The Transient Treasure

The secret compartment had offered many valuable and fascinating treasures, however it was the most insignificant find which had captured Siduri’s attention.

Thin layers of salt crusted the sides of an old thread-bound journal. The layers crackled as she split it open. Much of the paper was stained by the faint remnants of sea-colored ink that traced wave-like patterns in the margins of the pages, surrounding words which varied greatly in their legibility.

Oh—but she beheld a shocking date and name within! The front read: Return to the possession of Mariner Halys Iskander. Siduri wondered if the salt of the sea had preserved this tome which was aged, not in decades, but centuries. Could this truly be the journal of the famed explorer for whom the southern isles were named?

The pages resisted her gently prying nails but Siduri knew the salt-crust would yield before her eager curiosity. After a few minutes of delicate work, she gained access to the journal’s last pages.

**

The 4th,

By the early light of dawn, we passed our newly discovered undersea ridge. We estimated it at a remarkable 2286 soundings in fathoms. To my pride and embarrassment, the crew have elected to title it the Iskander Ridge.

The weather has not yet sullied, though a distant oxygen-rich air blows from the south, prompting consideration.

The ship has been sailing the Keres Sea for a significant time and the old vessel likely requires maintenance. The maritime growth of the summer seas has been a source of much trepidation to the crew. A drydock any further south along the Maretan coast is an unlikely find, though a carreenage beach may present itself. I have alerted the crew to seek this out.

All seem eager to land, so much so that none have bothered cleaning themselves. There is no carpenter present on the ship and it is doubtful that we shall find one on land. If we travel much further we anticipate we will find only the most outlying villages of southern Maretani.

First Mariner Kafiq has proven most invested indeed. The man is not modest and boasts loudly of the discoveries he intends. He has applied much effort to increasing our speeds despite some rising concern. It is his stated belief that new lands must lie ahead and further that it is necessary we press on. I relented to this and his optimism, for I believe it to be well-placed.

The 6th,

The First Mariner stands vindicated; land has been spotted on the horizon. It appears to be the furthest segment of Maretan named Maras. To our current knowledge there are no inhabitants this far south and we were all quite burdened and concerned over the ship’s state. The mists of the area were most treacherous as we approached the shores. To portside the fog was dense enough to hide anything from pebbled beaches to towering cliffs and we dared not explore their concealing depths. Fortunate winds cleared a window in the fog that guided us forward to an ideal landing spot.

After beaching the ship we winched it over with the cables of the mast, and the crew began to clean and scrape the underside. Our worst fears were confirmed when dire seaworms were found in the mix. The tides will not allow us to careen much longer so we must work quickly.

The 7th,

The scraping has been long and tiresome. During their periods of rest many of the crew have taken to venturing further inland. I myself went with two crew members. The sands were semi-metallic and many of the plants were entirely unknown to me.

On our most recent excursion we spotted a group of people watching us from the tree line. Their appearance varied greatly from any I had seen before, their skin being the most striking difference. The darkest among them were darker even than I, near the color of pitch, while the palest were almost indistinguishable from the fog. Their features were disparate to one another, but their hair and garb, both equally strange, clearly marked them a collective. Regardless of age or skin tone, the hair of each dweller was either ashen grey or a stark and glaring white. Their garb was unusual to our eyes, well-cut with geometric patterning that blended seamlessly into their surroundings. We called to them, requesting a near drydock but they did not reply. Instead, they backed away, dissolving into the distant brush. Though we searched until daylight’s failure occasioned our retreat, we found no encampment or village in the area. They had vanished as easily as they appeared.

Upon our return I learned that Mariner Kafiq had ventured to the far end of the beach and had been gone for several hours. When he returned to the ship his temperament had shifted intensely. Where once stood a boisterous fellow, a natural and welcome foil to my innate shyness, he was now turned sullen and severe. Kafiq reported no sights of particular note and claimed our journey was futile. To my surprise he insisted to the crew that we must turn back at once and return to the northern climes. He spoke against our venture as urgently as once he had attested its necessity. The knowledge of the seaworms seemed almost to please him, as if they proved the strength of his arguments, and he suggested that we should embark as soon as we were able.

I relayed our meeting with the strange inhabitants of the fog and this has, for the time being, put to rest his fatalistic predictions.

The 8th,

Despite our wondrous discovery of dwellers and to us, a newfound land, Mariner Kafiq has persisted in his assertion that our prompt departure is of the utmost importance. His mannerisms have grown unwonted, and many of the crew are concerned he has developed some strange new illness. I suspect, though it is pure conjecture on my part, the rigors of our journey weigh heavily upon him. Whether his infirmity finds its genesis in body or mind bears little on the seriousness of his condition. Last night, though the nebulous light of our campfire rendered my vision far from certain, I imagined I could see a great many of his hairs had gone white with stress. Perhaps he is fearful that we shall find our death on these distant shores; A fate his guilt likely finds unconscionable considering how fervently he had pressed us onward.

Evening of the 8th,

The seaworm infestation has been dealt with and Kafiq recovered somewhat once the crew and I began discussing our plans for safe passage to the nearest drydock in the Hamadan satrapy. I believe he may even have smiled, though the expression was short-lived across his features.

The 9th,

This morning I witnessed Mariner Kafiq once more wandering the beach, his gait was unsteady and lumbering. I crossed the sands to him and requested he take refuge within his cabin in the hopes that his illness would soon pass. He spoke to me of gaps in his recollection, claiming to have no memory of any of the events that have transpired since his going upon the beach on the first day of our landing.

Preparations for leaving have begun. I must interrupt my writing and bid farewell to my ideal position of note taking. I find I will miss this beach, as it is quite beautiful, the metallic sands especially, and I have grown to like the unusual plants.

The 13th

The ship has struck one of the strange mirrored stones hidden within this accursed fog and our hull, weakened as it was by the worms, has been breached. We are taking on water at an alarming rate and there is little chance now of survival. I write this clinging only to the hope that my journal should somehow survive our loathsome end.

I am dead. I am dead. Strange, it is not so cold as I imagined…

**

Siduri’s brows creased as she read the final entry. Who were these strangers in the mist and had Iskander spoken prophetically of his demise or had he penned his last trapped within a sinking ship? Such dreadful thoughts chilled her and a shiver ran down her arms. The sound of dripping water startled her from her doleful reverie and she gently closed the journal. A puddle had formed on the deck of her cabin, glassy in the flickering lamplight, and she sought its source with a mounting sense of dread. The sight that greeted her stole her breath and sent the journal tumbling from her hands.

Before her floated the spectral figure of a man. His hair and clothes drifted in an unseen current and his form wavered like sunlight through the ocean waves.

“I had to write an ending, you see,” he said, voice muted as if he had spoken from a great distance. “How wretched would it be to leave a tale unfinished?”