Heretical Fishing

Chapter 72: Thunder

Leroy flew into action, catching the other cultivator’s arms as the collar was closing around Helen’s neck. The two sides of the collar were only centimeters from sealing Helen’s fate, and Leroy flexed his arms, pulling it open and away from her.

“Run!” he yelled, his voice sounding hysterical to his own ears. “Once the collar is on, you can never remove it!”

Helen was frozen, tears in her eyes as her gaze lingered on him.

“Leroy . . .”

The collar around his neck vibrated, once more making the harsh sound that warned of an impending explosion.

“What the hell are you doing!” Trent demanded. “That was your last warning! It won’t beep next time—it’ll detonate! You want to die so badly?”

Leroy leaned in closer to the other man, setting his collar against his.

“Rescind the order, Trent! If it goes off now, we’ll both die, and you’ll have lost two cultivators rather than gaining a third!”

“Y-you dare order me?”

Trent’s face twisted. “Fine! I rescind the order! Follow me—now!”

Leroy let go of the other man’s arm, watching him closely.

The long-haired cultivator shook his head. “Shame. That would have been fun.”

As he turned back to look at his sister, Leroy’s eyes were hot. Tears ran down his face, mixing with the rain.

“I love you, Helen. Please don’t follow me.”

Her lip quivered, and she nodded a single time, her own tears falling.

Maria popped a berry into her mouth and slowly chewed. A pleased noise escaped her.

“Thank you, Fischer.”

I squeezed her hand. “For what?”

“Everything.” She leaned against me with her back, turning her body away. “For the berries, for bringing me out here, for keeping me warm, and for being so kind.”

“It’s easy to be kind, especially to people deserving of it.”

“If only the world were so . . .”

She put her head back against mine, and I leaned into it. Her hair was soft and smelled of flowers; the scent was bewitching.

“You know . . .” I said. “If you’re warm enough, we can try for another fish before it gets too late.”

She bolted upright, spinning to face me. “You mean it?”

I couldn’t help but smile at the intense gleam in her eyes.

“Yeah—I mean it. We should probably remake the shelter first, but that shouldn’t take too long.”

“Let’s do it!”

She shot to her feet, blankets discarded as a burst of energy hit.

“Would you mind looking for sticks?” I asked. “I have something I want to try.”

“Yeah!”

She all but sprinted into the forest, and I watched her go, the smile never leaving my face.

I collected some of the short sticks I’d gathered earlier and connected the ends together in a tipi shape, then tied them together with string. It was just tall and wide enough for my purpose, so I placed it over the fire. With another length of string, I tied one end to the pot’s handle and the other to my makeshift frame’s peak.

The flames licked up, now and then touching the bottom of the pot, so I shortened the line, raising it higher above the flames. I added a dash of water to the berries, then stepped back, nodding to myself.

Maria tore from the forest, her face almost manic, a handful of long branches under one arm.

“I got the sticks, Fischer! They should be long enough! Let me know if they’re not, but I think they’re fine! I’m ready when you—woah! What’s that?”

I laughed at her excess energy. “Those sticks look perfect.” I gestured at the fire. “I made a rack to try cooking the berries down into jam.”

“Oh, jam! That’s a great idea—they’re super sweet!”

“Yeah, I thought it would pair well with our breakfast pastries.” I waggled my eyebrows at her. “Or even a fish—if you manage to catch one.”

She bounced on her heels. “Let’s make the shelter! Fast! So we can go fishing!”

I smiled. “Nothing would make me happier.”

With our combined efforts, the shelter came together in no time at all. I leaned down, looking at the small gaps between the leaves.

“I’m gonna weave in an extra layer of the palm fronds in case the rain comes back. I’ll just go collect some.”

It took me less than a minute to find the palm-like trees again, and after stripping a handful of their greenery, I returned to the pond. What I found there brought another smile to my face.

Maria held the rod under one arm, had cut a small strip of the eel, and was putting it on the hook. She had a large leaf in her hands acting as a glove, and her head was extended as far from the bait as possible, avoiding the stench.

Happy to let her work it out, I wove the leaves in between the others of our shelter with deft hands. Just as I was finishing up, Maria let out a little squeal. I glanced over, and she was bouncing from foot to foot, the rod held in her hands.

