This story has been roughly in my mind for some time, but I finally sat down and wrote it this past weekend. I rather like how it turned out. This is the first draft.
Belial Lake
The evening air was fresh and the glittering water called. The young man obeyed and brought his boat to the water. He had struggled and sweat for hours, preparing the rigging. It took still longer to drag the boat to shore. Now finally the moment of launch had arrived.
His parents had given him the sailboat, proud and untried. It was much like his father’s. He would sometimes watch his father sailing on the lake, the wind raising a forceful hand to draw the vessel up and over wave after cresting wave. His father would beam when he returned to shore, glistening and used, but satisfied. The young man longed to feel that same satisfaction, to ride inviting waters, to feel his gut lurch as he crested a great wave.
It wasn’t just his father. All his friends had their own sailboats, and each had tried their hand at sailing. Some went off and sailed alone on distant ponds; some cruised together on the same lake, driven by the same gale that drew them forcefully along through the slapping, slurping water. He had spent his life bound to the shores: hearing, watching, but never experiencing. He yearned to change that.
Of course his parents didn’t think he was ready. His father would smile and shake his head as he spoke of rigging sails and riding waves. Then he would touch the young man’s shoulder knowingly and reassure him that it would be the best experience of his life, when he was ready. It made his chest burn indignantly as he was told to be patient, that he would know when the time was right. He was sure that time was now.
He would fantasize at night of finally sailing. “Where no man had gone before,” he would imagine. He pictured himself riding a sleek spacecraft through the void of space, delving deep into the universe, to the very core of creation. He wanted the chance to experience that journey. It was a voyage, a quest, even. He was the valiant knight, nothing without his great steed. He was leather-clad rebel, alone without his chopper. Every hero needed one, and Voyager was his.
He had taken great care in selecting the first waters he would sail. Some were public lakes, large and crowded, full of sharp debris and surrounded by nosey on-lookers. Others were small and unused, green and foul with stagnation. He wanted his first time to be on the perfect lake, and at last he had found it. It seemed so pure, so perfect. He doubted anyone had thought to sail here before, and it was distant enough that no-one would jeer and stare as he sailed for his first time. He was immediately swooned by its siren’s call. No lake before had stirred him so, and it was this resolution that drove him to risk everything for this brief chance to sail.
The sun had begun to sink, giving the rippling lake a crimson hue as he grasped the boat tightly and thrust its bow forward. He felt exhilarated as it slid effortlessly from the rocky shore and into the welcoming waters. It all felt so right. He climbed up into the cockpit and curled his fingers about the mast as he secured the rigging. The lines were tight and the main sail was drawn and ready. Manning a paddle, he guided the boat along, hoping for a breeze to rise and push him on.
Everything had come to this moment of breathless excitement as his vessel rocked gently on the water. He could feel the air moving on his skin, the small hairs prickling with excitement at the gentle touch. He was sure that the wind would rise to take him. He had, after all, taken great care in selecting the time and place. The forecast had promised strong gusts, and he stood tall, waited eagerly for them to begin.
It took some minutes for him to realize that the promised winds weren’t coming. In defiance of the truth, he paddled frantically, insisting in his mind that there were winds, that he merely imagined the sails as hanging empty and flaccid. Perhaps he hadn’t set up the rigging right? No, he was certain all was well. He shifted his weight excitedly in his paddling, mindless to the danger. He had insisted that his first time would be without a life vest. Those things were for the weak that couldn’t swim.
Without warning, he felt a jolt as the boat struck a rock on his starboard side. The mast and sails pitched in the opposite direction, and he instinctively leaned with it. Before he realized what was happening, he found himself capsized and spluttering in the cold water. How much warmer it had looked from shore! As he clutched the bow for support, he felt suddenly alarmed. The sun had fallen further and the once-crystalline depths now seemed murky and unknown. Swallowing his pride, he did his best to flutter-kick his precious boat to shore, but to no avail. The mainsail must have been snagged by some skeleton tree, grasping for support from the watery abyss. He felt exhaustion building in his muscles and paused to rest, merely hugging his vessel to remain afloat.
As the air about him grew steadily chiller, he realized that he would have to abandon his treasure. He couldn’t read Voyager’s inverted stencils under the shadowy surface, but felt that his quest had indeed gone quite backwards from what he had anticipated. As he swam with slow, mournful strokes to shore, he contemplated how he would explain the mistake to his father. It didn’t take much internal debate to decide not to mention it. His father would likely assume he had stored the boat elsewhere, or perhaps he wouldn’t even notice it missing from the shed. The thought did little to comfort the young man as he crawled to shore, feeling the rocks biting at his knees, and turned around to gaze at the shadowy outline of Voyager amongst the watery void.
It would be some time, he realized with a disheartening fall of his stomach, before he would have the opportunity to attempt to retrieve the boat. He may even be unable to do so without enlisting help, but that would require explaining why the boat was in the lake to begin with. Even if he did manage to retrieve it, he was sure that there would be significant damage to the mast and sails. Perhaps it would be stolen by the time he returned. No, he was sure that it would still be there. No one else ever sailed on this lake, so who would see it? He would have to deal with retrieval and repairs when the time came. For now, he knew that he had a long and wearying journey home.
As he turned his back to the mocking ripples of the water, he pondered whether his experience had diminished his lust. After a moment, he decided it had not. If anything, he felt all the more driven to sail correctly, to prove that he could, if to no-one but himself. He anticipated that there would be many more such experiences in the future, but he accepted that possibility. Surely the elation when the wind drove him over an elegantly-cresting wave would be worth all the hassle in the end. With that hope to warm his chilled body and raise his doused spirits, he trudged off towards home.
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