《Sherds》 1 – Spirit Shrine Ugh, really, hitting a sandbank now of all times? All I wanted to do was get back home and sleep for a week. My intro ARCH finals had been absolutely harrowing. Ten courses was an insane¨Cthough manageable¨Cworkload. Well, I attended an Ivy after all, and my dad had prepared me for the shift with his own supplementary summer lessons. Despite my complaints, Mom insisted on doing a fun family sailing trip¨Con the very same day Dad and I returned to the island. I shouldn''t have made this mistake of grounding the boat in the first place... if I''d been in top shape, it never would''ve happened! Normally I wouldn''t mind the swim, but this week''s work and travel had taken its toll. Taking a dip in the still-frigid May waters to shove the boat was a last resort. So, I took the slightly more palatable course of action first. After doing a quick survey of the bank''s location with a boat hook, I removed my shoes and clambered onto the little ship''s boom, swinging it out to reach over the water. Inching my way along it on my stomach, the boat tipped and my toes came perilously close to touching waves. Suddenly, the boat shuddered and slid free. My frozen hands lost their grip on the boom, and so did I. Normally, my parents would''ve immediately helped me out, and I''d have been fine, despite the temperature. Not so, this time. I swiftly descended through the water, like my feet were encased in cement blocks. My body had frozen solid, and nothing was visible but inky blackness. Saltwater stung my open eyes, and I passed out.
In a daze, all that I could feel was warmth and weight pressing down, to the point where I initially couldn''t take a breath. I struggled to breathe deeply, and felt immediate regret upon doing so. I smelled rancid meat, simmering in the summer heat. Instantly panicking, I sat up and opened my eyes. A person¡¯s torso was flung away and tumbled down the pile, a section of large intestine trailing behind. I was atop a pile of dead bodies.
It took more than a few minutes for me to truly register what had happened, largely involving constant sobbing. I definitely wouldn¡¯t use the phrase ¡®come to terms with¡¯. Balmy midsummer breezes were my next clue that something extraordinarily wrong had occurred. The possibility wasn¡¯t a thought I wanted to consider, but the bodies¡¯ odd state was also too significant to ignore. Most were incomplete, but not in a way that suggested they had been violently cut or ripped apart. The deep muscles were exposed over skeletons, with organs laid bare in such a way I knew impossible to do through dissection in any reasonable time frame. If I assumed that they, like me, had been mysteriously transported here¡­ their bodies were reformed, unnaturally regrown. But by what? How? A few vague memories from earlier about waking up several times, completely unable to move, may be another point in favor of the theory, impossible as it seemed.
The environment itself was almost comfortingly familiar. I''d woken up close to the edge of a small cliff, and welcomed the salt winds that reminded me of home. The island vegetation was, at least, identifiable. Scrub, large bushes, long grasses, and what I could hesitantly call olive and cypress trees, plus a few of what looked like miniature Lombardi pines, and, bizarrely, Norfolk. Overall, oddly similar to what Crete was like when I went to visit my mom¡¯s extended family over the summer. The frescoes at Akrotiri were incredible. Would I ever be able to return...? Nevertheless, it did give me hope that I was still on Earth. How low my standards have fallen! Maybe I¡¯ve simply travelled back in time! After shaking my head, which made flecks of dried blood fly everywhere, I began to carefully pick my way down a small path to the beach below. It was a small comfort that people had been here before. The cove¡¯s beach was covered with small white pebbles, and I saw a few crabs scuttle behind larger rocks as I passed by. Some fled inside a cave cut into the cliff face.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. After taking a sorely needed dip in the shallows, I took my time exploring, but didn¡¯t find a single piece of seaglass. Only a few pot sherds. The sharpest of them still had a few letters visible. Ones of an alphabet I had never seen before, which was both concerning and exciting. I suppose everything had led up to an obvious conclusion, but it didn¡¯t really sink in until I looked up from the beach and saw an enormous snake fairly far off in the distance, flying above the rightmost island.
It slowly registered that yes, that¡¯s a dragon, along with the wonderful news that it had just slightly turned course, now undulating directly towards this island. There were some strange house-like structures on top of it, and I could barely make out enough to see that they were being used by people to ride on its back. I was going to investigate the caves soon, but something tells me it¡¯s better to do so right this instant. Sure, I might get rescued and return to some measure of civilization¡­ but the fare could be one I''m not willing to pay. Becoming a slave would certainly be in the realm of possibility, especially considering I¡¯m from a whole other dimension. Plus, you know, it''s a dragon. Besides the fact that I like sailing, I¡¯d very much prefer to travel on a vehicle that can¡¯t eat me. Ducking into the cave, and feeling my way through the narrow passageway, I stumbled up a set of roughly hewn stairs. Oh¡­ reliefs are cut into the walls. Curiosity broke me out of my dragon-induced panic. They¡¯re dolphins, I realized, as I traced the outlines with my fingers. If I was on Earth at the moment, I¡¯d immediately exit and call for some real archaeologists to look at the site. Not one that''s only a year into college. Unfortunately, looks like it¡¯s either up to me, or those dragon riders. Suddenly, a light appeared in a wide niche at the hallway¡¯s end, illuminating the reliefs¡¯ polychromy. On the floor, there were several piles of what looked to be a variety of¨Clikely bronze and wood¨Cweapons and tools. Sadly, they had long since corroded or decomposed. Reaching the end of the passageway, it opened up into a tiny room and I came face to face with¡­ What the hell is that? I stared into its eyes¨Clarge, warm, and nearly human. Its face and ears were more feline in structure, but had a small smiling mouth. Three sets of parallel horns adorned its head, gently curving upwards. The creature¡¯s body was long and sinuous, but lacked wings like that dragon. Instead, it had multitudes of hoofed legs. Blue, and a few orange, wiggly marks ran down its furred body, evoking ocean waves. Alarmingly, it was semi transparent, to the point of seeming weak and sickly. Nausea rushed through me as the¡­ spirit? extended its catlike forelimbs. From it, I received a mental impression of a gift, and a cloudy gold bubble blossomed between its paws. Two deep blue colored rods floated directly below. Before I could say anything, the spirit reached its arms out further, intensifying the nausea. It dragged two softly glowing, sea-green tetrahedra from my head. Each vertex was capped with curving, metallic shapes. I couldn¡¯t do much else than stare in horror and awe as the bubble and rods¨Cinformation, knowledge, power¨Cflowed inside them. Text immediately started spreading across its surfaces.
The waves of connecting concepts crashing through my mind nearly caused me to pass out, but I held fast. It didn¡¯t take long for the language to finish being literally downloaded into my head. Strangely, it felt like the process was cut short, with the spirit suddenly wavering, then fizzling out of existence. Did it just die? I sat there somberly, for a moment. Is this effectively an interdimensional visitor center, then? Despite being thankful, I can¡¯t help but feel the slightest bit miffed that I learned more of a language in minutes than I did in years of Latin lessons from my dad. More importantly, was the cave built here because this is a location that people get transported to? Or is it the thing that transports people here? The spot where all the bodies appeared is directly above where the spirit is, isn¡¯t it. The sound of two faint voices outside snapped me out of my speculations. Judging from the direction, I was pretty sure the people were in the cove adjacent to mine. It was surprising I could hear them at all.
¡°Ak?n, you sure that ¨C¨C¨C of a dragon said it was here? With the size of this archipelago, could be anywhere¡­¡± ¡°We¡¯ve been over this, Ece! Don¡¯t call ?staklal a damn ¨C¨C¨C and especially not a ¨C¨C¨C¨C¨C¨C¨C¨C! I know it isn¡¯t the smoothest ride, but¨C¡° ¡°Jeez, this place reeks! Yeah, there''s no doubt. Bet none of those guys crossing over made it¡­ buncha weaklings.¡± ¡°Whatever, Ece. Calibrate your MP Counter so we can loot the spirit shrine and capture any survivors. This one¡¯s not marked on a single map, I¡¯m sure it¡¯ll have some good ¨C¨C¨C ¨C¨C¨C¨C¨C.¡± So they are looking for this place. I wish I could understand everything they¡¯re saying. Seems that the language I know is out of date. Just how old is the shrine? Wasting no time, I exited and crept around the cliffside, then hid in the water. The sea was calm today, so my body gently bumped against the rocks as I waited.
About twenty minutes passed. The voices returned, much closer this time. ¡°Not a single damned thing! It didn¡¯t even have a spirit!¡± Ece wailed. ¡°Paid th¨C ?staklal¨Ctwenty-six whole ak?e to take a tiny detour. You really couldn¡¯t have thought to remind me that yes, there¡¯s a small chance the time-lock glyphs will have completely degraded? At this rate we¡¯ll barely recoup our losses once we get to port¡­¡± She was met with silence, followed by a long sigh. ¡°Ugh¡­ wait, twenty-six? You sai¨C er, nevermind. I¡¯ll make it up to you, Ece. For now, let¡¯s just focus on swimming back to the pickup location without getting our legs bitten off by ¨C¨C¨C¨C¨C¨C.¡±
Whatever the hell -ketiyila- are, I¡¯m suddenly rather unsure about my previous plan to swim from island to island, hoping to stumble across a merchant or fishing ship. Perhaps there''s a very good reason they use air travel here. Maybe I should¡¯ve asked to go with them, even if it meant becoming a slave, being imprisoned, or other such fate, judging by that guy''s use of "capture". Plus I''m not at all confident in people who loot places like that shrine as ones being inclined towards altruism. Though¡­ objectively, isn¡¯t getting eaten by a sea monster worse? 2 – Defacement When the tide had fallen lower, I went to collect mussels covering large rocks out in the harbor. They were all an odd light purple color, distinct from the familiar dark blue I always gathered near my house. Still edible, though! A few black-and-white oystercatchers feasted as well, unperturbed by my presence. I was unfortunately bereft of my oyster knife, though forcing these mussels open was¡­ not easy, but certainly possible only using hands. Additionally, lacking my favorite rubber boots meant I had to be ridiculously careful not to slice open the soles of my feet. They weren¡¯t extremely soft and vulnerable, but I was all too aware that any infections could spell my death out here. After eating, I fell asleep on the island¡¯s far side, upwind of the bodies. The night was cool and not uncomfortably cold. I was absolutely no stranger to camping and sleeping out under the stars, but doing so naked was a little too much. The constellations were different, as well. Just another reminder I was so far from home. It called to mind memories of my parents and I sleeping out on our house¡¯s deck, or camping across the island in Acadia. I would attentively listen and stare for a long time as they described each one, telling tales of heroes and monsters, but inevitably drifted off to sleep...
