The Sea Betwixt
A kaleidoscopic wave crashed against the bowhead, sending the dainty vessel tossing on the glasslike sea, prismatic spray in the form of countless indescribable sensations dancing across the captain’s beard and battered cap, before fizzling into nothingness.
“Y’arr, ‘twill be a rough one!” he muttered to the etherstorm, raising his ancient lantern aloft and scanning the funnel-like “horizon”. “Now what could be setting ye off like this, eh?”
Any further thoughts he had were cut off as a rogue wave hit the starboard side of the vessel, nearly snapping the ethereal chains that anchored the ship to the flowing funnel of spacetime. However, that wasn’t what drew the seaman’s attention to the rushing horizon; far, far in the distance, beyond all the eclectic, formless data, a single point gleamed through.
“Haharr, there’s me salvage!” The man cackled, willing another length of golden chain into existence, and casting it into the raging idea stream.
*****
____ was drifting. Where? When? It was impossible to tell by ____’s surroundings. That said, “surroundings” was hardly an apt term for whatever ____’s situation was. Countless sensations broke upon the shore that was ____’s mind, threatening to wash away all remnants of personality like a sandcastle at high tide.
And then, something fell across ____’s consciousness, heavy as a funeral. Grasping at the errant concept like a drowning man at a piece of driftwood, ____ was hauled in what felt like an “upward” direction, breaking out of the sea of sensations and landing hard on rough wooden decking, covered in a brine of crystalline memories.
“Well blow me down, yer no salvage!” The weathered old seaman blinked monocularly at ____.
“𓍿𓄿𓈖𓎡𓇌𓅱𓏲𓆑𓅱𓂋𓋴𓄿𓆑𓇋𓈖𓎼𓅓𓇋” ____ gibbered out, twitching with surprise at the unfamiliar shapes that came out in place of words.
“Easy there, lad. Or, perhaps lass?” The man stroked his beard, leaning down to regard ____. “Yer in a bad way. A little longer, and ye’d be worn down t’ nothin’ness, barely a figment of a concept of an idea. For now, try t’ remember yer name, eh?”
My… name? ____ felt mildly surprised that such a simple thing could be so hard to place. It’s on the tip of my tongue, I swear…
“Well now, you finally have a face, eh?” the man remarked, as ____ began to de-abstract. “And what’s that there on yer tongue?” Roughly opening ____’s mouth, the man removed a tiny, prismatic memory and held it up to the light of his lantern.
“Hubert?” He blinked. “Is that yer name? Small wonder ye didn’t want t’ remember it.”
Hubert? Right! I’m Hubert! As if a strongbox inside him had sprung open, pieces of memories began to flood back into the man, filling him enough to get his feet on the ground.
“Easy there.” The seaman held a tentative hand to Hubert’s back as his partial memories sloshed around inside him. “Not fully back, are ye? Yer looking a mite under half-full. Do ye remember how ye came here?”
He didn’t. In fact, he had no idea where “here” even was. Unsteady on his new feet, Hubert took stock of his surroundings. The boat he was on appeared to be a small fishing vessel, barely bigger than a motorboat, and seemingly made of nothing but lacquered wood. With no sail to speak of, the vessel was “anchored” to their surrounding through eight ethereal golden chains, emerging from its gunwales and facing towards all cardinal corners.
Their surroundings were even more confusing, as the vessel appeared to be drifting down a long funnel of pure sensations, the vessel's chains anchored in the funnel’s surface, pulling them along with the flow and keeping them roughly level above the rushing, cylindrical stream. As bizarre as it felt to think it, Hubert could “see” scents and tastes, sounds, and sights alike in the tubular maelstrom around them, like some heightened form of synesthesia.
Feeling quite small in this strange new world, Hubert’s exterior shrunk to fit his interior, and his memories finally stopped sloshing around inside him.
“Wh’eel now, ye’ve done returned t’ a more proper size, eh boy?” The seaman looked Hubert up and down. “Ye may feel a wee bit disoriented, but as ye begin t’ recover yer “self”, ye’ll find yer body stretching out t’ match. What’s the body, but an elastic vessel ‘a skin t’ hold the mind, eh?” He laughed uproariously, clapping the boy on the back and nearly knocking him over.
“I… have so many questions,” Hubert finally squeaked out, thankful he was no longer speaking in geometry.
“Hahar, that proves yer alive.” The seaman nodded sagely. “As long as ye’ve got questions t’ ask, yer never truly dead, eh?”
“Right…” Hubert returned, unconvinced. “For starters, where are we?”
“Nowhere and nowhen, me young friend!” The man laughed, as if the very question was the greatest joke in the world. “We’re somewhere between… well, everything.”
Hubert waited for the man to continue, but he seemed to consider that explanation enough. Sighing, Hubert moved on. “How did I get here?”
“Now, how should I know that?” The man shrugged. “Mayhaps when ye recover yer memories, ye can tell me.”
