Heretical Fishing

Chapter 32: Fischer’s Cooking

Chapter 32: Fischer’s Cooking

Trent, the first in line to the throne of Gormona, wiped his sweaty palms on his velvet pants. It didn’t help. He sat in a waiting room, his slow brain churning at an entirely unusual speed. There weren’t many things in this world that could unsettle his rock-like intellect, but ever since discovering the powered-on artifact in his favored room of hiding, it had been steadily becoming a common occurrence.

Poseidon’s oiled back hair, how long is he going to make me wait?

Trent had mostly kept his calm at all the messages flowing from the relic hidden in his warren of constructs, but upon checking it the previous day, there had been two more additions that shattered his composure.

At first, he’d tried to pass off the messages as those of the ancients, the screen somehow relaying advances that occurred some time in the distant past. With each new advancement and with the sporadic times between them, however, another possibility had become unignorable. This “Fischer” had somehow taken steps on the path of the ancients and was steadily gaining more and more powers.

Trent thought back to the printed lines, his reluctant brain once more rolling into thought.

New milestone! Fischer has learned jewel crafting!

New milestone! Fischer has learned tailoring!

With those new additions, Trent had left his room of hiding, uncaring if the dreaded decorum tutors found him. It was time for Trent to take action.

The only question is: What can I get out of it?

A man opened the door and walked into the waiting room, clearing his throat. “The king will see you now, prince.”

Trent stood and nodded at the dignitary, wiping his hands once more. It still didn’t help.

Augustus Reginald Gormona, the reigning king of Gormona and lord of these lands, let out a sigh. Light shone in through the stained-glass windows high above, painting the white walls and pillars of his domain in a sea of colored fragmentation.

He slouched on his throne, easing the tension from his lower back while there was no one present. “Just what does this idiot son of mine want?” he asked himself aloud, genuinely worried about the no-doubt moronic request his progeny had.

The outer door of the antechamber groaned in protest at being opened, and Augustus sat up straight, projecting regal majesty across the still-empty throne room. The inner door opened, and in stepped a dignitary, followed closely by his biggest source of disappointment.

“What can I do for you, son?”

Trent stepped up, glancing back at the dignitary and waiting for him to leave the room. Augustus noticed his son wiping his hands on his overly flagrant pants, and he raised an eyebrow.

What has him so nervous? I swear, if he asks for more serving girls . . .

With the dignitary closing the door behind him, leaving only the two royals in the room, Trent turned and cleared his throat. “Father. I have a request for you.”

“Yes, Trent—I gathered that when you asked to meet with me.” The king rolled his eyes and made a hand gesture for him to get on with it. “Speak your mind.”

Trent took a deep breath, letting it out as he forced his eyes up to meet his father’s.

“I wish—er—request that I be allowed to leave the capital, Dad . . . uh, sire.”

Augustus sighed. Eros’s quivering sack—It’s definitely about more serving girls, isn’t it? The boy has an insatiable taste for those lowborn peasants.

“And why do you wish to leave the capital, Trent? I thought we already spoke about the girls—”

“N-not the girls, Dad—sire!” Beads of sweat visibly sprouted from Trent’s forehead, but the lackadaisical youth, balling his fists at his side, continued. “I want to go on a cultivator hunting trip.”

Augustus Reginald Gormona, the king and father of the boy before him, physically recoiled at the statement. “You . . . want to go out on official business? On your own merit?”

Trent nodded, his eyes firm. “Yes, sire.”

Augustus stared at Trent for a long moment. Then, something unexpected occurred. He gave his son a wide smile as a tear came to his eye.

Maybe this wayward son of mine has finally discovered his direction as a man . . .

The otter paused mid-chew, an odd tingling suffusing her entire body. She panicked. Was the fish poisoned? It hadn’t smelled so, but could it have been noxious, nonetheless? The tingling in her limbs seemed to crawl inward, radiating toward the center of her body. Time seemed to freeze as she imagined it reaching her organs, getting to the vital parts of her body, shutting them down, seizing—

The tingling flooded back out, transforming into a pleasant sensation as it flew from her body. The world brightened, and she had to squeeze her eyes shut. A loud pop rang out, seeming to come from her. She felt her body change. It seemed to expand out, ballooning in size, her senses being overwhelmed by the experience. Her claws grew long, and she could

feel how sharp they became, like the edge of the sheerest rock. Just as fast as it had come, however, it was gone, and her body shrank down to its usual size. She looked at her front paws, inquisitive eyes lingering on the tips of her claws.

They did become sharper . . . they still are . . .

Her head reeled back with the realization that she had done something entirely new, and that somehow, she knew what it was.

I am having . . . thoughts?

A trickle of understanding continued to flow through her, the sensation both unsettling and filled with awe. She cocked her head at the interactions she’d had with the two-legged creature as they played through her mind unbidden.

No, not a two-legged creature—a human. I wasn’t stealing the food . . . he was giving it to me of his own free wi—

She snapped her eyes to movement in the opening of her den, and her hair stood on end. Two scaled heads were in the entrance, a pair of forked tongues tasting the air of her cavern. She froze, willing them to find nothing and leave, but the smell of the cooked fish still lingered in the air and they slithered further inside.

