Prologue
I awoke on an unfamiliar shore, jagged sand clinging to my skin as though to embed itself, my head still pounding from the violence with which the sea had regurgitated my vessel and I from its majestic depths. Fragmented ruins of discarded ships, pieces of vessels the sea wished not to keep and with which the shore could not contend, lay in their eternal state of punishment and pulverization upon the sand, surrounding me, curious creatures of rejection. Broken bottles, scattered remnants of lives once whole, dissected dreams and stolen memories, all of them mere shadows of what they had once been, reached out to me in their confusion, and I had empathy for them. This soiled and shattered shore was merely an external representation of my soul, whose wreckage had long been crying for repair.
I arose to find that my legs did not agree immediately with the sandy earth, yet after a short negotiation they seemed to have arrived at agreeable terms, and I took my first steps. I extended a hand and found momentary rest upon one of the larger pieces of ship to be found and turned pain-dimmed eyes towards the sea. Its blue and green tone glimmered in the light of the sun, which was elegantly fighting for its last few moments with the night against the water's horizon. On the opposite side of the sea, three moons appeared, and a violet-indigo planetary form that resembled a rose which had sacrificed its stem for aesthetics sake.
I felt a tug at my hip, and looked down to see that a sea star had attached itself to the hem of the meager frock which draped my body. I removed it gently and set it upon the sand; the poor creature had no doubt suffered enough if he had been a passenger on my vessel. The achromatic cotton batiste dress in which I had traveled so far was, for the first time since I had departed, a most beneficial item in which to be adorned. A foe amidst the cold and damp forests, its near lack of existence proved to be refreshing here on the igneous shore. The shore itself was barely relieved by the wind and seemed not to care or know that it was beside a sea at all, and thus, would be acting much more appropriately were it to take on a cooler temperature. Perhaps the sea had hurled a grave insult its way, and this torrid state was its trenchant rebuttal. As far as it concerned me, it may as well have been a desert.
I turned behind me and my eyes were immediately beckoned upward to the staggering heights of the cliffs which stood formidably and authoritatively surveying the sea, no doubt the lords of this shore, their dominance inarguable. I shuddered despite the heat, suddenly becoming aware of my inescapable predicament. I had been delivered from a state in which I was confident of my rapidly approaching and most certain death into a state of eerie calm, yet in which I was confident of absolutely nothing, not even my own existence. For a moment, I wondered if the former state had not been better if only for its certainty, but then Gratefulness arose from her slumber and quickly reprimanded Doubt back into submission. I was alive, and with that fact I was most pleased.
I had just begun the process of deduction and strategy which one undertakes in these situations in order that they may find the most successful way out, or at least forward, from the current state. My mind was gearing up, my senses sharpening, my soul recovering its determination when suddenly they all stopped in their tracks, and I with them. The man was barely visible from the sea, barely visible at all, his garments the color and texture of the cliffs against which he stood and into which he blended so effortlessly. His staff, were he to discard it on the ground amidst the rest of the rubble there, would pass easily for driftwood. He was not tall, perhaps five foot seven, and his skin mirrored the landscape, worn with time and weathered by the elements. From under his hood, one shock of alabaster hair made its appearance, and then retreated with the gentle prodding of a passing breeze. And at the moment I saw him, my eyes became locked with his, the most entrancing sapphire eyes to whom mine had ever been introduced. Barely breathing, unsure of what to do, and doubting his trustworthiness and purity of motives, I parted my lips to speak but was unsuccessful.
His focused and unwavering stare prodded my heart to fear, yet his calm expression and peaceful stance coaxed it into curiosity instead. Who was this Man of the Rock, and what did he want with me?
Curiosity coaxed my feet from their planted state into a slow and methodical advance in his direction, while Better Judgment and Memory of the Past held firm to their position in my soul, unwavering and desperate in their instructions to run as fast and as far as possible; of course, Logic then felt need to add her opinion, and threw her sardonic glance their way with an expression that said, very clearly, "Run where?".
After what felt like eternity, I arrived at the closest position I felt comfortable with, about three feet away from the Man of the Rock. He had not once, for the duration of this short but timid journey of mine, unlocked his eyes from mine. When I came to a rest, he said nothing and revealed no hint of knowledge with his eyes. When finally he spoke, his lips gave up their first smile, his voice was calm and comforting, and his words emerged from their maker with measured deliberation.
"Welcome to Gwaredigaeth, my child. We have been waiting for you."
