That Which is Nameless

Abigail LaMay

There is a story in Mihr that says the sea is black from the ink of the lost words of scholars who attempted to unravel its secrets. It didn’t always use to be black, Enid’s father would tell her. But when those with too much thirst for the unknown ventured too far, the sea swallowed everything. It was dangerous.

When Enid was young, she used to secretly play at the dock’s edge under the cover of night. One time when she was feeling particularly reckless, she had dipped her feet in the water and felt it lap at her heels. It had reminded her of a dog; not the enraged, malevolent one her father had warned her about, but a weak, helpless one. In the next moment, she had felt a horrible tugging from the darkness and had only just been able to make it back to her home, tears searing the corners of her eyes.

She never told a soul about it. She feared the worst: that all of the townspeople would kick her out and feed her to that awful blackness just as they did their waste. Even so, in the back of her mind, she was unable to shake the memory of that brief moment of weakness. The horrible excitement of the adrenaline. The need to know more that all of the foolish, scorned minds of the time shared.

* * *

Mud sloshed against Enid’s boots. It had rained heavily all day, turning the unpaved main roads into dark rivers and leaving merchants’ carts sunk along the side of buildings. It was night now, the sky a mere shade darker than it had been during the day. It was just past the dinner hour, and Enid could smell the faint lingering of smoke underneath the earthy scent of rain. The rain clouds must have cleared away, as Enid could see the stars splayed out overhead.

The gods of Mihr were secretive. They stayed hidden among the stars, appearing only as a series of random pinpricks of light, unidentifiable patterns, at least to the majority of townspeople. The Celestials, Mihr’s family line of religious practitioners, could interpret the gods’ signs in the night sky and delivered their messages to the people. But even they were unsure of the gods’ true appearance; are the symbols the gods themselves changing form or are they created by the gods, who reside still elsewhere? Enid sometimes imagined them as existing behind a one-way opaque wall. They sat behind it and painted their star symbols which the Celestials could read, but the painters themselves remained blurred, faceless.

Even from a block away, Enid could hear the ruckus of the local tavern. The Crow’s Nest always seemed to be bustling no matter the hour. She slipped inside, ordering a drink from the busy bartender and taking it back to a table in the far corner of the room. Enid stared down intently at her drink, the light reflecting off the ice and twinkling like the millions of stars outside. She unconsciously tapped her heeled boots against the floor, the sound drowned out by the din of the room. Leaning over the table to rest her head in her hands, she sighed and prepared herself to wait another hour for the bastard who had invited her there.

The man she was waiting for was no stranger. She had seen him before he had bumped into her and forced the note hurriedly into her hands. On the deck of the Silvermoon, back when her thirst for adventure was fire in her veins. Maybe he thought it was still there.

Movement on the other side of the table startled her. She looked up to see a giant, cloaked man settle himself into a chair. Black windswept bangs peaked out from underneath the dark hood. His thick arms rested on the table. A heavy silence hung between them. Seeing him here now, after five years, Enid found herself doubting whether she knew him at all anymore. If she even cared to.

“Ocie,” Enid spoke dryly. “Keep a girl waiting, why don’t you?”

He brought his hands up to the sides of his hood and slowly peeled it back enough for Enid to see his eyes. He looked around the tavern suspiciously before sliding her another note, nodding towards it solemnly.

“You have such a way with words,” Enid said in annoyance, reaching for the slip of paper.

“What is this all –” She trailed off when she read the scratchy, panicked writing: They took my voice.

Enid paused, raising her eyebrows at him. The sirens. They lurked in the rocky, mountainous islands between Mihr and Lumdosa. They lured pirates and sailors to land, bewitching them with their beauty. The legends warned against falling victim to their charms, as sleeping with them never left you the same.

“For the love of… This is what you made me wait here for?” Enid hissed through gritted teeth. “This isn’t my problem.” She stood up and slammed her payment down on the table, making her way towards the door.

“Enid.”

She spun around and glared at Ocie, who was grinning widely. “I’m just messin’ with ya.”

The deepness of his voice rippled through her. Enid let out a deep sigh, rubbing her temples. Despite her best efforts, the slightest of smiles forced its way through. The bastard hadn’t changed at all. She returned to her seat and waved down the barkeep to order her old companion a drink. She paused on her way to add more gold to the pouch in the center of the table.

“I was going to pay for your drink, but now…” Her smile grew bigger. “I don’t know…. I think the riches from your little escapades can handle to pay for a drink or two.”

