The wood was still smouldering where the cannonball had hit them. That was how little time it took for the Al-Safina to transform from an innocent three-master to a full-blown battleship. 

The flaps of the hidden gunports were opened. Cannons were rolled to the port side. A pyramidal construction of heavy iron balls ready to be fired. Half of the crew had scimitars on their belt, the other arrows laced in poison, in case the Silvermark monsters came so close they threatened to board their ship.

The Prince had retreated to the captain's cabin where he would lie low until the mess was over. Or until a Silvermark accent would drive him through the small window in the cabin and into the water. If the Al-Safina went down, the sea offered his only chance of survival. As small as it was.

In the meantime, they were his only hope.

"All ready. Gunpowder!" shouted One.

Sci scooped powder from the iron-laced bucket by her side. Not too much, not too little. A shovel-full was enough. The weeks of training had prepared her for this, her hands knowing the movements better than her panic-filled brain that would rather jump into the water and swim back to Alburkhan.

All she had to do was follow One's instructions. "Wad!"

With all her force, she propped a ball of old rags into the barrel of the gun, assuring maximum pressure.

"Aim!"

She closed one eye, focusing on the curved flattening of the bow just above the waterline. This was where the five-master—like any ship—was most vulnerable. This was where her ball of fire and steel should penetrate Silvermark wood.

"Gunners out! Runners in!"

As Sci jumped onto her feet and staggered backwards, Esen took her place. With a long stick, its end a candle that could burn for hours on end.

"FIRE!" One shouted.

The moment Esen's stick touched the hole in the cannon, she counted under her breath. One. Two. Esen rejoined her. Three. Four. The flame tucked behind his hand, protecting it from the elements. Five.

An ear-shattering bang. The cannon leapt backwards, the chains with which it was attached to the ship clattered and rattled. 

Instantly, a cloud of thick black smoke blinded her. She held her breath to avoid having to cough and lose her focus.

"Did we hit anything?" Six asked.

"No," One said, unable to hide his disappointment. "Bring her closer, Ten."

Ten protested. "But, One—"

"I'm aware of the dangers, Ten," One said. "They already hit us once. We have to take them down. Otherwise, they'll chase us across the sea. And we don't have the power of the wind at our disposal."

Esen leant over to her, whispering, "Except that we do."

She shot him a look of disdain. "Don't say that."

"You saved us once, a few weeks ago. I know it was you."

"The Gods sent the wind—not me."

"Keep telling yourself that."

"DUCK!" shouted One.

Sci flopped down on her stomach as a second whooshing sound of doom cut through the air at a much faster speed than before. She barely had the chance to cover her already ringing ears. The deck shook violently. Her heart appeared to stop as the thundering explosion vibrated through her entire body.

Esen coughed, his trembling hands still around the burning flame. "You didn't jump down on me. Fancy the Prince more?" he joked.

"SIX DOWN! SIX IS DOWN!"

That wasn't One's booming voice; that was Three. Shrill, a cry for help.

Sci peeked over Esen. A shard of bloodied iron stuck through Six's upper leg. Higher, near her stomach, her tunic quickly turned crimson. Six laid there so lifeless, so still.

"Stand up—wake up," Sci muttered. 

"Three, take her below. Tend to her wounds!" One ordered. "The rest of you—clean, reload, re-aim! We won't let this stop us."

One cannon down. Only three left.

How many aboard that Silvermark ship? They were largely outnumbered, weren't they? Why hadn't the Queen sent more soldiers? Why were there only ten of them?

Sci cleaned out the barrel, focused on removing any leftover powder. Too much of the black fire sand, and she risked a premature explosion. 

Her thoughts drifted back to Six as she scooped a fresh stash of powder into the mouth of the gun. This could not be happening. So many battle scars—the sweet old weapons instructor had to live. She had taught Sci so much in these last few weeks.

Her fingers fished for a new wad. She stuffed the rag inside. Then her hands followed what her eyes could see: the Silvermarkers just a fraction bigger than before. They weren't close enough yet.

"Keep that aim..." One bellowed. "Hold...Hold..."

A drop of sweat glided down her nose and onto her lips. Salty. Fear. Yes, she was afraid. Not to die, but to fail. To have come all this way and not make a difference.

"Gunners out! Runners in! Quick, quick, quick!"

She sprinted backwards. Esen passed her with his flame. She laid down, covered her face, then braced herself as he lightened the cannon. 

One... two... three... why did it take so long? Four... Five. BOOOM!

The blast went through her, an attack on her muscles, on her ears, on everything. Beyond the ringing and the smoke killing her came a fat splash. Three times.

Three failures.

"I don't understand How have they managed to hit us twice when we can't even seem to scrape some algae off!" Sci yelled.

Esen was the one to reply, "Magic. They use magic." 

The tone of his voice was enough for her to turn away from him. She didn't want to hear it... consider it. He shouldn't be asking that of her.

