I had been out at sea for days. I wish I could tell you that there was a good reason for it, but the truth is that I sailed out to feel closer to her. It had been one of those nights where the dusk lingered a bit too long for me to stay at peace. I had an abundance of memories, all of them cursed by the bitterness of loss. There was one thing that she told me that circled around the edges of my mind, that her heart moved with the tides. It was those same tides that dragged my boat clean over the horizon. Here I was, so far drifted from land that not even a mirage of solid ground could greet me.

The air was heavy with mist as my boat careened through the dark waves. My lost time was spent searching for some semblance of direction within the flowing void that expanded around me. I had tried to change the course of the boat, beating at the ocean’s surface with a rotten oar, but the path never altered. Now, I let the sea wind guide me, too tired to fight it any longer. The muscles in my shoulders rested like the coals of an evening hearth. All I could do was wait, and gorge my empty stomach on dreams.

I was sinking into the stern of my boat. I felt the old wood becoming no different from my skin. In this state, I turned to the routine that occupied my mind even on land. Thinking of her, that is. The memory of the first time I took her out on the boat found its way to me. Once again, I could see her mind growing colourful like the coral in a reef. Like any carpenter, I was proud of my work, but in that moment, I could feel the pride of all the things that called the ocean home, as if I was the one who shaped everything that lies under the surface. The world beyond the rippling glass wasn’t my own, but something I could share with the soul in front of me.

Sometimes the dreams would drift into my waking life. When I gazed out, I could see shadows projected on the thick mist by the moon. The longer I watched, the more I saw faces looking back at me. They looked like phantoms acting out dramas for the celestial watchers in the sky. Each scene could only last for a moment before it was cast away by uncountable shifts in the air. But this time was different, a face began to crystallise amongst the phantoms. It was as if the divine hands that crafted her the first time weren’t happy that their work should exist for such a brief moment. I needn’t say who she was, for all tales men tell are the same. But she was there, gracing my waterlogged mind.

Desire had laid dormant within me; charmed to sleep by lamentations. But now it wrested itself free, as a torrent that could no longer be caged in the seams of my skin. It all flowed in one direction; a singular cacophony directed to the dancing vapours in front of me.

The sea, full of scattered stories, felt my calling and thrust me over the waves towards her. Brine splattered my eyes and stung them closed, but I still knew exactly where the waves were taking me.

I reached her, and for a lingering moment, it was only me and the image of her, perfect and pure. I felt like a chord played on a palace harp, warm and resonant, singing out for all to hear. But this chord could only ring for a moment. The boat crashed into stillness, and I was back on the hard oak pews. My numb face couldn’t even tell between the salt spray and tears.

The pain of opening my eyes stung in deeper places than sight can reach. The stars blurred together into smears of wispy paint. My head levelled. Then it tensed. For on the gunwale of the boat, a figure perched, watching me with indifference.

He looked like a character straight from a mythsayer’s tome. His skin was pale but fresh, more like marble than the drained face of a corpse. The purity contrasted itself with the darkness of his features. He had eyes that were sunken deep into the chiselled visage of his face. They looked like the slow smouldering stones that sailors bring back from the tropics. Draped down past his shoulders was silky black hair, which the now soft wind left unmoved. Everything about him was so still, I could almost plot the movement of the stars behind him.

We stared at one another. Without pupils, his gaze felt like that of an insect, full of the same hesitance and nothing to suggest empathy.

“What manner of beast are you?” I choked.

I shuffled in my seat and the boat creaked. He continued to stare.

“The whole silent act isn’t intimidating, you know?” I bluffed.

Still, he said nothing.

“Don’t you have a tongue? You’re too grand to fill in as figurehead for a boat this small.”

There was nothing in his face that changed at all and yet it seemed even more filled with disdain.

A silent moment drowned the atmosphere of the boat so heavily, I half-wondered whether we would capsize under its weight.

“You aren’t wrong.” The figure spoke at last.

I hesitated for a moment.

“About what?”

“The mists are dancing for us, just as you are.”

“Don’t think there’s enough legroom for that.”

“I suppose you think yourself witty.”

“As much as I can be while speaking to my own delusion.”

