Heretical Fishing

Chapter 69: Nice

Chapter 69: Nice

Sergeant Snips uncurled her body, her ears ringing from the sea snipper's blast.

She had felt the power welling and, unlike the overly curious Corporal Claws, had known an explosion would follow.

As Snips’ lone eye cleared, she gaped at the carnage.

The lobster had both claws held before him, an intense gleam in his eyes as he surveyed the vessels of destruction.

Where the tree had previously been, only a hole and debris remained.

Unlike her attack—which was precise, directed—the lobster's attack was all-encompassing, the force exploding out. It had been slightly directed, as he still stood atop solid ground, but everything beyond was... gone.

The hold left by the blast was twice as long as the lobster and almost as wide. All that remained of the tree was a collection of branches strewn through the hole. A tree beyond had also been destroyed, only its top half remaining on the forest floor.

She scuttled over to the lobster, who still looked at his claws, an obvious look of confusion set on his features.

Claws peeled herself from the base of a tree, shaking her head with a small chirp, then also moving to the sea snipper’s side.

He's strong—immensely strong.

She blew bubbles of approval.

Master will be pleased.

***

"Nice!" I yelled.

"I did it!" Maria called back, lifting her prize.

She held another of the juvenile jungle perch, which she had caught and removed from the pond all by herself.

I smiled, delighting in her enjoyment.

"You're a natural!"

She giggled as she bent down, releasing it back into the water.

"Bye, fishy! Thank you!"

It darted beneath the surface, swiftly melding back into the camouflage of the pond.

“This pond might be a bit small to hold any larger fish.” I said. “Should we travel deeper?”

"There are bigger ponds?" she asked, her eyes going wide.

I nodded.

"At least one I've seen other than the big one we're heading to—we might not reach it today, but if we leave now, we'll get there the following day."

She picked up the hook, put it through an eye on the rod as I'd shown her, and wound the reel, pulling the line tight and keeping it in place.

"What are we waiting for, then? We've got bigger fish to catch!"

***

"Are you sure you don't want to sit?" I asked, biting a croissant as we moved.

"The sooner we get where we're going," Maria responded, "the sooner we can catch more fish, right?"

I smiled at her keenness.

"You've really caught the fishing bug, haven't you?"

She paused, looking over her body.

"Please tell me I don't have a bug on me."

I laughed.

"Don't tell me you're afraid of bugs—I thought you were a tough farmer."

She leveled a flat glare at me, making me laugh harder.

"Sorry, it's just a turn of phrase. Saying you've caught the fishing bug means you've got the urge to do it more."

She resumed walking, her eyes narrowed at me playfully.

"I wouldn't say I'm afraid; I'd say I have a healthy aversion to things with entirely too many limbs."

I wonder if she'll fear Sergeant Snips, then...?

I smiled to myself.

Nah. Snips is entirely too cute and lovable to be afraid of.

***

"Can I tell you something, Fischer?"

Maria's question drew me from my meditative state, and I glanced up lazily.

We sat at the side of the creek, resting our legs after coming across another of my abandoned shelters.

"Of course. You can tell me anything."

She kicked her legs, making the shallow water of the creek swirl around them.

"Promise not to laugh?"

With an exaggerated hmmmmmm, I rested my chin on a closed fist.

"I can't promise I won't laugh, but I swear to you if I do, there's no ill intent behind it."

She dipped her hand in the creek and flicked droplets of water at me.

"Not good enough. I need your word."

I held my hands up.

"Alright, alright—I promise."

Her gaze went wide as she stared down at the moving water, so I looked away, not wanting to pressure her.

She took a deep breath and sighed, then the words flew free.

"I don't really like farming."

I raised an eyebrow.

"You don't?"

She shook her head, making her hair bounce softly against the sides of her face.

"No."

I gave her time to continue, but she didn't.

"What makes you say that? You always seem so lost in the process when I've seen you working the fields."

"Don't get me wrong—I don't hate it..."

She kicked her legs again, the water languidly moving around her feet.

"Working outside isn't bad; I get a sense of accomplishment when a field is tilled or planted. It's just... overall, you know? I like the idea of growing our own food, of living off the land, so to speak, but being out here, exploring…"

She leaned back, looking up at the sky.

"I probably sound silly—forget it."

"No, Maria, you don't."

She cocked her head at me, brows slightly furrowed, and I continued.

"I'm following you so far. What is it that bothers you?"

She lay back on the rocks of the shore, her hands behind her head.

"I feel, I don't know... pushed into it? Like it's what my family does, so that means that's what I have to do. It's all I've really known."

I lay beside her, looking up at a cloud slowly shifting across the sky through a gap in the trees.

"I get it. Believe me. I spent years doing what my family wanted me to do, knowing deep down it wasn't what I wanted, but telling myself it would make me happy."

A silence stretched between us, both lost in our own thoughts.

After a dozen breaths or so, I turned my head toward her.

"If money wasn't an issue, and you could follow your passion, what would you do?"

She shook her head, eyes closed as she let out a self-deprecating laugh.

"I have absolutely no idea. It feels silly complaining about my work when I don't even know what I'd rather be doing..."

"Not silly at all—that's normal."

"If you say so..."

I sat up.

"I mean it, Maria. You're what... twenty?"

She opened her eyes, then narrowed them at me and smiled.

"Are you trying to flatter me, Fischer?"

I held up both hands.

