Island of Nathira

She looked across the shallow inlet, the glimmering waters sparkling like gems, and for the first time she realized that she indeed was a woman. For last week, she had not been. For Bith Bidoon had awoken one ghastly night to find his bowels on the cusp of flight, with an intruder holding his manhood with a bloody dagger held low for another go. A frantic struggle ensued, but now she was foggy on the details. All she knew was that some heinous criminal had made off with the genitals, which had prompted those in the high echelons of Acstrivian society to believe the family of Bith Bidoon was in real danger. Although the attacker remained at large, it was assumed that he was one of the Ilandians: that haughty new empire come fresh out of the north, spreading their poison south into Acstrivium from occupied fortresses in the fallen kingdoms of Donlin, Athuka and the like.

As a precautionary measure, Bith Bidoon was sent away from her home in Dumithian, in a carriage that rambled across the desert and up through the dead lands of Kyse. From there, the path turned west, evading all Ilandian camps until they crossed the Gizle, and from there the route veered northward, towards the dreaded Sashites which even Farathahide could not conquer. The scenery was sublime, but Bith could hardly take much joy in it. For she was having a crisis— is that what she was referring to herself as now, a she? Herself? She had always taken pride in her manhood, but now it was gone.

As soon as the mutilation was revealed, all the folk in Dumithian had immediately bid farewell to Bith Bidoon as he was, and began referring to her as Bith Bidoon the woman. Yes, ‘she’ and ‘her’ were the proper terms to refer to her now, that had been made very clear to her. But up until her trip through the mountains, she had been fighting it. She had still seen herself as a man in all regards, albeit without her great tower of the loin. As she crawled along the mountain passes of Sashienta, doubt began to creep in. And then once she reached the sea, the aromas of the watery breeze began to strike her face differently than ever they did back home.

She met up with an Acstrivian captain, to take her across the great Sea of Cathuma, and deliver her to the charming town of Medwyn, where it was assumed she would be safe from harm for the time being. At any rate, those seeking her in Acstrivium would be hard-pressed indeed to find her in such distant ports.

But the Sea was of wrath, and in the middle of that year 2406 a storm was thrown up, and the ship which held Bith was tossed against a shallow reef of clear celestial waters. She woke up the next morning to a sunken ship, but the stern whereon she lied was pointed up just above the water. Bith took a look down and saw the gentle roll of coastal waves, and the crew of the vessel resting peacefully in their tropical grave, having fallen harshly against the walls when the ship capsized.

A great fortune it was then, for Bith Bidoon to find herself alive. An even greater fortune presented itself as she climbed up the stern, and she beheld the inviting view of a paradisiacal islet, a feast for the realm of vision. But such a feast, for Bith Bidoon, would have been more aptly tasted as a passing glance at a wall-hung painting. Now as she stood, taking in the image as it was in reality, she realized it signified nothing but horror. For here she was, in the middle of mighty Cathuma, next to an island which none knew to exist. For her own people, the wise Acstrivians, had not even known of any other islands in the Sea save the three which everyone knew of: Pyertis, Kilantha and Nalachis. This little isle, being visible in full with one look, was certainly none of those.

A trio of palm trees stood on a little mound of sand, and behind that, a larger copse of trees stood further back, separated by a rocky cove. It took about two minutes for Bith Bidoon to walk the entire span of it all, but there were some unexpected surprises which presented themselves as Bith took on her trek of exploration. First, there was a large rock next to the copse, with strange markings carved into its face. At the base of this rock sat a little wooden chest, fastened with metal latches locked firm and fast. There was no breaking into it; Bith tried.

Walking around the rock, she then came upon a small marble fountain, hidden by hanging foliage. It was clear that these seven mighty palms had been planted to line an aisle, walking up to this fountain… the water of which did not pour from the spouts, but rather leaked out, cascading down from cracks in the tiles.

The dried-up spouts were in the shape of three godly figures, though Bith could not recall having ever seen their likeness in any text. With a bold curiosity, she stroked the faces of the sculpted gods, and saw them recoil ever so slightly. She didn’t spend too much time pondering who they could represent, for she found herself very thirsty, and gladly accepted what the leaking fountain offered.

