Into the Sea

"Remember, remember, Lynne, no matter what, do not go near the Deepwood."

This is an island. The sea surrounds it, stretching to the world's end, to places even the suns cannot reach. Here, the seasons are evergreen, and sunlight is abundant; the island’s rim is a dense forest built of packed trees, and at its center sits a village. Legend says that long ago, a sorcerer came here, and after a quarrel with the villagers for reasons no one knows, he cursed the whole island: whatever is imagined will come true on the island. He also left, at the far edge of the Deepwood, a beast he had bred to ferocity, to make sure no one could pass through the Deepwood to the distant sea. No one must leave.

And so our story begins.

Day 22,995 after the curse took hold:

From the moment she was born, Lynne was destined to be a girl under strict watch. There was too much light hidden in her eyes, as if thousands of glass butterflies rested and glittered behind. The strange energy she gave off felt both foreign and familiar. The villagers fell silent, fearful that the evil word might spread again. Her mother glanced at her at the moment of her birth and knew something was about to change. Of course, in the end, the mother did not tell her husband.

Day after day, the sound of waves rising and falling passed through the Deepwood to the villagers' ears, calling and calling. In the blink of an eye, Lynne was seventeen, and in three days she would be eighteen. She was still full of energy every day, liking to climb the village’s tallest tree after lunch with a plump, bright apple and lazily while away the afternoon there. Unlike before—and to her parents’ great relief—she no longer tried to pick her own clothes, nor insisted on using elaborate sentences when speaking. Her behavior grew more decorous, matching the village standard. In the past, arguments at home over those most basic things had occurred as numerous as grains of sand among stones (“But why can't I wear blue trousers on Wednesday! I don't like black," Lynne would say. "Black on Monday and Wednesday, gray on Tuesday and Thursday—that’s the village rule. Everyone dresses like that," her mother would tell her. "Don't think about more possibilities; it's better for everyone. Color and possibility are as dangerous as words and letters, Lynne, haven't I told you? What can they lead to?" "Ima..." her mother would shiver, "Enough, don't say it. Put them on—black looks nice too.”)

The conversation would not end there—it never ended there. Lynne would ask why imagination was so dangerous, and her mother would have to repeat that terrifying story and scold Lynne for never listening carefully. Each time, the talk would stall. Lynne would turn away and secretly wonder: if imagination were used in a proper, harmless way, could the village grow again, return to the prosperity her grandfather spoke of decades ago? Or perhaps better, could they defeat the beast the villagers only ever spoke of and leave the island?

Then, could she at last see the true face of the sea?

Day 100 after the curse took hold:

They suffered immense losses.

Nearly no houses in the village remained intact; flames did their last burning in a few corners, licking the ruins without cease. The culprit curled up among wood shavings and collapsed beams, tears streaming down his face, desperately explaining that he had done nothing—only in a small quarrel had he, in anger, pictured searing heat and blinding light, and in an instant the house was engulfed by tongues of fire, fragile as a leaf. Then, one leaf after another, flames consumed everything.

For a long time, they had enjoyed the conveniences the curse brought. Someone imagined a bird flying on the horizon falling, and three birds in flight dropped at their feet. That person dined richly that night, a feast gained without effort. An imagined banquet soon bloomed, burning bright for nearly a year. People mocked the sorcerer's foolishness, ridiculing the severity of the curse's effects. Now, they understood.

Books were destroyed. Trampled, torn, buried, burned. Words were soil far too fertile. They recreated a set of safety rules, down to daily meal proportions and ways of clothing, ensuring that the seeds of imagination were excised before sprouting. Vocabulary in speech was minimized; metaphors and exaggerations were banned; sentences were kept short to avoid the energy of words reawakening what hid deeper.

Some could not adapt, could not endure the dullness, and tried to pass through the Deepwood and sail away. Those people never returned. People living near the Deepwood said they sometimes heard a howl at night—low, warning.

The village returned to peace.

Imagination became the forbidden fruit, no longer permitted to be mentioned.

Day 22,996 after the curse took hold:

It began with a raindrop striking the eaves at dawn, and a downpour swept the village, continuous and unrelenting. Because of it, Lynne unusually did not appear in the big tree; she stayed in her room all day, the door tightly shut. Her mother almost knocked, but was stopped by her father. After all, letting her be alone for some time occasionally could do no harm, could it?

Around four in the afternoon, the lullaby Lynne hummed slipped beneath the door:

“She never liked that lullaby,” her mother said, puzzled, shaking her head. “She never sang those newer songs.”

For some time after, Lynne's room remained utterly silent. Around nine in the evening her mother knocked, getting no answer. She knocked again, then pressed her ear to the door to catch any sound, then went to fetch the key.

The door opened and wind roared in. The room was a mess; the one window stood open and rain wasdripping in. On Lynne's desk lay a book face up, corners stained with mud, nearly damaged.

On my Way. The sea-blue title read.

Day 22,997 after the curse took hold:

The rain had passed; sunlight tentatively emerging between tiny dust particles, slowly diffusing. The scent of grass, earth, and raindrops was made into perfume by the wind and splashed generously. A chameleon lying on a trunk, sensing someone, shed its colored skin in an instant and became part of the trunk. She parted branches and entered the Deepwood from a corner, winding inward.

This was not a momentary impulse. The idea of slipping into the Deepwood had been rooted in her for years. From the tallest tree, she had been scouting likely narrow paths through the forest, from the sparsely populated entrance all the way to the end, obscured by dense leaves. The plan had long been made; she only needed a moment when others were lax.

