The sky’s sense of calm was demeaning. A false rhetoric, to perpetuate the feeling of serenity that would most certainly not continue.

Caspia watched her crew get along in silence. But a rift was growing between them, and not just between Jev and Rodney. Marrow and Bill had a much worse squabble that came about earlier than Rod’s beef with Jev… and although they had kept it quieter, it was ten times worse.

Supposedly, Marrow had tried to kill Bill.

Caspia hadn’t seen it; but according to Bill, he awoke one night and saw Marrow standing over him, brandishing a knife he’d taken from the kitchens. Bill, too shocked to speak, watched as the man tucked his knife away and crept back into his bed. Bill didn’t go back to sleep that night.

This led to Marrow and Bill avoiding one another on deck. Or Bill avoiding Marrow, more like. This was troublesome for many reasons. Without the strength of a unified crew, the moment they hit a task too large for anyone but the whole was the moment they fell apart at the seams.

Jarra speculated that the “presence” had taken hold of Marrow.

As she thought over this, Owin brought barrels of mead back below deck. She’d never despised the boy. In fact, she admired his tenacity from the start. Still, he dragged his pooch on an adventure they weren’t prepared for, and despite his efforts to adapt their naiveté still held true. But since his arrival, he’d saved a crewmember from falling overboard, alerted them of monsters in the sea, and done more to clean than many of the other men combined. His sheer will inspired Caspia, and his innocence reminded her of her old self.

But she’d never tell him that.

She didn’t often get lost in her thoughts, and when she did the excursion was short lived. As the reminders of their strife came back into view (Rodney looking over at Jev and turning away, Owin climbing up the crow’s nest to keep lookout), Caspia had to look down at the floorboards to keep from showing too much of her anger.

She wanted to slam her fist against the desk again.

Turning around at the helm, she could see no lights following behind. They were there—oh yes, they were there… but they’d only show themselves come nightfall, when the sun dips below the edge of the world and the sky floods with black.

Upon turning back around to man the helm she saw Jarra walking up the steps to greet her. She didn’t want to talk to him right now.

“Jarra,” she said.

“Yes, Captain?”

She shuffled past him. “Assist the crew if anything happens. Listen to Brann for the time being.” Her words were filled with far more ice than she had intended to show.

“Yes, Captain.”

On her way below deck, she grabbed Brann’s collar. He dropped his plate of food, shattering it, holding up his arms with a look of fright etched into his face. “A-aye, Captain?!”

“Lead the crew for now. If anyone asks for me, I’m busy.”

“Aye!”

She let him go and walked through the mess hall, paying no heed to Hector and Marc’s shouts of, “Ahoy, Captain!” Or Benni’s insistence she come taste test the meal he had prepared for the night.

There were fourteen bunk beds. Some were tidy, like Daniel’s. He didn’t like messes. Others were nasty, with dark stains, tossed sheets and crooked mattresses, like Reb’s. He was a slob.

She looked around the room for any sign of what Jarra called the “presence.”

Under beds, in the closet, around the ceiling and floors… nothing.

She stood for a moment. “Show yourself.”

Nothing.

She crossed to the second bunks. This was a mostly empty room with only four beds, leading into a smaller room where Jarra slept. The mage would probably know if she went looking through his stuff… but she had to find out. She pushed Jarra’s door open and looked upon it with unease.

To violate a mage’s belongings was death. Anyone, man woman or child, who stole or utilized a mage’s things without permission was hanged, treated like a heretic who spread the word of pagans.

Caspia ripped the sheets off his bed.

She looked in his bag—a purple satchel with several glowing potions, a glass marble (within it a tiny little eye), a sheet of dozens of different runes, and a smaller bag of gems and rings and other magical objects. In the side pocket, a bottle.

The bottle.

She uncapped its strangely square neck, gently taking out the paper inside. Older than sin, older than anyone alive today by a long shot, covered in a language she couldn’t read.

She put it back. She did the same with the sheets.

“Show yourself!”

Nothing.

Frustrated, she slammed Jarra’s door and went back into the hall, finally just deciding to stomp down into the underbelly of her ship.

The stairs were steep, leading into a hallway of prison cells, an isolated room behind the stairs for the capstan, and branching halls that led deeper into the stores. Caspia poked and proded her way through each cell and each room, looking for something—anything—that was even remotely sinister.

She kicked over a barrel.

She knocked over a box.

She flipped open a crate.

