Beyond the Sea - Chapter Six (Patron Reward)

She was floating, or sinking -- in a vast emptiness with no beginning or end, Moana was weightless, motionlessly adrift. When her eyes dimly opened and she saw the cold nothingness all around her, there was a dark comfort taken in her loneliness; she was free, let go by what binded her. She was in the ocean, a depth that was eerily calm compared to how the surface swirled and splashed.

In Moana’s mild confusion, a trinket appeared before her. She blinked at the object, recalling its familiarity as it floated or sank into her vision. Its slow glow awakened Moana; it was the Heart of Te Fiti, the pounamu stone that the ocean granted her when she was just a child. It was the catalyst that set off Moana’s grand journey into the unexplored waters, a relic of incredible importance to her and her people. And submerged undersea was certainly not the place for it -- why was it here at all? Where was she?

Moana grabbed at the stone, but it was rising away from her. She kicked and swam up after it, but it persistently stayed out of reach, her fingers only ever to tap the stone as it floated away. She raced after it, only then realizing that she needed to breathe. The surface was coming into view, the sparkles of sunlight nearly claiming the artifact’s own shine.

She broke through the surface with a raised fist, having claimed the heart in a proud display. She gasped for air, but what greeted her at the surface had her breathless again. No longer cast in a peaceful emptiness, Moana was instead afloat in an ocean of choppy waves and foreboding black clouds, a red circle of sky opened above her. She spun with frantic worry, but it was not the change in setting that had her so perplexed. Rather, it was what she saw encircling her and the spot she had surfaced from.

Surrounding her was an uncountable number of navy ships, a fleet formed into a wall-like circle around her enormous body. They were fully manned and equipped, their bows aimed directly at her and their sails up high in an aggressive approach. Moana was an island, and they were conquerors.

Without a single question yet answered, Moana found herself attacked. These little ships popped with cannonfire, unleashing an array of pellet-sized projectiles in an uncannily organized style. Moana guarded herself with one arm while coiling the heart into the other, protecting the charm with her body. The tiny assault peppered her skin like specks of burning ash, causing her to flinch and shudder. The attack continued from her flanks, mercilessly pelting her as she waded in the water, which itself had seemingly turned against her with wave after wave tackling her sides.

Moana countered with a strike of her own, angrily crashing her arm into the sea and generating a wave to push back the incoming forces. However, whatever ships she disrupted were easily replaced with the cannonfire of others, a whole other fleet of ships waiting to fill in for whichever sunk. A surreal amount of resources sickened Moana with worry, but astonishing her next was a unique form of attack. Fired from a cannon and striking her shoulder was a chain that pulled hard on her body, enough to make her lose balance. Another cannon fired the same attack, and another followed, until there was a web of chains cast over Moana’s flailing form, unable to rid all the metal threads that clung to her body.

Before long, her left arm was dragged down, and her right could barely budge. In any direction she tried to pull, the power of the ships dragged her back. “No! Release me!” Moana shouted, her voice cracking like thunder. She clutched the Heart of Te Fiti, refusing to let it slip from her grasp, but the chains were determined to pull that arm down. “Stop this…! Wh-What do you want with me?! Th-This… doesn’t belong…--!”

Moana jostled with her heart fastly drumming. “I-It doesn’t… Y-You can’t…!” She tried to move in an itchy fervor, but she was pinned. Her entire body was restrained, but with weights she felt confident in being able to snap. Her muscles flexed as she prepared a great effort--

“Hoh! Hold there!” “She’s moving, she’s moving!” “Bunker down…!” Voices barked up at one another in a fluster, riled up by the movements Moana tried to make. It was a crowd’s worth of people that dotted her supine body, but when she began to stir suddenly from her slumber, they were rustled to hop off. Some leaped from her sides and onto the port she stretched across, while others were tripped and instead clung to her clothes to not be shaken off. Feeling this movement happen over her body, Moana tried more firmly to rise -- but she was still tied up, just like in that dream. It was ropes that urged her to stay pinned, and they audibly strained when the giant tried to break free from them.

A stern glare was aimed at the ropes, but a gentler frustration acknowledged the people over her. Nervous stares met her own, and so Moana took a deep breath, “What are you all… doing…?” She blinked hard as a pain in her head struck. She quietly groaned, “What even happened…? H-How did I…?”

