A few hours later, they were once more racing across the sands of the White Desert, moving ever closer to the Onyx Hills. They had no sightings of threeps or any other citizen of the sands. For that Isa was thankful. She needed time with her notebook, time to understand what her hasty decision of two days ago really meant. “Eldritch is bad, right?” she asked Alice. “‘Eldritch horror’ isn’t that the phrase?”

“It means weird and maybe a touch scary.” Alice looked at the notebook in Isa’s hands. “Did you—”

“When I leveled to 6, I was – well not right when I leveled, but after – I was mad at Joth, seeing him and then him disappearing, and the notebook offered me the chance to take this ‘Eldritch Knight’ subclass, I guess. So, I did.”

“I told you about that, remember? Michelle’s got a character who’s one.”

“Michelle’s the DM. She plays all the characters.”

“She gets to play as a player sometimes, too. Let me see.” Alice held out her hand. Isa watched as her girlfriend leafed through the pages. “You got a couple of wizard spells. Did you choose fire bolt for a reason?”

“What do you mean?” Isa shifted her position on the deck. The boards suddenly felt hard, so she stretched out on her back. Staring up at the blue, cloudless sky, Isa repeated her question.

“I’m not calling your choices into question, babe. I just think it’s interesting that I’ve got frost and you’ve got fire. Smart to diversify, that’s all I meant.”

Isa pulled her cloak tighter. The White Desert was a cold place. If snow began to fall, Isa would not be surprised. “I thought it would be good to get message, too.”

“Agreed. And you can bond with a weapon so that no one can take it from you. You should do that with your blade – Menesia’s blade.”

“I remember the gnome in Bywater, the shopkeeper, he thought I was a knight – one of these eldritch ones, and he didn’t understand why I’d sell my staff. Now I understand what he was saying.” She tucked her hands under her armpits. “It’s all so complex. Can’t I just whack things that threaten us? And why is it so cold?”

“Because we’re heading to the equivalent of the North Pole.” Alice smiled and tugged on Isa’s cloak. “My little hothouse flower.”

“Aren’t you cold?” Isa sat up.

“It’s a little chilly,” Alice said, but Isa noticed she made no move to tie her cloak tighter.

Just as Isa was beginning to suspect that no one else was as cold as she felt, Mimay sat down rubbing her hands together. “Gil Whitsel! Get out your heater. We’re cold.”

Standing at the rudder, Gil said something to Mery and put her hand on the stick. He pointed at the dark hills, and she nodded, holding the rudder with both hands. The wind blew her dark hair back, and Isa had a sudden image of Mery as a pirate queen, directing a band of rogues and pirates as they swarmed over an enemy ship.

As Gil set up the small stove Isa said, “How do you know Dockma?”

“She’s come through Mefal a few times on her expeditions. Needed a guide and there I was.”

“That simple, huh?”

“Well, no,” said Gil, sitting back on his heels. He grinned. “Do you want to hear the story? It’s a good one.”

“You’re like a son to me,” said Mimay, “but no, I won’t have you hang your tall tale on my ears.”

“Tall tale? When have I ever—”

“Later.” Mimay waved him away as she leaned toward the warming stove. “You have a ship to steer. That bard is no sailor, and one crash is enough for me.” She leaned even closer to the stove and muttered to herself. Isa thought she heard the words, “Just like his father.” She called after Gil, “Send the bard here, won’t you?”

Mimay turned to look at Alice and Isa. “I can be a little bossy, but you got to take the matter to heel, don’t you? Grab the mallowbeast by the horn, as they say. Otherwise nothing gets done.”

Just then Mery sat down. Mimay smiled at her and said, “Let’s have an old-fashioned mending party. You took quite a turn with the threeps.” She looked around. “Where’s that girl? The druid.”

Marissa was at the stern talking with Lund and keeping an eye on their flank. When she heard Isa call her name she came and stood over the group. Mimay squinted up and said, “Sit down. We’re mending.”

With a laugh, Marissa squatted. “Mending? Like the cantrip?”

“Cleric, cleric,” Mimay pointed at herself and Isa. “Wizard, bard, druid,” she said as she pointed at the others. “We can all mend so that will make light work.”

“I don’t have mend,” Isa said quietly.

“Yeah, I don’t….” said Marissa.

Alice gave Mimay a crooked smile. “I didn’t take that cantrip. I didn’t think—”

“You have it at least,” she said to Mery.

“Yep, I do,” said Mery. “Thanks to a woman not unlike yourself. My grandmother.”

“The outlanders I can almost excuse, but the elfling? Marissa, was it? I don’t have the words.” She shook her head and then gripped Isa’s knee. “When you get to level 10, you can take another cantrip – at least that’s how it used to work. So, you make sure to take mending, eh? At a certain age, well I don’t like to say, but it’s true; at a certain age, it’s expected that you can mend.”

Isa flinched. What was the halfling trying to say?

“It’s not that important in our world,” Alice said. “We don’t tend to get into situations where our clothes get ripped.”

“That’s for sure.” Marissa nodded her head. “It’s a little boring, but damn do you get used to it pretty quickly. I mean, there’s lots of fighting. Lots. Of. Fighting. But it’s not physical; it’s verbal, and it’s subtle, a lot of it. People there, they say one thing and mean something totally different, totally hurtful. And then, if you point it out, they tell you that you misunderstood!” She laughed. “They say, ‘I’m sorry you were offended.’ It’s the strangest combat you’ve ever seen. Deep wounds. Deep, deep wounds. You didn’t even know you lost, didn’t even know you were bleeding until long past.”