I figured I was far enough along now to post my ‘secret project’, the idea for which haunted me long enough for me to sit down and write. I have become so enraptured with the idea and the story that it is flowing easily, though slowly, and I hope that it strikes a chord with more than just me.

As a note, I know that Jerry, the narrator, is not very developed as of yet. Keep in mind that this is a work in progress, and he should soon be described in a bit more detail. I have some flaws with my first person writing, so bear with me ;D! Without further ado….

Changing Tides
chapter one – jerry

When I think back, it all started meaninglessly. The way that life has always started – from the first breath that any creature ever took to the last that will ever be sighed. The way that my life has always followed, like water running downhill, like birds wheeling to the South; the reason for such has long been forgotten. I suppose my own story began when I first saw the light and breathed the air, but I have no memory of it. I believe, however, that there were forces at work long before this point that set my path into motion. I have made some stupid mistakes, I have stumbled blindly along like a waterfall. Most of the time I had no idea what was happening or how to deal with it. My side of the journey has been through the eye of a needle. Only a thin sliver of the spectrum has been mine to experience, but I think that is enough. All that I know now is the need to leave my own account of things, for whatever alien, human race inhabits the Earth after I am gone.

The beginning was the sea breeze, flowing and dancing along the rocky black shore. My dirty, roughened brown boots slipped and slid and siphoned along the foamy crest of waves. Terns called loudly to me from their slipstream high above the turbulent waters. It was one of those days where the sea is no color at all, so that you can see the bright bottom pierced with shafts of sunlight and the bright sunfish slipping through the red kelp. Further along the sight is indescribable, the color has no name, shifting easily from a verdigris color to a gray to a brown in tiny fractions of time. I have always loved the sea; by birthright I am a turtle, “the-one-who-walks-on-land-and-sea” in the old language. The turtle is said to be as old as time, wise and close to the Earth. Though most people would love to be born a lion, or an eagle, or a crocodile, I have always been happy as a turtle.

The day was, in fact, November 5th, my birthday. According to tradition I was to spend the day close to my birth animal, spending my time doing things that a turtle would do. Obviously, this is not so easy, but mostly I was just suppose to venture the rocks looking for interesting and beautiful shells and things that a turtle would eat. This latter I would offer to the sea, and hope that a turtle would swim along and devour as a gift. According to legend, the turtle would then tell the great turtle god that I was a worthy son. The shells I would be allowed to keep, and would place along with my collection from previous years. I was turning fifteen, so this collection was already quite large, but I was never allowed to throw any out.

I swung my iron pail as I walked, my eyes glued to the crevices and tide pools lodged in the ebony coast. Occasionally my eyes would wonder pensively to the horizon, wondering when I would be allowed to eat while I was supposed to be wondering if any of my turtle ancestors were swimming out there all alone. Even more rarely I would pick up some beautiful whelk or clam shell and place it gently in the pail. They landed with a clank, chiming musically against other shells. Every layer of shells was covered with kelp, to be removed and fed to the churning tide. My progress was slow, each step slipping on the sharp black rocks. After all, I had to waste at least three more hours on the shore before coming inland to eat kelp cake and sunfish sushi. To be honest, I think I hardly noticed time’s passage. The sea was calming me, it’s rhythm steadying my stride. I felt as if I were wrapped in a warm, safe wool blanket, comforted and quiet. My thoughts took the place of words and ranged over all things known to man and all things unknown to any.

And then there was gold.

It was spilled across the rocks – gleaming in fine strands, contrasting with the dark rocks. It was the finest thing I had ever seen, shining a billion different shades in the changing light. My strides became hesitantly fast, the rocks scraping my heels and making dotted lines of crimson blood appear on my ankles. But I did not care, for another color had appeared, the peachy color of skin. Slowly a face was revealed, perfectly serene in the sunlight. It was a woman’s face, and behind it on the sand trailed a body. All of the breath whooshed out of my lungs at her beauty – black lashes lying against her pale skin that contrasted with her pink, fleshy lips. Bead of water dotted her face, but she was mostly dry. Her hair made a wet golden halo around her fine face. She was the most beautiful, the most wild, thing I had ever come in contact with, and her presence drove all thought out of my mind. A wet, ripped, light green dress arched around every curve of her body, delicately laced with blues and purples transcribing delicate swirls, a garment that was as beautiful as the woman it held.

