//------------------------------// // 20. The Maelstrom // Story: Love, Sugar, and Sails // by DSNesmith //------------------------------// They hauled him out of the cargo hold, ignoring his struggles. Rye tried to kick one of his captors, but only managed to bang his shins on the stairs. Giving up, he hung limply between the two zebras as Zab led them out onto the main deck. The crew was waiting for them. It seemed like all thirty-something zebras had gathered around beneath the main mast, forming a thick circle that opened at their approach. Rye scanned the pirates’ faces. Some looked surprised, others angry, but the ones that scared him were the zebras with a glimmer of eager anticipation in their eyes. Captain Zevan stood inside the circle, scowling. He had his hoof-mace on, the cold iron faintly reflecting the dying sunlight. “I see ye were right, Zab.” Zab wore a matching scowl. “The mare’s spent the last four hours down in the hold ‘cataloging’ for me. Once I realized the dwarf was missing, I knew they were up to something.” As Rye’s captors dragged him inside the circle, two other zebras pushed into the middle with Tyria held between them. Her face looked hollow. She turned her head up to look at him, hopelessness in her eyes. “Rye, I’m sorry. They—” “Shut up,” said Zevan, cuffing her on the back of the head. Tyria fell silent. Zevan looked between them, frowning. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Viridian’s always right in the end.” “Breyr?” said Rye, feeling the brand on his shoulder give a psychosomatic ache at the name. “What are you talking about?” Zevan’s frown turned into a cynical half-smile. “Once the boss realized the girl was in love, he decided to let her lead us straight to ye.” Tyria’s eyes widened. “Oh, damn. That little visit he made before we left—he was testing me, to see if I really sent you off in that lifeboat.” Her face fell further. “I must not have convinced him.” Rye sagged. Once again, Breyr had been two steps ahead. “It’s not your fault, Tyria. He’s good at reading people. That’s why he’s so dangerous.” “Quiet.” Zevan rapped his mace on the deck. He glanced at Tyria, sighing. “I was hoping to save this ‘til we were closer to Zyre. The bosun tells me ye be the best sailor we’ve got on this tub, and Zennan’s never wrong about such. I didn’t want to waste the horsepower. But ye’ve made yer move, now, and I can’t have ye trying to escape.” Even three zebras would have been too many for them to fight off, and there were over ten times that many. Their only chance was for Rye to talk them out of this mess, but he wasn’t sure he could. No point in denying the truth, it’s plain as day on my forehead and my back. We can’t lie our way out of this one. I have no leverage, no bargaining chips. Zevan’s got all the power, and worse, he knows it. “Look,” he said, trying anyway. “You know who I am, there’s no way we’ll get off the ship now that the truth is out. You may as well let us work instead of throwing us in the brig, where we’ll be of no use to anyone.” “You’re not much use outside the cell anyway, unipeg,” Zab sneered. “It’s pegacorn,” Rye snapped. He turned back to Zevan. “And even if I’m not good for much besides bilging out the subdecks, you said it yourself: it would be a waste to toss Tyria in the brig.” “Oh, I won’t be doing that,” said Zevan mildly. “Viridian wants ye alive. Her, he was a little less concerned.” He raised a hoof and made a swift signal. All the pirates laughed, and the crowd parted. The bosun emerged into the circle, holding the end of a looped rope in his mouth. Rye was no expert on knots, but even he could recognize a noose. “No!” he yelled, straining forward against the two zebras holding him. Tyria’s eyes shot wide again as the bosun approached. She struggled, but her guards held her tightly as the bosun draped the loop over her head. The bosun frowned. “Sorry about this, girl. But we can’t have traitors on our crew.” Rye kicked out, taking the guard on his right in the ankle. Already unsteady from holding Rye’s foreleg, the zebra fell and lost his grip. Rye broke free and ran for Tyria. The pirates hooted and hollered as he reached her. Before he could jump at either of her captors, another zebra hit him from behind. The scars of the whip on his back flared up, and he collapsed into a ragged heap. “Rye!” Tyria’s guards laughed with the rest as she struggled in vain to reach him. Rye lifted his head, feeling the tears brim in his eyes. “Tyria!” The zebra dragged him backward across the deck. Others threw the untied end of the rope over the lowest spar on the middle mast. They began pulling it toward the bow of the ship, tightening the slack. “Lash it to the anchor, boys!” yelled Zab. “We’ll give her a quick ride up the mast.” Rye fought as he was pulled upright again, another zebra joining the first. He bent his neck, trying to bite the two restraining him, but he was too bloody short to reach them, too weak, too helpless to do anything, just like always. Ahead of him, Tyria’s shoulders drooped. She looked at him, her eyes filled with terror. But as he watched, the fear slowly drained away into a sad, quiet acceptance. The noose tightened around her neck, almost taut. Her guards still held her, grinning with anticipation. Tyria breathed out slowly. “Rye.” “Tyria,” he said, his voice cracking. He was half-blinded by tears, now. “I love you, Rye.” She gave him a small smile. “I’m sorry.” “No,” he whispered. “Tyria, no.” Near the bow, the pirates had tied the other end of the rope to the heavy anchor on the ship’s port side to make a lethal pulley counterweight. “All ready, boss,” shouted one. “Zevan, please,” said Rye, twisting to face the zebra captain. “I’ll go back with you, I won’t fight, I won’t try to escape—I’ll get you money, or food, drink, mares, the favor of Princess Celestia herself, anything! Please, Zevan!” “You have nothing to offer me, pegacorn,” said Zevan, sounding bored. He raised his hoof again. The pirates whistled and cheered. I can’t—I can’t— Rye stared at Tyria, numb. “Don’t go,” he pleaded. “I love you,” she repeated, as a tear ran down her cheek. “Don’t watch.” Rye turned his head, already shaking. He looked out at the horizon behind