by Arthur Stone
“Literally hold me! It’s trying to pull me in!”
“Is it large?”
“Larger than the very first one!”
“Woot! Ged caught a big one!”
“It’s not so clear who’s caught whom yet!”
The fish pulled again, dragging me another yard into the water, my heels leaving large burrows in the sand. Beko followed, holding on to my shoulders with both hands.
This is going to end badly for us.
“Get on my feet!” I yelled.
“How?!”
“Literally, stand on my feet and push them into the sand! Harder! I’m braking with my heels! Help me dig my heels in!”
I kept screaming, trying to express the same message in every way possible, until Beko finally grasped it. He climbed up on my shins with his bare feet, then crouched, holding on to the back of my head. There was nothing else to hold on to, and our balance wasn’t steady. We continued in this precarious position for several seconds.
“It can’t pull us now!” Beko exclaimed triumphantly, staring unblinkingly at the cord, taut like a cello string.
“You haven’t felt its true strength yet,” I said tensely.
I should have kept quiet. The next moment the fish jerked with such force that I nearly shrieked with pain, as the cord wrapped around my body dug into my flesh. I felt as though it was cutting me to pieces.
Thankfully, the cord slackened after several seconds, no longer pulled by anything.
Pushing Beko off of me unceremoniously, I scampered back to land and began pulling out the cord hastily, laying it out on the ground. I didn’t bother pulling out the dangling orphaned end of the cord, but began wriggling out of my wet clothes. The day was gloomy and the water wasn’t as warm as one might expect on a late spring day, as evidenced by my chattering teeth.
“Where is the fish?” Beko asked, baffled, as he followed my lead in removing his wet clothes.
“No fish for us,” I replied in a quivering voice, dancing a jig to warm myself up. “The damned thing ripped the cord.”
“We should have been using wild leek. It’s tougher. And free,” the ghoul sighed.
“It wouldn’t have helped. Not this time, anyway. This kote was much too big for us.”
I noticed Beko staring at something behind me, fear filling his eyes.
It all made sense when I turned around and saw the Carps, in full force. Even Romris was with them—the cousin of the leader of this band of ragamuffins.
The first thought that unwittingly came to mind was that, upon seeing us dancing buck-naked on the beach, the crew had decided to exact their vengeance on us at last, and that things were about to get hairy. But it soon became obvious that they meant no harm. Though not exactly beaming with warmth and friendliness, they showed no signs of aggression.
“Fishing?” Romris asked glumly.
I nodded, teeth still chattering.
“A huge kote bit. Ended up ripping our tackle.”
“Pray to ORDER that it chokes on your stone and croaks,” Romris declared mockingly, then spun around and made for the awning.
“Will you need help hauling baskets today?” Satat inquired warily.
I hadn’t felt this cold since... Well, ever. Yes, I’d never felt this kind of cold. So I half-spoke, half-howled my reply.
“Yes, we will. And if you get a fire going here soon, I’ll give you a whole kote, larger than my arm’s length. Two of them, even. But we need a big fire. And we need it right away. Like, as soon as yesterday. And we need to cook a pot of kote brain soup. The hotter, the better. And some tea.”
I was ready to jump into a pot of boiling water. At least the wind down here wasn’t strong, or I’d have frozen to death by now.
* * *
The impact of my development of not one, but two freshly unlocked attribute levels was manifest. My body’s reactions were much more sensitive to the changes of laws governed by ORDER. I felt a kind of drowsy stupefaction, my body shaking violently even after being wrapped with thick and grimy burlap graciously brought over by one of the Carps. I sat there, staring stupidly into the bonfire, eating when served roast fish on twig skewers, and drinking when served brain soup. Straight out of the bowl for want of spoons.
I had a vague memory of Romris coming by again, questioning me about my fishing methods, trying to suss out how we had managed to catch so many kote using only a stone with a hook. Me being in no condition to divert and deflect, it fell on Beko to carry the load. Not known for his eloquence and brilliance, the ghoul came up with some half-assed theory about my being a mage on account of knowing how to read and write. And that I had some secret talent that, when activated, compelled kote to obey me. Pure drivel, but it seemed to satisfy the seasoned angler, as the questions eventually stopped.
The tactical victory must have empowered Beko, for after Romris left, he went on the offensive against the Carps, recalling old grievances and insinuating that our nocturnal act of vengeance hadn’t sufficiently made up for them. All the while, he would grab his bundle of rags periodically and declare with spite that, lest anybody forget, it belonged to him.
In short, he was as Beko as Beko could be.
I didn’t recall how I’d ended up in the cellar. But it was only there, spread out on a thin sheet of hay laid out by Beko, that I came to terms with the unpleasantness of my situation.
It wasn’t the cold that had drained me of my strength. No, I had fallen sick. And that was serious. Very serious. In this world, individuals with my parameters died in infancy. And for those that didn’t, even a hint of the sniffles could kill them.
Spring water was a perfidious thing. And I had taken a dip in it twice over several days.
And that second dip was one too many.
Chapter 23
Minus One to Life and a Bad Raft
Degrees of Enlightenment: 0 (201/888)
Shadow: 201
Attributes:
Stamina: level 2, 112 points
Strength: level 0, 31 points
Agility: level 1, 83 points
Perception: NA, 50 points
Spirit: NA, 50 points
Talents:
Fishing Instinct (tier 2): 10/10
States:
Equilibrium (6.31): level 6
Enhanced Enlightenment (0.5): level 0
My state of delirium persisted for two days. Most of the time I spent in dreamless sleep, and when I woke, it would take me some time to realize where I was. These stretches of slumber were interspersed with short bouts of manic activity. I would leap out of bed, gorge on food and drink, then rush to do this thing or that—until the kill switch struck again, taking me back out of commission.
