Storm Strider

Marisol’s eyes twitched as she panted for breath, letting her muscles rest while the Marauder captain rambled in front of her.

“... The Imperators may have the Whirlpool City, but we Marauders have the rest of the Deepwater Legion Front,” the man said, sneering at her with cold, unabashedly violent eyes as he sharpened his cutlasses against each other. Sharp, ear-grating noise. “My whale lice are everywhere. In the depths, in the shores, tucked under every coral reef and then some more—ye think anyone can get away with killin’ my brothers without my lice findin’ their rotten corpses sinkin’ to the bottom of the great blue?”

His crab head and pincers gave him the look of a Blackclaw Marauder, but he had additional whale louse arms on his back as well, making him something of a fusion-crustacean; she wasn’t even sure if that was the right term to call people like him, but that was about as much thought as she wanted to give someone like him.

She felt she didn’t have much time—neither on the giant whale, nor on her journey to the Whirlpool City.

‘Fate’ was catching up.

“Oh, ‘ah saw my little brother’s corpses. Hauled ‘em up from the seabed and saw the nasty, nasty way they drowned. Last ‘ah heard of ‘em, they’d beached themselves on a little island and were supposed to rejoin us a month ago… ‘ah supposed that’s yer doin’, little lass?” the man growled, stepping forward, fanning his twelve cutlasses and one pincer out in a menacing form. Bloodlust poured out his shell and slowly crawled over the fighting pit. “The cap’s arm was cut off cleanly, and ‘ah know he ain’t that weak. There’s only one insect class on the great blue that can cut through shell as tough as his the way it was cut, so it’s gotta be ye, right? A water strider? A Hasharana, perhaps, like the one who cut off my arm a decade ago?”

“...”

“Come on, little lass. Let’s dance. Show me what ye got. ‘Ah promise ye ‘ah ain’t anythin’ like the Blackclaw cap–”

Exhaling sharply, she willed her glaives into motion. She leaned her entire body forward. She retracted her preapical claws to make herself more streamlined. It was twenty metres to the approaching captain, but she crossed it in the blink of an eye, launching ten metres before contact as she spun, spun, and spun—and when she kicked outwards with a hundred and ten percent of her power, it was like an explosion was born on his chest.

‘Explosive grace’ backed by rage.

She cleaved him diagonally in half, shoulder to waist, and screeched to a fiery halt twenty metres away.

The Whitewhale Marauder captain didn’t even manage to finish his sentence before he fell, blood splattering everywhere.

[Objective #10: Destroy the Whitewhale Marauders on the giant whale]

[Success: Rescue of all slaves and Damselfly Oracles on board]

[... That was a quadra-spin War Jump,] the Archive remarked. [You have come a long way since barely being able to defeat the Blackclaw Marauder captain with a double-spin War Jump–]

Be quiet.

Just… be quiet.

The Archive looked at her quietly, then sighed and tapped her cheek with a sharp leg.

[Whether you and those children decided to execute the Blackclaw Marauders or not, the Whitewhale Marauders would still have chosen to come after you. They have their own sense of camaraderie the same way you do—that you still managed to rescue a few slaves is commendable enough.]

[Now, would you please consider leaving the giant whale?]

[We are about to reach the edge of the Dead Island Straits.]

And, right on cue, the giant whale below her buckled. Her glaives were stabbed into the floor, but the entire wooden fortress was tilting as well, torches and effigies breaking, shrapnel and debris flying everywhere. She flailed her arms for a brief second before glaring at the closest wall—and she charged towards it, bracing her arms in front of her as she smashed through to become weightless one last time.

It was a hundred metres back to the warship. The volleys of cannon fire had stopped some time ago, though she hadn’t noticed it while she was listening to the Marauder captain ramble—she could hear the Harbour Guards shouting and see them racing around the upper deck even as she was gliding towards them, and she understood fully why.

The lightning storm was horribly powerful just a hundred metres ahead of them, where the Dead Island Straits ended, and the moment they crossed that invisible boundary, both the giant whale and the warship would begin plummeting to the sea. The giant whale could probably endure the impact with its thick and leathery skin, but the warship? Not so much. Much less onto a sea in stormy turmoil.