“I am no less real than the wood of this boat.”

“You’re about as good as company too.”

“That is not my purpose.”

“What is then?”

“To take you to Chiron.”

“And what if I don’t want to meet this Chiron?”

“Your wants have left you as teary-eyed as a child away from its mother. By my hand or not, you will end up in the same place.”

“Doesn’t sound like I have much of a choice.”

“And now you understand why I speak so little.”

He moved from the gunwale and behind him, I could see the first land I had seen in close to a week. It was a mountain of sheer rock that stood over the sea like a lighthouse. The surface was varnished by layers of ash trees with leaves that cycled through red, blue, yellow and green without ever losing their rhythm. I was sure that no sailor had seen this isle or in an instant, those leaves would be shipped off to make wreaths for the kings of men.

At the base, I could see the crevice that the boat was making way for. A crimson light leaked out.

My sombre companion took one last look at me before the shadows that comprised his body were scattered by the wind. I was alone once again, but I knew those obsidian eyes were still fixed upon me.

My boat seemed indifferent to the waves, it was moving toward the cave, undeterred by neither wind nor water. I glanced at my oar and laughed at how much it seemed like a toy now.

Leaves began to fall, creating a veil around the island. As my boat passed into the crevice, a few fell in. I held one in my hand, still shifting, even when it was severed from the tree. The boat came to a halt in front of a pathway carved in the stone. The light beckoned me further and I found myself standing before a stone wall with a carving of a snake wrapped around a staff. It sensed my coming and slowly slid open, making a sound like a blacksmith’s whetstone. It led to a large chamber, adorned with vials of liquid, and bows crafted with masterful intricacy.

A creature with the torso of a man and the body of a horse stood in the middle of the chamber. His whole lower body was covered with vines which shifted into metal chains as they gnarled around his torso. At the centre of the chains was a dark crimson wound that was crusted with age. The source of the wound was a slate-coloured arrowhead embedded deep within his chest. The hardened blood was the source of the light that I had followed. As if that coal-eyed bastard appearing on my boat wasn’t enough, now there was a centaur in front of me, with a glowing wound in his chest no less.

I saw the proud look upon his face and decided against commenting on the theatrics.

“Are you finally going to tell me what this is all about?”

A deep chuckle echoed around the cave.

“You can always trust a mortal to be impatient. I will tell you, but first, you must answer a question;

what is your wound, that no other can see?”

I paused for a moment and got an aftertaste of the sorrow I felt when the boat went still.

“The scars left in my heart from the death of my woman.”

He laughed again. My sorrow turned into anger.

“It has never been about her. You only see her face because you choose for her to torment you.”

“I didn’t choose anything; she went out on that boat by herself.”

“Some pains of life are unavoidable, but that is not what I’m talking of. You lay in ruin, seeing her not only in your dreams but in your waking life.”

“I can’t control that; I can’t even control my godforsaken boat.”

“You have more power than you know; your deepest wound is also your gift. The streams that run through your mind flow also into the world. When you poison such a stream, what do you think you drink from?”

“Why do you immortals have to speak so cryptically, I care little for these riddles. Did you take me here to add to my torment? If I have died out at sea, then let me rest under the sands.”

“If you listen, then you will learn that this is no death, but a birth. Let go your thoughts of the world seeking your ruin and the phantoms will bless you, but if you lay in rot once again, then that is all you will receive. Return to your boat and you will see the truth.”

I took a final look at the beast and turned back through the doorway. I heard the grinding sound once more. If I had gone mad, then it had been for so long that it didn’t matter anymore.

I stepped into my boat and saw that the wood was no longer aged by the sea, it was so fresh, I could almost smell the sawdust of my workshop. Both of my oars rested together, unmarred by damp rot. I took hold of them and rowed out from the cave. The sea was calm now. I closed my eyes and felt its stillness.

I opened my eyes, and surrounding me were dancing mists. This time, they smiled at me, wearing faces of my kin. They lead a path through the water and my boat passed effortlessly over the gentle waves.

 I turned around to look at the isle, and there was nothing but a leaf, changing colour as it fell. It rested on top of the water’s surface. I did too.