The Pearl

Hiro woke up in the morning twilight, his dinghy rocking gently in the bed of kelp to which he had anchored it late last night. His throat is parched and he's shivering, covered in dew.

*Some sort of fever*, he thinks. It never gets cold during Summer's peak in southern Ardellia.

Rubbing the soreness from his muscles, he sat up. Hiro collected a cup of cool water by running his fingers down the dewy strings strung up for that purpose, drank it, and then took the strings down. Looking around, he saw a small island a half-mile away. Besides that, only open water. Clear purple-pink skies, except for a line of darkness on the western horizon. Westerly winds - it looked like an approaching storm. The sun would rise in under an hour.

Hiro closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and breathed deeply, thinking about what he had set out to do, what he had to do. The Pearl of the World - the legendary pearl as large as two fists put together. The elders say it's just a story, a parable. Hiro thinks otherwise. He is convinced there really is a Pearl, and that the young man who found it was a fool. As the story is told, the man was robbed by a covetous neighbor. The Pearl passed from hand to hand, ruining lives, until the village was splintered and broken. Believing the Pearl was a curse and not a blessing, the young man threw it back into the sea, for it never to be found again. The moral of the story is that one should be satisfied with one's lot in life, that reaching too high leads to misery and destruction.

*Bullshit*, Hiro thinks to himself and starts to pull up the fishing lines he'd put down last night. *We Boaters have nothing but our floating homes. When we're not fishing for food, we dive for pearls to trade. Islanders and distant Mainlanders never give us a fair trade. We rarely have enough wood or tools to make the basic repairs to weather the next storm.*

With the Pearl of the World, Hiro was sure that would change. His family and his whole village, the entirety of the Boater people would be better off, for once having the upper hand in trade negotiations, and able to stock supplies for a whole season or more. It would be the difference between day-to-day subsistence and a life of security, the difference between vulnerability to the elements and resilience, between life and death.

The fishing lines were empty, except for a half-dozen rancid-looking flubberfish. Inedible, so back in the sea they went. The hook-lines were carefully wound up and tucked away in the dinghy. Then he unwrapped the anchor lines from the anchoring kelp, and started paddling. The elders all described the story as taking place near one of the Saysell islets, and this is the deepest sea he's found in the area, so the Pearl must be somewhere below.

Hiro paddled toward some distant breakers indicating a sandbar or coral reef near the surface. He thought of the Yamato family - twenty people of all ages on a two-room barge. They were good friends and neighbors. They were hardly the worst off, but the next bad storm could sink them and perhaps kill many.

Pulling the oars was strenuous, his stomach growled, sweat beaded on his naked upper body, but all he could think of was the Pearl.

*I'm not going to wait for the next bad storm,* Hiro thought as he rowed, keeping a wary eye on the darkness on the horizon. *I won't accept the next great tragedy.*

When he reached the patch of rougher water, the sun was just rising over the north-eastern horizon, and the sea was ablaze with lights and shadows.

https://www.reddit.com/r/MyWorldYourStory/comments/6bv2nc/fantasyexisting\_settingyour\_erwt\_story/dhs6ybr/

I dump anchor again on top of the shallows. I'll drop a couple of fishing lines as well if it's a reef. If it's a sand bar, there could be hidden crabs for lunch, but my complaining stomach will have to wait.

With the boat anchored, I'll start dives into the surrounding deeps. I'm not looking for a shell, but rather oddly regular shapes and (ideally) pearlescent shininess in the deeps. I'll root with my hands under the sand and muck, probing for the special velvety sensation of pearl.

You start your exploratory dives, working counterclockwise around your boat, starting from the west.

After two hours of diving, your fishing lines are still coming up with nary a fish. A medium-sized octopus managed to snare itself on one of the hooks, but this is not a full meal. Still, it is better than nothing, so you whack it against the hull, scrape off its slimy skin with an abalone shell (there is a small basket of them in the dinghy), and nibble on the chewy tentacles as you ponder your next move.

The lack of fish is worrisome. If they've been hiding since this morning because of that storm, I need to get to that island, beach the boat, and get myself some shelter.

I'll make a mental note of where I am and where I've dived, though, so I can continue later.

My stomach growls. How far away is the storm? I'll take a few minutes to go down and dig up some crabs from the shallow sand bar.

The storm looks maybe 4 hours away, and you estimate you are perhaps 4 hours of brisk paddling from the island.

[meta section]

Crabfinding success: 1d12 + /u/rollme

1-2: no crabs

3-6: some small soft-shell crabs, enough for breakfast

7-11: some soft-shell crabs, plus a big mofo that will be very tasty indeed

12: serendipity!

[/meta section]

The sand bar is empty. Just empty sand. There's nothing there. You get back into the boat, and lay down in the bottom as it rocks in the waves.

You're starting to feel very poor now. Can you make it ahead of the storm? You consider other alternatives, but it is difficult to think with your throat still parched and your stomach cramping with hunger.

I've got a bad feeling about this...

