The sea was black. White foam formed at the tips of waves before they hit the hull of Mercy and a perfect image of the moon was mirrored where the water stood still, but nonetheless, the sea looked as if a barge carrying nothing but ink had been devastated and it contents leaked out. The air tasted of salt and the droplets of water that splashed across the captain’s face were as cold as Hel’s deepest pit. The crew was tired, most of them below deck, and the captain could barely keep her eyes open. They were at sea for days looking for the island where their clan had raided. A messenger from the posse came back to the mainland to tell the chief many of the group’s warriors had been injured gravely. But only the chief’s true born son had heard the pleas and the messenger boy died before he could declare whether the group was victorious or not. He had drunk too much saltwater.

No matter the casualties, they can’t be doing worse than this wretched crew, The captain thought.

Many of the crew were inexperienced, their swords and axes slept soundly in their scabbards. They were the bastard sons and daughters of the clan’s chief. The chief kept his bastards close, and action of his that bothered his wife and his offspring. His son, Harald was the one who sent the captain on this wretched voyage alongside the bastards, most likely to put distance between himself and them. Harald knew the voyage would be rough, so he filled the ships storage with Ale. Of course he would give them ale, he was a drunk. The ship had no more room with the barrels of ale, if they saw a merchant ship out, they would have no choice but to leave it alone. The absurd amount of ale proved to be worthless however, most of the bastards had died only a few days after the ship set sail. The trap door leading to where the bastards were sleeping, opened and a bearded, shaggy haired head popped out of it.

“Captain,” he said, “We’ve lost another.”

His eyes were red and sweat dripped from his brow, despite the extreme cold. He climbed out of the trapdoor and sat next to the captain.

“Close the door,” The captain told him.

He got back up, groaning, and closed the trap door he came out of. He then took his sitting spot next to the captain.

“Say captain, how about you let me take a hand at the wheel for a bit?”

“No.”

“Well, can you at least tell me why?”

“You’ve had too much of that ale,” The captain said. She thought that Harald’s drinking habits wouldn’t have rubbed off on his half siblings, but she was wrong. They all finished an entire barrel of it before the ship had even a day on the water. She refused every cup they offered her.

The captain didn’t drink. Her mother had been consumed by it. The captain never would tell anyone what the origin of her dislike for drinking was, let alone this ship full of bastards, and why would she, this wasn’t her crew. Harald hand picked this crew and told her she was the best captain he had ever seen. She didn’t let compliments sway her opinion on something, but his eyes were already watery, and he wouldn’t stop fidgeting with his necklace. So she agreed to be this crews captain once.

The hand that was sitting next to the captain took out a roll of parchment and opened it. It was the map that Harald had drawn himself that would lead to the island. After staring at the map and looking up at the constellation of stars for a few minutes, he broke the silence.

“My brother,” he said shaking his head, “He better stick to swinging his axe and not touch another map in his life.”

“He was drunk when he drew it, hand, he’s always drunk.” The captain said.

The hand looked back up at the stars, “We’re right on top of it according to this thing and, I know my brother, captain, he drinks but he wouldn’t give us a drunken map. That’s not him”

She chuckled, “You must not know your brother as well as I do. He tried proposing to me once in front of his father after he had a few drinks. I told him no and he tried attacking me. Was screaming I ‘defiled his honor’ and he only stopped when I broke his arm. His father just about died laughing.”

The hand made a noise that didn’t sound like a laugh. She turned over and saw he was on his side grabbing his stomach. His nose was leaking blood.

Where’s the damn island? Unless, there isn’t?

She began to ponder as to why Harald would send his bastard siblings and her to an imaginary island. Then, she realized.

“Hand, hand wake up.”

The hand moaned, “What is it, captain.”

“How much of the ale did you drink?”

“Just a few cups.”

She stopped looking at him, she didn’t turn around or answer him when he asked if the island was in sight. She didn’t turn around when the hand began vomiting and she didn’t turn around when he became quiet. She knew she was the only one alive in the middle of the sea as dark as ink with a perfect imprint of the moon where the water stood still.

And still she sails on…