Heretical Fishing

Book 3: Chapter 40: Return

Book 3: Chapter 40: Return

The days bled into one another on the road to Theogonia, each just as bothersome as the rest.

After weeks and weeks of traveling, the surrounding forests had grown dull. The monotony of brown trunks, green leaves, and the overgrown road grated on Augustus, bothering him to no end. He was a king. His position earned him a life of opulence and luxury. Yet here he was, sprinting through the outside world like a peasant late for the market. At first the ability to use his chi had been a welcome delight, but even that sense of freedom had faded over time.

As if from nowhere, the landscape began changing. The leaves grew sparse, previously thick canopies becoming patchy the further into Theogonia’s lands they got. Myriad trunks, once straight and proud, wound in random directions. Even the grass was brown and dull, as if part of its vitality had been drained away. A sinking feeling crept into Augustus Reginald Gormona’s core. One might expect such a development to be the physiological response to some dreaded realization, or perhaps the impending approach of a life-threatening adversary.

One would be wrong.

Though his core was afflicted by the sensation, his mind experienced the opposite. Anticipation rolled through his awareness, making his hopes soar. The cause was obvious to him: they were almost there.

He rolled his shoulders and slowed, coming to a stop beside a patch of bare ground. “We will rest here for lunch,” he declared, smiling down at the deadened grass.

Tom Onsan Sr. grunted. “I cannot say I missed this feeling...”

“How long has it been for you, Tom?” Tryphena asked, poking a particularly gnarled tree.

“Since the fall of the city, princess.”

She nodded. “This is actually a noticeable improvement. Wouldn’t you agree, mother?”

“Indeed. I recall the dread sinking in much sooner the last time I was here. Before the trees changed, at any rate.”

The merchant Marcus, scurrying around as the unascended common folk were wont to do, climbed into the cart Tom had set down, and started fetching supplies to cook their luncheon.

Augustus cleared his throat. “How does it feel within the city, daughter?”

“Much the same as out here, father.” She struck the gnarled tree with a swift kick, snapping it off at the base. “A little stronger, but similarly diminished.”

“Good,” he replied, pride washing over him as his daughter dragged the entire tree toward them with one hand. “We will need to spend long within its bounds in order to gather enough strength. Are the alchemists still located in the same building?”

“Actually, no.” Having dragged the twisted trunk closer, she lashed out with four swift chops of her hand. “Now that the corrupting chi seems to have weakened, they moved further into the city. They were moving the last of their equipment when I left.”

Augustus nodded, accepting then sitting on the section of wood his daughter passed him. “We’ll head there immediately after we eat.”

As the merchant started heating an assortment of expensive spices over a small fire he’d created, Augustus attempted to luxuriate in their rich scents, but a repetitive sound kept interrupting him. He slowly spun toward Tom, leveling a glare at him.

“If you are going to grind your teeth all day, Tom, just speak whatever is bothering you. As annoying as your voice is, that repugnant habit of yours is worse.” His lip twitched at the look Tom gave him. “Don’t make that pathetic face. I have known you long enough to understand you do it when something is on your mind.”

Fury flashed across his oldest friend’s face, but it was swiftly banished. “With your permission, my king,” he said, nodding. “I was wondering if we should discuss a plan before heading into the city proper?”

“We have discussed the plan already, Tom,” Tryphena said with faux sweetness. “With everyone that my father deemed necessary for its implementation, anyway.”

Augustus grinned at the barbed words and the immediate response it drew from Tom. The man’s nostrils flared and he clenched his jaw, making that same abhorrent noise as his molars pressed together.

“It’s fine, daughter. We can share the basics of the plan now that we’re here. I suppose Tom might prove useful.”

“As you will, my king.” She dipped her head at the perfect level, displaying how extensive her decorum training was. She moved gracefully to face Tom. “Once we arrive in the city, we are to visit the Cult of the Alchemist. After that, we are immediately heading for the center of the city.”

Augustus raised his hand to halt her. “That should be enough for now. If he cannot deduce the rest of the plan from that information alone, he is of no use to us.”

Tom nodded, his face schooled to display uncaring calm. “As you say, king. And I thank you for the explanation, princess. I understand the plan.”

Augustus smiled, content with Tom’s continued display of fealty and remorse. With any luck, the man would regain his position with his actions over the coming days and weeks. Though he failed the kingdom, Tom Osnan Sr. was once—and could once more become—a valuable asset for Gormona.

