Norch was relieved to see his coat hadn't been "mended" to the same extent as his shirt. Only one dangling yellow thread decorated its cuff, and Norch did his best to ignore it. Stepping out of the tent, he donned his coat, though the evening was still warm.

Norch spotted the wooden chimes hanging on a post near a small stool and cook fire. The smell of something pungent was coming from the lone pot resting over hot coals. He wrinkled his nose and hoped it wasn't dinner. He could hear the sound of waves breaking on rocks nearby and, leaving the camp behind, he followed the sound to a ledge that ended sixty feet below in salt and spray. Glancing over his shoulder, he could just make out the vivid colours of the Jemily's tent, nestled at the edge of birch and maple. Norch squatted down and watched the sea swell and break apart beneath him.

Growing up on the Outer Isles meant growing up with the sea. His early life was spent mostly on the docks, but he remembered one Proxigean Tide Festival when his mother had taken him and his brothers to the Tower of Juba Rakim. Sitting in a crowd of hundreds, they had sat side by side, watching the tide come in. His mother, stroking Vittep's soft, dark hair where he lay in her lap, had told the story of Princess Jubana. Even as a child, Jubana's beauty had been so famed that her father, afraid of losing her, had built a tower of rock far off the coast and imprisoned her inside. She had only been allowed out to play or sit under the stars once every year and half when the moon was at its fullest. She was so lovely, his mother recounted, that on those nights, the moon would edge closer to earth, and the sea would swell twice as high just to be nearer to her.

They had sat silent for a while, after the telling, until Wayje, squinting at the tower had said, "It doesn't look so high as all that. I bet I could get her out."

His mother had laughed and pinched his cheek gently saying, "Maybe when you are older, my little pirate, no?"

Later, when they were home and the younger boys were curled together in sleep, Norch had asked his mother if the story had been true.

She had smiled sadly at him, "Yes, but not the way it's told. Real things are never so beautiful. The poor little swan was left alone so long without love she never learned what it was it to be a person. Never spoke a word either. In the end she was too sad and frail to live. Love is what makes us human, Norchis, remember that."

That had been nearly thirty years ago. How long had it been since he had thought of Wayje? Norch stood and pushed the memory firmly aside. Loosening a fist he hadn't realized he had tightened, he turned from the cliff and strode towards the camp without looking back.

***

The Jemily was at the fire when he returned.

"I called and called," it said." You didn't hear. Dinner is ready."

Scratching a spot behind his ear, Norch was halfway to sitting before he remembered the pot on the fire. As the Jemily removed the lid and swirled it with a big spoon, the scent wafted up to him. It didn't smell any better than it had before he had left. If anything, it smelled worse. He watched with some trepidation as the Jemily spooned a copious amount into a bowl for him. He took the dish and, finding a spoon tucked into a small niche of utensils near the stool, he began the job of trying to eat whatever it was. As a seaman, Norch had come face-to-face with many meals that would be considered unpalatable by most. He was accustomed to hard, jaw-cracking food. He was accustomed to salt, and pickled cabbage. There had even been one voyage where they had been forced to boil their own shoes, but none of that compared to the fare he put into his mouth now. He swallowed quickly to get it off his tongue, but its acrid aftertaste lingered. He drew his spoon in slow circles around the crockery to put off having to take the next bite. Across from him, the Jemily sniffed its own bowl.

"Does it smell too strong?" It asked

"Maybe a bit", he said dryly.

Lifting a spoon to its mouths, the Jemily took a bite and spat it out with haste.

"Pah!" It coughed. "Garlic!"

It set its bowl aside and pulled the lid off the pot again to poke at its contents. "Too much I think."

Crestfallen, it replaced the lid and put the spoon aside. It put out its hand and Norch, without a word, returned his bowl to it.

Heading back into the tent, he heard it mutter to itself. "It said two. I know it said two..."

