-PART I-
"Any fool can get into an ocean
But it takes a Goddess
To get out of one."
-Jack Spicer
Chapter 1.
I am twenty-six. I know very well now some things I could not know when I was younger. I know now, that my mother had not died until well after a wealthy lord whisked her away from my father and me years ago. I know that while she is not biologically related to me, and while some days I hate her very much, my step-mother has done more motherly things for me than I could ever beg of her to do. I know my half-brother is the most irritating thing I have ever encountered, but still I would not trade him for anything. And I know that while this island we live on is my home, it is not where I belong. It is not my life, and through all the lies, and stories, and proclamations that we are on our own in this great wide world, I know more than anything else that this island, called Castle Rock by its inhabitants, is not the only one. There is more out there, and I will strive to find more until my very last breath.
Every night I find myself sitting atop the largest hill our island has to offer. They say, long ago, there were more islands, more lands, and more life. But now there is only this. We are the last of what was once a great wide world and we are lucky. Our king saved us—being as clever at magic as he was, and loving us so dearly, he spared us from the collapse that brought all life to ruin. He lives in his castle, attached to our little slice of heaven by a particularly treacherous set of crags, constantly beat against by the thrashing waves that batter the shore line and take a little more of our home each year. They say that all alone in his castle, the king is devising a way to save us yet again. To stop the deterioration of our home and make sure that human life is not extinguished completely. He wants us to thrive, to expand, to live, but how can we do that when there is only this? Even he—benevolent and all knowing, insists that this is all there is. We must find a way to cope, and love each other, and fall in love with what limited options there are, and populate, and grow, but we must do this on an island no bigger than five miles around. Where everyone knows everybody and each person is extremely invested in the business of everyone else, it is nearly impossible to find any lick of privacy, or even anyone who you don't know like the back of your hand and tolerate enough to consider marrying.
But atop this hill, I find my privacy. I find my quiet and my little piece of this god-forsaken bit of earth that is mine alone and no one can interrupt me, or stop me from having thoughts. And it is here I find the lights that come on long after the last candle has burnt out in the town. They flicker just on the horizon, and burning as bright as the stars that litter the night sky, they shine through the night, ever present, and infallible and incontrovertible proof that there is something else out there. But still I am told that it is not true.
They say—and by 'they' I mean the elders here, the parents and grandparents, the widows and spinsters, the ones who remember a time when one could travel—that the lights are ghosts; memories of the city lights that used to sit there. The souls still trapped there because they know nothing else, or where to go now that they are gone. I say they are liars, and the lights are there, and they are cities and towns and places to go to. They are as real as I am and I will see them. Not only will I see them, but I will experience them for myself. I will walk among them and the buildings they inhabit. I will meet the people that live in them and I will not turn back once I get off this island.
The only trick to it, is figuring out how. Down on the shore, half buried in the sands, there are a few shipwrecks from centuries passed. But they are so old and worn down, bruised and broken by years of weather and abuse, that even the most skilled craftsman or shipwright could not fix them. They are immediately out of the question. Though the idea of fixing up a clipper and sailing off into the sunset is very romantic, it is far-fetched and more importantly, impossible. I cannot ask someone, as the last time I did that, I became the laughingstock for harboring such ridiculous dreams. Even now, I can sometimes hear snickers and hushed words about how much of a silly dreamer I am. These people can't let go of anything, can't see the forest for the trees, or beyond their own noses for that matter. It's not that they cannot believe there is something else out there. It is that they do not want to. They, all of them, are so ready to accept this simple life, this absolution that any idea of escape, of something different, of a grand adventure, is folly, and even more so, it is a child's aspiration. It is something shameful for a woman of my age.
I watch the lights for a while longer, the night wearing longer and colder as a breeze off the ocean sifts through my hair. It hangs loose around my shoulders now, though normally it is tied up, constricted, like everything else I know. But soon, the cold sends me home. The largest house on the far end of Castle Rock, there is a dim glow coming from the bottom window. My father left a candle for me. He was thoughtful, though sometimes he did not show it. Often, he did not show it…at least not to me. My step-mother, absolutely, she was the light of his life; the woman who saved a poor wretch who had been abandoned with a toddler to care for. My brother, yes, he could do no wrong in his eyes. Me, he has grown accustomed to, tired of. He knows that I know he cares, and that is enough. Sometimes I am lucky to get a smile from him, or a quick embrace, but it doesn't happen often. This is why things like this cause me to smile. It is, in his own way, a sign of his affection, for a daughter who is quickly becoming the joke of the town.
