A storm raged on the day Sartore and Taramiel first met. It had brewed overnight, and now poured into the ocean. The ship traversed against the chaotic waves that rocked it in every direction. No one could sleep through it, but few were willing to be awake.

Sartore wasn’t bothered by it. He awoke to the colorless dawn, unsure how much of the day had already passed. Through the constant patter of rain, Sartore heard the creaks of some of his neighbors stepping through the hallway, and quickly went to follow them.

The few that had been brave enough to leave their quarters now pressed their bodies against the walls to keep from falling over. Sartore walked past them. He stopped at the staircase up to the deck, and saw a young man at the top clutching the handrail to keep the wind from blowing him away. After a moment it reversed course and slammed him into the wall, before switching directions again. In a moment of calm, the man tumbled down the steps, shoved past Sartore and scrambled back to his cabin. Sartore took his spot.

Just as he did so, Sartore heard a shout from one of the sailors:

“Ship!”

And indeed, through the fog came the shadow of a vessel, heading straight for them.

“It’s not one of ours,” another sailor said.

“Start arming the boat,” came another. Half the sailors dropped from the sails and ropes, opened a hatch in the deck and fell into it. Soon after a fraction of them resurfaced, bringing with them crossbows and bolts, harpoons, spears, and knives, then began fixing these onto the rim of the ship. When they finished, the sailors still on deck returned to their former tasks, but kept their heads turned to the shadow. At that moment, Sartore could only hear the waves and the rain, and it was loud, but it was empty.

Then the other ship came crashing through the curtains. Thirty-some arrows flew towards the sailors, and each of them ducked to the floor and crept towards their own artillery.

Five cannons fired from the mariner ship. Four of the cannonballs dropped into the water at the other ship’s side, and the last bounced off the other ship’s hull. Another round of arrows fell, a little closer to the mariner’s feet now, but still too far off.

The mariners, now hidden behind the rim of the ship, gripped the handles of their weaponry. They poked their heads just high enough to see the small army of soldiers crowded onto the other ship’s deck, partly armored. Each of the mariners shot low. Most of the shots connected, digging into the soldier’s midsections. Those soldiers soon fell. One mariner stood up and loaded a pointed metal rod and fired. It pierced through one of the soldiers’ chests and sent him back into a few others. In return, an arrow sunk into his shoulder. The mariner kneeled and pulled the arrow out of his shoulder, then slotted it into his bow and fired again.

Sartore stepped a bit further into the deck. His eyes fell naturally on a man standing at the head of the other ship, had to be the captain, Sartore thought, who somehow seemed taller than all of the other men despite what appeared to be an average height. That captain fired again and sent an arrow cruising an inch above one of the mariner’s heads.

A wave launched the other ship into the mariners, the soldiers’ bowsprit colliding with the ship’s side, but the ship was sturdy, and although the impact left a serious dent, the wood held. The other ship bounced away and settled parallel to the mariners.

Another round of cannonballs rang forth. Each one hit, leaving an uneven set of holes in the other ship’s hull. Now the crashing waves were leaving deposits of water in the other ship.

The face of the captain turned to Sartore. The man’s eyes widened for a moment, then hardened again. He raised his bow and fired three shots in succession, but Sartore jumped back before any could hit.

“Get the boy!” the captain shouted. Sartore peeked again, saw the mariners waving him away, and decided to fall to the ground, out of everyone’s sight, tucking his knees onto one of the steps and keeping an eye on the battle.

“Get on the damn ship and find the boy!”

The front row of soldiers dropped their bows and each picked up a grappling hook at their feet. The mariners stopped for a moment, but it was long enough for the army to throw their hooks over the edge of the ship, catching hold. Some of the hooks crashed into the crossbows and destroyed them. The mariners pulled out their knives and made quick work of the rope, which fell to the side of the ship, and the hooks falling at the mariners’ feet.

Another round of cannonfire. Each struck true, near where the first successful shots had hit.

In reply, the soldiers threw another array of grappling hooks, this time backed with better timing by arrows. One mariner was shot, the arrow digging into his brain.

“Get them!” the soldiers’ captain shouted. Two soldiers crawled onto each rope. Despite the continuing volley from the other ship, the mariners reached out with their knives and cut at the ropes, albeit slower this time. A few ropes were cut through, and those soldiers fell into the water. A few others managed to reach the mariner boat first, swung their legs aboard and raising their swords above the mariners. A few stood and ended with arrows in their spine and blades in their throat. The rest fended off the soldiers long enough for friendly fire and the mariners’ work at the soldiers’ legs to bring them down.

Then came the final shot of cannons. Again, each connected. The hide of the ship was shredded now, water pouring freely into it from above and below. The soldiers’ ship was sinking.

“Drop the boats!” the captain shouted, continuing to fire on the mariners. The remaining soldiers ran to the opposite side of the ship and untied a set of knots holding up lifeboats. The mariners still standing continued firing, and the mariners from below finally hopped up from the hatch and manned the empty posts themselves. Before the soldiers fled, one mariner arrow managed to find a target, sending the victim to the ocean.

And then the soldiers were gone. It took some time for the abandoned ship to finally sink; the mariners dropped their weapons and turned their ship away from the wreckage to keep them from colliding again. When it was finally taken by the waves, the mariners were unable to find the soldiers that had escaped.

Bodies still lay on the deck. They slid back and forth in the rain.

The weather seemed to calm then. A few of the sailors dropped their work again to tend to the fallen. The bodies of the soldiers were thrown overboard. Four mariners remained. Those bodies were lifted up by those still standing and carried to the sailors’ cabins. Then all but one returned to the ship, the last pulling arrows out of the deck and tossing them into a stockpile of loose supplies at one corner of the ship.

“Boy!” came a shout. Sartore saw that it was the same sailor he’d seen the night before. The sailor walked to him and sat on one knee. Sartore noticed that the other sailors were watching him.

“Do you know why those men were searching for you?” the sailor said, narrowing his eyes. Sartore shook his head.

“Ever seen any of them before?”

“I—no, but—” Sartore stopped, tried turning around to walk back to his cabin but was stopped by the sailor’s grip.

“Keep going or I’ll force it out of you,” the sailor said.

“The captain’s face reminded me of something.”

“Of what?”

“I don’t know.”

The sailor sighed, rose and examined the wet shin of his pants, then ruffled the boy’s hair.

“They’ll be back for you soon. You’ll be surprised how fast their type can turn around. I’d like to talk to you sometime after the storm rolls over, because I won’t be happy letting you walk with them looking for you. Where’s the old man I came in with?”

“Sleeping, I guess.”The sailor laughed.

“I’ll get him out of there too, when the sun goes up.” The sailor looked at Sartore one last time, then walked back to his station and got back to work. The others, after hesitating for a moment, did the same. Sartore had an unsettling feeling in his chest, as though something had fallen out and slid away somewhere else on the boat. After a moment, he went back to his cabin.

With one foot into his room, Sartore heard whimpering from Maisero’s. Sartore stepped over and saw him with his face crushed into his pillow and his body shaking. There was no hint of vomit, thankfully.

“You should get up, Maisero,” Sartore said. Maisero swiveled his head to look at the boy before shoving his face back into the bed. Sartore laughed and walked to his own, his body sinking into the covers and his mind smuggled away by the rain.