It came out with a pouch of dried fruit and nuts, still muttering to itself, but Norch, after taking the proffered food, tried to tune it out. Sliding off the stool, Norch stretched long legs out in front of him and leaned back, tilting his head to the sky. It was a clear night, and a sliver of moon stared back at him. He put a small, dark fruit between his teeth and chewed, frowning. Something about the moon bothered him. The stars—he stopped mid-chew. There were three stars, strung together like a necklace, so bold and so beautiful it took a moment to realize they and the moon were alone in the whole dark expanse above. His heart fluttered a bit as he pulled his feet in and sat upright. He was often far from home, and had been many peculiar places, but the stars were the one thing that never changed.

"The sun and stars, boy", his father had said.

It was the first thing he had been taught when learning how to navigate. He swallowed the sweet bite in his mouth and, putting the pouch down, stood to get a better look. What part of the world would have only three stars? He knew the answer even if his mind tried to refute it. None. For a moment he wondered if he were dead, but he dismissed the idea almost as soon as he had it. For one, he felt very much alive and for another, he didn't believe in an afterlife. No. Not dead, then. But where? He had to look at it from every angle, but every angle told him the same thing. This was not his world. And if this was not his world, how was he going to get home?

The Jemily, eating handfuls of nuts, failed to notice his distress and continued chattering at him. In the dark, its flickering quality contrasted with the fire light, giving it the eerie appearance of being two images instead of one. Something nibbled at the corner of Norch's mind. A memory of two faces. Turning his head marginally so he could see out the corner of his eyes, the Jemily slid almost into focus. What he had thought was one thing, was now quite clearly two. The Jemily was not chattering at him, or not entirely anyway; it was chattering between its two selves.

"You are two people!" he interrupted, for now he realized he was indeed interrupting.

They stopped to look at him, a bit perplexed.

"Of course we are," they chimed, "you didn't know?"

Turning to face them, their two faces slid back into one. He quickly moved his eyes away until both faces were visible again. Or mostly visible. They still shifted about from one to the other, but the effect was somehow less from this angle.

"How-" Norch began, then shook his head. You couldn't ask a thing how it was possible. He tried again, "Who are you?"

It-, they, seemed confused, shifting, so each one looked to become the other. "We told you. We are the Jemily."

"Both of you?" he demanded, "You can't both be the same thing. You should be two things with two names."

For a moment a dark ripple flashed through their center, but then they were laughing, "We do have two names! "The" and "Jemily"!"

The chortled to themselves while Norch just kept himself from growling in disgust. Honestly. He would have to go a different route. The creature, the Jemily, shifted again, so one was the other and the other was the one. Norch frowned at the thing, or things as it might be.

"Are you two..." He began.

"No." They said as one.

"You didn't know what I was going to ask."

"We did." said one.

"Sisters," said the other.

"We are not."

"Lovers?" asked Norch.

This brought a stern look from one and a merry giggle for the other.

"No." Said the one sternly.

"She hasn't the parts!" protested the other, "Wrong pieces!"

Frowning now, the stern looker looked sternly at her other, "We don't speak of parts and pieces, it's rude."

"Of course, so true. I AM rude." The other said with a laugh, then turning back to Norch she said, "She has a someone already. A man. A forever man."

"A forever man?"

"Yes. He comes sometimes. When he can. He brings us things from outside. Well her. Same thing. He doesn't know."

"He knows," said the one.

"He doesn't want to know."

Norch raised his hands to forestall them. "He brings things? From outside?"

"From the other place. The place outside the Island," They said together.

"The other place? Outside of here?" Norch asked with almost a spark of excitement.

They nodded together.

Slowly, so as not to lose them, "He knows the way out?"

Again, they nodded.

"He goes."

"He comes."

"He goes again."

"Always he comes back."

"For us."

"For me."

"For her."

Norch stopped them again, "Where is it? The way out?"

As one, they shrugged, "Somewhere. Not here."

Norch closed his eyes. After a suitable moment, he unclenched his jaw and tried a different way. "This 'Forever Man', can I find him?"

"Yes!" Said one. "When he comes."

"If you know him," said the other.

"How would I know him? I have never met him."

"By name!"

"What is his name then?"

The Jemily blurred a bit, but retained its shape (or shapes) this time.

"Jamibe?" said one.

"Nejamin?" said the other.

The blurring stopped, then in unison, "Benjamin!"