I go to bed with my head swimming. Grand visions of life outside the green grasses and the muddy footpaths I have known my whole life. In flashes, I am presented with images of shining structures, taller than the castle on the rocks from which our homes moniker derives, standing in groups and brightly lit. I dream of bustling cities crammed with people, and beyond the shining walls and loud voices, a sturdy stone structure, old by comparison, with a fire place and a window strewn with books. I hold tightly to them come morning. They are all I know of the outside world, but they are evidence of something more. I can't have just dreamt up entire cities and homes. While I pride myself on being clever, I am not so clever that these dreams come every night, and they are presented in brief, vivid flashes, like looking through a book of pictures. They are snapshots of a life I could know. A life I will soon know. As always, I write down what I can remember, and tuck the journal back into the drawer in my bedside table before meeting my family downstairs.
They are all awake before me, as usual, and their disapproving eyes tell me that they wish I would stop staying out so late. I have duties here I must tend to, and my actions are irresponsible at best.
"Another late night, Sarah?" My father asks, as if he does not already know the answer. I smile at him in response and nod sheepishly, pouring myself a cup of tea before taking my seat at the table and helping myself to some bread. My step mother rolls her eyes, but smiles all the same. 'How adorable.' It says. She thinks I am naïve and a bit addled, likely from my lack of social interaction. I'd much rather stay at home with my books and dreams then go fishing for a husband.
"And where was it this time? Were you with anyone?" She asks, hoping as always, that my answer will change from the last time I was asked this. But still it is the same.
"The hill, and no, I was by myself. I can't bring myself to share the only place I can get a bit of peace around here." I smirked, taking a long sip from my mug, my smug expression only irking them further. Under his breath, I hear my brother mention something about how that will change, and it piques my interest.
"What was that?" I ask, turning to direct every ounce of attention to him. Toby looks up with wide eyes, regretting instantly that he even spoke in the first place. A murmured 'nothing' was offered in place of an explanation. I look then, to my parents, who are trying to look everywhere but at me. Something is wrong here, and my heart begins to race. What was it they were not telling me?
"What is it?" I ask, not quite on the verge of pleading, but getting there at an alarming rate. Still, I receive no response. Every time they get like this, it is because they have found a suitor for me. One I will outright turn down because I have known him since I was five, and would rather eat rocks than spend time with them. Rolling my eyes, I stuff the last bit of bread into my mouth and help myself to another slice, this time it is laden with butter and honey. My step-mother would disapprove, but I could care less.
"If it's another suitor, you can just send him away right now. No one here interests me remotely, and I'm sure I hold no interest for them other than a dowry." I said sourly through a mouthful of food.
"Oh Sarah, don't talk with your mouth full, it's disgusting." My step-mother scoffs, finally giving me a bit of attention. I smiled at her and took another bite, watching to gauge her reaction. A small pleasure in life was annoying her, though I know she did not deserve it.
"So what is it?" I ask, setting my food down and waiting now, patiently, for a proper response. We sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity, but soon, my father reached behind him to retrieve a slip of parchment. Creased from folding and unfolding, my father gripped it tightly and stared at it for a moment before passing it across the table to me. With it came a nervous feeling in my stomach and a clammy touch to my hands. It had the King's seal on the back, and my name on the front. This was rare indeed. And when a message was received from his majesty, it was never good news.
What made him such an enigma was that no one had ever seen him. All we knew was what was provided. He spared us from destruction, and watches over us with a harsh kindness. That while our island is slowly being destroyed by the elements, he is working on a solution. But all of that could be pure speculation in the end. All we know is that he is our ruler, and that we should trust him completely. I don't even think anyone knew his name. We only knew his seal because occasionally, when something happens that he does not approve of, he sends word that he is unhappy, and should he continue to be, the consequences will be dire. The man was a force, and we were humbled to be taken care of by him.
"A letter from the king?" I asked, my fingers shaking, along with my whole hand, as I hesitated opening it. My mind began to race with anything I could have done wrong. Perhaps all my dreaming had reached his ears, and he was displeased with me. My father cleared his throat, and my brothers eyes were trained on the letter, as though he were expecting it to do a trick. Worse still, was that tears were pricking at my step-mothers eyes. And my own, it turned out. Prolonging the moment no further, I slid my index finger under the seal, separating it from the crisp parchment, and unfolded it. Inside, there was a small letter, folded once in half, and thick enough that I couldn't see the ink on the other side.
I had come to terms with the fact that it would be a reprimand, which was all we had known would come from the castle. But upon opening the letter, reading its contents, I couldn't have been more surprised. I think, for a moment, I had stopped breathing. Something unprecedented had happened. There weren't even stories about this happening ever, and in a town where telling stories was a way of life, that was something. I looked up to meet the eyes of my audience, all three of them sitting on pins waiting for my words. All expecting to hear that I was in trouble and it was finally being addressed. But I wasn't. It wasn't a reprimand at all, but a way out.
