Storm Strider

Early in the morning, sunlight bearing down on all of them—thirty-one children heaved and groaned as they pushed the beached warship into the ocean, and Marisol waved wildly back at them from the quarterdeck, leaning so far past the railings that there was a very good chance she’d fall right off the ship.

But there really was no telling when she’d get to see the children again, and Kuku, in particular, hollered his best wishes louder than anyone else on the iron sand beach. She laughed to herself as she spotted him jumping up and down, skittering from side to side in that silly crab dance of his; she already felt like she missed him and the crabs he was just so good at cooking to perfection.

[Well, time is all you have while you sail straight towards the Whirlpool City,] the Archive offered. [There are five thousand two hundred and fifteen recipes containing the keyword ‘crab’ in my database. The children stuffed fifty live crabs in the lower decks for you to eat on your journey. You can attempt and fail thirty times if you so desire–]

A low, gargantuan rumble made the entire ship rattle, and the unnatural sound made the Archive shut up for a good few seconds. Marisol, on the other hand, kept waving and smiling at the island in general.

She wasn’t afraid of the rumble.

… In the end, the ‘Great Crab God’ they worshipped was the island itself, huh? she thought. The reason why those white lumps of flesh gave me points, and the reason why you were confused when the island appeared closer than your navigation data suggested… the entire island is the top of one giant crab, ain't it?

The little water strider on her shoulder was quiet for a moment.

Then, it sighed, as though realising it couldn’t keep a secret anymore. [Correct. The landmass that I failed to properly identify at first glance is what is known as a ‘horseshoe crab’. The entire forest grows on the top of its shell, and while I do not know what, exactly, it gains out of allowing those tribesmen to live on it, it is clear there is some symbiotic relationship there. It wanted the tribesmen alive, so when the Marauders landed on it, it searched the great blues for a Hasharana who could help it.]

Why would it do that? Don’t the Hasharana… don’t all bug-slayers kill every giant bug on sight?

[Not quite. There are plenty of ‘docile’ giant bugs on the mainland continent as well, and slaying them would usually require far more effort than they are worth. Furthermore, some giant bugs are so incredibly massive yet immobile that they form the foundations of entire ecosystems; to remove them when life has already bloomed all around would spell devastation for everyone in the vicinity.]

She frowned down at the Archive. So… you ain’t gonna report it to the Hasharana?

[I will,] the Archive said plainly. [It is still important information to add to the database. I will simply classify that horseshoe crab as a docile giant bug currently hosting a tribe of crab-worshipping children. I imagine, in due time, a Hasharana would access the data and venture there to assess the horseshoe crab’s danger to the children. If they determine it truly is docile, nothing will be done. The Hasharana may even offer modes of communication to the children should the horseshoe crab ever exhibit aberrant behaviour.]

I see. She breathed out a short sigh, closing her eyes briefly. If you said a Hasharana was going to come and kill the crab—ruining the children’s home as a result—I would’ve ripped you out of my neck to stop you from making that report.

[I have already made the report, and I will immediately send it to the other Archives once I can connect with them.]

…

[... Speaking of those white lumps of flesh, you must have been eating the horseshoe crab’s eggs–]

Ew. Stop. I don’t wanna hear it. I was hungry and desperate and it’ll never happen again.

She waved invisible mosquitos away from her as she whirled around, facing the empty wooden deck of the warship. It was a rather large ship—as it had to be to support forty or so half-crab Marauders—and that meant the children spared no effort fitting as many gifts as they could onto the deck. Barrels of freshwater, crates upon crates of dried vegetables, and about the entirety of the lower decks were submerged with coral forest water to support the livelihood of about fifty crabs. That meant, if she ever wanted to eat crab meat, she had to go fishing. Inside a ship. In the middle of the ocean.

She was going to be thoroughly entertained.

And how long will it take to sail to the Whirlpool City? she thought, sliding down the stairs and racing straight to the bowsprit at the front of the warship; she peered out at the great blue with two hands cupped over her eyes, trying to scan the horizon for her destination. That was a month’s detour, but if I remember correctly, I was only on Captain Antonio’s ship for two days before we were attacked… so, two weeks until the city? Maybe a bit more?