“Madame, madame! Good heavens, do not move, please!” Someone riddled with nervousness spoke up to Moana, but with how her neck was tied down, she could not see who it was. She tried again to move, disregarding what was warned, which whipped the man up again. “No no! Do not move, madame!” he shouted. “Y-You’re in no condition to stand, c-certainly not in mid-procedure!”

Moana raised a brow. “Procedure? What--” Again, she disrespected the little wishes coming from atop her stomach, pulling her head up until the snag around it was broken and she was able to peer over her bust. Her commitment to move threw the uniformed men and women around in her into another scare as they trembled away and off of her; it was navy sailors that investigated her body, at least for the most part. Among them were also individuals dressed in white or black robes -- religious consultants and medical professionals, respectively. One such black-robed man had fallen back into Moana’s belly button, which she caught sight of in only the lowest reach of her vision.

Moana bit her lip while worriedly scanning the rest of her surroundings, however far she could. It was the harbor for Port de Désir, which she had to then remember was the place she had collapsed. “I… passed out…” she muttered to herself. “Err… then, what’s happening? Who are you?”

“M-Me? Muh, uh…--” the doctor stammered, his meek personality at odds with Moana’s immenseness. He first dislodged himself from the pocket he had tripped into, taking the courtesy to straighten his cloak and tool belt. “Ahh, ahem… M-My name is Doctor Moulin… I am the navy surgeon appointed here, madame. I-I was asked-- err, well, directed… I was directed to log your injuries a-and offer medical assistance…”

“... Ah,” Moana grinned, “so, you must be the healer here, then!”

“P-Pardon?” Doctor Moulin shivered. “Err, in a sense, y-yes. A healer, of… sorts.” The term was not usual for him, but Moana’s use of it tickled his attention. For now, he focused on the topic at hand. “Yes, well, that aside… Please, refrain from moving! Y-You could hurt someone, o-or reopen wounds.”

Moana winced when such was mentioned, and she tried to trace her body for its various injuries. She could feel that some sort of work was put into them; make-shift bandages constructed out of tent tarps and sail cloths, and crutches created from whole logs of lumber. Moana was unsure what to say, especially after having just woken up, but she chuckled optimistically, “I guess procedures are going along well?”

“Hah, yes, they were,” Moulin replied, glancing over the heads of his many assistants. They waited to return to their posts, and with a nod from the doctor, they tepidly went back into place, though none yet would scale the giant just yet. Moulin unscrolled a paper from his pocket, the log with which he had been recording everything in. “There’s a variety of injuries we’ve been treating… At least forty different puncture wounds to note, ranging from your feet to your torso… as well as minor burns on your fingers, and a collection of bruises from what must have been caused by, er, musket gunfire…” In his other hand, he twiddled one such pellet that he had removed from a blackened part of skin. It was a testament to the incredible resilience of someone of such size, that even their trusty navy firearms were ineffectual.

“That all doesn’t sound so bad,” Moana said, partly into a giggle. “A-Are you sure I still need help? I think I can-- errk!” Moana twisted differently this time to remove herself from the ropes, but in that motion, she triggered a blazing pain that was tight in her abdomen’s flank. It was a sharp enough reaction that her knee bucked up in reflex, instantly snapping out of its ropes -- another fright for those around her. “S-Sorry!” she whined to them, still hissing from what hurt her.

“Madame, madame! Please…” Doctor Moulin waved at her to stay down, having fallen forward this time from Moana’s flinching. “Y-You’re in no condition to stand! Truthfully, y-you were never in a condition to swim! How you did so with such a terrible wound, well, i-it’s beyond reasoning…”

Both the doctor and his patient had their heads gravitate towards the injury in question. A contraption was designed above her waist, meant to keep the wound closed and suitable to heal itself. In the commotion, Moana had forgotten that she was attacked there. It happened back in the forest, when Durok had her shot by a cannon. Adrenaline had carried her through the pain at that time, but now that she had rested, there was no denying its intensity. Simply looking at the patchwork operation made the area hurt.

“I-It was quite close to being much worse,” Moulin explained. “Only a degree higher and your ribs would have splintered into your lungs, madame. I’d say that makes you especially lucky.”

Moana managed to keep her smile strong for the doctor, but her silence spoke well of her middling indifference. There had been worse and more dangerous circumstances she had survived, and her mind was heavy with dozens of concerns. What stressed her the most regarding the wound was its suddenness; she was inexperienced with the weapons these people used, but if she intended to last for long in this strange world, she would have to adapt quickly to threats like it.