“Fair enough,” Ocie replied, dropping his share in with the rest. Enid was surprised that he had taken her seriously. Maybe the coward was trying to make amends.

“So. How was it?” Enid jokingly pried. She wanted to keep the conversation like this. To dodge why he would have come back.

He looked at her in confusion. Enid smirked and replied, “The sirens.”

Ocie let out a laugh. “Not worth losing my voice over.”

He gestured his glass towards Enid, who clanked hers against it. He raised a toast to what he called their fateful, heartwarming reunion. He started to recount the details of what he had been doing in the time they were apart. How he had become revered in some lands but despised in others, Mihr being one of them. Through no fault of his own, he made sure to point out. How the stories about the lumber from Lerior being the strongest were nothing but myths. The most mouth-watering dishes of Granpar. Enid had to stop him.

“I’m not going back.”

Ocie staggered, searching for a better way to explain himself. Failing, he sighed in defeat and looked Enid in the eyes. She was all too aware of the fire burning brightly behind them.

“I almost died, Ocie.” And you were going to let me.

When she closed her eyes, the darkness behind them threw her back into the abyss of churning water. The feel of hair that wasn’t her own slipping through and tangling around her fingers. A nameless entity pulling her downwards like the anchor of their ship.

Ocie fell silent. He finished up his second drink and fixed his gaze to the wall just above her head. Close enough for him to catch the slightest sign of interest, and for her to feel pressured to resume the conversation.

“Why are you here?” Enid finally asked. Ocie looked at her with a mixture of relief and sadness. Sadness at the possibility that his trip back to Mihr had been for naught, but relief that she had been interested enough to ask about his intentions.

“I’m doing research for the king of Lumdosa,” he explained. “Man was desperate, especially considering he got help from someone who associates with the pirates who have raided his kingdom. But he had heard of my adventures, felt I was the best man for the job. He values the importance of discovery so much more than this dump.”

Discovery. The word sparked the smallest of flames in Enid’s heart.

She shook her head. “Your point?”

“He believes the people of Mihr are… what did he call it? ‘Uncaring buffoons who are undoubtedly the cause of what has been happening with the ocean.’” He paused, rubbing his palms together in thought. “Thing are getting worse. Shipwreck after shipwreck, lost crew after lost crew. There’s even a fanatical religious group in Lumodosa who have named themselves after the Nordgu, bloodthirsty creatures they claim inhabit the waters. They say that the sea is acting out of revenge, and that Mihr deserves it.”

The kingdom of Mihr had been carelessly dumping their waste into the bottomless, inky waters ever since its first developments of towns and cities. To her people, the sea was nothing more than a word, written down in disregarded books with yellowed pages. Yet a fear arose from this understanding; a fear of the unknown and unnamed.

Ocie continued. “Something tells me King Cendan sees truth in the words of this group, but is loath to admit it. Doing so without firm evidence would topple his kingdom, whose strength has always been in religious and theological diversity. As it stands, he can’t afford to choose one side over the other.”

Enid pieced it together in her head. “He wants you to find proof.”

He nodded. “I’ve been reading what little books have been written about the sea. Many of the writers have gone through the same thing you did. A near death experience, with the sensation that they weren’t the only ones in the water.” He reached out to place his giant, calloused hands over hers.

“Me and you might be the only living ones who know they exist.”

Enid slid her hands out from underneath his and rested her chin on her knuckles, meeting his eyes. Shaking her head, she muttered, “None of that changes anything.”

Ocie frowned and retrieved another small pouch from his other pocket. From inside he pulled out a thin shard, pinching it carefully between his fingertips. Its sheer blackness was that of a starless sky. There was the faintest sense that all the lights in the tavern had gotten just the slightest bit dimmer in its presence. Enid had never seen such a darkness in years.

She tore her gaze away from the scale and back to Ocie. She raised her eyebrows, shooting him a questioning look. In the back of her mind, it was occurring to her that maybe that boldness was a front. Even so, she was determined to keep the walls of her heart and mind fortified against the flood threatening to cave them in.

“No way in hell would this be even near enough to please the king,” Ocie said. “Thought maybe it would help you, though.”

She shuddered at the feeling of her own hair whispering against her arm as a guest brushed past her. Back then, he had hesitated. She had seen him, his fingertips within a hair’s breadth of hers. A second away from turning around with his tail between his legs. The coward.

“You got that yourself?”

