Hero by Alethea Kontis

seemed. The seaman’s garb he wore now still covered as much of him as possible, but the material was lighter and blew like the sails in the wind. Saturday would have thought it strange to see Erik without livery and armor, but the relaxed look suited him.
    “It’s been too long, Erik,” said Thursday.
    “You were but a girl when Jack was cursed, and little more than that when you eloped with your Pirate King. I’m not sure I’ve forgiven you for not saying goodbye.”
    “You cared about me too much,” said Thursday. “You would have talked me out of it.”
    “Damned right, I would have.” There was a hint of that serious, disapproving look on Erik’s face with which Saturday was all too familiar. She was pleased to not be the only recipient.
    “So, considering a life on the sea yet? I could do with a Red Simon.”
    Erik chuckled, and the seriousness vanished. “I’ve missed you, lass, but I’m not sure I could. I’ll give it some thought.”
    “You’ve got time,” said Thursday. “The sea is patient. Unless it’s called up by one of my sisters.”
    Saturday changed the subject. “Your skin seems to be faring better.” On the skiff it had been close to blistering; a pale pink blush was all that tinted Erik now.
    “Simon Cook gave me a pot of salve to use to ward off the sun. Said he stole it from a witch on a troll ship.” He looked to Thursday for confirmation, but the Pirate Queen only shrugged. “He also told me you bested a kraken on the way here.”
    “A kraken? Really?” asked Saturday.
    “Really,” said Thursday, as if fighting giant sea monsters was something she did every day. “All sorts of things got churned up when your ocean decided to visit.”
    “Do you think we’ll get to see anything like that?” Saturday asked. Knowing her luck, they never would.
    “With permission, milady,” hissed a soft voice above her.
    High Simon alit on the deck from the rigging above. He landed gently on bare toes as yellow-green as the rest of his compact, muscular body. His eyes were slits above a long nose with a bit of a hook to it. His waist-length black hair was wrapped in a leather tail. He wasn’t wearing a hat at the moment, but Saturday could see bumps in the hair along his crown where one had sat.
    Saturday guessed that one of High Simon’s parents had been a goblin, not that she’d ever seen one. She sensed that her usual brusque attitude might cause him to disappear back into the crow’s-nest just as quickly as he’d arrived, so she tread lightly.
    “Yes,” Saturday said politely. “What is it?”
    A strong green arm pointed steadily out to sea beyond them, toward the back of the ship, where the giant-winged mollymawks still dove for treats in the wake. “Look there, along the horizon. Can you see the strip of indigo?”
    Saturday squinted hard into the bright sun, not sure if she was actually seeing something or forcing herself to believe it was there.
    “Here,” said Thursday. Saturday turned and realized that Thursday was offering her magical spyglass. She hesitated, but her pirate sister dropped the heavy glass in her hand anyway. The gold was warm in her palm. “Go on. Take a look.”
    Saturday lifted the glass to the spot where High Simon had pointed and gave her eyes a moment to adjust. Then she twisted the focus ring and the indigo line sprang into crisp view. She swayed a bit and steadied her elbow against a thick, coiled rope hanging from the nearest mast. “I see . . . are those spikes or spines? And are those two heads? What is that thing?”
    “A lingworm,” Thursday answered. “A legendary creature few have ever seen. It has three heads: one for truth, one for compassion, and one for wisdom. I’m guessing one of the heads was damaged in the storm. But not to worry,” she said at the furrow in Saturday’s brow, “it will grow back.”
    “Will it attack us?” asked Saturday.
    “I feel it safe to say that no Woodcutter is in danger from that