I ignore my cramping stomach, pull up anchor, and start paddling. When I get to the island, priority one is to secure the boat, preferably on land where it won't get dashed to pieces. Priority two is shelter so I won't get dashed to pieces — the boat could be handy for this. Priority three is rain-catchers — I'm running out of drinking water. Priority four is food — fruits, coconuts, critters, reeds, whatever is edible.

The storm looms darkly, and you realize it is a big one. You go all-in with your paddle. You know in your gut that simply being on the island is not enough to ensure survival - you are still a day's travel away from the village, and you have no resources. Securing the little that you do have - and saving the boat - is going to be instrumental to making it through the ordeal.

You paddle until your arms hurt and your back feels like there is raw sand trapped within your spine. Your calloused hands blister and bleed. Glistening with sweat in the sweltering august heat, you somehow avoid passing out as you plow through the waves, which are building up higher and higher.

When you finally crash into the sandy beach, you turn back to look at the storm: you have an hour to prepare. It would be best to make the most of it.

The storm was further off than I'd thought. My first lucky break today!

I feel like absolute shit, but I'll have to rest soon anyway. Following my listed priorities, I pull up the boat to the tree line and turn it over. I try to make sure there's room underneath for me to huddle and that I won't be lying in an actual puddle or stream. I toss the anchor inland and tie the mooring lines to two trees.

By the time I'm finished, the waves have grown and are crashing far onto the beach.

Water is next on the list. I take my knife and hack off some large leaves, making a set of big funnels. I wedge them into my waterskins, which I strap to the trunks of some palms. I have to balance security for volume, so I tie one waterskin very tightly so I'll be sure to have something at worst.

The wind is really picking up now, and there's water in the air. Whether from sea spray or rain, I don't know.

Before it gets unbearable, I try to find some fruit or even some sweet reeds to chew on while I wait out the storm.

It is a long 12 hours, but you were able to prepare well and you survive without injury. The dinghy is is good condition, and you were able to keep the lines and nets and abalone shells and other tools you rely on.

However, you feel severely weakened, and you are definitely feverish. You can hardly swallow, your throat is so swollen, and you have a pounding headache. Your muscles are so sore and tender, they feel like they will either snap like a tight fishing line or turn into wakame salad.

It is morning, and you hear a sea bird walk about outside the boat.

Oooh, not good. I'd hoped to feel better after 12 hours of relative rest.

Well, best get a move on before I perish under here. I'll get out from under the boat, try to collect my things, drink and eat as much as I think my stomach will handle, have another rest, and then make for civilisation.

I'm in bad shape. I wonder, is the nearest Islander village closer than my Boater village? It could be easier to find in any case, given yesterday's storm. I think I'll stick close to shore and simply try to find anyone... god this sucks.

You struggle out from under the boat. It's partially buried under wet sand, but you manage. You prop yourself up against the boat and slowly sip some water to avoid shocking your system. You retch it up, painfully, once, twice, but the third time, you keep the water down, and you decide you can move on and scavenge some more sweet reeds to chew on.

The beach is a mess of washed-up debris. Kelp, starfish, jellyfish, more kelp. Palm fronds, nut shells, driftwood. You pick up some scallops left stranded by the storm surge, split them open with the edge of an abalone shell, and scrape out the insides.

You retch after the first few scallops, but soon you've eaten five or six, and you don't feel like fainting quite as urgently as before. Still, with your headache raging and your fever chills in the post-storm heat wave, you know you are still in serious trouble.

Looking beyond the immediate stretch of beach for the first time after reaching the island, you discover it is considerably smaller than you first thought, and is probably uninhabited.

I realise that I'd been somewhere else in my fever — this wasn't the large Islander island I'd "seen" while huddled underneath the hull of my boat, this was just a nameless scrap of land in the middle of nowhere.

I'm on my own.

The thought is sobering, and I desperately need some sober thought.

I check the water collectors. If they worked as I hoped, my chances are good. If not, I need to go inland and try to dig for a well (unless I stumble across some seriously juicy fruit).

No, before that, I'll collect washed-up seafood. Easy pickins, good caloric value for effort. Hmm, the fish should be back out in force, now that the storm has passed. That's something to look forward to.

No no, before that, I need to think about my illness. I feel like shit. Do I have an infection? I check for rashes, lumps, or weird aches. Shit, I wish I knew more about medicine, but I've never needed to before.

Half-way through the process of walking-stumbling-thinking-checking-itching-feeling your way to the water collectors, as you skirt around a tide pool, you trip over a fleshy lump and eat a faceful of sand.

You roll over to look at the offending lump and see it's a human body half in the tide pool. A woman.

AH! I scramble back. Fuck, where'd she come from?

With new eyes, I scan around. Am I looking at debris from a shipwreck?

There's no way she's alive, but I have to check anyway.

You inch a little closer. She doesn't appear to be breathing, and her skin is very pale. She is face-down in the wet sand, head slightly to the side, with her long, thick, sandy-colored hair covering her face. You reflect on your own straight black hair, common to Boaters, Islanders, and Mainlanders alike - at least as far as you knew. Foreigners had light hair... was she from some distant Land? She's naked.

