Rayviathae

The next morning, Moon packed her bag with two lunches as usual, but she also threw in her binder and a history book. When her mother saw her heading for the door, the woman stopped her. “Where are you heading off to?” “I was going to go to the library to do some studying.” She motioned to where the twins were, fighting with play swords and making a raucous. “I can’t focus here.” Her mother seemed relieved and pleased. “Alright. Just stay away from the forest, and be back in time for dinner.” “I promise, Mama!” She slipped out the door and headed off through the cul-de-sac,

Monday morning came far too soon, and for once, the deer was not waiting outside for her. Not that she expected it. The deer had gotten her attention, and had shown her what she was needed for. There was no reason to keep coming back, and she probably wanted to stay close to her boy anyway. Stone and Echo seemed disappointed by its sudden disappearance from their lives, but Star remained pensive and quiet, watching her sister as she moved through the kitchen and got them all breakfast. “She told you something,” Star said when the boys were focused on greedily devouring their pancakes. “And you heard her.” “Mayb

Deep in the heart of the land, many hundreds of miles from the sea, there stands an old and venerable forest. It has stood for hundreds of years, the branches of its trees stretching out to shelter the wildlife that thrives within its bosom. Not far from this forest, there stands a small town. Those who live there dare not venture too deep into the forest, for fear of getting lost or swallowed whole by the old growth itself, but their fear is unfounded, for the forest is harmless to those who do not mean harm. As far as the forest is concerned, even humans belong under its protection. It was early October when Moon first learned of the fores

The boy immersed himself in his studies, learning the basics as his new school insisted, learning how to maneuver his freedom and survive his life, but his spare time – when he wasn’t swimming or collecting driftwood, sea glass, and polished stones – was spent with his nose in a book. Finally, after weeks of study, he emerged with a name for himself. Eager to test it out in introduction, he found himself wandering the beach, headed for a little park he passed daily on his way to school. The park was frequented by mothers, fathers, children, other students, workers with a day off eager for a swim, and the boy sat down on a

When the boy woke the next morning, he was once more alone in the apartment. Another note beside his head had an address, a time, and a name. The boy’s stomach twisted as he sat up, looking around. At the bottom of the note, in the same scrawl from the morning before, Ione had written, “This woman can help you. I trust her deeply; you can trust her as well.” He looked around, hoping to find his newest and only friend, but there was no indication of where she’d gone. She wasn’t in the water, and there were no footprints leading across the beach. Sighing deeply, he cut himself another serving of custard pie, showe

The boy woke late in the morning, the sun shining through the glass paneling in the kitchen. He sat up and looked around, searching for a clock, but there was nothing to give him the time. Slowly, he stood, careful of his ankle and his ribcage. The pain wasn’t as bad today; the cold wasn’t down to his bones, amplifying every ache. A letter sat on a small table beside the bed, written with black ink on a reed-like sheet of paper. He inhaled deeply and read the archaic looking words. “Good morning, Seachild,” it said. “Shower and help yourself to the cupboards. I’ll be back well after you leave for work, but

The boy woke early the next morning, soaked to the bone, the pain in his ankle and side amplified from the cold and the wet. Shivering, he stood and limped his way back through the city, searching at every turn for a glimpse of the sea to guide him. As he grew close, he could hear the sound of bells from the docks, and he used that to lead his way like the point of a compass. The bar was an old wooden structure that had stood in that location for over a century. The owner sometimes spoke of the grandeur of its early life, how his great-grandfather had created a warm and welcome atmosphere for all the rowdy sailors returning from long voyages

In the back of the bar, tucked away in a corner of the employee break room, covered in years of dust and mildew, there was an old vending machine. Nobody knew how long it had been there, and nobody had ever seen anyone come to restock it, and as such, nobody ever touched the thing. It sat there, soaking up the flickering power through the socket in the wall, the glass sometimes bumping with the bass from the heavy music that came from the main floor, shifting through the very walls and making the machine jump like it was dancing and didn’t care who watched. Some of the employees talked about it on their breaks, passing jokes about how