Realizing this line of questioning would get him nowhere, Hubert shifted topics. “How are we moving? What’s this tunnel we’re in, and where are we going?”
“Now yer asking the right questions!” The man gripped him by the arm, pulling him over to the closest gunwale and plucking one of the glowing chains like a harp string, creating a vibrant, humming note that shimmered as it dissipated. “We’re currently sailing down an idea stream, a hole in the raging storm of information our world is made up of. What keeps us from plunging int’ its depths and being reduced t’ pure data again is me Linkering.” He plucked the chain again. “Put simply, it’s a manifestation of me lingering attachment t’ life. It keeps me from being swept away, and when you get t’ me level, ye can even keep a boat, cargo, and passengers afloat.”
The man hefted his elaborate lantern, inside which a dancing, multi-hued star burned. “And this here,” he gestured, “is me Etherlamp. Stric’ly speakin’, this is what’s causin’ this idea stream t’ form. Aaaaaall this,” he swept his arm grandiosely around, “is nigh-infinite quantities of memories from anywhere and anywhen across untold multiverses. By pumping this here Etherlamp full of me sense of self, it creates a “hole” in the data, a pocket of unreality I have full control over. Most folks,” he said with a little scoff, “make solid ground within their pocket, and walk through tunnels or paths, shrouded in walls o’ stone, trees or fog that keep the idea stream at bay. But me,” he flexed his arm, generating a new golden Link, “I sail with the idea stream fully bared, alls so’s I can fish valuable salvage from its bounty.” He laughed loudly again. “That’s how I dredged ye up, in fact!”
He paused a moment. “’course, the Bordred do view this as “memory piracy” and ‘ave been hunting me down fer eons, but ‘tis thanks to me “piracy” that I fished ye up, so we’re accomplices now, eh?”
Any response Hubert was about to make was cut off by a massive lurch that nearly flipped the little vessel over. Hubert himself was launched into the air, nearly colliding with the rapidly-shrinking idea stream, before he was hauled roughly back to the deck by the firm hand of the pirate.
“Wh’eel now, looks like we’re in for a rough time,” the man observed grimly as the idea stream expanded and contracted wildly, tossing the little boat along as it did. “Never seen it react like this ‘afore.” He turned to glare at Hubert suspiciously. “Ye wouldn’t know anything ‘bout this, would ye?”
“I only just got here!” Hubert defended, as a sudden lurch knocked the feet out from under him again. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Aye, I do recon the etherstorm’s reacting t’ ye. T’ keep us on an even keel, ye need t’ get yer sense of self under control again, lad,” the sailor called above the din of the storm, pressing a finger against Hubert’s chest. “The self’s a lot like a pond, what with bad memories accumulatin’ like silt. In moments of peace, they settle to the bottom, making the whole thing appear clear and pure. But shake things up some, and all the silt muddies the water, turning it brackish. Right now, yer like a muddy pond, and the idea stream is reacting t’ it, lad!”
“Well, what do you want me to do about it?” Hubert shot back, clinging to the side with both hands.
“Head aft, I left a slice o’ apple pie in me lunch pail,” he offered. “Nothing soothes the soul like apple pie, eh?”
Too shaken to refute the sentiment, Hubert did as he was bidden. Wedged under a beam, Hubert found the battered blue-and-white lunch box where the pirate had indicated, and opening it he…
A world of gold and green, summer sun and verdant grass
Tumbling down a hill, laughter bubbling up from within
A scent on the wind, spiced and tart
Running barefoot, whooping with joy
Jumping to turn the old, brass doorknob
Dirty feet tap-tap-tapping on rough wooden floorboards
A familiar figure, hunched in front of the oven, knitted mitts on her hands
A warm face, red with the oven’s heat, wrinkled with decades of laughter, twin windows perched on her nose, making her eyes sparkle with a youth never lost
Standing on tip-toes to glimpse the tabletop, and the piece of heaven being sliced up, plated, and served on clouds of cold vanilla
Lifted up by firm hands, and seated on a tattered phone book
Wielding a rounded fork with a well-worn red handle up to the mouth
A burst of apple-cinnamon paradise and…
Hubert snapped back to himself, brushing crumbs of a memory from his chin. Dazed, he looked around, relieved that the storm seemed to have abated. Above him, the idea stream peacefully flowed by like the Milky Way poured out of a jug.
“How was it, lad?” The pirate laughed deeply, turning from his golden Links.
“What… was that?” Hubert breathed.
“That was someone’s cherished memory,” the man explained. “That’s what I salvage, me boy. Precious moments lost t’ time, fished from the flow o’ data.” He turned to Hubert. “But blow me down, if ye were able t’ influence the data stream that much, ye must have strong Resonance, eh?”
“Resonance?” Hubert echoed.
