Heretical Fishing

Chapter 45: Taproot

Sergeant Snips scuttled beneath the waves surrounding Tropica, searching.

The moon high above shone its light down atop her, brightening the seafloor.

Despite the myriad benefits of her new body, it also had its detriments.

She no longer looked like a simple crab, and the moment any fish caught sight of her steady movement through the water, they fled.

A new tactic was necessary.

She traveled to a large boulder she knew was just east of her position. The moment the fish using it as cover saw her, they fled.

Her legs worked their way down into the loose sand, digging until her large and rather impressive carapace was resting atop the ocean floor.

She sat and waited, unmoving.

Her thoughts returned to the conversation with Barry, and a few bubbles escaped her mouth as she considered.

Snips was also fond of Barry, but should he turn out to be a threat, she would harbor no regrets at having to take his life—other than the negative emotions her master would feel as a result, of course.

Sergeant Snips had been shocked at the revelation that Barry had also taken steps on the path of ascension. If she had known that to be a possibility, she would have insisted he didn't eat.

And, if he did, I would have ended him before he awakened; such is the threat he possesses.

Luckily for Barry, he was a more-than-reasonable human, and not only were his plans largely good, but also beneficial. Snips couldn't enact them without him, and so, he had proven himself.

Most surprising of all was that a simple farmer had reached so many correct conclusions and devised sound plans with them. Well, sound after Snips' corrections, but that superiority was to be expected of Fischer's first chosen.

Movement caught her eye, and a large fish lazily swam toward the rock.

Snips remained still, allowing it the illusion of safety.

Even with no threat visible, it approached warily, its eyes and body darting around and scanning each section of sand it crossed.

She kept her eyestalk still, not needing to move it around to track the fish.

It swam behind her, and she lost sight of it—still, she didn't move.

Her anticipation rose; even with her awakening, base animalistic instincts remained.

The fish rounded the boulder in front of her, and it looked down at her, its eye darting around rapidly as it took in what must have looked like a rather odd rock.

It swam closer; its curiosity sealed its fate.

Her claw moved faster than an unascended creature could register, clacking sharply and shooting an arc of water outward.

It severed the fish's head; her aim was true, ending its life in an instant—as was Fischer's teaching.

She collected both pieces of fish and set off for the cave.

When she arrived, she found an antenna poking out of the entrance.

The previous times she'd visited, the sea snipper lay further back in the cave, hiding in a hole that barely fit its size.

Good, she thought, nodding to herself. It gains confidence.

Holding the bits of fish before her so the scent wafted on the ocean current, she approached.

The sea snipper, catching the scent of slain fish in the water, crawled toward her, its remaining antenna moving up and down. Two smaller antennae below the larger one moved around rapidly, enticed by the meal.

Sergeant Snips dropped the fish on the sand, intent on making the sea snipper come further from its cave to collect the gift.

As it stepped out, she caught sight of the nub where its other antenna had been. The appendage appeared to be regrowing, but the base was still notably scarred.

She rubbed her eyepatch, touching the spot where she'd lost an eye.

The fight that caused her to lose it was lost to time, her memories from the before fleeting and unreliable.

Will my eye one day regrow, too?

She shrugged to herself, and the sea snipper darted back a meter, spooked by her gesture.

No matter, she thought, stepping back from the cave a few steps to encourage the sea snipper forward.

If it regrows, I will still wear my master's gifted garment.

The creature walked forward once more as she retreated, tentatively picking up the large section of fish with one gigantic claw. It made to take it back to its cave, but realizing that a section of head remained, it scooped that up too in its other forelimb.

With both bits of fish secured, it withdrew, already holding the head to its mouth and crunching on it.

***

Barry walked beneath the full moon, its light showing him the way home.

Despite the late hour, he didn’t feel tired. The cool night air was invigorating.

He and Sergeant Snips had talked for hours, and after explaining himself and what he had planned, she’d been more than willing to work together.

While he knew creatures on the path to ascension were told to be smart, he wasn’t prepared for just how intelligent she was.

Being literate and able to communicate with written language was one thing; her insight and input were another thing entirely.

Busy as his mind was, the trip back home took no time at all.

He stepped inside. The air was warm, and the smell of his wife’s curry still lingered.

As he approached their bedroom, a sense of dread welled up when he saw candlelight peeking beneath the door.

Why am I more scared of my wife than an ascendant crab…?

He reached out and grabbed the door handle, pausing as indecision washed over him.

Is this really the right move…?

Barry shook his head.

Snips and I already set things in motion—if I can’t trust Helen, who can I trust?

The door creaked, cutting through the night’s silence.

“Barry!” Helen said, sitting up. “I almost came to find you; I was worried sick!”

He sat down on the bed beside her, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing tight.

She went rigid, surprised by his embrace, but melted into the hug immediately after, fiercely embracing him back.

They held each other there, both taking solace in their touch. The only noises Barry could hear were the wind blowing cane leaves around outside, and his own pulse beating in his ears..

“Are you well, husband?” Helen asked, still holding him to her.

“I am—I’m just thankful to have you here.”

She pulled him closer, squeezing him with all her strength, then let go, leaning back to look into his eyes.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

He nodded.

“I am, but I have something to tell you.”

She smiled at him, and Barry’s heart somehow felt even more love for her.

He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before beginning his tale.

