“My betrothed will soon be here,” said Ostrik one morning. The sailors who had heard him stopped their scrubbing and rigging and other chores. The ones that were on their break paused their game of dice and cards. All looked at Ostrik, and then spared a glance for each other.

  Kasar felt the energy of the deck shift. A tension that weighed like large rocks on their chest. Each heart beat pounded, and each breath wrestled to expand inside. His hand went to his saber as he could feel that energy surge toward him.

  Vorza shuddered beside him. “Not good. Get ready.”

  “For what?”

  “A fight.”

  Ostrik laughed and all eyes snapped back to him. “You all are terrified. Have you not heard what I’d said before? You’re all my groomsmen!”

  Some of the sailors chuckled. Others just stood quietly.

  Captain Dunarik strode down the stairs to the main deck to look down at Ostrik. He loomed over the madman, tall as the captain was.

  Ostrik did not back away. He held that grin, and the wide eyes of a mad man.

  “What have you done?” the captain asked.

  “I have brought us to my wedding.”

  “You have killed us all.”

  “Not all.”

  The captain frowned.

  “Here’s what will happen!” Ostrik roared so all could hear. Sailors now pooled onto the main deck, curious and afraid. “She will cull us.”

  Dunarik spat. “How fucking dare you.”

  “Don’t harm me. Wedding’s off if the groom dies. I’ll fight by your side. No worries. And if I am on your side, you better believe you will survive, captain. For I am Ostrik Half-Heart! But I don’t believe everyone will. As we speak the forces of my betrothed encircle us. She wants a show. Give it to her.”

  Vorza roared beside Kasar. “To arms!”

  Kasar felt in his gut the same thing as his mentor a moment later. The feeling of geysers erupting. His skin prickled as danger enveloped them on all sides.

  Vorza’s battlecry had given the battle hardened sailors enough spark to drive them into position. It was not perfect. Several sailors found their bodies torn to shreds as spindly, humanoid creatures boarded from the sides. Blood sprayed and inked the water on board. More water surged from more of the minions landing on deck.

  Kasar gulped again as he and his mentor stood before one of these monsters. Beady eyes. Over dozens of them. They all spun around, veiny, bloodshot, and hungry. Their maws were like petals expanding and in the center, instead of the core of the flower, lay layers upon layers of needle-like teeth. The claws that lashed toward Kasar were daggers. Kasar ducked, sidestepped, swung, and the creature fell over, sliced at the torso. Its guts spilled around Kasar’s boots and he could see the human parts. Eyes, guts, and bones, amidst digestion.

  The creature died before him, but the rancid odor almost knocked Kasar out. The ship seemed to sway more as the sea began to thrash. Winds picked up. Thunder boomed in the distance. Ostrik’s laugh echoed through the battle.

  Vorza slashed apart a sea monster that had almost cleaved Kasar’s neck.

  “Pay attention!” his mentor shouted. “To arms, devil.”

  Kasar raised his blade in time to catch another set of daggers at his face. The two Devils fought in unison. Where Kasar ducked, Vorza slashed. Where Vorza engaged, Kasar supported. When the older Devil grew weary after a few combinations of attacks, Kasar pushed forth to take the brunt of the offensive. Back and forth till seven more lay dead.

  The sailors had followed orders well and recovered. Dunarik with his scimitar stood beside his men’s battle formation using the aftercastle as a high ground. Pikes had been set up on the edges to disallow flanking from the stern of the ship. Spearmen held stalwart and strong at the top of the stairway to hold the monsters back. Sailors lobbed axes and javelins over the spear wall while the frontline resisted any charge attempts. Dunarik shouted orders for which areas to focus fire onto.

  Creatures screeched and died, thrashing as life left them. Blood bits sloshed onboard. Sailors vomited. Any spearman or pikeman that fell found his spot quickly assumed by a reserve unit.

  In the middle of the deck, Ostrik and his band of fighters held a stoic defense with just a few of the straggling sailors, separated from the captain. Ostrik fought like a menace, laughing, striking, and dodging with speed that even humbled Kasar. The man spoke grandiosely for a reason. His scimitar and shield paired with unrivaled speed on the deck forged a deadly combination of offense and defense. He cut through the monsters to form space for the sailors to regroup.

  Rend next to him displayed his skill in magic. Sickles materialized out of thin air around a group of eight monsters. The sickles bore a sheen of energy, blue in hue. The arms shot forward and swatted the monsters overboard as if they were toys. Their bones shattered on impact.

  Another cackle from Ostrik.

  Kasulta held her own, ducking and weaving around the monsters. Her fists flashed a bright, fiery red as if the ends of a torch. They jabbed and hooked, each strike cauterizing the sea monsters on impact. The stench of sulfur emanated in the air. She leaped upward and over her allies and into the crowd of sea monsters. Her flurry of blows made a frontline of its own as she pushed the monsters back to the edge from where they came.

