Sailor in the Lake
A story from Anclous
The first time I met Finn was in the warm months of the year, when the dry crops were being harvested throughout the region. I was traveling from Westlandia to Elaris for work. I had some jewelry to sell made from the copper mines to the south of Westlandia. I decided to stop for a bit at Lake Underwood for a rest and some lunch. In the middle of the lake I saw him: the sailor in the lake. He was casually fishing, but didn’t look much concerned with catching anything. Indeed, all the bass would’ve been near the shore at the time of afternoon I had stopped. Surely, Finn knew that.
After having my lunch, I saw him rowing his boat towards me, and I stayed as he made his way. He docked the boat on the shore close by and waved at me. I offered him some of my wine, and he dutifully accepted. He was tall, a little bent over, with gray hair under a hat and a medium beard. His face showed signs of life, of an active one, not unlike many of the people in these parts. But there was a hue that I couldn’t put my finger on, like he was permanently sun-burnt. I began to ask him about the area, and what he knew of it. Though I, a traveling merchant, came through these parts often, they have never been my home, never receiving more than a passing glance. He told me of the area, of the best fishing, of the creatures of the lake and forest, and of the towns nearby. He lived in a small cabin just a few miles from the lake, and came out here this time of year often to fish and sleep on the lake. I thanked him for his time and information, packed up, and kept moving.
— -
On the way back from Elaris to Westlandia, I stopped by Lake Underwood half hoping to see this welcoming and calm old man again. Just as I had wished, I found Finn, the sailor of the lake, fishing in the middle of the water once again. And again, he rowed over, and we had wine. This time I asked him about his life.
Finn was born to a small laboring family on the outskirts of Westlandia near the coast. He grew up around small-time fishermen and fisherwomen who sold their catches at the city or to other paying members in the communities near the ocean. He was born to a father and mother, and two siblings, both younger than him.
His father worked in the copper mines to the south, and was gone for a month at a time in the mines, only to return for a few days. During his long absences, his mother would homeschool him and his siblings, but she wasn’t particularly intelligent or learned. She was a soft, gentle woman, who loved to play and laugh and go fishing with her children. She was devoutly religious, and taught her children to be right and good in the eyes of the god Halloway as well. To Finn, she was a very good mother.
His father was not so pleasant. Rather, he was violent and vicious. As a child, Finn used to get horribly nauseas and worried at the end of the month before his father’s return. Once home, the family would be terrorized and tyrannized. His father would deal severe physical punishment without warning, and sometimes without provocation — at least this was Finn’s experience. He once beat his mother so bad that Finn began attacking him, and pushed him back. By this time, Finn had grown into a young man, and could almost physically rival his father, and he felt it was his responsibility to protect his mother and two young siblings. That night, Finn’s father immediately stopped, recognizing Finn’s growing strength and anger. He saw it in his eyes: a kind of surprise he had not seen from his father until now. He left through the front door to go out to drink, and did not come back until the next morning, very somber and quiet.
After that, nothing was the same. His father would wait until Finn was out of the house to hurt his mother and siblings, but Finn didn’t figure this out until much later. He wanted to kill his father, but knew that this would be a grave sin: Halloway demanded of his people that they do not commit patricide. So Finn decided instead to be furious at his mother: why would she not kick him out? Or take the kids and leave? This anger festered more and more over the years, and Finn found himself growing more distant from his mother.
At this, I had to get going. The day was getting darker, and I needed to make it to The Forked Path Inn before the beds filled up. I thanked Finn for his time and story, and I left his company. His childhood deeply troubled me. How, I asked myself, could someone be so cruel? And how does a child deal with such cruelty?
— -
Though my work did not take me to Elaris for some time, I visited the lake to camp for pleasure, and to find Finn, a few weeks later. When I arrived, I found him sleeping on the bank of the lake. I let him rest and took out my own rod, and began to fish. After catching a few carp for dinner, he awoke in the late afternoon, and looked very happy to see me — and I, of course, was happy to see him too, and eager to hear more about his life.
As I cooked the carp, he related to me that it was soon after that incident with his father and his growing resentment against his mother that he was able-bodied and responsible enough to work for money. He took a job delivering catches from the fishermen in his community to Briarwood. Every time he was returning, he would stop at Lake Underwood to cast a few lines. On one of these trips, he met a fairy named Gent. Gent approached him one day out of the forest when Finn was fishing from the bank.
“I’ve been watching you come here to fish. You come from the southeast and go northwest. What are you doing? Where are you going?”
Being slightly startled on account of never seeing a fairy before, Finn answered: “I deliver fish from Westlandia to Briarwood. Are you a fairy?”
