The sea was still and clear, like glass.

They had reached the furthest part of the world any adventurer had gone—the doldrums. Here, the sea was calmer than a tranquil pond; stagnant and flat like the surface of a window. Blue met blue in a single, encompassing line that stretched around them like a plate, they the meal upon its smooth surface.

Jarra’s responsibility was pushing them through this part of the sea with wind magic, as no natural breeze could lift the sails until they reached somewhere with better currents. He’d pushed them several hundred nautical miles, and beside Owin, Caspia, Brann, and even little Cloud up on deck, nearly keeled over in exhaustion.

Caspia caught him. The rest of the crew, all without duty, waiting to yet again reach portions of the sea where they were needed, milled about the ship. Only Owin and a few others were near the helm, and he could see the rippling trail of waves the Queen Camila left behind as they made way…

“Sir Mage,” Caspia said as the old man heaved. “Take a break.”

He struggled, shaking as he stood again. “I fear I must…”

His voice was raspy and worn—after all, he’d been pushing them for hours. Owin noted the paleness in his face. He was starving too, an accelerated fatigue brought on by overuse of the power of the Gods.

“We’ll set aside extra rations for you, Sir Mage,” Caspia said, her normally commanding tone gone, traded for something far more vulnerable, far more caring.

“That is unnecessary, Captain—”

“I don’t wanna hear it.” Her normal tone was back.

Speaking like that to a mage was highly frowned upon. After all, they were the ones who mediated the land of the living and the land of the creators. Owin knew the reputation a few mages made for themselves in misusing that standing, as certain people would say. But Jarra was a respectful, kind, and willing to listen. It took no time at all for Owin to forgive him. In a way, it was almost as if this was the way things were meant to be.

Jarra nodded. “Yes. Right. Thank you, Captain.”

“No. Thank you. For everything, Jarra.”

She helped him down the steps and into the bowels of the ship.

Owin and Cloud stood there for a long while afterward, allowing the heat of the sun to blaze down on them. Brann, sitting beside him, tugged a bit on his fringed vest, yanking loose threads. He took a breath. “So, Roper—what do you think of the sea so far?”

Roper. Like roping in things, pulling them taut, keeping them steady. It was a nickname some of the crew gave to him after he rescued Happy Ken. But then again, he had earned another nickname when they helped him off the side and he vomited seawater—Squirt.

He liked Roper better.

“It’s beautiful,” he said. But he didn’t feel the truth in his own words. All his life he’d wanted to see the edge of the world, or the something that may lie beyond it. Was it true that all there was to see was just water? More horizon? More blue meets blue? What really was past that line? No matter how far they traveled, they never caught up to it.

Brann snickered, twisting a long black string from his frayed vest. He wrapped it around his finger and tugged, stuffing it in his pocket. “Beautiful, ye? Bugger that. I love the sea as much as I love the touch of a lady, but just like a woman, it can also drive me up the wall.”

That sounded like something Happy Ken would say.

“One moment it’s smooth sailing, nothing but soft waves as far as they eye can see—the next, it’s a storm that tears the hull and downs the boat.”

Owin gleaned a different note from his wisdom. “Do you have problems talking to women, Brann?”

Brann suddenly went red, and looked him head-on. “What makes you say that, lad?”

Owin cracked a grin and stared out over the sea again. “Nothing.”

Brann stood. “Aye, boy, don’t go spewin’ brown froth from the mouth like that, right? I’m plenty fine with ladies.”

Cloud was nibbling on the hem of Owin’s trousers. “Sure,” he said with a bit of a chuckle, leaning down to pat his pup. “Sure you are.”

“Damn Squirt,” Brann spat, slapping the backside of Owin’s head. He rubbed the spot, still chuckling as the flustered man left his company to go below deck.

“Well, Cloud,” Owin said as he stood up again. He’d finished his duties for the day, and would be just as bored as the rest of the crew. So why not imagine? Why not look out at the horizon yonder and wonder where they’d end up? Despite his inability to feel it, Owin convinced himself it really was beautiful. He’d seen nothing like this, nothing so blue and vast. The clouds in the sky reflected in the water as perfect mirror images, the symmetry purported by the onset light of a giant shining sun.

Satisfied with the scenery, Owin beckoned Cloud to follow him as he started for the stairs.

But then he was struck with a thought.

Where’s the rest of the fleet?

...

“We were not blown off course,” said Caspia to her men. “We’re still heading eastward, right in the direction of the sun.”