They ate their meal in silence before resuming their passage toward the fallen city of Theogonia. They no longer traveled at speed, the very environment anathema to the expenditure of chi. With each step they drew closer, the more deformed the plants became. Before long there weren’t any leaves to be found, and the trees grew so twisted that they were almost unrecognizable. Branches curved down and into the ground, the earth there completely free of any grass. The air seemed thick and took more effort to breathe. A haze blocked out the sky, casting a gloomy shadow over their surroundings.

With the lack of plant matter blocking out the sky, it was easy to spot the city when it came into view. Well, what was left of it, anyway. Only half of the walls remained, the rest completely leveled, their bricks laying in piles. Most of the city’s buildings were in the same state, either half-standing or completely gone. The castle, once just as grand as Gormona’s, only had a single spire remaining, its pointed roof completely gone. That particular detail was his fault—given his distance at the time, his blast of fire had missed the bulk of the castle’s mass, instead obliterating the spire in question.

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He snorted, recalling his momentary regret at not being closer. After all, if he’d been with the rest of the attacking force at the city’s walls, his blast would have hit its intended target. But that distance had been his only saving grace a heartbeat later when the implosion happened.

Echoes of the pain caused by the implosion shot through him, his core not-so-easily forgetting that searing agony.

“It was a momentous day, was it not, Tom?” Augustus asked, feeling somewhat nostalgic as his mind’s eye replayed the blinding blast that had detonated above the city.

“Without a doubt, my king,” Tom replied, his voice airy. “Not a week has gone by that I haven’t recalled that day. Seeing it in person, though...”

“It’s something else entirely,” Augustus finished.

Despite decades having crawled by, it was as though not a single day had passed within the city. The ground looked as scorched as the day they’d attacked, every inch of stone and dirt blackened by either Gormona’s blasts or the subsequent implosion of power. The longer Augustus looked, the more the vista drew him in, each detail as eye-catching as the last.

This fallen city was a monument to both Gormona’s power and how willing they were to go. Now that they had returned, it would be the stepping stone for further ascension. It wasn’t lost on Augustus how fitting that was. Realizing he’d stopped walking, he looked around. Everyone was facing him and waiting for his next move. With a smile, he stood tall and took a deep breath. “To Theogonia, then.”

The rest of their passage to the city was done in silence. They entered through the front gate, and an image of its former magnificence flashed through his mind. The gate blocking the entrance to the city had been a marvel of creation. A relic of the past, every line of its wooden surface lined with ancient runes of power. Much like the rest of the city, it hadn’t survived the attack.

He ran a fingernail across what remained of the stone wall. The entire structure had been created by the System, so his nail, empowered as it might be, didn’t leave a scratch. The stone remained black, the very structure somehow changed by the events that had ended the city. The next breath he took smelled of fire and brimstone, but he suspected it was a figment of his imagination.

Tryphena stepped ahead of the group, leading the way to the Cult of the Alchemist’s new headquarters. As they drew further into the city, the sinking feeling in Augustus’s core grew. Judging by everyone’s face, they felt the same. Tryphena led them down what had previously been the main street, only stones and dust remaining of the buildings on either side.

Ahead, a lone building stood. Patches of stone had been blasted away around what had likely been windows, but they’d been patched up with planks of blackened wood, even their fibers somehow changed despite not being present when the implosion happened. Tryphena jogged up the stairs and knocked on the door that was clearly made with wood from the gnarled trees outside the city.

Footsteps scuffed within, and a moment later, the door eased open a crack.

“Ah,” came an aged voice. “Princess Tryphena. I didn’t expect to see you so...” the man trailed off when he saw the procession behind her. “King! Queen!” The leader of the Cult of the Alchemist lowered himself to the floor, relying on the doorframe for assistance. “Forgive me! I was not made aware of your arrival!” His eye twitched as he stood back up before being permitted to do so. “Damn birds,” he muttered to himself, too low for anyone but a cultivator to hear. “What good are they if they can’t even warn me that guests are coming? I should turn them into soup one of these days.” He turned and started shuffling back inside.

Augustus, all too aware of the man’s madness, ignored the impropriety. “May we enter, Francis?”