them, where the sun’s last few rays of light shone beneath the gray skies and over the waves, as beautiful as one of Tyria’s paintings. And there, right on the edge between the water and sky, he saw the small, unmistakable outline of an Antellucían warship. And just like that, leverage. “ZEVAN!” he roared, whipping his head back around. The two zebras holding him recoiled from the sudden outburst. Rye pushed forward against their hold, shouting so loudly his throat burned. “ZEVAN!” The captain turned, raising an eyebrow. Every gaze fell on him, the pirates pausing their jeers in surprise. “Before you make another move, Zevan,” said Rye, breathing hard, “I suggest you look to the horizon. Tell me what you see.” All eyes turned toward the distant ship. Beside Rye, Zab’s eyes widened. “By the gods, not again! I thought we’d finally lost them. How in the nine hells are they still following us?” Zevan paled. He strode toward Rye, covering the distance in moments. He pulled Rye’s chin up to look into his eyes, filled with fury. “What did ye do, pegacorn?” Rye’s lips cracked into a ghastly smile. “Made sure that the antelopes will never lose this ship.” “Damn ye.” Zevan bared his teeth, and turned toward the stern. “All hooves, back to yer posts. We’ll pull another circle, the opposite direction this time.” “It won’t work,” said Rye loudly, giving the zebras pause. “You’ll never outrun them, Zevan. Not with a hold full of stolen goods.” He glanced briefly at Tyria, who had a glimmer of hope in her eyes. Zab snarled. “He’s right.” Zevan swore again. “Then we’ll fight our way out.” Rye laughed. “Against military warmages? The antelopes are going to tear you apart, Zevan.” “We’re prepared for that,” said Zevan, turning. “Zennan!” he barked. “Get the elyrium!” “Elyrium?” asked Rye, still grinning mirthlessly. “That wouldn’t happen to be what was in that lovely blue chest we threw overboard, would it?” Zevan’s face had gone as sheet white as his coat. “Ye what?” “Listen to me very carefully, Captain,” said Rye, his voice low and threatening. “I can tell you how to get out of this alive. But Tyria goes free. If you don’t listen to me, or if you kill her, then I swear I’ll watch the antelopes burn you all alive. Cheerfully.” The captain glared at him, his jaw working. At last, he slammed his hoof-mace to the deck and let out a growl of frustration. “Cut her loose.” One of the zebras by the anchor hesitantly slid his axe out of his belt and slashed the rope. Tyria’s guards released her, and she fell to the deck. Rye’s heart jumped joyously as she pushed herself up. He glared at his own guards, and they let him go as well. He was at her side in moments. “Tyria. Are you hurt?” He extended a hoof to help her up. “No,” she said, her voice filled with emotion. She grabbed his hoof and pulled him down into a hug so tight he could feel his ribs pressing against hers. “Rye, love, thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She sounded ready to burst into tears. Rye gave her a comforting squeeze. Zevan snarled. “I’m waiting, Strudel.” Rye looked back at him. “You can’t outrun them for long, and you can’t fight. If you surrender, they’ll have you all executed, immediately or otherwise. You’ve only got one hope.” Rye looked back at Tyria and swallowed. “We’ll go through the Serpent’s Maw.” Tyria’s eyes widened in shock. “Rye—” “Are you mad?” said Zab incredulously. Zevan pulled Rye away from Tyria, whirling the pegacorn around to face him again. “Ye promised me a plan, Strudel, not suicide.” “It’s not,” said Rye, looking around at the disbelieving pirates. “Listen, the antelopes have your scent now, and they’re not going to give up. Their captain is the cousin of the ship we just raided. His family’s reputation depends on getting this cargo back and killing all of you. He’ll follow you to the ends of the earth, anywhere—except back into the place that nearly destroyed his ship just a day ago. He won’t dare risk it a second time. It’s your only chance.” “Madness,” breathed Zennan. “Captain, I wouldn’t recommend this with a full complement of our most seasoned zebras. With this lot, there’s no chance of surviving that storm.” The bosun was sweating. Zevan took another look at the ship on the horizon. “The pony’s right. We can’t fight them without elyrium.” He released a long stream of curses. “The Maw be the closest chance we have. The edge isn’t ten miles west of us. We can reach it before the antelopes catch us.” Zab shook his head. “Captain, Zadrick’s a good lad, but he can’t possibly navigate through those waters.” “I can.” Rye, Zevan, Zab, and all the rest of them turned to look at Tyria. Her eyes narrowed, the tears still drying on her cheeks. “I can do it.” She had that look of fierce determination Rye had come to adore. I’d follow you anywhere, Tyria. Zevan’s eyes narrowed to slits. A moment passed, filled with enough tension to make Rye’s heart skip a beat. The captain closed his eyes and massaged his forehead with a sigh. “Zadrick, give her yer compass. The rest of ye, prepare the ship for rough weather.” “All right, you lot, you heard the captain,” shouted Zab, with only the barest hint of fear in his voice, “get all the hatches sealed tight! I want everything not nailed down tied down, before the hour’s done!” The zebras scattered. Rye and Tyria stood together beneath the mast, holding each other’s hooves. “Goddess, Rye,” she said, shaking her head from side to side in amazement. “I thought I was dead. I’ve never seen you like that before.” “Diplomacy isn’t always about being friendly,” Rye said, allowing himself a brief grin. He looked eastward and swallowed. “Look, Tyria… can you really get us through the storm?” Tyria nodded firmly. “I have to,” she said with a faint smile. “I can’t let all that work you just did go to waste.” Rye felt hooves on his shoulders, and he was once again dragged backward. Zab’s voice hissed in his ear, “You are going in the brig, right now, before you cause any more trouble. If we don’t all die, we’ll figure out what to do with you later.” Tyria made to follow, but Rye shook his head. “I’ll be fine, Tyria. Just get us through the night alive.” “I will.” Tyria gazed after him with quiet resolve. “I’ll see you