[This is a story that is still in absolute first draft stage; indeed, most of it was written all in a dash one night. So, needless to say, it needs work.]
She stood on the beach, looking out to the horizon, her hair flowing back as if blown by the wind. She stood as still as stone as I collapsed at her feet weeping.
The sand was cold, the sea was cold, the wind was cold. It rushed past us into the forest of palms some distance from the strand. I had met her in that forest one day as she went to bathe in the stream. As soon as I saw her smile I knew I loved her; and she loved me as quickly.
She was a priestess of her people, newly consecrated. She served in the village beside the great rocks just south of where the jungle grows dense, where the pineapples, springing up like noxious weeds, render the forest impassable. As a priestess her task was simple. Once a month she would walk to the base of the Unforgiving Mountain to offer a sacrifice of grains and flowers. Once, long ago, the mountain had destroyed almost everything for miles around; and even now the mountain-gods would growl and shake the earth to remind us all of their power. I do not know why the gods act this way; we need no reminder. Wherever you are on this island, whether it be the beach or the forest or the village, you can see the Mountain if you can see the sky. Its unimpassioned face glowers at everything that stands or moves.
A priestess of the Unforgiving Mountain is sworn to take no lovers. The Mountain is jealous, they say; it demands total devotion. She had given it that before she met me. Afer we met, such oaths and devotions seemed a small thing.
We would sneak away some mornings to sit on the seashore. She loved the waves, and named them as they came, treating each one as if it came bearing the treasures of the world. For myself, I loved her love of them.We would stare at them for long hours, looking out to their apparent source in the cloudy horizon. Sometimes we would discuss our plans and dreams. More often we would simply sit together in silence and feel each other's nearness.
Not far from the beach, at the edge of the forest, I had long ago built my hut. It was not long until she began visiting me there at night, stealing away from the watchful vigils of the elder priestesses. I cannot clearly recall how long we did this. We should have known, and, indeed, we did know, that too much self-indulgence in this matters would awaken suspicions. We hardly cared. We could not stay apart.
One night, a full moon night, I lay awake in the darkness, trying to think of some plan to take her away, away from the forest, away from the village, away from the grim coldness of the Unforgiving Mountain. Outside there was no sound but the waves; inside there were only the sounds of her sleep as she turned into me and softly sighed upon my shoulder.
My thoughts were broken by a rumbling: the Mountain was restless. I rose and paced the room. Back and forth, back and forth I went, trying to recollect my thoughts. Then, suddenly, the door burst open and I saw silhouetted against the brightness of the moon the figure of one of the elder priestesses. She saw my beloved and hissed. The mountain continued to rumble in the background. Pointing a finger at my beloved she spoke a curse, and my love woke with a small scream. The mountain rumbled louder, then stopped; the priestess at the door was gone.
The second part of "Out to the Horizon" will come soon.