I must have stood there for hours just staring before my mind snapped into focus. I realized that she might be unconscious, might be dead, and I drew close at a frightening pace. A breath of relief scraped across my lips as I saw her chest rising and falling in a shallow, slow rhythm. Hesitantly, slowly, I reached out and stroked her cheek, shifting down onto my haunches, unable to speak. The lashes flickered and a tortured moan escaped from the barest crack in her lips. I was on autopilot by now, unable to process her presence, only concerned for her safety. I did not once think how strange it was that she was on this shore, how strange that she was drying off by the instant. I only wished dearly to see her awaken, to see those lashes lift…

“Wake up,” I whispered to her face, to the sea, to the air around us. There was shifting as her frame shook against the rocks, breathy noises escaping her confused lips. All at once her eyes flickered open, and she recoiled from my outstretched hand. Her eyes were shifting colors in the light, and it was hard to tell what they looked like, though they had a slightly upward slant to the corners.

“URGHHH! W-wh… Who… who’re you? Where’m I? Whass happening?” the sound she made was unearthly, blasting out of her chest with surprising force. Her language sounded strangled, as if she had to try hard to form the language. Her accent was tinged with wilderness, producing sounds so feral and beautiful as to be similar to the dappled woodland light or the varied shades of the sea. Her body became tense, her face terrified, and she shrank hurriedly back across the rocks before stopping with a wince and a yelp. Dark blood seeped from the other side of her dress, a black-stained gash contrasting violently with the white skin of her chest.

“You’re hurt…” I gaped, unable to say anything more intelligent. I drew closer, and her shifting eyes grew wider, like a deer caught in a corner. She wanted to flee, but her injury prevented it. I stopped my advance, in awe by instinct of this wild being, so alien and so human at the same time. Confusion and stress tugged at the corners of her eyes and mouth, and lines of worry furrowed her brow. The golden halo of her hair now draped wetly across her shoulders, soaking her dress and stinging her wound with salty water. We stared at each other for a long moment.

“My name’s Jeremiah Baker… er… Jerry,” I stammered after a moment, dropping my eyes, unable to bear the silence. She relaxed a little when my eyes dropped and I held up my hands, a sign of peaceful surrender. The changing eyes glimmered, and then became confused, still flooded with pain and a flicker of feral terror.

“Name? What is that…?” the voice was like a riff on the wood reeds, like finches darting through the brush, “Thing that you call yourself? I see… I do not have a name.” This was a taboo, and abnormality among humans. I glanced up, in fear and awe and surprise, and suddenly her figure slumped back to the rocks, chest heaving. She could no longer bear the strain on her side, and she surely must have broken a rib, judging by her sharp breaths. All that I had learned from my guardians came back to me in a rush, and I went to her side again, placing my hands at intervals along her back.

“Trust me,” I mumbled, “if only for a moment. Your wound must be cleaned.” With effort fueled by some inner force, I moved her panicking body to the sea, grabbing my pail as I went. She flailed in my grasp, but as soon as she hit the water she seemed to understand, and calmed. The gray eyes fixed upon my face, round and wide with awe. Not without a considerable amount of blushing, I tore the shirt from my back and, crouching beside her, rubbed the dirt and grit from the wound. She drew away, teeth clenched, eyes narrowed. She did not trust me. It didn’t matter, I wouldn’t let her die. When the blood again gushed freely from the tear, I ripped a layer of kelp from my pail. I had cleaned it in ceremony, but now it would be fed to no turtle. The wild girl, calmer now, watched as I laid layer after layer of wet reed over the wound.

“Magic!” she cried, a hiss, her voice becoming the cry of a boar, “Sorcery! You have stopped the blood, you have cured the wound. Surely, even now, you have betrayed me, poisoned me.” She leapt to her feet, eyes flashing a million colors, but her strength failed her. I watched her in awe: had she not known of simple medicine? I was not the smartest of lads, nor the most well-cultured, but everyone in our small town knew how to dress a wound.

“I have no reason to harm you. I have only done what I can to help,” I said, after a long moment, “Er… Can you walk, do you think, if you lean against me? I will bring you to help.” Vaguely, I hoped that she would understand, would find just a little bit of trust in a stranger. No human would ever do such a thing, I thought, certainly I would not place my life in the hands of some one I barely understood. But terror and awe had effected us both, moving me into action and her into some semblance of calm. For a long moment she gave me a feral stare, sizing me up, not trusting an inch of me, but then she nodded slowly and took the hand that I offered, leaning heavily against my shoulder as we left the shore and made our way into the village that was my home.