“I am. I’m called Gent.”
They talked for a bit, and got somewhat familiar with each other. Finn asked him about what it’s like to be a fairy, and the life of Gent. He was amazed at having met one. He never doubted their existence, but it was surprising to meet one in real life. Gent was very kind, and although he looked very young, he had an old kind of wisdom, one you would find in ancient monks or clerics of monasteries.
Before long, Finn had to leave. But every time he stopped at the lake after that, he met with and talked with Gent. It was a great relief to Finn to speak with Gent. Gent never judged him, never cast a wary or suspicious eye, and seemed to hold Finn’s emotional pain gently and with deep care.
One day, when Finn was old and strong enough, he decided to leave his family. It killed him to do so, but he knew that things would not get better as long as his father was alive and his mother did not leave him. The thought of leaving his mother and siblings alone with the relentless rage of his father tore him up inside, and Finn told me that, to this day, it is the hardest thing he has ever had to do. But he knew he had to do it.
He left in the middle of the night, and left a letter to his siblings, who were now old enough to read. He told them that, should they ever need him for anything, or if his father dies, to send a letter to Port Alban at the address of a certain shipping company and he would come as quickly as he could. Though Port Alban was to the north, he stopped by Lake Underwood to sleep for the night and to see Gent one more time before departing. It was very sad leaving Gent, and leaving Lake Underwood. He had learned so much, and felt so very good and whole and healed when he talked to Gent. Would Gent write, Finn asked?
“No, I am sorry but fairies do not write. We have not mastered such forms of communication, and somehow have survived long before humans without it. I will always be here, though, at this lake. I am bound to it, and it to me. For whatever reason, should you come looking for me, you will always be welcome here.”
After that, we went to bed. The stars were high in the sky, and my tent was large enough for both Finn and myself. I played my lute quietly to soothe us to sleep. I felt close to Finn that night. And although he was sound asleep, his breath quietly and steadily moving, I knew that he heard my lute, and felt its warmth.
— -
The next morning, we went on the lake in his boat to fish. We spent most of the morning fishing in silence, occasionally battling with a large bass which were up before us to catch the morning bugs before the heat of the afternoon crept upon the lake. Around midday, we retied to the bank under the trees, and I played my lute while Finn napped.
I began to reflect upon my own life. I was still somewhat young, rather displaced, and still very confused. What would I say of my life, if someone else asked? Would I be able to say something worthwhile? Or even coherent? Finn had such a way with words — but more importantly, he had something worthwhile to say. He had experienced such immense pain but also lovely pleasure in his life. And I have only heard the beginning. What did he do in Port Alban? How did he find his way back here? What became of his mother and siblings?
When Finn awoke, we drank some wine and I asked him to please continue from last night, and he laughed, and obliged.
After saying goodbye to Gent, he went to Port Alban. It was an arduous journey through the Oakweald forest. He had to ask directions from locals many times, and sometimes had to sleep out in the cold when he could not find an inn nearby. After a month, he made it. Long before, however, when he still lived with his family, he sent a letter of application for employment at a shipping company in Port Alban. A job was waiting his arrival, the location of which he gave to his siblings to send a letter.
Once arriving in Port Alban, he was swiftly assigned a ship, The Mourner. Aptly named for his situation, Finn heartily agreed. Though he was given the daily task of scrubbing the ship, he loved his work. The Mourner was a whaling vessel, and departed on month-long expeditions to the cold waters of the north for whales. It was an immensely lucrative business, and even the lowly scrubbers were paid better than most landsmen and laborers. Finn proved himself to be a solid and consistent worker. After years of working his way through the ranks, he attained the position of Second Mate of The Mourner. His salary was very good, better than anything he thought was possible. He owned a beautiful townhome in Port Alban and was able to save his money.
All this time, Finn never heard from his family. He tried writing them, but he never got a response. He told me that he assumes that horrible tyrant of a father found out about his letters and forbid his family from contacting him. Not a day passed in which Finn did not feel guilt. He was successful in Port Alban, and had good friends, and continued to worship Halloway, the religion of his mother, but he was never fully happy. He didn’t know what happiness was, exactly. He always believed it to be a myth of childhood, of glimpses of time punctuated by storms of violence and fear — always tinged by fear.
Whaling is tremendously difficult work, he told me. And it is not for bodies which have grown older. When he began to feel his age, he moved to managing accounts and planning trips for the shipping company that owned The Mourner. He was very good at that, but it took the life out of him. Even though it paid very well and was very comfortable, he missed the water, the open air, the thrill of the catch, and even the disappointment of catching nothing. Finn figured that, at this time, he had enough in his savings to retire for good. It was a good career, but he sold his house in Port Alban and left. He wondered about for a while, and tried living in stints in different cities around Anclous, but nothing was to his fancy. Elaris was too busy; Karenform too cold; Ortheiad too alien; Dunsenhold too racist.
