Yshae Earaumo's Journal

The Drowned Journal

* At the back of the Eastshore temple of Ingoren, a nail sticking out of the wall serves as a holder for a growing stack of various paper and parchment pieces. They are filled in terse, uncharacteristically angular Drangonari script.

Page I.

Drowning. The initial surprise is replaced by panic before long. With panic comes marrow chilling awareness. It is happening right here; Right now; To you.

Drowning is meant to be experienced at sea. The sea embraces you like a rugged lover, demanding his way into you. Water enters your ears first. You can feel, rather than hear the throb of the sea pulse. You have little choice but to surrender. Open your mouth; Taste it in full measure; Feel the flow force its way unto your throat.

Drowning is the most intimate experience imaginable. Water fills your lungs. Your pupils dilate. Your muscles contract. Your heartbeat rushes one last time; then it slows down. For just one sacrosanct, ecstatic moment it mirrors the slow heartbeat of the sea in perfect unison.

In the end, there is darkness and water. Salt water. Just like in the beginning.

All my life, I have been taught that in the beginning there is chaos. That the genius of creation is into arranging this chaos into patterns. That the gift of civilization is in the creation of a web of many threads and colours; Threads evident or inconspicuous; A consistent web that spans the laws of life as we know it.

And yet, in the beginning of most sentients' life, there is water. Salt water.

Sea water.

My muscles lurch in a post-ecstatic chill. I open my eyes. My vision is blurred. Sea water and sunlight irritate my pupils and inflame the cuts in my skin. I roll over, face in the sand. I vomit. The sea water is reluctant to leave my stomach and lungs. The convulsions of my stomach prevail but they also push me beyond exhaustion. I lay back, relishing in the lazy push and pull of the waves washing over me. For the longest time I find no strength to stand up.

When I finally do, it is as if for the first time. I walk, as if for the first time. To the one I am now, it is the first time.

The coast is unfamiliar to me. There is a small settlement within sight. I make it my goal. As I stumble towards my first goal, I make my first discovery: My heart still follows the slow beat of the sea.

The first building I walk upon is a shrine to Ingoren. My first revelation.

Another discovery: There is more sea water in my lungs. As I try to speak, the low rumble of the waves echoes in my voice. Barring the risk of secondary drowning, I do not want this feeling to go away.

I have nothing to offer to the temple altar. What I have, I have already given away: My own self. The sea has claimed me. The sea has accepted me. He has accepted me.

I return to the beach and follow the ebbing tide. Creatures that spend their entire lives in the water seek to burrow into the wet sand, as the sea withdraws. Those that cannot do so are soon to perish.

I cry for no apparent reason. I attribute this to the shock. I fill my hands with seawater and let it wash over me. My wounds burn, then they close. My first blessing.

Everything else but the sea has lost its importance. The complexity of reality and the necessities of existence will present themselves soon enough. For the present moment, I wish them away.

As soon as I am able to write, I do so almost without break, to the best of my ability. Like many others, I cannot recall the moment of my birth. And thus I do not wish to lose the memory of what has come to be my second birth.

My first holy scripture.

Page II.

My blood boils. Closer still, the sea boils under torrential squall.

I spend the first night of the rest of my life delirious with fever. The shrine caretaker takes care of me as well. This night, I am but one of many weights on his mind. Many souls are at the mercy of the sea. The robe that covers me is blessed by Ingoren. In my fever dream, it is my windsail. I sail in and out of consciousness. Someone - the priest, surely - puts a pendant in my hand, I clutch to it as to an anchor.

A voice, distant and distorted, tells me that the vestment and periapt are enchanted against fire. Perhaps they can quench the fire in my blood, just like the sea quenched the fire in my breath. I try to speak, but all I hear is the deep rumble of the waves.

Come morrow, the sky has cleared and so has my mind. Mostly.

I cannot recall my name, so I choose one for myself. I take the name of the one parent of mine that I know of. The sea. Its flesh and voice.

My name is one of many things that I do not know about my person. I find myself to be adept in both deductive and inductive logical thought, able to respond to questions related to everyday life, general geography and history. My personal history, however, appears to have been erased from my memory. I am told that this is a known condition for one in my stead; That my memories may well return over time.

I feel strangely unconcerned in this regard. Had there been anything of utmost import about my past that would affect my future, I am certain that I would have remembered it. For what is worth, my past may well stay on the bottom of the sea. All secrets are safe in the depths. I am aware of myself, and content.

The process of getting reacquainted with my body leaves me excited, but also disconcerted. My skeletal muscles appear to be developed above average. The joints and involuntary musculature, however, are no match in endurance. I discover this upon my first attempt to lift a stone block. The attempt almost ends in abdominal rupture and my left arm dislocated at the shoulder.

After the boulder lifting attempt I am forced to rest for a few days. The condition of my body may still allow me to undertake manual labour once I recover. Holding a tool or a weapon of any kind, however, does not invoke any dormant reflexes. On the contrary, these feel completely alien in my hands.

I find that I cannot tolerate idleness. Even less I can bear to live on the courtesy of my host. I quickly learn to tell apart the edible sea fish, and the numerous poisonous specimens that inhabit the southern sea. Next, I try to make a simple fishing rod. In the process of smoothing a suitable branch, using a carving knife, I come to more observations about my body.

The small finger and the ring finger of my left hand are completely immobile. The fingers of my right hand are slow to obey my commands. I decide to practice writing as often as possible, in order to adapt and compensate for my condition.

Some dormant reflexes finally appear at this point, although not in a way which I have anticipated. I discover that the more I write, the easier it is for me to do so. Alas, I find that after a certain point I have been clutching the quill and moving my hand by the wrist. In order to amend this, I am forced to exert willful effort throughout the entire writing process.

The coastal town I have arrived to bears an unassuming name. On this shore, the forces of the Drotid Voivode Kasseshisrath have recently debarked to a full scale attack, only to be vanquished by the M'Chekian army. The town has taken much damage. A great number of homes are being rebuilt.

One building that has withstood the attack houses a clothing store. The store advertisement suggests that the merchandise is intended for both the well-to-do, and the common folk. I enter. A surprise awaits me behind the counter, in the form of a young woman of my kind. Her smile is professional. I swallow my curiosity and keep the conversation down to business.

I part with the few coins I have made in favor of light, plain clothes and sandals. I am told that the roads are well guarded at this time, and that one may travel safely throughout the M'Chekian south. I am soon to do so. Ingoren is as much a master of the sea, as he is a patron of sailors. For all of my hidden knowledge, I am helpless when it comes to telling the bow from the stern of a ship.

I have much to learn about weather, waterways, navigation, ship maintenance, perhaps even ship building. I am told that the best way to learn would be to board a ship as a crew hand myself. For whatever reason, I feel that it is not my time to do so yet. My next goal is the city of Mikona, and the great library.