She caught sight of their bodies, the red, white, and black stripes causing base instincts to well up from within; the venom would prove fatal if their fangs found purchase. Hissing and growling, she buffed her body up, trying to scare them off.

The sea snakes were unaffected by her warning, their heads moving closer and closer toward her and the back of the den. Their tongues continued darting out, tasting the air and searching for the source of the delicious smell.

The otter pressed herself against the back wall, still trying to appear as large as possible. She hissed louder, the noise echoing off the stone walls of her safe place—her home. The thought of these intruders invading her dwelling filled her with an emotion she wasn’t sure she’d ever felt. Rage.

She darted forward, lashing out with a paw as her fury demanded. The movement was instant, and as her sharpened claws collided with the head of the first snake, they extended, and power exploded from within her.

Five lines of silver light arced out from her, fading from existence as fast as they had come. The snake she’d hit flew backward violently, seeming to unravel as it did so. The second snake stopped moving, and after staying upright for a mere moment, it fell into pieces.

The otter looked down at her claws with great curiosity. They were still extended, poking out over half the length of each digit. She flexed her pads, and they retracted, going back to their regular size.

I am . . . strong.

She started eating the venom-free chunks of snake absentmindedly, her focus still on the never-ending stream of information pouring in. The snakes didn’t taste anywhere near as good as the cooked fish.

“Are you ready, Snips?”

She nodded her agreement, blowing impatient bubbles.

I picked up a section of the cooked ray, laying it on the sand in front of her. The first bite was a slow thing—a testing of the waters. She chewed it, tasting the unique flavors. Then, with two-clawed enthusiasm, she started shoveling the food in.

I smiled down at her. Guess it passes the Snips test, then . . .

With the tongs, I grabbed the same amount of ray for myself, and settled down next to Snips on the sand. Before I could even taste it, my mouth was watering. The aroma seemed to surround me, filling my body with vigor before even sampling it. The flesh itself had a unique texture. It was neither as firm as crab, nor as delicate as fish; it settled somewhere in between.

As I lifted a chunk to my mouth and placed it inside, I lost focus on the world surrounding me. The flavor drew me in, caressing my taste buds with its warmth and distinctive taste. Much like the texture, the flavor also seemed to be an amalgamation of crustacean and fish, its sweet and savory combination a one-two punch that made me think of the colorful sunsets so prevalent in my new world.

It’ll be even better with a little more salt—I can’t wait until that sea water is done reducing . . . hopefully it doesn’t burn this time after all the filtering.

I sighed contentedly. “Snips . . . I think this is my favorite meal yet.”

She didn’t stop eating as she nodded her agreement, the lone eye above her carapace squinting in bliss.

I finished my portion of ray without even realizing it, the meal warming me from within just as the midday sun warmed my legs and arms. I lazed back on the sand, content to relax before helping myself to even more.

“Hello, Fischer,” came an unexpected but welcome voice.

I turned my head toward the voice, smiling at the new arrival.

“Barry! How are ya, mate? Glad to see you up and about. I was worried that fish made you ill—it didn’t, did it?”

Barry winced. “No, Fischer. It didn’t make me ill, I was just feeling a little under the weather . . .”

Barry trailed off as his eyes locked on the cooked ray, and I could see his eyes widen a little as the scent of it hit him.

“In that case . . .” I grinned at him. “Care to try some shovelnose ray? Sergeant Snips and I reckon it’s the best catch we’ve had yet.”

Snips bubbled her agreement from where she lay half-buried in the sand, delighting in the meal.

Barry swallowed and nodded almost imperceptibly. “Aye, Fischer, that’d be nice.”

I smiled at him. “Let me serve you some, then!”

As I passed the plate to Barry, I was expecting the same hesitation as the previous times I’d given him food. Instead, he accepted it with a radiant smile and intent eyes. Without pause, he started eating it, and didn’t stop until all of it was gone.

“That was delicious, Fischer. Thank you.”

“No worries, mate! Can I do anything for you, by the way?”

Barry cocked his head.

“Do anything . . . ?”

“Yeah! Not that I mind you coming round here, but I thought you might need something—you’re usually working your fields this time of day.”

“Oh, no, nothing like that, Fischer.” He stood and brushed off his pants. “I just wanted to thank you for the fish you gave me the other day, but now it seems I have to thank you twice . . .”

“No worries, mate,” I said with a laugh. “Come around whenever you want—Sergeant Snips and I are always happy to see your face.”

Snips bubbled her agreement, nodding from her hole in the sand.

“Well, thank you regardless. The meal was delicious, but I’d better get back to the fields—plenty of work to catch up on after my time in bed.”

“No worries, mate! Catch you later?”

I waved goodbye as Barry left, then turned back to Snips.

“So . . . you ready for more ray?”

She jumped from her place of relaxation in excitement, a stream of bubbles flowing.

Barry walked away from the fire, his thoughts a cloud of implications and possibilities.

There’s no doubt in my mind—it’s Fischer’s cooking that facilitated my awakening.

His acceptance of that fact came easily, like the last stone of a wall settling into place. Fischer was some sort of nexus for advancement, and his arrival on their shores meant both change and a great potential of harm would be coming the way of Tropica Village.

What can I do to make sure we keep the harm at bay?