I woke to a cacophony of screeches from birds. Climbing up onto a large rock, I briefly watched them devour the other travelers¡¯ remains. Some were powerful enough to rip off and carry away a whole arm. A few were miniature versions of that dragon, with long bodies and many small birdlike wings. Two swooped in, sinking their talons into one of the large scavenger birds. Along with copious amounts of blood, several green, irregularly shaped bubbles floated out upon its death. They looked akin to the ones the spirit had given me, and were lazily snapped up by the dragons. I crawled down from my rock and cowered a behind a bush. When the dangerous big ones had eaten their fill, I was definitely going to come back later with a few rocks in hand.
After a much shorter round two of moping around and feeling sorry for myself, I set my sights on figuring out how the hell to use those green triangles. To do magic, because what else could they be for? Despite the continued distaste for my situation, I felt a guilty thrill about the prospect. Pulling them out was surprisingly easy, only having to focus and grab at somewhere¡­ inside my head, but also not. I certainly looked like a fool, swatting at the air as I tried to manipulate the thing. It was too straining to keep it out for long, making me take constant breaks. Texts were written on every side of the tetrahedra, in an alphabet that felt so deeply, heart wrenchingly familiar. I couldn¡¯t read a single piece of it, yet vague concepts floated inside my mind in the same way the spirit had communicated. Two separate lines, incised in an impossibly bright blue color, stood out to me in particular. The vibrancy contrasted with the oxidized bronze-green color of its surface in a way that was almost offensive. They were¡­ powers, or abilities. One was fire, the other vaguer. Something related to water, the salt sea and fresh river, more complex. Mentally pushing at the first prompted a blueprint of sorts. I just had to draw a line along that bit like so, and then push another¨CThis story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. A tiny white flame bloomed on my palm. It wavered and sputtered as I struggled to feed it a steady stream of power. The flame was warm to the touch, yet I found with a bit of effort it could set tinder alight. A small, tight-lipped smile crept across my face. Several hours later, upon reaching a satisfactory stopping point, I returned to the cave. What I saw inside made me reel in horror and outrage. Deep gouges were cut all along the walls, marring beautiful reliefs of long, many-oared ships and marine life, and erasing all the text that accompanied them. How disgustingly spiteful. Isn¡¯t this partly your own fault, though, Linus? You could have stood your ground, but scuttled away like a coward. Although, I reminded myself that those people were powerful enough to make marks several inches deep in rock, and figured my life may as well have been forfeit had I fought. Assuring myself it was a logical decision didn¡¯t quell the feelings of shame.
Some of the animals depicted in the reliefs were easily identifiable. Octopi, more dolphins, multitudes of fish, sharks., and mermen, too! If they exist, I really want to know what one¡¯s internal anatomy looks like. Not that I would kill one to find out... I was particularly interested in the fact that more than a few of the bigger fish had lobed fins, in the fashion of a lungfish or coelacanth. Long, wavy, striped eel-like monsters with paddle shaped limbs brought to mind the absent spirit. There were what looked to be massive, toothed whales with whiskers and tiny hind limbs. On the right wall closest to the passageway was a relief depicting a group of humans hunting one. The whale was in its death throes, and many green bubbles seeped out of it, along with four blue rods that a few of the people grasped for. In several places on the farthest wall, there were new holes. Had those visitors from yesterday had been searching for something hidden? One, about a foot and a half above the ground, was drilled deep enough to reach my whole forearm in, but I didn¡¯t dare! Looking at the floor directly beneath it, there sat an oblong green stone¨Cserpentinite?¨Cabout the width of a cantaloupe. Its surface was absolutely covered in the same written language as on the walls. Even stranger, it had been perfectly split in half down the middle, each side nearly smooth. Only a small chunk was missing, looking to have been deliberately broken off. Despite appearing entirely dead and inactive, some strange effect remained that prevented me from reading any of the writing carved on it. I wondered how the disappearance of the spirit and cracking of the stone related to the birds¡¯ sudden appearance this morning. The bodies had certainly been sitting out there for more than a day, yet when I first woke up they had barely been picked at. With that in mind, it was also curious I felt thirsty, but not to the point of desperation. My body was exactly the same superficially, calluses, scars, and all, but I was now sure that some unknown parts of my physiology had been altered. Ignoring those unsettling thoughts, I peered closer at the walls leading to the room, and it excited me to see that plenty of small inscriptions remained legible! Unfortunately, I suspected the most important information was likely in those two most severely damaged areas in the niche and on the farthest wall.
I started to read. The text was logophonetic, in that it consisted of both characters that represented a word or phrase, plus ones that represented sounds. It was painfully slow going at first, bringing back old memories of the first time I read a scientific journal article. Aesthetically, it looked rather archaic and pictographic, calling to mind the stark difference between early cuneiform and that used many centuries later by the Assyrians. Most marks were sharp lines and wedge shapes, with the exception of multiple circles occasionally appearing. 3 – Votive Inscription The text all along the hallway was something of a votive inscription, repeated many times. It was read from left to right, and so started on the right wall just before the room. A crowned man was depicted holding a pot, out of which water flowed into a round basin. A small cypress tree grew inside it. Looking closer, the man was clean-shaven, had curled hair, and his long robes were delicately incised with representations of embroidered patterns. He was surely a king. What I assumed to be a god watched on, seated before him. Due to the repetition, I managed to piece together a nearly complete version.
For En?e To the aid of ones unknown Those lost through the ¨C¨C¨C¨C¨C K?rallu?ira, the ruler of Iral Nominated by Allu Given wisdom by En?e Given power by Inisya Fed the heart of the Apsu-Eel Beloved friend of Nana Son of Duana, the ruler of Iral For En?e, the city of Lenu, of the island Assuwa, he restored The shrines, he built for him For Allu, the city of Nin?ira he built By K?rallu?ira¡¯s hand Unu, island of ill fate, was razed Its tumuli scattered by the waves of the Apsu Canra he defeated Suinhnai he defeated Eaetruri he repelled M¨¥viia-An he repelled Before K?rallu?ira, Given wisdom by En?e, All the lands trembled All the islands, he united K?rallu?ira, by the word of En?e This shrine of Atel-?lla he dedicates to Let it serve as an beacon To ones who have been lost He who changes, transgresses, erases, the words of this inscription May the great gods atop ?n and below the Apsu, All those that are named here Strike you down, Look at you with disfavor May hunger, want, and disease never leave you, May evil spirits and Apsu-beasts take your house as theirs, And let the stomachs of eels and flatfish be your graveStolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. K?rallu?ira, by the word of En?e This shrine of Atel-?lla he dedicates to
Finishing, I stood there for a moment in awe, no small part of it because I was able to read the otherworldly language plain as day. The words ¡°beacon¡± and ¡°lost¡± stuck out to me as relevant to my predicament, but they were vague enough that I still had trouble getting anywhere¨Cother than just conjecture, that is. However, I felt at least a little confident it meant that the shrine and spirit wasn¡¯t what actually dragged me from my world. Perhaps only to this location, in particular? Going off of that, without the shrine''s existence I could¡¯ve ended up appearing somewhere even worse¡­ monsters in the sea are bad enough already. I quietly spoke a few words of thanks to that ancient king, the so-called god of wisdom, and especially the spirit. After constant use of that helpful little flame, I had reached a point where I could consistently maintain a bright light, and didn¡¯t even need to hold it in my hand. Instinctively, I sensed that the ability was only ever meant for utility use, but I was glad and treasured it nonetheless. A deeper inspection of the niche netted three fully intact pots! One I particularly liked was fat, about a foot wide with a small base. White in color, it was painted with a sprawling black octopus and kelp. Its mouth was small, just enough to comfortably reach my hand in¨Cthough I made sure to shake it upside down before doing so. Not only that, beneath the pile of corroded tools and weapons that had been flung about, I found an iron knife that seemed usable. Its condition, though still sorry-looking, was in stark contrast to the rest of the hoard. The knife had a wide base and a hilt that gently curved upwards on either side. Its five inch blade was meticulously incised with parallel lines and concentric triangles, along with a line of text towards its tip. The text possessed the same quality as the serpentinite stone. My eyes continually slipped over, failing to grasp the meaning every time. There had to be some way to disable the effect¡­ but considering it, of all things, had endured the centuries, I wouldn''t be figuring the secret out any time soon. Three slightly rusted fish hooks were the only other items deemed worthwhile. Squinting, I could see that they too had incredibly minuscule writing on their side. Assuming every item had been engraved, I wondered why these in particular were the only survivors. Now seemed like a good time to catch lunch. Plus, I should see if there¡¯s any other caves or structures on the island before spending too much time in this one place, incredible as it is.
