Stories of Thalassia. Story 2: The Drowner

The fishing net pulled Lian toward the water. He gritted his teeth, using all his strength to haul it onto the sharp rocks, but it wouldn’t budge and seemed to drag him.

“Lian, watch out!” his father called, stepping in and effortlessly pulling the net ashore. Lian stumbled, momentarily losing balance, but his father’s steady hand anchored him. The man chuckled, handing the net back to his son.“Don’t worry. You’ll get stronger,” he reassured, ruffling Lian’s hair before heading back to the boat. He left Lian alone to sort through the catch.

Lian disentangled the net, pulling out clumps of seaweed and debris tangled in the ropes. About a dozen shellfish, two medium-sized fish, and a pile of rubble—nothing spectacular, but it would last them a few days. As he separated the shellfish from the rocks, his hand hit something rough and textured beneath the other debris. It felt like a piece of wood or bark. Grunting, Lian pulled the object out, straining to free it from the mess.

In his hands lay a piece of wood, seemingly carved into the shape of a mask, with two eye holes. As Lian turned the object in his hands, he found himself staring into the grotesque face of an unknown creature, grinning back at him. He shuddered, continuing to study the mask’s face. The creature faintly resembled a human face, twisted in expression—part terror, part eerie grin. Its hollow, wide eyes seemed to peer directly at him. A shiver crawled down Lian’s spine as he took in the unsettling appearance of the mask, his eyes seemingly glued to its vacant gaze.

He jolted suddenly, standing up and dropping the eerie object onto the sharp rocks as he stepped back. His fingers tingled as if still buzzing from the strange contact with the mask.

“Dad?” he called, his voice tinged with a nervous pitch. Lian didn’t quite understand what had scared him, but a heightened sense of anxiety gripped him tightly.

“What is it?” his father asked, walking over and wiping his hands on a scrap of cloth. Mask still lay on the ground, grinning at the sky. His father frowned, bending down to pick up the haunting object.

“Probably just an old crap,” he muttered. He tossed the mask back into the sea, where the waves swallowed it. “Come on, let’s go home.”

Lian nodded, though his gaze lingered on the churning waves as if seeking reassurance that the mask was gone.

Dinner was hearty. Lian’s mother had prepared potatoes and the fish they’d harvested hours earlier. His father was in high spirits, praising Lian’s quick thinking and hard work at sea. But Lian’s mind was far from the family table. The unsettling image of that wooden-carved mask lingered in his thoughts, haunting him with its empty, piercing eyes. Even though his father had thrown it back into the sea, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was still nearby, watching him.

“Son, are you alright?” His mother’s gentle hand rested on his clenched fist. Lian hadn’t realized he’d been staring at his plate, motionless, for the past several minutes. He shook his head as if to break free from a spell and looked up at her.

“Yes, I’m just…” His words froze in his throat as, for a brief moment, he saw not his mother’s face but the distorted, terror visage of a monster with a grin—so much like the mask he had found earlier. He jumped, the wooden chair beneath him tipping over with a clatter.

“Lian!” his father called, standing up. Lian’s breaths came hard and fast as he stared at his mother, who now looked perfectly normal—familiar brown eyes, dark skin, and short curly hair, though her face expressed shock and worry.

“I… I’m sorry, Mother and Father. I think I’m just tired,” he mumbled, hastily gathering his plate and leftovers and feeding them to the dog.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Lian?” his father asked, still standing beside the table, his face etched with concern.

“Yes, really, I’m just tired,” Lian replied with a weak smile, kissing his mother’s cheek and wishing them goodnight. He heard his mother’s concerned voice as he closed his bedroom door.

“What’s gotten into him tonight?”

“I don’t know,” his father replied quietly.

Lian had a restless night. The image of the mask haunted his dreams, appearing on the faces of his family, friends, and villagers, chasing him through the night and stealing any chance of peaceful sleep. He awoke around four in the morning, even before his father, unable to settle back into slumber. Quietly slipping out of the house, he dressed in his usual sea attire.

The Sapphire Tide lay calm in the early dawn, gentle waves lapping at the shore. Lian moved steadily, untangling the fishing net and loading gear onto the small wooden boat. The rhythmic tasks and quiet sea offered him a fleeting sense of calm, though the memory of the mask still lingered, faintly disturbing the stillness of the morning.

Lian’s father was pleasantly surprised to find everything ready for their fishing trip earlier than planned. They set out an hour ahead of schedule, and their catch was so abundant that they returned to shore sooner than expected.

As his father unloaded the boat, Lian cleaned the fishing net, carefully removing fish, mussels, and seaweed. Suddenly, his hand brushed against something chillingly familiar—slick, smooth, and unyielding. The mask lay among the mussels, staring back at him with hollow eyes that seemed to mock his rising fear. A dull roar filled Lian’s ears, drowning out the world as he locked eyes with it. His heartbeat thudded in his ears, and he swallowed hard, gingerly tracing his fingers along the mask’s surface. The touch felt sharp and electrifying, causing him to recoil. Assured his father was still turned away, Lian wrapped the mask in an old cloth to avoid touching its eerie surface.

