Triton's Destiny

Part Three

He groaned pitifully with the effort to get up, but he knew he couldn't stay where he was. The sun was rapidly sinking below the horizon, his exposed skin had been burnt red as he slept on the beach, and the sand caked all over him was uncomfortable and beginning to itch. His head was throbbing and it felt like every single muscle in his body ached. It had to have been a hell of a journey through the storm-tossed waves. He felt like a piece of mangled driftwood that had been dumped on shore. With another groan, he pushed himself up to sit.

The sunset was beautiful, as it usually was after a storm, the fluffy clouds glowing in pinks and oranges like the gods had set them aflame. Glowing like the stripes lining a triton's tail... He gave his head a firm shake. What the hell? That had been a hallucination, a fever dream that twisted his mind while he was unconscious. Creatures like that didn't exist. And they certainly didn't swim about, looking for hapless drowning humans to save. The only reason he was still alive was because he was incredibly lucky. So perhaps he should go home and put this day behind him before his luck ran out. A bath and his warm bed sounded marvelously appealing.

Stumbling to his feet, he brushed as much sand off him as he could, which was a frustrating exercise in futility, and looked down at his ruined boots for a minute. They'd get him home, but he'd need to buy a new pair. He sighed as he thought about how much that would cost him. But he couldn't spend all day on his feet delivering messages in a cheap pair of boots. He mentally added a trip to the cobbler to his task list for tomorrow.

Fortunately, he'd washed ashore not too far down the coastline from the lighthouse. Though he had to scramble over the sandy shoals in the low tide, he was able to make it home before twilight faded to dark. Unfortunately, he needed to prepare the lighthouse for nighttime before he could tend to his personal needs. So, he lit the large torches on the seaside patio, roused the smaller flames of the lighthouse's exterior sconces, and then let himself inside to light the torch in the tower. Only when the island's beacon was glowing brightly was he allowed to do anything else. Locking the front door, he finally turned his attention to his other chores. Near-death experiences didn't preclude him from carrying out his duties, so with all the methodical patience of a well-practiced routine, he tended to the aviary, cataloged the new messages received, and made himself a light meal of bread, cheese, and water.

With the ache in his body seeping all the way to his bones, Tristan doused the lights in the living area and made his way upstairs. Never had he been more thankful to have a boiler in his bathroom than he was that night as he drew a steaming bath for himself and eased his battered frame into the tub. Despite his intense loathing of water, he did appreciate a hot bath. Sinking all the way down until his nose hovered above the surface, he sighed, making ripples in the water. This was exactly what he needed after the trauma he'd been through.

No matter how hard he reasoned with himself, though, he couldn't get the thoughts of the triton he'd dreamed up out of his head. He'd been so kind and knew exactly what to do to help him. And those eyes... Tristan was captivated by them even now. They'd smiled at him, looked at him with concern, and gazed into his own with friendly curiosity. He'd never seen eyes like that. He wished he could see them again.

"Oh, gods, MacHale..." Tristan rolled his eyes at his own ridiculous fantasizing, slapping the bathwater and sending up a splash. "Get over yourself. It was a dream." He shifted his mental focus to what he needed to accomplish the next day instead, setting aside his wistful longing for a being that didn't exist.

When the water cooled and the pads of his fingertips were soft and wrinkly, he pulled the plug from the tub and headed for bed. He stopped at the window, savoring the feel of the breeze on his face, gazing out over the silvery ripples of the sea. The ocean was so big. Really, anything could be living below the surface. He'd seen drawings of monstrous creatures as large as an entire street full of buildings. And those were animals confirmed to inhabit the water. Sailors saw them all the time. If the ocean could hold something like that, then who could reasonably deny the possibility of something smaller yet just as wondrous making a home underwater too? No one had explored extensively beneath the waves. And there was just so much ocean.

As he watched the restless sea shift in the moonlight, he imagined what it might be like to have a triton's tail and the ability to breathe underwater. He wouldn't have to worry about drowning if he had gills like a triton. And swimming would be as natural to him as walking was to a human. He wouldn't have to succumb to the ocean's whims. He wouldn't have to surrender to the waves like the wrecked ship which took his parents from him. He could live in harmony with the sea, part of its life cycle. He'd no longer be terrified of that world. What a marvelous feeling that would be.

If tritons did exist, then how many were there? Did they live in underwater cities and towns like humans did on land? What did they eat? How did they eat? Was that mind-speaking thing something they did all the time, or did they have a different way of communicating with each other? Did they sleep? Did they ever stop swimming? Tristan had so many questions.

A shrill squawk from the aviary above jolted him out of his musings and he shook his head. "Seriously, man..." He slapped his cheek. "Snap out of it." He had actual, real-life problems to solve. There wasn't any time to daydream about mythical cities and how fish people might make homes for themselves in the harsh conditions of the deep ocean. He really needed to forget about this; it was starting to drive him crazy.

Huffing an exasperated sigh, he snuffed the lamps in his room and returned to the window to close it. A good night's sleep should clear the cobwebs from his overstimulated mind and allow him to get back to the business of living his uneventful life. Messages weren't going to deliver themselves, after all, and no one else would keep the lighthouse running. That was his job. And he needed to be clear-headed enough to do it properly. So, he shut the window with a sharp snap and locked it, putting away his frivolous imaginings where they couldn't distract him. Gripping the curtains to draw them, his attention was suddenly drawn back out to the water, where he thought he caught a flash of green light among the waves. Dismissing it with another firm shake of his head, he yanked the curtains closed and stalked off to bed. There was no such thing as tritons.