Curious to see her face, but full of trepidation, you inch a little closer, and reach out to brush the hair away.

Your hand hovers a slight distance above, hesitant to disturb the dead. It's shaking badly, and you're not sure if it's from sickness or something else.

You remember the Redeemer's teachings:

Death severs that Which binds to Erwt Spirit, Will, Agency Memory, Value, Love Ne'er to return

The touring priest who services your Boater village says this means respecting the dead is pointless, that mourning is for the living.

Your fingers caress her face, pulling strands of hair away to reveal pallid skin.

She's beautiful. You reveal an angry red mark from her temple across her forehead, perhaps her fatal injury?

You scootch a little closer, reach down to grab her armpits, and heave her out of the tide pool. You're not sure why, exactly, but despite the Redeemer, you feel it would be wrong just to leave her there to rot.

You get a good hold of her, and you pull. Three things happen at once:

Her eyes open wide.

Her hands grab your wrists.

Her torso slides free of the carpet of kelp in the pool, and you see a glimpse of scales below her waist.

Your vision fades to black, and your last thought as you faint is another verse from the Redeemer's book:

That is not dead which can eternal lie. And with strange aeons even death may die.

You wake up with sandpaper eyes, but your tom-tom head feels calm and clear. It takes a little while to return to your latest memory, but when it arrives, you sit up with a start.

You find yourself in a lean-to constructed from palm boughs nestled into a cliff corner. The floor is a soft bed of coconut fiber on volcanic rock, and waves are gently lapping up to the open side of the lean-to. You are naked, except for strange fabric wrappings around your forearms, lower legs, and lower abdomen. You appear to be alone.

I rub my eyes. What's happening? Those scales... a mermaid? Did she help me?

And where did I come up with all that Redeemer's guff? I'm usually not much of a believer, put as much trust in the Great Dragon Urodel. 'Specially now that I've fallen in with a mermaid. Or maybe the Redeemer kept me safe from being eaten?

I lie back down. I feel good, better than I have for what seems like forever. Someone has been taking care of me. I'm not about to make myself feel worse by moving about, that'd be thankless of me. And if I do need to make an escape, I'd best save all the strength I can.

Still feeling the effects of some sedative, you quickly drift off to sleep.

In your sleep you feel from somebody tugging at the wrappings around your left forearm. Suddenly it stings immensely and you wake up with a start.

A woman, dressed in a sheer white gown, is kneeling next to you and is pressing a large purple jellyfish to the thin skin on the underside of your forearm. Your eyes wide, teeth clenched, fists balled, you try to keep from screaming. A yelp escapes your lips, and the woman jumps in surprise.

"You're awake!" she whispers, and removes the slippery gelatinous creature. Some of its stinging tentacles are left, and she scrapes them off gently with a fingernail before releasing your arm.

You realize you're holding your breath, and you exhale deeply and catch your breath. The two of you regard each other silently.

She has a similar color hair as the dead woman on the beach, except it is lighter, dry, and curly. Her skin is pale, but not pallid - it is a soft pink. Her dress is very revealing - while it covers her completely, it is so sheer you can see the nakedness right through the fabric.

Her eyes shift from yours and you suddenly become aware that you are naked. Nudity isn't strange to Boaters, but you know that both Islanders and Mainlanders don't accept it the same way, and even among Boaters it is generally considered impolite to be naked in the company of strangers. For some reason, you're intensely embarrassed and cover yourself with your hands as you look around for your clothes.

You find them, washed and folded, next to you. Reassured, you look back to the woman, and discover she is not there. Did she sneak out while you looked around? And go where, into the sea? Was she really there?

You verify that your left arm is missing the strange fabric wrappings, and notice thin lines of sore welts, left over from the stinging jellyfish. She must have been real.

It is time to get clothes on and take control of your situation again, you decide. You pull your pants on, tie the waistband, put your arms through the arm-holes of your vest (geeently with the left arm), and fall over backwards when you see the kneeling woman again.

Without a word, she helps you sit up, brings forth a length of fabric and a pot of ointment from around the corner of the lean-to, and applies the ointment to your forearm. Shocked and uncertain, you let it happen. The ointment is soothing.

She then takes the fabric and wraps it around your forearm, expertly tucking the loose end in under the bandage at the wrist, where it will remain secure without inhibiting mobility or obstructing bloodflow.

You look her in the eyes and she meets your gaze. You try to think of something to say.

"Thank you," I say. "I think you've saved my life. Who are you?"

Somewhere, a tiny hope sparks that she can help me find the Pearl. A greedy thought, given the aid I've already received, and I try to force it down. At least for now.

"Eowethy," she replied after a moment. "I'm the village healer in Alquiby"

"Thank you, Eowethy," you repeat, hoping for information that is a little more useful than names.

"We're just outside the village... a farmer found you among the rocks nearby, after the storm passed. It's a wonder you weren't dashed to pieces against the cliffs."

