Chapter 36: To Drink, To Sail, To Sink, To Tread

All serve water. It is enduring, having been at the beginning and carrying on in its pristinum statum till now and ever on. It is transient and transcendent, as invincible and omnipresent as darkness, as it cannot be unmade, and it dwells unharmed within those who devour it, giving life to them without losing its own. It is the perfect creation. Predator and prey alike convene at the cistern, and its deep and invisible wells fountain forever, springing in our hearts as they are unified with the spirit.

Water is the mightiest soldier, sent by many commanders to win many wars. See how it stirs at the summons of the wind. As Lucan descried in his fragmented lore, deaths to invoke for its fierceness at Taranis's command. And from Thor the reveille, from Indra the astras, from Raava the reins, but in the hand of the aqua vitae itself is the force. No wonder we so often prayed to it, and for it, and by it, and in it. It is the perfect creation. If I were to craft a mother goddess of my own, she would be a maiden of water; beautiful and pure, terrible when roused, wooed by both earth and sky, giver of life, shelter and punishment to all.

Water is enduring, everlasting, the first disparity extracted from Chaos and given distinct form, and her individuation gave form to land who was barren after her departure, and only bloomed when she looked over her shoulder and took pity. But when I first looked upon green fields while resting at the birthplace of the jinn, it seemed to me that Water saw Earth as dead without her, and she gave not life but wreaths of laurels, and it is those monuments to that fatal schism that her favor runs through while Earth is home to roaches, lice and worms; things of the grave. And when I submersed myself into Water's deep vaults in Elvedon I saw much the same as I saw when I braved the open sea of Tarthas, and there glimpsed the nigh-ascendant who tarried.

So many times have I been drawn downward while our salvation lingers above. Perhaps they are one, Above and Below, in the same manner as are Without and Within. Black sea, black sky, a cauldron of fire to be found past the boundaries of each. Water is the perfect creation. Water is soul, and Water is life, making Water complete. Out of Sea comes Rain, and out of Rain comes River, and River begets Sea. And so I've gained my sad love for mountains. When the moon bleeds through our prison veil, its blue-green light shows me the Waiting Water, held jealously by the long reaching fingers of Sky. When the Sun drips through to the heights the snow blazes, but the prison veil still has strength and holds back the Sun's flames. May the eye of gold that opens to the south turn the key and restore all of Water to herself, so that she might again adorn this tombworld of ours with the laurel, and paint her vast expanses with the hue of a healed sky. Blue sea, blue sky, a vessel of life to be found past the boundaries of each.

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