“Cast it out,” I said.

She stopped, staring at me.

“You’re sure?”

“You remember how, right?”

She held the line under one finger, flicked the reel forward, then raised a questioning eyebrow at me.

I nodded. “Go for it—I’ll be there in a sec.”

I was weaving the last leaves in and tying them down when Maria’s voice arrested my attention.

“F-Fischer!” she whisper yelled.

My eyes shot up, just in time to see the tip of the rod dip down as a fish nibbled the line. The shelter forgotten, I dashed to her, eyes pinned on the tip of the rod. It bit again, a small, testing nibble. Maria tensed and squeaked a quiet, high-pitched sound.

“Not yet,” I said. “Wait for the big bite and then strike.”

She nodded, her eyes watching the water under the fading light of the day.

Tug. Tug.

She tensed again, so I laid a hand on hers.

“Wait for it . . .”

She nodded again, her body trembling with anticipation.

Tug.

Tug. Tug.

The rod bent almost in half as the fish took the bait.

“Now!”

She reefed up the rod, attempting to set the hook.

Corporal Claws could never have envisioned a situation where leaving her master in the dark was justified. Yet, with her growing understanding of Barry and Sergeant Snips’s plan, one such situation was made known. Not only was it vital that Fischer did not know yet—nothing would protect her master so much as enacting the plan.

“So,” Barry said. “I have to ask—do you agree?”

Barry’s question drew Claws from her rumination, and she looked up at him, her eyes clearing. She nodded.

Master must be protected.

Snips nodded from beside her and blew bubbles of approval, clearly already knowing what her answer would be.

Barry smiled down at her. “Good. Now, let’s go into the fine details, and what I’d like you to do for now.”

Leroy felt hollowed out as he strode through the storm. The wind had no chance of knocking his cultivator body over, yet he felt fragile before each localized squall, like they blew right through him. He fell to his knees, staring down at the sand beneath him.

“Get up!” Trent screeched, but Leroy barely registered it. In his mind’s eye, all he saw were the faces of his family.

“Drag him with you! Don’t let his collar detonate!”

Leroy heard a grunt and was then hauled to his feet. He felt his feet move, and he stumbled across the sandy flats with the help of the long-haired cultivator.

Trent spat, glaring his annoyance at the two cultivators. Seeing the sand on the cultivator’s clothes after falling in the sand, Trent looked down at his own pants.

One of his favorite purple outfits, of which he only had ten sets of, was ruined. Sand, water, and muck had infiltrated the fibers, and no amount of cleaning would repair the lavish garment.

A growl rose from deep within him. All he wanted was to catch another cultivator for his father, earn some goodwill, and perhaps have fun with some busty serving wenches on the way. Was that too much to ask?

He returned his attention to the artifact in his hands. He spun on the spot, and when he pointed it toward a dark mass in the distance obscured by the surrounding storm, the light blinked faster yet. A smirk came to his face, and he strode toward the shape.

There was still time to salvage the trip. He would catch this ‘Fischer’ and take him back to the capital. With the money his father would give him, he’d be able to buy even more outfits.

“With me, fools.”

“All right,” Barry said, “that’s about all that I think you can do right now, Claws. Do you have any tho—uh . . . Snips?”

She had spun on the spot in an instant, staring at the rock of the headland.

“What’s wrong?”

Corporal Claws, who at first peered at Snips with similar confusion, suddenly looked as if struck by a bolt of lightning, and her head darted to stare at the same spot as Snips. A shiver ran down Barry’s spine, and he looked at the rock, uncomprehending.

Both creatures took defensive stances in the sand, Snips hunkering down and Claws arching up like a startled cat.

Barry returned his attention to where they gazed, willing his focus to join theirs. Unexpectedly, he felt . . . something. A power, or a source of power, was approaching from beyond the rock. He squinted, his brow furrowing as he delved deeper into the sensation.

It wasn’t a singular source of power; a trickle of resonance came from two points, both right beside each other, but definitely individual points.

“Hide,” Barry said.

Snips shot him a look, and he nodded.

“They’re cultivators, and neither of them is Fischer—hide and wait to see what happens.”