You notice her dialect is quite different from your Boater tongue. Her clothes, her hair, her speech, it all combines to an impression that is very unfamiliar, foreign; unsettlingly exotic. You're very confused - you've never heard of an Alquiby village, even in passing, and the Ildi atoll you call home is very small, indeed. And how did you end up here, from that sandy beach?

"Where is Alquiby, in relation to the Ildi atoll?" you ask her.

Instead of answering directly, Eowethy gets up from her knees and exits the lean-to. "Perhaps, if you feel strong enough, it's best I bring you to the village now... you can talk to the herald."

You think that sounds like a very good idea.

Outside the lean-to, you discover a narrow, rocky path along the cliffside, just above the breaking waves. It's slippery with algae in parts, but the broken cliff surface provides plenty of excellent hand-holds to navigate safely. You look back to the lean-to twice and see it would be very difficult to discover, nestled right into the furthest recess of what amounts to a ravine or a fissure in dark volcanic rock.

Moving outward, you round a bend and the looming cliff unwinds into a gentle slope covered in tough grass dotted with the giant succulents common to this region of the Dragontail island chain. A group of serow, indigenous ruminating animals resembling goats or short-horned antelope, are grazing among the aloe and look up warily as you follow a trail along the shoreline.

As you continue the walk, you're amazed to find you have recovered so well, but you are still extremely hungry. You hope to be offered some food when you arrive at the village - otherwise you will have to borrow a spear or a hook and line.

After just a few minutes, you reach a small collection of thatched huts. Three naked children are playing in the mud left after the storm. When they catch sight of you, they turn and run away screaming. You think it was the normal antics of playing children, but the event unsettles you anyway.

A little man hobbles out of the smallest hut, situated on the bank of a small stream which is swollen and flowing sprightfully. He is wearing a toga of what appears to be a type of leathery kelp, tightly woven, and he has a head of sparse curly white hair.

"Welcome, foreigner. You can call me Baduk," he says, and gestures invitingly to a table set with fruit and seaweed.

I make a sign of respect and eagerly move to the table. It's all comfortingly familiar fare, although for some reason they've peeled the syingsing fruit. Oh well, I won't miss the fuzzy peel's bitterness.

Hungry, I cram a couple of pieces of fruit into my mouth and look around the village while I chew. The children are nowhere to be seen, but I can hear by their voices that they're at play again somewhere.

The fruit is almost instantly revitalising, sweetness filling my limbs — and head — with renewed energy. I'm feeling surprisingly good, given everything. I'm ready to start thinking about going back home, wherever that is.

"Please, Elder Baduk," I say, turning to the old man, "can you tell me where in the Dragontails I am?"

"Of course, young man," says Baduk with a smile. "You are a half-twelve-leagues south-east of Ildi."

"But how? The Boater people of Ildi would know of you. We would trade."

"Your people have nothing of value," says Baduk, his expression losing its lustre.

"Shells, pearls, fish, molluscs, even wood and charcoal?"

Baduk nods. "Now you have recovered, Eowethy will row you out to the islet where you weathered the storm and you may return to your people. There is nothing for you here."

He closes his eyes and leans back in silent dismissal.

What in the world? Those kids weren't just playing, I realise, they were scared of an outsider. These people aren't just Islanders, they're completely insular.

But why? How? I sit back and stare at Baduk. Thinking.

I can't go home. Not now, not empty-handed. Not when everything back home is worse than ever.

Something's not right here. What am I missing?

The tiny, strange village. Strange Eowythy. They're harboring a secret.

The mermaid. There's no way that anyone would have found me by sheer accident. She must've told them to help me.

Hmm, which approach do I take? Honour and duty? Pity and compassion? I opt for the former, the latter works better as a back-up.

"There's one more thing," I say. "I would be dead if it weren't for... someone. I think you know who I mean, the one who led you to me while I lay unconscious. I am honour-bound, you must allow me to give her my thanks."

Baduk raises an eyebrow at Eowythy. "I don't know what you are talking about. Eowythy found you washed up among the rocks here right outside the village after the storm had passed. It is best you return to your people on the atoll."

Baduk rises from his seat to help you to the door.

I don't move a muscle. A minute ago he'd implied that I was found on the islet where my boat was, and now he says I washed up here? He's only confirmed my suspicion.

"Why is it best? You're good people, and I'm grateful for all you've done. You've earned my respect and I will listen to wisdom, I don't believe I have done anything to deserve these falsehoods."

"Life here for us is... uncomplicated. We wish for it to remain so. If your respect is sincere, then I insist you leave this place."

Baduk extends a hand to help you up.

I take his hand and get up. Still holding his hand, I look down at him, catching his eyes.

"I know that you're protecting your people and your way of life. That's good, that's your duty. But if that is your only purpose in life, then it was a mistake to save me."

I start to make for the door, then stop.

"Do you want to know why I was away from my people, all alone and sick with illness? My people are dying. All of them — our boats barely stay afloat, and I'm sure dozens of us died in the storm. I'm on a mission to find salvation for them."

I turn back to Baduk. "I still intend to do so. With your blessing or against your insistence, I have no choice. If you love your secret so dearly, then you should have let me die."

