Fated TidesA Metaphysical Love StorySarah Faeth Sanders

Copyright © 2024 by Sarah Faeth Sanders and Duck & A Rabbit Press.

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Cover design by Rejenne Pavon: www.rejenne.com

Chapter illustrations by Weston L. Marigold Humphreys: www.marigoldcottage.day

This book contains the following content, which some readers may find difficult to read: activities related to dead animals, including skinning, tanning, and cooking meat, description of Alzheimer’s, brief description of dead bodies, piracy, kidnapping, poisoning, murder, blood, mention of child neglect and abuse, domestic violence, off-page attempted sexual assault (brief), explicit sexual content between consenting adults.

For more information or to know which sections to skip to avoid sensitive content, please contact the author directly.

To Adam. May we have many more adventures together.

What you are about to read is like a glimpse through a window.

It is one of a multitude of windows, all stained glass in different shapes and colors. Each offers a glimpse into the depths of a soul, the tale of their evolution, their ever-increasing alignment with the direction of the universe.

What is the shape of this mosaic, which bends and weaves in mysterious ways, reflecting back on itself in phantoms and echoes?

It is the shape of love—the force that drives the universe, that conquers the whole of existence, one story at a time.

And I am a storyteller.

The story I am about to tell you is plucked from a time which many people associate with grand schemes and dangerous adventures—and when I say time, I do not mean to mislead you. For our main character’s journey is not linear, and neither is yours. There is no beginning, middle, or end to the many lives of the characters in these tales.

The main character of our story is currently in his natural state, what some would call a “higher self.” As a purely metaphysical being, you could not comprehend him in this form, though some have been prone to call such beings “angels,” or even “gods.” As you cannot see him there, floating through space in a state of blissful awareness, I will do my best to describe him to you.

He may be likened to petrichor: the scent of rain on parched soil. An aroma heralding hope, embedded in the bones of humanity since the beginning of time as they know it. But he is also the root of the word—petra, the Greek word for stone; and ichor, the liquid gold that flows through the veins of the gods. Solid as stone, yet always moving.

This is Z.

Z’s story is not complete without also telling you about his soulmate, who is just beside him there, though you cannot see her. This is A.

A is the rush of waves against a cliffside, which can lull you to sleep or break your body against the rocks. She is the glint of sunshine on the back of a dragonfly, whose colors you greatly wish to see up close, but she never holds still long enough to get a glimpse.

As a pair, A and Z are quite like the moon and the tides—pushing and pulling against one another, ebbing and flowing from life to life, always looking for each other. And between lives, always together.

Quite often, A and Z enjoy the company of two characters who are also central to our tale. They are just there—against the backdrop of brilliant space—and just outside your scope of vision. I will once again attempt to describe them to you.

T is the thrill of elation when a roller coaster whisks you high into the air. He is the feeling of comradery around a warm, vibrant fire.

Y is the relief of coming upon a familiar street when you’ve been lost for hours. They are a lighthouse in the middle of the desert.

Together, T and Y are what happens when a molecular cloud collapses in upon itself, forming a star.

We find our characters now in a fullness of tranquility—in what some may call a before. For in just a moment, our characters will feel a pull. This pull is the call of incarnation, the edict of the universe to grow, to change, to discover something new. It is in these times, when our characters inhabit bodies of flesh and blood, that they forget they are vast, and timeless, and gloriously whole. It is also where all the best stories are born.

Suddenly, the many stars in the many galaxies that have born our main characters shift in such a way as to spark a sense of desire. Of need. Of restlessness. And so, knowing incarnation is imminent, the four souls surrender to their destiny, which bids them from a tiny, blue dot called Earth.

As he falls, a sense of impending loss fills Z that makes him reach out, grasping for his soulmate. A mass of souls rushing toward the earth blind him, obscuring her brilliance. She reaches back, the tendrils of her being barely brushing up against him, pushing inconsequentially against the incredible force that propels them. But she continues to reach, desperate to draw him near, to touch him one more time.

Stay with me, she calls to him.

He wishes to call back, to tell her he wouldn’t dream of leaving, but in an instant, she is lost. His cries of protest burn away as he is ignited, consumed by a fire meant to reduce him, leaving but a kernel that will grow into a man—a man whose story I will tell you now.

Our story begins on a beach, where our characters have just had the good fortune of running into each other for what they believe is the very first time.

1

Alexander Sutton dug his toes into the sand, opening and closing his hands rapidly as he argued aloud with himself.

“Come on, Zander,” he said. “You can do this. You can do this. Just… go, just do it.”

He braced himself as if to run, committing to the pose for mere moments before suddenly straightening. He sighed, running his hands aggressively through his short, medium-brown hair. His green eyes burned with frustration as they beheld the small pirate ship just off the coast of Barbados, and the yawl that rapidly approached it.

“This is ridiculous,” he concluded.

He bent down to retrieve his shoes, which he’d hastily kicked off only moments ago in a sudden and crazed hysteria. In the depths of his frenzy, he’d convinced himself he could swim out to that ship full of pirates without forfeiting his life. He deemed himself, in those few delusional moments, some sort of hero. Grand visions of romance, of leaving his life behind and becoming a pirate, filled his head.

He was depressed. That’s what it was. The notion was nothing more than a sorrow-induced fantasy. Ridiculous.

But that is where he was wrong. For so often, when a person encounters a chance to live as they truly are, it feels so grand, so colossal, they chalk it up to delusion when it is nothing more than an open door. This door invites them to walk through, and rather than leading outward, it leads inward, toward a knowledge of oneself that was once only accessible in daydreams.

The immense beauty of such an invitation to greatness, to adventure, to a possible destiny even, is far too often dismissed as folly. It is far too often ignored. Far too often put off until the next life.

But no one can deny themselves forever.

As Zander walked back through the dense jungle that would lead him home, he thought about the pirate woman he’d met among those very trees only minutes earlier.

An entire lifetime had passed in the last few minutes.

He was walking home when he saw her. Eating chicken, of all things.

He’d woken up that morning in a strange mood. He had no desire, no motivation to indulge in his regular routine. It was rather dull to be honest, and not at all what he would have chosen for himself, if he had a choice.

Of course, one always has a choice, but it is very seldom that a choice is an easy one. Nevertheless, he played his role in life faithfully. Born in England as a tanner’s son, he’d come to Barbados on a whim with only his tools and his father’s training. He’d worked hard to earn a place in this new land. In fact, he’d done little else but work for a very long time. Today however, he wished to pretend he was someone else.

So, he sat on his back porch, watching the birds and bugs fly by. At some point, he dozed off in the midmorning sun. When he woke up, his stomach was growling, and he resolved to eat lunch in the nearby village before returning to his work. In fact, he’d probably work into the night to make up for the spontaneous break. He was not used to his hands being idle.

He ended up taking his lunch to go. He was walking the long way home when she broke through the tree line, bleeding and out of breath.