Heretical Fishing

Book 3: Chapter 26: Escape

Book 3: Chapter 26: Escape

Within a dark and humid room, a devout man practiced his craft.

The scents of earth, mildew, and sweet herbs surrounded him, standing in stark contrast to the haze that usually filled his domain. It had taken Solomon most of a week to create this place of worship—the holy ground upon which he would take steps on the stairway of ascension.

For as long as Solomon had been practicing alchemy, he had been inhaling the Cult of the Alchemist’s chi-suppressing smoke. Toward the end of his stay in Tropica, the burning qualities of the haze had seemed to decrease, his empowered body somehow withstanding the usually agony-inducing qualities of the Cult’s greatest creation.

He took a deep breath, marveling at the soothing characteristics his newest concoction seemed to have on his throat. Where his past workspaces made him feel physically ill, the vapors wafting up from his cauldron now caused his body to hum, as if it was healing all the prior punishment he had put it through.

Solomon had no doubt as to the ingredient causing this shift; it was the bark of the blue-trunked tree.

The decomposing plant matter was the basis of the brew he currently worked on, aided by medicinal herbs and plants that he’d found in the surrounding forest. This place of power seemed to make plantlife flourish; he hadn’t needed to travel far in order to find the ingredients he looked for, and Solomon could think of nowhere else on Kallis that he’d ever witnessed so much diversity.

Despite the wondrous soothing of his throat, Solomon’s brow knitted. The bark had irrefutable healing qualities, but it wasn’t doing what he’d hoped.

Much like he could feel the suppressing aspect of the haze he usually worked within, he could also sense the potent chi held within his concoction. It was there. He was sure of it. Yet he couldn’t harness its power. There had to be something missing—an ingredient, perhaps, but try as he might, Solomon couldn’t work out what it was.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to focus his will on the concoction, just as the Cult of the Alchemist’s doctrine instructed. He closed his eyes, imagining the outcome he desired. Solomon dressed in golden robes, the garb so rich that he shone as bright as the midday sun. The other members of the Cult of the Alchemist, prostate and bowing before him, their god. A pile of riches laying at his feet, brought forth by the kingdoms trying to gain his favor.

Something resonated within his abdomen as the scene played out in his mind’s eye. With exhilaration fueling his efforts, he imagined even more people praising him, and an even greater pile of gold. He strained, his body hunching as he sought to focus every ounce of will he had on that eventuality.

No matter how hard he tried, however, nothing happened. The vibration within remained just that—a vibration.

Despite his efforts, there was something nagging at him in the back of his mind. An immovable blockage that halted his progress. He did his best to ignore it, but the stray thought was like a rock in one’s shoe, only growing more agitating the longer it was left unremoved. Unlike the metaphorical stone, however, Solomon couldn’t just remove his boot and take it out.

There was something missing from the concoction, and no matter how many times he redoubled his efforts, nothing would change that fact.

He let out a sigh as he looked out at the waking world once more, the scene dissipating like a soluble compound in hot water. He couldn’t ascend until he found the missing ingredient.

Standing and stretching, he made for the door, intent on finding it.

***

A heavy breeze washed over me, flecking my skin with small drops of rain. I’d spent the morning fishing, hanging with my friends, and exacting vengeance. All in all, it left me feeling balanced, which was a good thing considering the blade of chi currently flying for my head.

Going full matrix, I dodged it.

Springing backward, I took off running toward shore, unable to halt my giggles despite the murder held in Roger’s eyes. “I had no choice!”

“There is always a choice!” he roared, standing upright in the waves.

“You were perfectly positioned for a good punting! What was I supposed to do?”

He didn’t respond, marching from the water as a drowned mess. He continued his approach, completely silent as he strode toward me. Chi roiled from his core and made the air around him shimmer with violent intent. Maria tried to scowl at me, scrunching her face in order to hide the amusement radiating from her abdomen.

Sharon sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Please don’t kill each other.”

It was the last sentence I had the chance of hearing; Roger exploded forward, soaring across the pathway toward me. I turned and fled, still laughing as I zipped side to side, dodging the blades of energy sent flying my way.

Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

***

Nathan stared up at the incoming clouds, their dark shadow lending his awareness a sense of ease.

As he moved along streets and between the buildings of New Tropica, he took measured breaths. When he felt someone looking his way, he paused to peer up at a building’s architecture, letting his gaze wander over its utilitarian design.

Though he attempted to appear ponderous and unhurried to anyone watching, Nathan was anything but.

Sweat beaded at his lower back, his heart pounding as the scene he’d witnessed replayed in his mind. He had been at the edge of the forest not long ago, staring out at the sand flats as rain clouds formed to the east. Though the coming storm granted him a sense of comfort, that wasn’t why he’d been there.

He was there waiting for an opportunity, and his foresight had been rewarded.