And at this point, finding herself down in the lowest of the stores after hours of hunting, she realized she didn’t know what she was looking for. Would a presence have shown itself by now? Or maybe a better question was, would she recognize it if it did?

A presence was a presence in its purest sense. A feeling, a trace of it in the air, hiding around somewhere… all of that could have been a sham at what was essentially a ghost. How could she catch a ghost?

Maybe, she thought, walking around a pile of empty crates, Jarra meant something different. Something less like a single thing and more like a…

Some boxes behind her fell over. She drew her sword and turned around, slashing.

...

Their blades met.

Cafaro, caramel hair out and waving like water, slashed back. Caspia, a tender girl of only twelve, could do naught but take the hit and fall on her rear with the force of it.

“You think that’s a good stance?” Cafaro pointed her sword at Caspia’s face. “In a real fight you’d be dead.”

Caspia howled and stood. She slashed, blade blocked by Cafaro’s with barely a shift in posture. Anger pulsed through her veins like poison. She wanted to tear this woman’s hair out, slash her arm until it fell apart like sliced carrots.

Whack. Whack. Whack.

Each time she lifted her arm and brought down her blade, Cafaro parried with ease. The thing that frustrated Caspia the most—despite her failure to land some kind of hit—was how weak her attacks were. The captain didn’t seem to be countering any weight at all.

If she wasn’t pissed off already, that was enough to get her going. She shrieked and spat, roaring with each downward slash. Cafaro parried a hit, knocked her sword out of her hand. She lunged and put Caspia in a chokehold. The girl thrashed and wailed, squirming around in the woman’s arms.

“Getting mad only makes things worse,” said Cafaro

“LET ME GO! I’LL KNOCK YOU DOWN!”

Cafaro held her tighter. Miraculously, she seemed statue-still despite Caspia’s wriggling. “I get it. You’re angry.”

Caspia seethed.

“We’re all angry deep down, right? At this world.”

Teeth grit, Caspia quieted. The woman’s tone had gone soft despite her tight hold.

“It can be so cruel. It always has been, though. Did you know that?”

Quiet.

“There’s no shortage of things to be mad about. You’re not wrong for being mad. But that anger is energy. Channel it, Caspia. Let it flow. Let it speak.”

“I am,” Caspia insisted.

“No. You’re shouting. A shout can mean anything. But words… those are clear.” She pushed Caspia away. “Pick up your sword.”

The girl did, lifting it. Her long black hair and draping rag clothes billowed in the wind. Cafaro’s tunic and coat, so much nicer than what Caspia wore, took in the breeze all the same. If anything was impartial, it was the wind.

“Channel it.”

Channel it.

What’s wrong with my stance? Caspia suddenly thought. She backed off, breathing heavy. She examined Cafaro’s size and strength, pitting it against her own. She was an adult and had the obvious advantage…

But I’m small, and can use that…

This time she came at Cafaro prepared. She made to swipe from above once more, Cafaro with a distinct look of disappointment on her face as she centered her blade to parry the hit.

But Caspia feinted. Anger swelled back through her body—but instead of pulsing through her veins like poison, she pushed it into her arm and the tips of her toes with weight and precision. With as much speed as she could muster she pulled her sword away from that initial trajectory, and made to slash Cafaro’s waist from the side.

The woman looked stunned, blocking at the last moment. From there, Caspia leaned back and kicked her in the shin.

The captain fell.

Caspia was on her at once, blade in her face. Cafaro looked at her with eyes wide as diamonds. Her lips curled into a smile, and before Caspia knew it her mentor was laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

Cafaro wiped her sleeve against her forehead. “I let you do that.”

Anger seeped back into her blood. Cafaro stood, using her sword as a cane to prop upon. “Do that again, Caspia,” she said. She put the tip of her blade in the girl’s face. “Do it again.”

Caspia put her sword to the sky, backing up. “Again?”

“Again.”

And so she did. Caspia, back then a mere child, went barreling at her mentor.

But Caspia now, an adult and captain of the Queen Camila, had to withdraw. She’d swiped her blade at a man of her crew, and knocked him over. He groaned from behind the boxes he was carrying, lying on the floor of the ship.

Caspia put her sword away and stood over him. “You snuck up on me.”

“My deepest apologies, Cap’n.” He sounded hurt to some degree. Caspia stepped over his boxes and peered down at Brann, her first mate.

“What are you doing down here?”

“You swiped a sword at me, ma’am,” he said, eyes closed shut. “I’m happy to not have any wounds from it.”