“Then how in Dwen’s gray hells did we end up alone?” piped up Hugh. “There’s nay a chance they sunk, did they?”

Caspia was silent for a moment. Owin, watching by the entrance, caught her glance sweep his way, and looked back at the men standing around the tables. “I’m not saying I have an answer.”

“Ruddy mad!” said Sergio. “Madder than docks without ropes.”

“What do you reckon happened, then?” said Thoma, not quite asking anyone in particular.

“I think the storm really did blow em’ away,” said Jev. “That, or the kraken got em.”

At that, many men pulled off their hats and crossed their hearts. Owin hadn’t the faintest idea what a “crackin’” meant in this case, or why mention of it made them pray. Caspia didn’t pray, though. Her hat stayed right atop her head.

Traversing the possibilities of what this could mean, Caspia barked at Owin and pulled him back to reality. “Squirt!”

Owin clapped his heels together and saluted her. “Aye!”

“Go prepare us a meal with Benni.”

Owin nodded. “Aye aye, Captain!”

And he was off, Cloud at his heels. He went down the hall, looked once for Narlan, and scampered to the kitchen when he saw no sight of him. Once inside, he caught the smell of cooked lobster, various salts and spices floating through the misty aroma. It was hotter and humid in here, with the scents of fresh greens and diced fruit that made his mouth water.

Benni, hand over a barrel, looked up at the entrance. “Ah, lad. Come to help?”

“Yes sir,” Owin said.

“Good, good. Sit—” he pointed over the counter at a barstool. Owin crossed around the tables, under the hanging pots and pans, and took a seat.

Jarra, a bit fatigued but doing well, sat beside him. He had been obscured by a large barrel on the countertop, and Owin hadn’t seen him until he sat down.

“Sir—Jarra,” Owin said. “Are ye doing alright?”

Jarra gave him a weak smile. “As good as the Gods, lad.”

A pot of boiling, salted water sat upon a stove beside the countertop. Benni dunked his hand in the barrel and brought up a lobster. He placed it on a metal plate and held it firm, looking over his shoulder for ingredients. “Owin, lad,” he said, “Can you fetch me the—”

Jarra lifted his hand, and summoned the wood tongs from across the room.

“Oh, Sir Mage,” Benni said as he grabbed the floating tool, “You need to rest! I’m telling you—”

“The steam is good for me,” Jarra retorted.

“But Caspia likely sent Owin here to help me, not you.”

“Are you refusing my assistance?”

Benni picked up the lobster with the tongs, and put it in the boiling water. “No, Sir Mage…”

Jarra cracked a grin. Owin shared one with him.

As Benni was reaching for another one, Owin looked at Jarra and said, “I don’t understand. Why does using magic make you so tired?”

Jarra huffed. “To use the power of the Gods, we mages have to be able to withstand the energy it imparts to us. Energy flows through things, and while our minds direct the shape of our divine powers, our bodies are the capsules that receive and expel it. It’s exhausting much the same way as running or climbing.”

So it is like that, thought Owin, but Jarra kept going.

“Every living thing—all of us, you and me, and the lobsters we’re soon going to consume, has energy. A life force. And in some way, we’re all connected.”

“We’re all connected?”

“It’s truer than you could ever know.”

Suddenly, Benni shrieked. Owin’s attention was torn from Jarra to witness the cook flailing around, a lobster’s claw latched to his finger.

“Ah! AH!”

Owin looked away in an attempt to suppress his laughter. Jarra stood and held out his arm, a rune on his amulet glowing with bright light. The lobster let go of the poor wounded cook, and floated straight into the boiling water.

“Dwen and Kaive, Twella take me!”

Benni’s finger was bleeding. Owin felt the hot tingle of shame spread deeply from the back of his neck. It wasn’t kind to laugh at someone who had truly gotten hurt.

Jarra lightly chuckled. “Lucky you to be on a ship with me. Careful with those words on our journey back, my friend.” He took Benni’s hand and held his own over it, eyes closed. With only a few whispers, Benni took his hand back with grace, free of blood. Owin had seen the green charm light up that time.

“Gods bless you, Sir Mage,” he said with gratitude. “You’ve gifted the holiest of powers onto me. I’m eternally grateful.”

“Please—it was only a little nip. I’d do it for anyone.”

“Yes… yes, but thank you in full…”

Jarra nodded and moved back toward Owin, but did not sit. “I must rest again, it seems,” he said, voice dry. “Keep him company, will you?”