Baduk gestures with open palms and a shake of his head. "Your people are your concern, not mine. Your choices are your concern, not mine."

I can't believe this man. If he concerns himself so little with other people, why in the world did he save me? Or was that Eowythy's own idea? Or the mermaid's?

Bitterly swallowing more pointless words, I turn to the healer and gesture for her to show me to her boat. Maybe I'll get somewhere with her when it's just the two of us.

Am I being ungrateful? They did save my life, after all, what more could they owe me?

...

A modicum of respect would have been nice. I realise that he's made an enemy of me. I tried to be a friend, but he didn't want that. He will not want what's coming either, but he won't be able to refuse.

Eowethy takes you by the hand and leads you down a path along the shore, in the opposite direction from the cliffs. Her gentle touch, the close proximity of her body in that strange dress of that mysterious sheer material, and her silence combine to an almost hypnotic effect, and you don't mind following. Soon you reach a small cove where the rocky beach is replaced by boulders and the water is deep near shore. There are several boats moored in the cove.

Eowethy breaks the silence. "We can take the junk, with these easterly winds we won't need to row."

I look back at the path we came down on, memorising it.

"Sailing sounds nice," I say, moving towards the junk. A bunch of boats sitting idle and empty in the middle of the day, what luxury. These people don't have the excessive opulence of far-away cities, but they clearly don't suffer lack as we do. Though even more isolated than Boaters, they subsist in relative comfort, with ... cloth that I've never seen before. I stop walking and catch Eowethy's eyes.

"Your clothing," I begin, "the material is a wonder. Before we leave, can you show me how it is made? If we can learn to make and sell it as a trade, perhaps this can be the salvation I've been looking for..."

She looked down at the garment, shrugging. "Catfish fur, finely spun just as you would angora, and then woven loosely like linen. Nothing special, really, but the result is quite nice."

She boarded the junk. You hesitate, thinking about Baduk's clothing. His toga looked tough as boiled leather, yet flexible enough to wrap, fold, bundle, and tie.

"Catfish fur," I say. "Nothing special." I shake my head and unmoor the junk. We push off and set sail in silence punctuated by practicalities.

Soon after we're moving, I say, "I don't know what the deal is with Baduk, but I don't believe he speaks for every one of your people. Someone that wasn't Baduk decided an outsider was worth saving. Someone went through considerable effort to help a foreigner back from the brink."

I looked to see whether Eowethy was looking at me, but she just stared at the endless sea.

"I'm grateful, you must know that. To have gotten a second chance." I pause for a moment. "But if you let Baduk decide to ignore my people's plight and not lift a finger to help them, then your efforts were in vain. You can't save only the littlest finger of a dying man."

"Don't make this harder than it already is."

Her voice is shaky, emotional. You're reaching her, but at the same time, you're getting caught in the same flow of emotions, getting louder and angrier.

"Hard? This is hard, for you? Let me tell you what is hard. Hard is knowing a family of friends and in-laws sank to the depths the last storm because they couldn't afford repairs, and seeing three unused sloops in your little harbor back there. Hard is getting cheated on every useless, common little pearl we try to trade for fuel and material we need to survive, and seeing you have fantastic crafts we could use for ourselves or to trade and yet you refuse to teach us. Hard is knowing there is a secret to this place but some misplaced idea of honor or decency prohibits me from..."

"STOP IT!"

You fall silent, breathing your rage and frustration in and out in every breath.

"Don't you see I cannot help you? Your kind can't even see catfish fur, let alone manage to catch them at the right season for shearing, and clipping, washing, carding, spinning, and weaving it. The boats you saw can't help your friends, they don't even float without the proper spells. Baduk was right, there's nothing for you back there."

She's fully in tears now and some corner of your mind is impressed she's able to handle the rudder and rigging in the midst of this emotional storm.

You're too focused on Eowethy and what she's saying to notice anything about your heading.

I'm shaking from my outburst, but already I feel a lot better. Clearer, more in control.

"Finally some honesty. Some answers. Thank you." I take a deep breath. "Was that really so difficult? Is not communicating with people a thing with you like shearing the fur of fish, or will you actually talk now?"

She sullenly shakes her head and looks at her feet. "It doesn't even matter I suppose."

She sails on in silence for a long time, and you see she is deep in thought. Rather than press her immediately, you wait her out.

Suddenly she breaks the silence and looks you in the eyes, her voice hard and cold. "I'll tell you one thing, stranger. The seas aren't meant for man. It's no wonder you suffer and die. And you deserve no better, killing fish and eating their flesh."

I can't believe this woman. They only eat fruit because they feel sorry for fish? Is that silliness another thing they got from the mermaids, or their own invention? Whatever the case, she was ridiculous.

"How stupid are you even? Redeemer's beard! Have you not noticed that plenty of other things eat fish besides us? Birds, other fish..."

She just looks at me silently, a reaction I've gotten used to by now.