"Come on, everybody, we try again! Quick-quick... You know the drill. Clean, reload, re-aim." One clapped his hands. "Ten, you know what to do."

The third incoming cannonball blasted through the Captain's cabin. One replaced Ten at the rudder as Ten checked on the Prince. Sci held her shovel in the bucket of black sand, not scooping. He had to be fine... he had to be.

"Five, eyes on the cannon," shouted Esen.

She ignored him. Ten was frantically scanning through the round pane.

"Five!"

A thumb's up.

She exhaled deeply. Powder—wad—aim. The people onboard the five-master were starting to look like miniature dolls. Hairy miniature dolls—from their heads to the belt area. Long live the Goddess of Chasity for telling these animals to wear pants.

She wanted to blow them to a thousand pieces, send them straight to the deepest of the Seven Hells.

"... in! Quick, quick, quick!" The last part of One's order.

She rushed back, but not as far as before. Through a crack in the ship, she managed the follow the course of the balls, as if they cleaved through the sky much slower than they actually did.

An invisible force sent tow off their natural straight course. The third one—coming from Four and Nine's cannon—clashed with a green line of blazing fire and exploded mid-air.

This wasn't a fair fight.

The fire returned. Colourless—not a wizard's fire, but a cracking, hissing, sneaky whistling sound that she could not see, could not follow.

Then it was too late.

Eight fell backwards, spreading the gunpowder around him as he collapsed. 

"EIGHT DOWN! EIGHT DOWN!" One couldn't hide his frustration.

Seven and Nine rushed towards their brother. Eight's eyes were wide open, staring into nowhere. A thin smear of blood ran down his forehead; his wound no bigger than a fingertip. What kind of magic could do that?

One called them to action. "Leave your brother—fight now, mourn later. On the cannon. Five and Two, you too. Four, bring out your arrows, boy! Show me what you got—fight fire with fire!"

Before Sci could grab her cleaning cloth, Esen grabbed her arm. "We don't have the right fire. But we have the right air."

"I... I... can't," Sci stammered.

"You can... you just won't." He spat.

One barked. "Two! Five! Man your post!"

"Small problem here, One," Esen lied. "We're fixing it."

"No, Esen," Sci hissed. She dug her shovel into the bucket. "I can't."

"You keep saying that, but how many more like Six and Eight?" Esen argued. "I see the way you looked at Prince Sebastian... You only ever looked at Narek like that, blushing like a desert rose. What if you could go back and do it all over... save him?"

"I can't go back. Narek is dead."

"But the Prince is not. If he dies, the northern darkness will descend on the world. He's the only Greenlander heir."

"I've never cared much about foreign politics," Sci said. She stuffed the rag into the hole, then aimed at the five-master. It was a worthless attempt, but not trying was failing too. Esen was right though, she knew what Prince Sebastian's death would entail.

"FIRE!"

The shooting hardly ever stopped. There was a constant whistling and smashing. Splinters flew everywhere. Four's burning arrows were snuffed out before they had the chance to reach the Silvermarkers. She could no longer tell what was blood and what was water.

Three clambered up on deck, her bloody hands on her stomach. "One, we're making water!"

Scirocco

She raised her head to the sky, keeping her balance on the rocking, jolting deck. The flow of the wind glittered, shone like the light of a thousand stars. Her scar tingled—the scar that reminded her who she was... what she was. 

Her fingers itched with an uncontrollable surge of energy. She couldn't... could she?

"Scirocco!!" Esen screamed in pain. He was rolling over the deck, writhing like a fish gasping for a breath that was no longer there. His leg was leaking blood. Suddenly, he was her frightened milk brother again, afraid of what would happen. "Scirocco!! I'm sorry about everything I ever did. I'm sorry. Do something—I believe in you! I don't want to die!"

Power swirled through her. She held the element of surprise in her hand—no Silvermarker would expect the Scorians to attack with a sinful, northern weapon. She had to do this. Whatever the outcome—there was no other way, only death in an unfair fight.

She raised her arm. Fourteen-and-a-half years of contained shame and anger spiked up from her fingers with the force of a thousand cannonballs. Shame she no longer wanted to feel. Deaths she should have prevented. For Narek. For a future with Prince Sebastian and Princess Jhara as righteous rulers instead of those hairy Silvermark beasts.

The immense gust of wind that appeared out of nowhere surprised her. Green, blue, brown and white light crashed against it but didn't slow it down.

The sea thickened. Churning waves rose higher than houses, higher than the Queen's palace. Like a hungry monster, it swallowed the five-master.

The Silvermarkers never stood a chance. Their screams muffled by the saltwater crushed the life out of them. She knew as well as anyone that witches and wizards could die just like any other human. Take away air and they choke.

When the sea was done with its meal, it burped out floating pieced of wood and bodies—face down. Dead.

It was over.

They had won.

Esen sat up, his hands still clutched to his leg wound. A broad smile on his face, pride seeping through his amber eyes.

Then came One's voice. Hesitant, breathy, shrill even. "Arrest her. Arrest the witch."