So, exploration continued. I found to great delight that the island¡¯s side opposite to the shrine had a sandy beach! Additionally, it too had a treacherous path leading down. On the shore, not far from said path, there were rusted-out skeletons of what must¡¯ve once been ships. They were a bit larger than my family¡¯s dinghy, close to ten feet in length. At lowest tide, this place was a new favorite for the local birds, which were happily catching all sorts of mollusks. A few instead preyed on their fellows, or on the tiny, bright green lizards which scrambled across the cliff faces, catching insects. However, compared to the mass yesterday, there were far fewer birds here. Maybe ten to fifteen. I was very glad to see none of those huge vulture-like birds, or dragons. A wide grin spread across my face and I felt a flash of pure, genuine delight for the first time since arriving here. Despite carrying a pot, my agility and sense of balance were enough to climb down with no issue. Of course, I brought my knife, plus two large potsherds with me to help dig. I sauntered down the beach, causing only a small commotion amongst the birds, and stopped when I spotted a tiny hole in the sand. Maybe¡­ well, it wasn¡¯t absolutely necessary, but I couldn¡¯t resist. STOMP. A jet of water flew up into the air, almost hitting me in the eye! Working with practiced efficiency, I set to digging. The wet sand made loud squelching noises as I bulldozed through. Even in another world, clams were no match for me, and I quickly caught up, triumphantly grasping my prize. Into the pot it went. And then another, just a minute later. Away from the small crowd of birds, there were what looked to be some razor clams slightly poking their heads out of the dull grey sand. These were real bigguns too, unnaturally so! About three fingers wide and a light grey, almost bluish, colored shell. In a way, the size made things easier. I could get a good grip without as much danger of my hands being sliced. Ugh, this bastard. I could feel it frantically trying to escape downwards, but held fast. It struggled with more power and ferocity than any clam I¡¯d ever tried to pick. Nevertheless, it soon came free with a final desperate heave. A valiant beast. It was so huge, just over a foot long, that I didn¡¯t see much point in gathering more food. You live another day, birds¡­ Unlike the mussels from yesterday, three pea-sized light green blobs drifted skywards upon shucking it. Embarrassingly, I attempted to mimic those dragons by eating them, but couldn¡¯t physically interact with the peas at all¡­ oh, wait. Of course. Just like with the spirit. I summoned my strange magical tetrahedra and they were promptly sucked in. It was subtle, but for a second, I felt a rush of power and the feeling of ocean waves crashing against me. Earlier in the day, I had seen darker clouds a ways in the distance, but the actual onset of rain was unusually quick. Fat droplets suddenly burst against my skin, and I was near soaked the next instant. I had some suspicions about the second power that spirit had given me. However, just in case they were incorrect, I removed the clams, washed the pot in the surf, and let it collect rain.
As I sat under an olive tree and waited for the rainfall to abate, I pondered how the hell I was going to safely get off this island. Not that I considered it completely unlivable, but I know even I¡¯ll go nuts if I don¡¯t have human contact some point soon. One of those dragon riders mentioned picking up some sort of signal related to the travellers¡¯ arrival... so those two bastards may not be the only ones who will be coming in search of the shrine. Or any survivors. My mind drifted back to the split serpentinite stone and the scavenging birds'' bizarrely late arrival. Was it possible that the spirit and the stone had been protecting the island, preventing it from being discovered? That woman did mention the dragon had told them where the island was. If anything could get past the¡­ enchantment? ward? it would be the senses of that monster. I¡¯d rather wait a bit longer to see what happens than immediately risk the waters. The thought of taking a swim was enough to make me tremble slightly in fear. 4 – He Sees the Deep I reflected on what I¡¯d just thought and felt, sitting under an olive tree in the rain. To think I had quickly become so terrified of something that was omnipresent, such an integral part of my life. Days as a child were spent playing in the surf, collecting seaglass, turning up rocks for hidden crabs, traipsing along the rocky coastline. Sailing with my dad, when he came back to the island during school breaks and the summer. Helping my mom and the guys on her ship bring up lobster pots and measure our hauls¡­ Of course, I was well aware that the water itself, and many of the creatures in it, could easily kill. But I knew the risks, and how to avoid the dangers. Not so, now. Too many variables, too much conjecture, an unbelievable and insanely terrifying shift from everything I thought I¡¯d known.
The way it sunk in made me remember a story I had told to my brand-new college friends. A few summers ago, my dad¡¯s old watch fell off right as he was reaching over with the boat hook to snag our buoy. One of the boat¡¯s stays had rubbed against the watch¡¯s fraying strap. Plunk, it went, right into the drink. The Thorofare¡¯s water wasn¡¯t deep, but was ice cold and murky. My dad hadn¡¯t been in much condition at the time to go swimming, especially in waters like that, so I had stripped down, slapped on goggles, gritted my teeth, and jumped. Finding the damn thing didn¡¯t take too long, at least. I had sharp eyes, and the current wasn¡¯t strong. When I finally got back on deck, my usually tanned skin was pale, and I was violently shivering, but grinning like mad nonetheless. I considered how they reacted. Some scoffed and thought I was a stubborn weirdo idiot, one perhaps was impressed, others commented that they would¡¯ve been too afraid to do the same. Just that it wasn¡¯t worth it, and why the hell would you do that for a watch which wasn¡¯t so important anyway? (It wasn¡¯t anything of a family heirloom.) Even though we were in Rhode Island, none of them had ever really been at sea. All six were from different states, or even countries. I was sharing what I thought was a short, somewhat amusing story with a happy ending, but was left confused, almost embarrassed. I knew I¡¯d grown up sheltered, in a very different place, but actually experiencing the disconnect among peers was what made its existence truly hit home. And I had thought the shock of going from a rather remote Maine isle to an Ivy college was bad enough! Being where my dad taught, I had a good bit of information, though it was never as effective as the experience. But now. Now, in an entirely different world, I believed I understood what made the fear of the ocean, the unknown, so powerful. However. I had new and mysterious things, literal magic, on my side, too. Gathering up scraps of willpower, I forced myself to feel more confident¨Cnot only would I get through this in one piece, I¡¯d make the absolute best of it!
The summertime rainstorm continued on into early afternoon. Thoughts grasped firmly in hand, I set about doing a methodical inspection of the magic¡­ thing. After I had finished cooking (rather terribly) and eating the clams, that is. That spirit was what unlocked it, so why not call it the same word? Sounded mystical enough, for now. One of the most immediately bizarre things I had noticed a while ago, upon learning to use the flame, was the panels¡¯ color coding. The panel of the biggest tetrahedron, which was about the size of a fat watermelon, had two short lines in that obnoxious glowing blue. The first, which I knew to represent the flame, was actually incised very lightly into the surface. However, the second ability was not, simply glowing above it. Was that a signifier of progress, or total duration used? Experience, maybe? Rotating it right to the next face with ease, I observed that the panel had three separate text lines in non-glowing dark blue. They were all deeply incised. The writing''s aesthetic reminded me of Ancient Maya in the way each miniature cartouche-like form was squished together. It made me smile, thinking of my dad''s studies and his ancestry, despite it the similarities being a coincedence. I narrowed my eyes and tried to focus on the meaning of a single part of a glyph in the third line. It was incredibly familiar¨Cthe exact same feeling of a gift that the shrine spirit had emanated. Some form of connection was produced, my mind instantly grasping onto words that could represent the concept. A gift, in this case. It was much like the feeling of connections made as the spirit was making me learn a language. Not only between spoken words, but written ones too. I suspected that decoding and interpreting would be far harder if I wasn''t both literate and familiar with different ways of constructing written languages. Pressing on, I was certain that the next was something along the lines of divinity¡­ reverence, power. It was accompanied by a star-like logogram, looking entirely alien from the writing surrounding it.The pieces immediately fit together in my mind. It was referring to a gift, a blessing, really, given by the god En?e, the one who the shrine was dedicated to. Once I envisioned the words and assigned parts to each section of glyph as a syllabary, I could suddenly read it far more easily. Belatedly, I realized the star logogram was actually inIralic, the shrine spirit''s language... and also that of the god who supposedly gave a gift to me. Proof of an outside influence. Next in the line was simply a wide, empty oval, its meaning clear. A big, open space, bringing to mind the word ''expansion''. Then two small overlapped triangles, a pictograph of my own spirit. It wasn''t an ''expansion'' as in an increase of power or strength. It seemed¡­ very literal. I rotated it again, and looked at the single fully exposed face of the smallest tetrahedron. Most of its form was merged with the largest one. On its left edge were odd unnatural bits of bronze-like metal which looked to have been welded there. They lacked the greenish patina the rest of my spirit had. Upon experimentally giving it a poke, a door swung open! Cautiously peering inside, it was a rich bronzed brown-orange, and looked exactly like what you¡¯d expect based on the shape of its exterior. Judging by the interior¡¯s size, the walls were half an inch thick. With nary a thought in my mind, I stuck in my hand, followed by my forearm, and then all the way up to my shoulder! It appeared strangely minimized, like the appendage had gone through a concave lens. Instantly removing it, I briefly stared at my arm, and then the spirit, then back to my arm, utterly stupefied. Into the compartment went three pebbles, and they just hung there, in stasis. After a brief consideration of the consequences, I swung the door shut and de-summoned my spirit. Then, it was immediately re-summoned. Opening it, I was happy to see the stones still there, fully intact. Reaching inside, I couldn¡¯t immediately touch one at first, but was able to remove them once I focused. Yes! I collapsed backwards in relief and elation against the tree¡¯s rough, gnarled trunk. More testing was needed, but being able to safely carry items was a huge boon already. Not having a slightest clue about its mechanisms other than ¡®it¡¯s magic¡¯ made me shift in discomfort, but that wasn¡¯t going to stop me in the slightest from putting it to good use. Whether gods truly exist here or not¡­ well, thank you, En?e.
The next hour was spent deciphering all of the two panels¡¯ blue-coded inscriptions. The glowing ones, which I mentally labeled arts, went like so: Arts¨C Child¡¯s Flame Sifting of Salt Waves And the boons¨C Island-Born Ardent Linguist Gift of En?e
Sifting of Salt Waves simply removed undesirable particulates and impurities from water. I was pretty sure that I could tweak and bend it a bit to separate out pure salt, too.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. It was the boon Island-Born that had been helping me so much with survival, and comprised a complex slew of benefits. When on an island or near the sea, I didn¡¯t need as much food or water, and was resistant to harsh temperatures and environments. Additionally, it made me less likely to get infections or disease. Ardent Linguistbestowed improved general memory, especially recall and retention of new languages. Of course, the third was the new storage compartment¡¯s origin. It noted an expansion, specifically, and not bestowal of a new ability, and I concluded that other people who used magic likely had a variant of it.
