Heretical Fishing

Book 2: Chapter 22: New Beginnings

It was a pleasantly cool day in Tropica—until a heat like that of the sun bloomed.

Fergus squinted and leaned back from the forge’s glow as he threw another shovel of coal into the hearth. He stepped to the side, wiping sweat from his brow with a burly forearm.

“Ready, Duncan?”

“Aye!” his apprentice responded and started placing lengths of iron into a crucible.

Fergus watched carefully as Duncan added pinches of phosphorus and sulfur; there was a hint of hesitation in his movements.

“You’ve got this.” Fergus gave him a reassuring smile. “It’s the same as any other alloy.”

Duncan’s hand froze, and he looked up, his gaze wavering.

“You’re sure? I don’t want to ruin—”

“When was the last time you ruined anything in this smithy?” Fergus interrupted.

“Neither can I. Besides, you thinking you’re not ready is calling into question my superior and flawless judgment.” Fergus shot him a wink. “That’s a paddlin’.”

Duncan’s uncertainty melted away, replaced by a flat stare.

“Just you try to paddle me.”

Roaring with laughter, Fergus clapped his apprentice on the shoulder.

“Just kidding, lad. You’re ready, all right? Let’s do it.”

Duncan set his jaw and nodded, so Fergus took up position by the bellows. As the apprentice put his goggles and thick gloves on, Fergus moved the bellows’ slowly, causing the added coal to glow red at the edges. When Duncan strode to the forge with the crucible held in a set of large tongs, his steps were sure and filled with purpose. He extended the crucible into the furnace, and Fergus began working the bellows in earnest.

***

A thin sheen of sweat covered Fergus’s body as he watched Duncan pour the molten metal into the molds they had prepared. The liquid was bright yellow and of uniform viscosity; the alloy’s creation had been a success.

Fergus said not a word, intent on watching the process. During the years he had been teaching Duncan the art of blacksmithing, he had slowly but surely grown to see the boy as his own son.

No, not a boy, he reminded himself, looking over Duncan’s muscled arms.

He had been a boy when he first came to his smithy, but now he was a man—and a blacksmith—in his own right. The waif of a boy that had shown up in his workshop was now a distant memory, and a smile came to Fergus’s face as he compared the bull of a man before him to the skinny orphan that first walked in the door all those years ago.

The last dregs on the molten metal dribbled down in the final mold, and Duncan breathed a sigh of relief as he set the tongs and crucible down.

“Perfect lad, just perfect.”

“You’re not just saying that?”

Fergus snorted, and so did the bunny.

Wait, what?

The smith’s head darted to the side; a bunny had joined them on the bench and was peering down at the molds. It looked up at them and nodded a greeting.

“Uhhh,” both men said, the sound dragging out as their brains tried to comprehend what was going on.

The bunny cocked its head, causing its ears to flop to the side. It hopped to the first mold, tapped it lightly with one paw, then bobbed her head up and down in approval.

“Hello?” came a voice from behind them, and Fergus whirled.

Sharon, with a large bag slung over one shoulder, smiled and waved.

“Hi, guys. I was hoping I could talk to you for a momen...” She trailed off as she saw the bunny sitting on the bench. “Cinnamon! What in hades’s cursed realm are you doing?”

Fergus glanced back at the bunny. The creature, Cinnamon, seemed to shimmy in delight, her little tail wiggling away. There was a blur of brown and blue, and another creature appeared behind the bunny. An otter, shaking her head and chirping indignantly, put one forepaw around Cinnamon’s waist and covered the bunny’s mouth with another. The fuzzy little bunny let the otter drag her down from the bench, shaking in what appeared to be laughter as muffled peeps escaped her throat.

Sharon let out a heavy sigh.

“Well, so much for the plan.”

Sharon closed and barred the door, and from the bag slung over her shoulder, something horrific emerged. A crab the size of a small dog poked its entire body out and began shaking a claw menacingly at them, blowing a steady stream of bubbles. Something smacked the crab from below, making it fly up into the rafters at terrifying speed. Another crab emerged from the bag, wearing an eyepatch and covered in spikes.

There was a loud crack, and the first crab fell down to the smithy floor, as did something else. An object of monstrous proportions slammed into the ground with a loud thud. A wave of dust sprang up from the collision, and as it slowly cleared, Fergus realized his mistake. It wasn’t an object that had fallen—it was a creature. A lobster as long as he was tall stared up at him from its back, unblinking.

Other than the eyepatch-wearing crab that was hissing and berating the crab it had flung—and was once more shaking a claw at the smiths—the entire room froze. The silence was broken when Sharon let out another sigh. She rubbed her temples and shook her head.

“Well, that couldn’t have gone any worse—”

From the corner of Fergus’s eye, he saw the bunny break free from the otter’s grasp and launch across the room. It slammed into the upside-down lobster and kicked off his side, flipping the crustacean right-side up and throwing itself skyward. As its body rotated in the air, there was an unmistakable grin on the bunny’s face. The otter, chirping at the top of her lungs and trailing lightning, slammed into Cinnamon. They sailed across the room into a stack of metal-filled crates, obliterating them in a cloud of splintered wood, metal bars, and furred limbs.

Fergus raised an eyebrow as he slowly turned back to Sharon. She blinked at the carnage, spun to meet his gaze, and shrugged.