Looking around to ensure they were alone, Lian stood and sprinted toward the rocky caves with all his might. He heard his father’s distant call over the sound of the wind, but he didn’t stop, clutching the wrapped mask tightly to his chest.

When Lian returned home hours later, exhausted, soaked, and smeared with mud, his mother’s tear-streaked face met him at the door. She had been crying the entire time he was gone. His father paced sternly, his face a storm of worry. As soon as Lian crossed the threshold, his mother embraced him, sobbing with relief.

“Cave, sand, green stone.”

His father knelt beside them, pulling both his wife and son into a tight embrace.

“Cave, sand, green stone.”

After that day, Lian refused to go to sea with his father, citing a fear of the water and a lack of desire to tie his life to fishing. He left for the capital a few weeks later, leaving home for many long years.

***

“Are you nervous?” Veronica asked, tucking a stray lock of Lian’s hair behind his ear.

“About what?” he replied with his usual ironic smile, though it couldn’t hide his anxiety about seeing his parents again.

“About going home,” she said, glancing at the road ahead. They were perched on the wagon’s edge, Veronica swinging her legs playfully.

Lian leaned back, propping himself up on his hands, his gaze shifting to the sky. The tree branches above flickered in his vision as the wagon continued to roll along.

“Probably…” he murmured.

“Don’t you miss your parents?” she asked with genuine curiosity, looking back at him.

“Of course I do,” he chuckled. It was his first return to Tidecall in nine years. He’d met Veronica five months ago, and their whirlwind romance led to an engagement. His parents were thrilled to receive the news by letter, urging him to come home with her so they could meet.

“We’re here!” announced the wagon driver, pulling the horse to a stop.

“But the village is still a few kilometres away!” Lian protested, glancing toward his home. The village rooftops peeked in the distance, silhouetted against the backdrop of the sea.

“Not my problem!” the driver replied gruffly, “I’m turning toward Pelagius from here.”

Lian jumped from the wagon and helped Veronica down just as the wagon jolted forward, nearly knocking her off her feet.

“Old swindler,” Lian muttered under his breath, steadying Veronica. “Are you alright?” he asked, and when she nodded, he slung their single rucksack over his shoulder, and together they began the walk toward the village.

The walk took about an hour, and the village’s familiar shapes and paths gradually came into focus. Each step back into Tidecall pulled at his memories, the warm recollections of childhood making his heart race with bittersweet joy.

His family home looked as it had nine years ago, though the walls had faded slightly and grown weathered. Yet it was unmistakably the same house he had left behind. His parents were overjoyed to see him, and he noticed how much taller he was than his father now, the man who once seemed so towering. Time and hard work had left their mark on his parents’ faces, almost like caricatures of the people he remembered.

Lian’s mother barely let go of Veronica, showering her with trinkets she had once worn in her youth. Lian and his father exchanged amused glances, laughing at the women’s excited energy. Everything felt right; he was finally home.

“Do you know if old Marcus is still making shoes?” Lian asked his father, taking a deep swig of ale.

“Still making them,” his father confirmed, his gaze still fixed on his wife and daughter-in-law as they laughed together.

“Good. I want a new pair,” Lian said, chuckling. “Is Henrik still around, living with him?” He remembered his old friend, the cobbler’s son, whom they occasionally took to sea. Henrik had always insisted he’d follow in his father’s footsteps.

Lian’s father suddenly looked uneasy, setting his mug on the table. The pause caught Lian’s attention, and he turned to his father, his smile fading as he watched his face.

“Henrik… he died a few months back, son,” his father said quietly. “Drowned, but…”

Lian froze, memories of his friend’s face flashing before him. “Drowned? But how?” he asked, disbelief thick in his voice.

“It’s strange, son. Strange things have been happening in the village,” his father replied, his gaze dropping to the floor as if reluctant to speak of it.

“What kind of things?” Lian asked, a hint of worry creeping into his voice as he glanced at Veronica, who was trying on his mother’s old pearls.

“I didn’t want to bring this up, especially today… You two just got here,” his father said, letting out a tired sigh when he met Lian’s steady gaze. “Well, we’ve had several drownings recently. But there’s something… odd about each one.”

“What do you mean?” Lian pressed, gripping his ale mug tighter. His palms grew unexpectedly clammy, and a chill ran down his spine.

“All the drowned ones had a look on their faces as if something terrified them right before they died,” his father said quietly. “As if they’d been scared to death… but each was found washed up from the sea.”

The image of his mother’s twisted face flashed before Lian’s eyes—a grimace of terror, as though she’d seen something that had frightened her beyond words. It was a vision he hadn’t seen in his dreams for years.

“What are you talking about?” Lian’s mother interrupted sharply, her eyes narrowing as she looked from her husband to her son as if she already knew the topic they were discussing. When her husband looked at her with guilt in his gaze, she scowled. “No talk of this in my house! It’s a celebration, and that’s final!” They could do nothing but silently agree with her.