on the other side, Rye.” Yes, thought Rye as they dragged him away. One way or the other. * * * Tyria stared at the sea chart in the dim lantern light, running her hoof down the parchment to guide the point of the drafting compass. She hadn’t studied maps this hard since her last semester of Advanced Navigational Techniques back at the officer’s academy. It felt as though the numbers were being burned into her mind, but still she ran the calculations, over and over again until her head ached. Briefly, she leafed through the collection of charts on the desk, pulling out the one that detailed the Maw itself, with rough outlines of the currents within. There were no good maps of the tumultuous area around the whirlpool, and few bad ones. Still, if these broad estimates were at least somewhat accurate, then they had a shot. Zevan had lent her his quarters to chart their course. Outside, she could still hear the yells of the sailors as they hurriedly prepared the Nightingale for the coming trial. Tyria swallowed. She’d only ever been in true bad weather at sea once before, a minor storm with swells that hadn’t even broken the bow of the ship, but it had been bad enough. This maelstrom was another order of magnitude altogether, a perpetual tempest known to chew up ships three times the size of theirs and spit them back out in pieces smaller than her hoof. But it could be done, she was increasingly sure of it. Fortunately, they were coming at the maelstrom from the north, and the whirlpool spun clockwise. They could slip into the currents, hijacking them for extra velocity, and follow a parabolic arc around the center and out far south. The momentum they’d pick up would carry them all the way across the sea toward Shipwreck Isle. Her mind spinning with gradients and paths, she scribbled down the equations again to quadruple-check her timing. There would be no sun or stars visible inside the storm; they would have to correct their course based on time alone. The crew’s lives—and more importantly, hers and Rye’s—now depended on the compass and pocketwatch lying on this desk. Tyria wished, more than anything, that her father was here. If anypony could get them out of this alive, it would be him. She smiled, imagining one of his big, caramel-colored hooves sitting on the map beside hers, pointing out their course like he’d done when teaching her to read a sea chart. If I get through this mess alive, I’m going home to see him, she decided. And Mom, and Carina, and Breslik too. I’ll talk to Dad about my career—and introduce them all to Rye. Mom’ll love him once she finds out he can cook. That was looking like a pretty big if, though. There was a knock on the door. Without giving her time to respond, it opened to reveal Zab. His face was sallow under the dim lantern light. Over his shoulder Tyria could see the darkness of night, and swallowed. Zab looked at her and his mouth tightened. “Do we have a heading?” “Yes.” Tyria slid the compass and pocketwatch into her breast pocket. She heard a clink as they tapped the tiny glass vial already within, and felt a jolt of surprise. She’d forgotten about that. It wouldn’t help them much against the storm, though. “Is it time?” “Soon enough,” said Zab. “Get up to the steering wheel and give the captain those bearings. You’ll stay with him while we navigate the Maw.” “I figured as much.” Tyria folded up a few of her maps and tucked them under a leg. She walked out of the cabin with Zab, taking a look up at the stars. This might be the last time I ever get to see them. She took a right and walked up the stairs onto the bridge deck. Zevan was at the helm, trusting no one but himself to steer his ship through the storm. He nodded warily as she arrived. Tyria looked out behind them, but she couldn’t see the frigate in the night. “Are they still behind us?” “Aye,” said Zevan darkly. “They’ve got lanterns on the deck. Ye can see them if ye look closely.” Tyria peered into the darkness, but she still couldn’t make anything out. She shrugged. “I’ve got our course plotted, Captain.” “Then take a reading and give me a heading.” Tyria adjusted the sextant mounted on the railing. The north star was clearly visible tonight, and soon she had their position. Consulting her compass and charts in the moonlight, she nodded. “Turn south five degrees, and then it’s straight on till we hit the current.” Zevan slowly guided the wheel. “I hope ye know what ye’re doing, girl.” “We can do this,” she said, biting her lip. “We can do this.” Zab leaned over the railing. “Well, well. They’re turning aside. The pegacorn was right.” Tyria smiled with a small amount of pride in her boyfriend. “Viridian’s not the only one who’s good at reading people.” “They’re not going back, but it looks like they don’t want to come any closer to the storm.” Zab squinted. “Their captain’ll probably circle around, waiting for us to come out. He must think we’re bluffing.” “I wish we were,” muttered Zevan. “All right, girl, are ye ready? This be the point of no return.” “I’m ready.” Tyria inhaled. In the distance ahead, there was a brief, bright flash of lightning. Oh, poor Rye. He’s going to get tossed around like a ragdoll down there. I hope they at least gave him a bucket. The roll of thunder hit them, a distant rumbling noise. Tyria whispered a quiet prayer to Celestia, staring ahead at the intermittent flickers. Above, the stars began to wink in and out. They were passing under the first outskirts of the cloud formations that hung over the Maw. Soon, they would be without any navigational aids except the compass. Tyria could smell the storm on the air: that scent of damp air, the crisp bite of the ionizing atmosphere. A louder rumble reached them, then a sharp crack. The sea around the Nightingale was growing rougher. The rocking of the ship, though miniscule, was becoming noticeable. Tyria took another look at her compass. “Steady on, Captain.” She felt a cold splash on her head. Flicking her ear in surprise, she lifted her head just in time to be hit with another raindrop. More followed, freezing cold, and she shivered as the water ran down her neck. The waves were getting bigger. The Nightingale was visibly rising and descending now, rocking not