The only warning he had was a vibration in his core, and then the two cultivators had arrived, exchanging blows that reverberated in his chest. They approached from the north, one trailing the other and unleashing a hail of blade-shaped projectiles. Though Fischer was literally deified by the heretics in this treasonous village, it was the other man that filled Nathan with terror.

The blades flying from his body tore through sand, stone, and everything in between. Before they’d passed through, there was a small cropping of boulders between the sands and the southern mountains. It was now a smattering of angular rocks, the boulders having been sliced apart when Fischer tried to hide behind them.

The entire time, Fischer had laughed. Despite being pressed by a man that could easily level a mountain, Fischer had stopped mid-fight to smile and wave at Nathan, only resuming the battle when dual arcs of power shot for his chest.

It had all happened so fast, and if not for his cultivation, Nathan wouldn’t have seen a thing. Within the space of a few breaths, they were gone again. Only distant booms announced their new position on the other side of the southern mountain range, the very ground quaking with each massive attack.

Though their display of power had unsettled him to his core, it was exactly what he’d been waiting for.

Nathan shook his head, dispelling his thoughts and returning to the present. He strode into the smithy, finding two of the loyal.

“Could I bother you two for a moment?” he asked conversationally, not drawing the attention of the head smiths, who, for once, weren’t off fishing.

They nodded in response, following him onto the street.

He, Zeke, and Anna had stepped up their recruiting over the past few days. The latter had proven to be an invaluable asset, her efforts seeing the number of the loyal more than double. There were almost two-score of them now, and with the village’s heretical protector elsewhere, it was time to strike.

He watched as Anna headed into the tailoring workshop, thankful for Zeke’s wisdom in recruiting her.

And to think that I wanted to neutralize her, Nathan thought, smirking to himself. It was a shame she wouldn’t be making it out of the village.

He would have to introduce her to his master if she ever returned to the capital—Tom Osnan Sr. could always use more pawns.

As the two tailoring apprentices joined their precession, Nathan nodded at Anna. She set her jaw and nodded back. She had volunteered to lead the distraction, which was another reason to be thankful for her service. Two of the newer members followed her as she headed to the east side of the village. They believed he would immediately come back and rescue them, which was a lie, of course, but trickery was perfectly fine if it meant they succeeded in extracting the nobles and getting them back to Gormona. They could be freed when the capital came and crushed this misguided cult calling itself a church.

After a few minutes, everyone but the three distractors reconvened within the corridor of the prison. Zeke met them there, having relieved the person on watch of their duties. They waited there in silence, every passing second making Nathan’s unease grow. Anna should have attacked by now. Had they been caught preemptively? Was she acting as a double agent, only pretending to—

Booom!

The prison walls shook with the force of the explosion, and a wicked grind spread over Nathan’s face. He took a deep breath and opened the gate to his core, allowing his ability to pour out and smother the area in stillness. The moment it was in place, Zeke used the keys to open the first cultivator’s door.

They moved deeper into the prison, releasing them one by one, and when they reached Tom Osnan Jr.’s cell, they all bowed, averting their eyes. Zeke slid forward and opened the bars. The second the captive was freed, a vice-like hand grabbed Nathan’s neck, forcing his face up. Tom Osnan’s expression was fiery, and he struck Nathan’s cheek with a savage blow.

Because of the chi roiling from Nathan’s core, Tom Osnan Jr.’s cultivation was sealed. The backhanded slap couldn’t have harmed a hair on his body, so he threw his head to the side, making it look as though the blow had devastated him.

A surge of chi bloomed far away as a barrage of abilities collided on the edge of the village, the reverberations from the clash more noticeable than the strike.

“That is for your tardiness, cultivator,” Tom Osnan Jr. spat. “Do better next time.”

“Yes, lord,” Nathan replied, staring at the ground despite being held by the neck.

Osnan let go, casting his gaze over the arrayed followers. “Release my wife. We’ve remained chained here for long enough.”

Nodding hurriedly, Zeke rushed down the hallway, swiftly unlocking her cell. For his efforts, he received a scowl from lady Osnan.

“Took you long enough,” she said. “Let us leave this place.”

Unlike the regular cultivators, the lord and his lady wife didn’t control their steps, all but running down the hallway. The entire time they moved, more abilities were unleashed by Anna, the other two followers, and the village heretics that had gone to answer their apparent assault. Each wave of force that hit his protective bubble made his smile spread wider.

The distraction was working.

Nathan was right behind the two Osnans as they stepped out on the street, so when they came to an abrupt stop, he almost barrelled into their backs.

“Wh-what?” he asked dumbly, not understanding why they’d paused.

A long silence stretched over the street, the silence growing thick as more of the loyal left the prison.

“You!” Tom Osnan Jr. growled.

Swallowing, Nathan leaned to peer around them.

Who he found there made his skin prickle and stomach drop.