The next day, Lian took Veronica around Tidecall. With little more to see than the coastal views and the local market, they found themselves wandering the rocky beach by afternoon. Veronica had removed her shoes, letting the waves lap at her bare feet as she walked confidently across the stones.

“What’s that over there?” she asked suddenly, pulling Lian from his thoughts about his childhood friend Henrik. On the horizon loomed a small cave nestled in the cliffs. An involuntary shiver ran down Lian’s spine, like from the bad dream he had seen years ago.

“It’s just an old cave,” he said, sounding casual. “Locals say pirates once hid treasure there.”

“I want to see it!” Veronica exclaimed, quickening her pace.

“But there’s nothing there! Only seaweed and debris!” Lian called after her.

“I don’t care!” she laughed, her petite form running toward the cave without fear, her bare feet unmindful of the sharp rocks. Lian sighed with a smile and followed.

The cave was smaller than it appeared from the outside, and indeed, apart from seaweed and the smell of decaying fish washed in by the tide, there was nothing noteworthy. Veronica wrinkled her nose in disappointment, the musty smell clinging to the damp air.

“I was hoping for something… more exciting,” she sighed, prodding a pile of tangled seaweed with a stick she’d found. “There’s no treasure here,” she concluded. “Let’s go.” She turned to leave the cave. Lian lingered, his eyes drawn to a stone half-buried in the sand. Something about it held his gaze, and he couldn’t look away.

“Cave, sand, green stone.”

The memory hit him—a scene from years ago, running desperately to the cave, clutching a wet object to his chest. The horrific, eerie mask that made his hair stand on end. He remembered frantically digging in this cave, carving a deep enough pit in the sand to bury the cloth-wrapped mask.

“Cave, sand, green stone.”

Lian remembered how he’d hidden the mask years ago, covering it with sand and placing a large green stone that looked like a turtle shell over the spot to weigh it down, hoping it would stay buried forever. Could the mask still be there? Or had it been a figment of his childhood imagination, something that never truly existed? Almost involuntarily, he took a step forward. Without knowing why, he knelt, pushed the familiar stone aside, and began digging through the damp sand.

Lian’s heart pounded, each beat louder than the last. Every handful of sand he scooped brought the fear that his fingers would touch something cold and familiar. Yet, with each deeper dig, a surprising calm settled over him. Nothing was there—no mask, just empty sand beneath the stone. He released a long, slow breath, a chuckle escaping as relief flooded him. The tension faded from his shoulders, and a tired smile spread across his lips. The haunting memory, once a constant shadow, now felt like an old, meaningless dream, a relic of his past finally put to rest.

“Lian, are you coming?” Veronica’s voice drifted to him over the sound of the waves as she waded her feet in the turquoise water.

“Yes, I’ll be right there!” he called back, quickly refilling the shallow pit he’d dug, not bothering to replace the stone. Rising to his feet, he joined Veronica outside the cave.

“Do you want to head home, or should we walk a bit more?” he asked, wrapping his arm gently around her shoulders.

“Let’s keep walking; it’s such a beautiful day,” she smiled, the hem of her dress damp from the sea. Lian nodded, smiling back, and together, they continued along the shore, admiring the endless blue horizon and the fishing boats dotting the water in the distance.

Veronika was excitedly telling Lian something, but his mind was far from her words. He shook his head, trying to dismiss the intrusive thoughts, telling himself, “It was just a bad dream.”

Veronika took Lian’s hand and instinctively tightened his grip on her soft palm, his gaze caught by something shiny in the water. He stopped abruptly, his breathing quickening. Veronika said something, but the ringing in his ears drowned out her words. He released her hand and stepped down from the stone ledge to the wet sand, where the waves lapped against his boots. Moving closer, he bent down and picked up the flat, dark mask—the same one he’d buried in memory. Its hollow eyes seemed to hold him captive, and, to his horror, he realized the mask now resembled his own face—older, twisted in terror with a mocking grin.

A chill coursed through him, yet the mask’s strange allure held him, drawing him in. He lifted it to his face without fully grasping why and slipped it on. Instantly, his breathing steadied, his heartbeat slowed, and an unfamiliar calm washed over him—a profound silence and harmony he’d never known before. The waves seemed more inviting, appearing warm, beautiful, and soothing. He stepped forward, feeling the seawater climb his legs. Another step, then another, and the water reached higher, pressing against him. He kept moving, unhesitating, until the waves finally closed over him, and his body disappeared beneath the sea.

Veronika stood on the shore, calling out desperately to Lian, who did not hear her. Tears streamed down her face as she frantically waved, hoping someone would see her distress, but no one was close enough to notice. When Lian disappeared beneath the water, Veronika, forgetting her inability to swim, waded into the sea, determined to pull him back. Yet the waves and her waterlogged dress weighed her down, each step becoming more complicated than the last.

The next wave brought a wooden object that lightly brushed against her body. Veronika was about to push the sea debris away, but her gaze caught on the unfamiliar mask. She lifted it higher, examining it closely, and felt a chill run down her spine. A beautiful wooden mask with a horrifying face twisted in terror lay in her hand. A face that now eerily reminded her of her own.