Gloria curled into her blankets and sighed in her sleep. The hammock hung in the galley and slowly swayed with the bob of the ship. She furrowed her brows as a soft humming rose in her sleep, massaging her mind. The feeling was both comforting and violating.

  She groaned and tossed in her sleep, trying to escape the sensation, but the soothing melody pressed further into her, flooding her body with strange warmth, and wove through small mental cracks, searching for something. An ethereal presence rifled through her mind, like fingers raking through sand.

  The strange feeling sent tingles up Gloria’s spine. She grimaced and struggled to wake up, but the soft humming wrapped around her like a blanket, gently pulling her deeper into slumber. Gloria fought against the warmth and tried to pry herself out, but the singing grew even sweeter until Gloria felt she was going to be sick.

  “Let me go,” Gloria murmured, trying to control the churning in her stomach.

  But the singing continued, lulling Gloria into submission. Soon, scenes of her life began to play in her mind’s eye like the pages of a flipped book. It started out slow, then went faster and faster until the memories overwhelmed her.

  Gloria grimaced and squirmed. “Please…” she begged as a headache started. “Please… stop…”

  But the memories didn’t stop. The humming pointedly continued as Gloria re-lived every waking moment of her life. Her head began to pound, and the information overwhelmed her. “Stop!” she cried, holding her head. “Make it stop!”

  The singing abruptly stopped, and there was an exasperated sigh. “Really?” a familiar voice said. “You can’t handle that?” The book in her mind slammed shut, and the soft blanket released Gloria, dropping her to her knees.

  Gloria panted and looked around her. It was dark except for a warm, golden light. She gasped. “It’s you…” She squinted her eyes at the pulsing light that hung before her. “Who are you?”

  The light stared at her for a long time as if considering her. Then, there was another long sigh. “I suppose it’s better to speak with you than be thoroughly humiliated.”

  Gloria bristled at the comment. “It’s not like I want you here either!”

  The light chuckled dryly. “Well, that makes two of us, but unfortunately, they haven’t really given us much choice.”

  Gloria frowned. “They? Who’s they?”

  The light pulsed, and Gloria could imagine a wry smile. “Powerful beings who are very interested in you.”

  Gloria gulped and slowly took a step back. “Me?”

  Little rays around the light rose and fell like a shrug. “I couldn’t care less, but they thought that I would be the best one to speak to you. So here I am, wasting my time.”

  Gloria trembled, then a faint memory came to her, and she frowned. “The ripple…” She looked up. “You mentioned a ripple last time. What is it?”

  The light froze. “You heard that? Ticapite! I was too quick to speak.”

  Gloria smirked a little—finally, she had an edge on this strange being.

  The light quickly began to hum again, and Gloria felt her body sag, but she summoned her strength and forced her eyes open. “Oh no you don’t!” she snapped, glaring at the light. “You said you were supposed to talk to me, so you must! Answer my question: What is a Ripple?”

  The light changed to a faint reddish-orange and hummed louder, then it paused. Gloria watched it hesitantly before it chuckled and faded back to gold. “Well played, little mudsprite, well played. Perhaps you’re more of a fairy than I thought.”

  Gloria’s chest burned at the insult, and shame rose in her chest, but she bit her lip and remained silent.

  “A Ripple,” the light began, “is a magical phenomenon that occurs only once in a millennium. It’s when an incredible amount of magical energy is drawn into a single point for one grand spell. Then, whether the spell is cast or not, the magic snaps back with such force that it sends a ripple through the arcanic weave. Only creatures touched by the arcane like dryads, fairies, and wizards, can feel it—though why the arcane chooses to bless humans is entirely beyond me.” There was a red-orange sparkle, then it chuckled. “Though fairies are more sensitive to the strands of the arcane than others.”

  Gloria furrowed her brow, struggling to remember, but all she could pull up were the faint glimmers of golden light. “I don’t remember casting anything that powerful.”

  The light chuckled. “Oh, trust me, you did. Though it’s not surprising to me that you don’t remember; a Ripple is a very intense event.”

  Gloria looked up at the light and watched it for a long moment. “Who are you?”

  The light pulsed faintly and watched her for a long moment, then she chuckled, “That, little mudsprite, is a question best answered another time.”

  Then the light began to hum again. Gloria growled and tried to push back against the warm embrace enveloping her. “No! I want to know now! Tell me now!”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “Patience, mudsprite, one step at a time. All your questions will be answered in due time.”

  The soft singing batted away the rest of Gloria’s strength. She wobbled on her feet, her eyes growing heavy, but she managed to force her eyes open once more and glare at the glowing light. “Why should I trust you?”

  There was an amused laugh. “I really thought you would’ve figured it out by now.” The humming swelled, and just as Gloria’s eyes closed, the light whispered in her ear. “Because fairies always keep their word.”

  Something jabbed Gloria’s side, hard. She gasped and her eyes snapped open, her heart pounding. Below her, a copper-haired dwarf with a beard to match and a long braid down his back stood, holding a broom. He scowled at her.

  “Enough snoozin’!” he snapped. “Get outta bed and help me get breakfast movin’. In an hour we’ll have two dozen hungry men bangin’ on our door demandin’ to know what we’re eatin’, and I don’t intend to be on their menu!”