“After I brought you back to the mainland I went kind of crazy trying to hunt down whatever it was that almost killed you…” Ocie trailed off. He looked almost ashamed, as if he would have preferred to not come back there either. But he was the kind of person who hid his facial expressions well, so it was impossible to accurately pinpoint his true feelings. “It’s pretty pathetic, isn’t it?” He let out a weak laugh. “All these years and only one scale to show for it.”

Enid felt the weightlessness of relief wash over her in the way she imagined the calming tides of beaches in faraway lands to feel. The grudge she had harbored dissolved in the ebb and flow at her heels.

“It could be just like old times,” Enid murmured to herself. A return to the cool ocean breeze that carried the taste of salt. The incessant squawking of the seagulls. The pounding of a heavy heart.

“When do we leave?” She looked at Ocie with a heated determination.

Tomorrow morning.

Before the two partners departed, Enid slapped Ocie across his broad back and teased, “Save the sirens for me.”

* * *

The sun shone weakly through wisps of gray clouds. Enid woke at the first sounds of birdcalls. She rummaged through her wardrobe and found what she was looking for in the very back. Pulling on the trousers and cotton tunic, and then loosely tying the faded, black waistcoat over it all, Enid thought of her younger self, when she had worn only a slightly smaller version of the clothes on her now. The last piece was her dark blue linen sash.

She owned a bayonet and knew how to fight with it enough to defend herself - Ocie had gladly trained her, sparring with her in the weeks leading up to their first adventure together -, but she knew it was in theory rather than in practice with real threats.

She packed a couple extra clothes, a brush, her compass, a canteen, and a few slices of dried meat, fruits, and bread. She threw all of her things into a sack, tied up her leather boots, swirled her hair into a bun, and was off.

When Enid arrived at the meeting spot, she found Ocie already aboard the sloop, waving excitedly to her. She ached to see the Silvermoon again in all her glory, outlined in freshly polished silver that gleamed in the noon’s warm rays. The emblem of a phoenix spreading its wings proudly on the flag.

Enid walked up the ramp to her companion, who had begun shouting thanks at the dockhands as the boat was untethered and slowly began drifting from the shore. A young man with short, neatly trimmed hair was already posted at the tiller. The two nodded to each other in introduction.

The helmsman oriented the three of them to the northwest, towards the Lumdosian seas. Enid gazed over the back of the stern at Mihr.

“Having second thoughts?”

She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and strolled up to Ocie. “No. It’s good to be back.”

“I was almost worried you wouldn’t come,” he said. “Come on, let’s get this baby moving so I can take this awful cloak off.”

Ocie walked over to the side of the boat and plopped himself down on the floor, yanking the paddle that was attached loose. Enid matched his movements with every slice of the oar through the blackness. She took occasional glances down towards the water, nothing, not even her own reflection, gazing back at her.

The two of them used to pass time by telling each other stories of their homelands, although Enid had predominately led the conversation. Ocie rarely talked about himself. All Enid knew was that he had been born in the faraway mountains of the north, and that he had been traveling his whole life. He had told her before that he wasn’t truly from anywhere.

Enid, on the other hand, had only her father to talk of, as her mother had been unprepared and resistant to parenthood. Enid had been an unruly child, which had only made her already weak relationship with her father even weaker. Even after growing up and leaving the household, she often saw her father’s anger in herself.

Before long, the afternoon sun had heated up and gusts of midday wind formed miniature waves in the water. They were lucky enough for it to be blowing from behind them, giving their aching arms a rest. Covered in sweat and groaning, they stood up and stretched. Enid’s eye caught on the curved blade of a cutlass that sat on one of the wooden crates. Ocie, noticing her gaze, handed it to her. She turned it over in her hands, feeling its weight. Imagining how it would feel in a duel. The handle was a beautiful, warm bronze, to which the sheath’s ends were a match. Enid rubbed her thumb against the glossy, spheres embedded in the locket.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” she beamed at Ocie.

“…Is that good or bad?”

“Of course it’s good! It’s like something from another world!” She paused. “Please tell me you got something for yourself, too.”

He nodded and presented his own weapon to her, a long saber with the same chestnut color as hers. He unsheathed it from its scabbard to allow Enid to study the detailed engravings on the nearest part of the blade. Leaves curling in on each other, vines twisting and turning. She could get lost in it.

“It’s beautiful… Where did you get them?” She asked, taking a swig from her canteen and holding a hand over her eyes to shade herself from the sun.

“A shop owner in Lumdosa. His prices were so high he was losing business,” he replied. “I wanted to help him.”

