Heretical Fishing

Book 2: Chapter 31: A Blind Fool

A cool breeze swept in from the ocean as the day’s warmth bled from the sand. The campfire heat was a welcome reprieve, and we all huddled closer to it. Each member of the fishing club was already digging into the food I’d dished out, as was my gang of awakened creatures.

The only people who weren’t yet partaking were Fergus and Duncan, who stared down at their filets of fish with curiosity, and Maria and I, who watched the two smiths intently.

Duncan found his bravery first; he reached down with two extended fingers, paused, then pinched a section of flesh. His eyes reflected the campfire’s light as he gazed at the fish. Fergus, not one to let his apprentice outdo him, quickly grabbed a similar amount and threw it into his mouth.

He winced, likely expecting an unsavory flavor, but his hesitation was gone in an instant. With widening eyes, he looked toward Duncan. Upon seeing his master throw the fish into his mouth, the apprentice had done the same, and he returned an awe-filled expression Fergus’s way.

Maria and I shared an amused glance.

“Another successful conversion,” she whispered, leaning in close.

I nodded, shooting her a wink.

“Our heresy spreads, one meal at a time.”

Her eyes darted down to my lips, then back up. My heart leaped into my throat. She darted over, planting a peck on my cheek and squeezing my arm with a small but firm grip.

My cheeks flushed, and I returned my attention to the smiths, hoping the fire’s orange glow obscured the blush I knew was coloring my complexion. They both met me with smug grins, and I froze.

“Er—what’s up?”

Duncan waggled his eyebrows at me; I dropped my head into my hands, hiding my face.

“Aww,” Maria said. “You’re so cute when you’re embarrassed.”

The smiths roared with laughter, and I shot her an accusatory glance.

“Whose side are you on?”

“Yours.” She put an arm around my back and rubbed my shoulder. “But I can’t help myself—you make it so easy.”

I shook my head and looked up at the smiths.

“How was the damned fish, you traitorous goons?”

They both laughed again, and Fergus answered.

“It was unbelievable. I expected it to be...”

“Gross?” I answered, and he nodded.

“To be blunt: yes. They don’t exactly look like the most appetizing thing...”

“But the flavor!” Duncan added, then threw another chunk in his mouth. “Itsh delishious.”

Fergus slapped him on the back of the head.

“Don’t speak with your mouth full.”

“Shorry.”

Fergus whapped him again, and Duncan grinned back.

“This is your first tasting?” Ellis asked, removing his notepad. “Would you mind describing the flavors?”

Keith raised an eyebrow at his friend.

“You’re eating the same meal this second—can’t you write down your own experience?”

“Ah, but taste is a subjective experience. Of course, you do not have to...”

“Er,” Fergus said, giving a wincing smile. “I’m not the best with words, but I’m happy to try...”

I smiled at everyone around me as the smith began describing the meal from his point of view. Maria leaned her head against my shoulder as she started eating, listening intently to the recounting.

***

The room’s walls were bathed in flickering candlelight, and George let out a sigh as he rubbed his eyes.

Geraldine lay a supportive hand on his shoulder, and he leaned against it with his prodigious jowls.

“Maybe we should go to bed for the night,” she suggested.

“You’re likely correct, my love—as always.”

“What is it you were reading?” She set her own book down, leaning over to peer at his family’s manual. “I thought you might scowl your eyebrows right off your face.”

He pursed his lips, but when he realized his forehead was knitting once more, he let out another sigh.

“It’s the same entry that continuously vexes me.”

“Hmm. The same one as yesterday?”

He put a hand into her lap, their fingers intertwining.

“And the day before.”

She scrunched her nose at the book.

“It irks me that I can’t read it...”

“Sorry, love. The ancient language is notoriously tricky, and I only know it because my father drilled it into me from a young age.”

“I just wish I could help—it’s infuriating to sit by and lose myself in fiction while you struggle.”

He turned to look at Geraldine. The candle lit her ample face, and love for the woman before him flowed out like thick custard from a piping bag.

“Just having you by my side is enough.”

She leaned in and kissed him, her lips tugging up in a smile. When she pulled away, the love he felt for her was reflected in her eyes.

“Would you read me the part that you’ve been poring over?”

“Of course.” He skimmed the open page until he found the sentence constantly replaying in his head. “I feel the entire chapter is reflected in this line here.”

He cleared his throat.

“It translates roughly as: ‘to conspire against your fellow man is to court ruin; to benefit from them unfairly is to invite ruin into your home.’ ‘Ruin’ isn’t exactly correct, though—there isn’t a word in the common tongue to reflect its potency. It doesn’t mean just physical ruin, but also desolation of one’s very soul.”

She swallowed, licking her lips.

“I... I can see why it troubles you.”

He pushed the book forward, wanting physical distance from the words that assailed him.

“Before I saw the wisdom held in the rest of this book, I assumed all of it to be the fancy of a long-diminished household. But now...” He ran fingers through his thinning hair. “Now I can’t help but wonder if we brought all our problems into existence with our actions since arriving in Tropica.”

Geraldine sucked her lips, and as he watched her, she appeared deeply lost in thought. When her gaze locked with his, her eyes were morose.