“It’s about Fischer…”

***

Sergeant Snips, having ensured the sea snipper's continued survival, set off toward Tropica.

She had been keeping her eye on the poisoner and his follower at least once each day, and this day was no different.

As she was almost at the rocky wall that marked the village, a mumbled conversation could be heard.

Snips cocked her head, filled with intrigue at who could be outside and talking at such a late hour.

She carefully walked up the rocky wall. Her head poked above the waterline beneath a wooden dock, and she listened.

"What did I say last time, Gary?" the poisoner demanded.

It took all of Sergeant Snips' will to not blow a slew of furious bubbles.

She felt the desire to ascend the wall, to end the coward's life once and for all, but she quashed it down.

Patience, Snips...

The poisoner's follower, Gary, let out a sigh.

"You said the next time I question you, I should leave and never come back, boss."

"And yet, you question me?" Sebastion demanded in a hiss.

"No, boss. I don't question you—I merely asked if dwelling on the past was stopping you from sleeping."

Footsteps sounded atop the wall at a clipped pace.

"That is questioning me, Gary!" Sebastian grunted in annoyance. "How can you not lose sleep after Fischer murdered Pistachio?"

Gary sighed again.

"Please let go of my cloak, boss. I miss Pistachio just as much as you, but for me to be an effective member of the cult, I know how important sleep is..."

The poisoner grunted again, and Snips heard receding footsteps, followed by the creak and slam of a door.

She sat and listened for a long time, but other than the occasional sigh from Gary, who still appeared to be atop the wall, there was no more noise from above.

She scuttled back under the softly crashing waves, heading for home.

Pistachio... the sea snipper has a name.

***

Despite talking into the early hours of the morning, Barry woke early.

He kissed his wife Helen on the forehead before stealing out into the pre-dawn dark.

The full moon was over the northern sky, its reflected shine lighting the way.

Even with not much sleep, he felt refreshed.

Helen is right—I never should have kept it all from her for so long…

A smile came to him, and he let gratitude for her wisdom and strength flow through him.

Where would I be without that woman…?

Barry resumed walking, holding his hands out to touch sugarcane leaves in his passing.

His mind was dragged away, mulling over plans, possibilities, and outcomes.

He barely registered stepping out between his crops, and his eyes cleared as something unexpected appeared.

Barry cast about, checking he was where he thought.

Fischer’s sands stretched out before him, the two new fields making two brown rectangles on the yellow and white landscape.

In the corner of one of the fields, the one to his right that Fischer had fertilized, sat a section of fully grown sugarcane.

“What in Demeter’s harvest…”

His legs walked toward the anomaly unbidden, his mind unbelieving despite the proof being directly before his eyes.

He reached out, grasping one of the stalks.

It wasn’t just fully grown—it was the largest stalk of cane Barry had ever seen.

“Huh…”

A small laugh bubbled from his throat, and he shook his head with a smile.

"And he doesn't even like farming..."

With this discovery, the plans in Barry’s mind shifted. He walked toward the closest sugarcane stalk and pulled it from the ground—well, he tried to.

The cane held firm, so he redoubled his efforts.

A grunt escaped him, and he felt the roots beginning to give.

Finally, with a last tug, the stalk came free.

He lunged backward as the last root snapped, then took a few steps back as he regained his balance.

He lifted the sugarcane, inspecting the roots; they were the thickest he'd ever seen, looking more like the roots of a sapling than those of Tropica's staple crop.

A taproot sat in the middle of the tangle of nutrient-gathering tendrils, wider than one of Barry's stout fingers.

He grabbed it in his hand, assessing its sturdiness.

"No wonder it was so hard to pull out..."

It was firm, one more reminding Barry of a tree rather than a crop.

Barry smiled to himself.

With this, the first stage of our plans should be easy as sowing seeds.

Barry placed the sugarcane on the ground, walked over to the next stalk, and braced his legs.

He started tugging.

***

Helen cracked an eye as she heard the front door close.

Getting up with a grace belying her age, she scurried to the window.

She peeked her head around the corner, watching her husband disappear between two rows of sugarcane.

With a smile, she wished him all the luck in the world.

Helen knew that if Barry had known she was awake, he'd likely have stayed and spent time with her. As much as she liked that idea, she also knew he'd work through his complicated emotions quicker if he got outside among his treasured fields.

You're a simple man, Barry—and I love you for it.

Helen also couldn't sleep, excited as she was. Her whole body seemed to hum with the information it now held, the energy making rest and relaxation an impossibility.

She made her way to their back door and collected a bucket before heading to the well.

She'd known Barry was hiding something, but waited for him to tell her when he felt comfortable doing so.

The awakening wasn't enough to have unsettled him so, after all.

Barry was a pragmatic man, and they'd already discussed what they'd do should one of them happen to awaken—nothing, of course. They'd tell no one and change nothing.

It had been a hard lesson to learn, having lost her brother to the capital. The thought immediately brought her down, so she redirected her thoughts.

With these plans... if things go well, maybe we can one day rescue him.

She tied a rope around the bucket's handle and lowered it down into the well.

Perhaps because she was still waking up, or maybe due to the scope of their plans, negative thoughts blossomed.

What if he's already dead? What if he was too pig-headed to be a slave, and they got rid of him...?

The moment she recognized she was catastrophizing, she cut the thought off at the root.

No. He would never give up.

Wait for us, brother. We'll come for you.

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