So, in essence, doing magic is conjuring a form that¡¯s a physical representation of my¡­ being? spirit? soul? Which enables me, or others, to make additions and possibly modifications. The third boon was given, but I was nearly sure the other two had been acquired, for lack of a better term, ¡®naturally¡¯, from my own life experiences. Maybe getting one or not had a random element, since even though I liked learning languages, it was certainly not what I was the most passionate about. Overall, I didn¡¯t have enough facts to build a solid opinion on the matter of it possibly being my soul. ¡®Vaguely uncomfortable¡¯ sounded about right, though. Glyphs covering one of the two fully visible panels on the mid-sized tetrahedron were that same yellowish green color as the bubbles. All of them hovered a hair¡¯s breadth above the surface. Half was taken up by several particularly large sets of glyph combinations, all squished up alongside one another so they would fit. Each carried both a concept, and what could be charitably called a measurement¨Cin the sense of someone trying to describe a temperature without using Farenheit, or a weight without pounds. Useless without a frame of reference to compare to. Not only the measurements, but their associated concepts were muddled. Some in an uncommunicable sense like the serpentinite stone, others just... not yet known or figured out. The only concept I could begin to identify with a single word was Vitality. The word''s particular flavor reminded me of Vitalistic beliefs, as it conjured up relations to the concept of a ''vital spark''. With an added association of memory and experience. My theory was that it was related to, like a measurement of, the bubbles that would leak out upon an organism¡¯s death. Every piece of text on all other sides were engraved, to varying degrees, in absolutely miniscule gold writing. It definitely represented the knowledge I held, carrying the same concept as the golden bubble I had been given by the shrine spirit.
Sighing, I took a short break. Eventually, I started in earnest on that water purification magic, using the smallest pot filled with seawater. It was more of a cup, really, with a band running through the middle and thin, curved blue triangles on either side that evoked ocean waves. It was so much harder to cast! Guiding my power over the blueprint¡¯s markers was like drawing a connect-the-dots picture, but with the pencil held between my toes. Trying to blindly follow along with what was in front of me, without a clue of how or why it functioned, was intensely frustrating. Even worse, it seemed I occasionally had more success when I actively deviated from the path. By the time the rains abated in the early evening, I managed to envelop the cup with a silvery, semi-opaque aura coming from my hands. The water itself was crystal clear, but I still had trouble actually lifting the separated impurities out of it. Exhausted, though still unsatisfied, I quickly fell asleep.
I woke to a start, immediately feeling pangs of hunger. I''d like to catch one of those birds today. There were a few plants and berries that looked edible, too, but I wasn¡¯t going to try my luck just yet. It was mid tide, but maybe I could still find¨Cwait. Standing at the cliff¡¯s edge, I thought I saw a small whale on the beach. My body jolted backwards in a panic, and I immediately rushed down the cliff path. Questions flew through my mind. Was it alive, could I get it back to the sea, was it dead, and if it wasn¡¯t¡­ should I try to kill it instead? My feet sped across the beach, making loud slapping sounds against the wet sand. I stumbled to a sudden halt upon realizing it wasn¡¯t a whale, a dolphin, or even a known animal! Upon stopping, I could hear quiet snores echo throughout the cove. It was a mermaid. Her skin was grey, sleek, and shiny, like that of a dolphin. Instead of a ray-finned fish, the tail was a cetacean''s. It was pock-marked with scars. Some were from simple slashes, others clearly bite marks made by dagger-sized teeth. A few wrapped around like a snake, inflicted by the tentacles of a massive squid. Curiously, there were small, stumpy fins on the tail, nearly crossing the line into being called legs. Tearing my eyes away for a second, I noticed foot and handprints in the sand leading to her napping spot. The snores stopped. I heard a grumbling sound, then coughing, and she slowly turned to face me in a way that oozed contempt. The mermaid was naked as the day she was born. Her human half¡¯s skin was a slightly lighter grey color, worn and weathered, hanging loosely over her frame. Her body was thin, but not lacking as much muscle as I would expect from a person of such venerable age. Long tresses fell down her back, obviously cut by a knife. It, and the fresh seaweed run through, exuded the air of someone deliberately trying to look fancy, but in a way that was supposed to seem natural and effortless. Her face was placid, kind, in that generic grandmother sort of way. But the eyes¡­ I found myself staring into them way past the moment of awkwardness. The irises were deep blue, a shade darker than lapis lazuli, but her pupils were a lighter, greyish color. Their borders were hazy and indistinct against the sea. Bafflingly, her sclera were a vibrant yellow-gold, but not in a way that made her seem sickly. It was a truly piercing stare. I heard a noise from somewhere, which snapped me back to reality. ¡°Hey, stop staring like a damn gutted fish,¡± she quietly repeated. ¡°Er, sorry. It¡¯s just¡­ Well, it¡¯s nice to meet you.¡± She rolled her eyes, but then brightened up a bit and said, ¡°Haven¡¯t heard anyone speak Iralic like that in a long while¡­¡± she said, voice still unnaturally low in volume. ¡°So, um, what¡¯s your name? I¡¯m Linus...¡± I said, still in utter shock. ¡°I¡¯ll allow you to name me Nana, dearie,¡± she replied, ever so slightly patronizing. Wait, that name¡­ her coming here, right after the wards disappeared, too¡­ it can¡¯t be. ¡°How are you so old?!¡± I blurted out. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you like to know, little shrimp?¡± she simpered, as if knowing exactly the conclusion I had made. Nana¡¯s slight smile spread across her entire face into a grin, round eyes bulging slightly out of her head. It was an unnerving blend of sweet grandmother and predatory shark. Her peg-shaped dolphin teeth were pearlescent, shining brightly in the early morning sun. ¡°Yes, please,¡± I replied. Can¡¯t hurt to be polite. I hope ¡°shrimp¡± is a term of endearment. I¡¯m not that short, right? Despite (almost) looking and sounding like an old gramma, she had an oddly comforting, ancient, battle-scarred sort of aura. I inwardly shuddered upon realizing it was familiar because it was like what my mom had. I felt sure Nana could kill me as easily as she breathed, but my initial shock only ended up morphing into excitement and fascination. She snorted and slapped her tail twice against the sand. Taking that as a cue, a barrage of questions flew from my mouth. ¡°How do the shrines¨CWas I brought here by¨CCan you take me to the¨CWhat was the purpose of the green stone that¨CHow many other people have travelled¡­¡­ and what exactly is the Apsu, anyway?¡± She let out a long, horribly tortured, sigh. But upon hearing my final question, a hint of that smile returned to her face, before becoming more grim. ¡°I will show you the Apsu.¡±
After Nana assured me of my safety¨CI was reluctant at first, but too curious¨Cwe swam out. My wrist was held firmly in her hand, and she dragged me along like a sailboat would a dinghy. Soon, we suddenly stopped. I was mercifully allowed to tread water on my own. In the distance, I could still see the shrine island. Nana made a few rotating gestures, like the kind one does to signal ¡®carry on¡¯. I was about to ask what she meant, when a writhing, silvery eel emerged from her hand and wrapped itself around me. I looked down and my entire body was encased in a shimmering field. Entering a world filled to the brim with life, I found I could breathe in it. Great rocks littered the sea floor, covered with a rainbow of different algae, huge barnacles, and a multitude of coral, anemones, sea sponges¡­ Some corals looked as if they were thin, chalk-white trees rising out of the rocks, each branch holding hundreds of small fruits. Others were thick, steadfast, on which bloomed vibrant red flowers. Long tendrils on anemones gently waved in the current. All around me, a treasure trove of multicolored fish flitted about, my expression perfectly matching theirs. I could see an enormous lobe-finned fish the size of a small whale keeping a wary distance. Its bone-plated head and wide teeth instantly called to mind Dunkleosteus. Its jaws looked like they could easily tear a chunk out of a sailboat, let alone my body. Nana tugged at my hand, and I turned around, seeing our destination. It was a giant crack in the earth itself, dark as pitch. Trickles of bubbles gradually escaped the void. Just before we entered, upon instinct, I drew and held a breath. We descended deeper, and deeper, and deeper. I felt Nana¡¯s hand on my face, gently closing my eyelids. Instantly, I reopened them, then got the message.
I shut them again and saw nothing. Utter and absolute darkness. Even the dance of subtle stars and patterns always seen when one closes their eyes had vanished. My body felt nearly weightless. A slight current tugged, threatening to set me adrift. I felt the sensation of falling downwards ever further. Fresh and pure water rushed up from unfathomable depths. Suddenly, a glimmer of light appeared far below me, wavered, and a stream slowly came into view. The ocean vent''s walls were nowhere to be found. I floated inside an incomprehensibly large space. Staring at the river of light drifting through the darkness, I knew that I could gaze at it forever. Looking more closely, it was made up of spirits, moving and twisting beings. In their forms, many times smaller than I, some were simple, mere wisps or spirals. Others¡¯ structures were complex, comparative to plankton or diatoms. Yet more were long, waving chains. They were basal forms of life, drifting along currents in the fresh-water ocean under the sea. I felt a hand on my shoulder and saw Nana¡¯s eyes, her pupils filled with the same glowing green-gold. Then, I heard her voice call from far away. And I was pulled back to the surface.
¡°Entrancing, isn¡¯t it?¡± I dumbly nodded, speechless. Spots persisted in my vision, inexplicably golden-colored. ¡°It is, some say, the source of life itself. Stare for too long, and your spirit, your very presence, will fall into its flow. There, vast Apsu-eels and other such beasts swim through the millennia.¡± Nana paused. ¡°The few lost people who escape its current¡­ hm. It is better to never fall in the first place,¡± she explained, voice steady and solemn. Nana¡¯s face was distant, completely blank. Those blue-yellow eyes, pupils indistinct and milky, stared right through me, looking at things none but she could see.