In turn, she was spun into wondering just what her plan was going to be. Leaving the doctor and his crew to continue without further comment, Moana laid back her head carefully and exhaled. The orange sky above her signaled the day’s coming end, but it reminded her of distance -- the sheer distance of which she was separated from her people. Her tribe understood well the vastness of the ocean and the obstacle it was, but everything around her was drastically foreign. Certainly none of her kind in history had ever come across such an unusual land.

Moana laid in a pool of her own hope, longing for the stars to come out. Maybe then, she imagined, she would be able to chart her course and estimate where exactly the sea had taken her. However, her stomach particularly longed for something more immediate, told to Moana by a loud grumble. The growl startled the uniforms around her, but no one was staggered more than Moulin, who stumbled yet again, face-first into Moana’s abdomen.

“... Is there… any food? … For me?” Moana asked, revealing a rare timidness. Her cheeks reddened from the attention garnered by her groaning belly, but the waft of something appetizing had her perk up with nostrils flaring. Her hunger could settle for anything edible, but what she smelled in the air was something warm, fresh, and delectable. Without realizing, she licked her lips while turning her head towards one side of the port, searching for the source.

“I suppose we’ve arrived at the right time, no?” a voice chuckled. Soldiers and scientists alike made a path for him to enter; it was the chef from the tavern, accompanied by his bartender and other members of the staff. He sported an eager grin, for behind him was a delivery of immense stock. Big barrels of ingredients were rolled in, and carts of crates were dragged up to Moana, but most significant of all was what had to be carried by four adults: a wide black pot meant to serve whole feasts, its lid removed to reveal that it was filled to the brim with an earthy, steam-rising soup.

“Meals up, everybody!” the bartender announced to those at the docks, a bell being rung in his hand. “Step into a line and enjoy! One at a time, please, one at a--”

Before anyone else could even leave their posts to retrieve their dinners, Moana had curled forward from her supine position, snapping loose from the ropes that were meant to hold down her shoulders and chest. Her left arm broke through such bindings with as much ease, allowing her hand to hover over the prized pot of soup and take it all in her grasp. The four carriers had to let her have it, or otherwise risk spilling it entirely; in that next moment, they witnessed the stew, after hours of brewing, be downed in just two graceless gulps.

Hardly a droplet went over Moana’s lips as she lowered the relatively tea cup-sized pot back down to the ground. The crowds on all sides were impressed by the vanished soup, and even more startled by Moana’s expecting expression that lingered. “Thank you,” she sighed dreamily, savoring that unique flavor. “But, er, is there any more?”

“That…” the chef stammered, shaking his head as he peered over the pot and looked into its emptiness. “That… was for everyone.”

“... Oh.” Another rumble came from her stomach.

“... But we could… make more…?”

“Oh!” Moana smiled with relief. “That’s great, because I could use five or six more of those-- ooh, what’s in these?” That same hand pointed to the barrels and crates, to which the bartender and chef put themselves between those and Moana, their arms raised defensively.

“L-Let’s first wait for the others, yes?” the chef nervously laughed. “We wouldn’t want to make them all wait for their wine and bread!”

“The last thing we need is another bread shortage,” the bartender muttered, looking into one of the crates while Moana’s hand yet waited. He pulled out a single loaf and carried it over in his arms. “Wh-Why not start with this, madame? The bread of France is a world-renown delicacy! It’s best eaten, hrm, patiently.”

Moana had never tried such a food; she imagined it must look more appetizing from a smaller perspective. Being the adventurer that she was, Moana happily took the roll of bread atop a single fingertip, with which she used to drop it then into her mouth. It was little more than a crumb to her, dissolving near-instantly against her tongue, but its fresh-baked taste did not go over her head. Her eyes lit up, “That… was delicious…!”

It was an honor to receive such a commendation from their guest; the bartender and chef could now pride themselves as the first ever to introduce French cuisine to a giant-sized outsider. When Moana’s hand itched to take more, however, it was back to blocking her off, promising she could have her fill -- or at least, as much as they could fill -- over the course of the evening. In the meantime, conversation was abundant, with numerous navy sailors, scientists, and kitchen staff workers piling around the subdued Moana to pelter her with questions. Even where Moana had no answers, the intrigue of her situation was nevertheless enthralling. By the time the moon had risen, a number of tipsy sailors had hummed up a tune of Moana’s exploits -- it was a merry mood, but amidst what all was discussed was a grim detail that weighed heavy on her mind.