just side to side but forward and backward as they sailed over the waves. Below on the main deck, the entire crew stood ready to face the storm. Zab had prepared two teams to bilge out any water that might get into the lower decks. If the hold filled with water, they were as good as sunk. The sails had been left unfurled. The storm was a cyclonic weather system, and the hope was to catch the wind and use it to speed them around the loop even faster than the current alone could. The sails fluttered, making the wood creak and whine. The rain began to fall in earnest. Droplets pattered on the deck, and Tyria could hear them falling on the seawater below. She tucked her maps into her uniform. They had been waterproofed with wax, but she had a feeling that it wouldn’t be enough. She’d take them out later if she needed them. More flashes of lightning illuminated the seas ahead. Tyria caught glimpses of churning water before the thunder rumbled past. At the wheel, Zevan’s eyes were narrowed in concentration. “Almost there. I can feel the current picking up.” There was a brilliant burst of light, so close that Tyria jerked instinctively away. The thunderclap hit them an instant later, a BOOM so loud it made her bones ache. Tyria winced, clapping her hooves over her ears. The ship’s bow rose precipitously, and came crashing back down into the water. Zevan laughed, his eyes wild with adrenaline. “And into the Maw we go!” There was a massive jerk under her hooves. The entire ship leaped forward like it was possessed, nearly throwing Tyria to the deck. She clutched the railing with her legs, looking forward in awe. More lightning flashed, and more deafening booms of thunder rang out around them. The sea had turned violent, the waves lapping hungrily against the hull. The rain now came down in sheets, a freezing waterfall so thick that Tyria could barely see the ship’s prow. She pulled her soaking mane out of her eyes, regretting not tying it back. The roar of the thunder was becoming nearly incessant, as lightning now struck at least twice a minute. Tyria pulled her compass out, and waited for the next illuminating flash. “Take us ten degrees south, Captain!” “Hold on!” bellowed Zevan, laughing again. “Get ready for some chop!” The waves seemed to be doubling in size every minute. The Nightingale swayed madly, but stayed on course, guided by Zevan’s steady hooves. The sails were straining against their lines as the fierce winds blasted rain across the decks. Tyria watched the storm in wonder, awestruck by the sheer natural power of it. The entire ship shuddered as it ploughed through the largest wave yet. Great plumes of water sprayed over the sides of the ship, drenching what few spots the rain had not already touched. Zevan was now turning the wheel to and fro, guiding his ship over each wave to keep her on course. Tyria tried to stand steady on the slippery deck, but it was moving so much that even that simple task became difficult. “Captain!” screamed somepony on the deck below. “Wave ahead! It’s huge!” Zevan’s eyes were lit with a mad anticipation. “Now it gets fun!” Tyria looked ahead, peering through the rain, and felt her mouth drop open. The wave was gigantic, half as tall as the main mast. Her jaw hung slack as it loomed above. The Nightingale reached the bottom and tilted back, driving up the side as though lifted by the hoof of a god. They crested the massive wave, and Tyria’s stomach dropped. The bow of the ship went down the other side, and the entire vessel fell back into the water on the other side. They came roaring down so fast she could feel her mane being pulled back. Then she looked around and nearly had a heart attack. Chop didn’t even come close to describing it. The waves had all turned into monsters, ten or fifteen meters high, and they were coming for the ship at sharp rear angles. If any of those hit them dead on from the side, the Nightingale would flip completely over. Zevan was laughing like a madpony, wildly spinning the wheel. “Come on, then! Do yer worst!” Tyria quickly checked her pocketwatch and compass in the neverending flashes of lightning. “Zevan!” she shouted, trying to be heard between the overpowering booms of the thunder. “We have to go further in! Ten degrees south!” “Are you insane?” screamed Zab. “We need to pick up more angular momentum, or we’ll never break free of the current!” “Aye!” roared Zevan. “Further in we go!” He spun the wheel hard to starboard, and the ship screeched as the wind tried to rip the sails free of the masts. They crested another massive wave, lurching over the top and falling so fast that Tyria couldn’t help but scream. They were really booking it, now, moving faster than Tyria had ever seen a ship go before. The current grew rapidly stronger the closer they got to the center. These incredible waves were being caused by the different water speeds crashing into each other. They would only get worse as the ship got faster. The water swelled and dropped away beneath them, tossing the Nightingale up and down like a foal’s plaything. Tyria clung to the railing for dear life, flinching against the rain as it pelted her face. “Oh, Goddess,” she moaned, “we’re going to die.” “Ah ha ha!” Zevan appeared to be having the time of his life. He whipped the wheel around, bringing them over another horrific wave. There was an awful, deep groan of cracking wood. Tyria looked up at the main mast and felt a stab of abject terror. The topsail was twisting in a way it was never meant to, as a sudden burst of even more violent wind hit the ship from the side. The wood gave one tremendous final CRACK and shattered. The bottom yard broke free, swinging outward. But the lines held. The sail could not escape the ropes still lashing it to the mast. Instead, it blew out sideways, pulling the mast with it. The entire ship swayed to port, tilting so dangerously that Tyria felt her hooves sliding across the deck. Zevan snarled. “Cut it loose! Cut it loose before it rolls us over!” Zab raced down the stairs, shouting orders. Several zebras began climbing the rigging, heading for the free-flying sail that danced in the wind like a demon. Tyria watched it in horror, feeling the ship tilt. With a roar, a massive