Mere moments later, Bith stepped back to find the world spinning, slowly at first but more and more rapid as she fought the power of whatever it was she had just drank. With the coming of foreign taste and fascinating new aromas, she began to lose the fighting will. And with the darkening of skies, she fell upon the sand in some wild fancy.

Upon awaking from her wild fancy, Bith went straight back to the fountain, to get herself some more wild fancy. For such a wild fancy had Bith never before had, and there was no telling how long she’d be stranded on that small spit of land. So she sought to piss away the time by any means necessary, and passing days away in a state of wild fancy seemed far more preferable than just baking out in the suns.

Which brings us to the start of this tale, where we found Bith looking solemnly across the little cove of her island. As we had briefly discovered, this was the first time she accepted her newfound fate as a woman. And this was, in part, due to her vision of a man, emerging out of the placid waters on the far side of the cove. How long had this man been on the island? Impossible to know, for Bith had spent the best part of three days in her half-slumbering state of wild fancy. And now she was slowly awakening, and when she found the strength to lift her eyelids for a few seconds at a time, she could see that the man across the bay was quite handsome. It could just be the distance between them— but no, she was determined now not to take any more drink of Wild Fancy from the fountain, not until she knew who this man was, who was so suspiciously sharing the minuscule isle with her.

Some hours it took before the spell of the fountain’s water had worn off completely, and Bith felt enough strength to approach the stranger. “Is this all there is?” she asked as she approached the man, sitting on the sand.

The man glanced around, squinting in the bright light of the suns. “Yes. There’s a ship over there too, just yonder.”

“I— I know there’s a ship. We must have capsized in the storm.”

“There’s more of you then?”

“Well, my captain… he and his crew— there weren’t many of them— we were headed for a secret port, near Medwyn, on some quiet errand.”

“Why quiet?” asked the man, standing up, taking a keen interest in Bith’s story.

“Well… where I’m from… where are you from, anyway? Surely not here.”

“No, please. Go on. I’m taking a great interest in your story.”

“Oakay. I don’t suppose you know of the struggle between Ilandia and Acstrivium? No? Well there is such a struggle. Ilandia came down and forced my people out of our capital, Fathima… my family got away. We’ve got estates on the coastal cities, have you heard of Dumithian?”

“No, but I’ve heard of coastal estates,” shrugged the man. “You must be outrageously wealthy.”

“My family. As for me, I… don’t seem to have much of anything at the moment. All my prospects hinged on a safe arrival in Medwyn.”

“Well you look rich enough in prospects to me,” smiled the man. “What’s your name anyhow?

“Bith,” blushed Bith Bidoon.

“Intriguing to be sure. Lememma’s mine.”

They engaged in the standard greeting of The Sea, which is to say they grabbed onto each other’s pelves and gave a firm squeeze with both hands. Then Lememma proceeded to give Bith the island tour.

“Over here we’ve got the fountain, which no doubt you’ve encountered already—”

“Oh yes,” laughed Bith, “I’ve been caught up in wild fancy for something like three days!”

“I’ve seen.”

“You were here the whole time then?”

“Of course. I was just out swimming when you arrived; by the time I got up out of the water you were already writhing in the fancy. So I thought I’d just wait over here, on my side of the island, and wait for you to sleep it off. After all, it appears we’ve got quite a bit of time on our hands.”

“Why don’t you drink of the fountain?” asked Bith. “Surely it’s better to revel in the dreams it gives, rather than just sitting around on such a small island. Not able to fly away, not able to indulge in food, drink, or friends…”

“Well as you know, the dreams of the fountain are quite potent. And mine are filled with endless visits from dead relatives. My grandfather. And my mother. And all the friends I’ll never see again. And in the dreams I’m no fool; I know they’re already gone. So it is beyond any pain I’ve ever felt, to stand with their memories right before me, wanting to say so much, but being stopped by tears and a wailing throat. Knowing that it’s not them. And whatever I say will not reach their souls, but only be a pitiful attempt of my own mind to seek catharsis with words that should've been said long ago.”

