Cloak of the Sea

Washed Ashore

Markus Croft sat on a particularly large boulder while listening to the sounds of the sea. Every measured breath he took filled his lungs with the smell of salt and the icy coolness of early morning. The ocean waters lapped gently over the white sand of the beach. Sparkling reflections danced on the fluid surface further out while a frothing host of bubbles glided in perpetual movement upon the edge of the tides. The beach was deserted, and the only sound to fill the air was the waves rushing in and dissipating upon the sand.

When a wave retreated, Markus noticed it had left something behind. Leaning forward on his rocky perch, he tried to see what it was but couldn't recognize the shape. He also couldn't tell if the dark green color came from the object or the entangling strands of kelp wrapped around it and shifting with each new wave.

Curious, Markus left his boulder behind and headed across the glittering sands to investigate but flinched back when a hand reached out and snared a fistful of wet sand. The hand was slender, almost skeletal, and covered in skin so pale as to be nearly colorless. He knelt down for a closer look.

Although startled, Markus was fascinated to discover what he'd previously believed to be a tangle of plant material was actually a form of clothing. Narrow strips of kelp had been woven together into a form fitting outfit similar to a wetsuit. Ribbons of the same material traced from wrist to shoulder and reminded Markus of a dorsal fin on a fish.

"Can I help you?" Markus offered when he found his voice.

The slender hand paused as if its owner recognized Markus' presence for the first time. Lifting up, the hand pushed away a curtain of emerald colored hair almost as dark as the kelp outfit and revealed a face Markus thought was feminine, but it was so alien, he couldn't be sure. A prominent ridge over each socket left the eyes sunken into deep caverns. The eyes themselves were bright blue, similar to the shallow waters of a tropical island, and were easily visible as if they had a natural bioluminescence. The cheekbones were pronounced while the jaw was narrow, giving the face an angular look, but the supple skin smoothed every edge like a polished stone at the bottom of a river.

"Who are you?" the person asked. Sitting up, the kelp wrapped figure had the right shape to convince Markus she was a female of whatever species she actually belonged to. Her voice was soft, but Markus thought it had an odd strength to it for someone washed ashore like driftwood as it didn't waver or rasp in the slightest.

"My name is Markus Croft," he explained. Gesturing over his shoulder, he indicated his house. "I live over there and was enjoying the morning sun when you arrived. Who are you?"

"I don't know," she said after taking a moment to think. "I was doing something, but I can't remember. I thought it was something important."

Raising a hand to brush back some of her green hair, she noticed a golden ornament the size of a small coin dangling from a chain around her wrist. She looked at the symbols of intersecting curves before announcing, "Tasmin."

"What does that mean?" Markus prompted.

"It's written here," she explained, pointing to the jewelry on her wrist. "It says Tasmin."

"It could be your name, someone else's, or maybe even a brand name," Markus suggested.

"What's a brand name?" she asked.

"It's a specific identifier of a product made by a company to show ownership," Markus explained.

"What's a company?" she questioned, her eerily bright blue eyes wide with curiosity.

"A group of people working together for a shared goal or purpose, usually to make something," Markus clarified. "Since you memory seems to be totally blank, we could call you Tasmin until we find out if it's your real name or not."

"How will you find out my real name?" Tasmin insisted.

"I don't know," Markus admitted. "Since you still have the ability to speak to me and read the language inscribed on your jewelry, I would think your memories are still intact, just unreachable at the moment. Either they'll return in time, something may jog your memory, or you might be without them permanently."

Tasmin frowned slightly, staring into the sand as if the arrangement of the particles held the answers she sought. She tried to stand up, but her legs wobbled unsteadily beneath her, causing her to grab for the nearest solid object, Markus. Her hands clutched his arm and shoulder, nearly pushing him off balance. He put down a hand to steady himself in the sand before rising to his feet when he thought she was ready to stand completely. At a few inches past six feet, they were both of equal height and eye to eye.

"Haven't gotten your land-legs yet," Markus joked.

Tasmin glanced down at her kelp sheathed legs.

"No," Markus dismissed. "It's just a saying because people who've spent a long time on a ship, floating on the rising and falling waves, sometimes have trouble getting used to solid ground."

She nodded, and Markus took a closer look, trying to put together the odd pieces of what he knew of this person. The green hair wasn't too strange as people had been dying their hair various colors since before he'd been born. The structure of her face was an oddity to be sure, but it might've been something that ran in the family or a result of the hardships she'd endured before washing ashore. The kelp wetsuit covering everything except her hands and face was a question, but with designer swimsuits, it was entirely possibly it wasn't made from plant material at all but had simply been manufactured to look that way. The final peculiar thing was the ornament with the unknown script she could still read. It was possible she was from a distant country where the script was her native dialect, fell off a ship traveling the ocean, and lost her memory due to the trauma. He didn't know the answers and realized he was no closer to solving this than when he'd started.

While Markus studied her, Tasmin turned her attention to their surroundings. She looked at the thin and spindly grass poking up along the fence marking the edge of the beach. Her gaze traveled over the near and distant buildings, even turning momentarily to the fluffy white clouds drifting slowly past. When she noticed something in the distance, Tasmin pointed with one of her claw-like fingers. "What's that?"

"That's the carnival," Markus explained when he looked in the indicated direction and saw the Farris Wheel and other rides positioned on a wide and sturdy dock partially sticking out into the ocean. "They have one every summer. Would you like to go see?"

"Yes, I think I would enjoy that," Tasmin accepted.