On The Surface Die

The account of Bathos the travelling magician, known in Varmouth as Serrandin the Liar, of the rise of the Demon of Vermouth, as written in the Book of Lost Tides

“I had ridden until I lost track of all time, of self, until cloudless sky and brilliant sun had quit the stage for dark, moonless night; in my state I had could not differentiate between ground and tree and air, and it was only by grace of my horse Gertrude that I made it to the shore, some miles west of Varmouth. Fifteen years ago, the train did not go to the coast so far north; perhaps it never will.”

He paused then, looking about to check our faces for comprehension, as if he thought that in his tale we were concerned with the particulars of transportation by horse and rail.

“When I arrived, there were some figures in an arc towards the coast. Gertrude and I slotted into a perfect half-circle, and from the sea a woman walked into it, as surely as the waves themselves. She was unmistakably Lenore, mythic greatest of the sea-witches. ‘Aha, my horse!’ she said, voice high and girlish, and lost in wondering whether this was an affectation, I did not notice myself dismounting until I was on my feet and Gertrude nuzzling up against Lenore. Deep magic was clearly at work. I stumbled. Lenore released Gertrude to the other witches and looked queerly at me. I still shudder at what she saw then.”

Bathos was not a good storyteller, prone to embellishment and digression. He prattled on, talking of the other witches, of the atmosphere, not letting himself move on. He was sheepish, maybe embarrassed of that night. But finally he came to it.

“Lenore looked at me and said, ‘You will not find what you are seeking here, nor anywhere. You do not seek witchcraft or tincture,’ and here she called me by a name I do not remember, and I do not know why she did so, ‘but in exchange for your horse I give you a boat and a promise: you will not be harmed today. Now go.’ She gestured expansively at the ocean, like it was a part of her, and there was a small rowboat in answer to her summons. I went, and I rowed through the night, unerringly straight, continuing my journey, the destination of which I could not remember. I was going to Varmouth for some magic (though I did not row towards Varmouth), but everything before my manhood is a discongruent haze, and I am sure that then, before the Demon, the haze had not yet cleared.”

“The Demon!” cried out a pair of lovers among Bathos’s listeners, their voices hoarse and low, but with excitement carved into their fire-lit faces. “The Demon!” came a susurration from around the circle. Bathos smiled, a touch rueful, and went on.

“Eventually there came a great rhythmic bang from all about. I was well into the estuary then, and though I could not have been more than a few miles from shore all I saw was water without end. Perhaps this too was Lenore’s spell, or my own subconscious one. Another bang!—a drum heralding doom, the end of all I had conceived my life to be. Enraptured, I thought that this was surely the magic I had come for; the spell still over me, I kept rowing. For some time there were more drums. I do not know for how long; I don’t know if time or space held in those moments. All I remember, besides the sound, the rowing, and the overwhelming sense of awe and doom, is a curious warmth, as if the sea was boiling. I suppose it could have been. Eventually this was broken by a great roar, louder than any other sound ever heard, a roar to still a myriad of life and change all that could be changed. It was then I saw the Demon, a head rising above the sea as tall as any tower, a half-dozen giant eyes fixed directly upon me. I did not feel fear then. Probably Lenore saved me from it (‘you will not be harmed today’ echoed), which is to say she saved me from death.

“The roar ceased. There was perfect stillness. The beast and I stared at each other, for how long I cannot say. It was right before dawn, the sky a touch lightened, when the Varmouthers came in their curious boats and took me. But those moments, however long they were, with me, the beast, and the soundless sea—they changed me, and I don’t even know how. The Demon was dead already.”

Bathos shuddered. Nobody spoke. He waited, and when it was clear he would have to go on, he did, and spoke of his imprisonment in Varmouth and eventual escape. I could not shake the feeling that he had lied about something, though I didn’t know whether he did so intentionally. Bathos said the sea-witch told him he didn’t seek magic, and yet from his account came the truth of the Demon’s magic, changing him, making him. And what were those witches doing? From this magician I wouldn’t find what truly occurred the night the last Demon rose and died.

I needed to, if I were to transmute myself.