Heretical Fishing

Book 3: Chapter 34: Coincidence

Following the feast, I lay on the sands, one hand holding my stomach and the other resting against Maria.

“I never want to eat again,” she said, letting out a half-laugh, half-groan.

“See how you feel about that tomorrow,” I said. “But I get where you’re coming from. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so full.”

“The feast was a trap,” Theo complained from somewhere to my left. “I couldn’t stop eating.”

“No regrets,” Peter said from my right, trying and failing to sound unaffected by the excessive amount he’d eaten.

I knew exactly how they felt; I’d gone full glutton, unable to stop myself from consuming more and more of the warmth-inducing meals. Each was as unique as the last, their flavors complementary in a way that I struggled to put into words. Rather than try to find the right combination of syllables to describe how transcendent an experience it had been, I squeezed Maria’s hand, the softness of her skin momentarily distracting me from my discomfort. As I did, a breeze blew past me, its cold touch a pleasant counterpoint to the warmth still radiating from my abdomen.

I took a deep breath, smiling out at the world and everything I had gained since arriving in Tropica. Even my overfull stomach couldn’t bring down my mood. Come to think of it, I’m not sure anything could.

***

As George strode along the streets of Tropica, a cold breeze blew, sending a shiver across his entire body. On the sapient crab’s orders, George and Geraldine had gone home and gotten dressed. He knew not why they had to make themselves presentable, but when a creature capable of cutting you in half like a sugared pastry tells you to do something, you do it.

Though they were no longer wet, he still felt cold, the single bite of fish he’d had the only thing keeping him warm. Geraldine squeezed his hand tighter, making him amend the previous thought; her love and proximity also brought warmth. As with everything lately, an odd calm settled over him in the face of current events. When his musings turned worrisome, he relied on house Kraken’s manuscript, following the breathing and meditative techniques contained within.

No matter how you approach the circumstances, both of them should be freaking out.

The five people they’d grown close to in recent days, exchanging tips and pointers with regard to their meditations, had awakened as cultivators. The moment the capital found out—which they always did—all five of his new friends were doomed to a life of servitude. He should be terrified of them, given the madness that was said to come with being chosen by the System.

And yet, he wasn’t.

Just like the spirit beast they were returning to, their steps on the path of ascension felt... right. Like it was both the correct thing to do, and a more-accurate representation of who they were within. The former cultists seemed to feel the same, and had been nothing but smiles and thankfulness since it happened. The entire sequence of events made George start to question... well, everything.

By itself, a spirit beast appearing was miraculous, and while he had wondered at the implications for the world at large, he hadn’t considered what it meant for the poor souls that became cultivators. For the safety of others, it was necessary that they were collared by the capital. Along with the power the System granted, humans on the path of ascension also inherited a high chance of going mad. According to the kingdom’s teachings, wielders of chi were as strong as they were unstable.

But how would the arrival of a spirit beast—the very species of beast that the Church of Carcinization diefied—change their behavior? Would they be safe from the madness-inducing effects of chi? Would the great crab, this ‘Sergeant Snips’, save them from the looming possibility of insanity? If so, would it be a metaphysical protection where the madness was drained away, or would the sapient creature physically correct their behavior? The most terrifying of all possibilities was that they wouldn’t be shielded from the detrimental effects, and that the awakened creature would encourage any antisocial activities. Given the crab’s inhuman sensibilities, it was a horrible and possible eventuality.

It wasn’t lost on George that he had been meditating with the people that ascended, either.

He and Geraldine had been following house Kraken’s teachings for months now, and finally listening to words of his family had been a blessing for them, their marriage, and everyone else in Tropica. It had been the catalyst for a world of change, and George could scarcely believe the person he had been less than a year ago. A lifetime spent doing things that only brought him and his wife misery. If not for his ability to stay grounded in the present because of the manual’s guidance, remembrance of who he had been for so long would have brought no end of misery and self loathing.

Though it had been a blessing, what if the path his family described, this road to enlightenment, was something more sinister than they had ever imagined? He’d never before considered that House Kraken’s manual would turn you into a cultivator. Now, he did. And it made perfect sense. Because of his position as a noble—exiled or not—he had more knowledge of cultivators than most. He was aware of chi, the essence that provided cultivators with their abilities. Now that he looked at the manual’s teachings with that knowledge in mind, the puzzle pieces fit.

Despite this realization, this understanding that his family may have been teaching how to become something so wretched, his steps came easily. His shoulders were high and his breaths steady, his heart rate only slightly elevated even though he should be, by all rights, beside himself. Was this the madness? He and Geraldine had both thought themselves close to some sort of breakthrough, able to sense their proximity to the fabled enlightenment that his family spoke of. If they were almost there, and the destination was the base of the steps to ascension, was he already under the effect of a cultivator’s madness?

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“George...?”

He stopped walking, turning to face his wife. Geraldine also stopped, and the look of trepidation in her eyes made his chest hurt.

“Are we...” She trailed off, looking around and chewing her lip before returning her gaze to his. “Are we going mad?”

