The Mariner

Harris, who’d previously been keeping quiet and listening to the exchange, responded. “Hang on, are you saying you’ve seen an island pop into existence?”

“I have,” McConnell nodded. “The zoo upon which your ship crashed used to be a part of Sighisoara, the town I am from. But one day it tore itself from the mainland and drifted away, not just physically, but in the town’s collective consciousness too. Most forgot; only a couple of us remembered and soon learnt to keep quiet. Eventually it disappeared from the horizon altogether.”

“So what happened? How did it come back?”

“These two brought it back,” he said, tapping Grace on the head and then pointing to the Mariner. “They brought it back by remembering!”

Grace sank into his lap, embarrassed by the sudden attention. The Mariner himself continued to stare into the fire. What was the point of all this?

“If only we could remember all the things that are lost, or make sure that nothing else becomes forgotten… then maybe.” He shrugged, suddenly finding himself out on a limb without a proper theory. “I don’t know, but I saw the island return. I saw it. And it wasn’t returned by killing monsters or breaking déjà vu, but by two people focusing their minds.”

“Why these two?” Harris asked.

Don’t say it

, thought the Mariner.

“Well…”

Don’t!

“I think they are special.”

Fortunately for the Mariner, McConnell stopped there, feeling a bit foolish. No-one laughed though, Heidi and Harris studied the three travellers closely, mulling over McConnell’s speech. The Mariner could feel their minds whirring. “Enough,” he said even though they’d been sitting in silence for a minute or so. “We’ll explore other ideas once we’ve found the Pope, whoever he is, and make him talk.” Stretching out on the deck, he took a swig from his hip flask, forever kept full now they’d been able to resupply at the Beagle. It hurt his stomach, but felt nice to have the thoughts in his head subdued. “This is my ship, so my rules. Shut up and get some sleep.”

The journey north lasted several weeks, and in that time the people aboard slowly began to become acclimatised to each other. Mavis’ foot soldiers, twelve in total, intimidating in their initial anonymity, revealed themselves in truth to be a varied collection of refugees, with stories similar to any other in the endless sea. Lives spent in confusion at being torn away from a world that made sense, into one that did not.

Eventually McConnell overcame his reluctance to share his faith, and soon set to preaching his Shattered Testament to any who’d listen, which, surprising to the Mariner, was a fair number of Mavis’ followers of ‘science’. Fortunately, McConnell never explained the link he’d made between his faith and the Mariner, but he did catch Heidi glancing in his direction when McConnell had spoken at length of Christ’s return.

The devils never overcame their distrust of the new shipmates, only venturing above deck to pester for food or to get a quick pet from Grace, who was enjoying the fresh bustle of the Neptune. Harris in particular spent a great deal of time with her, teaching her how to shoot. McConnell had disapproved, though couldn’t voice a genuine reason why she shouldn’t learn. Self-defence was invaluable.

Slowly, day by day, the weather grew colder. Furs and blankets became necessary to shelter from chilly winds, and rain ceased to provide refreshment and now became a miserable huddled affair.

They navigated using the sun, heading roughly, yet steadily north, though after a week talk amongst the crew began to grow doubtful. How did they know they were on the right track? Where was this Moor the Oracle spoke of? Had it all been a cruel trick?

And then, just as it looked like they would have to give in and consider an alternative route, they saw it. The Waterfall.

Rising out of the ocean like an impenetrable wall, the waterfall tumbled from an invisible river, cascading down from an aperture a hundred feet in the air, with no landmass or other source to be seen. The roar from it soared across the sea, sounding like a constant growl of some gigantic beast. Around the waterfall was a thick mist, water vapour constantly blown out and away from the tumbling tonnage, saturating the air and soaking the clothes of every person aboard, even though they must have been a mile or so from the actual fall itself. The sheer volume cascading down into the ocean was immense; this was not a thin stream, but a long rectangular sheet of water, humbling in its majesty.

However, it was not the scale of the waterfall that had them all dumb-struck, but the source — the water was falling from the sky. It were as if some lining in the air had torn, allowing an infinite amount of water to come tumbling through. It was beautiful in its simplicity, a single vast column of water, forever falling to violent collision with the world beneath.