wave crashed into the front of the ship. The sail dragged them sideways, taking the wave at an angle with the deck tilted toward it. The water smashed into the Nightingale, sweeping across the deck. The sailors who had begun the climb up the rigging were caught and instantly washed away. Tyria buried her head in her forelegs, trembling. They were going to kill you a few hours ago, she reminded herself. It did nothing to stop the shaking. The water poured down the stairs and into the cargo hold. The bilging teams rushed down with their buckets at the ready. Zab kept screaming commands over the deafening storm, but another wave hit them and the water flooded over the main deck. Zebras slipped and fell, grabbing on to railings or ropes. Above, the sail caught the wind again, and the ship lurched sideways. “Damn it,” yelled Zevan, “get that bloody sail loose or we’re all dead!” Tyria looked down, and saw no zebras ready to climb. They were scattered across the deck, still trying to find their hooves after the latest wave. The ship tilted again, so far that the bow lifted out of the water. Before she could even think, Tyria found herself running down the stairs. She flashed past Zab, swinging her head past his waist and grasping the hilt of his machete in her teeth. She whisked it out of his belt as she passed, her hooves thudding on the sodden deck. Ignoring his yell of surprise, she rushed forward, leaping onto the rigging. If the climb to repair the sail line had been nerve-wracking, this climb was absolutely petrifying. The wind and rain lashed at her as she put her hooves through the rungs. Her teeth chattered around the knife’s hilt, and she felt her heart beating so hard her chest ached. Not daring to look down, she drew closer and closer to the top. A particularly close blast of lightning nearly startled her into losing her grip, and the resulting BOOM was so loud that she almost dropped the machete. After a moment to regain her balance, she continued upward. The sail was flying crazily in the wind, pulling tight against the mast. There were two lines securing it to the remaining spars; one above, and one below. Tyria reached the bottom one, and pressed the blade of her machete against it. She started sawing back and forth with her head, waiting for the rope to snap. She had frayed it about a quarter of the way through when another gust of wind caught the sail and ripped it away. The rope broke like cotton yarn, and the sail whipped up. Setting her sights on the last line, Tyria reached for the next rung. Suddenly, the ship tilted violently to starboard, and she twisted her head just in time to see the giant spar come swinging straight at her. It clipped her on the shoulder, just barely, but it was enough to send her flying off the netting. Tyria fell through open space for two terrifying seconds, flailing her hooves, before she landed on the rigging and began sliding down. She quickly rolled over and thrust her hooves through the rungs, jerking to a halt. The spar came flying back at her, but this time she was low enough to duck. As it soared up toward its apex to prepare another pass at her, Tyria scrambled up the netting. The spar soared through the air so fast it made a whistling noise, swinging right past her. Now she was above it, and she purposely flung her head out, gripping the machete tight. The rope hit the blade hard, its own momentum cleaving the rope in two. The impact ripped the knife out of her mouth with a cry, and the knife, the sail, and the remains of the yard sailed into the darkness. She couldn’t even hear the splash over the roar of the thunder. The Nightingale crashed into another wave, and Tyria lost her grip. She went tumbling down the netting, trying to get a hoofhold, managing just before she flew off the edge of the deck. Her hoof tangled in the rope, and her weight twisted her around the edge of the rigging to go flying down onto the deck. She hit the wood and rolled sideways, coming to a stop in a heap. She lay there, feeling the rain pelt her back like a hundred bee stings. Everything hurt, even bits of herself she’d never felt before. I wanted to be a painter, she thought sourly. “Tyria!” Zab’s voice was hoarse from yelling over the thunder. “Tyria, you alive?” “Yes,” she moaned. “Unfortunately.” “Good work with the sail. Now get back up to the helm, the captain needs a heading!” Tyria struggled to stand, and won. The ship swayed drunkenly beneath her, but she stumbled toward the stairs. As she went, she heard Zab yell behind her, “And you owe me a knife!” She managed to climb the stairs, grasping the railing with her forelegs, and pulled herself onto the bridge deck. Zevan was fighting the wheel, the manic smile replaced by a grim snarl. “Metrel! I need a heading!” Tyria felt for her compass. She tugged the chain out of her pocket. Miraculously, the device hadn’t been smashed in the fall. In the flashes of lightning, she studied the needle. “Starboard! Hard to starboard! Thirty degrees!” Zevan gave her a disbelieving glare. “That’ll take us right into the vortex!” “We have to skirt the edge!” Tyria fumbled the compass back into her pocket. She pulled herself up with the railing, using it to steady herself. “It’s the only way we’ll get enough speed.” “Bah!” Zevan whirled the wheel, and the Nightingale turned. The waves had now grown so large that they blocked out even the sky ahead. The ship sailed up and over them, scaling their sides in a precarious dance. Tyria was stunned at Zevan’s skill as a helmspony. Any lesser zebra would have lost the ship to this madness long ago. She wasn’t sure that even her father could have pulled this off. “Can ye hear it?” he yelled. “In the distance! Beneath the thunder!” Tyria craned her head, listening. Between the crashing of the waves, the booming of the thunder, and the endless sloshing of the rain, she could hear a faint rushing noise. It grew and grew in a mighty crescendo until it became a massive roar, louder than any sound she had ever heard. “There she is,” shouted Zevan, as they crested a wave nearly forty meters high, “The doom of Phoenixia!” Tyria stared, all other concerns forgotten. “By the Sisters…” Before them lay a vast hole in the ocean. The