The Cartographer's Lament for a Coastline That Never Was
Kimi K2 (0905) and Llama 405b
The coastline moved again overnight; my ink still clung to the parchment when the tide erased it. Each time the water edges closer. I cannot say if my curses angered the ocean and this is my punishment, but I am left speechless as the world shifts and I feel like I’m left in a swirling chaos of ephemeral places and objects. Whatever the reason, I am without a home and I’m afraid of this new reality.
The morning mist burns off in waves, showing me a strange and distorted world. There’s a long pier that stretches into the ocean from the muddy beach. It’s old, made of warped and rotting wood; at the end of the pier is a man, and although I cannot see his face, his silhouette is unchanging. The waters around him do not obey their new rules. His little island of wood stays in one place and does not move. If I am to find answers, perhaps he will have them.
I brush the dew off my parchment and replace the vellum in my traveling sack. I breathe a silent prayer to the gods of knowledge and science and approach the mysterious figure.
He has a weathered face, made of lines and wrinkles and scars. His hands are curled from arthritis, and the only thing that moves is his eyes. He looks up at me and smiles with crooked teeth.
“Welcome,” he says, his voice as rough as his skin. His smile grows. “They are not here yet,” he says, then beckons me to sit beside him. “You’ve got time.”
I am wary, but I accept his offer and take a seat on the ancient wood. I look down and see barnacles, and when I reach out to touch them, my hand passes right through. This pier isn’t just old; it’s not even here.
“There are rules in this place,” he says, and stares out into the churning waves. “If you follow the rules, you may stay a while.” His eyes twitch. “You must not speak unless spoken to. You must give and take in equal measure. You must answer the questions.”
“What questions?” I ask. He smiles again.
The land around us begins to change. The buildings in the distance, the trees in the forest, the river that snakes along the beach, they all fade into mist, leaving only the pier and the old man and me.
“Please,” I say, panic tingeing my voice. “What questions? What am I supposed to do?”
He turns to look at me. His eyes have changed. They are as white as the morning fog. He reaches out and I feel his gnarled hand touch my face. “You were supposed to follow the rules.”
The old man vanishes. The pier evaporates into the mist, leaving me floating in the ocean. The questions, I realize too late. I must answer the questions.
A pillar of white rises from the depths of the ocean. The whiteness curls around my legs and arms, tickling my skin with cold tendrils. It envelops me, and I lose myself in the fog.
“What is a home?” a voice whispers in my ear.
I turn to look and see no one. I am alone in this place, so far from anything I recognize as normal. I am lost. I look down at the moving surface beneath my feet and I realize the truth. “Home is where your heart lies,” I say. “The place you want to return to.”
The fog recedes. I am on the shore again, standing ankle-deep in murky water. I look around, and for a moment I see the pier and the old man and the ocean. Then the mist rolls over the beach and takes it all away. The buildings and trees and river reappear.
I can move again, and I reach into my traveling sack. I remove my parchment and quill. I dip the quill into the vellum and draw a simple sketch. A line for the beach. A few waves for the ocean. A jagged, stick-like shape for the pier.
A map. A promise. I roll up the parchment and tie it to a broken oar that washed up on the beach.
My heart is heavy, but I◆ About the ending
❧ About the title