The Loneliest Traid

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  • Published: 2 Apr 2017
  • Updated: 13 May 2017
  • Status: Complete
Love and death and war and Gods and blood and magic and dancing and rest and revenge and kings and fate.
Don't worry, within these three stories you'll know yourself,
And I will put you back together again.


22. The Sea

The sea is an amazing thing, truly.

    The ties to all worlds, lace in corsets.  The buckling mirror that lines all births, wars, beginnings and deaths, bringing them to each other no matter how far, holding the power of all life and holding one part of the strongest magic known to the Gods.

    The source powers - desert stretches, mountain range, woodland, and the water based learners that use spells so strong it could only have come from those who had created the universe themselves.  Water draws people in, children are born dreaming of it, the old rest their joints by its feet.  There is something so powerful in its shattering skin, as blue as that which resides above the world, under the uncoiling tides that holds life far beyond the imagination of either great wizard or writer.  There is something larger than even the Gods themselves in its hands, and maybe it is this that lives in the minds of each soul on land that holds the deeply set longing to return to the bay they see in their mind and find what it had always been that they were looking for all this time.

    And what a better place to find the gates to the next life?  A waterfall on all sides, like the mouth of the world itself, dragging down only those who know what they were looking for.  Down, they fall, into a world where the sea blue breaks away in melting crystals, seafoam catching your eyes like stars.  Everything you once knew falling away, until it was just you, floating and letting the current drag you down where you never needed to breath and never needed to speak, just to watch as the realm bloomed white around you, fireworks of light on the backdrop of sapphire waterfalls.  

    Jinmi fell, and if felt like an eternity in a moment.  He was no longer scared with the blanket of changing water waving goodbye to the raging storms above.  He let the blue turn to white, his tears dry now in the warmth of flickering, sparkling fires as clear as sea salt.  He closed his eyes, allowing himself to drown under the weight of the world, uncaring if he floated any longer, the sea so familiar to him again, the dream of a child he’d long forgotten.

    He awoke in a world dry and soft, warm cushions or clouds, embraces perhaps, and was met with something that did not fall with him.  A gate of gold, engraved, towering, uninviting.  He was not meant to be here.  This was a world for his grandfather, a hero, not him.


    Estha awoke with her head on the crook of Ichais’ arm.  She sat up, the sunset now turned to an ugly black sky, as familiar to her as a Mavros she once knew well.

    She looked to Ichais who tossed in her sleep uneasily, mumbling as she so often did.  Hearing just a mention of her own name on her lips, Estha stood and began walking, down the hill, her ears covered.  If she was living in an illusions of how Ichais really felt about the troll, she would much rather live in ignorant bliss, rather than hearing what she had all her life - that she was ugly, unwanted.

    She stopped at the fountain at the middle of the park.  It was still awash with petals and paper boats, all seeming grey in the night.  She ran her hand over the skin of the water, the flowers breaking away and shining like thousands of candles beneath the surface.  She looked down into it.  The park was empty, all of the children home again.  The town was silent, save for the distant chimes of the bells that hung from the trees surrounding each house as a charm against evils.  She sat away from them, not wanting to hear her name again in their giggling rings.  Instead, she looked into the water, where the moon reflected blue and the sky no longer seemed black, but instead a royal shade begging to be set alight again with the rising of the sun.  She remembered that this was not Mavros.  She was outside, her hood down, her old home now lost to her.  She was as free as she could ever wish to be, and she knew where she belonged.

    She let the petals settle once more on the lights of the moon and the stars, the water stilling again.  

    She would fulfill her mother’s wish and travel to the ocean.  It was where she belonged, she knew in her heart, and it was where she would find the happiness she not desired but rather needed.

    She slept at the steps of the fountain, the bells warding off all evils but her, the sounds of the lapping waves soothing her to sleep.


    The sea is a strange thing.  We will walk to our depths, the fear of drowning keeping us standing despite the aching cold in our bones, and we will not stop until we feel that we have come to peace with our distance from the horizon.  We will walk and swim and sail until the sea is no longer a place we dream of, but live with.  The ocean will take the lives of countless, and we will always feel that the pulling of the tide was meant to carry us out with it.

    The second realm is much the same, the land of Gods and Devils, and we were born dreaming of its presence within us, and we will live and run and die until we meet it.  And when we do, we will know that it is no longer a dream, but a part of us, and the magic that this world is made of.  We are no more evil than the darkness in our land, and are no more good than the light at the end of the water, a bleak horizon that we dream of when we remember that this world is much larger than what we know, and that we - the magic, the Gods, the sinners, the people - are one and the same, connected by the ties to all worlds, lace in corsets, the ocean that connects all lives and deaths, each moment we live, and time we die.  The sea is strange, yes, and no more are we.

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