the young bowman, following Venali’s lead, cut the rope of the foremast. The ship, without sails and having failed to outrun the storm, was now at its mercy. Cast this way and that, all braced themselves, struggling to stay on their feet as water lapped onto the deck and poured out through the railings. Rain fell in torrents, rushing down into the galley through the open hatchway, and lightning arched across the sky painting everything one second in vivid colors, the next in muted darkness.

Rhea watched as Az turned to Ammon, speaking one warrior to another. “You don’t need to do this. If you value your life, you’ll not try and lay a hand on either of us,” he said, putting a hand on the hilt of his sword.

“I couldn’t agree more,” said Ammon, bending his knees and unslinging the ax from his back. “Your friend seems intent on dooming us all. Stand aside and do not make a bad situation worse.”

“If the ship goes down, we will all drown. Galley or deck it makes no difference,” said Elijah, reaching into his satchel as he yelled to Rhea. “Just go peacefully and let us close the doors before it’s too late.”

“She’s not going anywhere,” said Az, stepping forward. “Just put down your-”

Ammon did not wait for him to finish, charging forward he swung his ax in a massive arch, bringing it down hard on the spot where Az had stood a moment before. At the same time, Elijah drew a small knife from his bag, throwing it at Az and catching him in the shoulder.

Watching as if in a dream, Rhea’s eyes drifted toward the overhang where Venali now stood beside the deckhand, fighting with the steering oar. Her mind was a blur, thoughts too rapid to ever be put to words. She felt so hot that the massive drops of cold rain seemed as though they must be turning to steam as they fell upon her bare skin. In front of her, Az, with blood streaming from his arm, dodged another great sweep of Ammon’s massive ax. She turned, taking several steps towards the rear of the ship, before stopping mid stride and looking back at the melee.

Suddenly, a massive wave crashed over the ship, sending all four of them sliding across the deck. Striking the railing, Rhea’s slim form was nearly pulled between the bars. Having been for a moment totally submerged, she got back to her feet wiping the water from her face and blinking the fog from her eyes.

Not far away, she saw Elijah on his knees. Digging through his pack, he pulled out one, then another bomb, throwing them aside until he found one dry enough to light. Striking his lighter under the cover of his cloak, he lit the wick, grinning in the light of the sparks. Ducking low, knife in hand, Rhea charged towards him. Catching sight of Rhea, Elijah turned his attention from Az, throwing the bomb at her instead. Dropping the knife, Rhea dove forward and the bomb flew over her, exploding by the main mast and turning it to a cloud of flaming splinters. With a terrible creaking groan, the mast pitched forward. Falling only inches from Rhea, it caught Elijah with one of its cross beams, dashing him through the railing and overboard.

Rhea rolled over, sitting up and shielding her face from the rain. Before her, by the smoldering stump of the main mast, several frail looking figures were emerging from the galley with expressions of nauseous terror. Not far from them, toward the rear of the ship, Az and Ammon were still locked in deadly combat. Az, his injured arm held across his chest, parried and dodged, unable to gain the initiative, unwilling to accept defeat. While over them all, Venali, a crazed look on his old face, fought with the steering oar, peering into the rain and the night.

From the front of the ship, Rhea heard the sounds of the young deckhand, crying out in desperation. Standing, she picked up her knife, sheathing it and walking slowly towards him. The boy was pale with fright, waving his arms wildly, trying to get Venali’s attention. Coming towards him, Rhea could feel the ship rise up, carried on the crest of the greatest wave thus far. Through the rain and the wind, the thunder and tumult, one terrible word made its way from the boy’s lips to Rhea’s ear.

“Land!” he screamed.

And in that instant, borne on the curl of the wave, the ship was lifted up over a jagged outcropping of the rocky shore, and dashed to pieces on the stones below.

End of Book III