Here is a thing bigger than me, bigger than Woland, than all the gods. For a mad, exhilarating moment, I wonder what it would feel like to throw myself into its embrace.
I’d be one with eternity. But then…
I’d never see such beauty again.
When Chors puts his arm around my shoulders, I realize they shake. I don’t cry, not really, but my chest bursts with a strange sorrow. I never thought beauty could hurt so much.
“What are you thinking? I can’t tell,” he whispers, his voice falling perfectly into a tiny gap between the crash of waves.
I shake my head. I’m not thinking anything. This is a feeling, pure and terrible, and I don’t fully grasp what it means. I’m terrified I’m doomed.
“Let me be,” I choke out, gazing at the horizon far away, water and night sky meeting in a kiss.
I can’t understand how this thing of terrible beauty could have been here all along without me knowing. It’s as if a secret piece of the universe is uncovered, just like when I got drunk on Woland’s blood. Except, that was his, and this thing here is only mine.
I shake off Chors’ arm and gently reach out with my magic, letting it be a vine climbing down the cliff. I sink my little magic claws into the stones, feeling how cold they are, how ancient. These stones do not care for me. All they know is the water that assaults them day and night, chipping away at their existence.
When my magic meets the sea, I jolt. I was right. It is a living thing, awful and great. It senses my intrusion and responds with a touch of its own. I’m pulled deeper, my magic sinking into the waters like an anchor.
It does not speak words, but I understand its meaning.
Welcome. You are here. I am here. Behold me. See me. I am.
I close my eyes and sway, feeling the turbulent waters close around me, bubbles tickling my skin. I am still up on the cliff, but my magic is the vessel for my consciousness, and I let it be surrounded by the cold waters.
Yes. Behold me. It is important that you do. I must be witnessed, and at this moment, you are the one I choose.
I spread myself wider, feeding more magic into my link with the sea. I am thin and transparent, a thing of red light and fury, and the waters tug me this way and that, sliding over me, pressing in. I send my consciousness out, further and further, seeking the northern edges of the sea. But there is only our cliff, the island of Nawie, and then, infinite waters rolling far, far away, into the night sky.
I come back to my body, gasping for breath. There is no other edge, or maybe it is so far, I cannot reach it. The sea is enormous, powerful, and completely oblivious to the fates of men and women. All it wants is to exist and be witnessed, and it choseme.
When Chors wipes away my tears, I realize I’m crying. He says nothing, and I don’t look at him. He is so mundane, sosmall.Even his light is only a handful of particles sliding over the surface of the being below us.
We stand in silence for a long while, until I realize how cold the wind is. This is no mainland wind. It’s icy and humid, flinging shards of water into my face. I let my coat fall to my feet and open my arms wide.
The sea is so large. Maybe it can contain me.
I scream at the top of my lungs, my roar stolen by the wind, flung high into the sky. When I’m out of breath, I fill my lungs with cold air and do it again and again until I’m hoarse. Finally, I have a way to let it all out. Oh, it’s ugly, unseemly, uncontrollable.
But the sea takes it.
When I’m done, my chest feels empty, all my fury and hurt spent into the night. This isn’t like when I burned through my soul in the past. That left me numb and hollow, barely a person. Now, I still feel, but there is space within me.
My heart is bruised and scarred, which I didn’t allow myself to notice before. With a sigh, I ask it for forgiveness. All it wants isto beat, and I let it get trampled—even trampled it myself every time I so dismissively asked for death.
As the sea crashes into the cliff I stand on, and a cold breeze bites at my face, I breathe in until my lungs feel like bursting.Alive.I am alive.
And I want to stay this way.
Oh, how it complicates things. It was easier not to care.
“Tell me,” I murmur, not caring that Chors must strain to hear me. “When I asked to see Weles and you sent me to Woland, was it because you thought I knew? Or did you betray me?”
He sighs heavily, but I don’t turn to see. I am entranced by the churning waters, and it feels like I could never stop looking. Each wave is different, and there’s power in the spectacle, an ancient force that can’t be harnessed.
“He said he would tell you who he is, and after that, I didn’t speak with him for a long time. He was so busy with you, and we barely saw each other. I thought you knew. The way you spoke of him felt odd, but Jaga, I am not good at discerning unsaid things. When something seems strange to me, I attribute it to my own lack of understanding, not that of others.”
“Good. You’re forgiven.”
