Mariana Trench

Prologue:

In the time of Two Hundred CE, man did what man had to, for the sake of his family, for the sake of himself. He killed, he tortured, he persuaded, he hid, he bribed, he begged, he stole. If he was born in the high ranks of the castle, then he wouldn't have to worry much about where the next meal would come for his family. If he was born outside of the castle, born as a farmer, fisher, tradesman, anything else, then man fought stole cheated gambled, all to ensure the safety and comfort of his family and those he loves. There is nothing, man wouldn't do to protect those he loves. Man always knew, because it was what man only knew. Man protected women, defended children, slaughtered other men in the name of women. And so, this man had to make a choice, a choice, to protect the ones he loved, or, the thing in his arms that was his. He kissed the thing's forehead sadly, forlornly. The man had heard tales, tales and stories and myths. And, like his fellow men, he did not want to believe such tales and stories. This man wondered if it was merely a disease, or, a curse, like the tales spoke of. A curse of the great force men loved, and, feared. The ocean.
When man quested over the great blue ocean for the first time, many were lost to his depths. Many were claimed as trophies and prizes, until man mastered ships, mastered building better ships, and man conquered the ocean. When man conquered the great blue waves, the great blue waves conquered man once more by having man battle man on the waves. Wars were fought over the waves and lives lost to the great seas, to the great blue waves anyway. In essence, the great man of the ocean won again. Man dubbed the ocean a god, a great ambivalent god who was neither cruel nor benevolent, who was neither compassionate nor vengeful, who was neither jovial nor terrifying. Man fought this great being every day, venturing over it's waves, sailing through it's storms, wrestling with it night and day, as the years grew on and on. Man learned how to conquer the ocean, but the ocean, learned to conquer man. Man feared the sky as much as the ocean, yet man didn't know the sky. Man gave a name to the sky, man didn't often fight with the sky. The sky, didn't lay a curse, over man. A curse, that forced man to make a choice, a choice, that would either torment him for life, or, kill the thing he once loved so dearly. This man knew of only one, one, who had to do what he was about to do. This man only knew of one other who had to do this. He swaddled the thing in his arms again, laying his lips on it's forehead.
This was a man of such high ranks, if anyone knew he had one of these things, more, if anyone knew what happened, the, truth, "There are worst faits, than death," this man knew that, had repeated that verbatim all his time, all, of, his, reign. But, this man feared his time would come to an end. He had done one of the many things he knew not to, and was now paying a steep price for it. For the thing in his arms, a cursed child, a true cursed child, in his arms. A babe who would never grow up, who would never know her name, never know love, affection, greed, terror, hatred, joy. A babe, who would only know the crushing depths and freezing waves of the sea, of the great blue god. The man, the king, knew this, and kept his face so masterfully blank, though a torrent of emotions swam through him. He did not trust the driver, the driver of his nondescript carriage. He did not trust any knights to venture out with him. Did not trust any honor guard to join him. Just him, his driver, and the thing in his arms. The cursed child in his arms.
The king sat forward, the roiling clouds through the tinted window speaking to him. "You did this." The blue god would say, is probably saying. "Now you pay the price." The driver banged a fist on the inner door as the carriage stopped. The king stood, and stepped to the door, opening it, to a torrent of rain. In the distance, he could just make out the shore of his kingdom. Waves crashed along it ruthlessly, a prelude to what he'd see. Some tales spoke of a man awaiting on shore, some spoke of a woman. Some spoke of figures awaiting far out to sea, awaiting the cursed child. None could speak of what happened to the child, the children. The king turned, he knew how the game worked. He handed over ten gold coins, the driver was promised twenty-five, ten now, ten when the king gott back to the carriage, and the rest when he was back in his castle. The dark gloved hand retracted, fingers closing over the gold. One gold coin, worth a hundred silver coins, silver coins, one of those, worth five hundred coppers. Yet, for good measure, the king held out a hand, and red flashed in the light of the torch in the carriage. The hand shot back out again, taking the gem. Knowing the driver would truly stay now, the king turned, and faced the steep beach.
It wasn'tt a public beach, not even an accessible one. No, no the king knew his penance, knew that he had to give up the cursed child and do it, not just in the middle of a terrible storm, not just in darkness, but in a place where his life was in danger. In a place, where the blue god would know he did everything he could, to pay the price for what he did. The king held the child in one arm, and used his sceptre, his royal sceptre. He walked down the sandy plain and reached a rocky outcropping. The king looked out over the roiling waves. Blue lightning lashed overhead, thunder on it's heels. The king looked around him warily. Seeing nothing, he descended the rocks with apprehension in every step. One misstep, and both he and the child would be claimed. Rocks tumbled off the crop and he froze as thunder roared, almost like cruel laughter. Taking a breath, the king descended. He stared at his goal, a bit of beach, no more than a few feet free of wet sand before waves lashed against them, spraying the rocks. A few dozen feet of that, and a maw in the rocks, not much, but a little shelter. In his arms, the child did not stir, did not awaken. Rocks slid away, sliding down the steep decline. The king trekked down until he reached even sands. He stared around, lightning rocks spread like glistening jewels over the beach. Lightning rocks, difficult to acquire, priceless to sell, but the king knew nott to take anything from here. He moved slowly toward the open cave, the child not moving. He could still feel her heart thumping against his own ribs, still feel her sweet breath against his neck. "Not for long," she wouldn't breathe for much longer. Instead, she'd be taken, claimed by the ocean, by the blue god, for what the king had done.
The king stopped, mere feet away from the cave mouth, and turned to face the water. Lightning lashed far off shore, though the king did not see anything. He opened the blanket and took a final look att his child. Long dark blue hair surrounded a face of such vivid inhuman beauty. Her eyes were open, open and filled with deep intelligence. Lightning lashed again, and the king was struck by that gaze, that intelligence. Those eyes stared deeply into his. He looked down, down at the body, her, body. Her belly rose and fell smoothly, yet below her belly, below her pelvis, scales grew along her legs, and her feet, her feet, her feet, were, webbed. The king kissed his cursed child one final time and said the prayer he had wanted to say since he made his mistake. "My God, my Lord of the great blue waves. Hear my voice, hear my words." Thunder boiled, blue lightning lashed. "My Lord, my Lord, hear my, hear my words." Waves crashed against the beach, spraying the king and the child with seawater. "I have made my sin, I know it, I realize it. For good or ill, my sin is now upon me, and I must pay for it. I must do my penance for it." Thunder boiled puissantly and the king shuttered. "I did my deed, not because of any selfish desire, but, to ensure the curse would be lifted. I beg of you, that the tales that are told are true, I beg you, stop the war before it begins. I beg you, from one ruler to another, stop the war, before it begins, or we'll all be lost." The king lowered the child to the water. "I love you, I will never forget you, Mariana." The child stared at him, kept staring, even as the waves took hold of her body, and swept her out to sea. The king looked up, and, for the briefest moment, saw a figure standing on the waves, a long three pointed spear in his hand, long hair billowing in the wind. He inclined his head, then, as the lightning faded, then lashed again, he was gone.