Heretical Fishing

Book 4: Chapter 1: Tropica

The following afternoon, birdsong lilted through the air, accented by the unerring trundle of wagon wheels over packed earth. The sun was beaming down from behind, casting our shadows over the treasure we’d procured from the old Osnan farm. It was an absolute mound of coffee, and despite being exposed to its aromatic scents for the entire day, they were still as lovely as the sun above and the woman beside me.

As if she could read my thoughts, Maria rested her head on my shoulder and let out a happy little sigh. “I’m glad we took this trip the old-fashioned way.” Despite her words, she rubbed her lower back, her brow knitting. “Maybe we should get out and walk for a while, though. This sitting situation isn’t ideal.”

I smirked and gestured down at the throne I’d made out of coffee-filled burlap sacks. “If the queen of caffeine desires, this humble servant can teleport us back.”

She shook her head. “No. Ellis would annoy you to no end the moment we got back if you were to use your power. Besides, it’s peaceful just rolling along in the afternoon sun—lumbar support be damned.”

Claws chirped her agreement, rolling over and exposing her stomach on Maria’s lap. Borks, who I’d thought was asleep, wagged his tail at my feet, making a soft thump, thump, thump on the wagon.

I opened my mouth to agree with the sentiment, then spun toward Maria, giving her a questioning look. “Wait, how do you know what lumbar support is?”n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

It was her turn to stare at me in confusion, but it swiftly devolved into a giggle. “Because, you goose, the first time you got drunk on Barry’s rum—”

“Pew-pew juice,” I corrected.

“Right.” She rolled her eyes playfully. “Pew-pew juice. Well, during the celebratory feast the other day after we beat the king, you went on a massive tirade about office chairs and how prohibitively expensive a good one is. I couldn’t forget the terms lumbar support, ergonomics, and breathability if I tried.”

I barked a laugh. “My bad. I’m, er, passionate about posture, I suppose. Is your back actually hurting, though? We can get out and walk.”

She shook her head before resting it on my shoulder again. “I think I’ll enjoy my caffeine throne while I can. We’ll be there soon anyway.”

I glanced up and saw that she was right. We’d be able to see Tropica from the next mountaintop. “Humble steeds,” I declared, gifting my voice a noble and pretentious quality. “If it pleases you, would you kindly pick up the pace? My betrothed desires the comfort of home.”

Our carapace-covered beasts of burden hissed in acknowledgement, but rather than speed up, Rocky, who was pulling one handle of the cart, stopped entirely. From the other side, Snips cocked her cute little head and blew curious bubbles.

Rocky gestured back at the cart, dipped his body, and made a humble series of hisses. Please, mistress, he seemed to implore. Allow me to carry the burden.

Snips made a fuss about how extra he was being, but I noticed the little skip in her step as she leaped up onto the cart. Rocky’s reform and subsequent return was a source of great joy, and seeing the effect it had on my favorite crabby girl only compounded my gratitude. When all my animal pals, Maria, and I had bonded in the sky, our deepest desires were revealed, and Snips’s pain and regret over Rocky had been a bitter pill to swallow. I’d wished for an ideal outcome, but his homecoming exceeded even my wildest expectations.

As he slung some rope over the cart’s handles and started tying some rather complicated knots, I caught his eye and gave him a nod. Rocky paused for the barest of moments, pulled a cigarette from nowhere—seriously, where did he keep getting those?—and lit it on his shell before returning my nod. He slipped onto the harness he’d tied, shot Snips a smooth wink, and took off.

To my surprise, he was expending chi. His volcanic essence reached out before him, hot enough to melt the packed earth we traveled atop. As he strode over the molten ground, he sucked the heat back up, hardening and allowing our wagon’s wheels to roll right over it. The result was an impressively smooth road, and though we traveled at a hastened clip, it was as though the wagon had suspension.

Claws let out an appreciative chirp and slid into the gap between mine and Maria’s leg, wiggling her furry little tooshie until she slipped all the way between us. I raised an eyebrow at her but her eyes were already closed, a grin spreading over her features as she enjoyed the blissful afternoon sunshine. I swiveled and lifted my face toward the setting rays, also radiating in their touch. Though winter in Tropica had been a mild affair, I was excited about spring’s arrival. It would mean longer days and more time spent fishing. That line of thought made another possibility come to mine.

“What’s that smile about?” Maria asked.

I faced forward again and stretched, luxuriating in the slight ache of my muscles. “I was just thinking about spring. It got me wondering about the possibility of catching new fish. Spring is the season of life, right?”

“Oh!” She shimmied like a child that just learned they were having ice-cream for breakfast. “I hadn’t even considered that! Do you think they’ll take the same bait? Will we need to create more equipment? Why are you smirking? What plans have you already started to—”

“Woah!” I laughed, holding up my hands in an attempt to stall the barrage of questions. “I have some ideas but they’re not ready yet. They’re still cooking.”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

A dangerous gleam entered her eye. “What’s mine is yours, dear.” She leaned forward and lay a hand on my leg, raising her other hand to examine her engagement ring in a theatrical manner. “Secrets aren’t a foundation to build a good marriage upon. Wouldn’t you agree, dearest betrothed?”

“I’m only keeping them to myself because I don’t want to get you excited, and they’re not really secrets. You already know about them.”

“Oh? What would you call them?”

“Mysteries, of course.” I shot her a wink. “Makes them sound intriguing and mystical, which, by extension, makes me seem—”

“Like a bit of a prick?”

