Weeping of the Sea

Too many steps, too many bricks upon this road I have passed in my tiresome journey to the edge of the world as I know it. I have known hunger some days, thirst others, yet I continue to beat this worn and weary path that thousands have taken before me. In my more lax moments I wonder why any of them did. Then I snap out of the delusion that other people actually matter.

Yes, I chose this.

My journey actually started here, near the sea in a small part of a soulless king's land which my father ruled and loved. I sat by his side when his people came for help and hope, watching him dispense both with steadfast courage and optimism. I watched him gaze into my mother's eyes when he thought no one else saw. But the people saw... I saw... and it made a difference. For if a man can love his wife, his daughter, as my father loved us, then surely that man can lead a people with the same love.

They loved him, and he loved them. He loved them more than any ruler before, or dare I say, ever to come. He walked among them, his pride in his people nearly bursting him at the seams. Sometimes I wondered just how his clothing kept all of him inside when he beamed at his people.

He walked the docks; those tired, creaking, splintering docks. The docks that had seen generation after generation of men and women pull in the heavy-laden nets of a good day's catch. Wood that had been soaked in the blood of the great predators of the sea... those maws of razor sharp teeth that could have taken the largest man in town and sliced him clean through in one bite.

I played on those docks. Silly games that small children play while adults worked in the burning sun. They watched over me as if they were my father and mother. Many a times I was rescued at the last moment by a hand as I nearly plunged over the side in my daydreaming walks. But they never admonished me. The fishermen and women said that such dreams of the sea, near the sea, were the dreams that made life grand.

I remember once, my father in his official dress, helping a family pull in a net that was near bursting while one of the king's men looked on in horror. Imagine, touching one of the people that broke their backs for the kingdom. Nay, they broke no back for the king...they broke their backs for my father.

That night, the fisherman's wife cooked a feast for my family and the king's official. Fried, baked, grilled...smoked...ah, smoked fish. That, if anything, was the feast for a king. My father heartily dug in, sampling everything. He drank the ale poured for him, he sung the seafarer songs... And smiled every moment. That family, that fisherman's family stood proud that night. It was as if we had been welcomed home. But the king's man... He sat off to the side, picking at his food. He snubbed the ale and watched my father disdainfully.

Arrogant, pompous fool. He had no idea what he was missing. He had no idea what life was like on the outer reaches of the king's land. This was life, sir. This was how life should be. Not like that stuffed up palace in the highlands where laughter is lost as soon as the eyes lay on the outer grey walls. Life was not a rigid, choreographed dance that slips through time unannounced. Life was not what your king presumes upon the people.

Life is what my king, my father, lives.

Lived. I hate reminding myself that the word is now representative of the past. Has it been that long? Has lived been in my vocabulary for so many years? Has it been the representative of a life that was cut short by a man's greed and self-preservation for this long? I hate him. My father told me that hatred fuels energy best left to the currents of the sea. That way, it is carried out beyond our reach so that we can live lives of grace.

My grace was stolen in a fit of cowardice and sacrifice.

But my father is not here anymore. His smile is not reflected in the waves that crashed upon our shores. His laughter is not heard above the tumultuous pounding of the water on the rocks near the bay. His worn and rough hands no longer pull at nets too heavy to bring in. And his eyes... His eyes will never see the sun rise over the horizon, the light's trail, newly revealed, sparkling towards his bay, his kingdom, his family.

No, they won't. He stood fast in the end. He paid, out of the king's ransom, for the supplies to fortify the ships and repair the firmament. To hell with the king and his greed, I heard my mother tell him one night. His silent confirmation that he, too, held that belief. The king had done nothing... Why did he deserve anything from them?

He didn't.

I remember my father taking a ship out to sea to clear his thoughts. We all went with him, the gentle rocking of the waves tempting me to sleep. My father, though, could not sleep. No, he sailed out there to get away long enough to feel the solitude of the world that had given all of us life. He knew what I did not. The sea would never be ours again.

He penned letters out there. Letters that begged the king to help. He implored the king to send reinforcements when darkness pressed inward, threatening our shores and forests. He sent estimates to the king, showing him just how large the force was that threatened our borders. But he, in all his splendor and glory, did not respond.

The most powerful man in the known world could not muster enough energy in one finger to point his commanders in our direction to save us.

No.