And with this, Bith came to see this Lememma character was sad and haunted, and so they spent the rest of the day swimming along the rim of the isle, trying to keep their spirits bright. With the coming of dark, they rested on their backs upon the sand, gazing up as the seven moons came into view amidst the star and serpent sky.

“The stars seem larger tonight than I've ever seen,” noted Bith.

“It’s just the magic of Cathuma, I don’t know,” smirked Lememma.

“How long have you been here?”

“On this island? I’ve always been here.”

“But how do you survive?" she asked, shocked. "There’s no fruit, no livestock, no drink except the Fountain of Wild Fancy.”

“Oh— did I forget to show you the cellar on our grand tour?”

Straight away, Lememma rose and flung up a portion of the great rock behind the trees, revealing a stairway leading down into darkness. With a torch he lit the way… the stairs were rotting, and ill-placed, with crawling things scurrying all upon them. The steps curved down into an abyss… but there was a platform lined with barrels and crates, full of food and wares.

“How could you forget this on the tour?” whispered Bith.

“I thought it’d make for a pleasant surprise in the morning.”

Bith started to go down, but Lememma stopped her. "The sea merchants haven’t been round yet this month, and with the storms acting up it’s uncertain if they’ll be here next month either. I’ve got a ration in place. Afraid I’m not rich enough to go on eating in the light and the dark.”

So Bith returned to her side of the island and starved away, creating a plan for the next day. Her plan was simple, and she implemented it as soon as the first sun did rise.

“Lememma, I’ll have you know my name is not just Bith. It’s Bith Bidoon, and where I come from, men who enjoy my company do so at a price. Under the circumstances, and seeing as coin won’t get us anything until a ship shows up, I’m willing to lower my price. But since you and I spent hours together yesterday… that’ll come to a quarter of your stock. And that’s at a very large discount.”

“…Are you serious?” squinted Lememma, biting into an orange as he looked her up and down. “You wash up on my island, I offer you hospitality and a share of all I have, and you seek to make an enemy of me?”

“Not an enemy, dear. Not at all. I just wish you would pay your fair share.”

“I was unaware your company came at a price,” muttered Lememma, taking a step closer and chomping down on his fruit.

“Well it does. So speak to me no longer… unless you’re willing to give me what I’m owed.”

“Very well, Princess.”

And without hesitation, he went down into the island cellar and brought up a quarter of his goods, which he moved himself onto Bith’s side of the island.

For the rest of the day, he was silent, with an eye turned towards Bith, hoping she would see the error of her ways. But she only turned away, having full confidence that Lememma would crave her and be at her feet with further offerings.

How surprised was she, then, to awake the next morning and find Lememma on his side of the island, feasting on ALL his fruits and meats and drinks and cheese.

“What is this?!” she called from across the little bay.

“The removal of temptation!” laughed Lememma as he stuffed his face with everything. “I would rather enjoy one more feast! Than run the risk of you stealing more of my food! Or— more likely— of weak old me succumbing to your charm and offering it up as payment for your company!”

And here Bith Bidoon charged at him with the angry Acstrivian fire of her soul. “Look, you dirty island peasant— thousands of men in the tallest city on earth have longed to share in the company I bestowed to you last night! And you think nothing of it! You should be bowing!”

“No. I really think you’ve lost any hint of sanity you ever did posses. For look around you. You are Queen of the Sea’s Belch. A little vomit of sand which you know damn well does not even come up on any mapmaker’s rendering. You are lost, you are helpless, and still you think yourself superior to one you call ‘peasant.’”

“Well. Are you not that?”

“What difference does it make! Will you not see me as a man, before my social standing?!”

“That depends. Tell me your story in full, Lememma.”

“Only if it’s free of charge.”

“For just this once, I could make that exception.”

Lememma grunted, trying hard not to fall for her sarcastic— yet innocent, pretty, alluring— charm, and began a new tale. “I was a knight in the army of Farathahide. Yes, the same king who marched south from Angelon, and absorbed every kingdom in his path. He should have stopped in the greenlands, but his eye was set on Acstrivium from the start. And why not? Such a sparkling pearl, gleaming in the desert, tall marble towers beaming in the suns. A paradise to we peasants of far smaller places.”

