The Forbidden Sea

Z stood at the shore of the forbidden sea, sunk in mud to his knees under two feet of water. Z knew it was his to attempt a crossing, his time to try for another shore. A ten day journey to the horizon at best, some speculated, though the Oracle spoke of no one who had ever ventured beyond the water’s edge. The Ruins vaguely indicated that many, in ancient times, had sought the adventure of going beyond the horizon in the hope of discovering other lands. Each adventurer last seen as they had begun with craft, or no, upon the water that surrounded this small, isolated island known as Contee. Their hopes and names were now long forgotten as simply those who had tempted the Fates. The Council of One spoke of a limited horizon which only the discontented would dare debate in secret. Yet there was one fact upon which every person on the island could agree, no one had ever returned once they entered the forbidden sea.

Fear passed in waves through Z’s fragile body. Z was clearly shaken as he slowly sank ever deeper into the grip of the shore bottom. He was dead if he stood there. The mud and tide would see to that. He could not go back to his village. The High Priestess had chosen him from birth as a sacrifice to the Flame of Fertility.

Z believed that miracles were possible, but had never asked for one. Z had been witness to miracles in others, though these miracles appeared to have an intention of their own and would only manifest among those clearly more needy than he. Z would indeed need a miracle if he were to survive to see the end of this day. Z prevailed against his will for a place, a time, a pathway away from his hopeless situation.

Z’s focus was shattered by the shouting of the Priestess and twelve of her most able men come to fetch him to the fires of the waiting ceremony. Without a thought Z threw himself into the waiting waters and quickly swam toward the distant horizon. They would not follow. Not the Priestess or her men. It was forbidden for anyone to enter the sea.

Z swam for an hour, then two. Slowing to conserve his strength, Z became intent to make the best of it. Sure of his death he began to muse how far he could go before he sank to the bottom, or become food for the many monsters which made their home in the sea. “I will use my end as a test of courage,” he thought, “I will come to know my limits.”

And the limits came. One by one. First his breath, he could no longer swim with his face in the water. Rolling over he would finish his efforts with his face to the sun. Then his arms failed to perform even the simplest of strokes. He could ask no more of them than to float at his side. Finally his legs grew heavy with each ensuing kick and they began to sink under the surface of the sea, threatening to pull the rest of his body with them. Exhausted, cramping, and fighting to stay conscious Z came to a stop and waited for the beginning of the end. He had gone many miles. He had given his best. He was pleased with the outcome of his struggle.

Z relaxed his very being, his thoughts now set free to expand in gentle whispers toward the unrestricted infinite of his own creation or suddenly collapse into unbearable shards of fearful darkness which drew him ever closer toward the ultimate confinement of his own impending death. Then silenced. Nowhere. Nothing.

- - - - -

A great pain erupted along Z’s spine as the small waves that traverse the sea raked his motionless body across a large submerged rock covered with razor-like shell life. Bleeding from a multitude of small flesh wounds he rolled over and clung to its irregular surface. He struggled instinctively to find a small place where he could rest among the rock’s jagged edges. In moments a small spot was found. Sitting upright with his face to the wind, Z’s thoughts wandered in circles in the cloudless sky above him to await their return behind the aches, the pains, the cuts, and the clear, warm air now filling his gasping lungs.

As the strength slowly returned to Z’s body his long day was coming to a close. A sunset he never thought he’d see was before him in a glory he had never fully appreciated. As he sat waist deep in the forbidden sea with small waves gently caressing the wounds now healing on his back, he no longer feared. Not the journey nor the night that lay before him.

This day had taught him three valuable lessons. That he was of purpose. That something beyond his understanding had provided a new beginning. That a miracle is a reasonable thing to ask for.