This is the third and final entry of a series. Read part one here and part two here.
Do you fear leaving? Or do you fear being left?
I couldn’t open my eyes. Not for the salt stinging my skin and my throat as I coughed up the lingering seawater. Every time I took another breath, another wave crashed down on me. I try to catch my footing on the shifting sand, but it is hopeless.
I throw my head above the waves and gasp. Cuvallorn is nowhere to be seen. I’m pushed back to the shore by the crashing waves, but they still relentlessly fall over me. I can’t die here!
I scramble further up the shore, trying to get a break from the endless slamming of the ocean against my back. I can’t even hear my own shouts for help over the roar of the sea. Rain falls down on me, making my vain struggle even more futile.
Do I fear this? To drown? To die alone? To succumb to sea?
This dream is frightening, and real, and I cannot wake up despite my best efforts. I call out for Cuvallorn, for Mallossel ; I call out for Seregrian and Ithilwe, and no matter whose name I choke out amongst the seawater, no one comes. No one is going to come, I realize.
Once I realize I am alone, the waves begin to draw back and subside. Though this should be a good thing, I cannot help but fear dread in my soul. I buckle at my knees and cough, expelling my stomach contents of salt and seawater onto the shore.
When I regain my strength, I drag myself back to my feet and look to the shore. My blood runs cold as ice. I see a face, a form rising up in the waves, tall and towering. In his eyes I see the tales of cities sunken and sundered and tragedies of ships set ablaze. I see temperance and guidance and sadness and rage, and I am scared. The form raises his hand and a large wave follows his movement.
I have a choice. I crumble beneath the weight of the waves, or I do not. My hands are trembling, but I remain standing. As the large waves come crashing down on the shore and upon me, everything goes back.
.
..
…
When I wake up, I find myself back in my temporary room at the Company house. I immediately lean over the bed, coughing up saltwater. As I shudder and tremble, my gaze rises up to the long dresser at the foot of my bed. To my surprise, there is something there that wasn’t before. A great-sword. Like the one my mother once fought with, but never learned to wield myself. I don’t know where it came from. A part of me does not want to.