All that Doctor Moulin had wanted to study had been recorded, and so his crew of assistants began to clean up. Navy sailors disbanded away from Moana and took up key posts along the docks to look over her from. She was permitted to slumber there, as awkward of a position as it was for everyone involved, and was furthermore permitted to be untied from her ropes. As one final courtesy, Moulin and the locals had arranged for her a spare sail to make use as a small blanket, its many holes and rips untroubling to someone already so huge.

“I appreciate you all trusting me like this,” Moana thanked Moulin before he was to leave. She massaged her ankles and thighs where the ropes had left stripes of red. It was not that the ropes hurt her, but how they imposed upon her that made her wish their feeling to be gone. “I-I know I’ve caused a lot of trouble, but--”

“What’s done is done, madame,” Moulin replied nervously. “As was mentioned, err… the sooner you’re on your way, the sooner Port de Desir can begin its own recovery.” He adjusted his robes so that he could neatly tuck Moana’s records into an inner-pocket. “I bid you a safe journey to-- err, wherever that journey might take you…”

Moana withheld her sigh until Moulin was gone from the docks. She reeled her knees into her chest as she sat with her back against a storage building, draping the sail over her lap as far as it could stretch. To be alone was genuinely her wish, but beyond the eyes of security pointed onto her from various watchposts, she was accompanied by the waves that washed against the shore. That gentle rhythm was familiar to a lullaby, but to Moana, it was off-tempo and out of pitch -- like a different singer, she resented what the sea had to say to her, still offended by how it had effectively abandoned her with its lack of guidance.

Before Moana could close her eyes fully and meditate on matters, she felt a gentle pulling at her -- her hair, at least a lock of it. Her eyes slowly crept to the side with a subtle turn of her head, and when they met the eyes of someone beside her shoulder, her only response was a blank blink. “Um… Sophie?”

Sophie had a weave of hair combed through her fingers as she leaned out a window from the storage building, seemingly lost in how she played with it to herself. When she was addressed, she responded with a flinch back, hoisting the hair up like a veil. “O-Oh! Moana!” she stuttered, a smile blooming as her shock wore off. She glanced at the hair, only then realizing how awkward the moment was. “S-Sorry! I was just about to say something, but your hair… i-it’s so pretty!”

Moana’s confusion was bested with a chuckle. “Is that so?” she humored, tenderly rolling that hair out of Sophie’s grip by twisting a finger around it. She giggled, “What brought you out here? Do the guards even realize you’re up here?”

“No,” Sophie plainly answered, “I just let myself in~ I’ve always been pretty handy with locks and whatnot, if I’ve got my trusty tools.” She jangled her utility belt with a grin, though from the window, Moana could not very well see it. “I would’ve visited earlier, but Clara wouldn’t let me leave my bed. I had to speak to you, though! I couldn’t get you out of my head -- so much happened, like something from a book…! And we took on pirates!”

“W-We did do that,” Moana said. She still glanced towards the watchposts where navy soldiers were stationed, but her worry was not matched by Sophie, who remained easygoing about breaking and entering into a storage facility. Moana pushed those concerns aside, “I guess after all that, I just… passed out? Did I really just knock out, like how the healers said?”

Sophie nodded. “You just laid down and… went to sleep. Doctor Moulin said it was exhaustion. Either way,” she giggled, “I’m glad you’re well! I don’t make many friends, so, I probably would have been traumatized if you died. And then what would the town do with the body?”

“... Y-... Yeah.”

“But, that doesn’t matter-- Moana! Where are you going to go from here?!” Sophie was halfway out the window with how enthusiastically she leaned outside it. “The navy said you’d be leaving tomorrow, but they didn’t say anything else. Are you going back home? Or are you going to go see the queen?”

Moana turned her seat as quietly as she could, using the pause to think to herself a proper answer. After all, it was a question buzzing on her mind as well. “Well, no one has told me what to do,” she replied, a long stare pointed deep into the ocean that would not respond to her. “I want to go home, but I have no idea where that is.”

“What’s your home called?”