“I would never attempt such base flattery on you, my lady.” I grinned. “I really have no idea, and you could easily pass for twenty.”

She rolled her eyes playfully.

"I'm twenty-seven."

I nodded, more to myself.

"You know, I heard something once that really stuck with me: some of the most interesting people you’ll ever meet didn't know what they were doing with their life until they were well into their thirties or forties. It's normal to feel lost, and you shouldn't bash yourself for not knowing what your passion is in your twenties."

"You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"Nope. I mean it."

She raised an eyebrow at me.

“Well, what did these ‘interesting people’ do, then?”

I shrugged.

"Everyone is different, but I’d bet they all had one thing in common: they took many steps down the wrong path."

I shook my head.

"The wrong path isn't correct, because those missteps are exactly what led them to what they truly wanted to do. You just need to have a little faith in yourself. If you keep an open mind and try different things, I promise you'll find your passion. The universe always provides."

She sat up, peering over at me.

"You always say the sweetest things, but I'm still not convinced."

"I'll help, then. What if we try brainstorming?"

"... brainstorming?"

I laughed at her obvious incredulity at the unknown phrase.

"Yeah—brainstorming. It means just throwing out ideas and seeing if anything sticks. It's particularly helpful doing it with someone else."

She glanced at me, still unconvinced, but after a long moment, nodded.

"Alright. How do we start?"

"What of these sounds the most enjoyable to you: running a business, making art, or working with animals?"

She perked up.

"Animals? What do you mean by working with animals?"

I raised an eyebrow, hearing the interest in her voice.

"There are plenty of things you can do with animals. What about raising them?"

"I had thought of breeding cattle before like some farmers in Tropica do..." She winced. "I hate the idea of growing animals just for them to be eaten, though..."

"Good—that's perfect. So you like animals, but you don't want to farm them for food. What about farming them for other reasons, then? Chickens for laying eggs; animals for companionship, like dogs or cats; or animals for use, like oxen or horses to pull carts—er, you have all those animals here, right?"

She looked thoughtful at my words until my last question, which made her smirk.

"Yes, Fischer—we have all those animals..."

She squinted at me.

"Just how far away is the Earth kingdom...?"

I scratched the back of my head, grimacing.

"I was just making sure—I hadn't seen some of them yet since coming here. Do any of those ideas sound tempting to you, though?"

She lifted a hand to her head, playing with a loose strand of hair as she thought.

"As much as I'd love to work with those animals—if I could ever afford any, that is—I'm not sure breeding them is the right move for me. We had a puppy once when I was younger. It was really expensive, and dad bought it on our way to Tropica. He wanted to have something to alert us of anyone approaching in the night."

Maria gave me a sad smile.

"She ate something she shouldn't have while we were traveling with a caravan. She got sick and passed away, and that was the last pet we ever owned. I know I was young, but having something so small and innocent die in my arms... I'm not sure I could handle that part of breeding. It's an inevitability, after all—not every animal is going to be healthy and make it past adolescence."

"I'm sorry..."

She took a deep breath, sighing it out.

"It's okay. It was a long time ago, but the memory of it still stings."

I snapped my fingers as a thought came to me.

"Do you have vets here?"

"Like... veterans?"

"Nah, not veterans," I said with a laugh. "Veterinarians. Animal doctors."

"Veterinarian..." She spoke the word slowly, tasting it. "Yeah, I'm just gonna keep calling them animal doctors. We do have them, but they're too expensive for a small village like Tropica. Most farmers just have to do it themselves."

“That's even better—you'd have no competition! You would have to deal with some animals... passing, but at the same time, you'd be the one responsible for saving heaps more.” I shrugged. “Something to consider, anyway.”

She twirled her finger, the strand of hair twisting around and around as she stared at the pond in thought.

"I will..."

"Well, while you're doing that, I'm gonna fix up this disaster of a shelter I left behind."

She stood and stretched.

"I'll get a fire started for dinner, then."

***

The cultivator gazed at the mountains stretching toward the horizon before him, wondering if they could be the same landmarks that could be seen from his families' home.

They do look similar...

Trent, first in line to the throne of Gormona, snapped his fingers indignantly.

"Faster, cultivator scum. It's in the brown bag. Make haste."

Glancing at the long-haired cultivator, and seeing he was staring off into space as usual, the shorter-haired cultivator sighed.

The collar around his neck was an unignorable weight as he stepped forward to unclasp the prince’s bag.

"Not the light brown one, you moron—the dark brown one!"

He felt his eyebrow twitch as he moved to the other satchel, and with deliberately slow movement—and a secret hope that the tyrant atop the horse would have an apoplectic fit and fall to his death—he flicked open the clasp.

"Hurry up!" the prince screeched.

A soft whistling sound was the only warning that the prince had struck out. The end of his whip cracked down, striking his hand.

At his flinch, Trent giggled.

"That's what you get!" The prince snapped his fingers again. "Now pass me the package wrapped in cloth, plebeian."

Clenching his jaw, he removed it and offered it up.

Trent snatched it.

"I swear," he said, "if you two didn't have a leader here beside you, you'd find a way to perish before the day was out. If it weren't for your use to the Kingdom, I don't think..."

The words trailed off abruptly, so the cultivator glanced up at his jailer.

Trent's eyes were wide; he stared down at the artifact in his hands.

A wicked smile spread across the prince's face, making his already ugly face all the more detestable.

"We've found him..."