I held back waves of nausea during our entire swim back to shore, and promptly collapsed upon the sand. My mind was still swimming with visions of that otherworldly river. Despite my distress, I didn¡¯t think for a second she had shown me it out of the desire to see me suffer¨Cthe opposite, really. Nana seemed the type to have a sink-or-swim mindset, immediately throwing me in the deep end so I would know what I was truly getting into. Wait, Nana had mentioned "lost people". That... was the same term the votive inscription had used. Besides the whole ''deep dark ocean void'' similarities, I think my method of arrival, and the Apsu itself, definitely was linked in some way. I sighed, and struggled to my feet. It was time to move forwards. 5 – Book Club I took a few minutes to recover. As Nana expectantly watched on, I considered my actions. Sure, following her into the deep had ended up being okay this time, but even considering her association with the shrine¡¯s builder and the god, I definitely had been too gung-ho. I needed to know about the Apsu, though! Plus, it had been so, so worth it. Well... it wasn¡¯t like she had been an entire stranger, but I admitted my trust had been extended too far. It was a thought to keep in mind for the future, if¨Cwhen, I met other people.
I was just opening my mouth, when one of Nana¡¯s arms shot out and made an odd gesture, almost like beckoning. ¡°Ah, ah. I delivered on what you desired, and so expect payment. Don¡¯t worry, it¡¯ll also cover your fare to my island,¡± she said sweetly. ¡°I¨Cuh, I don¡¯t really have much to give¡­ you see, all of the items stored in the shrine have degraded,¡± I said desperately. Due to her saying "my island", I''m assuming that the mainland is either too far away or, well, coupled with the fact that she''s an old lady and can''t go that distance.Especially not with me, currently being a dead weight. She huffed and said, ¡°Of course they have. An old sculpin like me has more than enough ancient treasures in her hoard, anyway. What I want is a tale, a story, a myth. Surely, coming from so far away, one must have something new?¡± I perked up a bit, both at the story and the possibility of getting to see her collection. ¡°Oh! Oh, yes, I can tell you one for sure!¡± I briefly considered my options. Hm, well, what better than one of the first stories ever written by mankind? Truthfully, I was slightly worried about how it would transfer over culturally, but nevertheless proceeded.
Nana was a great listener, intently staring at me with those blue-yellow eyes the entire time. At the start I was sprinkling in ¡®um¡¯ or ¡®ah¡¯, but soon hit my stride and the narration flowed smoothly.
When I reached the part where Gilgamesh and Enkidu slayed Humbaba, and their reasons for doing so, I saw that Nana''s hands were clenched tightly in fists, her body wavering slightly, holding back intense emotions I couldn''t place.
¡°Hm. Yes, in some ways, it describes a very typical demigod. I¡¯ve known such a few,'' she said cooly. "They have the lifespans of pigs, fated to be sent to slaughter." She considered her words, then continued. ¡°Powerful, above all mere mortals. The desire to etch one¡¯s name into history forever, killing great foes¡­ but instead, he does not die young, in a blaze of glory. His fate is forced onto a different path, becoming a wise and benevolent king.¡± I nodded along, then replied, ¡°It¡¯s a good story, isn¡¯t it? But bittersweet. Makes me sad that his only friend had to die for Gilgamesh to finally become a great ruler.¡± I was surprised to see Nana look at me and cock her head, a vague expression of befuddlement on her face. ¡°Enkidu was simply a tool though, wasn¡¯t he? A doll shaped from clay and water by a goddess, not born from a woman, whether divine or mortal. Without melam, a vital spark. There is no cause to weep for him¨Che fulfilled his purpose, destined to die in the king¡¯s arms. No living thing can last forever, but some are, at first, blind to that fact. Drunk on power and youth.¡± She seemed a bit winded after her speech, and massaged her throat. But I could tell she had enjoyed the story just as much as I did, when my father first told it to me many years ago. I considered the meaning of melam, which obviously had referred to the bubbles I had seen, both in art and life. With knowledge of the language, I did get a bit of context behind the word. However, I didn¡¯t feel that it would be directly translatable as ¡®soul¡¯. The sum of someone¡¯s existence, the power of their body, strength of spirit, memories, will, personality, all rolled into one. Not immortal, but something to eventually be transferred and recycled. Stolen story; please report. ¡°But wouldn¡¯t you say that Enkidu acted just like a normal person? After, using your terms, Shamhat had given him that vital spark of humanity to live and speak as a person? Do you think Gilgamesh was mistaken to weep for him?¡± I refuted. ¡°Yes, it seems. In my view, it was just as a child weeps for their favorite toy that has broken. Even if melam is transferred into someone, through death or otherwise, it does not a person make if they had none before. Gilgamesh was a fool in his loneliness, befriending a non-person made from water and clay, simply because it could approach him in power.¡± That interpretation irked me a little. But it drove home the point that personhood¨Cor, perhaps, being considered a living thing¨Cwas less of a gradient in this world. I wondered how she would see me, if I told her that I (presumably) wasn¡¯t one until a few days ago? Another idea wasn¡¯t one I wanted to entertain... but did it also exist on Earth, visible to no one? Or simply in a different form? Going back to the theory that my body had regrown itself from nothing upon arrival here¡­ well, it was an unfortunately favorable point towards the last. How else could my mind have survived? The thought of actually having lost continuity of consciousness made me squirm in extreme discomfort, despite knowing that I couldn¡¯t do anything at all about it.
Nana took my woolgathering as a sign to continue. ¡°You said this was the first story written by your people, yes? It surprises me that they are not from this world. Are you sure?¡± Wait, what? ¡°The snake, here too, is immortal, you see. Just as the moon sheds its shadow, the snake sheds its skin. It is constantly throwing off death, being reborn again. My own granmama told me about the great world flood that happened before even she was a child. Only those humans who had built up their homes, high and tall on strong platforms above the earth, were of the survivors,¡± she said, a hint of nostalgia in her voice. I found it surprising, yet also not. Floods are a dime a dozen in mythology. But the snake? That¡¯s obviously different. I think she means it literally, in real life. I couldn¡¯t help but speculate, but remembered I had to answer her question. ¡°I¡¯m sure! The parts of the story¡­ well, a lot of the events are just really common to many myths across the world. It¡¯s so old, about¨C¡± My reply was cut short upon realizing that I wasn¡¯t sure how to convey the expanse of time to her. I was, at least, fairly sure a day still consisted of approximately twenty-four hours. ¡°Um, almost definitely older than you are. Four thousand years¡­ and a single year is 365 days, the time it takes for my planet to travel around its sun.¡± She snorted derisively, then chuckled. It devolved into a few wheezing gasps. ¡°Astronomy exists here, you know. Yes, yes. You make a bold claim. Four thousand¡­ an impossibility. Stories passed from mouth to mouth cannot survive a time such as that. Written languages evolve and go extinct over the centuries, becoming unintelligible.¡± ¡°It¡¯s true! It''s the same as it was written thousands of years ago. Philologists can do more than you could ever imagine, devoting their whole lives to studying ancient writing systems. One example is when people find scripts, such as the Behistun Ins¨C er, that record the same text in multiple languages. If they have knowledge of one, all can be deciphered.¡± ¡°Hm. I suppose, if your world is so rich and full of plenty that people would be willing and able to spend their time on such inane activities. Finding old stones just to read more of them! Ha. But, truly, your society really has people who spend all their time digging just to be able to read what I''m sure are mainly old tax records and ration lists?¡± ¡°Hey, the writings of ancient people are really important in any world, especially to¨C¡± I awkwardly replied. Nana suddenly let out an unusually loud, throaty cackle. It made me flinch slightly. ¡°Yess, I¡¯m sure you want to know those mystical secrets and powers that the ancients figured out, lost to time,¡± she said, infusing her voice with sarcastic drama. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you all about them. You need only to ask,¡± she said, tone acquiring a dangerous cadence. ¡°What? No, that¡¯s really not what I meant, or what I want!¡± ¡°Oh? Spit it out, then.¡± ¡°Learning about the past is important because, well, people were just as wise as they are now. So, their knowledge and beliefs, their lives and art, are worth studying¡­¡± I floundered around a little, flustered by the sudden question. It was of the type that made me desperately wish I could take my time to write a whole essay and hand it to her. She probably wouldn¡¯t read past the second sentence. However, I saw that my statement had earned me a contemplative look. ¡°Civilizations come and go just as the tide does. Why try to look back on what will inevitably vanish?¡± she said, as if quoting from a book. Her nautical similes were a little irritating, though I attempted to take them in stride. Plus, the bait was irresistible. ¡°But its fragments will always wash up on shore, and be reused,¡± I refuted, and then tried once more. Nana¡¯s slight, but constant smile was starting to grate on me. I was probably the most entertainment she had gotten in years! ¡°By learning about the past, one can understand how the present came to be, and thus predict the future,¡± I continued, voice only slightly wavering. ¡°Ah, your words may not be inaccurate, but my point is that you don¡¯t actually believe in them, yes?" She briefly inspected her wide fingernails, then kept speaking. ¡°You are a child of the minnow. You do not care about changing the world for the better, or knowing how the future will be shaped.¡± She said this plainly, as fact, neither praising nor condemning. ¡°Your desire is simply knowledge for its own sake, an impossible wish to reach a connection and understanding with those who have come before.¡± Her face twisted into a genuine, toothless smile. It was still of a sort that left me guessing on any actual opinion she had of my character. I didn¡¯t feel insulted. She was right, in some ways. I supposed I believed that said knowledge could just be passed on to other people, those with the means and drive to do good. But in this world, who could I trust and rely on to give it to? Would I even be able to find anyone that cared? However. I felt that if I didn¡¯t grasp and take hold of something right in front of me, this desire I held, I''d truly fall into the deep.
