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 improvised club.

Nyrotha took instant advantage of the creature's distraction, making a deep cut across the creature's stomach. The monster staggered and ichor spurted. It dropped the coxswain. It returned its full attention to the first mate, forgetting its "mother's" command. For the first time, Anusha thought the pirates might just defeat the creature from the sea. If the sea witch was dealt with, anyhow.

The water witch continued to back away from Anusha, her haggard eyes darting this way and that, squinting. She held her hands out in a warding gesture. She screamed out into the fog, "Sisters, I am assailed by a ghost! Gather near, that we may banish it to the Shadowfell from which it strays!"

It wasn't the first time Anusha had been mistaken for an empty spirit. Too bad the witch couldn't see her new armored splendor. Then she'd know she faced more than a wandering apparition. Then again, when the hag looked at Roger, he'd flopped dead.

"Sisters! Return! I am beset!"

Anusha followed the retreating witch step for step. Yet she continued to hold her swing. She just couldn't bring herself to strike down the hag. Anusha intellectually knew the woman was a monster, something that would kill and eat her… but now that she was at the cusp, she couldn't follow through. If she struck down the hag, would it be an assassination? Would the hag scream and die, kicking? She lowered her sword, indecision growing into anguish.

Instead of striking, Anusha said, "If you promise to leave the ship and depart forever, I won't hurt you?" Irresolution made her ultimatum a question.

The wandering eye of the water witch tracked Anusha's words. The witch muttered, "Gethshemeth can do worse than kill me. Look into my eyes, and I'll show you!"

Anusha's gaze unthinkingly darted to the witch's.

The hag's red eyes flashed the color of fresh-spilled blood. Anusha recognized death itself in that bloody gaze. It grasped her.

A wave of nausea visually distorted her dream form, sending cracks and shivers through her. Hopes, memories, and hates dropped from her like dead leaves from a tree in winter.

Wake! she commanded herself. Wake up, wake up!

She did not wake up. The sea hag's blazing eye held her rooted in place… or was it Japheth's drug? He'd told her only to use it when she had a long time to sleep. She wouldn't escape this peril so easily. Her choice was to kill or die.

With dream armor unraveling like funerary linens, Anusha raised her shivering, splintering dream blade and plunged it into the sea hag's stomach. Real blood spurted from the wound.