“Fergus and Duncan, meet Fischer’s ascendant animal friends. As you can see from their behavior, they’re clearly his. Everyone, this is Fergus and Duncan.”

“Ascendent creatures...?” Duncan asked, sounding as numb as Fergus felt. “Does that mean…?”

The pieces of the puzzle slammed into place, and Fergus’s eyes went wide.

“I knew it!” He slapped Duncan lightly on the chest. “I told you Fischer was a cultivator!”

His apprentice looked around the room with his jaw hanging open. He swallowed.

“I don’t think that’s the issue at hand, Fergus...”

“It’s not so dire as it appears,” Sharon said, sweeping hair behind her ear and giving them what was likely intended to be a reassuring smile.

“Let me explain...”

***

With the midday sun beating down on my skin, my steps were surprisingly light given the events of the last twenty-four hours.

I took a bite of my freshly warmed croissant and washed it down with a mouthful of coffee. I closed my eyes and focused on the soft breeze tickling the hair of my arms. As I walked over the sand, my thoughts roiled with implications and worries about the future. Rather than push them away and pretend they didn’t exist, I acknowledged them, allowed my anxiety to swell, then let the thoughts go as I refocused on the sensations of my body.

I narrowed my attention on each step, feeling the shifting sand beneath my feet. The wind picked up, wicking away sweat and causing grains of sand to strike my lower legs. A sense of calm replaced my anxieties, and I shielded my eyes with one hand as I peered down at the saltwater pond. No one was home, but that was to be expected—I imagined my pals might be a little busy for the next few days after an underground base appeared out of nowhere.

I chuckled and shook my head, continuing toward the coast.

When I arrived, I took a moment to sit in the dry sand and gaze out at the water. Small waves lapped the shore, and the bay was calm all the way out to the horizon. I took a deep breath; the salt spray on the air seemed to suffuse my entire being. Unbidden, a smile came to my face, and my eyes unfocused, my entire visual field becoming a single sheet of light, shadow, and color. The joy spread to encompass my entire face, and I stretched as I got to my feet.

“All right. Time for a little harvesting.”

I took off my outer clothes and, after one more good stretch, walked into the small waves peppering the shoreline.

The water was pleasantly cool, and the moment I got up to my knees, I collapsed beneath it. As I sprang back up, a whole-body shiver took me, and I walked further out into the ocean. When I could no longer walk, I swam, and I reached my destination in no time at all. Large wooden poles marked the spot, and as I caught sight of the cages strung between them, I couldn’t believe my eyes.

The oyster cages were one of the first things I constructed after coming to Tropica. I’d created them for two reasons: replenishing the oyster population a certain otter was decimating, and, more importantly, pearls. At the time, I’d thought pearls were a source of gold, but as it turned out, they were much, much more valuable than that. I hadn’t checked the cages because, well, what was the point? We had plenty of food, I didn’t want or need for more gold, and I thought they’d take a fair while to grow. My understanding was that oysters took years to reach maturity.

My understanding was wrong.

Each cage strung up before me—all six of them—were filled to the brim with massive oysters. I yelled excitedly underwater, and it came out in a garbled stream of bubbles.

I started untying the first cage, picturing the look on my animal pal’s faces when I presented them with an entire cage of freshly shucked oysters.

***

Number Three breathed deep of the afternoon air, delighting in the humidity and scents of the forest.

The sun was setting behind them, and as he looked at the surrounding faces, he saw similar looks of contentment. As much as they could butt heads at times, they were unified in their mission, and being so close to their destination had picked up their moods greatly.

Even Two, whose patience had become shorter with each passing day—and each time someone slipped up and didn’t use a codename—sat with a small smile on his face, bathing in the afternoon sun.

Three couldn’t help himself.

“You look almost serene, Keith.”

Two, the human formerly known as Keith, sputtered with indignation.

“Number Two!” he boomed, glancing at the surrounding trees. “My name is Two!”

By his estimate, Three did a fantastic job of hiding his amusement behind the appropriate amount of chagrin, but then Four burst into laughter and he couldn’t help but join in. Five joined in soon after, and even One, who was engrossed in one of his large tomes, arched an amused eyebrow over his book.

Two’s face went beet red, and he rounded on their expedition leader.

“You too, One? I thought you were above their childish games!”

“Normally I would err on the side of caution, but I believe I recognize the mountain we are about to crest.”

“So?” Two demanded, his fury still hot. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Three gave One an appreciative look.

“I have to admit, I’m a little surprised. How did you know?”

One spun the tome he was reading, revealing a topographical map of Kallis’ eastern coast.

They smiled at each other, and Two made a series of exasperated noises.

“Will you both stop speaking in riddles and explain why the mountain we’re on has a gods damned thing to do with revealing my true name?” He hissed the last two words, as if merely speaking them would bring about ruin.

Just then, the cart shifted angles. They started moving downhill, and the other side of the mountain came into view.

Rolling fields of green and yellow crops swayed in an unseen breeze. A smattering of buildings were bunched together, some of which had gray streaks of smoke rising from their chimneys. Most notable of all was the far distance; the sky was pink and orange above an endless sea of blue and green.

“Because, Keith...” Theo answered with a broad grin. “We’ve arrived at Tropica.”