  Cryppe turned up next to Kasar and Vorza, helping them hold their own position.

  “There’s too many,” he said, heaving for air. He’d cleaved his way to them. “Resposition, now.”

  “Where?” Vorza rasped breathlessly. He hacked apart another foe. Kasar sidestepped again, and Cryppe’s greatsword descended upon the enemy, chopping him through.

  “Position with Ostrik,” said Cryppe. “Only chance. We’re swamped already.”

  It was true. Better to unite where Ostrik’s band held a defense in the middle. Despite its unfavorable positioning, and Ostrik’s reluctance to be anywhere but the center of combat, they had done a superb job of clearing the onslaught.

  “Fine,” said Kasar.

  The three moved like a unit, watching each other’s backs as they advanced toward Ostrik.

  “Come to join us?” asked Ostrik. “My betrothed must be pleased by our performance. We’ve survived a long time.”

  “This isn’t a game!” roared Kasar. As they argued more clambered over the walls of the ship and charged, their flowerlike mouths frothing with crimson foam.

  “No, it’s better. It’s my wedding!”

  Kasar hacked apart the incoming traffic of death. When he earned a reprieve from combat, moved beside Ostrik. “Call this off now.”

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  “I can’t.” Even this he said while guffawing. “She is culling us, I said so.”

  “We didn’t ask for this.”

  “If I die, Devil, you’ll all join me. Focus on the fight. Conserve energy. Survive! And you shall be my best man.”

  Kasar swore, but agreed that the fight was more important. Wasting breath arguing would just tire him faster. He did want to ask what the best man was,however, but another wave charged.

  After ten minutes, everyone was heaving for breath. Traversal became difficult with all the corpses and guts strewn about. The stench hadn’t bothered everyone somehow. Kasar wondered the reason for it. The first kill had almost made him pass out.

  Now the deck was riddled in such putrid carnage.

  “The smell,” he rasped, hands on his knees. “How?”

  “The bard,” said Cryppe next to him. “He’s using hymns. We’d be dead without him.” He used his greatsword for support. “Damn it. How many more?”

  Ostrik limped over to the edge of the ship. “My love, you have given quite the test. We’ve been here for a while now without adversaries. Are you satisfied?”

  “We’ve lost enough!” roared Dunarik. “Ostrik, this is enough!” There was fear in his voice.

  Vorza let out a curse under his breath. “More are coming. Lad, get back!”

  Ostrik heard Vorza’s voice, and jumped to dodge an incoming wave of monsters. His scimitar lashed out and his shield came up just in time as he retreated back to his holding point.

  Cryppe’s greatsword rose and fell. Rend had joined a bloody melee, reaping bodies with his sickle. Kasulta’s fists no longer shone with fire, but she flailed out with her fists nonetheless. Soon enough, a wayward claw dug unto her back. She crumpled to the floor. Rend reached out with his hand. Green magic urged into her body, and she hissed out in agony.

  The recovery didn’t last long. Monsters swamped Rend, and he vanished under their bodies vying to slash his face. Cryppe ordered the surviving sailors in their holding point to aid him. They didn’t obey.

  Kasar instead dashed. He heard Vorza’s protest, but pushed it out of his mind. He hacked into the monsters that had pounced onto Rend. A sailor joined Kasar in the aid. Rend lifted himself up, his nose bearing a large gash. His lips had torn into four distinct flaps from the sharp chasm going from his cheek, diagonally down to his chin. Blood spurted from his mouth.

  “Get back into formation,” he garbled out, a stream of thick blood dripping from his mouth.

  The sailor screamed as a monster latched onto his shoulder. Kasar dashed to save him. Another monster dug his claws into Kasar. The Devil hit the deck hard, his head dizzy. He struggled to breathe. He could hear Rend chopping his way through to help the Devil. He could hear Cryppe and Ostrik’s battle cries. Though Ostrik’s was getting closer, and more manic.

  “Grimblade is in danger!” he cackled. “Half-heart shall come!”

  Suddenly, the claws that had lodged into his shoulder ripped out. A hand grabbed him and yanked him to his feet.

  “You’re welcome, Devil,” said Ostrik, teeth red, and face marred in a motley of cuts and gashes. He looked shredded head to toe, but in his eyes flickered that mad energy.

  “What now?” asked Kasar, seeing that the wave had ended. Up on the aftercastle, the captain had lost half his defenders.

  “Now?” asked Ostrik, scanning the deck. His eyes seem to register the bloodshed for the first time. “Now, Devil, I go for a swim.”

  Kasar frowned. “Wait no!” he yelped. He scrambled for Ostrik, but found himself slipping over the viscera on deck.

  Ostrik hobbled to the edge of the ship again, dropping his shield and scimitar. “Time to be the man my goddess needs! A hero! A mad man! A LEGEND!”

  “What is he doing?” was the question everyone asked as Ostrik dove overboard and into the bloody sea.