[The children fashioned the ship’s masts with wide and sturdy sails,] the Archive noted, and she looked up and behind her at the three giant masts. [They also sent you off on a day of strong winds—I am unsure if they calculated it or they simply predicted today would be a good day to kick you off—so right now, you have a good, windy start. There will undoubtedly be ups and downs in speed here and there, but I estimate it will not take two weeks at this rate. With a lot of excess weight tossed off the ship, one and a half weeks should be more than long enough.]

Her eyes widened as she looked down at the Archive. That’s really fast, ain’t it? What if there’s headwind? There are oars in the lower decks, right?

[Oh, there is most certainly going to be headwind. The Whirlpool City is built atop the crater of an underwater volcano, and the walls constantly emit winds and mist to create an artificial storm around the city,] the Archive said. [The reason behind the artificial storm is manyfold, but the unfortunate result is that this ship will most definitely shatter within five hundred metres of the city’s walls. The storm and the waves will be too much for this meagre vessel to handle. You will have to disembark and skate the final stretch towards the city by yourself.]

… What? Why didn’t you tell me–

[Also, while there are emergency oars in the lower decks should you need to manually propel the ship, you are but one little lady. There is no way you can propel the ship by any meaningful margin.] The Archive shrugged nonchalantly. [If the sails are ripped, there are only three replacement sails in the lower decks, but there is no way you can fasten them all by yourself. If the hull is breached, there are certainly replacement wooden planks, but I doubt you will be able to seal any breaches properly. If the winds blow your ship off course, then there is very little you can do to steer it back on track. Furthermore, since this warship’s design screams ‘Marauder’, any patrolling Harbour Imperator ships from the Whirlpool City will immediately fire at you—in essence, I can simulate only one thousand nine hundred and eighty-eight scenarios in which this lone sail to the Whirlpool City can go horribly wrong. There is a zero percent chance that this ship can survive even half the journey there.]

Wait, wait, wait–

[I apologise for not being positive enough. Allow me to rephrase: since you are 'sailing' this warship alone, there is a one hundred percent chance that something will go disastrously wrong.]

…

Sitting on the bowsprit with her legs dangling freely over the ocean, she put her face in her hands and breathed out a long, heavy sigh.

Thank you for being positive, she muttered. Very helpful.

[Glad to be of service.]

And… there’s nothing I can do if something bad happens to this ship?

[No. To begin with, your decision to head to the Whirlpool City with nothing but glaives for legs was an impossible risky one. At least now, you have a ship to sit on for at least a few days before something bad happens.]

What do I do now, then?

The Archive shrugged again. [You eat and you train. I estimate the silhouette of the Whirlpool City will come into view on the far distant horizon by tomorrow morning, so until something bad happens, you should prioritise levelling your strain limit with ninety percent of your point income. Please do not eat more than ten points' worth of flesh a day, by the way—you must let your body rest for at least a week before you start overconsumption again.]

The next morning, while Marisol was stretching on the crow’s nest twenty metres above the deck, she spotted the silhouette of what looked like a city built atop a mountain in the far distance.

Squinting, she noticed the sky around the city was markedly different from the rest of the great blue. It was all grey storm clouds and death, lightning flashing, winds howling and churning; she shuddered just looking at it from afar. There was no doubt about it. The warship was definitely not going to make it all the way there, and judging by the billow of dark, heavy rain clouds drifting straight towards her, she wouldn’t be seeing sunlight and blue skies for a long, long while.

That’s the Whirlpool City, right? she thought, biting her lips. Looks… cold. If it’s going to be rainy all the way there, I should probably get some thicker clothes over me, right?

[Indeed. I estimate we will begin sailing through the rain clouds by tomorrow morning, so if you have a deep yearning for sunlight, turn around now.]

Like I can steer the ship even if I wanted to.

[... Oh, but that is quite true.]

They sailed faster than the Archive expected, and by midnight of the second day, Marisol was already tucked into the captain’s cabin at the back of the ship.

The warship was an old thing, all creaking wood and frayed ropes, and heavy rain pelted the deck outside in relentless sheets; the hammering echoed through the entire hull. Marisol had unfurled a cosy mat by the porthole and made that little corner of the cabin her home, and as she peered through the glass, she thought it rather strange the waves outside were slow and eerily calm. Sure, there was a swirl of grey mist and dark shadows that prevented her from seeing anything a hundred metres away from the ship, but she’d have thought the waves would be a bit… choppier?