“It’s… It’s the ocean,” Moana said, a melancholy smile developing in her downward stare. “We used to live on one island for a long time, but my people expanded and explored the sea. They thought nothing else was out there, so I went off on my own, and now… I’m here. Lost. And worst of all…” Fingers curled along her arm in distress, and she looked again at the sky, her pupils wavering where they focused. “... the stars… aren’t the same. Something is wrong with them.”

“... The stars?” Sophie looked straight ahead, where twinkles up above were beginning to shine in the vastness. “In the sky? Those stars? Th-They look normal to me.”

Moana hesitated to begin, wondering where the differences in their cultures divided them. “In my home, the stars pointed us where to sail. They’re essential for navigating the ocean. But when I look up at them now, they’re… not the same. I don’t even know what I’m looking at. Wh-Where are the heroes? The legends? It looks so familiar, but these stars are different. They’re… wrong.”

Sophie continued to stare. “Well, for as long as I’ve known them, they’ve always been… there.” Aware of how weak that was to support Moana, she shivered into a new line of thought. “Couldn’t you use a map? Or a compass?”

“A-- What?”

“They’re tools that, uh, my people use for navigating,” Sophie explained, unsure of how to introduce the concept. “A map is a picture of the world, it has everything on it! And a compass tells you north and south, all that! If you know what direction to go in, you can get to anywhere!” She held her cheek softly, “Sometimes I pour over maps just to imagine what’s happening around the world, until I fall asleep on top of them.”

Moana looked outward, trying to visualize what these items had to be like. A map, she imagined, was like a slice of the earth she could scour over like a giant -- a bigger giant, at least -- and could be used to pinpoint any location she wanted. A compass, she imagined, was a magical trinket that could then guide anyone to said location, no matter how far away the destination. It felt illogical and impossible, but Moana had experienced magic before and knew its limits to be boundless. In whatever world this was, such items simply existed, and she had no reason to not desire them. She chuckled, thinking of how easy all of this could now be -- she could find her way home!

“I need those!” Moana blurted out, facing Sophie urgently. Her huge face suddenly posed upon Sophie had her recoil back inside the window. “Y-You have them, right? A map and compass?”

“Uh, I have a compass,” Sophie slowly replied, “and… some maps. Back at the lighthouse. But… I don’t think those could really help you, Moana. You said you’re from an island, but… well… there’s not many islands around here.” Sophie glanced up and down the giant’s posture, at least as much as she could scope out from her perspective. “And I think we would know about islands that are home to, err, you.”

Moana’s hope diminished visibly on her face. “That’s… probably true.”

“B-B-But!” Sophie perked up, leaning out the window again and only inches from the tip of Moana’s nose. “There are lots of islands way out there, all over the world! France owns some of these islands, but there are others even further that the British Empire is sailing to. Maybe one of those islands is your home?”

“British Empire…? Would they… help me?”

“Haaah,” Sophie’s eyes widened. “Haaah, well, you’re not French, s-so maybe they would! But then again, you’re also a giant. I don’t know how Brits will feel about that.”

“That’ll probably be an issue wherever I go,” Moana scoffed, contemplating all that had been discussed. “I guess… it is what it is. I’ll have to figure out how, but I’m going to travel to this British Empire.”

“T-Truly? That’s such a journey, e-even for someone your size.”

Moana chuckled, “I’ll manage. I’ll have to. I’d rather go by sea… You don’t think there’s a big enough boat for me, do you?”

Sophie shook her head. “Not around here, at least. We’d need to find you a whole galleon for that! You’ll probably have to go by foot,” she sighed, “and you’ll need supplies, too.”

Moana grimaced to that point. Living off the land was her usual strategy, but she had learned that morning how difficult that was at her scale. Food was too small, and she was very well too big to hunt like she was accustomed to. She turned a pitiful look to Sophie, “Do you think the townspeople could share anything? … Maybe some more of that bread?”

“I’m not so sure, n-not after we just got sacked by pirates. I think everyone will be too busy making repairs to be able to spare anything, even if they wanted.”

“That’s true…” Moana sighed, but before she could wallow too deep into despair, a flash of inspiration came to her, brightening her expression with a glow of hope. “That’s… true! Maybe I could… hrm…”

“Eh? Y-You have an idea, Moana?” Sophie asked, leaning far forward with interest.

“Yeah, sort of,” Moana giggled. “It’s more like, I’ve remembered that there’s still a lot I want to do, before I just march out of town.”