Tales Within Lizzie's Lore

Rae and the Sea

One day long ago, a lone fisherman on cloudless seas had been stranded for many days with a sail that would not catch wind.
Lum kept the waters calm, and he reassured himself that she watched over him at night from up above, so he slept with little fear, but he had nothing on his small ship to drink or eat.
He had nearly given up hope when on the horizon he saw three figures in the distance swimming towards his boat. When they got close enough, he realized that they were the Zir, Rae's people.
One by one, the Zir women climbed onto the boat. They each held something wrapped in tanned skin. The first stepped forwards and introduced herself.
"I am Izraim, I speak for Rae. I have brought you a gift so you may forgive him. May this guide you in times of loneliness."
She gave the first package to the fisherman. Inside was a simple bone whistle on a string to be worn as a necklace. Izraim stepped back and the second Zir took her place.
"I am Niza, I listen for Rae. I have also brought you a gift so that he may be forgiven. May this guide you in times of uncertainty."
He accepted the second package as gratefully as the first. It contained a beautiful conch shell. Just like her sister before her, Niza took one step back and was replaced by the third and final gifter. He could tell she was the youngest of the group.
"My name is Izipi, I do not speak or listen for Rae, but I do believe in him. And so, my gift to you who came close to losing belief is an apology from him and all of us for allowing the wind to abandon you. May this be a beacon of hope in times of struggle."
For reasons he did not know, the fisherman took longer unwrapping this gift than the rest. Nestled snuggly within the leather was a small, hand-painted wooden sculpture of a sooty tern, a bird the fisherman had seen overhead many times before. It was crude but charming.
"I made it myself," Izipi admitted.
One by one, he went up to each of the women and grasped their left hand firmly between his, bringing them up to his chin and bowing his head.
They dove back into the sea, and were out of view in minutes.
When the cold night came and he felt more melancholic than ever, he remembered Izraim's gift and blew the whistle. It was quiet, then two iridescent figure appeared at his bow. They were the ghosts of boys who had been thrown off great merchant ships for being stowaways, and they kept him company until morning, telling jokes and lifting his spirits.
The next day, the wind came back, and with it a terrible storm. Aloqe must have been vengeful for the stillness of recent days. Weak with hunger, the fisherman could barely keep hold off his sails and was rocked from side to side without mercy. Afraid for his life and fighting the weather to survive, he remembered Niza's gift and brought the conch up to his ear. It was quiet, but then he heard a sweet song calling out to him and singing of steering east. He wrestled control back just long enough to set the directional shift in motion before blacking out. When he awoke, he had beached on a rocky shore and the storm had subsided.
It did not take the fisherman long to find help on the island, and they found a sailor willing to tug his damaged boat back across to the port he had first set out from.
He did not need to remember Izipi's gift for a long time, and he grew old without calling on its blessing. Throughout the years, the whistle brought him friends from across the sea when the solitude of his trade grew too much to bear. The conch sung promises of maritime advice and navigation when the going got rough. Despite the many uses of the first two gifts, the carving of the seabird always remained inside the small cabin on the ship.
One day, the fisherman's wife took ill, and in their old age, there was small chance she would overcome. He wanted to deny it, but he knew deep down there was no salvation. As he sat in his old chair by her bedside, the shutters of his window swung upon and a breeze flowed into the room. Suddenly, he felt his pocket grow heavy. Turning it out revealed the small sculpture in the wrinkled palm of his hand. That was right, he had given up hope. Not sure what to do, he clutched it tight to his heart.
The fisherman's wife opened her eyes weakly, and smiled at the man she had loved for many years. The fisherman held her tenderly and they told each other how much they cared about one another.
She did eventually die, but her passing did not leave bitter feelings in the hearts of those around her. They rejoiced in remembering who she had been and what she had done, they rejoiced in the love she shared.
In the end, the sculpture was perfectly mundane, as are many symbols of hope. It simply acted as something to hold onto when all felt lost, a cure against the crushing helplessness. Rae did smile on them that day, but the gift played its role.
He kept it close to him until he too passed away; and when they buried him aside his wife, it was there they left it, forever a reminder of his story.