As they were, the ship wasn’t really getting rocked around. She wasn’t feeling seasick at all. Every so often, a particularly strong gust would rattle the porthole and make her flinch, but that was about the extent of how violent the rain was. It couldn’t be called a storm, no—it was more like she was just sailing through calm rain and a thick fog.

I can still kinda see the silhouette of the city out there, though, she thought, peering really hard with a candle held up to the porthole; it was the only source of light she had on the ship. How long until we get there again?

[On the fourteenth day.]

I’ll be holding you to that, then.

[Please refrain.]

On the fifth day, Marisol had to venture out of the captain’s cabin to roll in one of the freshwater barrels, and she glanced up at the silhouette of the city through the rain and fog as she did.

We’re getting closer, aren’t we?

[We most certainly are.]

On the eighth day, one of the ropes fastening a corner of a giant sail ripped, and Marisol did a mad sprint outside in the rain to replace it.

As she did, she took another glance at the silhouette of the city, brows furrowing.

Are we getting any closer, Archive?

[Definitely. Please refrain from looking away from the rope. It may snap and whip you across the face.]

On the twelfth night, Marisol kicked open the door to the captain’s cabin and skated out onto the flooded deck, slamming into the railings before the bowsprit.

The silhouette of the Whirlpool City wasn’t any closer than when they’d first sailed under the rain clouds on the second day.

Archiveeeee, you goddamn liar–

[We are making no progress despite sailing tailwind,] the Archive muttered. [This is strange. The sails are blowing, the ship is groaning, and the waves are definitely moving past us… how peculiar. With you, it is simply nonstop anomaly after anomaly–]

What are we gonna do? Are we just stuck here? How much food do we have left? I’ve gotten through, like, twenty crabs already, so–

[Relax, Marisol. Perhaps the ship is stuck on a reef or something,] the Archive said calmly before hopping off her shoulder, pointing a leg down and over the railings. [Disembark and investigate what is happening at the keel. If it is a coral reef, there is a chance you can dislodge it by kicking it really, really hard.]

She peered over the railings and down at the great blue. Despite the pouring raindrops breaking the surface in heavy pitter-patters, the midnight sea was still and calm as a mirror’s surface. There were pillars of moonlight falling through small gaps in the clouds, and she felt she could even see her own reflection in the waves below; that was how eerily calm the sea was.

… Do I gotta?

[You have no other choice.]

Begrudgingly, she vaulted over the railings and dropped ten metres down, landing on the surface with a gently spreading ripple. At the Archive’s behest, she first skated a full circle around the ship to check for any obvious damages to the hull, but found nothing of note. Then, she concentrated on the microscopic hydrofuge spines across her palms and knees as she got down on all fours, essentially stopping herself from sinking while she dunked only her head below the surface; there wasn’t a reef or anything of the sort, either.

But there were a few strange things anchored to the bottom of the ship, and she had to yank her head out of the water, take a deep breath, before plunging back in to take a better look.

They were…

[... Barnacles?] the Archive mumbled, as she stared straight at the jagged white lumps blowing constant streams of bubbles in the opposite direction of the ship’s trajectory. They were growing all over the keel, and Marisol, for one, had no idea how they even got there. [The bubbles they are expelling are pushing the ship back. Thankfully, they are not particularly difficult to remove, nor do they typically fight back when you try to cut them off. Simply skate over, go underwater for a few moments, and–]

She shuddered from head to toe as the sea rumbled, and a giant shadow slithered deep below the ship.

Nope.

Nope nope nope nope.

She barely even saw it, but it looked like it had a hundred pairs of legs as its shadow neared the surface. The Archive probably got a good look at it through her eyes and ripple sensors, but she was having none of it; she yanked her head out, pranced back towards the ship, and practically hopped all the way up by stabbing her glaives into the hull. Within fifteen seconds she was back on the flooded deck, nails digging into the railings as she peered dangerously forward.

If she had any doubts the leviathan neared the surface just to check out what poked their head underwater, she didn’t have any now.

The giant, five-hundred-metre long shadow circled the ship like a kettle of vultures.

[... Oh. I see.]

[We are in trouble.]

[Overriding previous objective.]

[Objective #8: Man the warship alone and sail towards the Whirlpool City]

[Objective #8: Evacuate from the warship and survive the giant remipede]

[Time Limit: 10 minutes]

[Reward: Temporary survival]

[Failure: Death]