“What?” He demanded, whirling and casting an imperious gaze down on them. When his eyes landed on Augustus, he gaped. “M—my king! Forgive me! I didn’t know you were here! Those damned birds. What good are they if they can’t even warn me—”

“Francis,” Augustus interrupted. “May we enter?”

“Yes!” He bowed at the waist. “Please come in!”

He held the door open for them, maintaining his bow as they entered.

“Not you!” Francis barked, making Augustus peer behind them. “You think I’ve forgotten your foolishness so soon, Solomon? Wait outside, you thrice-burnt failure of a concoction!”

Marcus, the merchant, stood flummoxed. He blinked at the gnarled finger currently poking his chest.

“Wait outside,” Augustus instructed, knowing better than to engage in debate with a madman.

Marcus nodded, bowed, and retreated.

Francis snorted as he slammed the door. “Damned upstarts. Now, where were we?” He smiled at them, his face freezing when he caught sight of Augustus. “Poseidon’s hairy calves! The king!”

He tried to drop into a bow, but Augustus swept forward, catching his arm. “Not necessary, Francis. We’re here to collect some of your medicine. Tryphena tells us that you have a new recipe?”

“Oh! You flatter me, your highness. This humble alchemist offers all of his potions to you! One moment!” He ran to a bench covered with alchemical equipment, pulled a crate from beneath it with more strength than his wiry frame should possess, and started rummaging. “Where did I put them...?”

As the man searched, Augustus glanced around the room. Benches lined three of the four walls, almost every inch of their surface covered in alchemy-related equipment. Smoke filled the room, its scent both welcome and nostalgic. No matter which Cult of the Alchemist branch he visited, they always smelled the same.

On the one wall without any benches, a tangle of branches had been attached to the floor. It looked almost like an art installation, constructed out of the twisted branches from beyond the city’s gates. Seeing his no-doubt confused look, Tryphena strode to his side.

“They’re for his birds.”

Augustus looked at the floor, seeing no droppings, feathers, or any other of the hallmarks that came with keeping creatures of the avian variety. “A sign of the madness?” he asked.

“I believe so. He has been getting progressively worse.”

“Ah, there you are!” Francis yelled. Glass clinked as he lifted a crate and walked over. When he straightened, he froze. “Gods above! The king!”

Augustus rubbed the bridge of his nose, steadily losing his patience. “Do you know the dosage, Tryphena?”

“One vial until the effects become overwhelming. When they do, leave the city until symptoms recede, then return and take another dose.”

“Wonderful.” Augustus strode forward and collected the crate. “Thank you, Francis. We will return if we need any more.”

“Of course, my king! I’ll start making another batch this second!”

Before he could forget and recognize Augustus again, they left the building, firmly closing the door behind them.

“Here,” Augustus said, passing the crate to Marcus, who rushed up to take it. “Everyone, take a dose now.” He rubbed his chin when his hands were free. “Not you, merchant, unless you want to be turned inside out. Only the gods know what effect it would have on a regular human.”

“Pretty sure we just saw the effect it has,” Tryphena said, nodding back to the building they’d just left.

“Birdies!” Francis yelled on queue, his voice muffled by the wooden barricades covering the windows and holes. “Where are you?”

After a shake of his head, Augustus removed a vial, popped the cork, and downed its contents.

Heat ran down his throat, oozing out from his stomach and branching off into his limbs. A dull numbness followed, stronger than any of the previous batches he’d tried. All at once, the numbness mostly faded, withdrawing back into his core. When it settled there, the dread he was feeling dissipated. They all let out a slow sigh, enjoying the reprieve the potion granted.

“He may be mad,” Tryphena said, “but he’s a wizard with alchemy.”

“Truly,” Penelope agreed. “He wasn’t always so... eccentric. He has contributed greatly to Gormona.”

Augustus nodded. “Which is why his lack of respect is tolerated. Take heed, Tom—that is how a man serves his kingdom properly.”

Tom nodded. “Yes, king.”

“Tell me—where do you think we are going now?”

“To the center of the city.”

Augustus raised a brow. “Yes. That is what my daughter, the princess, told you. But what are we doing there?”

“I believe we are going to see the prisoners, my king.”

Augustus nodded, shooting him an appreciative glance. “It appears you still have your wits about you. That is good.” He threw the vial aside, letting it smash on the cobbled street. “Let us go converse with some of our old friends...”