The faint glow of dawn had transformed into pleasant warmth. She carefully stepped over broken trunks, a bag with water and rations on her shoulder, humming a lullaby known to only two people and pressing onward.

She passed areas overrun with weeds, leaped over streams that crossed her way, delighting in pure, shining nature. Her shadow followed silently, lengthening and shrinking with time. Soon she was thirsty again; the three water bottles in her pack were empty.

She fretted for a moment, then suddenly realized she was not under anyone's watch. A thrill went through her. She opened her hands, closed her eyes, and tried to imagine a sweet, non-cloying scent, a solid touch, a bright red luster.

The apple of Eden fell from its branch, landing in her palm.

Day 20,440 after the curse took hold:

“Are you really going?”

“Shh, mustn’t let the others know.”

He had been walking in the Deepwood for two days and nights. The reason for leaving was simple: he could no longer bear the invisible collar locked around his neck. The collar everyone had placed upon themselves, sucking away all possibility. Of course, he had hesitated countless times, plagued by the legend of the sorcerer's beast. Ten years ago, Tida had disappeared just like this. Walking into the Deepwood, the roar from the edge at dawn the next day, never stepping out again.

He left in haste, empty-handed. Fortunately, in this unmonitored place, his thoughts were free again. Birds, deer, rabbits, and campfires—attainable with a single thought. In necessary moments, he allowed his mind to wander, and in other moments consciously reined it back.

“But the beast—what will you do about it?”

“We have our curse, but that can be magic too, don’t forget.”

“No. You said your friend also went into the Deepwood before. If imagination can be used against the sorcerer’s beast, why didn’t she come back?”

“When you face an unprecedented threat, my dear, the mind freezes easily. Magic isn’t so simple. But do remember, it is only the fear you would have to overcome. It is never about the beast.”

Memory was shattered by a mighty, piercing roar. He looked up and saw, looming before him, a monstrous thing.

Day 22,998 after the curse took hold:

It was not a creature meant for reality. It resembled a lion, woven entirely from vines, its eyes two glowing green stones, a thick tail raised high behind it. The ground trembled, stones rolled, colliding with each other in frightened clinks. The sun dodged backward, hiding behind the clouds.

She froze, desperately trying to lift her legs, but to no avail.

The roar cut through the Deepwood, reaching the village behind and the sea ahead. The beast lowered its head and charged at her.

She had no retreat. Her glance swept the ground; she forced herself to stare at the pebbles, trying to will them to cohere and rise as a shield. Stone shield, stone shield. She thought. What should a stone shield look like? What should it feel like to the touch? The roar drew closer; in desperation, she rolled to the right, narrowly avoiding the charge. Her arm was scraped by the gravel in the rush, throbbing with pain.

The beast reoriented, adjusting its stance; its stony eyes oozing hunger.

Hunger, she thought. What else could defeat or get past the sorcerer’s beast? Could she shrink it? Could she wash it away with a flood? Could she unweave the vines that made its body so it fell apart?

Imagine something. Imagine fast.

Birds flew from the treetops. Lizards and ants scurried away. A frog hopped, trying to escape this land of strife, its round eyes fixed on the vine-woven colossus.

Its tongue pulls insects, that's all it knows.

A thought appeared.

After all, she had never liked the lullaby of that version, had she?

Day 1 before the curse expired:

She pushed aside the dense leaves, a piercing light stinging her eyes. Warmth flowed among the little golden pebbles ahead, reminding her of what the book she had unearthed said. This must be the beach.

A rustling sound came from nearby. She squinted to see clearly. It was the sea. Waves pushed and shoved each other, finally striking the reef and making a sound like the Deepwood.

It was the sea.

She stepped forward. Sand ground beneath her feet, scorching hot.

“Lynne!”

Startled, she looked back and saw two figures almost hidden by branches.

“Lynne! Come back!” That was her mother’s voice.

“How could you enter Deepwood alone! What if you met that beast?” Her father’s angry voice came on the wind.

“How did you get here?” Lynne shook her head. “Don’t worry! The beast is gone.”

“What does she mean—she met the beast?” a diffuse conversation. “No matter what you think, the beach is dangerous! The beast circles the Deepwood’s edge, remember; it could appear at any time!”

Lynne laughed. “The beast is inside a frog’s belly.”

With that, she walked toward the sea.

“What is she talking about? Come back, Lynne! How will you cross? You can’t build a boat. Besides, even if your grandfather could, he still didn't come back.”

“Since I managed to get past the beast, Grandfather must have found a way, too. Maybe he’s waiting on the other side of the sea! Maybe that sorcerer is someplace over there as well.” Lynne turned and said, “Since you made it here, do you want to come along? We can imagine together a way to break the curse.”

Those in the forest hesitated for a moment, not stepping onto the beach.

And Lynne had already entered the water, closing her eyes. A shallow smile touched her lips. The water flowed and moved with each step, not touching her clothes or skin, as if some invisible force was guiding the ocean to part for her.

She went deep into the sea; the last bubbles dissolved into the air and were carried away by the wind.

Day 20,440 after the curse took hold:

He stood up again; the beast not far off roared at him once more. He steadied himself, closed his eyes, concentrating every thought.

The beast charged on all fours, but soon it could not find ground to stand on. An invisible force lifted it, suspending it mid-air. The roar remained earth-shattering, yet every step the beast took was on thin air, unable to harm any creature in the Deepwood below.

He brushed the dust off himself and softly sang: