The Islander

Story fragment/opening of a cycle.

He stood alone on the desolate beach, just a small, willowy silhouette against the rising sun. His sea-coloured eyes were fixed on the wave that washed over his bare feet and carried away the soot that clung to his pale skin. He hung his head, shielding his face behind a messy curtain of hair that had started to come loose from his long braid.The cat-eared man let slip a sigh, heavy with his tragedy, and raised a clawed hand to push back the curtain of hair - rebinding all but the shortest strands - as he shifted his gaze on a distant shadow. His old home, the SeaStar, his ship... It was sailing away with almost all he had left...

 

It was unfortunate, for him, that his imagination was so powerful. It provided the phantom bloodstains of his wife and eldest daughter on his arms and hands, hours after he'd failed to heal their wounds and proceeded to scrub his own skin raw in his distress. It also provided a vivid image of the heartbroken expression his Markus, his oldest, dearest friend would have been fighting so very hard to conceal for the benefit of the others ever since they'd noticed him gone. But it was his keen ears that truly betrayed him that morning, crushing his weeping heart and summoning the most heart-wrenching images yet.

 

"PAPA!!! UNCLE MARKUS, LOOK! My Father is back! Captain! CAPTAIN, TURN US AROUND! You have to! He's there! PAPAAAAA!"

 

The child's sobbing, pleading, hopeful cries called a vision of his soot-covered, tear-streaked face, his flaming red hair wiped clean with a soft cloth by some affectionate hand. Doubtless, he was leaping up and down, leaning over the rails as he pointed to, and reached for the distant figure of his feline father on the beach. The Cat wondered who would pull the boy back, what lies of comfort they would whisper to turn the child's deep blue eyes away from his home. As the images and thoughts assaulted him, the Cat felt himself sink until he was sitting in the damp sand and giving his trembling legs a rest from his slight weight.

 

Staying there only long enough to steel his resolve, he stood and turned away from the sea - toward the burnt out shell of his home and the twin pyres - burning dully now - that rested near it. At each of these, he paused, and brought two fingers to his lips, heart and forehead. A final blessing. A silent goodbye to wife and daughter.

 

Stepping into the ruins of the house, he fetched and donned his armour, slipping the dual bladed Nemesis into it's sheath at his shoulders. It was then that he spotted it, a tiny arm poking out through the ashes. Brushing the still hot dust aside, he lifted and cradled the doll to his chest, turning his gaze and thoughts out over the sea, to his son.

 

"Gabriel... forgive me for leaving you... I swear I will find you again, but I need to find your sister first..."

 

The beating of his leathery dragon's wings, and the little doll lovingly laid at the foot of a rosebush, were Liam's final farewell to the happiest years of his long life, and the beginning of a search that would take him to death; over and over again.

Author's Note

Title in reference to: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5juc6fmgylw.

A swords&sorcery verse story - alternate world/reality.