Inhaling tentatively, I set the letter down and folded my hands over it, pressing them to the table until my knuckles turned white. With ragged breath, I met my parents' eyes and spoke at last.
"The King wants to see me."
The entire day of my summons arrival, I was entirely captivated and preoccupied by it. Not quite a demand, there was always the option of not going, but if I backed out, I would gain even more of a reputation of the laughingstock here. Not only was I a silly dreamer who refused to grow up in the eyes of all of my elders and superiors, but I would be not only the only person to ever receive an invitation to the King's castle, but I would be the only person to turn him down. Weighing my options kept me silent all day, and restless all night. Tossing and turning, and eventually realizing that I would not sleep, I crawled out of bed at an hour that was late enough to be considered early by some people and tread softly across the cold floor. Not bothering to change into anything warmer, or even find some stockings to roll over my feet, I slid on my shoes and grabbed a shawl to cover my shoulders, and headed for my hill.
At night, the tall grasses grow wet with dew. It's normally hot here; throughout the year the temperatures during the day never fall below a pleasant warmth, and often exceed an uncomfortable heat where all your clothes stick to you, along with the hair at your neck. But at night, it is cool, and it is quiet. You can hear the waves lapping against the shore, and the fisher gulls crying out at the sight of a late night meal, though most of them are asleep, like the rest of the village. While they would normally hold every ounce of my attention, tonight the lights on the horizon seem dim and far away. They do not occupy my thoughts, and in their place looms the dark spires and towers of our sovereign's home. I turn away from my usual view and cast my eyes to the very structure I am thinking of. In the light of the moon and stars it looks especially dark, more than it does in the day, a massive shadow against the eerie pale grounds behind it.
The castle sits on what would be another half of Castle Rock. Probably just as large around, the castle is the only building on that half, behind it, I would assume is empty land. I can never quite see it, even though the castle is not so big that it would hide it from my sights. The entire business of the King and his home is quite the mystery. In our entire history, we've only ever had one king—unless there is a family that is terribly secretive about their business—and no one has ever seen him, nor spoken of anyone having seen him. All we know, as if it was engraved into our memories, is that he is our benevolent protector, our savior, and we must of course, obey him. Though he never sets rules, or sends royal decrees, or anything. We have never seen hide nor hair of him, and for a while, I suspected that there was no one there at all, and someone just made up a story of a king to keep us all in check.
And yet, when he his displeased, he sends word via letter, and now, this; an invitation to his home, to meet him. What had I done to warrant his attention, I wonder. It seems odd, but all the more alluring. What I don't understand, even more than his request for my presence, is why it is bothering me so much in the first place. Something about meeting him was sending up every red flag. In the end, it only made me want to investigate more, though my instincts were telling me to stay far away. This confliction was the grounds for keeping me up, and I desperately needed to sleep.
Before long, the sun was rising, and it was brought to my attention that I had sat for hours, my eyes trained on the castle, but my mind a blank. I blinked, my eyes feeling quite like paper, and stood up, creaking bones and a sick chill running through my spine. I would regret this come daylight, when I would be forced to wake. But in my absent state, I had come to a decision, and when I woke, I would be prepared to voice it.
I was granted the gift of three hours of sleep, passing out as soon as my head hit my pillow and waking as Toby burst into my room and threw a biscuit at me. I shot up to yell at him, but he was already darting down the hallway, laughing uproariously and tossing a sharp comment about the assault being my punishment for sneaking out again. If being a 26 year old woman who is perfectly able to do what she wants when she wants qualifies as 'sneaking out', that is. I dragged myself out of my room at a snail's pace and met my family at the table. The same routine every single day, as it turned out. It was perhaps all the more reason to stick to my decision, in the end. I sat down, and as if on cue, my parents and brother turned to me, each wearing a very expectant expression. They wanted an answer, no surprise. All of them were for it, they wanted me to go and take in every single detail, come back, and tell them all about it. The castle, the king, what he wanted. This was the most excitement they had ever had, as it turned out, and they weren't even the ones experiencing anything. They wanted to live vicariously through my adventure. Luckily for them, I wanted this adventure.
I sighed deeply and folded my hands on the table. My eyes traced the grain of it for a minute, trying to collect a thought, but none would come to me other than to just outright answer them.
"I'll go." I murmured, looking up at them tentatively. "To see the king…I'll go. I can't exactly tell him no, can I? So…that's it." I said with much finality as my family burst into grins. How bad could it be, after all? I didn't even know what he wanted yet.
"In the letter, he said he would send a footman to collect me at the shore in three days' time. So, I guess we get to play the waiting game now." I informed them, smiling nervously.
The wait was going to be the worst part.