The Last Children of the Sea
Let Sleeping Gods Lie, Act 2: The Other Side, Conclusion part 2, Epilogue
Continued from The Name of the Sky Catch up on all the stories from Act1: An Unusual Brain here.
Abraham woke to the sound of lapping waves and the smell of salt. He lay in shallow water on a bed of impossible flowers. Deep lime green, mustard yellow, vibrant purple and pastille rainbows grew around him, swaying in the quiet waves, shaped by the slow tides.
The waters of the crystal sea covered much of the world and Abraham had the good fortune of arriving right in its centre where the last of the children of the sea lived above the surface. In the centre of the centre was a great coral tree — so large it towered above the waves, so ancient it remembered the old serpent and had spoken to her in its youth. In the heart of the tree, is the temple of souls where the Szahs of the Golden Serpent served the people of the crystal sea. She asked for no sacrifice and no service other than feeding the poor and housing the homeless. Only one of her order remained now after the slow centuries had seen the rise and fall of the great ocean cities. But Alajah, the last Szah, still gathered wild lettuce and shellfish from the ocean floor to share with the children who remained. Her mother had taught her the ways of the sea and how to find and farm the creatures and ocean fodder in a way that ensured the generations to come would eat too.
In the branches and forks of the tree and all the nooks and crannies hide the old dwellings of the lost Szahs and their families. Toward the base of the tree, where Abraham was rubbing salty eyes are the many huts, holes and houses of everyday folk who had loved to be close to the temple. Everyone was welcome in the temple of souls, but few remained. Where the trunk and great weeping branches met the water hundreds of boats — deep green, pale grey and bright yellow are moored with ropes of twisted sea vines. All shapes and sizes, some grown from the shaping coral, others woven and dried from creeping seaweed. All empty and making quiet music as they bumped and knocked against each other in the rolling waves and fresh breeze. Stretching away from the boats and the base of the tree are the great spiral gardens of the temple grown from the rarest corals found in the utter reaches and brought back by intrepid adventurers over many generations.
Spotted around the base of the tree and the floating coral are the many houses, storefronts and marketplaces of the children of the sea. Most were abandoned now, but in their day had been wonders grown from the old corals, shaped by skillful hands and by the wind and tides, full of vibrant colours and flowing shapes so beautiful visitors from the shorelands would often stand and weep the first time they saw the great ocean houses. The name of the city is Treicastion, the seat of the Last Empress of the Sea, above the temple in a great house in the highest branches where she could watch over all the matters of her vast, dying kingdom.
Marching away to the north are the archipelago cities of Schondai, great voyagers and occasional pirates who spent little time away from their ships in small huts made from sand and seagrass. To the south were the rolling island hills of Daitounte, farmers of the great fish and vast crops of grain and green vegetables. The legends say the Stewards of Daitounte were the masters of a terrible monster that had laid waste to the archipelago isles in the great war. If you asked a Steward about the monster they would dismiss it as the tall tales of old men, but if you walk the bottom of the sea beneath the many isles of Schondai you may see thousands of ships mauled and wrecked and resting forever in the darkness deep beneath the waves.
To the east and the west are the great sea cliffs whose peaks disappear beyond the sky. In the west sits the great Pirate King Qarth The Bloodless. A safe place for those living a life less than lawful and a very dangerous place for any that seek them. But far less dangerous than the Forsaken Cliffs in the east where Haig The Wanderer worships the Dark Horror whose dreams still haunt the living and the dead. Only the dead live there and those who have lost their sanity somewhere in the vast waters of the crystal sea. Many say a great horde waits there for the day the Horror - whose name is hidden from the living - wakes again and his black will lays low the rulers and the cities of old. Others say Haig is a madman best left alone atop the high cliffs praying to the darkness and conveniently attracting all the folks not fit for living anymore.
Abraham sat up and carefully peered over the edge of the great tree to see the trunk disappear leagues below into the shadows of the deep sea. He counted his breaths of the salt air and tried to shake the echoes of his haunted dreams. His reflection in the glassy water told him he was still the nine-year-old boy he had been in Heather’s lounge room drinking cordial and eating cookies; his eyes told him otherwise. Dark, ancient eyes in his sun-kissed coffee face. He could not remember the feeling of hunger or thirst; the comfort of sleep. He sat a while longer, then shrugged his shoulders and stood gingerly to his feet on legs that had forgotten how to walk, took a few cautious steps, and began to search for food and shelter.
Well, time to grow up I guess.
© 2022, Isaac Asamoah. All rights reserved.
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