Archive!

[Land on the warship first! There is only a fifty percent chance it will shatter on impact with the sea, so, at the very least, grab Catrina and glide off with her to ensure she does not suffer the brunt of the impact!]

Got it!

Pressing her arms against her sides, she crash landed on the ship’s middle mast and slid down the wooden beam, glancing only briefly at the crumbling Marauder town atop the giant whale. She’d no idea what the whale was going to do from now on, but… she sensed maybe it, too, had been a slave to the Marauders. She was glad she could do something for it—and now she had to do something for the rest of them, because the moment she touched down on the upper deck, the entire warship started lurching.

The Harbour Guards only barely acknowledged her return as they continued racing around, securing everything to the ship with ropes, chains, and hooks. Captain Enrique bellowed orders for everyone to hammer more planks on the inside of the hull, reinforcing the ship. Marisol, on the other hand, didn’t have time for any of that; she skated straight into the captain’s cabin, spotted Catrina wincing and groaning in the corner behind a bunch of empty barrels, and immediately dashed in to scoop the lady up.

A great surge of strength flowed through her veins as she skated back out the cabin and fanned her wings out, the instant the warship started plummeting beneath her. Catrina squeezed her eyes shut and held onto Marisol for her dear life, but Marisol couldn’t avert her eyes. The two of them were airborne, gliding safely down to the stormy great blue, but the warship was free falling. It wasn’t like when they’d fallen a mere twenty metres after exploding from the giant remipede. This was a hundred metres straight down, and…

…

Her ripple sensors flared, making her whirl just in time to see a horde of emerald wings shooting past her, crowding under the warship like a swarm of desert locusts. It didn’t matter rain was pouring like a flood. It didn’t matter streaks of blue and purple lightning flashed on the horizon every five or so seconds, splitting her eardrums apart—the hundred or so Damselfly Oracles charged on, uncaring, and slowed the warship’s descent by pushing its hull up from below.

What looked like it was going to be an absolute disaster turned out alright, as half a minute after Marisol grabbed Catrina to protect the pregnant lady alone, the warship crashed down onto the stormy sea with a massive splash.

The Damselfly Oracles immediately retreated, zipping back towards the Dead Island Straits as Marisol glided slowly down… and she swore she saw Hana amongst the horde of them, nodding gratefully while simultaneously glaring at Catrina in her arms.

Then, the swarm of beating emerald wings disappeared from her line of sight.

[… Well.]

[I suppose they really are on the Worm God’s side, after all.]

In her attempts to repel the rain, Marisol was too busy concentrating on vibrating her hydrofuge spines to give the Archive a proper response, but the troubles weren’t over yet. As she neared the upper deck where the Harbour Guards were cheering and bumping chests with each other for an escape well-executed, Catrina started wincing in her arms—and it wasn’t just because she’d jolted them around too much.

Marisol looked worriedly down at the lady’s pale, ghoulish face, and then she felt the kick in Catrina’s belly even though she wasn’t even touching it directly.

This…

Archive! She’s–

[Touch down on the warship first and get her back under a roof! Repeat my instructions to the entire crew!]

She didn’t need telling twice. She folded her wings and landed hard on the upper deck, surprising Enrique and the Harbour Guards, but before any of them could rope her into their celebrations, she skated back into the captain’s cabin. The mattress was still there, but the dim lantern over her head was swaying, creaking, the warship being thrown from side to side in the nasty lightning storm. She almost slipped off her glaives as she lay Catrina down on the mattress, and while the Harbour Guards rushed in to see what the hurry was all about, she turned and barked at them the Archive’s instructions.

She didn’t leave out a single word as she knelt by Catrina’s side.

“I want fresh and hot water! The latter boiled!” she snapped, her voice hoarse but commanding, cutting through the thunder like a whip. “Find lanterns, clean rags, blankets! Anything to keep her warm! She’s going into labour!”

The Harbour Guards, who’d been so boisterous just a moment ago, suddenly looked as lost as they’d ever been. There wasn’t an enemy to fight, but there was no time to indulge their cluelessness; she snapped them out of their daze with a sharp whistle, and their eyes flickered between her and Catrina. There was only one more moment of hesitation, a heartbeat of indecision—the Harbour Guards scattered like ants, clambering over each other as their heavy boots pounded against the deck outside.