¡°Cease gathering kelp. One who has travelled, I will escort you later, when the tide has reached its shortest point,¡± Nana said, voice utterly serious. She promptly rolled over and went back to sleep. Quiet snores echoed through the cove. 6 – In Garden Judging by the waters¡¯ current level, it should be two hours before high tide. I¡¯ll take one last look around. It concerned me that the opening for my spirit¡¯s storage compartment was relatively small, perhaps only five inches in width. But to my surprise, that didn¡¯t stop it in the slightest¨Cthe octopus pot was sucked in like everything else. Seeing it get slurped like a particularly fat noodle was horrifying for a second, but the pot seemed to be okay. What were the size limits? Something to find out at another time. A hint of a smile on my face, I took the five minute walk back to the island¡¯s other side, where the shrine was located. On the way, branches and needles from several species of trees went into storage. I especially wanted to find what the hell was up with those Norfolk pine lookalikes, and to see if and how the plants varied from island to island. I¡¯d previously been planning to, but decided not to take any of the other travellers¡¯ bones. Not that I was squeamish around human remains, but it wasn¡¯t worth it. Especially since I wasn¡¯t completely sure that the items inside my spirit stayed in statis and didn¡¯t mix.
I walked inside the shrine cave, taking in its marred reliefs for what could be the last time. Just a few feet before the exit, I caught a detail in the corner of my eye, recoiling back in surprise and disbelief upon realizing what it was. Graffiti. In Latin. It was shallowly scratched into the rock, but carefully so, the letters easily legible. LVCIVS CAECILIVS IVCVNDVS CIVIS ROMANVS POMPEIANVS NONIS FEBRVARIIS DCCCXV AB VRBE CONDITA ¡°Lucius Caecilius Jucundus, Roman Citizen, Pompeiian, 5th of February 815 AUC¡­¡± I mumbled. My heart lurched when I first saw Pompeianus, but the date was wrong. 815 after the founding of Rome was¡­ yeah, 62 CE. Not the eruption, but it felt slightly familiar nonetheless. Dad would definitely grill me about it if I had in fact forgotten an important event. Interesting that none of it was abbreviated, too. Now that I thought about it, I vaguely recognized the guy¡¯s name, as well, but it was probably nothing. More importantly, it meant the shrine could be nearly two millennia old! If time flowed at the same rate as on Earth, that is. I tried to calm down and think back on what I knew. The biggest points against dating it to be that old were language, and the relief¡¯s relatively well preserved polychromy. Looking at the walls again, there was a complete lack of paint at the bottom two feet of the room''s walls, and even less along the steps. Had the cave been flooded at some point? Considering that measures had been taken to preserve the shrine¡¯s weapons, it was certainly likely that there¡¯d been ones to protect the rest of it. Had been. All of the larger items had corroded or decayed from the salt air and sea. Maybe size had to do with that enchantment inscription¡¯s efficacy over time. But the fact that I¡¯d understood the majority of those looters¡¯ vernacular was the far more conclusive piece of evidence. Even in rare cases of a language surviving for multiple millenia, such as Greek, it changed appreciably over the centuries. Though¡­ I was aware that speakers of demotic Greek could, to an extent, understand Koine Greek texts. Ignoring all of that, it was also entirely possible that this world¡¯s time flowed at a different rate. Alternatively, it wasn¡¯t a factor at all and people could arrive from any period. Or different worlds! Still, the graffiti was an intriguing piece of evidence to add to the pile. A slight hope swelled in me of finding other travellers from Earth who''d survived. What sorts of impacts could they have made on this world?
Climbing down the cliff path, I saw Nana groaning and stretching. She grumbled, and waddled over, then snatched an unwary green lizard from a rock. I walked closer, and saw her take dentures out of her mouth before gumming the poor lizard. I heard the faint crunch of bones, and stared at the dentures with fascination and a hint of disgust. They were covered in thick, yellowish saliva. ¡°Ah, you like them? Grew the thousand-year pearls myself,¡± Nana remarked, her mouth full. Is ¡®thousand-year¡¯ just a fanciful name? ¡°Well, come on then,¡± she said, then sighed, the lizard''s tail still hanging out of her mouth. She swallowed a final time, shoved the dentures back in, and shot a sunny grin at me.
Nana held my hand during the whole trip to her island. Her grip was firm and strong, but not overly so. It was significantly more comfortable than last time, when she had roughly grabbed and pulled at my wrist. We travelled in approximately the opposite direction from which I first saw the dragon. It was a short swim of twenty minutes. Before reaching the island, I spied tall slabs of rock in the distance. They emerged from the water haphazardly, and were semi-uniform in size, as if some vengeful god had pried them up from the sea floor like tiles. My mind wandered back to the votive inscription¡¯s mention of an island being razed. A particularly enormous rock was actually set against an island, sheltering its inset cove, like a lean-to shelter. It was far away from its fellows. Had the slab been deliberately moved there? My attention was torn away by a slight but powerful presence far below. Chills ebbed through my body, colder than any ocean waves, reminding me of what I felt falling through the water before arriving here. If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Nana grumbled and muttered. I didn¡¯t quite catch what she said, but was sure it meant something to the effect of ¡®get off my lawn¡¯. As we came closer to the lean-to island, the presence pointedly turned and meandered away towards the rightmost island cluster. Now, I could see strange patterns on the slab protecting what must be Nana¡¯s home. They were fossils, exposed by year upon year of erosion from wind and rain. One nearly spanned the two hundred foot rock face''s entire length. The¡­ dinosaur? had a long tail, nearly as lengthy neck, and four flippers, bringing to mind a plesiosaur. Except far larger. As we continued swimming, the ancient animal¡¯s perfectly exposed bones and curl of its sinuous body made me sure that it had been deliberately excavated. Not only did it make an incredible decoration, but also a tool of intimidation. Several smaller fossils were in the creature¡¯s stomach. Its last meal. In layers cut deeper into the rock, sat several shells of nautilus-like creatures. Nana allowed me a minute or two more to gawk before she made a few of those gestures, and entered the cove. A faint light bloomed, momentarily washing over my body, and I too was allowed inside. Nana dramatically waved her arm, causing grey-white globes set into the walls to emit a bright, lively glow. I couldn¡¯t help but stare at the sight before me, once again looking like a deer caught in headlights. Nana was a hoarder. Even worse than my own grandmother, which I considered an impressive (though not admirable) feat. Much of the hoard was stuck inside caves that smoothly receded into the cliff surface. The excess overflowed out onto shore. Emerging from the water, the beach¡¯s tiny grey pebbles felt surprisingly comfortable to walk on. I took a deep breath, mostly smelling fish and the ocean, but with a distinct hint of old. The sort you find in old books and long-forgotten museum archives. There were a multitude of shelves inset into the walls, some taller than I was. The larger ones were set higher up the cliff, far out of reach. Squinting, I could tell that they contained huge urns of some sort. The cliff walls themselves were unnaturally smooth, surfaces undulating and rippling like they were molded from clay. I flinched in alarm at crashing and banging sounds coming from a cave. Nana emerged, looking none the worse for wear, holding a tunic! She lazily tossed it to me, along with an old, stiff length of rope. The tunic itself was a tad frayed, but surprisingly soft. It was a natural, bland tan color, and had two dyed dark blue stripes running down either side. Nana simply grunted when I told her how much I liked it.
¡°Ah, is there anything I can do around here to help? Unless you¡¯re going to leave, or something, since the shrine is broken¡­¡± ¡°What, you think I¡¯m going to up and leave, or drop dead, just cause watch duty is over?¡± she snapped. ¡°I¡¯m as spry as ever! Yes, yes, things always need to be looked after. My collection, the garden, the sickly whale calf that was born this spring¡­ There¡¯s none but I to do it.¡± ¡°Hmm. And you, I suppose,¡± Nana added as an afterthought. A smile tugged at her wizened face. ¡°You got experience in tending a garden, little shrimp? A person¡¯s fair share of work needs to be put in, yes?¡± she said happily, finally realizing that, perhaps, I could be useful for something. I nodded, and she rattled off (very detailed, I might add) instructions on what to harvest and weed. She helpfully described the plants not by name, but characteristics. Delightful ones like ¡°round yellow buggers¡± and ¡°long purple bastards¡±. Before I entered a tunnel leading to the surface, she tiredly called out, ¡°Oh, and don¡¯t wander too far from the kuduru-stones. A beastie might swoop down and snap you right up. That divine blessing only goes so far, you know.¡± I shuddered. Larger cousins of those tiny dragons certainly existed, and other spirits, besides. Wait, the blessing has another function? I didn''t read anything relating to protection... maybe I didn''t get it. I did feel that the transfer of the shrine spirit''s gift was cut short.
It was only when I¡¯d walked inside the tunnel, that I considered what Nana could''ve meant by ¡°none but I to do it¡±. I had stupidly assumed that K?rallu?ira¡¯s civilization had just collapsed, and people still lived here, if further from these particular islands. That they managed to deal with the dangerous creatures of sea and sky in their own ways. But it made me think. What if no one at all lived here anymore? If so, what made everyone leave? Or¡­ did they all die? I¡¯d investigate Nana¡¯s words myself.
I emerged into a lush green clearing, breezes ruffling short grass. Goat-like animals with long, wavy hair and curved horns ambled about, a few glancing at me. Others snacked on weeds growing outside garden plots. A surprisingly complex, subtle irrigation system fed each of them, made of stone bars inset in the ground. I suspected that they utilized a similar filtration enchantment as the art I possessed. It wasn''t an art that showed on my spirit, but I was beginning to get a sense for objects that were magical. Several canals further away from the main garden were empty, choked with weeds and debris, the plots they led to overgrown. I heard the soft gurgling of a stream in the distance. None of the goats actually walked inside the gardens. Black, perhaps basalt, stones marked a boundary. Those must be the kuduru-stones she was talking about. I could see the word relating to boundary, but could also mean ¡®limit¡¯ or ¡®shield¡¯. Roughly incised inscriptions covered the stones'' surfaces, with the addition of reliefs. They were crudely, cartoonishly carved, like a child¡¯s drawing. A portly merman slayed a small dragon with a spear. Another held a bundle of scraggly plants in his hands, and I hesitantly identified what Nana had described as weeds. More significantly, the stones gave off a similar feel to the shrine island¡¯s serpentinite stone. However, these texts were actually legible. I wrenched my head away. No, now wasn¡¯t the time to dawdle! It would be sunset soon, and I had some gardening to do. There were a few ancient stones strewn about, too, half buried. From what little I could see, their carvings were done by hands with far more skill. Larger kuduru, three or four feet in height, marked the forest¡¯s edge. They were shaped like fingers, with an inset relief where a nail would be.
