ELDRITCH NIGHT (Rough Draft)

Chapter 30: The Fisher Man and the Sea

I sat on a replica of an old wooden rowboat remembered from my childhood. The wooden planks, and the white and green paint had been replaced by black mist and smoldering crimson embers. Around me choppy waves threatened to upend my tiny craft, the design of which was never intended to be seaworthy.

Beads of half frozen rain fell around me, covering me in a thick slush that quickly melted as it came into contact with the heat of my body. Despite the freezing air and the frigid water that soaked me to the bone, I did nothing to shelter myself – allowing the rain to fall on me unimpeded.

Instead I rowed. The repetitive motion, back and forth, it was cathartic. I sat on the rear bench, facing forward. I smiled slightly remembering my father, and his never-ending lessons. He would not have approved of my rowing form. I could picture him as he constantly reprimanded me for sitting "ass backwards" every time we would take the boat out on the lake.

I missed those lessons, I no longer had a rock to fall back on. No one was there to offer me sage wisdom born out of loving concern and decades of experience. I was alone, only myself and my demons. Demon.

"You can come out now," I yelled.

For a moment I sat there, only the soft patter of rain and the howling of the wind to bear witness to my words. I felt rather embarrassed, despite no one being there to see me.

"Fisher! I said it is time to show yourself." I yelled louder now, feeling like an old man challenging the sea. A cliché from an era long lost to time, hidden now between the pages of oft ignored tomes.

"Do you think yourself my master?" said a voice on the wind. The sound was clear, and yet reminded me of the thud of a hollow wooden box.

"If not me, then who?" I said. "Is not a man the master of himself?"

"Ah, so the simpleton tries on the jester's hat. Do you speak to me in riddles? Should we match wit-for-wit, like rapier spikes - tit-for-tat?"

"I won't compete with you in foolishness," I said. "I only want answers."

"Then does the wise king bend an ear to bespeech the roguish fool? Ask, perhaps I shall deign to speak."

"You've had your words, Fisher. I believe I still have questions," I said. Anger rose up in my voice, and I felt my hands balling into fists as I shouted at the creature. At myself.

"Then speak your query, prey. You already know all that you must – if you want strength then you must cast aside your bonds – and yet you cling to yours as if familiar shackles did suckle you at merry teat."

"We. Are. One." I said. "It's not true is it? You're something else, something more, and something less... human."

"Do not deny your nature, little Finn. The fool - the king- twined they are, creatures both united and apart – one must simply switch a silly cap to see a fool of sovereign made. A Severed sigil upon a silver crown, shattered and scattered upon the seven winds. Find the pieces and claim your chair upon a broken council, waiting and wilting within the sleeper's dreams. Soon to fade, in waking."

The creature spoke in a strange way, stilted and quickly changing in tempo and even accent. Its words would increase in speed as it spoke in forced alliteration, only to slow down to a crawl as its voice deepened and grew steadier as it spoke less poetic words.

"The damned shall fall before you," it continued. "And the righteous rise up behind your mantle. Let me feast upon the souls, a Fisher King, daring and debonair to snare the wicked and the mad in wild gluttony, like the dulcet songs of hope crashed upon the destined shores of Avalon."

"I do love these pointless conversations," I said. "I know I could never come up with something as pointless as... whatever nonsense that was. Just tell me what you are."