“It sounds like that man was either a fool or a swindler,” Enid sighed. “How was he affording to stay in Lumdosa? Isn’t that the richest kingdom?”

Ocie scratched his head. “You have a point.”

“You’re too kind, Ocie,” she said. “Thank you, though. It means a lot.”

“Always happy to help,” he returned.

That night, Enid dreamed of the sea. It stuck like molasses to her body. The smell of corpses and salt flooded her nostrils. Her eyes unable to adjust no matter how long she stared into the abyss around her. She managed to take hold of something in the darkness: a slab of driftwood, a shoe, or was it a hand? Enid tugged, panicked, trying to get out. Something small and dying fell into the water above her with a splash. It was a girl. The light in her eyes snuffed out like fingers to a candle.

Enid.

A distortion of colors and shapes vaguely resembling a face.

Enid.

A shadow over her face.

“Ocie?”

“You okay?” he asked, offering her a hand.

“Yeah, I just… had a weird dream,” she said in a daze, taking his outstretched hand.

“It happens,” he said. “Here.”

He tossed her an apple while biting into his own. The sky was gray and cloudy, the only way of knowing it was morning by the cool feel to the air. The helmsman remained at the tiller, not having moved an inch as if he were frozen. The day was much like the preceding one: they told stories, joked with each other, and paddled until their arms hurt like hell. They sparred with their new weapons, in case the Nordgu were real.

After their tie, the sky erupted in veins of lightning and the drumming of thunder. Enid felt the first drops of rain against her skin.

She yelled a command at the helmsman, preparing for the oncoming storm.

“Yes, sir!”

Her arms burned from her earlier efforts, but she had no choice but to try to beat the waves hurling at them. She looked worriedly at Ocie, who yelled encouragements. She could do this. The living darkness leapt into the boat, sloshing against Enid’s legs and face. Her muscles were on fire, and when a particularly strong upsurge struck her, she had no choice but to plummet into the ocean.

Darkness. Enid instinctively screwed her eyes shut as she desperately threw out her arms in search of something, anything to hold on to. With a strangled gasp, she tore through the surface of the water. Already the boat was so far away.

“Ocie, help! Help! Some—!”

The blackness surged with a power she could do nothing against, flooding her throat with water. Enid flailed her limbs in an effort to keep her head above the surface, but something hard struck her forehead, embedding splinters into the skin and dunking her underwater. Her heart hammered loudly in her chest as she weakly groped along the slippery wood of the foreign object. If she could just pull herself up onto it, she could survive. This would just be another memory. She could feel her consciousness drifting away from her.

* * *

Hot sand seared Enid’s skin. Her eyes struggled to adjust to the blinding white sunlight. She could feel the throbbing pain in her head, and dried blood was crusted across her forehead. She winced as she began to pluck out the woodchips, small beads of blood welling to the surface. Unwrapping her sash and pressing it against her head, Enid slowly attempted to stand up.

A dream-like haze settled over her as she trudged along the beach, fighting exhaustion with every step. The jungle to her right was nothing but a blend of greens and faint yellows. The screeches of birds she had never heard before filled the air. The blackness at the ocean’s edge rolled in and out methodically with the tides, reaching farther and farther towards Enid with each rise.

She reached an outcrop, jagged stones and tide pools dotting the beach. She stumbled between them, only barely able to stay balanced. A shape in the distance caught her eye. Vaguely humanoid, stretched out across a slab of rock that jutted out from the beach. With a newfound determination, she made her way towards the figure.

Enid rubbed her eyes. The creature was human, but also not. Its body was very much that of a woman, but tapering down to a fishlike tail. The scales along its surface were serpentine in their iridescence, black one moment and blue-green the next. Enid stopped in her tracks, fear and curiosity and excitement churning together into some nameless entity.

The creature turned towards her, surprise flashing across its face and back straightening in alarm. The shell it had been working through its silken hair clattered onto the rock as it beckoned to Enid with an outstretched hand and foreign word. Using the last of her dwindling strength, Enid pulled herself onto the slab.

“Are you… alright?”

Its voice sounded too close and leagues away at the same time. The softness of it reminded Enid of clouds. Of sleep and dreams.

She mumbled, “I’m fine,” in response before adding, “Just need some food and water.” She could hardly recognize her own voice.

“Come.”

The creature gestured towards the water, scooting itself off the rock and taking Enid’s hand. Panic welled up in her, and she tugged her hand back.

“Where are we going?”