“Empathy, curiosity, and the like. Resonance is how ye know a good memory from a bad, and where t’ find them amidst all the chaff of everyday, average memories. Resonance can bring out the best or the worst in the idea stream, lad. But as strong as yer Resonance is, mayhaps ye’ll be o’ some use to me after all, eh?”
But Hubert was no longer listening. His mind still floaty and languid after his golden moment of time in a bottle, his eyes wandered to the idea stream now mere feet away from their boat and the kaleidoscope of lights twinkling within. Further on down the stream, his eyes were inexplicably drawn to something large and amorphous, bobbing below the surface and glowing with a downy kind of unlight. Without a shred of hesitation, Hubert reached out and…
Dark. So very dark
Eyes flickering open, pinpoints of light in the tenebrous heavens above only accentuating the blackness
Cold. Alone. A forest? A mountain? Rough stones cut through flesh, but unable to move
Legs burning, yet cold
Legs?
A glance downwards
What should have been legs are little more than twisted lengths of meat, lying in deep red
Looking up, up, up, at how far away the path is
Can’t move
So thirsty
So cold
So cold
So cold
…
Hubert felt something like static electricity dance across his soul, as the memory shattered around him, dropping him deep into nothingness instead of back to reality. Oh, this is new, the thought idly flashed across his mind, as he fell deeper into the scene, crashing through the wall into a new memory.
A familiar memory
“Hubert”
A rich, familiar voice. Hubert knew this voice. Yet, all was blurry off-white hues.
Then, a hint of motion.
“I guess I’ve come to say goodbye, Hubert.”
Goodbye? Why?
“Your mom and I have been talking it over with the doctors and, well, she’s right. I have to come to terms with it.”
Mom? Where’s Mom? I can’t see her!
“I held out hope, you know. I really thought… I hoped it’d be like in the movies. A couple years, and then they miraculously wake up, and, well…”
The voice choked a little with a thick emotion it could barely fight down.
“But it’s been seven years, Hubert. I know you can’t hear me now, but I’m saying this for my own benefit.”
I can hear you!
“It’s time for me to let you go.”
No, don’t! Don’t let me go!
“You died that day, Hubert. Your body may be here, but it’s not you.”
I didn’t die!
“I hope wherever you are, it’s a happier place…”
I’m right here!
“…and I hope you can forgive me. Goodbye, Hubert.”
Dad! Come back, Dad! I’m right here! I’m still right here!
No response came, but a blur of motion replaced it, as multiple bodies crowded around, pressing in. The dull pinch of a needle breaking the skin, then a deep, spreading chill.
I’m… right… here…
…
Hubert’s head snapped up, nearly knocking into the chin of the concerned pirate.
“Ye’ve grown, lad.” The man eyed him up and down. “One minute I’m settin’ thar, watchin’ the gentlest currents pull us, the next, yer face down and out cold, and the idea stream starts raging again. What ‘appened? Ye look like ye got some memories back, eh?”
Hubert gave no response, pulling his knees up to his chest and lowering his head.
“Ah, that kind o’ memory.” The man nodded, rubbing the back of his head ruefully, shifting his weight as the boat bucked beneath him. “Well, it ‘aint contented folk who wind up here, that’s for shore.” He sat himself down next to Hubert, throwing a comforting arm over his shoulder.
Hubert glanced sideways. “You mean, you too…?”
“Aye, lad.” The look in the man’s eyes said more than words ever could.
“What… what keeps you going? I just wish I’d never remembered anything. Now, all I can think about is how nice it would be to throw myself overboard, and let the idea stream wash it all away. The pain, the memories, the… everything.” He rested his head in his knees again.
“Well now, that’s an option that’s always available t’ ye,” the sailor admitted. “But here’s how I see it; there’s plenty of things I never experienced in me life, and plenty I dearly long t’ experience again. I c’n throw meself overboard any day, but for now, there’s things I want t’ see. How about ye, lad? Are ye satisfied with how yer life turned out?”
Hubert shifted. “Of course… I’m not!” He sat up, the storm inside him calming itself, as the outer world followed suit. “No way in hell I’m satisfied with that! I want…” he paused, deep in thought. “I want to eat real piroshki. I want to ride a BMX down a mountain trail. I want to watch Godfather II!” He got to his feet.
“Haharr, now yer getting it, lad!” The seaman clapped him on the back, rising with him.
“Can I… can we really find a memory for all of those things?” Hubert asked, the conviction on his face flickering.
“Heh, ‘course we can!” The man strode to the bow of the ship, gazing down the infinite mouth of the idea stream. “That and much more. I wouldn’t ‘ave become a memory pirate were that not the case! Every memory, across all time and space, resides here. There’s no memory we can’t find, with enough time and effort, eh?” He slipped a small silver chain out from around his neck, holding the golden ring hanging from it between two weatherbeaten fingers.
“Every memory” he whispered, tucking it back under his shirt again. “Now then!” Turning back to Hubert, a grin slowly spread across his timeworn face. “Let’s be off then, eh? Adventure awaits!”
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