  Kasar peered over and saw where he’d vanished into the waves. Vorza stood next to him, a hand on his shoulder.

  “Let’s leave the edge, lad.”

  “What now?” asked Kasar.

  Minutes passed and no attackers came.

  Kasulta and Rend sat side by side, chewing on some rations. They didn’t seem to care that their friend had just drowned. No one could hold their breath that long.

  Cryppe sat with his back to the mast whetting his blade with a stone. His face looked haggard. Everyone around couldn’t fight any longer. Rend had expended all the magic he could muster. Kasulta still couldn’t properly fight with the wound in her back that hadn’t fully healed.

  Over seventy sailors lay dead, minced up to pieces. Others vomited over the edge. Some just on the deck. It seemed like the bard’s hymns that might have warded off the sickness of the sea were wearing off. So many questions about that man, about Ostrik as well, but so little energy. Kasar just heaved for air and tried to catch a break from the constant action. His lungs rejected the air. A fit of coughs and sputtering gripped him. His head throbbed and nausea ate his insides.

  Captain Dunarik swore under his breath. Apparently in the fighting, enough damage had been done to the hull and the mast that sailing from here would take many hours of repairing. Even if they survived another attack, they’d all die stranded at sea. Unless they got lucky.

  “Chance and madness,” muttered Kasar.

  ****

  The storm clouds had cleared and shafts of light beamed down around them like luminous spires. From the sea that had calmed, rose a torrent of water. Kasulta and Rend limped over to that side of the ship, using each other for support. They acted as if this sudden surge of motion was expected.

  Ostrik burst forth from the top of the torrent, and landed onto the ship. Everyone gasped, and some even cheered after. Dunarik grumbled to himself as he glared at Ostrik.

  “How?” asked Cryppe.

  “Has he really married a goddess?” asked Kasar.

  “A sea goddess, no less,” said Vorza. “Better hope he likes us, lads. We’re dead otherwise.”

  “My friends!” he announced. “I have married the sea goddess Ania. And she bestowed me with this.” In his hand he held a scimitar, crusted in barnacles and bloody gems. It seemed like it’d be a nightmare to wield with all the imbalance it appeared to have. Perhaps it was ceremonial. Either way, Ostrik held it high for all to see.

  More sailors cheered and yipped.

  “Will you save us?” asked many of the sailors.

  “Yeah, will you?”

  “We’re stranded!”

  Ostrik’s grin was insufferable, but he nodded to keep the energy of the men going. His eyes flitted to Kasar’s astonished face. He shot him a wink. Then his eyes landed on Dunarik. “Oh, captain!” he cried. The sailors all hushed to let him speak. “Would you be so kind as to lend me your ship?”

  There was a deadly silence in the air.

  Dunarik looked around at all the hopeful faces, only just before dreading the slow death of the sea. “I have no choice,” he said.

  “You do! You always do.”

  “I choose survival.”

  Kasar’s jaw hung open as Dunarik tossed his hat over to Ostrik. The sea goddess’s husband caught the hat with the tip of his blade, swirled it around, and tossed it overboard.

  “I need no mantle,” he said, waving his blade. “Let’s get to the Isles!”

  “To the Isles!” cheered everyone.

  Kasar shuddered to think what powers might Ostrik hold now at sea for the captain to suffer such a coup. .

  Vorza grumbled beside him. “As long as we get there in the end.”

  “So many dead for a fucking marriage?” asked Kasar, looking around. “That swine.”

  Cryppe placed his hand on Kasar’s shoulder. “Steady, Kasar. Let’s not be hasty.”

  “He doesn’t even care. Those people had lives.”

  “They were sailors, lad,” said Vorza. “They knew the risks.”

  “This didn’t need to happen. They didn’t ask for him.”

  “They asked for the sea. That’s what they got. Who knows. Maybe Ania would have killed us all if not for him. Perhaps he saved some of us in the end.”

  Kasar shook his head. “What does your sword say?” he asked Cryppe.

  “He says Ostrik is an unhinged man. That much we knew. He also says that he doesn't meddle with the sea.”

  “He doesn’t meddle with the sea?” asked Kasar, lips curled into a snarl. “What kind of justice is that?”

  “Settle down, boy,” barked Dunarik. He’d walked down to them. He’d doffed his coat and in his simple undershirt he looked like every other common sailor. “It is done. This is the sea and its bargains.”

  “All these men died for a wedding to happen? He treats it like a game.”

  “Some men are dead. Some are alive.”

  Vorza finished for Dunarik/ with a nod of understanding. “Others sail the sea.”

  Dunarik nodded in respect. “To be at sea is to be neither dead nor alive. These men did not die. They are at sea. And always will be.”

  Kasar wanted to start swinging his fists like Kasulta. A fire raged in his belly. A desire to show the sea his contempt. “Fuck the sea.”

  Dunarik and Vorza actually flinched.

  Kasar stormed off, his hurts no longer a concern. He needed time to be alone.