"And fish eat us, too. Did you even know that? Our dead are given to the sea. The sea isn't what's killing us, it's our dependency on other people." I snort a laugh. "You're a lot more like proper Islanders than you realise."

"We don't regard eating other creatures as particularly civilized. The fact you defend your barbaric ways by comparing yourself to the lower animals speaks volumes. You're no better than a talking tuna, after all. I don't regret the time I wasted on you, but only because it became a lesson I won't soon forget!"

The moment she finishes speaking, the junk turns into waterlogged, rotting debris covered with coral growths and algae and immediately sinks.

WHAT? Fuck!!

I kick to keep myself on the surface and look around. If I see the monster I'll say something sarcastic about killing to eat vs murder, but I'm desperately trying to find a sign of land.

You see the shimmering tail of a large fish disappear into the depths, and then there is only open sea. You think back and realize you must be many times swimming distance from any land you know of.

Alright, I think I know what to do. Every Boater knows how to stay alive in open sea, if it comes down to it. But first... no, best not provoke the angry mermaid further by shouting threats in the water.

Orienting myself to face the wind, I fill my lungs and float on my back, paddling slowly but steadily with my arms and legs. This way I'm working with whatever wind-driven current there may be to make maximum distance with minimum effort. If that monster doesn't pull me down and with a bit of good fortune, I'll encounter an island or a friendly boat first before thirst or sleep do me in. Luckily I'm well rested.

That fish woman better hope I drown. Otherwise, I know some desperate guys who are good with spears. If she thinks we're barbaric, I'll show her barbarity.

The first hour, you feel pretty good. You're focused on the waves, the sun, the wind, your heading, your pace, and your breathing. You'll make it through this.

After two hours, you have completely lost any sense of time. Only the height of the sun gives you any indication that you are not in an endless warp of rise and fall, salt spray crystals on your face, the sun burning a hole in your forehead and right through your eyelids straight into the core of your being.

After three hours, you lose feeling in your arms and legs - not due to cold (the tropical waters are fortunately warm) - but from sensory satiation. You hope they are continuing their semi-synchronized paddling motion, and are relieved to perceive no change in heading or rate of travel.

After four hours, the sun is considerably lower to the horizon, and has traced an arc through the sky, as well. The wind is no longer headed in the same direction as before, and you are starting to get tired. You worry about going in circles, about dehydration, about the fate of the people you set out to save.

After five hours, you notice your hunger is shooting spears through your thirst. Just a bit of fruit and seaweed is not enough sustainance for a man, especially not an endlessly swimming man. Your skin feels rough and cracked from the action of the salt water, and the buildup of salt on your exposed face, while providing some relief from the relentless sun, is also a grave irritant. Your mouth tastes of metal and your throat is a desert.

After six hours, the sun sets. The wind picks up, and the waves change from one and two-meter calm ocean oscillations to ten-meter swoops and soars. In your fatigue and your pain, you change strategies - just kick and ride the waves to survive, there is no opportunity to worry about direction of travel. If you were thinking, you'd be thinking that you would certainly die. Luckily, you are past thought and are only swimming! You find relief in the sun's passing, and for that you are also thankful.

The sunset turns to dusk, and the dusk approaches night. You eventually realize that the stars appeared some time ago, but you can't figure out which constellation is where, and your sense of direction becomes completely wiped.

Suddenly, you become aware of lights from down below. Eerie blue-green streaks and flashes, combined with wide swaths of a deep purple glow. What could this be?

When I go to wipe the crust of salt off my face, my arm first appears translucent to the night sky, then I realise it faintly glows. The sensation arouses my insensate brain, and I lose my balance in the water. The tumble almost drowns me, but I see the glow isn't from my arm, but from the depths!

I struggle to keep my head above the surface, and I realise I'm near the end. There is no land anywhere nearby, and only the Salamander knows what's happening below. Glowing deep sea creatures are a dime a dozen in children's tales, but I've never seen one. Then again, I'd never seen a mermaid before either...

I'm just treading water now, only a few strokes left in me before I'll sink. There's no avoiding it now, I've got nothing left...

Your arms refuse to obey. You can't feel your legs, and you assume they, too, have stopped, because you slip beneath the surface.

You consider simply breathing in, to accept the salty fluid and sink like a stone into the dark.

That is harder than it sounds, you've been a pearl diver for over two decades and the instinct to hold your breath is stronger than your desire to end it all. And let's be honest... you don't really want to end like this, right?

So when you feel a soft, slippery surface beneath your feet, you welcome it. It's rising, pushing you up. You lack the strength to stand, so you kneel on the whatever-it-is as it is pushing you towards the surface, holding your breath patiently.

When you breach the surface, you look down and discover you are resting on the hood of an enormous jellyfish, at least ten or twenty meters wide. It is glowing a faint purple.

You roll onto your back and close your eyes, infinitely grateful for the respite, however long it may last before the jellyfish rolls over and consumes you, or sinks to new depths and leaves you adrift once again.

After several minutes of blissful recuperation, you hear a susurrating whisper.

"Ffffeeelssss nice, yessssss?"