Trent heard a laugh come from behind him, and he whirled, glaring daggers at the long-haired cultivator.

“What?”

The man gave a wolf’s grin. “There are two of them.”

Trent, his eyes going wide, stared at what he could now see was a large formation of rock.

“Two of them?”

The cultivator nodded, his eyes going vicious. “There are two cultivators behind that rock—close.”

Trent returned a grin of his own. He fumbled in the bag, and with his mouth growing wider, removed a second collar. He salivated at the thought of bringing two cultivators back to the capital. His father would be most pleased and would reward him accordingly.

“Walk close to me, and no matter what, don’t kill them—they are to be captured.”

In the decade that Robert had been chained, he’d found ways to enact his violence without going directly against orders. He flicked his long hair, sending the wet strands away from his face.

After all, he thought, if I’m a little too slow to act, and my handler gets attacked, it’s only natural that I’d save him by killing the attacker.

As they stepped closer to the rock outcropping, his anticipation grew. He could feel the two cultivators; both of their bodies resonated with his. Only others on the path to ascension could cause such a sensation.

As they stepped around the last rock, he barely felt the weight of the cultivator he held—if you could call the coward that. What good was a cultivator with attachments, after all?

I’ll have to find a way to kill that sister of his before we leave . . .

His mouth watered at the prospect.

As Trent stepped around the rocky headland, he caught sight of a man. The person, dressed in farmer’s garb, stood with arms behind his back, a calm expression on his face.

“So,” Trent screeched. “We finally meet, Fischer.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “You come looking for Fischer, then? I’m sorry to say, but he’s not here.”

“Hiding him won’t work, you idiot! I can detect both of you!”

Trent looked down at the artifact, and moving it side to side, saw that the light blinked faster when pointing at the house’s front door.

“He’s inside, isn’t he?” Trent glanced up at the man, seeing his eyes wide, his jaw slackened.

Happy to see his words had the intended effect, he continued. “If you come easily, I won’t do Fischer any harm. If you don’t, though . . .”

Trent trailed off when he realized the man wasn’t gaping at him; he looked behind and to his right.

“. . . Leroy?”

Trent looked back just in time for the short-haired cultivator’s wits to return. His eyes cleared, and he looked up at the farmer.

“Barry?” His face twisted, contorting with grief. “No . . .”

The long-haired cultivator let go of the man and stepped forward, closing and opening his hands.

“It’s not him.”

Trent spun. “What do you mean, it’s not him?”

The long-haired cultivator stared at the farmer, his brow furrowing, then eyes going wide.

“Wait . . . he is a cultivator, but he’s . . . weak.”

Trent only felt a moment of confusion before elation overrode the emotion. Three cultivators! He’d return with three cultivators!

He threw one collar toward the farmer; it skidded to a stop at his feet.

“Put that on, then go get the others from inside. If you do, I’ll make this pleasant. Make this hard for me, though . . .” Trent gave a mischievous grin. “Well, then you’ll see just how brutal I can be.”

“They’re not inside,” the long-haired man said from behind him.

“What do you mean, they’re not inside?” Trent stared down at the artifact, seeing it was still blinking incessantly when facing the door. “Where are they, then?”

The man, his gaze unwavering, pointed down at a spot in the sand with one hand, and an upended pot near the front door with the other. As if on command, a fountain of sand exploded skyward, and the metal pot was shredded to pieces. Trent fell back, stumbling over his feet. The revealed cultivators didn’t attack, though, so he squinted at the shrinking cloud of sand.

On the sand between them and the farmer stood an otter and a crab. The otter was large, with extended claws and fangs. The crab was covered in spikes and wearing . . . is that an eyepatch?

Trent’s amazement was washed away by dawning horror. He looked down at the artifact. The light below the drawing of a human was blinking, and the light below the series of animals was blank.

Creatures . . . ascendant creatures that have grown powerful enough to no longer be recognized as animals . . .

Like cupcake frosting beneath the midday sun, his hopes of returning to the capital with three cultivators melted away. Such beings couldn’t be controlled.

“K-kill them!” he screeched, crawling back from the abominations.

At his decree, the world exploded into violence.