water whirled around the edge with speed unlike anything she had ever imagined. The sides of the whirlpool sloped down sharply, the vortex so powerful that they appeared almost smooth. The depths of the pool vanished into blackness, hidden from all sight mortal and divine. The whirlpool stretched out seemingly forever, swallowing up the horizon. This must be what hell looks like, she thought, staring numbly into the abyss. Celestia, Gerios, Selvanah, Proferion, Nightmare Moon, anyone; please, please keep us safe. The sound of the whirlpool was beyond words. It was so loud that Tyria’s thoughts seemed like mere background noise, so mighty that she felt as if the whole world was falling into that dark canyon of water. Lightning struck at the edges, another bolt hitting every moment, a constant raging attack on the surface of the sea. Zevan fought the wheel with all his strength. The zebra’s soaking mane flew around his head, as he shouted into the wind. The Nightingale tilted, tilted, turning toward the raging heart of the maelstrom. Tyria staggered across the deck to the helm. She placed her hooves on the wheel beside Zevan’s, and she could just barely hear him screaming Port, port, push it to port! Their combined efforts turned the wheel, and the ship’s bow slowly, slowly began to shift away. Tyria glanced back toward the whirlpool, feeling the blood freeze in her veins. They were on the precipice of oblivion. The current carried them along the edge, so fast now that the ship practically skipped on the water’s surface. The wind was with them now, filling their remaining sails, and pushing them forward with unmatched speed. Just a few more seconds! Just a few more… “Port!” she shouted. “Ten degrees to port!” Perhaps Zevan heard her, or perhaps he decided they had skirted disaster long enough, but he helped her push the wheel even farther. They began moving away from the edge, surrounded by bolts of lightning and vast waves. Suddenly, they were free of the vortex’s pull, back out into the extended current. The ship rocketed through the waves, spraying seawater over the deck. They shot away from the whirlpool, piggybacking on its momentum to fly away. Tyria released the wheel and fell back to the railing. Zevan’s face broke out in another grin. “We did it, girl! It be smooth sailing from here on out!” She wouldn’t exactly have called the next fifteen minutes smooth, but they were certainly fast. The Nightingale soared like her namesake over the waves, cutting a path across the currents in the opposite direction from their entrance. The sea grew calmer, relatively speaking, as the waves shrank back to merely ten or fifteen meters. Cheers went up from the deck below as the storm began to lessen. Tyria simply hung on to the railing, praying for an end to the insanity. At long last, the Nightingale hit a patch of water that was not part of the current streams. It went blazing across the calm sea, leaving a massive wake like a torn seam in the ocean. Tyria lifted her head, and saw pink in the sky. “Zevan…” she croaked. “Aye, girl, sunlight!” Zevan gave another laugh, this one filled with relief. “We made it.” The clouds above thinned and faded, and the thunder faded once more to a distant rumble. Tyria looked eastward at the maelstrom behind them, and exhaled shakily. “I never want to do anything like that ever again.” Zevan was still laughing uproariously. “The Serpent’s Maw! The most dangerous spot in all the seas, and we just waltzed in and out like it was a Zyran whorehouse!” There were hoofsteps on the stairs, and Zab’s head came into view. He walked unsteadily up onto the bridge deck, nodding to the captain. “Boss, I think we’re clear.” “Aye.” Zevan’s laughter finally began to calm. He inhaled deeply. “Give me a report, Zab.” “We lost one of the sails, of course. The main mast is badly damaged from all the twisting. The railing’s gone in several places—just gone, the waves tore it apart. The lower decks are flooded with water, but we’re working on that now.” Tyria’s heart seized. “The lower decks? What about Rye? Is he—” “It’s half a meter of water,” said Zab icily. “He’s taller than that, yes?” “Yes,” said Tyria with quiet relief. “Who knows how much of the cargo is ruined. Or if there’s any internal damage we haven’t found yet. The whole ship needs a looking-over next time we make port.” Zab grimaced. “And we lost a few. Six zebras got washed overboard. Mostly new meat, but Zin was on the ropes when that first wave hit.” Tyria felt a flash of angry satisfaction. Zin had been one of the zebras there when she’d been forced to burn Rye. But then she remembered that wave sweeping across the deck, and shivered. Zevan looked up at the remnants of his ship’s topsail. “Very well. Have the crew check for more damage, and get that water out of the hold. Be about it.” “Aye aye, Captain.” Zab took off down the stairs. “So,” said Tyria. “What happens now?” “What happens to ye and yer mate, ye mean.” Zevan leaned a foreleg over the wheel. “As far as I’m concerned, ye’ve more than earned yer freedom, girl. That sail would have killed us all without ye.” He frowned. “But I’m afraid I can’t let yer boyfriend go. The boss wants him more than anything I’ve ever seen.” Tyria swallowed. “And me?” “We’ll let ye off when we make port. Ye can go anywhere ye like. Though I suggest you stay away from Zyre,” he said with a grin. “Thank you,” she said, with a bow. When Zevan nodded in dismissal, Tyria ran down the stairs and toward the subdeck entrance. Zab hadn’t been exaggerating. The cargo hold was filled with water nearly up to her chest. There were zebras racing back and forth with buckets, pouring the water out of the now-opened hatches. Several barrels had broken free in the chaos, and were floating around the hold. Tyria pushed her way past them to reach the brig. “Rye!” She reached the crossbars, looking within. Rye was curled up in the corner, sitting down in the water. Somepony had apparently been kind enough to return his robes, as he was dressed in the familiar bright yellow. At the sound of her voice, he looked up with a smile. “I take it we made it,” he said, standing shakily. He looked mildly green. