Heretical Fishing

Chapter 12: Guard Crab

Chapter 12: Guard Crab

The sun was setting over the western mountains as I returned from town with a large bag of brand new clothes. I saw no one I recognized in my travels, the only people still out and about hurriedly finishing their last tasks for the day. I was glad I didn’t have to stop and talk to anyone; I had an important task to return to.

I threw the clothes inside, put some more wood on the smoldering coals, and gathered the necessary equipment by the fire. I sharpened a large hook, not the largest, but that was understandable—the largest one I had could hold up curtain rods and looked large enough to hook a whale. I lost myself in filing the tip down, feeling a sense of urgency with the fading light, but knowing that rushing would only cause me to make a mistake.

When the tip was needle sharp, I filed off the nail end, putting it aside in my makeshift tackle box for use later. I got one of the larger rods, tied the thick line to it, and made another drop rig at the end. I tied a large rock in place, something that would hold its position well in the strong current of the river. I cut a slab off the eel, wet the tea towel with more water, and set off to the river, rod in hand, eel in the other, and the waning sunlight at my back. I slipped the eel slab onto the hook, pushing the top of the flesh over the jutting section of the hook, just as the fisherman had showed me in my past life with the worm.

Without a reel or flexible rod, I would have to throw the hook and sinker by hand, and I whirled it round and round with increasing velocity. Taking a deep breath of the salty dusk air, I smiled and released my line, sending the weight of the rock far out into the river.

The tide was coming in, and I aimed my cast toward the incoming water. The rock hit the water with a sizable splash and drifted further into the river as the weight of the water carried it.

With a soft thud and the line going taut, I knew it had reached the bottom. I watched the drift of the line, worried that the current would be too strong and sweep my bait into the shallows; it held fast, taking root on the river mouth’s floor.

The eastern sky opposite the setting sun was a beautiful pink and blue, and my face settled into a wide smile as I waited patiently for a bite. Gulls and pelicans flew overhead, their wings spread wide as they rode the invisible currents of air.

“What a stunning place I’ve found myself in,” I said aloud, my voice contending with the soft crashing of waves and calls of the birds above.

The sun continued to set, and just as it was nearing the point where it would be too dark to fish safely from the rocks, I felt a bite. It was an exploratory nibble, and I set my hands as I prepared for the fish at the other end of my line to take the bait.

Bump.

Bump.

Bump. Bump.

I waited, frozen in position, ready to strike.

Did it take the bait? I might have to—

The rod almost slipped from my fingers as the fish ate the hook and took off swimming. I leaned back, adrenaline spiking as I held onto the rod with all my might. It threatened to pull me off balance, but I bent my legs, leaning with the powerful tugs of its head as it tried to swim away.

It swam into the river mouth, and I ran with it, walking back from the rocky shore to keep the line taut.

“It’s fucking huge!” I yelled, unable to keep a laugh from bubbling up after my words.

It swam back out of the river, making a mad dash for the ocean. I let it take some distance, walking with it to where the sand met the rocks. As I reached the rocks, I held fast, all too aware of the danger presented by the slick rocks now that I couldn’t properly see. With my line drawn in the sand, and my feet planted in place, the fish pulled with all its might, and I stood still with all of mine.

The line snapped, and I fell on my ass with a loud oof. I lay in the cold sand, staring at the sky, and I roared with laughter. The fish had escaped, but I had done everything in my power, and it had defeated me. The curtain rods I was using as a fishing rod weren’t ideal, and neither was my lack of a reel. It would have been a miracle had I landed a fish that size on such a primitive rod. That there were fish that large just waiting to be caught only filled me with more determination.

The thrill of the hunt had set in, and now it was just a matter of time. I smiled and watched the stars appearing in the sky.

I’ll come back for you, ya big fishy bastard.

I collected the line and was surprised to find the rock still attached to the end. When I brought it by the light of the fire, I could see it had snapped off just above where the hook was attached. The line was frayed and damaged, and I suspected it had worn through where it touched the metal lip on the hook that was supposed to be as a wall hanger.

Still quite full from the fish earlier, I gathered a handful of the berries from the bushes by the river, sitting in a chair by the fire as I ate them. I buried the tea towel-covered eel in the sand before going to bed, hoping that was enough to hide it from any would-be scavengers—if not, I’d just have to catch another.

The next day, I woke before the dawn. I stretched before getting out of bed, sorely missing my morning coffee and resolving to ask Barry about coffee or tea when I went and got my land documents from him.

I stepped out my front door, intending to go down to the river and wash my face, but froze mid-yawn at what I saw. Something had dug up my eel. The tea towel lay in the sand, discarded by the thief.

Well, I should have seen that coming.

Two clacks drew my attention, and I looked beside the campfire where they’d come from. A crab sat there, one claw raised in greeting and . . . waving? It waved again. Unsure if I was dreaming, I walked closer, and saw a familiar scar on the crab’s head. It was the crab from yesterday, the one I’d put back and given a fish to, but it now had two full claws—one of which was holding onto the last quarter of my eel.

Is that the same crab? There’s no way it could have regrown its claws overnight . . . right?

I looked closer, and it was definitely the same one. The scar was identical. It waved again, more insistent after my lack of communication.

I stared my confusion at the crab, then waved back. “Uh, good morning?”

It nodded—actually nodded—and took another bite of my eel.

“You’re the crab from yesterday, right?”

Another nod, and another bite.

“How did you grow your claws back?”

It hesitated, appearing to think, then it shrugged and took another bite.