“Then stand,” she said. She was relieved she hadn’t actually cut him.

Brann got up by way of grunting and moaning. “M’legs are sore…”

“Go soak for a while. I’m sure Jarra would be happy to warm the water. I trust there’s no issues to attend to instead.”

“Actually ma’am, that’s why I came looking for you.”

She tensed. “Out with it.”

Brann took a breath. “There’s a bit of a problem on deck.”

“I said out with it!”

His lips pursed, eyes narrow. “Pablo threw Hector overboard.”

...

Rage pulsed through her at a resounding speed. She looked out at her crew from the helm, they standing still, eyes trained on their captain.

She could have said dozens of things. What’s wrong with all of you? For one. I ought to hang you all like pirates, for another.

Something else came out.

“You fools realize we have months—possibly years—left to this journey, right?”

Angelo started to speak, a “Yes ma—”

“No!” she shouted down at him. “I’m speaking here. If I want an answer I’ll ask for one.”

Silence.

“What’s wrong with all of you? I ought to tie you together like fruit and drag you behind the ship!”

The first few things she thought of saying did end up coming out after all. Through the angry haze that clouded her senses, she saw Hector standing beside Jarra. Sopping wet and shivering—but alive. Pablo stood not far away, eyeing Caspia mournfully.

“I—”

She stopped.

Could this have been influenced by the ‘presence’ Jarra spoke of?

As soon as the thought had come to her, she seemed to have lost her words. She glared out over her crew with an unmoving expression. Some of them, like Sergio, Benni, and Sedd, just stared back. Happy Ken picked his teeth. Mick and Jev looked from left to right. Owin, holding his pup like a babe, watched her with what she could only describe as fear… but not a strong fear. A kind of apprehension.

Did he know something she didn’t?

Whatever the reason for her silence, she needed to speak up. It wasn’t good to leave the crew hanging.

“I’ve had it with these conflicts. I won’t tolerate any more.

“Fighting, arguing, throwing people overboard—what has gotten into you? We’re crew! Brothers! Not of blood, but of the sea! We aren’t scoundrels and fiends. Get that into your head before your head gets into Gadha. Do I make myself clear?”

“AYE AYE SIR!”

“DISMISSED!”

As they were walking back to their stations, Caspia pointed down at Jarra, Brann, Hector and then Pablo. They walked up to her like prisoners headed for the gallows.

“Explain yourselves.”

“Pablo threw me off the side, sir,” said Hector.

When Pablo didn’t deny it, Caspia took them to the railing, away from any prying eyes. She said to Brann, “hold him,” and gestured to Hector. He did as she asked, not letting the man go.

In mere seconds, she drew her sword and held it at Pablo’s throat, pinning him against the railing. The sea churned below, a look of terror etched into his face.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t just end you here, if you’re gonna be throwin’ my crew overboard.”

He shivered, teeth chattering, but he held his ground. “I don’t know, captain… h-he looked at me funny—”

“He LOOKED at you funny?”

“And—and—”

“And you tossed him off my ship?! Because he looked at you funny?”

Pablo shook. Sweat poured off his forehead, eyes darting to Caspia, to the sea—Caspia again, back to the sea…

This was the presence. She knew it now.

She twisted around and tossed him on the floorboards. He landed in a heap, yelping. Hector and Jarra winced away from this treatment of the man, but Caspia wasn’t ready to be so forgiving. She pointed the sword in his face and said, “If this happens again I’ll kill you.”

Instant regret. But it was too late to take back, and not good to live down. He nodded, standing, and sprinted down the steps.

“Release him,” she said to Brann. Hector nearly fell when the man let him go.

“Back to your station, sailor,” she said. He did as she bid of him.

Jarra approached her, tense and unsure. “Captain…”

“I know it was the presence,” she said. “It had to have been.”

He stood quietly, arms at his sides.

“Do as I asked of you earlier. I’m staying at the helm for the rest of the day.”

“Y-yes, Captain…”

Jarra bid her farewell.

So she stood, hands on the wheel and eyes on the crew. The sun set once more, drawing the black from the blue of the sky, and a moon to brighten it.

When the sun was gone completely, she looked behind the ship.

For a moment, there was nothing. But in a few seconds, the pursuing lights came back into view. Only this time they were closer than they had ever been. Close enough to be seen as the bow of a galleon much like Queen Camila herself.

You’ll find more than men on this ship, she thought. You’ll find darkness too.

Maybe that was why it was so bright.