  Gloria rubbed her eyes and rolled out of the hammock, gracefully landing on her feet. “Sorry, Cook, I’m moving.”

  Cook grunted and set the broom by the door before stalking past a bolted table in the middle of the galley straight to a cabinet. He pulled out a heavy cast-iron pot and slammed it on the table. Gloria flinched at the sound.

  “Breakfast is porridge. Oats and water are in the pantry.” Cook gestured for Gloria to follow him and strode past the galley stove to a door locked with a padlock. He pulled out a key from his pocket and inserted it into the lock.

  “Cap'n’ added this a few years back when we had a man snitchin’ in the middle of the night.” He looked over his shoulder at Gloria and chuckled darkly. “Two nights being strung up on the mast cured him of that habit—and anyone else thinkin’ about it.” Gloria shuddered as Cook opened the door. “But the Cap'n’ insisted on the lock as an extra precaution.”

  Gloria followed Cook inside the pantry. It was a small nook, but the shelves were tall, deep, and stuffed to the brim with salted dry meats, waxy cheese wheels, and sea biscuits stacked like bricks. Heavy, bulging sacks of beans, oats, and rice were stacked underneath the lowest shelf along with scores of potatoes and onions. Drying herbs were strung through hooks in the ceiling, filling the pantry with a savory aroma that made Gloria’s mouth water.

  Cook glanced back at her, scratching his beard. “But you seem like a decent girl. I’ll try to leave the key for you if I step out.”

  Gloria smiled. “Thank you, Cook. That’s very kind of you.”

  Cook shrugged and pulled a ceramic pitcher off a shelf. “Can’t have you doin’ nothin’ any time I need to step out. Hold this; I’ll get the oats.”

  Gloria took the pitcher and stepped aside as Cook heaved a sack of oats into the galley. As she did, she noticed a few apples sitting in a crate on a high shelf. “Cook?”

  There was a grunt as he set down the bag. “Yes, girl?” He pulled a penknife from his pocket and started cutting the seams at the top.

  “Are those apples being used for anything?”

  “What apples?”

  Gloria pointed. “The ones on the top shelf. They look like they’re getting wrinkled.

  “Ah. No. They’re left over from our last voyage up here. Must’ve forgotten them.”

  “May I put them in the porridge?”

  Cook shook his head. “I used to do that, girl, but then the boys would bicker about who got most slices. Capin’ decided it wasn’t worth the trouble.”

  Gloria pursed her lips. “I see. Is there anything we’re putting in the porridge?”

  Cook scoffed. “What do I look like? Their mother?”

  Gloria bristled at the jab. “I just thought—”

  “This food is to fill bellies and keep a man movin’—that’s all.”

  Gloria narrowed her eyes but said nothing; it seemed that it would be a waste of time to argue with him. She looked back at the apples. So they were fighting over apple slices… Glimmers of an idea came to her.

  Cook sighed and put his penknife away. “Alright, you get started on the porridge, and I’ll grab a keg of beer from the hold. Think you can handle that?”

  Gloria hid a sly smile and nodded as she set the pitcher on the table. “Yes, sir, I can handle it.”

  Cook grunted, then left the galley. As soon as Gloria heard Cook’s footsteps head down the stairs into the hold, she flew to the pantry and climbed the shelves to snag the apples.

  Can’t argue about who has the most slices if it’s mashed.

  She grabbed the crate and carefully climbed down. When her feet touched the ground, she paused and listened for Cook again—no sound of him. She quickly brought the apples to the table, searched the nearby drawers for a knife, then began mincing the apples as quickly as she could without chopping off her own fingers.

  She’d only gotten one apple minced when she heard Cook making his way back to the galley. Panic coursed through Gloria. She slid the minced apple into the pot, poured the pitcher of water into it, slammed the lid on top, then snatched the crate of apples and threw them on a random shelf in the pantry, before racing to innocently stand by the stove.

  She wiped her sticky hands on her dress when she noticed the knife she used was still on the table. She darted forward and grabbed the knife, then looked around, trying to figure out where to hide it, but Cook came around the corner. She hid the knife behind her back and tried to smile sweetly.

  A keg with legs stumbled into the galley. “Is the porridge on the stove, girl?”

  Gloria’s eyes darted around the kitchen; Where could she put the knife? “Yes, Cook. But it’ll take a bit to boil.”

  “’Course it will, you silly girl, ‘a watched pot never boils.’ Didn’t your mother ever teach you that?”

  There was a twang in Gloria’s chest, and she bit her lip. “No,” she mumbled before spying an empty bucket on the counter. She quietly slid the knife in just as Cook set the keg on the table.

  He sighed and leaned on it. “There we are, now the boys will have something to drink.” He gestured to the cabinet above her. “Start getting’ the mugs and bowls out and set ‘em here on the table. The boys’ll get ‘em when we call ‘em down for breakfast.”

  Gloria peeked back at the pot on the stovetop. Hopefully the added flavor would bring a small bit of cheer. She imagined Seth and Elias gobbling down their bowls.

  She smiled a little, then started pulling out wooden bowls and tankards for breakfast. “Yes, Cook.”