Lightning shattered the night, and Lei winced as thunder rolled around her. The Kraken’s Wake pressed forward through the storm, shuddering with the impact of each mighty wave. As Lei closed the hatch to the lower decks, a gust of wind broke through the invisible wards, almost knocking her down. Nature and magic were at war, and without the spells woven into ship and sail, the Kraken’s Wake would be torn apart. The wind howled again, and Lei wondered how long the mystical defenses could hold against the anger of the storm.

The sooner I’m back below, the better, she thought, carefully making her way across the deck.

“I give you greetings, daughter of air.” Thaask’s harsh voice rang out over the wind. The sahuagin was standing by the rail, and he drew a claw across his teeth as he gazed up at the storm-clouds. “He hungers.”

“He?” Lei cried over the wind. She gazed up at the clouds for a moment before she realized. “The Devourer.”

Thaask said nothing. A massive wave rose out of the darkness, and Lei instinctively raised a hand to shield herself. Thaask just watched as the wave shattered against the Lyrandar stormbreaker wards, leaving only a dense mist.

Lei lowered her hand, slightly embarrassed. “I finished the sound-stone,” she said, reaching into her pack and producing the carved sphere.

The sahuagin’s eyes were pale and golden, set far apart on his wedge-shaped head. He fixed her with one eye and held out a hand.

She pressed the stone into his palm. It was designed to draw music from the mind of the bearer, and as Thaask took the stone Lei heard faint strains over the wind and crashing waves—an eerie wail, the sound of glass and water. The sahuagin closed his eyes, listening in rapture. Then he hurled the sphere out over the water. For an instant she could still hear the music, then song and stone were swallowed by the darkness.

Surprise and anger were balanced against a lurching sense of loss. Lei had spent days working on the stone, shaping each groove with her mind and soul, and for an instant she felt as if she were the one flying into the maelstrom.

As the strange vertigo swept over her senses, another wave struck the ship and Lei slipped on the slick wood, sliding toward the railing. A strong hand caught her shoulder. Thaask was still facing the water, watching her from the corner of an eye as he held her steady.

Vertigo was replaced by comforting anger, and Lei knocked his arm away with a furious gesture. “Why did you do that?” she shouted. “I spent days on that stone—”

“When he hungers, loss is inevitable. The wise choose the loss.” If Thaask noticed her anger, he chose not to acknowledge it. His eyes remained on the sky.

“You threw the stone in the water because you’re afraid of the storm?”

Now Thaask looked at her, golden eyes glittering in the lightning-flash. “No fear. Respect. Sacrifice is loss. We make our sacrifice in faith, we choose what is lost. Challenge and he chooses.” He looked back at the sky.

Lei opened her mouth then closed it again. The storm did seem to be abating, the wind dying down. Coincidence, no doubt, but she gave whispered thanks to Arawai all the same.

“The reefs ahead are dangerous enough when he is calm,” Thaask said. “Your ship would not have survived his anger.”

“So? I thought your people would loot the wreckage?”

Thaask turned back toward her. “You made the gift. You kept your word, and I serve the memory of those gone before.”

For a moment they stood silently, watching the quieting waves. Lightning still flickered on the horizon, but the seas were calm once more.

“I still don’t understand,” Lei said at last. “How can you worship the Devourer? In my land we respect Arawai, the goddess of the land. The Devourer—all he does is destroy.”

“You create a goddess where none is needed. You have your gods of war and peace, but peace is what comes when war stays his hand. He is the fury of the storm, but he is with us in this calm. We were born from his belly, and when he hungers he will consume us again. It is the way of life: shape the current as you will; it will run its course in time.”

“He’ll kill you if you don’t give up the things you love?”

The sahuagin turned to face her fully, and for a moment he opened his mouth, revealing a double row of razor teeth. “Do you share the faith of your forebears, child?”

His voice was louder, deeper, and Lei instinctively took a step back. At that moment she knew how smaller fish felt in the presence of the shark.

“Are you faithful to their ways?” Thaask hissed, taking a step forward.

“Yes,” Lei said, holding her ground and staring at the sahuagin. “The Sovereign Host. I was taught to give thanks for their blessings.”

“And to fear the dark, yes? The six? The Devourer. The Darkness. The One Unknown?”

“To resist those things,” Lei replied, mustering her indignation. “Death, corruption, and chaos—yes, I was taught to stand against them.”

Thaask brought his talons together in a sudden movement, creating a loud, sharp click. “You would not exist without them. Passion and madness, these bring change, and you are a child of chaos.”

“What do you mean?”

Anger and curiosity warred within her. Part of her wanted to turn and go, to leave this savage who’d thrown her treasure into the sea, but she’d never actually spoken to anyone who worshipped one of the Dark Six before and interest lingered.

“You know of the force that brings change? The One who Remains Unknown?”

Lei considered this. “The Traveler?” Of the Dark Six, this deity was the most enigmatic; the tales could not even agree on form or gender. The Traveler was said to walk the world, spreading chaos in his—or her—wake. Many old traditions of hospitality were designed to placate the unknown Traveler.

“Yes,” Thaask hissed, letting his mouth hang open again just long enough to show his teeth. “Traveler. In the first days of my people, before we learned the rites of the Devourer, we were the slaves of a terrible force in the deep waters. A few implored the gods for mercy, for an end to this servitude. The One who Remains Unknown came to them in the depths and offered a sanctuary. With her guidance they wove a disk of roots and sat upon it, floating atop the waters.”

“They made a boat?” Lei had never heard of sahuagin boats before.

Thaask nodded. “The waters are our home, and at that time there was no land. None had thought to rise into the air, and they never would have. The god’s gift was the idea they could not see on their own.”

“What happened?”

“The deep masters could not follow them. They were safe, but time above the waters sapped the strength of the people. Their scales fell and lungs grew weak.” Thaask cocked his head, studying her. “The Devourer spoke to those who remained below, and with his strength they overcame the deep masters. Those who had fled could never return. They gathered floating roots and clots of mud, and slowly they built larger and larger shelters, until eventually those shelters took root and became lands. The world was divided into the nations of land and water, and so it has been to this day.”

“So we’re second cousins?” Lei considered the story for a moment. “But … because these people asked for help and trusted the Traveler, they ended up being banished from their homeland forever. Wouldn’t they have been better off waiting with the others?”

“Yes, but there would have been no land above to bring profit to those below. The world you know would not exist. You would not exist. The powers of your six carry pain and danger, but these are the forces that shape the world, and many who breathe the air know this, those who spawned you among them.”

“What?” Lei’s hand dropped inside the one of the wide pockets of her pouch, and with a thought her staff was in her hand. Lei heard the faintest moan; it might have been the wind, or the soft cry of the darkwood dryad. “What do you mean by that?”

Thaask took a step back, keeping his teeth in view. “I promised you words in exchange for your stone, child, and the Devourer has claimed the stone. I have work to do, and you will have no more words from me. This vessel will leave the Teeth by tomorrow, and we will not meet again.” He took a step sideways, standing to the rail. “Why don’t you ask your gods?”

He slid over the railing in a blur of scales and leather. There was a splash as he struck the water, and an ululating cry from below—the call to summon his mount, perhaps.

When Lei reached the railing, the sahuagin was nowhere to be seen.