“It’s them!” cried a voice.

“Easy, Mott. Don’t look good,” replied another.

“Let’s get them on board. Quick, get the ropes. I’ll take the spin wheel.”

The skiff was hoisted up by ropes and water drained from the old skiff. Alaric’s eyes opened and closed again, his mind battling for consciousness. He became aware of the first voice that had spoken—reaching for him. He instinctively went for the sword that lay in the skiff by his side.

“Whoa, easy there, Alaric! It’s me, Mott. Remember? Don’t worry lad, I haven’t come to sell you to goblins this time.”

Alaric was helped onto the deck. Mott escorted him below deck to rest.

“I think you could use a good long sleep, brother,” said Mott, laying his body down to rest. “This sword you’ve got here looks a wicked thing. Best we probably hide that away for a while, don’t you think?” Mott grabbed its hilt, testing its weight and then shuddering. He hid it away in a cabinet out of sight and closed the cabinet drawer gratefully.

Back on the deck, Shig and Mott both worked to grab either end of Galiria’s limp body and heave her out of the skiff.

“Oh no!” cried Shig in his high-pitched elvish.

“Oh, that’s not so good,” said Mott. The sword was still inserted into Galiria’s stomach and her breathing was slowing.

“Do your magic, Shig. I’m no good with that stuff,” said Mott.

The ropes were cut, and the skiff was dropped back into the water, dropping with a splash.

“I’ll do the best I can with what I’ve got, but it’s not looking good. That baby won’t live by the looks of it. Galiria may never live to see another day, but it is the hands of those who control our fate,” came the response from Shig. Mott only furrowed a brow, unable to understand the language in which Shig spoke. The two carried Galiria below deck and there she was placed upon a table. “Like most good elves, I have brought my herbs and my plants. To be without these would be to send a warrior to battle without his sword, I suppose.” Shig talked to himself as he worked. Galiria was not conscious, but Shig spoke words of encouragement to her, evening speaking to the baby inside her belly as he worked—praying that it was in the hands of those above that, by some miracle, Galiria might live.

Mott clambered down the below deck some while later to check on her. “Does she lie?” he asked.

“Cannot know. Too early. She sleeps now. All we do is wait.”

“The sword is out?”

“Yes,” replied Shig.

“I shan’t ask what happened back there. It doesn’t look to have been anything good,” said Mott.

“No,” agreed Shig. The two moved back to the bow of the ship. The sails were hoisted high, but the oars were without rowers, for there was no one to row.

“Where we go?” asked Shig.

“I don’t know,” said Mott, “What I do know, is that we shall sail long and far until we find land or until we’re eaten alive by a whirlpool or a serpent of some sort. I can’t know which will come first, but I’m sure as ‘ell not returnin’ to Corpsia. Place wreaked of death.”

“Yes,” said Shig, “Meanwhile. Teach me.”

“What? The One Tongue?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, you mean to assume we sail for Osknia?”

“Yes,” said Shig, a thin smile spread across his face.

Mott nodded his head. “Fair enough. Let’s begin.”

Alaric stood along the ship’s bow, cradling a baby swaddled in thick furs. Its ears were pointy, and its eyes were dark as almonds. A streaking scar ran along the baby’s face from forehead to chin. A curvy sword black as the night hung from Alaric’s hip, but it was concealed by a scabbard—and with good reason. A low fog hung along the water’s surface this morning, but blue skies awaited many miles beyond. Their ship sauntered on along water’s that were marked by the faintest traces of a black substance that floated in a long trail like spilled ink.

The sound of supplies crashing to the ground startled the baby, who began to cry. Alaric turned to find that Shig had tripped on some ropes and knocked over a bucket of raw fish.

“You eat last today, Shig,” said Alaric, a smirk on his face.

“As you wish, lord.”

“Where’s Mott?”

Shig pursed his lips, “I could not say. Although, I do remember him saying he enjoys his morning up by the crow’s nest. Says he thinks we’re close to land. He saw a bird yesterday.”

Alaric looked to the skies, and up on the deck of the crow’s nest he found Mott standing, a hand covering his face from the sun and a deep-set look upon his face.

“Find anything, Mott?”

“No, lord. But I’ve seen two birds already this morning. Good signs, I do believe.”

“Indeed. Do you recognize these waters?” asked Alaric.

“Not quite, lord. We would have never sailed this far from shore. But aye, blue skies ahead! It has been nothing but dark skies and cold rain the past month. I thought we’d ever escape it,” said Mott.

Shig was skinning the scales from a fish as he sat upon a barrel, legs crossed. “Why is the elf preparing the fish? I thought you were the fisherman, Mott?” said Shig.

“Ah, well if you want to be a fisherman like me, you’re gonna have to do as I say, eh?”

“Fair,” replied Shig, “Just know, I’d like to actually catch the fish at some point, not just smell ‘em once they’re on board, you know?”

“Ah, that time will come. Aye, grab my harpoon as well, won’t ya? I see something big lurking in the waters just there,” Mott lowered himself along the lines and hung over the side of the ship. He glanced along the water; eyes peeled.

“Something good for once, Mott?” teased Alaric. “I am sick of tuna and swordfish, and so is she,” he bobbed the baby in his arms to sooth her soft cries.

“Ah, a small shark it looks like. It’ll do,” said Mott.

Shig was taking a while below deck, and soon the shark was lost from view. Mott strode towards the baby.

“She’s gorgeous, lord,” said Mott, stroking her cheek with calloused hand.

“Indeed. Her mother’s eyes, that’s for sure.”

“I was thinking the same, lord.”

Alaric’s attention was drawn towards the horizon as they stood. Alaric shoved the baby into Mott’s arms, who grunted at the force with which Alaric had shoved it into his chest.

Leaping and climbing, Alaric never made his way to the crow’s nest so fast. He shielded his eyes from the sun, staring intrigued into the beyond.

“What is it, lord? Are we still following the blackwater trail?” asked Mott, “If Shig would hurry with my harpoon, I could kill the shark for ya if you’re really—”

“—we’ve made it. Really, come look! We’ve made it! Osknia is ahead, Mott.” Alaric leaped down from the crow’s nest, dancing around the deck with tears in his eyes. A beard larger than his head ran down from his chin. “See for yourself, Mott!”

Mott handed the baby back to Alaric, sprinting to the bow of the ship to stare out beyond the mists of fog. “Impossible,” whispered Mott. His lip quivered, and his body shook. “I never thought…” he lost track of his words, laughing uncontrollably now.

He embraced Alaric, who raised the baby to the sky, laughing and crying all the same as he did. The door to the deck creaked open.

“What’s all the crying about?” came a voice.

Alaric looked to the door of the deck; a joyous look across his face.

“Osknia. We’re here.”