I always wondered... Had he seen the shores of milky white sands, would he have cared more? What about the hot springs in the cove west of town, where the ache of a day's hard work is taken from you... Would he have cared? He never laid upon the beach in the evening as the water lapped lazily at the sand. He never hauled in a catch at the end of the day, felt the pride for doing a honest day's work. He never...

And he sacrificed us because of it.

I remember the frenzy of fisher boats, now disguised as warships. But I knew that was not what they were. We all did. But we still reinforced the wood and pitch anyway. It was odd to see our once tranquil docks swarming with townspeople. What should have been a frenzy of joy was a cacophony of panic. You could see it in their faces, hear it in their voices.

My father's voice was loudest and it was steadfast and strong. He would be the people's strength. He would be their refuge. He would not abandon them to the waves and swords of the oncoming blackness, the consuming darkness that gnawed at the soul. He was not a pampered prince. He was a man... A real man who knew how to rule. The king...is a king by name. My father is a king by love.

The sea was hurting that day. I felt it in my very inner being. The waves crashed as if trying to break everything apart. It blasted the coastal caves, roaring through the passages, lamenting what was to come. I heard it cry that day. Most would have described the sea as angry, but I knew it was grieving. Pray to whatever you consider holy that you never hear the sea weep. It will haunt your soul until you die.

They came in hoards, bearing down on us as if we were a small animal in the way of the marching insects of the forest. Their ships tore through our humble fisher boats. Men, my father's men, fell before the marauders, their swords cleaving skulls and rending limbs. The sea tried to fight for us that day. I know it did, but there is only so much the moon allowed it to do before pulling it away.

Our people fought bravely. The sea called to them, as if sending its strength to the people it loved so dearly. I heard its pain as if was torn from the men and women who had taken care of the foaming waves and wine dark depths all these years. The gulls joined in its song of grief and I knew in that instant...

I wouldn't see my beloved sea, nor my beloved family, again.

My father stashed me in a secret tunnel just off his and my mother's chambers. He told me to flee, to tell the king. But I stayed. I stayed and watched as the vampire warlord ripped my mother apart, forcing my father to watch. And then, with eyes as brilliant as lush grass, I watched the warlord descend upon my father and snuff out his life while fortifying his own.

I wanted to scream. I now understood the sea's grief, the sea's pain. I understood why it so violently cried for my family and people. It knew exactly what was coming to our shores. Moreso than we ever imagined. The vampire warlord knew I was there, yet could not find me. And as I trembled in that dark tunnel, his eyes seeking me out, I heard the cries of my people in the streets weakly call to me.

I am so sorry... So very sorry I was not strong enough, my people.

It was then that I ran, when I knew I was not strong enough. I ran through the darkness, taking in every cry, every painful sob that followed me. I will keep you safe, I will hold onto you until you will be avenged. I ran until I could run no more and then, on my 6 year old knees, crawled until fresh air assaulted my nose.

I collapsed on the outskirts of a small army of King's fighters in camp. They were right there... Right there! And just a half day's run by my tired, grieving feet was a place of wonder being destroyed for all eternity. Finally able to get their attention, I told them our story. Most listened half-heartedly, others not at all. Only one man spoke, and his words... Such haute words were not wasted on me.

"We know, child. We are here to make sure no one gets into the king's forest. Though, the vampires don't generally venture this far inland."

Those words were seared into my mind and heart that day. The cries and pain that I carried from my home and city wrapped around the soldier's words and ripped them to shreds. The king had sent men to secure the royal forest, but not to save us. I left in a trance, my innocence finally obliterated. The king was no king.

A real king does not let his people suffer and die while he sits on his backside, his gluttony outweighing his conscience.

I pause, yanked out of my memories as the smell of salt tingles my nose. I run as fast as I can, my now twenty-four year old legs much faster and stronger than my six year old ones were. I come upon a rise and look down at the once proud bay of Songrereigh. The shells of homes still stood, though the sea has been trying to reclaim them. I don't blame it at all. It's where our hearts lie, why not our bodies and livelihoods?

The sea stills, and I swear it is for me. The glass smooth surface shines, reflecting the moon's rays. And then, suddenly the water laps at the sands, calling me home.

Yes, my beloved sea. I am home. I am here to make things right. And you, you will fight beside me.

The tumultuous sound of waves pounding on the rocks near the bay echoes up to me as I descend the path. You will have your vengeance, great water, and I will have mine. And together, they will all be vindicated. He will pay one hundred times over for his crimes.

And once again, Songrereigh will be free.