Caught entirely off-guard by the use of my own vernacular, I guffawed. “Maria! How could you?”

She covered her mouth and giggled. “Just teasing. Keep your secrets.”

“Mysteries, you mean.”

“Sure. Mysteries. But the moment you decide to try something, you have to tell me. Deal?”

I extended an arm, which she immediately grasped and shook. The rest of the passage back to Tropica was spent in silence. Bird calls and Borks’s snoring were the only sounds that broke through the stillness, both noises adding to the tranquility.

As we crested the mountain and caught sight of the new version of Tropica, I couldn’t help but stare. Despite my usually flawless memory, my brain still expected the village’s old and crude buildings to await us. Instead, we were met with beauty.

No, that wasn’t really fair. The old version of Tropica was beautiful in its own way. The village was lived in and the buildings were loved, even if they were constructed of basic materials. There was an unquantifiable allure to them, something that screamed this was the kind of place one could settle in.

The encampment to the southwest that we’d dubbed ‘New Tropica’ had been an improvement on the original in terms of function and technology. It had plumbing, vastly improved town planning, and even had the magical fantasy world equivalent of electricity, its functions powered by essence. What it didn’t have, however, was the charm that the old Tropica possessed. Each building, no matter its purpose, was uniform and conservative. As a whole, they lacked a certain pizazz that the older version of Tropica had an abundance of.

This new layout, the one that the very world had helped me shape... was hard to find the right words for. It was a perfect amalgamation of both villages, combining their strengths to create something greater than the sum of its parts. Each building was functional, technologically advanced, and stunning. They had building and craft specific adornment, with wooden flourishes here, cast-iron moldings there, and large glass windows in any place suitable.

Everywhere, life grew. Small gardens separated many a building, their beds filled with plants of different shapes, colors, and sizes. Some walls were absolutely covered in vines, as if the respective homes had existed for years, not sprung up from the ground mere days ago. Magical lamps peppered every street, their poles ornate and unique. As we watched, they ignited, their flames dancing languidly within glass prisms. It wasn’t yet dark enough for them to light up their surroundings, yet it was delightful all the same.

A word to describe the sight finally sprang to mind, but before I could speak it, Maria stole it right from my lungs.

“Perfect...” she said, her eyes all but sparkling as she stared down at our village.

“It is,” I agreed, my gaze not leaving her for a moment.

Given how connected we were now, she understood my meaning. She finally looked my way and we stared at each other for a long moment, both broadcasting our love for the other.

“Hyuuurk!” Claws said from our laps, making a sound like a cat violently ejecting the contents of its stomach over the nicest rug it could find.

“Claws!” Maria tried to grab her by the scruff of the neck, but my otter pal was expecting it. She darted away, disappearing into the night with a crack of lightning that made my hair stand on end. She arced high into the air and slammed down into the middle of Tropica, chittering with laughter all the way.

By the time we rolled into the center of Tropica, a crowd was forming. Barry took a step forward, no doubt intent on asking how it went.

But Rocky had pressing business. Mistress, he seemed to say, his bubbles sincere as he sparked up a cigarette. Seeing as though you are well rested, might I request a favor?

I immediately knew where this was going, and I shot Maria an exasperated look. “Are you serious, Rocky?” she demanded. “This is why you offered to pull the cart?”

Snips, however, merely nodded, acknowledging his question.

Rocky exhaled a small cloud of smoke, taking his time. Finally, he blew meaning-filled bubbles. Please, mistress.I desire to be yeeted.

Snips moved in a blur of billowing chi, her claw scooping Rocky up by the bottom of his carapace and flinging him east over the closest rooftops. A sound like thunder sprang into being as air exploded from him.

“Eeee—” was all he could get out before he left my enhanced hearing range. Though his limbs were splayed outward with centrifugal force, he held onto his cigarette for dear life.

“Nice arm, Snips,” I said, earning happy bubbles and a shy shrug from her.

Barry shook his head, his muscular jaw tensing as he watched Rocky’s departure. “Nice to see that some things haven’t changed.” He turned his attention toward us and gestured down at the sacks of coffee. “I take it the mission was a success?”

“More than you know, mate.”

“Wait,” Ellis said, looking up from his notepad as he stopped scribbling for the barest of moments. “Why did you not store the coffee beans within Borks’s soul space? Once they are roasted, will they not perish faster when exposed to the air as they are? Wasn’t the plan to keep them in the climate controlled room that Borks can conjure?”

“Clever as always, Ellis,” I replied. “But there’s a simple explanation: We have something even more important than roasted coffee beans in there.”

Ellis’s visage turned feverish. “There is something in there that you deem more important than coffee...?”

“Better if I show you, I think. Would you mind, Borks?”

Ruff! he barked, tearing a rift in space a second later.

“Just poke your heads in, fellas,” I warned. “It’s rather full.”

As Barry and Ellis’s heads joined me on the other side of the portal, they both made odd faces. “Why does it smell like cut grass in here?” Barry asked, staring at the burlap bags filling the space.

A little bolt of lightning zipped into the room, and as soon as Claws landed, she was helpfully opening one of the sacks. Ellis and Barry watched her intently as she sliced it open with her namesake, but as she revealed the contents, they only grew more confused.

“Why are they green...?” Barry asked.

“Because they’re raw, mate. As they are now, they’ll keep for up to a year.” I grinned at them, not needing to feign my excitement. “We’re going to make our own single-origin coffee.”