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt that sick in my life.” He stood next to the bars reaching a hoof through. Tyria shoved her forelegs through next to his head and pulled him forward. She closed her eyes and kissed him, hard, pulling him tightly against the bars and pressing her own body into them. She needed this, needed him, needed it badly. They’d just gone through hell and back, and somehow they were still alive, and the tension of so many close calls with death had finally built up so much that she just couldn’t stand it any longer. If only the damn bars weren’t here… Rye tapped her on the shoulder, the universal signal for air, please, and Tyria pulled away with a gasp. She wiped away a strand of saliva linking their mouths, her face burning with embarrassment. She didn’t normally run this hot, aside from those awful few early summer weeks every mare loathed. It must be his height, she thought. He was so non-threatening, he brought out the tiger in her. Slightly starry-eyed, Rye blinked and smiled. “Wow, uh… glad to see you made it, too.” “Rye, you crazy, magnificent stallion, it worked. We’re out of the maelstrom.” She beamed, chest still heaving with denied passion. “So,” he said, after another very intimate kiss, “what was it like? The Maw, I mean.” Tyria tried to find the words. “It was amazing… terrifying, but amazing. It was this enormous gap in the water, like the sea just opened up…” she shook her head, at a loss to describe it. “You remember when you told me about Mount Jormundr? How it was like a force of nature? This was the same. I just…” She stared at the wall, thinking about the overpowering sound of the vortex. “I’ll never forget it.” Rye’s cheer faded. “What about Zevan?” “He’s letting me live,” she said, frowning with concern. “But he still wants to take you back.” “I see.” Rye tugged at his sodden robes. “Well, at least we’ve bought some time.” “Thanks to you saving my life again,” said Tyria with a smile. Rye gave her a dry grin. “And you just saved all our lives. Look, we’re going to have to stop keeping score. How about we just call the rest of the lifesaving a team effort?” “Deal.” Tyria kissed him again, willing herself to pass through the metal. Sadly, love conquers all did not apparently apply to cast iron. A low groan reverberated through the hull. Both of them broke apart, giving each other confused looks. The noise came again, and the water sloshed. Rye swallowed. “Well, that didn’t sound good.” “I’d better go check on it. I’ll come back and see you when I can.” Tyria touched his cheek, then turned and waded back to the stairs. She emerged onto the deck to find chaos. Zebras were rushing toward the lifeboats, piling them with supplies. It looked like they were planning to completely evacuate the ship. Tyria’s heart leaped into her throat. Charging up the stairs to the helm, she found Zevan standing beside the wheel, leaning over the railing. “Captain! What’s going on?” Zevan didn’t look at her, still staring into the distance. “We took more damage than we thought.” “Is the hull breached?” Tyria felt a surge of panic starting to rise. “No.” Zevan sighed. “When ye helped me turn the wheel, we were fightin’ a mighty fierce current. It strained the mechanism too much. The rudder held till we got farther out, but something’s snapped inside. I can’t steer the ship.” Tyria swallowed, but then smiled. “Well, she’ll need repairs, but that’s not a life-threatening problem. With all the speed we’ve picked up, we should reach Shipwreck Isle within the day.” “Aye, we be on our way there. Do ye know how the island got its name?” Tyria shook her head. Zevan grinned without feeling. “The Lodestone. A giant pillar of magnetic rock. It be strong enough to pull the nails clean out of a ship. The whole thing’ll fall to pieces.” Tyria shook her head in denial. “No! No! We made it through the Maw, surely we’re not giving up now.” “The same speed that carried us out of the maelstrom is taking us straight to the Lodestone, girl. Our only hope is to get in the lifeboats and try for one of the nearby islands in the other direction.” “How… how long do we have?” Zevan pointed to the horizon. “Can ye see it?” Tyria’s eyes widened. “I thought… I thought we wouldn’t reach the island for at least another five hours.” She could just barely see a thin line stretching parallel to the water, far in the distance. “We picked up more speed than ye predicted. We’ve traveled nearly three days’ time in a few hours.” Zevan sighed again. “Me poor ship deserves a better end than this. Such a waste.” “I have to get Rye out of the brig,” said Tyria, urgency taking over worry. “Please, Captain. Where’s the key?” Zevan cut her off with a hoof. “Look, girl, we’re leaving right now. No ship, no cargo, and no dead weight. If ye want to get off this boat alive, ye’ll come with us. Now or never.” “And leave Rye to drown?” Tyria asked, aghast. “Never.” Zevan gave her a dry smile. “Then I guess I haven’t spared yer life, after all.” Tyria whipped around and ran, ignoring the laughter that followed her. She had hours, maybe only minutes, to get Rye out of that cell before this entire ship fell apart on top of him. She splashed down into the hold, forcing her way past the floating cargo. The bilging zebras had given up their hopeless task, fleeing upstairs to join the others. “Rye! Rye, can you hear me?” “Yes!” he yelled back. As Tyria finally waded close enough to see him, Rye looked back and forth. “What’s going on? Where’d the zebras go?” “They’re abandoning ship.” Tyria quickly explained the situation with the Lodestone. “We’ve got to get off this ship before it breaks apart.” Rye paled. “Are there lifeboats to spare?” “No.” Tyria bit her lip. “We’ll have to jump in the water right before the ship goes. Then we can grab on to some wooden debris and swim to Shipwreck Isle. It’s a long way, but we can do it. There’s no way we could swim to the archipelago. It’s our only option.” “But Tyria—” Rye looked utterly terrified. “I can’t swim.” “What?” Tyria looked at him blankly. “I can’t swim. I never learned how.” Rye’s eyes were wide with panic. “Remember when I said Canterlot doesn’t have any large bodies of water?” “Oh, no.” Tyria put a hoof to her head, trying to think. “We can—I