The men huddled, weeping.

One of them sobbed in the stormy night.

Gerrick drew his dirks and bounded up the ramp over a black abyss of churning sky beneath him. He did not look down.

Before him spread the crew of the Red Dawn, one of them pounding the deck with his fist as he wept openly, others simply shaking as they cried, One of them in shaky voice repeatedly calling for his mother. One of the younger ones pulled his dirk out and prepared with shaking hand to stab himself. He closed his eyes.

Gerrick lunged for him, dropping his own knives and ripping the implement free of the man's hand. The man looked to him, pleading. "Make it quick."

Gerrick kicked the man's knife away and rose, salvaging his own weapons.

"Kill me!"

Gerrick looked around the deck. He spotted an open door in the poop-deck, which would have led down into the bunks and the cargo hold.

"KILL ME, GODS DAMMIT!"

Gerrick made his way to the door.

It was not as if Gerrick had never worked in the dark before. An accomplished camper, not a half-bad hunter, and a prankster who worked after dark to smear butter-cream on his brother's clothes or set up buckets of pig-slop over their beds, Gerrick had worked without light.

But only once before had his life depended on it: the day he met Jonas.

It terrified him just as much then as now, but then, he was backed up by family. He had the advantage. Then, it had been an adventure, a pubescent dare of his prowess.

Now, he was alone.

Gerrick focussed on converting his fear to anger. Whatever these fools were doing, his family needed to know. He crept along, as silently as he could manage, gripping his dirks in tense hatred of whatever enemy had deigned to attack his family's home.

One more level down, into the cargo hold. A faint light illuminated darkness, moving, and with it stretching exhaggerated shadows. A man hummed a tune quietly in the darkness.

And then, his voice, dry and serpentine. "I can feel your fear, Lairdling."

Gerrick sucked up his courage and descended the staircase, hoping to present a brave, angry face.

Mother Duck had said their quarry was a venomir, an empath who could introduce poison through his touch. Small and wiry, with long straight black hair all combed to his left side, his face thin and narrow, smiling through a broad, thin mouth. He wore clothes of the Brotherhood still, and a black cloak billowing behind him as he worked. One lantern lit the blackness, highlighting the angular features of the man's face. A noose hung loosely about his neck, the symbol of a follower of the Scarred Mother. In his hands he held a steel ball the size of a grapefruit, turning it, as if admiring the shine. "Gerrick MacBoon."

Gerrick's hands shook. He smiled anyway, trying to ride the adrenaline. "And ye must be Hermann."

Hermann looked surpised. "Very good. And have you figured out what I'm doing?"

"Sabotagin' me da's ships, so that ye can kill them all spectacularly when yer masters arrive, and cripple the MacBoon clan." Gerrick gestured to the ball with his dirk. "Usin' the weapons ye stole from Mother Duck."

Hermann nodded. "Very good. And now, this is where we find out you didn't think things through." Hermann gestured to Gerrick with his hand.

Gerrick's gut twisted in an unexpected blow of sadness. His mind presented him with an image of Ansley in terror in the palace of the Webweaver while his dark Prophetess laughed, gloating; Jonas alone in a world covered in water; Malcolm falling out of the sky aboard the Longsword in a battle with a black ship along with Ansley's father; Da clutching his chest at a celebration and keeling over dead; Mom dying alone on a frozen mountainside; Donald praying to the Webweaver in anger; and Gerrick himself wielding dark power to rip a giant red wolf to shreds, in cold blood, without any hint of remorse.

Gerrick gasped, and fell to his knees, a long, low whimper escaped him.

Hermann paced over. He knelt down to Gerrick. "Let it cleanse you, boy. You face the truth, you'll be the better for it."

Gerrick grabbed his head and fell over, weeping. His head now filled with images of children being eaten by a great evil worm while one old, helpless sailor fought in vain to save them.

"I don't have to kill you, Lairdling. All I have to do is show you the truth."

Gerrick's head showed him a new vision:

In this one, he stood on the deck of a ship, and in the distance was home. Not Inverray, not this caricature of Innesmoor his family had built as a safe haven for the displaced Innesfolk, but the real home.

And Gerrick stood, looking across the gulf in sorrow.

"They won't need me anymore."

Gerrick looked at his hands, covered in blood and sin and carelessness.

"I cannae go in."

Ansley put a hand on his shoulder. "Ye can, Gerrick."

"No." He looked down, and then turned to his Troublemakers. "Anyone goin' in, find Margaret. Tell her the Hammer is hers noo." he sniffed back a tear. "Tell her...my work is done. It's her the family needs noo."

Gerrick sobbed bitterly.

"Hey."

Gerrick glanced toward the stairs. Spider stood front and center, a nail-board brandished in both hands and Ansley behind him, dirks out and ready. Both glared at the venomir priest.

"Here's a hard truth for you--" Spider took his swing.

Hermann ducked under and slammed his fist into Spider's stomach, barreling forward. Spider snarled in pain as Hermann smashed him against the stairs. With a shout, Ansley lunged in, but Hermann twisted aside, punching her across the jaw and eliciting a high pitched "Oof!" from her.

The visions faded to feelings in Gerrick's mind, as even memory lost its hold on them. He gripped his dirks tighter, trying to muster the will to move.

But what was the point.

Hermann was too fast. He shoved Ansley aside and bolted up the stairs.

Ansley recovered, rubbing her jaw, and stumbled down as she tried to run to Gerrick. His instinct took over and he reached for her, his stomach still churning in despair from now-forgotten images. All that remained was the sorrow and fear.

"Shh." Ansley pulled him in close, holding his head against her breast. "Shh."

Gerrick sobbed in relief.

The next few seconds, minutes, whatever, Gerrick passed with his eyes closed and his head pressed to Ansley's heartbeat. He heard other voices: Jonas, Fearghas, and even Sine, demanding to know what the blazes had happened.

Gerrick took control of himself and gulped. He pushed away from Ansley and struggled to his feet, helped by five sets of hands.

Sine looked at him firmly. "Ye alright, mate?"

Gerrick glared. "The stables."

They looked at him confused.

"He cannae catch a ship, the whole docks is alight an' swarmin' wi' people. He's gonnae break oot the other side, an' make fer our neighbors, which'll take 'im right by Ballymoran ootpost on the way through tae Marsaukan." He glared at Fearghas. "Tell Mother Duck."

Fearghas grinned. "Yes sir!"

Gerrick wiped his eyes with his sleeve harshly. "Help me get these balls oot a this hold."

Sine laughed. "Ye braggin' again?"

"No." Gerrick walked over to a barrel, and reached down behind it. He extracted a heavy, shiny steel ball. He held it up, hefting it for all to see. "We foond Mother Duck's weapons."

For the first time since the incident began, he smiled, savagely.