“Aye aye,” Owin said, and Jarra left the room. Before he could do any more or speak a single word, Benni told him to watch the pot. He went running after Jarra, saying things like “Sir Mage!” and “Wait! I beg you!”

The door swung shut.

“Watch the pot, eh?” Owin echoed, looking down at Cloud. “Better not put my fingers near it.”

“Right, lad,” came a voice. A gruff, familiar voice.

The cupboard door just above the pot swung open. Owin and Cloud both jumped, peering up at the hooded Narlan as he chowed down on a red apple, curled into tight posture, so as to hide within the confining space.

“You!”

Narlan grinned, bits of apple stuck in his ugly teeth. “Me.”

Cloud growled at him. “Ye’ve been hiding up there this whole time?”

“That I have, boy,” he said, taking a bite. “And you see—I’ve got a bit of a system about it too. I can hide wherever I want. This ship’s walls are quite spacious.”

“What are ye even doing here?”

Narlan’s expression pursed, eyes wide as they looked around. “Well, hiding of course.” Another bite.

Owin shook his head. “Mooching off the food supply. Dirty rat.”

“So are you.”

“Not the stuff they don’t feed me! We can’t catch apples at sea.”

“Ayuh—but how do you know we won’t find more at our destination?”

“Destination?”

Another bite. “Ayuh. The destination.”

“We’re going to the edge of the world. There’s no apples at the edge of the world.”

The hooded man pressed his smile tightly, looking around the room with a dull, sarcastic edge. “Owin my boy, tell me. Why would we do this at all… if there wasn’t some place to go?”

“There is some place to go,” Owin said, rolling his eyes, “it’s the edge of the world.”

Narlan looked inquisitively at his half-eaten fruit, and dropped it on the floor at Cloud’s feet. The pup sniffed it, licked it, and started eating. “I don’t quite think so, boy. I think there’s more to see where sky meets sea.”

“That—”

Narlan shut the cupboard door just moments before Benni returned, looking hurried. Owin snapped around, only to spy the man’s frown upon seeing little Cloud munching on something that couldn’t be replaced. “Hey!” he said, pointing. “You and the wee pup! Scram! If you’re gonna take food, scram!”

“It wasn’t us, promise!” Owin said. “It was—”

He looked back up at the cupboard. The door was opened a slight bit… but no one was inside.

“Oh, wasn’t you? So the lobster hopped out and tossed an apple on the floor, did it?”

“Fine. Sorry. Going.”

Owin picked up Cloud and stomped out of the kitchen. “No more theft, lad!” Benni said on the way out. “No more theft and no more—”

“I heard!” He slammed the door, Narlan’s words fresh in his mind.

I think there’s more to see where sky meets sea.

Owin hated that he agreed.

...

A few days were all it took to pass through the doldrums. The currents outside it were heavy and moved as they pleased, pushing the boat one-way and pulling it another with only Jarra to serve as a medium between man and nature.

There wasn’t any update as to the whereabouts of the missing fleet. There were supposed to be two dozen other ships besides Queen Camila. All in all, as Caspia said, that was twenty-four captains, twenty-four boats, and more than three-hundred and thirty whole people unaccounted for.

They’d lost track of the fleet in the downpour, and had come out of it alone. The most common conception on board was that the storm got them. Jarra and Caspia tracked the wind and current patterns of that day (as Owin overheard from another bout of eavesdropping), and they could come to no other conclusion.

That left the crew anxious.

Owin, lounging around above deck, gave entirely too much thought to the situation, and it was starting to make him sick. Twenty four whole ships, exactly the kind of ship he was on, were gone. At the bottom of the sea, most likely—their crews with them.

Some of those ships had mages with them, he thought. Many of them are probably dead…

Owin felt shame for the times he’d sworn upon the name of the Lords, but in this grave time he prayed for the souls lost forever at sea. He would do anything to prevent it from happening to Queen Camila, and wanted those in the heavens to know this, if they were listening.

He put his hands together and said in a quiet voice, “Lords of Kunalla Dwen, Kaive and Twella, please let these souls be at rest with you and your grace.”

He crossed his heart and tapped his forehead to end the prayer.

“Bollocks!”

The shout was accompanied by a large crash. At once, Cloud (who had been sleeping at Owin’s feet) perked up, looking around to locate the source. Owin saw it plain as day—Rodney and Jev were at each other again.

“Oi!” shouted Jev. “Ye bilge rat, who do ye think ye are?”