You open your eyes in a panic, sit up, and look around. Nothing but open ocean, waves crashing onto the domed bell of the softly glowing jellyfish, and night sky. The jellyfish is still glowing purple, but there are patches of radiant blue-green along the rim of the bell, below the surface. You can see stars between the clouds. The sky is moonless.

Some minutes of silence later, you realize it was just your imagination. Trying to shake the feeling of being watched, you lie back down and try to recover as much strength as you can, while you still can.

The moment the back of your head touches the jellyfish, you hear it again. "Would be a sssshame if she were to... dive..."

You leave your eyes closed and strain your ears.

"Perhaps we could be convinccccced..." It sounds like the voices came from two different directions - one from each side of you, at the water level.

I'm so very tired. I consider simply lying still, waiting for whatever new monstrosity to decide my fate.

But I can't.

"Hello?" I don't say. All I manage is a croak. I take a deep breath and cough, which feels like someone is punching me where I'm already bruised. Then I try again to speak...

"Hello?" This time you manage an intelligible word, followed by wracking coughs.

"Poor landlllllubber," whispers one voice.

"Landlubberrrrrrrrr," sings a second voice. "Want to liiiive, landlubberrrr?"

"Yes," you croak. Keeping it simple.

"It will cosssssst a certain priccccce," whispers the first voice.

You manage to sit back up, and you look in the direction of the whispering voice to the right. You see a squid-like creature perched on edge of the jellyfish, crouching in the surf. It is pulsating with blue-green light.

To your left, you see another creature, except you see it more clearly. She has the body of a woman, stark naked, stretched out sensuously on the soft, wet surface of the jellyfish. She gleams darkly, existing only in the reflected light from the stars, the purple glow from below, and shimmering cyan running shoulder to elbow, along her spine, on her fingernails and toes, and her nipples and pubis. You think her limbs are webbed but are unsure in the nighttime darkness. As you sit spellbound at the sight, you know that she is giving you a very special show. For all that she offers the eye, you are fixated on just one thing: her head, which is a horror of writhing black tentacles with blue-green edges and three eyes of piercing light.

A new cough interrupts your rapturous torture, and you find your voice once more.

"What, what's the price?" you stammer in her direction.

The whispering voice erupts right in your ear, and you tumble to the side in surprise. The other creature had snuck up during your trance.

"THREE WISHESSSSS!" the creature screams.

"I can't grant any wishes, I have nothing!" you cry in dismay as you scramble backwards.

"You misunderstand ussss," croons the lady creature, and she crawls towards you seductively. "We will grant you three wishes, and in return, we'll let you live!"

Ahh!! My mind is racing as I try to make sense of everything.

I have no clue what they want or they're going to do, so I just blurt out what I want. "Magic!" I shout, "the magic of the mermaids for my people!"

If we could do even some of what the fishpeople can, it'd change everything. A dark part of my soul hopes maybe it'd let me return the "favour" they did me.

The two demons (or whatever they are) are quiet at first, then simultaneously burst out in raucous laughter. They keep it up an obnoxiously long time before finally calming down. You notice the whispering creature is male, just as exaggerated and seductive as the female, and his merriment led to overwhelmingly obvious arousal.

"Foolish wisssssh, landlubber," the male says, stroking his oversized member. "For reasonssss twain."

The female continues melodically, gazing lustfully at her counterpart, "one, mer magic is useless to you, you'd want real power, such as that given by Grimoire and that is even beyond us."

"TWO! WE HATE THE MER!" roars the male and stabs the jellyfish with his engorged member. He is fucking the hole.

"Try again, sweetling," croons the female. "One. Last. Chance."

"Do take your time," she adds with a smile.

Redeemer's tits these things are insane.

"You hate the mer? I didn't ask for their magic because I want to emulate them, shit. My first wish is you'll help me make the mer regret fucking leaving me in the middle of open ocean to drown."

The female makes an indescribable sound and then sings, "that's something we can help you with. What do you think, Phign-iqug?"

The male pulls out, seemingly satisfied, and replies, "yessss!"

He turns to you and whispers breathlessly, "landlubber, for your first wissssh, we will make you irresisssstible to females of the mer speciessssss. You will lead them to ruin with your mere presence!"

You think for a moment, remembering the strange, nearly overpowering effect Eowethy's beauty had on you, and decided that this was indeed a power worth having.

"Okay, if I agree, what happens next? How do I become irresistible to mermaids?"

Now it was the male's - Phign-iqug's - turn to make the indescribable sound, upon which he whispers, "that part isssss easssy, you mussssst sssssimply lay with Ssssssig-stho!"

"Who?" you ask, unsure, and afraid of the answer.

Phign-iqug points a long, tentacle-fingered arm at his female companion, and both make the indescribable sound together.

My heart sinks. I've heard enough stories to know what this deal was going to entail, but... the reality of it is worse than imaginable. I've also heard enough stories to know that trying to back out would just make things worse.

I close my eyes and try to feel dead again. Like I'd felt before the jellyfish bore me up. I'm already dead, the worst has happened, and none of this really matters.