And he could not himself, but to bend his knee ever so slightly, in reverence of Bith Bidoon. “I did not approve of his war, but I was poor and— yes, a peasant— from a small farm with little family, few friends, and no hopes for a better life. I was one of the thousands who were lured in with the hope of becoming one of the 300… part of that elite band of guardians to protect the perimeter of Farathahide’s greatest prize. But you don’t become a Perim of Danistel by mere battle strides.”

“Do not utter that word in my presence. The city’s name is Fathima.”

“Yes. I know. Fathima, capital of Acstrivium. But Farathahide took it from you, and now it is Danistel. And now the grand order of 300 Perims guards it with their lives… so the rhetoric goes. But know that the real guards are the thousands whose names will never be remembered… never even spoken. They are the ones who fight with their lives. Yet it's the names of Perims which are exalted. Only they can have their image immortalized.”

“You mean they have their portraits made?”

"Every one of them. All 300, to be hung in the halls of Danistel… excuse me, Fathima. But for someone like me? Impossible. Even with an audience before Sharon the Knight.”

“That name sends shivers down my spine.”

“Which kind? The kind that make you want to share the night with him?”

“The kind that make me want to rip his liver out.”

“Ah. Well yes, now I see what you mean. I was in the former camp, but last year I made something of a pilgrimage to his new castle, and even had the fortune of meeting him in the flesh. ‘Sharon! Oh Sharon!’ I cried. 'Such an honour to meet your legendary self.' And he was kind enough. But when I asked how I might go about becoming a Perim, he said there was no hope. All the slots were filled. And fine, I said, ‘How might I go about getting just one portrait made?’ And he replied: ‘Only Perims get their portraits made.’”

“Well how’s this,” smiled Bith Bidoon, “If we ever get off this island, I’ll paint your portrait myself.”

“I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to afford it.”

“Free of charge. But for now, I’m going to ask you to pay up.”

And despite the lovely talk they had just had, Bith began demanding that Lememma move more food to her side of the island. Fed up, Lememma rolled all the barrels into the water, then jumped in for a swim.

Huffing and taking wild strokes, Lememma swam even further out than the bay, perhaps hoping he would get out far enough to the point where he would drown and thus end his sorry life. But something happened then which made the world feel very strange: he came up against a brick wall, there in the middle of the Sea, which seemed to wrap around the whole island. This brick wall was not visible from their island, for the water covered it by mere inches, and the water then cascaded down from off the bricks… yes, it was now clear that they were very high up. The sea and distant clouds below stretched in all directions, and it was impossible to tell how high up they were. But one thing was certain, some divine mechanism must have lifted them up out of the water in this giant brick well.

When he got back to the island, Lememma walked right past Bith, and then curled up on the sand, ready to die.

“There’s no hope for us. The end is nigh.”

“Because you rolled all our food into the Sea!”

“We’re no longer in the Sea,” breathed Lememma, defeated. “You were right. The stars are getting larger each night. We’re rising.”

“What in God’s Green Hell is that supposed to mean?!”

“Speak no more, vile woman. You care only of yourself.”

“Is that so?! Me who let you pout, going on about your sad failings! What about my problems?!”

“What problems could you possibly possess?”

“You said it yourself! Your people overran my city! And on a personal note— last month I was not a woman!”

“Very interesting.”

“Interesting! Is that what you call a dismembering?!”

Lememma rose silently, and walked over to the little chest resting by the rock. He picked it up.

“What do you imagine is in this chest?”

“Your own balls,” cackled Bith.

“Wrong, but of a similar nature,” said Lememma, well-composed. He opened the lid, revealing, “Your own proud penis.”

And so it was. Inside the chest, the shriveled-up flip, torn from Bith Bidoon’s body.

“This is all my orchestration,” continued Lememma. “Through my knightly connections, I spread rumors through Dumithian that you were in danger. I hired men to cut your manhood, and then followed you to the Sea. Stowing aboard your ship, I slit the throats of your captain in the night. It’s a well-known isle, but only to my people, through ancient manuscripts of Margon, which claims it holds some type of bold enchantment. And it would seem to be true, for as I said before, we are no longer on the Sea. We are rising.”