Rodney snarled at him. “Suck my puckered arse, picaroon!”

Owin got closer. A barrel was lying at Jev’s feet, leaking mead all over the deck of the ship. It seemed that Rodney had knocked it out of his hand for some reason, though as to why, Owin could only guess. Rodney wasn’t the brightest of souls, and tended to get into shenanigans that drove a lot of the crew insane. Compare that with Jev, who was usually thoughtful of others and offered his advice; but had a serious temper.

Jev pushed Rodney, ignoring the spilling barrel. “Scoundrel! You’re still on about me taking your mead, are ye?”

“Aye I am! You took it and I saw you!”

“I didn’t take your damn mead!”

Rodney spat on him. Right in the face.

Some of the crew then gathered like Owin had. He got a little closer, and along with the men they formed a ring surrounding the two at battle. Jev pushed Rodney down and tumbled atop him, ready and willing with fists balled.

“Yeah, knock his teeth out!” That sounded like Angelo.

“Beat im’, Rod!” said Gian, “smash his chompers!”

Sergio, Thoma, and Happy Ken cheered, while Ardt, Lepp, Hector, and Javier jeered. Other crewmembers like Daniel and Pablo only whistled, while Owin could vaguely see Hugh and Mick trying to break through the crowd and stop it on their terms.

At first Owin was curious, and then mildly entertained—but now Jev was beating Rodney senseless. It was nothing to sneeze, nor turn away and laugh at. This was a sure and true beating, with Rod looking bloodier by the second. A tooth had already been knocked clean, falling beside the spilling mead in a small droplet of blood.

Owin’s stomach twisted. This isn’t right—this has turned into something really not right…

Cloud was barking. Marrow and Bill were shouting about wasted mead. Mick and Hugh were still trying to weave through the crowd, to which Reb turned around and shoved Mick. Benni appeared somewhere behind Owin, and from there came a shouting Brann and a concerned Jarra who started to put out his arms—

B A M !

The commotion ended with a faraway splash. With many jumps of fright and silenced shouts, the crew as a whole turned to look at the source of the sound.

Captain Caspia was standing with her foot atop a cannon, torch in her hand and scowl on her face. Fresh smoke was billowing from the end of it, a single unit of ammunition forever lost to sea in a successful attempt to halt the chaos.

Her crew was silent. Even though she was but one woman, she could still scare thirty men, a boy, and a rainwolf into complete silence. Still holding the torch, she swung her foot onto the deck of the ship and said nothing. Slowly, she weaved through the crowd (which parted with ease) and approached Rodney and Jev.

Jev had straddled poor Rod, his fists red with the man’s fresh blood. Jev just looked at Caspia with a look of cold terror, eyes wide and scared despite the glaring sun. Rodney looked up at her with inquisitive confusion, face swollen to a point where Owin couldn’t see the man’s eyes. His cheeks looked like apples.

“What happened here?” she asked. Her words were calm, which of course meant she was furious.

Jev was incredulous, in pure disbelief that things had gone so south. His mouth hung open, painting his face with a look of unholy shock. Rodney spoke, saying, “Jev’ere styollma’h meeed,” face so bruised and swollen that his speech had inflated.

“Speak right, sailor.”

“Jev—styoll—ma’h—meeeed.”

She looked at Jev. “Translate for me.”

“Rodney says I nicked his booze.”

“Is he right?”

“No, Gods dammit! I didn’t take a thing!”

“Then why straddle and beat him, you blasted git?”

Jev had no answer to that. Caspia snarled, took off her cap, and whacked him in the back of the head with it. A hard slap. Another. By the third, Jev was looking down with his eyes wide and shameful. Caspia put her cap back on and strolled away, not stopping before she shouted, “and pick up the barrel, you fools! You’re both cleaning the chamber pots until I dismiss you from it!”

...

Fights on deck were not uncommon, but they usually never got as bad as the one between Rodney and Jev. Even a few days later, they refused to look at one another nor be near each other if they could help it. If not, and both were put in a position where they had to interact (like hoisting the sails, for example) they would do it in cold silence, as if the other wasn’t there at all.

Owin saw this all because he was appointed crow’s nest lookout. He had proved himself responsible with duties around deck, able to take care of Cloud’s needs and messes, and reliable when asked to carry out tasks. He couldn’t take his dog that far up the main mast, and climbing down the first time was a bit scary, but from up here the wind was crisp. He could see in every direction for miles, catch things going on above deck, and ring the bell if he saw danger. One ring for a leak, two rings for land, three for a storm, and four if he saw anything that wasn’t either of those—like another ship or the like. Though out here in the endless blue, he didn’t think he’d see much of anything.