Despite his similar train of thought, he smiled at her, ever thankful for her company. “I was just thinking the same thing. We just might be.” Looking into her face and the beauty it held, realization struck George like an afternoon sugar crash. He chuckled at himself, shaking his head as he pulled her into a hug.

“Oh, you’re mad already?” she asked, amusement clear in her voice. “At least I won’t go insane by myself.”

“You know, we might be, but I don’t think I care.”

“Yep. Definitely mad.” She rubbed his back, squeezing him tighter. “What has you so carefree?”

“Even if we go mad, we’ll do it together.”

She pulled back and stared into his eyes. “No offense, but I might not love you as much as I do now if you start murdering people.”

“Ah, my lady wife wounds me so.” He clutched at his chest, drawing an eye-roll from Geraldine. “But I don’t think we’ll go mad.”

“Oh? What makes you so sure?”

“The fact that we’re following the instructions of my ancestors. Even if we become cultivators, I trust all those that passed the manual down to not have gifted us a one-way ticket to servitude and insanity. There has to be more to it. I know there is more to it. The same way I know that the Church of Carcinization’s crab-like meditation is right for them, I know that the Kraken manual’s path is correct for us. Maybe it’s only that those chosen at random by the System go mad. Or maybe it’s because my family derived a way to become cultivators without the risk of insanity, if that’s even what we are becoming. All I know is that this feels right to both of us, and I trust myself—and you—to make the right call.”

As he had continued to speak, a fire rose in Geraldine’s eyes. The moment he finished, she latched a hand around the nape of his neck and pulled herself up. Though her lips and body weren’t as plump as they once were, her kiss drew him in, washing away any hint of past worries. They kissed for a long moment, and when they separated, both their breaths came heavy.

“We should hurry along,” he said.

“We should,” she replied, yet pulled him back into a kiss, picking up where they’d left off.

Another few breaths later, they pulled apart. Geraldine let out a sigh. “Come on, dear. We shouldn’t keep our grouchy overlord waiting.”

“He does seem rather grouchy, doesn’t he?”

They traversed the rest of Tropica in silence, and as they approached the meeting place, they found the rest of the group already present. Their five friends were also in clean garb, having been ordered to go change by the sapient beast.

The awakened crab hissed at them, clearly annoyed at how long they had taken.

“Apologies,” George said, gesturing at the others. “We lack the speed of our friends from the church.”

The crab’s claws opened and closed slowly as it narrowed its eyes at them. After considering them for a long moment, it spun, facing the south. Come, it hissed, marching off. Seeing the direction it was leading them, the flicker of a worry returned, sparking to life in the depths of his soul. He swept it away, however, knowing there was no way this ‘Sergeant Snips’ was leading them there.

Geraldine, knowing him better than anyone else in the realm, rested a hand on his lower back. “Come on, dear. It’ll be fine.”

He nodded, having to half force the smile he gave her. “Of course it will be. I have you.”

Hand in hand, they trailed the others. The spirit beast traveled at a much-more sustainable pace than the speed it had dragged them through the bay. Its steps were measured as it led them between rows of sugarcane, radiating a hint of the pompousness George associated with most of the creature’s actions. When they emerged from between the last crops and continued heading south, the flicker of worry returned, its flame brighter than before.

“A coincidence,” Geraldine said, squeezing his hand.

“Yeah...” he replied, not sure.

“What’s wrong?” Joel asked, waiting for them to catch up to him. “What is a coincidence?”

Any other time, George would have wondered at how Joel’s hearing had become enhanced so soon after becoming a cultivator; there was no way a regular human could have heard their comments from so far ahead of them. Now, though, it was all George could do to keep his heart from beating out of his chest.

“It’s nothing,” George lied, eyeing the fence that came into view across the sandy flat.

As the spirit beast approached it, George prayed it would change course and follow the fence line toward the eastern forest. Gods above, even approaching the ocean and swimming out to sea seemed a much more tenable option. Instead, it pointed up at the wooden gate, demanding that someone open it, then leaped over the wooden pailing to land on the other side.

George’s stomach sunk, the flame of worry growing into a small fire. He glanced at Geraldine, and though she still held his hand, her jaw was tense. He swept away his climbing dread as much as possible, focusing on his family’s teachings. Unlike earlier, his troubled thoughts remained, and as they passed through the gate, the flame within sputtered and flared, finding plenty of fuel to burn.

The spirit beast, unaware or uncaring of George’s turmoil, veered to the south west, heading for the rock formation that housed Fischer’s home. It made no sense. Why was the spirit beast leading them toward Fischer’s place? Was the crown agent somehow involved? He couldn’t be... could he? Was it possible that the king was somehow in on this, having harnessed—or caused—the ascendance of the crab? Just how deep did this conspiracy go?

Lost as he was in his thoughts, George wasn’t paying attention to the outside world.

“Uhhh,” a familiar, dreaded voice said, snapping George from his musings.

Fischer stood alone, his face growing incredulous as his eyes roamed over them, and the crown agent abruptly froze when he caught sight of George. “George? Is that you, mate?”

The words, though friendly on the surface, drove a jagged spear of ice into George’s spine.

“H-hello, Fischer...”