Reflections
Shell stood on the beach, on wet sand smoothed by the wash. Far from where he was, the pirate ship stood tall with empty masts, but it was close enough that the sounds of departure echoed from the polished black cliffs. Faint wooden clacks and fragments of sailors' shouts as Dani's crew made ready to sail, loading supplies and making last minute repairs. The others were still in town, or at the rooms, making their own preparations. They would all be leaving soon, fleeing this strange place. Running from its doom.
The sand here was grey, not like the coral sands of home. Black glass and volcanic stone ground to nothing and mixed with deeper sands, cast onto the shore again. He curled his toes into the wetness left by the wash, a feeling that was familiar even if the sand itself was different.
He took out the shell he had bought. A cowrie-like thing with a smooth top and few spikes. Good for carving. The patterns on it... the uneven netted tree scale pattern of water lights, carved just enough to show the warm colours of the shell layers beneath the purple and grey, orange and white like a sunset through shallow water. Swordfish had carved that often. That unorthodox style- without pattern or mathematics- a reflection of his own personality. Quick decision maker. Follower of his heart.
Shell gripped the carving in his fist and sighed, looking out over the sea. There was a chance it was really his, of course. Trade with the sahuagin was not uncommon and Swordfish had been a prolific carver even for the village of Nessuna, channelling his constant creative energy, always doing things with his hands. It was possible the shell had bounced from owner to owner since his death, ending up as a bartered trinket on this strange black island. It was also possible it wasn't even from Tevar's Heart. Water lights and sunsets were everywhere, after all. At least he assumed so.
He brushed his thumb over the shell as foam washed over his feet, the tide rising. He wasn't going to keep it, obviously. The shell around his neck was reminder enough, its significance always resting against his chest. They said that holding onto the dead made them hold onto you, weighing you down until you could no longer fight. The dead belonged to the jaws of Tevar, and the creatures that lived below them; their bodies made part of the world and their voices and minds gone forever. But so many things he'd seen while travelling with his friends had made him question that last part. He'd even seen Swordfish again, heard his voice. A ghost in a memory, a mockery of events, but still it had been him, standing on his raft and laughing as he always had, waiting for Shell to listen to his next idea, to follow him over the waves.
Now he followed the others, he realised. He sat down in the sand thoughtfully. The wash crashed sloppily over his cross-legged knees as he cradled the shell in his lap, turning it around and around and watching the droplets of salt water sparkle off it. He still didn't really understand where their heading was, or what it was they sought. Now that he had most of his memories back, it still wasn't clear. Why had he even gone with them to begin with? He didn't know. He only remembered brief pieces- captain Stonebranch's ship, a few of the others, the village elders of Tevar and A'yir in discussion... It answered nothing, but he assumed his reasons then were similar to his reasons now: He was there to fight by their side, to follow and protect their cause. Bart and Melusine in the lead, clamorous and bright, full of life and tragedy and carrying their hearts like banners. Izzy close behind, analysing, criticising, advising but also leaping ahead, so excited by things he didn't understand. Sloop the spike-studded body of their group, the monster who had nothing but kindness as it carried its tiny friend, their iron raft when there was danger. Marsha the shadow behind, always watching, waiting, always cunning, always wise. Stonebranch who provided for them, a safe harbour for their memories. Mysterious Roak... There were nine of them, and the fact hadn't escaped his notice. Did it mean anything? Nine, the number of the three villages, of the strength of people working in unity. The profane counterpart to the divine number of three. The base of the pyramid. The shout. He knew the number meant nothing to the others, so did that make it coincidence? His mind said yes but his heart- the heart that remembered looking into the blue eyes of his god- said no.
His own blue eyes widened and his thin pupils twitched as he abruptly remembered something. He gripped the carved shell in his hand. Tevar's words, in his vision...
"You can’t let the black flame find the beginning, it will be the end of everything we know if they do.”
Now they made sense. How had he forgotten that? They had just been words before but now they made sense. The Gem of Beginnings. The black flame the others said was the demon king called the Diabolist...
He got to his feet, dripping, heartbeat fast. Layers of symbolism, familiar yet strange. Was this his reason? Was it this that made him follow the others back in the beginning? He almost laughed. He was supposed to be the one chosen to help prevent the end of everything? He had long ago determinedly unlearned self-pity just as he had determinedly learned to walk and talk, but still he knew there were many others, so many warriors and wives who were much more suitable than he was. Among his people, he was one of the least. This wasn't self-pity, it was fact, even if his travelling companions never seemed to notice.
He looked down at the shell in his hand. The dead will hold onto you. In Bart's case, that had been almost literal. He had a feeling there would be many more ghosts surfacing to challenge them in future. He held the shell up.
"I cant take you w-with me." he said. He hated talking. But Swordfish had always waited for him to finish.
"I have to be the best I can be, to make up for what I lack."
He felt that if the shell were Swordfish, it'd be staring at him wryly. Yeah, that was a little dramatic. Perhaps Melusine was rubbing off on him.
He held the shell in his hand and waded into the lazy water, the low waves breaking against his thighs. When he was deep enough he ducked down below the waves and kicked off, sand swirling around his feet.
He swam gently, letting the waves pull him forward and only resisting their tug shorewards. The water tasted of harbour and fish industry and the grey sand made the light dim rapidly, but it still felt good to be off his clumsy feet and feel the sea on his skin. He went out far enough for the sand to lead into black glass rocks that looked like holes against the grey, then dived down to meet them. One of the deepfang swam by in the distance, eyes reflective, but left him alone.
Bubbles trickled from Shell's nose as he crouched over the sand; a patch partly covered by red algae that looked deep brown in the low light. He gripped the glassy stone to steady himself and took out the carved shell. The colours looked even more beautiful against the dark. He set it down in the sand and twisted it in a little, so that the edges were buried and the bright colours were less visible. It looked almost like a living animal again, sleeping on the sea floor. It wasn't really all that symbolic; Swordfish's real burial had been long ago and far away at the edges of Tevar's Heart, but at least this way this piece of his memory wouldn't keep trading from hand to hand like an old coin. The clouded sky far above had cleared a little, and even in the black island's oily harbour water the sun made faint, dancing patterns against the grey sand.
Breathing out in a cloud of bubbles, Shell kicked off from the black rocks and headed for the surface. He could hear the sounds of the ship even louder through the water and it would definitely be time to leave now. He felt stronger, but weaker too, from his reflections. More determined to be salve and claw in aid of his friends, more aware of the consequences of failing them. Though he couldn't begin to fathom why, the gods had chosen him, even with all his troubles. His path was clear before him, and so he would follow it.