— -
At this time, it was almost dusk again, and Finn was getting tired of talking. He started to ask me about my life. Though I was young, he told me: “Sometimes youthful idealism makes mountains out of anthills. This is something one loses with age. When you’ve seen so many hills, everything begins to look like anthills. So, please, tell me about your mountains.”
Encouraged by his enthusiasm, I told him all about me: about my work, about my fiancé in Westlandia, about my aspirations of becoming a great bard and storyteller, and about my sense of travel and adventure. I told him that although my work paid the bills, I felt stuck — that my true talent lied in my singing, poetry, and lute-playing.
I asked him: “What, Finn, should I do?”
“I can’t tell you, because I haven’t lived your life or walked your path. I have nothing to give you other than my ears. But I can tell you what is true for me: though it was painful beyond my imagination, leaving my family was required for me to be here, now, at this lake.”
I pondered this a while in silence. As the sun dipped below the horizon, Finn asked me to play my lute again so he could fall asleep to it, for he was very tired.
— -
My last day at Lake Underwood began as the previous one had: on Finn’s boat in the lake. This morning, he had wanted to stay in and sketch a little. Though he wasn’t a good artist, he told me, he liked to do it. I spent a few hours on the lake and caught lunch. When I brought the boat in, Finn handed me the wine, and we sat down to cook the fish.
“You have offered me so much,” he told me.
I was surprised. All this time, I thought, he was giving me something. Had I given him something in return? Did he take something without my looking? I had no idea. I told him these things, and he smiled at me and said, “You’ve offered me your time, and this is the most important thing in life to a young person. Ironically, as I’ve grown older, I feel that time is naturally slow. But when I was young and working hard, I felt that I had no time to give anyone. It was a lesson I had to learn.”
After eating, we smoked his pipe and had wine and I asked him to continue his story.
Finn returned to Westlandia, to the small community that he had left so long ago. He didn’t know whether or not he should. By this time, his parents would have been long dead, for Finn was an older gentleman himself now, a little past middle age. Things were more or less the same. He asked around for his siblings but no one knew who he was talking about. He went to the house he grew up in, and he saw a few small children playing with a large dog in front of it. A new family, it seemed. He wondered around a bit, visited the tavern nearby, and stayed the night there. In the morning he left to visit his friend Gent at Lake Underwood. Even though Gent had told him that he would always be there, Finn was still surprised to see him. And he still looked young. They greeted each other and talked for a long time. Finn didn’t tell him Gent a long-winded story about his travels or the world he’s seen since he left, but he felt that Gent knew somehow all that had happened to him, that he was with him the whole time. This comforted Finn greatly. And for a while they sat in silence.
“Finn,” Gent, breaking the silence said, “I will be leaving soon.”
“Where will you go? Another lake?”
“No, I will be leaving this world. I will go someplace, I think.”
“Leaving this world? It thought fairies lived forever.”
“Nothing lives forever, Finn.” Gent looked at Finn and smiled as the sun reflected its brilliant orange on the lake where they first met. Finn was very sad, for he loved Gent very much, and couldn’t imagine an Anclous without him. There wasn’t another soul as gentle and understanding as Gent. More importantly, where would Finn return when he needed a break from the world? He would be alone now.
“Finn, I want to charge you with taking care of this lake. You don’t have to, of course. But I am leaving and Nature has not yet chosen another fairy to take my place as its steward. You know this lake better than anyone. It has changed hardly at all since you’ve left. Perhaps a few different trees and bushes, and the waves are different, and the fish are different as well. But you, too, are slightly different. Both you and the lake, however, are mostly the same.”
In the evening, the glow of Gent’s body grew less and less bright, and after saying farewell to his very good friend named Finn, he walked into the lake, and submerged himself in its welcoming wake.
Finn decided to take up his charge of Lake Underwood, and spent a good portion of his savings building a cabin nearby.
“I’ve been here ten years now since that day, keeping watch over the lake. I think of Gent every day. Thinking of my mother and siblings still makes me sad, but I think about them less and less. I keep myself busy with drawing, fishing, reading, and walking. But you’ve given me a container once more, just like Gent, in all his youth.”
I departed from the lake that afternoon and headed home to my fiancé. Though I left my job and began writing and traveling, I return to Lake Underwood as often as I can to visit Finn. My fiancé, who I married, has met him too. We’ve stayed at his cabin, fished and dined with him, but I’ve never be
