Once, when he was very young, he had gone out to see the ocean. He
couldn't remember how old he was, but even now, it seemed to him as
though it was his very earliest memory that still dwelt in his brain.
He had gone to the sea with someone – an adult, perhaps a priest,
perhaps even his father. It had been a man, nonetheless. The man had
showed him the great ocean, and the ships sailing upon it, and he had
spoken.
“Son-” he had probably said, or maybe “Young man”, or
possibly even “Aust” - Aust couldn't remember the exact words.
“Son – I think the only way you can understand Creation is by
looking at the sea. It's perfect. It's so smooth, and flat, and
beautiful, and untouched – and yet it hides so many secrets. Some
are beneficent – people to meet, beautiful sights to see – but
some are dreadful: Storms, whirlpools, terrible monsters. Always
remember, though, that there is someone responsible for everything.
Someone is causing everything in the world – nothing “just
happens.” Just as every island has its ruler and every storm has
its port, someone cares for everything in this world, and when you
grow up, you will be responsible for something too. Maybe one day,
you'll have your own island.”
But then again, he thought, what is the sea? Water. He had mastered
water long ago. The sea meant nothing to him, now. Salt water. He
could rule water, make it bend to his will, make it sing and dance if
he wanted to – but sometimes, when he looked at the sea, a little
of it splashed his face, and he could have sworn it came from his
eyes.
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