After a rough hour of pulling garden weeds¨Cit seemed the kuduru had their limits¨CI set to work picking fruits and vegetables that ripened in summer. Amazingly, there were tomatoes! They were the size of a nickel, with sunny yellow-orange skin. Other crops included thin, deep purple beans longer than my hand. I eagerly crunched into a short, fat cucumber. Gourds ripened in adjacent plots. Stacks of blue and yellow gladiolus flowers bloomed, along with long, tall stems bearing multitudes of lilac purple blossoms. They bore massive, vibrant green leaves underneath them. Sadly, all plots aside from a few vegetable ones had long since fallen into disuse. Finally finishing, and reasonably dry, I put on the tunic to immense satisfaction and relief. I drifted away from the garden, towards the forest¡¯s edge, taking care to heed Nana¡¯s warning. Ferns and shrubs sprouted, not yet eaten by goats. They covered toppled structures, white bricks from the chalk cliffs strewn about. The bricks were worn, but looked to have been cut by hand, unlike the unnatural smoothness of Nana¡¯s cove. I noticed the huge clearing had a subtle bowl shape to it, its surface lower than the rest of the island. Upon scooping away some soil, some of the chalk-brick structures were set far under surface level. The dirt below had an odd consistency, and digging down further, it was striated. The most well preserved and upkept structure sat near the overgrown flower beds. Goats had taken care of grass outside it, but clearly none had been able to enter. Its highest wall didn''t even reach my waist. Were earthquakes common here, or had time simply taken its toll? The fallen chalk bricks had long since been hauled away, and I could barely make out a mosaic under grime and debris. It was quite sizable, covering the entire twenty foot wide floor. An inset shrine was in the far corner, candles protected from rain. A small urn sat under it, of a style similar to those larger ones in Nana¡¯s cove. It was an unusual two-part shape, with an upside down smaller bowl covering a large one. I''d thought they were for storage, but perhaps¡­ they were funerary. Taking extreme care, I brushed away dirt covering the mosaic. A mermaid emerged, smiling, with spiky white hair. She played a flute, two dolphins singing on either side of her. Another mermaid, also in a circular composition, played a lyre, a dolphin decorating it like a ship¡¯s prow. Her eyes were closed, and she had wavy silver hair streaked with seaweed. Nana. I was nearly sure. She looked young, lively, but still had her distinctive aquiline nose and strong jaw. Yet another was a merman, holding a spear. He was strong, heavyset, in the fashion of a weightlifter. His long grey hair was tied in a bun, and a human sat next to him, singing. The mosaic¡¯s workmanship was exquisite, competing with the Romans'' best. There¡¯s no way Nana made this herself. If she once had a family, where had they all gone? Did they move on to different seas, or were they dead and burned? ¡®None but I to do it¡¯, huh¡­ She¡¯ll inevitably die, as well. I don¡¯t want to, and don¡¯t think I can take on her duties, but something needs to be done to preserve this place. Despite my anxieties, I felt excitement at the prospect of uncovering what happened to this place, perhaps this entire archipelago. Did terrible beasts and wild spirits always live here, even alongside civilization? It was hard to believe. Throughout all the creatures depicted in the shrine¡¯s reliefs, there wasn¡¯t a single dragon. 7 – Dolphin Lyre The forest stream ended with a pond, which fed the garden¡¯s irrigation channels. I knelt at its edge, reeds brushing against me in the evening wind. I¡¯d almost finished washing the vegetables, when I saw a slight glow at the pond¡¯s bottom. It winked off and on several times, as if it were an eye. I focused and cast my flame art to get a better look, its silver glow reflecting on the water. Whatever was down there stirred, water lapping up close to my knees. I warily stood up and took a few steps backwards. A long form reared up from the surface, not making a single splash of water. It was a spirit, for sure¨Cform closely resembling a dolphin, but with a longer body and shorter snout. The lighting made it hard to tell, but its skin was a light greyish-blue, and two wavy orange lines ran down its side. Unlike the shrine¡¯s spirit, its form was opaque, if wavering a little. It seemed to still be recovering and getting its bearings, its eyes repeatedly blinking. I waited a moment longer, then spoke. ¡°You¡¯re a friend of Nana¡¯s, right? I just arrived here¨Csorry if I¡¯m intruding or anything. My name¡¯s Linus,¡± I said, a nervous smile on my face. ¡°You may name me Yunu,¡± the spirit said. I was taken aback by their voice. It was incredibly smooth and melodic, to the point of unnatural perfection. Actually, now that I think about it, why is a dolphin spirit living in a pond, anyway? ¡°Yes, Cousin Esht?nana and I have known each other for an age,¡± they said, voice dropping to a more somber tone. ¡°Oh, and it is quite all right. It makes me happy enough that another traveller has finally come to this long-forgotten island! Far too many moons have passed since ?nsu¡­¡± they trailed off. ¡°Ah, do not mind that. Not yet,¡± they said, head tilting downwards in embarrasment. ¡°The moon is nearly full tonight. Perhaps we can convince Cousin to drag out that dusty lyre of hers.¡± So that was Nana in the mosaic! It¡¯s a little strange Yunu refers to her as a cousin. Are merpeople related to spirits, somehow? Magic is the only thing that makes sense to create a body like that, oxymoronic as the thought is. The word Yunu used certainly does imply a direct familial relationship. There was definitely pain behind that name they mentioned, ?nsu, but I wasn¡¯t going to inquire if Yunu didn¡¯t want to talk about it. I replied, ¡°I¡¯ll give it my best try, but she¡¯s probably asleep by this point. I¡¯d certainly like to hear her play, as well. Uh, also, you mentioned something about another traveler¨Ccould you tell me about them?¡± I asked hopefully. ¡°I suppose she too sleeps far more often than not, nowadays,¡± Yunu murmured, eyes slightly glazing over. ¡°Oh, yes! Though, to tell the truth, I do not remember much. He was a far older man than you. Wise. Though, with the short lives of humans, he is dead by now, ash for perhaps a century or more. However, I do know for certain that he did indeed escape this accursed archipelago." Only a century? Maybe he has descendants who are still alive...
¡°No,¡± Nana growled, mouth still full of cucumber. I tried again. ¡°Well, Yunu suggested it¡­ they appeared when I washed the vegetables. They seemed rather excited about it, you know.¡± She froze for a split second when I mentioned Yunu¡¯s name. ¡°So you met Cousin already,¡± Nana said slowly. She lost all traces of grumpiness and looked at me with steely eyes. ¡°I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll tell you their tale another time. Simply know that you¡¯ll be in need of them if you wish to leave this place unscathed.¡± Nana let out one of her signature tortured sighs. ¡°I suppose I¡¯ll indulge you two. The moon is beautiful tonight,¡± she said, looking up.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. Wait, how does she know that? The slab of rock over her cove entirely covers the sky. Nana took another moment to consider, then said craftily, ¡°I may be more amicable if you would be willing to do something in exchange for this old lady''s hands..." ¡°Um, I can cook meals, perhaps? These vegetables aren''t much by themselves¨Cwell, it depends on whether you have the equipment and spices,¡± I said, smiling. To be fair, it would benefit me as much as her. ¡°Tomorrow for dinner, then.¡± Nana satisfactorily nodded, and went back inside a cave. This time, there was no sound from crashing and falling items. She emerged holding an incredible silver-plated lyre, exactly the one I¡¯d seen in the mosaic. Though now, it had accumulated dents, scratches, and patina. It was tastefully decorated, with patterns around the sound box¡¯s edge inlaid with mother-of-pearl and lapis lazuli. Designs covering the dolphin on the box¡¯s front were in carnelian, and it had eyes of gold. The lyre¡¯s total size and shape was unusual, nearly three feet tall and angular in construction. It brought to mind vague memories of Mesopotamian lyres I¡¯d seen, perhaps at the Penn Museum. My heart hurt a little, but I tried not to let it ruin my mood. She strummed a few notes, and fiddled with tuning pegs. Its sound was deep and resonant, like the lowing of a bull.
We walked through the few cypress trees that enclosed the garden clearing, stopping at the cliff¡¯s edge. The moon sat low over the horizon, just a sliver shy of full. A blaze of stars, and perhaps other planets, were visible around the moon, clouds covering the edges of the sky. I fruitlessly searched for any familiar constellations. Nana made herself comfortable, curling her tail around to support the lyre. ¡°Watch and listen closely,¡± she said sternly, her demeanor now closer to that of a proper venerable sage. ¡°Yes, if you¡¯ve any sort of education, you know the importance of star reading. One must be literate in all aspects.¡± I hesitantly nodded, and Nana began to play. Even aside from my own desire to learn these constellations, to regain any sort of my wordly knowledge from home, astronomy was also practically useful. Too bad I didn¡¯t have a astrolabe. Maybe Nana had tools of that sort, but I doubted she would permanently part with any of her hoard. She plucked single notes at first, then picked up, one hand thumbing between two strings while the other played a melody. A silver-white nimbus sprang out of the lyre, and rapidly spread across the stars, swirling around them and coalescing into shapes. Nana talked as she played, voice in tune with the music, but not quite singing. One constellation grew brighter than the others, of an enormous, muscular bull. ¡°The Great Fatted Bull¨Cthe one who desires, whose thirst is not sated,¡± she recited. Then, a great eel-like beast curving around the moon. ¡°Asag, the great guardian serpent of the Apsu¨Che whose heart was consumed,¡± she ground out, voice heavy. A great merman, holding what looked like a flail. ¡°Dammu, the Shepherd¨C¡± Nana¡¯s voice halted, and her finger slipped, missing a note. Two dolphins, entwined together. The night was a little cloudy, and they covered half of the stars that made up the constellation, though Nana¡¯s illusion showed the pair in full. ¡°The Twins¨Cthose whose love cannot bear to be parted,¡± she finished. The song¡¯s pace quickened, and every figure in the sky blazed into color, starting to fight and swim in a complex dance. A final note rang out across the water, and it ended. I sat there, speechless. Strangely, Nana hadn¡¯t described all of the constellations. Could this be just the first part of my instruction? I hope so. The ones she did name seemed vaguely portentous. Was it a divination?
