Bound by Obligations

Derya Inkwell had been waiting at the beach, on a thick blanket she had brought along with her. The sky was turning the reddish color specific to the evening. The clouds hung above in the sky, rolling softly towards the ocean as evening began to set in. Night would fall soon, and the ocean would be a far less safe place to inhabit, or even be within the proximity of. Already, black shapes were beginning to peek out of the water, curiously looking for those few Rhode Island town folk whom they would recognize. One might mistake their black shapes as part of the ocean itself, a casual mistake. The full tentacles, and even the actual head of the monsters would be something nobody could see until the sun had completely set. 

The blanket was dark blue and flecked with pink and purple, and spread out like a blue raft in a vast sea of pale sand. She was waiting, of course, for a colleague of hers, Ophelia, a woman who had recently been admitted into the eldritch cult of about twenty people. Ophelia was new to the job, and unaware of the proper signs of respect and the accents required for rituals. Derya had been somewhat patient at first with Ophelia, but had lately been running out of steam; after all, there’s only so much someone can take from a rookie who doesn’t do everything correctly. But Derya was far from the unreasonable sort, and would brush aside her issues with Ophelia, for the eldritch gods. After all, they were ultimately more important. 

Derya had let her malamute, Candice, run about in the sand, and the animal stuck out like a fluffy, black and white sore thumb as it ambled about in the sand, occasionally running at gulls or barking at the crashing ocean. Derya had spent her entire life at the seaside, tending to those who resided in it, tending to those who kept her close to them, tending to those who threatened to control her entire life with their influence. She’d always enjoyed bringing her dog to the beach, to enjoy the scenery, and to enjoy her life, as muddled as it could be on some occasions, with the difficult people she had to work with at times.

“I’m apologize for being late, Miss Inkwell,” Ophelia’s voice called out amidst the untamed seaside winds, interrupting Derya from her reading, “there was an issue in Seaside Avenue. A traffic jam.”

“It’s no problem really,” replied Derya, setting the book aside, “you made it.”

“Perhaps then,” said Ophelia, “we can get down to business, and discuss your leave. You said you wanted to go to Massachusetts for a few days, if I’m not mistaken.”

“I don’t know why you feel it important to bring this up,” said Derya, raising an eyebrow just underneath her thick black bangs, “but I guess it’s not a Monday unless you have a problem with how I’m governing my personal life. I’ll never know why you think it’s so important knowing what I’m doing during the week.”

“You do know you’re taking a large risk, don’t you?”

“Quiet,” Derya hissed, motioning towards the ocean, which was crashing into the pale sand in the fury typical of the high tide, “do you want them to hear you? Because, they will. They’re always listening, Ophelia. They never stop listening. What will happen tomorrow night will be something they will not do for a hundred and fifty more years.”

“I’m well aware of--”

“I don’t give a damn what you’re aware of. I want you to listen. You haven’t been with us six months yet, and you’re telling me what I should do? Just listen to me.”

Ophelia knelt down, on the blanket. She placed her hands, pale, unharmed hands, on her lap. She looked at Derya, with the sense of coldness Derya had never seen before. How could someone be so oblivious to what was strictly personal and what was decent conversation between people working as simple colleagues, and nothing more? Not even colleagues at work, either. Simply two people who were aware of the same glaring fact that had taken hold of their lives.

“Tomorrow night through Friday night will be the first time in one hundred and fifty years where they will be sleeping,” Derya said, “You know why. Every one hundred and fifty years they sleep soundly, because they never are able to do it on ordinarily circumstances. You know why--the chittering they do in the minds of us humans. Dictating our moral standpoint is a long and tiring job. Furthermore, you should know that’s the whole reason we worship them--to be respectful and to give the respect not everyone is capable of giving, outside of living a moral life. Or, you should. For this reason, I think I can...well, you know what I’m planning on doing. They need to rest in peace, and cannot be disturbed by us diddling around with our means of worship.”

“You aren’t the slightest bit concerned of what would happen if they were to wake up?”

“Why should I be?”

“They’re fickle.”

“Ophelia, please, don’t say that. Do you think that the Elders being all-knowing is a joke? Do you think the gods aren’t capable of knowing everything you say and do? Why do you think I’ve been here for as long as I have?”

“You suggested it was because a ‘marine botanist has no vacations’, or something along those lines.”

“It’s because I can’t leave them here unattended. They need someone to keep them from terrorizing the entire East Coast. I’d move to a landlocked state in a heartbeat to get away from all of this, but they’d only find me and pull me back. They’d kill me if I left, because the want me here.”

The wind picked up again, sending a storm of wind towards the blanket. Both women turned their heads away to avoid the sand. The ocean waves crashed in the distance, their ever-present sound permeating. 

“They can’t let you go?”

“Not with my family’s history. We’ve helped them for too long. I’ve been here, helping them, for too long--since I was thirteen. They trust me, Ophelia. And they will take my sanity, or my soul, if I disrespect them and defy the trust they put in me. I can’t just abandon the eldritch gods. I’ve told you this before. They invest trust in those who have helped them for generations. I can’t betray my family, or them. My family had helped them and haven’t left this town for just about as long as the eldritch gods have been awake since their last nap.”

Ophelia looked away. She pushed her dark brown hair, which had been wildly whipping at her face, back, and pulled it into a ponytail. She cast her eyes downwards, and sighed. She said nothing, and only pet Derya’s dog as the malamute returned to the blanket to lie down. Ophelia examined her fingers as they weaved into the dog’s fur, ruffling in the ocean’s breezes. 

“I’m sorry,” said Ophelia at last. 

“You didn’t know. You were chosen. You don’t know what generational connections mean.”

“I still should have shown some sensitivity.”

“Again. You didn’t know. Don’t worry.”

“But. The eldritch gods, they--”

“As someone new to this,” said Derya, looking at Ophelia directly, “I don’t blame you for occasional disrespect, alright? Just don’t make a habit out of it. Besides, there’s room to do things that aren’t always...well, you know what I mean.”

“Is that why you think it’s okay to...?”

“That’s part of it. But, don’t mention any of that any longer. At least, not when we’re here. As far as I know, this is your first time seeing them come up.”

“It is, yes.”

Derya smiled. Not widely, but not with the fake sense of politeness she had usually directed towards Ophelia.  

“Well. Live and learn.”