There was one other ring pattern though…

He’d have to ring continuously if he saw the edge of the world.

That thought hung in the back of his mind, egging him on. It made the tranquility of the boundless sea just a bit scarier. But for several days now, he hadn’t seen the edge. Only the setting sun and its shimmering light.

Red sky at morning, sailors take warning.

There hadn’t been a red morn yet. But on this particular morn, four days after the fight, there was more tension.

Owin had been sitting with his legs up, looking into the sky. He wondered why he couldn’t see the stars by day, and how that made any sense at all, when he heard shouting below. He hopped to his feet and peered over the nest’s edge.

“You’re gonna fight me again?” Jev said to Rodney, who had his fists balled. Rodney spat on the deck and put up his fists, taking a swipe. Even from this height Owin could see the redness in Jev’s face.

Like lightning he sat and grabbed the edge of the ladder, sliding down with a glove so as to avoid splinters. He hit the deck heavy, stumbling just a bit. He ran toward the scene to stop the men from getting into it again. Cloud took off at his side, quick on his heels.

“Oi!” he shouted. He had gotten to them just in time to stop a headlock. “Cut it out, scoundrels!”

“Why?!” Jev said, fingers locked around Rodney’s shoulder. “Why should we?”

“Because, ye idiots,” said Owin, “Caspia will get pissed off again.”

“Let her!” said Rodney, seething. “This bastard—”

Jev cut him off. “And this bastard—”

They shouted and went for it, throwing fists. They were drawing a crowd again, with Owin and Sergio hopping in to pull them off each other. “Just stop!” said Owin, almost unable to keep the grown man’s arms behind his back. “Why can’t ye two just talk it out?”

And for that, they had no answer.

With Cloud barking at their heels, Owin let Jev go for Daniel to hop in and take over, escorting them back to the captain. Happy Ken, who had been sitting atop a crate to watch, hmph’d, arms crossed. “Sometimes words don’t work, Squirt.”

Owin said nothing back, watching the men disappear below deck with Daniel and Sergio. “Maybe that’s true,” said Ardt, picking his teeth. “But they’re punchin’ over some damn dumb stuff.”

“One’ll knock the other out of their nonsense in time,” said Thoma.

“So none of ye care that they keep hitting each other?” Owin asked, aware now of how much shorter he was than the crew at large.

“Not if it don’t affect me,” said Ken.

Owin pursed his lips. “But it does affect ye.”

“How?”

“Lad’s right,” said Ardt. “It always affects you.”

Ken hopped off his crate. He didn’t seem that angry, but he did look a bit irritated with that twitching brow and almost-sneer. “Tell me how.”

“They beat one another too bad and who cleans up the mess? What do we do with sailors who can’t work?”

“We pick up their slack,” said Marc.

“No we won’t,” Bill piped in from behind. “Why would we when it was their fault?”

“Someone would have to,” said Marrow. “Duties don’t go away when their people do.”

Which was true. Owin still needed to be lookout for the day. Letting the crew talk out their situation and trying to forget the never-ending drama between Jev and Rodney, he climbed the crow’s nest again to do his duty. He’d stopped their fight before it got too out of hand anyway.

It was good to be back up in the air again. The sun was hot and bright, but by now he was used to it.

While staring out to sea and sky, he recalled a tussle on the road with his father and some bandits. Bandits from the north—who targeted his father specifically because he had items from the south. They managed to get away, but only after his father and their wagon-keeper killed a bandit with his club.

Would words have worked then?

The north and south had increasing trade restrictions. The whole reason they were traveling up there anyway was to negotiate for a stall in the only city they’d be allowed to barter. The northern bandits wouldn’t have any money, why else would they be stealing?

These were dilemmas Owin wasn’t quite yet able to articulate. And despite their relevance, he found himself distracted yet again.

At first, he didn’t know what to think. He stood and peered into the waves with confusion. He hadn’t seen anything like this yet… but it was not normal. The water was moving in a way that just did not happen unless…

Unless…

Unless something was beneath it. It curled, a vague shape just below the surface pushing it in mounds. The shape could only really be seen because of its off-color, something that was hard to tell in exact from beneath the blue, but looked to be a kind of brown… or red…

A chill went down Owin’s spine. What is that?

With a shaky hand, he rang the bell four times.