Unable to hold back her rage, Bith Bidoon leapt upon Lememma, and with her own hands ripped the phalus from his loin. As he then lay in agony, a new figure appeared on the beach.

“Greetings!” said the newcomer, an oddly dressed general by the looks of it.

“You will forgive me for ripping this man’s penis off. He did the same to me.”

“Ah! I knew I’d be in for strange dealings atop this well. Allow me an introduction: I am Aspa Ragoos!”

Aspa Ragoos then explained himself. He was an Ilandian general from the 2500s, come to explore the strange brick tower which had risen up out of the Sea, draining the water of Cathuma as it rose ever higher. Now, over a hundred years after Bith Bidoon had disappeared, Cathuma had been renamed the “Shallow Sea.”

“So whatever kind of sorcery this island holds, it’s given you two something like eternal life, by the looks of it,” noted Aspa Ragoos, noting their youthful faces.

“For us, it’s been mere days,” countered Bith.

“Well then. Isn’t that fascinating. Anyhow, it took every bit of my power to get up this thing… so I’ll be taking a rest for a while.”

And so Aspa set himself to rest, and Bith set about nursing the wounds of poor Lememma. Her newfound womanhood was setting in, and she felt remorse for tearing his manhood off. So, too, did Lememma now feel remorse for having Bith’s manhood cut off. And so the two gazed into each other’s eyes, feeling sympathy… understanding… forgiveness… love.

By the next night, a thunderous romance had broken out between the two women, who had decided to set their old lives fully behind them, and embrace their peaceful, delicious side. So all the night long, as Aspa sat reclined, singing war songs, Lememma and Bith Bidoon made love on every rock, tree and stretch of sand.

They were interrupted by another newcomer, this time a lady dressed in the most peculiar suit they had ever seen. Her name was Heliethinis, and she was of the year 2756.

“Aspa Ragoos?” she exclaimed, espying the famed general. “You’re one of history’s greatest mysteries. Presumed dead in the Shallow Sea ages ago. You’ll be pleased to know that the Sea of Cathuma is back to being a very deep sea, thanks to our engineering. And we are now able to ascend this tower with little difficulty. Flying shells are the norm now, bright engines of the future which transport folk at great speeds all across the land. And this year we finally came up with one to get us up to such great heights as these. I’m sorry— could you two stop making love for just one minute?”

“No can do!” called back Lememma. “It’s my first night of womanhood!”

Lememma and Bith explained their situation, and Heliethinis took the opportunity to boast about one of the future’s other great procedures: “Not to brag, but we can replace such things now. Any man who has his part chopped off can have it replaced— grown back— within an hour.”

And so, obviously Bith and Lememma asked her to prove it. Sure enough, Heliethinis set to work with some strange device she had in her sack, and within an hour, both women were both wermen again. And within another hour, they were at each other’s throats, this time for a proper duel.

Aspa and Heliethinis watched in joy, their carnal desires having long been insatiated. And now Lememma and Bith fought with such ferocity that the blood shot long, and bones cracked hard, and throats were torn and noses bashed in. At last they fell, one onto another, and the waves washed over them, carrying them out to death.

Aspa and Heliethinis sat back, their laughs subsiding. They looked at each other, wondering if they too might now embark on some lewd romance in that strange ethereal place. But they were halted, as the final newcomer showed up on their shore. She spoke as one who is wise amidst a time of crisis:

“The year is 2795. If you are wondering why no one else has come, Heliethinis, it’s because society collapsed a month after you left. The shells were put of commission, and within years the factories were overrun. Our power structures failed, the wealth of all nations redistributed by the Forcery Department. Kings are now weak. They cower in caves in a ragged state as larger men occupy their crumbling towers. And we are left to look at our old achievements as they, one by one, go from shining plates of sorcery to worthless black glass. But we still have books, and some knowledge which they provide. Among them is the truth of this place: that this is the Island of Nathira, made by the women of the Godsong time, with ancient Margon’s craft, so that it may rise and fall with the power of the Sea. So far did it begin to rise in the year 2406, that for all of you, the passing of a day was as many years to us below. Now come. I will reverse The Rising on the great fountain, and we will descend… back to the world, and then down below the sea itself… down to the very bowels of the earth.”