“I’ve been meaning to speak to you about that...”

“My love? Talk about what…?”

“As you’ve been lost in the book most days, I’ve been busying myself by wandering the village. I’ve spent some time lingering among the south siders, and the more time I spend there...” She gave him a wincing smile. “Well, I came to a similar conclusion.”

“... you did?”

She nodded, looking away and staring at the wall as she continued.

“I had assumed that all peasants were just the glum sort. What did it matter if we took extra gold if they wouldn’t enjoy it? At least we could use the funds to improve our own standing and try to claw our way back to the capital, right?”

She shook her head, and the weariness etched in her features made George’s heart break.

A tear welled in her eye and she wiped it away with a plump hand.

“They’re happy, George—truly happy. They gather around that damned bakery like clumps of sugar on a fresh donut, laughing and joking merrily as they eat unsweetened pastries and drink coffee made by a peasant. Seeing the joy such small improvements brought them… it makes me feel terrible about what we did.”

George stared at her for a long moment. She peered back, her head cocked to the side, seeing something on his face she didn’t understand. Suddenly, laughter bubbled up from within him. Her curiosity morphed into anger as he lost himself to mirth, but every time he tried to explain himself, his voice was cut off by choked laughter.

“I was being serious, George.” Her tone was clipped and she leaned away from him. “I don’t appreciate being laughed at.”

“No. I’m not laughing at you, my love—I’m laughing at myself.”

She narrowed her eyes, clearly skeptical, so he continued.

“I’ve been lost in this book, gleaming the writings of generations of my ancestors for the truth, and all you had to do was just go for a walk.” He blew air from his nose, shaking his head at himself. “I’m a blind fool.”

A moment of silence stretched between them as she considered his words.

“You’re no fool, husband,” she whispered, pulling him into a hug. “If you were, I’d not have married you.”

“Given how long it’s been taking me to digest the words in this manual versus how you understood the truth by just opening your eyes, I’d beg to differ.”

“We all have different strengths, love.”

She squeezed him tight, and he returned the embrace.

“All right—I’ve decided,” he said, pulling away.

She gave him a confused look.

“Decided what?”

“I’m going to teach you the ancient language—if you’re willing, of course.”

Her eyes went wide.

“George... I thought you said that was only for blood relatives to know? I don’t want to get you in trouble...”

“In trouble from who? My mother and father have passed, and we have no idea where my brother is, let alone if he still lives. Besides, as far as I’m concerned, you are of my blood, Geraldine. I love you, and without you, I would be lost.”

Tears welled in her eyes, but this time, she didn’t wipe them away.

“Oh, George...” Her lip quivered, and she wrapped her voluptuous arms around him, drawing him into an embrace. “I love you too.”

***

As I lay in bed that night, my body felt leaden.

I spread my arms out to either side, delighting in the plush doona and pillows surrounding me. Cinnamon wiggled beneath my armpit, turning into the cutest dang loaf I’d ever seen. As with most nights in recent memory, my mind replayed the soft kiss Maria had planted on me before going home, and a warm-fuzzy feeling unrelated to my bedding washed over me.

With sleep calling to me, my thoughts strayed toward the revelations Ellis had dropped on us. According to the information hidden within the royal library, the water-aligned gods had betrayed not only their kin, but humanity itself. If that were true, it made sense why the world at large had shunned anything to do with them—fishing included.

“But to continue doing so, thousands of years later...” I yawned. “It makes no sense unless their betrayal was particularly savage...”

Cinnamon wiggled, and I lay a reassuring hand atop her fluffy back, willing her to go back to sleep.

After the day I’d had, my consciousness started to fade, and I released the worries. It didn’t matter what happened all those years ago. I was here now, and I was going to continue living my life. When sleep finally took me, I was smiling, beyond content with the little slice of paradise I’d carved for myself in Tropica.

***

With the arrival of the sun, Corporal Claws, queen of the forest and conqueror of the sky, let out a magnificent yawn.

She rolled onto her back, allowing the sun’s rays the privilege of warming her tummy fur. Using both paws, she rubbed her face, finding it both amusing and comforting to shift her malleable cheeks around. After her tum was sufficiently heated and her face was stretched enough for the day to come, she sat up, chirping a good morning to the world.

She immediately felt the need to go find her master and demand scritches, but then she spied the fish frame sitting beneath a tree. She had delivered one to the tree spirit last night, and wanting to space out its meals—and keep the cheeky thing’s ego in check—she had kept another for this fine morning. She leaped from her log, hit the ground running, and snatched the frame in her jaws as she passed—the sooner she delivered the fish, the sooner she could see Fischer and receive her deserved scritches.

As she jumped from tree to tree, amplifying her passage with small bursts of electricity, something curious caught her attention. She slowed her pace, gazing up at a trail of small insects that buzzed their way beneath the forest canopy. She had seen bees before, but never flying in tandem like the ocean birds sometimes did high above the waves.

Matching their pace, she followed them, too curious to let them go unwitnessed. Before long, the canopy opened up, and she raised both eyebrows as she realized they were flying for the lemon saplings.

When she looked up at them, her mouth dropped open and the fish fell to the grass.