by A. Sparrow
Chapter 19: Submerged
I bob to the surface. A swell surges into the chasm and dashes me against the wall. I flail, fingernails scraping for purchase on the slick stone. Alecto crouches on the ledge from which I fell, bowstring tensed, a glint of obsidian poised and pointed at the thrashing surf.
She relaxes when she spots me and lowers her bow. She reaches for a loop of rope on her hip, tosses me a line with her free hand. It slaps the water right in front of me and splashes my face.
Do I want to be rescued by her? Before I can react, an undertow sucks me down and plunges me deep. A torrent shunted down by the chasm wall pins me against the rocky bed as if I am under Niagara.
I can’t budge. The odd thing is, the sad thing: I don’t care. I’ve been through this already. This ocean is no threat, it is my womb.
For many long seconds I hug the sea floor, sand blasted with swirling grit, until the current breaks and shifts. Back flow from the chasm rips me off the rocks and into the open sea.
I rocket to the surface and skim over an outgoing wave, wind milling my arms frantically, fighting to stay on top of the surf. My buoyancy is negligible. I have swallowed lots of water and I feel it heavy in my lungs. It has been minutes since I had taken a breath, but that doesn’t seem to matter.
The chasm has emptied. The entire waterline has receded from the cliffs and re-exposed the thin beaches that the tsunami-like surge had immersed as Sabonis and I traversed the cliff face, almost as if the sea were sentient and had reached out its mighty pseudopod to get us.
I circle about, but see no sign of Sabonis. Alecto is gone. To my left towers a dark pillar of stone almost human in shape—hooded and caped like a pitying monk or an angel of death. I kick out and swim for it, fighting against a current that consumes most of my progress. I inch closer until a swell thrusts me against the pillar.
I dig my fingers into stone pocked like Swiss cheese. I cling like a crab as the sea pries at my grip trying to peel me off. I jam my fist into a crack and twist, securing an unbreakable hold.
I wonder to myself why I fight, why I don’t just let the sea take me where it wants to take me. And I know it’s because I want to control my fate. I always had, until the moment of my death. Why should things change?
I can’t remove my fist or the sea will take me. I shut my eyes and try to think of nice, calm things: cricket song and iced tea on a summer night, watching videos and cuddling with Gina on the couch—anything but those terrible waves barreling into me.
I take advantage of any respite, however brief, to reposition my hand in the crevice. I creep up the pillar, with less and less of my body exposed to the full force of the swells. And the sea continues to recede. I can climb freely now. I move to the backside of the pillar where a natural bridge connects it to the bluff. I scan the heights for Alecto and her companion. I see nothing but scraggly shrubs bending with the wind.
I reach the bridge and cross to a ledge that breaks the shoulder of the bluff like a giant step. I walk in the direction Sabonis had intended us to go, but I walk now with diffidence. His sodden, shredded cloak clings to me like wet fur on a cat. My head hangs as I become aware of my utter alone-ness. I have little motivation to continue. I look back at Mt. Abdiel and consider returning to the place that Bianca brought me.
But I do continue on, plodding along the step as it descends to a wide strip of beach. Black sand backed with grass-anchored dunes, all of it soaked by the now receded tsunami, leaving behind lagoons in every low spot. I wobble to the tallest dune I can find, and drop down into the sand and lie flat.
The wind has already begun to dry the sand. I roll my head to one side and vomit seawater. For many minutes I lay still, my head empty of all but my most basic senses. When I lift my head, I am struck by a disturbing sense of déjà vu as if I am back on that other beach again.
But this beach differs. It is thinner, backed by sheer cliffs, not a mountainside, and completely vacant.
Or is it?
I see a body sprawling in the smooth, glistening sand at the limits of the surf, a limp, still form that looks quite dead.
Sabonis.