I laughed. “What is up with this world?”

I sat down beside the crab, and it paused before offering me a bite of the eel.

“No thanks, little buddy. Would you mind saving me a bit, though? I was going to use it as bait.”

It snipped the quarter that was left in half with a single clack, and I raised an eyebrow at the force that shot through the eel and hit the ground, sending sand flying.

Okay . . . if the sapience wasn’t a dead giveaway, the aura attack just confirmed this isn’t a normal crab.

“Do you have a name?”

It shook its carapace.

“Do you want a name?”

It paused, then blew bubbles in the affirmative. I don’t know how I knew what the bubbles meant, but the cute little orbs blowing from its mouth definitely meant yes.

“Hmmm,” I said as I stared at the scars on the crustacean who was helping itself to my bait. “You’ve definitely seen some battle, so something with a little edge to it. But you’re also pretty cute, so your name needs to have some ‘aww’ factor.”

The crab nodded in agreement.

I snapped my fingers. “Sergeant Snips!”

The crab—Sergeant Snips—nodded vigorously, blowing happy bubbles and snapping both their claws in delight.

“All right, Sergeant Snips it is. Are you gonna be staying around here, Snips? I technically own all this land, but I’m sure you’ve been here longer than me. You’re more than welcome to hang out.”

More happy bubbles.

I’ve always wanted a pet—I was expecting a dog or a cat, but hey, an aura-shooting sapient crab is pretty neat. Good defense, too.

“Wait, are you a girl, Snips? I’m picking up feminine vibes.”

Affirmative bubbles.

“All right, good to know! I’ve gotta meet someone in town, Snips. You need anything?”

She shook her carapace, grabbed her portion of eel in one claw, and slowly retreated to the waters of the river—all the while waving her free claw at me.

I watched my new guard crab go, giving her a wave as she disappeared beneath the surface.

“Well, can’t say I saw that one coming.”

I walked over and picked up the section of eel left for me. The cut was clean, as if sliced by a laser cutter.

“Jesus. I’m glad we’re on good terms—that’s some serious slicing power.”

I wrapped the eel in the tea towel, reburied it, and took off toward Barry’s fields.

Barry was just heading to Fischer’s place when the man found him.

“Fischer! Good morning! My family extended their thanks for the pastry yesterday—that was very kind.”

“G’day, mate!” he said in his strange tongue. “No worries—happy to share. How’d the papers look, by the way? All ridgy-didge?”

Barry smiled at him, assuming he was asking if the paperwork was legally binding. “Aye, the papers all check out. The crown recognizes you as the owner of your land.”

“Good stuff!” He took the papers, putting them away without looking them over. “Hey, Barry, do you have a moment to talk?”

Barry felt a spike of worry, but nodded. He hadn’t been suspicious of Fischer in the least—just the opposite, in fact. His wife, however, had expressed some concerns the previous evening.

“Who is this strange man, Barry? He comes from nowhere, speaks in a strange way, and showers us with gifts? What is he trying to get out of us?” she had asked.

“You right, mate?” Fischer asked, shaking Barry from his memories.

“Yeah, sorry.” Barry gave him a strained smile. “Still waking up. What did you want to ask?”

Fischer sighed, and Barry’s anxiety grew. “Here’s the thing mate, I have a really odd question.”

Was my wife right? Is he going to request something impossible now that he’s ingratiated himself with us?

“Have you ever heard of anyone, uh . . .” Fischer scrunched his face, looking like the words pained him. “Have you ever heard of anyone getting strange messages from a System? Something about insufficient power, or the ability to inspect items?”

Barry felt his eyes go wide and his mouth dropped open. “Fischer . . . have you experienced this?”

Seeing Barry’s reaction, Fischer winced. “Would you believe me if I said no? Based on your reaction, I’m thinking it’s not a good thing . . .”

“Do not tell anyone this, Fischer. No one. Not Paul, not my wife, not your own mother. This stays between us, understand?”

Fischer raised an eyebrow. “Uh, yeah, I mean I took a risk asking you because I trust you—I’m not going around yelling it from the rooftops, mate. What’s the big deal, though?”

Barry shook his head with a sad smile. “Anyone receiving those messages is whisked off to the capital and confined. We’ve had people from this village taken, never to be seen again. The royals do something to those that show the spark of potential.”

“The spark of potential? Jesus, mate, that’s a lot. Thanks for letting me know.”

Barry let out a weary sigh. “It’s fine, Fischer. I’m sorry if I scared you, it just brought up some old memories better forgotten.”

Fischer put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m the one that’s sorry, mate. Someone you knew?”

“My wife’s brother. We all owned our land together, and everything was going well until his spark awoke . . .” Barry trailed off in remembrance.

The speed at which they’d come, the superhuman power of the ‘cultivators,’ and their cold, lifeless eyes—each detail was unforgettable.

“Shit, I really am sorry, mate,” Fischer said, breaking Barry from his thoughts. “Do you know what happened to him?”

“Nothing. We don’t even know if he’s dead or alive. The last few years have been hard on all of us, especially his wife.”

“Well, if you need a hand, you know where to find me. I’m probably a useless farmer, but if you need a chinwag, I’ve got plenty of shores to fish from.”

“Uh . . . chinwag?”

“Yeah, mate. A yarn. A chat. Same thing.”

Barry laughed at Fischer’s odd manner of speaking.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“One more thing, Barry.”

“Yes, Fischer?”

“Do you get many sapient, aura-blade shooting crabs around these parts, or is it just me?”