“Food and water.” It blinked at her in confusion. “You are not Mihryian?”

“I…”

It brought its hands up to frame Enid’s face, the webbing between its fingers fanning out. “You speak their tongue. I will keep you safe, do not worry.”

Without another word, it sunk into the water, Enid not far behind. It led her smoothly through the blackness, while Enid struggled to hold her breath.

“Breathe, Mihryian. And see.”

She exhaled and breathed in, bracing herself for a lungful of water. None came; only the air her body craved. A light in the distance penetrated the abysmal darkness. Enid wondered if this was it. The fate that so many other adventurers before her had fallen to.

They broke through the surface. Enid was lifted up onto solid ground. She laid there on her back. Her eyes fluttered closed and the gentle sound of a waterfall enveloped her. An object was held to her lips, water tilted back into her mouth. A sweet-scented cloth pressed against her forehead. The creature’s hair fell like seaweed over Enid’s face as she tended to her, humming quietly to itself.

“Who are you?” Enid finally asked, looking up into the creature’s dark eyes, her own reflection gazing back at her. Its nakedness and the unfamiliar scenery gave her the feeling that she was intruding someplace she didn’t belong.

“Eldoris,” she said, continuing to clean Enid’s face. “And you? What brings a Mihryian to the nyksaiya?”

Eldoris may have helped her, but Enid still sensed a mutual apprehensiveness between them. Something in the way they stole sideways glances when the other wasn’t looking. Now that she had recovered more, Enid found it impossible to relax, to let her life rest so easily in the hands of another.

“Enid,” she replied, saying nothing more. She felt the ache of hunger in her gut, fighting against the urge to stay at the creature’s side and instead forcing herself to sit upright. She could only hold the position for so long until the pounding in her head compelled her to lay back down.

“Eat this, Enid,” Eldoris said, propping her up and handing her a bundle wrapped in a leaf.

Enid unwrapped it at once and was immediately struck by a mouthwatering pile of soft crabmeat. She had never eaten seafood before, and it may have been because she was starving, but it was the best thing she had ever tasted. Eldoris curiously watched her eat, laughing at her mannerisms.

“The leaf is edible,” she noted, still giggling.

Annoyed and embarrassed, Enid gingerly set the leaf down, not wanting to make herself look like more of a fool. That foolishness made her realize how defenseless she was in that moment. If the creature with her now was one of the rumored Nordgu, her and Ocie’s quest had come to an end. But that was only if she lived to tell the tale.

Ocie. She had been stupid to go with him. She could have easily kept living the quiet, mundane life she had been growing accustomed to. It was childish to chase after something you could never catch. Even after five years Ocie hadn’t realized that.

“I am not the one you look for,” Eldoris said softly. “You came all this way. I am sorry.”

Enid straightened up. The nearby waterfall seemed so much louder. “Explain,” she said. “Please.”

“It is easier to show you,” Eldoris replied.

Together they slipped back into the depths, Eldoris leading them downwards for what seemed like forever. The increasing pressure on Enid’s ears reminded her that she could breathe. She kept her eyes open throughout their descent, watching the surrounding darkness shift with fearful fascination.

A pale blue light exploded around them. Enid’s feet touched solid ground. She stood at the top step of a massive stone staircase. Huge stalks of seaweed rose up from where the bottom-most steps would be, obscured by the heavy darkness. A crumbling archway towered over them, sunlight piercing through the empty space beyond it.

“Beyond this door lies my people,” Eldoris said. “We stay hidden like this.”

“Hidden from what?” Enid asked, nervously peering into the darkness that fringed the staircase.

“The ones you seek. The Nordgu.”

“Then what are you?” Enid pressed.

Eldoris shrugged. “We are just followers of our Queen. We don’t have a name. Nobody outside the nyksaiya knows us, only the sirens and Nordgu.”

Enid traced her fingertips along the worn stone of the arch, lost in thought, while Eldoris continued. “We and the Nordgu used to be one. We all blamed your people for the death of our kingdom. Because of you, where there was once color is now devoid of life.”

Her voice grew fainter, sadder. “Those you now call the Nordgu insisted on violence. Queen Nerida ruled against it, angrily telling them that it would solve nothing and that we would continue to survive on peace alone. Perhaps in another life all of us would be referred to as the Nordgu.”

Enid pondered her words. She met Eldoris’s eyes, seeing herself in them. Before she could stop herself, she blurted out a promise she hoped she would be able to keep.

*Cover image taken from John William Waterhouse’s A Mermaid (1900)