Morning arrived far too quickly, and I was once again assaulted by nature¡¯s alarm clock, even louder than on the shrine island. The sun was barely peeking up from the horizon. Nana stomp-waddled out of a cave, face reddened and eyes narrowed. She was firmly holding her lyre, and it shook as her hands did. ¡°Again, seriously, that spiteful bastard of a worm¡­¡± she grumbled under her breath. I trailed behind her up the tunnel to the island¡¯s surface. My eyes bugged out and I flinched at the scene. Instead of a measly trickle, there was a veritable stream of melam floating up from the beach adjacent to Nana¡¯s cove. It had attracted all manner of creatures, including spirits, from distant waters and skies. They flew around each other in a whirlwind, letting out screams, caws, yelps, and ear-splitting cries as they clawed and pushed at each other to consume every last green-gold bubble. The beasts¡¯ forms were just as varied¨Cmultiple species of dragon, huge birds with wickedly curved beaks, and thin, flat snakes that sent out flares of lightning. There were even more whose bodies were blurry, indistinct, and I only caught flashes of their true selves, making waves of nausea run through me as my heart beat faster and faster. As we reached it, I looked down upon the beach. The melam was emerging from the great corpse of a recognizable fish. It was the same species as the Dunkleosteus-like one I had seen before entering the Apsu. Blood sluggishly flowed from gaping tooth marks along its massive body. A blazing white nimbus, speckled with gold flecks, swirled around Nana. I was stuck now, fully frozen in place. Shivers and needle-pricks sped through my body. As I stilled, the entire swarm did, too. I suspected that the effect was far worse for them than for me. Nana paused, and a soft breeze blew past us towards the spirits. A warning shot. A moment later, her song instantly began, gusts of silvery wind cocooning the spirits and blowing across the waves. More daring, powerful spirits escaped, darting towards Nana in challenge. A jagged black snake sped towards us, and was immediately stopped in its tracks by a barrier of wind, blowing it back to rejoin its fellows. Nana¡¯s mouth was set in a tight line, almost a grimace, as the song¡¯s pace quickened, her wizened fingers dancing across strings, reaching a harrowing climax. A final, high note sounded, and the creatures were flung away, disappearing over the horizon and into the sea. I fell to my knees. It took several minutes for my frantic heartbeat to calm.
¡°Best to butcher the fish immediately,¡± Nana said flatly. ¡°The idiot spirits and flesh scavengers will be back soon enough.¡± I wordlessly nodded, still shaking slightly. It did make me perk up a little, though¨Cwho on Earth would ever get to gut a twenty-foot prehistoric fish? 8 – Chalk and Blood Nana tossed me a sheathed knife and a massive, lumpy square of folded fabric, plasticky to the touch. I definitely hadn¡¯t seen her carrying them, and I staggered back under the weight. Still holding her lyre, she went over to the fish and coaxed the sputters of melam floating from its body into a blown-glass vial. ¡°Suppose Cousin will be needing to eat sometime soon¡­¡± she muttered. Nana¡¯s head jerked back towards me, and she snapped, ¡°Well, what¡¯re you waiting for? Lay out the tarp.¡± I¡¯d been busy inspecting the knife, which was long enough to perhaps be called a sword. It was curved, and gradually tapered to a point¨Ca classic shape for filleting. The wooden handle had weathered to a dull grey, though the silvery blade looked to be regularly polished. Bronze decorations on the hilt, however, hadn¡¯t received similar treatment, now a dull turquoise. Even in age, it was still a beautiful tool. A bunch of rusted pegs tumbled out as I unfolded the tarp, and I hastily pushed them through holes in its edge, deep into the firm sand. A loud thump sounded, and I jerked up. Nana had already moved the enormous fish. Despite its impressive length of twenty feet¨Cor more¨Cthere was room to spare on the tarp. Wisps of her magic ebbed from its body. How much did it weigh?! Three tons? Ignoring a few pangs of anxiety in my heart, I strode up to the fish and inspected it. The obvious cause of death were huge tooth puncture marks around its head, easily piercing through bony plates of armor. Oddly, slash marks also covered it. They looked less fresh, partially healed over, and were absurdly clean. There were no rips or tears like the type that would be caused by an animal¡¯s claws. I was reminded of the way the shrine¡¯s walls had been defaced. Unlike the teeth marks, whatever made them hadn¡¯t had as much luck getting through its skull. I¡¯d been so focused on the fish, that I only noticed the final streams of melam had left it when I looked up and saw gold-green vapors, dispersing into the clouds. I gestured to the sky with an arm and called out, ¡°Hey, isn¡¯t it sort of going to waste?¡± Nana had begun to settle down on the tarp¡¯s edge with her lyre resting on her tail. She gave me a look, and I walked closer. ¡°Couldn¡¯t we have been able to use it somehow? I mean, I suppose I trust your judgement, but if you could at least explain why¡­?¡± I queried. She sighed once more, but it was sad, quiet, not the dramatic tortured one she usually favored. ¡°Yes. Sit down. The fish can wait a little while longer,¡± she said. Nana stiffened up and went into that same wise teacher-mode she¡¯d used last night. ¡°It is at my fault, for not discussing of this earlier,¡± she admitted. ¡°Tell me, how many creatures have you killed before you and I met? Besides the spirit of the shrine, how much of their melam have you taken?¡± The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Her voice was not urgent, but dangerously calm. ¡°I only took from one! And I killed it for food. I know that I¡¯m likely wrong, or my intentions are misplaced, but I asked because I thought it could lead to some sort of power, stronger magic. I just wanted¡­ any sort of agency, really, to travel and explore without fear.¡± I replied, head hung in embarrassment. Nana slapped her tail against the tarp, and chuckles escaped from her mouth. ¡°Oh, no. You are not wrong ¨C not in fact, that is. Yes, power beyond belief can be gained. There is a great, savage joy to be found in slaying great beasts and taking their strength for your own,¡± she said, a knowing grin spreading across her face. It vanished, and Nana¡¯s voice became ice. ¡°But always, there is a price. As you are now, great spirits look upon you and see a mote of dust. Nothing of consequence, let alone a tasty morsel.¡± She paused, and massaged her throat. ¡°Grow in strength, hoard more and more and more melam in your spirit¨Cand their sights will ever so slowly turn towards you. Just as storm clouds always return to the sea, and rise back to the sky, some will seek your destruction solely for hoarding more than what is rightfully yours. For disrupting the natural cycle, taking more than your share,¡± she said. ¡°I will not dissuade you from this path. If you wish to rush into death, let it be so! However, know that one can still build a tower on their own, brick by brick, through chalk and blood. Skill is a power in and of itself,¡± Nana finished. So it melam isn¡¯t like the concept of an immortal soul. The stuff of life, forever recycled into new beings¡­ No. I do want power, agency, but not simply for the sake of it. Besides, skill gained through my own merits comes with far more satisfaction. As convenient as it was, I felt a tiny bit of discomfort and anger towards the fact that I was handed the Iralic language, without need for years of study. Conjuring and searching inside my spirit, I found scraps of forign melam that¡¯d been partially assimilated into the rest. Like half-digested food inside a stomach. I was less than enthused to find that forcefully releasing it came with the same sort of nausea as throwing up. The life of the razor clam was set free as a breath of golden wind, fading into the breeze. Nana looked me dead in the eyes and nodded. She hefted up her lyre, closed her eyes, and finally began to play. It was a slow, lilting song, and I could barely make out the words. She half-recited, half-sung them. Was it a cultural style, or could she no longer sing? While you live, shine Don''t suffer anything at all; Life exists only a short while And time demands its toll¡­ Looking back, I saw a slight smile on her face.
Water flowed up from the low tide. Sand and salt fell from the streams as Nana¡¯s magic worked, swirling around the fish. Blood was carried away as I cut into it¨CI was thankful I wouldn¡¯t have to relive what my body looked like when I first woke up in this world. My tunic was left at the edge of the tarp. Fresh and cool water, thanks to Nana, washed sweat and gore from my body as the summer sun beat down upon us. Breezes whipped against my face. Cutting through its skeleton was a no-go, despite the knife obviously being magical. Nana¡¯s chicken-scratch scrawl was etched into the base of its blade. The bone was too thick, unlike a shark¡¯s cartilage, and I wasn¡¯t strong enough. With Nana¡¯s help, I cut the tail off. Blood slowly oozed out of what was probably its caudal artery, but by now it¡¯d mostly bled out. Next, its head was severed, right behind the pectoral fins. I had to work around its plates of bone, but the knife was easily flexible enough not to break as I sliced them apart. Upon gutting it, its stomach, intestines, and other entrails slid out onto the tarp. They were laid aside, and I eyed the bulging stomach. Two grooves, creating a v-shape, were cut on either side of its spine, which was then removed. Slabs of the massive white fillets were hacked off one by one. Eventually, we finished. Nana packed up the piles of meat and I was left laying on the tarp, muscles screaming in pain. I stood up on shaking knees and wandered over to the entrails. After thinking for a moment, I carefully sliced open the huge j-shaped stomach. Mainly just to satisfy my own curiosity about other species of marine life. Hopefully the stomach acid wouldn¡¯t affect the blade¨Cthat of sharks was wickedly strong. At the first long cut, a man¡¯s face emerged, like opening a body bag. He had wavy, black hair, like mine. I dropped the knife and fell, eyes still fixated on the partially dissolved face. Looking away, I took a minute to collect myself. Was it one of the two people who¡¯d desecrated the shrine? Those clean slashes I¡¯d seen on the fish¡¯s body was a point in favor. If I found a woman, too, then I¡¯d be certain.