I almost succeed in fooling myself. But how can I trust these creatures? They'd probably have told me to sleep with them regardless of what I wished for. I have a feeling that they're just playing a game with their food.

But if they're not? I'm already dead. The tiniest chance to turn the table on the Mer and perhaps improve things for my people... it's what I set out to do and failed.

"Alright," I hear myself say. I can't look at the female's terrible tentacle-maw. "Turn around," I tell her, and I start to scoot myself across the slick jelly's surface.

She wags a naughty tentacle-finger, "nnnot yet, landlubber. First..."

"...what is your ssssssecond wissssshhh?" the male finishes her sentence seamlessly.

Right... a second wish. Something for my Boaters, so we don't keep starving and overcrowding our rotting boats... the Pearl?

Asking slimy sea devils for a cursed object of myth seems like a very bad idea. I'd thought the curse was just stupidity and poetic license, but with the things I've seen, now I'm glad I never found the blasted thing.

The problem is really the greedy Islanders, who never give us the full value of the pearls we sell. If the devils are going to make me into a monster, let's be a monster for my people.

"I need to punish unfair Islanders and Mainlanders, to steal their money or something. Can you help me do that?"

The two creatures quietly discuss in a language which you've never heard before.

"We will make something special, just for you," the Sig-stho says sweetly.

"Yesssss, for being sssso eager to work with Sig-ssssstho, you will be rewarded," Phign-iqug adds.

Sig-stho continues, "a Great Pearl has been popular in recent centuries... we use them to destroy individuals by giving them what they most desire - wealth."

Phign-iqug says, "Sssssuddenly the Pearl is lost, and they are left with notttttttthing..."

Sig-stho finishes, "not even the shred of hope they had to start with. That was invested in the Great Pearl. But we have a better offer for you, darling landlubber!"

"Yessssss, a Great Pearl with a Tether!"

"Whatever happens to you or the Pearl, it will always return to your possession," Sig-stho says with a smile.

"Ssssso you can sssell it again and again and again, and the Islanderssss will never profit!"

"An Islander will gladly hand over all his possessions in exchange for a Great Pearl, such is its value on the mainland markets... except it will never reach them!"

You've been sitting, watching, and listening to the two, and, despite yourself, you feel you can trust what they say about this tethered pearl. Perhaps, if you are careful, you can use this to ruin the worst of the Island cheats, and then keep it safe or destroy it when you have reached your goals.

You have but one question. "Do you have such a Tethered Great Pearl for me?"

Sig-stho shakes her head, "no, it must be created, but it is a simple matter."

"All we need isssss a drop of your blood for the tetttther to ssssset!" Phign-iqug whispers gleefully.

Sig-stho asks the question, "and what is your third wish, landlubber? Think carefully now."

Why do I feel as if I'm sinking? It sounds like the devils can actually be quite helpful. They're twisted creatures of the deep, but somehow we're on the same side... I hope.

"Well, I need some way to get home and do the things I need to do."

"You are wise for a landlubber, landlubber," Sig-stho sings sweetly as she slithers effortlessly towards you, silhouetted by the rising crescent moon. Her legs are a mass of tentacles, you notice with dread.

Phign-iqug whispers in your ear, "we will bring you to Ildi atoll ssssssafely."

Wait, how does he know where you are from? You are about to ask but instead scream as he cuts you across the belly with a long serrated knife.

You watch in horror as he reaches into your open bowels and produces a melon-sized pearl, which he kisses and heaves into the sea.

As your consciousness fades and you start to fall over, you feel yourself be caught in a cold but tender embrace. A tentacle tugs at your waistband...

You wake up next to your overturned dinghy, head pounding. You have a distinct feeling of deja vu, except you find a purple scar along your belly. It looks infected. You feel feverish.

The idea I had for the long term is that Hiro would play it straight: he'd find the mermaids, lure them into traps set by his tribe of boaters (perhaps to be eaten? Sold? Unclear...). He'd sell his pearl a few times, ruin a few lives (those who deserved it the most) and amass a small fortune for him and his family. He'd put away the pearl before making too many enemies. He settles down with a kind and normal human woman and they have kids. With smart investments, his wealth would grow and soon he'd be running a trade empire of his own, except with fair prices and humane ethics (partly to assuage his guilty conscience! ). A pre-enlightenment Max Havelaar, as it were. He starts to consider retirement, with a long hard life behind him, and signs a writ transferring the empire to his oldest son. And suddenly a dusky youth shows up at his doorstep, claiming to be his first-born son and demanding his inheritance. At that point, everything comes crashing down and he dies alone and in poverty, leaving the mersquids with the trade empire and thus considerable power to influence human affairs, even far from the warm seas of Ardellia, and we realize Hiro never "got away with it" after all, the squidmer were far, far ahead and he played exactly into their handsicles. In fact, his success as merchant and trader may be directly a result of mersquid meddling.

## Source

https://www.reddit.com/r/MyWorldYourStory/comments/6bv2nc/fantasyexisting\_settingyour\_erwt\_story/