might—look, we’ll think of something, we just have to get you out of there.” There was another horrible groan of straining wood. Rye’s eyes narrowed. “Do you hear that?” “Yes. The ship’s got to be distorting—probably the anchor, pulling toward the Lodestone.” “No, not the wood—listen!” Tyria closed her eyes and listened carefully, and then she heard it. A small series of popping sounds. She turned her head to see the nails holding the cargo crates together ripping free of the wood and flying toward the port side of the ship with enough force to bury themselves in the hull. Sugar spilled into the water as the crates disintegrated. “Can you fit through the bars?” she asked, frantic. “We already tried that once, remember?” Rye looked around, rattling the crossbars helplessly. “I don’t see anything.” One of the nails behind him pulled free, flying past them and nearly taking Tyria’s eye out. She dodged with growing panic. “Rye, come on! Maybe we can lift the bars off their hinges.” “There’s no way we’re strong enough for that,” said Rye, but he planted his hooves anyway. Together, they pulled up on the bars, hoping to lift their pins free of the barrels. They couldn’t hope to lift five hundred pounds of unevenly distributed metal. What they could do, however, was put it under enough stress to weaken the bolts. With a shrill shriek, the hinges themselves were wrenched out of the wood, leaving behind the grating. They sailed across the hold to slam into the hull with a clunk. Tyria stood aside as the grating fell, shielding her face from the splash with a hoof. “Come on!” The two of them raced for the stairs, as fast as they could go in the chest-high water. Once they reached them, they ran up for the main deck, hearing more nails being flung through the air. Tyria stormed out onto the deck and looked around. A chill ran up her spine as she saw the lifeboats—rapidly growing smaller behind them. “No!” Tyria pressed a hoof against her head, dragging her mane down in despair. Ahead, the Lodestone loomed high, a great black pillar jutting out of the water like a spear. Rye sagged. “That’s it, then.” “No it isn’t,” said Tyria, desperate. “When the ship goes down, grab on to me, okay? I’ll get you to a bit of debris, and you can hang on to that to float. It—it’ll work. We’ll make it out of here.” “Tyria…” Rye hugged her. “If this doesn’t work, I just want to… to thank you, for everything you’ve done.” He breathed shakily. She hugged him back, tears in her eyes. “No, Rye, thank you. You’ve shown me so much, shown me what I can do if I try. Meeting you was the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” They kissed, more pain than pleasure. There was a long, deep rumble. The entire ship began to vibrate. “Grab on to me,” repeated Tyria, holding out her hoof. Rye took it with a nervous nod. The Nightingale had come through the Serpent’s Maw alive, but against this foe no amount of clever sailing or navigating would help. The songbird ship shuddered once, twice, and then all her metal was ripped away by the inexorable force of the Lodestone. The ship collapsed into a thousand planks and shattered containers, raining down wood into the water. Tyria and Rye crashed into the sea. Her first thought was Sisters, it’s warm. Compared to the freezing rain inside the Maw, the Carriagibbean waters were downright pleasant. Her second thought was Air. I need air! Rye’s hooves wrapped around her neck, squeezing tight for dear life. Tyria thrust upward, breaking the surface and trying to inhale. She could hear Rye heaving panicked breaths behind her, sucking down air, but his hooves were pressing into her throat. “Rye—Rye, you’re choking me,” she gasped out in a strangled voice. But Rye couldn’t hear her, or couldn’t respond. His body had gone into pure survival mode, struggling to keep him above the water with no concern for others. Tyria recognized it from the Academy as classic drowning victim behavior. Fortunately, she also remembered the solution. Ducking back under the water, Tyria tucked her chin in and placed her hooves under Rye’s. She swiftly pulled herself out of his grip, spinning around to grasp him in a better hold. A piece of debris splashed down above her, clipping her in the head. Tyria lost Rye’s touch, and felt her lungs about to burst. She swam back up half a meter, and took a deep, gasping breath. Shaking her head, her vision stopped swimming, but she realized that Rye hadn’t surfaced with her. With another deep breath, she dived back down. The water was murky with wine, sugar, and detritus from a hundred different cargoes. Tyria could barely see a meter in front of her. She looked around for Rye, searching for that distinctive yellow flash, but it was nowhere to be found. No. No, no no! Tyria surfaced again, taking a deeper breath this time. She dived down, this time as deeply as she could manage. Rye was tiny and thin; with that build, he’d sink like a stone. Tyria felt terror welling up in her breast. No! Rye, no, I’ll find you. Just show me the yellow; please show me the yellow… She was forced to surface again. Tyria treaded water for a moment, calling out, “Rye! Rye! Can you hear me?” There was no response. Tyria looked around, whispering no no no. She felt a chill when she saw tall gray fins poking from the water. No doubt such a frequent shipwreck zone made tempting hunting grounds for all manner of beasts. What if one of them had grabbed him? She dived again, desperately swimming down, down, farther than she could safely go. She would swim until she ran out of air, if that’s what it took. Air bubbles snuck from her mouth as she went deeper, her eyes burning in the salt water. I told him to hold on to me, and then I broke his grip. Oh, Goddess, Rye, no! Tyria felt her lungs screaming for air. I won’t give up. I’ll find you, Rye. I’ll find you… She swam down, her strokes growing slower. The edges of her sight began to go black. Find… you… She could no longer move as the water filled her mouth and nose. Her chest felt like it was bursting. The world had lost all color in the murky water, like a painting washed free of oils. The last thing she saw was a large, dark shape swimming straight for her. Then everything went black.