protruding fin like a shark's. A shape stroked alongside the woman on her strange raft, just beneath the surface, but lingering fog made the swimming thing impossible to identify.
The woman was old! Her flesh was sickly and yellow, covered with warts and oozing sores. Her hair was filthy and appeared to be composed of rotting seaweed.
The woman's gruesome appearance pulled a groan of horror from the crew. Several crumpled, as if all the strength fled their limbs, like water pouring from a cup.
The newcomer gurgled like a creature on the edge of drowning; it was a titter of delight. The crone locked her gaze on the pirate who'd first identified the old woman's approach. A red pulse lit her eyes from within, flashing so brightly the scarlet glow illuminated the fog a dozen paces in all directions.
The crewman gasped, then fell to the deck, his limbs and head suddenly as loose as a rag doll. He was dead.
The remaining crew screamed and bellowed in a decidedly non-pirate fashion. They scrambled away from the railing, knocking into their fellows and, in some cases, trampling them. Anusha was right in among the retreating crew, voicing her own shock and fear, though her voice was lost among the others' cries. Those who couldn't run pulled themselves from the ship's edge. In moments, the only one still by the railing was the one whose heart had been silenced with an evil look. All eyes stared at the railing, silhouetted against the roiling mist, dread thundering in their chests.
Anusha listened for more gurgling laughter, or worse, the sound of something attempting to climb the ship's side, but she discerned only harsh breathing, mumbled prayers, and water lapping against the side of the Green Siren.
'Damn me for looking, I told the captain we'd signed scairt children instead of freebooters at our last stop. Looks to me I was right!'' came a mocking voice.
Anusha turned and saw the hulking first mate, Nyrotha. He stood by the great cavity that connected the lower decks, hands on his hips.
'Nyrotha,' pleaded a woman to Anusha's left. 'A… a water witch is in the fog! She snuffed Roger with nothing but a look!'
The first mate roared, 'Damn Roger, he was a fool anyhow! Now, pay attention, I'm saying this just once: you ain't paid to whimper and squeal when the Green Siren's attacked! Get off your butts and repel boarders, you bastard children of diseased mudflats! Draw your weapons and defend this ship, or by Bane's black nails, I'll see all of you dance the hempen jig!'
Several of the crew, apparently as frightened of Nyrotha as of the creature in the mist, drew their weapons. A few even took a few tentative steps toward the railing.
A crunch sounded from below the water line, and the entire ship canted slightly. Pirates shrieked. Nyrotha cursed and strode forward, a great black scimitar clutched in his corded hands.
Hands three times as large as the first mate's appeared on the railing, followed by a hulking body of dark green scales and ropy hair. An overpowering odor emanated from the creature, like a barrel of unpreserved fish left rotting in the dark for three days. It roared, revealing a swath of blackened teeth in which the half-masticated remains of previous meals lingered.
The crone Anusha had seen below rode the beast's shoulders, clutching its ropy hair for balance.
'To me!' shouted Nyrotha. The mate engaged the creature. Nyrotha no longer seemed hulking compared to that awful aquatic humanoid menacing the Green Siren. Half the pirates stumbled to help the first mate. Another quarter stood rooted in place, numb with fear. The remainder fled the deck, nearly weeping in their terror.
And what shall I do? Anusha wondered. She glanced down on her unreal body, saw she was clad in the noble's gown she unconsciously seemed to prefer while in a dream. Hardly the outfit of a warrior.
She recalled then the panoply of Imphras Heltharn. Imphras was the great war captain who had rid the Easting Reach of hobgoblin marauders three centuries ago, ending the Kingless Years. The old king's fantastic, golden armor was on display in New Sarshel in the Atrium of the Grand Council. She had looked on it many times. The armor's significance was one of the bits of historical knowledge that had taken up residence in her memory. Her tutor would be proud.
Could she effect a change in wardrobe merely by wishing for it, after the manner of regular dreams? Anusha concentrated. Her gown shimmered and flowed.
A tall helm enfolded her head, a slender gorget spread across her throat, wide pauldrons defended and magnified her shoulders, cunningly articulated couters grew from her elbows, fluted vambraces enshrouded her forearms, and a golden cuirass of breathtaking strength and beauty hugged her torso.
She flexed her gauntleted hands, articulated with flawless dream joints, and realized she required a weapon.
Into her upraised hand flashed a long sword on whose slender blade burned the Marhana family crest. It was the same blade that hung over the fireplace in the great room of the family estate. In life, it was too heavy for her to wield. In dream, it was as light as a switch of hazelwood.
She breathed deeply, exulting in the vision in which she'd clothed herself.
Enough, she scolded herself. You changed your clothes, that's all.
Accoutered for a fight instead of a noble ball, Anusha advanced on the already raging skirmish.
The smelly monster towered over the press of pirates, though several lay broken on the deck. Nyrotha still stood, wielding his scimitar with precision, managing to keep the great beast at bay with defensive slashes and sidesteps. The creature's scaled arms streamed red from a dozen wounds.
The sea hag had dismounted and remained with her back to the railing. The hag gestured with her water- wrinkled hands, chanting in her gurgling voice. The fog above her head stirred. Neither Nyrotha nor the crew noticed; their attention remained riveted on the monstrous, troll-like thing trying to eat them.
Anusha traced the fight's periphery until she reached the railing. Neither pirate nor attackers noticed her new dream form. She halfway wished they could see her fabulous new likeness. Her fear of discovery was vanquished by the elation of her successful transformation.
The witch still chanted, and the writhing fog above her head was fast becoming a rotating whirlpool, growing wider and wider. At its center, a red light glimmered. The light reminded Anusha of the illumination that had twinkled in the hag's eye, only to leap out and steal Roger's life. This scarlet whirlpool looked big enough to encompass all the ship.
Fear found Anusha again despite her armor. The urge to race away or wake up returned.
What a mistake waking up would be, she thought. If the ship is holed and sunk, I’ll drown in my own body. Anusha strode forward and raised her dream sword high.
Doubt ambushed her, blade still in the air, even as the alarming aerial vortex swirled wider and quicker. The 'sword' she held wasn't even real.
She'd pushed things and touched things with her unreal hands. Why not her unreal blade? Why not do more than move them; why not cut them? She had to try to use her sword to affect the waking world. Should she try to imagine the dream blade steel hard and capable of cutting more than phantasms? Would that even work? She didn't know.
No, she decided, I'll imagine the sword as ethereal as my hand and body, an extension of it. Her dream form could pass through anything, including living creatures, but as she'd learned down in the hold, she also adversely affected anything living through which she passed. Dream flesh and real obviously did not get on too well.
Anusha advanced a final few steps and brought the sword down in an awkward slash. At the last instant, the sea witch's eyes flickered, somehow sensing Anusha's presence. The hag jerked to the side, but not enough to completely avoid the blow.
Anusha's dream blade grazed the hag's forehead. A burst of dark blue flame briefly illuminated both witch and armored girl. The hag loosed a surprised howl of agony. The red swirl growing overhead instantly collapsed into so much disturbed cloud-stuff.
When Anusha had touched the pirate down in the hold, he immediately collapsed into a quivering, unconscious heap.
The witch quivered, yes, and was obviously hurt, but she did not fall. Instead she screeched, 'Protect your mother!'
The hulking sea monster glanced back, the gnawed boot of an unlucky privateer protruding from its mouth, the battered body of the coxswain in one hand. The monster had been using the screaming coxswain as an
