[A short piece that takes place at the beginning of Chapter 19 of The Maker’s Ark. The start of The Maker’s Ark is here, the most recent chapter here, and links to my other work here. The next regular chapter is now planned for November 14.]

The castaway sat on the sand, looked out at the sea under a gray sky, and wondered where he was.

How he’d arrived wasn’t clear in his mind. There had been a battle–he was sure of that, at least. Who against, where and why were all details that were missing. He’d been… knocked overboard? By a blow to the head? He had no memory of it, but it would explain his confusion.

He had awoken in the cave behind him, wearing ragged clothes, and emerged to find a narrow strip of beach between two protruding headlands, all backed by high, rocky cliffs. The only sounds were wind and waves. Colorful seashells were scattered in the sand.

Neither hunger nor thirst intruded. At least, not yet. That was a little worrying, but there was no urgency about it. For now he was content to sit, watch the waves, and try to think.

He remembered who he was, but everything recent before the cave was blurry or discordant, and he could not work out how to piece it together. And even the more certain memories came only slowly, with effort.

He was not introspective by nature, but an old friend had taught him to recognize when patience was needed. He might try climbing the cliffs, or one of the headlands. But he wanted to be thinking a bit better first.

He was fuzzy about a lot of things.

He picked up one of the shells. It was pink and brown, with thin ridges across the whorls. It seemed more vivid, more real, than anything else here. He frowned. He was on the edge of remembering something…

“Do you like my sea shells?”

He looked up. A young girl with dark hair was approaching. She was barefoot, and her age was hard for him to judge–less than a dozen summers, but more than six? She seemed confident, at home here.

“These are yours? They are pretty,” he said.

“Thank you.” She smiled. "I collect them, and keep them here.“

"On the beach?”

“Where else? It’s the best place for shells.”

That was hard to argue with.

“Want to help me build a sand castle?” she asked.

“Sure.” Questions were more likely to get answers where there was goodwill, and he had little else to offer.

They piled up damp sand, just above the wave line, and soon a castle took shape. They worked together companionably. Her constructions held together much better than his, making him feel clumsy, but she listened intently when he described how to add battlements and archways. After the last of the four corner towers was complete, she rose to her feet and dusted off her hands.

“Perfect,” she pronounced. "Now, we just need someone to attack it.“ She started picking up shells.

"You wish a battle for the castle?”

“Of course. You know about those, don’t you?” She gave him an impish smile.

“A little.”

She placed an attacking force of shells outside the walls, and a smaller number of defenders inside.

“If there is to be a battle,” he asked cautiously, “what is it about?”

She looked at him seriously. "Is that important to you?“

"I like to know.” He shrugged, then frowned. "I can’t remember the last one I was in very well, and that bothers me.“

She nodded slowly. "Then this one will be about… chocolate!”

“Chocolate?”

“Yes! The sea monsters want chocolate, and they came to land for it because it gets soggy underwater. The people inside have plenty, but they don’t want to let the monsters in because they’re scary.”

He nodded in response, and the battle was joined. The girl narrated the shell to shell combat dramatically, and he followed her lead. It was her castle, after all.

And her shells.

After a long struggle, the castle fell, with many parts reduced to mounds of sand. The valiant defenders were obliged to share their hoard of chocolate. The girl wiped her hands again and nodded in satisfaction, then looked over at him.

“Want to know a secret?” she asked.

“If you wish to share.”

“You weren’t supposed to wake up in that cave. But I was curious about you.”

“I see,” he said, though he didn’t, really. "Can I ask where we are? In what realm?“ He tossed his head to indicate the beach, the cliffs, and the sea.

She picked up a shell and studied it for a moment before answering. "This is like a small place inside a bigger shell. One of my old places, from when I had to hide all the time. I thought you’d feel safe if you woke up here.”

He considered that for a moment. "Why did you have to hide?“

"Because bad people made a monster inside my shell when I was little. But someone strong and good came and killed it, and them. Then I asked her to come back because the shell had grown too big for me while the monster wore it. She wears it now, and takes care of everything. She brought you inside–but she didn’t wake you up.”

Pieces were falling into place. "Am I dead?“

"I think you lost your shell. But you can fit into a small place in another shell, like me. Most people can’t, so I wondered what you were like.” She smiled. "You’re fun.“

Her smile was infectious. And building the castle had been satisfying. But… "What will become of me?”

“I don’t know. That’s for her to decide. But we can build castles and talk while you wait. If you want.”

“I would like that.”

“Then I’ll come back next time.” She frowned and looked out to sea. A haze was spreading over the water. "And I have to go, because she’s waking up.“

"Wait! Will I remember? What’s your name?”

She turned back. Everything was going hazy now. "You’ll remember. She uses my name too, because everyone uses it for my shell, and I said she could, so you might find it confusing.“

She smiled again. "My name is Yiskah. What’s yours?”

The name was a talisman, a promise against a fading he suddenly feared as it approached.

“I’m Vithar,” he managed, before he returned to the darkness.

*****

“Landing in five minutes,” announced the autopilot of Doc’s transport.

Yiskah rubbed her eyes and stretched. She had discovered it was very easy for her to nod off when alone in a self-flying vehicle–there were no nearby minds to distract her. She’d had an odd dream…

She frowned. No, not a dream.

Her identity was much better integrated these days, when she was conscious. But little Yiskah–the original personality inhabiting her body–still had considerable independence when she was asleep.

And like a cat finding a forgotten toy, she had dragged something out of the still painful wreckage from Yiskah’s role in the einherjar’s doomed diversionary attack on the Xelian fleet.

A piece of someone lost.

Yiskah sighed and shook her head. The timing was inconvenient. She was going to have to talk to one of the Choosers–Greta would probably be best–about something they were very disinclined to discuss: How einherjar were brought back from the dead, if their bodies were destroyed.

And where, if anywhere, their minds went in the meantime.

Because she knew where Vithar was.

[Vithar’s brief previous appearance is in the second scene here.]