While Enrique stayed behind and slid forward, gripping Catrina’s hand with incredibly creased brows, Marisol glared out the porthole and bit her lips. It was only supposed to be a little bit past twilight, but the storm outside was the nastiest she’d ever seen: pure black clouds and an oily sea, gargantuan waves smashing into the side of the ship and making everything wobble. The men were probably doing everything they could to gather supplies from the lower decks, but even if they could get everything to her within the next few minutes, could she really offer any help to Catrina?

She’d only seen midwives do their jobs once or twice back in the desert town. She’d never participated, she’d never helped. There was a good chance Enrique knew more about delivering a child than she did, so what was there for her to do?

[Tell Captain Enrique to man the helm,] the Archive said. [Even through this storm, the Whirlpool City should only be a thirty minute sail away. Tell him and the rest of the guards to raise full sails and head straight for the city.]

… So she did. Quietly. Captain Enrique gave her a questioning look, but seeing Catrina clawing at the sheets of the mattress and Marisol nodding at him must’ve convinced him he was better off doing something else.

While he rushed out of the cabin and a few Harbour Guards filed in with a bunch of hot rags, buckets, and blankets, Marisol stayed by Catrina’s side and forced a smile onto her face, refusing to let go of the lady’s hand even once.

“Hold on just a little longer,” she whispered, dabbing Catrina’s sweaty face with a rag as she did. “We’re almost there. The Whirlpool City’s right there. I can see it outside the door–”

Catrina suddenly grabbed the back of her head, pulling her in.

“... It’s being eaten,” Catrina breathed.

Marisol blinked, scowling as the ship rocked hard left and made everyone stumble behind her.

“It’s okay, Catrina. Just… breathe. I think. Calm down, think happy thoughts, and the moment we dock, I swear I’ll rush in and–”

“–there’s no time–”

“–there is time. We’re not late. Your papa said it was going to take a month to repair the ship in the Dead Island Straits, but look at us! We’re out on the second day! You’ll get to the Whirlpool City, I’ll get to the Whirlpool City, and everything will be–”

“–that night,” Catrina hissed, gritting her teeth so hard Marisol heard her jaw creaking, “I… when you came for me… I didn’t… I didn’t always have this scar on my belly. That night… I saw–”

And the sound of cannon fire cut Catrina off mid-sentence, making Marisol whirl in fright.

They hadn’t fired that shot.

Who?

“... Stay with her, some of you,” she said, looking at the closest Harbour Guards before nodding at Catrina. She did her best to give the lady a bright, steady smile. “I’ll be back really quick, okay? I’ll just check that out. Drink some fresh water if you need to.”

By the time she skated outside into the pouring rain, a second shot had been fired, slamming into the stormy waves before the warship. Captain Enrique was already shouting at his men to drop anchors and halt the ship, and Marisol had to race to the bowsprit and squint past the railings to see what they were stopping for, and why.

True to the Archive’s words, the Whirlpool City was so, so close—it was a massive city built around the surface-breaching walls of an underwater volcano. She could only see its shadow and silhouette through the storm, but she could spot the tiered buildings climbing up the sides of the volcano, the towering spires and the incredibly steep slopes that were the city’s main streets, illuminated by dim blue streetlamps. Anchored a hundred metres in front of them, though, was a fleet of a dozen warships positioned like barricades; they were flanked by two colossal lighthouses, striking white beams of light sweeping towards them like vigilant eyes.

The moment the lighthouses shone their beams on the warship, Marisol winced and recoiled—she hadn’t been prepared to be blinded—but the fleet of warships anchored in front of them had no concerns for their safety. She heard a third cannon shot firing from the walls of one of the lighthouses, and the projectile smashed into the sea just a few metres away from their hull.

Marisol flinched again.

If that wasn’t a warning shot, she didn’t know what was.

“... Stop where you are!” a voice from the lighthouse roared, and it was deep and distorted, piercing through the rain and thunder like a horn. “Identify yourselves within one minute, or by the law of the Harbour Guards, we will fire and sink your vessel!”