A pale sun barely showed through the peachy fog. Dawn had just taken place, uneventfully, over the small three-mast vessel that shuffled through the thick masses of cloud and ocean with a futile determination. The water was only visible as pale reflections of the bright star. Or was it that the star was only visible as a pale reflection of the sea? There seemed nothing around to contemplate this idea; not sea birds, not fish, not even a sailor on the ship was around.

But in fact there were creatures on the ship, though they were not sailors. A ghastly, pale young man sat near one of the masts. His eyes were closed beneath a curtain of black bangs. The youth breathed deeply in his sleep. He had met slumber while in the midst of his daily meditations, so he hadn’t even removed his garments: a dark navy-colored shirt, torn in several places and without sleeves, met with baggy trousers of a royal purple color. These pants, covered in pockets of various sizes, were partially obscured by a tattered, white skirt that was connected to a tight leather belt at the man’s waist. Simple sandals adorned his feet. All this clothing was far too large for his nearly skeletal form, making the young man look particularly absurd.

The young man awoke as a larger figure approached. He did not open his eyes, but instead furled his brow and rolled onto his side, hoping for more sleep. The larger figure stopped at the young man’s body, observed his form for a moment, and knelt down. He had an object in his right hand – a conch shell, which was held near to the pale youth’s exposed ear. A sadistic grin curled on the figure’s lip, and he sucked in a large volume of air.

“Not this morning, Ben.”

The young man rolled back over to face his companion. His eyes were cold and pale. The expression they showed spoke of having been through this conversation a few too many times.

Ben leapt back to his feet. His grin instantly turned from maniacal to jovial. “G’mornin’, Morty! Beautiful mornin’, wouldn’t ya say?”

Ben stashed the conch in a bag that hung off of his shoulder as Mortimer attempted to remove the grogginess – and some eye gunk – from his person. Mortimer had no comment on the morning. He had woken up alive again, that was what mattered. He rose to his feet, stretching his legs and arms, and glanced over at the fishing lines that the pair had set up.

“Any fish?”

Ben frowned. “None. I don’t think there’re any more fish in this whole ocean.”

Ben was a large man. He was tall, his shoulders were broad, and his form was muscular. He kept his hair short, almost down to the scalp. A white shirt fluttered, half-unbuttoned, against and in contrast to his dark skin. Suspenders helped to hold the shirt in place and keep his brown slacks from falling to the deck. Ben’s large feet were usually encased in hard leather shoes, but on board this small vessel, they were presented naked and smelly.

Mortimer paid no attention to his comrade’s smell, instead focusing on the day ahead of them. The coming hours were going to be violent, life-threateningly risky, and likely to have a profound effect on the rest of Mortimer’s life, assuming he made it out alive. Ben was going to love it.


The morning continued on. The pair ate and did some maintenance on the tiny vessel. The nameless ship slugged on through the waves, oblivious to its goal but determined to get there. Soon, a dim shadow could be seen looming out of the fog.

“That it?” Ben inquired.

“That is it.” Mortimer glared up at the shadow, but it remained unresponsive. It was a mountain; its heights reaching farther than the fog would allow to be seen. It was rather intimidating in this way, but Mortimer’s will would not be broken. Quite the opposite, Mortimer’s icy gaze seemed to be trying to break the mountain’s will.

The boat was anchored in a rocky moor near to the beach, but out of sight even after the fog would clear. The two silently entered a lifeboat and rowed to shore. They brought nothing of importance with them – save Ben’s shoes – but would be returning with things far more important.

The fog had not cleared at all by the time Ben and Mortimer stepped onto the sand, so only a few massive boulders were visibly. Ben took a few steps forward, listening cautiously. Nothing but waves and the barest wind. Satisfied, he turned to his comrade and motioned at the opaqueness before them.

“So,” he began, naught but amusement in his voice. “S’on top of the mountain we can’t see, right?”

Mortimer stepped up next to him and nodded. His eyes never turned from the unseen path ahead. Ben peered into the wall as well.

“Great. So this thing is here. And we need this thing. And if we leave without this thing, something about life as we know is going to end. Right?”

Mortimer nodded again.

Ben rubbed his chin. “Great, great… what is it?”

“The beginning,” Mortimer said as began to walk forwards. He couldn’t bear to stand on that beach any longer. The anticipation of this discovery was rushing him forwards almost faster than his thoughts could keep pace with.

“Oh, yeah. ‘The beginning.’” Ben’s arms dropped to his side. “Yeah, way to be all cryptic, buddy. Maybe next time you could just recite a koan, I’m sure I’ll figure it out faster.”

But Mortimer was already inside the wall of fog. Ben sighed and ran in after him.