On the evening of the third day, I opened my eyes and finally felt OK. Not at all like a beached jellyfish or a corpse being shocked with electricity by a team of paramedics who can’t help but laugh at its comical convulsions.
Though I was still far from perfect health, the sickness had clearly abated, leaving behind ordinary weakness that I welcomed almost with joy.
Indeed, the weakness had a pleasant feel to it. It was the weakness of an organism that had embarked on a path of recovery, aiming to remind its master not to interfere with the process.
The cellar had a single source of light: a tiny dormer window almost at the ground level. At night we covered it with a thick mat that Beko had woven out of stalks of wild leek, which filled the space with the plant’s acrid smell. Sort of similar to garlic, though not quite that.
The window was closed, the crude shutter clearly visible. But how? At this time of night, the cellar was steeped in darkness so thick, you could cut it with a knife. A cage of fireflies could disperse it, but its luminescence was cold and faint, not at all like this one.
I turned and saw the source of the unusual illumination. Hoisted atop a pine billet was a clay bowl filled with oil or some other burning substance. A tiny tongue of flame rose from the wick peeking out of the bowl. The light it wa
s giving off, though modest, was sufficient to scatter the darkness to the corners of our equally modest dwelling.
Beko bent over me, extending a cup. “Drink, Ged. To the last drop. Don’t spill any, like last time. This cost a whole fifteen squares.”
“Fifteen squares?” I frowned. “Then this should be made of gold. Only it smells like manure.”
“It’s not made of manure. It’s made of special spices, roots and herbs. Bilessa brewed it especially for you. You must drink the whole thing.”
The potion tasted no better than it smelled. Still, fifteen squares was a small fortune, and there was no way I was going to let it go to waste. Grimacing and fighting back nausea, I drank it all down as ordered, to the last drop.
“Got any water?”
“Bilessa said not to give you water after the potion. Want some jerky instead?”
“Just help me get the taste of this shit out of my mouth. I don’t care what with.”
“That’s great! It means you’re hungry!” Beko said joyously. “When people are dying, they’re not hungry. So you’re not dying. I’m glad.”
“Not as glad as me, pal. But what happened to me? What kind of illness was it?” I asked, smacking my lips with avarice, as if I’d never seen food before in my life.
“The river is very cold. You’re very weak and shouldn’t get so cold. Bilessa says that when a weak person gets cold, that opens up invisible doors inside him for forces of evil to go through. They probably came with the demons during the invasion, and stayed. Some folks here said that you got pestilence, and refused to be anywhere near you. But when your skin didn’t develop sores, they calmed down.”
“Have I been lying here for three days?”
“Yes, today is the third.”
“That’s not good. Where did you get all those squares?”
“When I realized your bad condition, I gave all the fish to Megaera, and sold all the brains and livers. The squares went towards the drugs, and the fish bought us time. I was afraid we’d get sent back to the shed. It’s too cold and damp there, especially when it rains. It would complicate your recovery.”
“Thanks, Beko. You did all the right things. How many baskets did it come down to?”
“Seven. We’ve got four more days in reserve. I think.”
“You’re not sure?”
“I don’t do math very well,” Beko lowered his eyes.
“No worries, I’ll teach you.”
“Really? That would be great. When you do math well, you’re less likely to get duped. You’re the one doing the duping.”
“I don’t appreciate the generalizing. But your math is good—we do have four days in reserve.”
“Maybe even more. Now that you’re on your way to full recovery, I can leave your bedside and work. There’s no danger of your harming yourself while delirious.”
“More wild leek? Did you forget, Beko? You and I are winners, and winners can’t be bothered with wild leek.”
“Not wild leek, no. Hornflower is in bloom, and everyone is out gathering it. Even miners,” Beko said with casual conviction, as if fully expecting me to understand everything perfectly.
Naturally, my level of understanding was lacking.
“Hornflower? What are you talking about?”
“You don’t know?” Beko gasped, astonished. “Oh, right, you’ve only just arrived here. Hornflower is plentiful on the left bank of Blackriver, and it blooms in late spring. Only for several days, and that’s it. Flowers are a good spice. Expensive. Probably the most expensive spice that’s also easy to get, since anyone can pick them. So while hornflower is in bloom, all other work is put on hold. Even the mine isn’t operating—everyone is out picking hornflower. Even the patrols! Ash himself would be picking it if he could leave the fort unattended. It’s almost completely empty, all the people are on the left bank. That’s where I’m going, too. To pick hornflower. Nobody is going to tell us to fish. Fish can wait, but hornflower cannot. The fort has enough food reserves that people won’t go hungry.”
“Now I understand. It’s a seasonal gig, then. I’m not sure I’ll feel good enough tomorrow to join you.”
“Nobody expects you to. You need bed rest. You’re barely keeping your eyes open. Sleep. You need lots of sleep.”
* * *
I woke up again closer to afternoon. The bowl of oil wasn’t burning anymore, but the sunlight filtering through the mat’s hollows signaled that dawn had arrived long ago.
Only faint echoes remained of yesterday’s debility. Yet, even those were enough to make me realize that I ought not try to be a hero today.
I rummaged in the pouch hanging off the ceiling—the simplest method of securing our meager food reserves from the ubiquitous mice. Stale bread, fried fish, and a lump of cold porridge wrapped in a burdock leaf. A modest meal, but it gave me more pleasure than any in recent memory.
Leaving not a morsel of food uneaten, I decided that further bed rest in a dark and dusty cellar was a lousy idea. The weather outside was lovely, and I could use the sun and the fresh air. Besides, I could take the time to replace the lost tackle with another one, or maybe even several. The remaining copper plates should suffice, as long as I didn’t obsess over size.
And I wouldn’t. The larger the bait, the larger the predator it attracts. It wasn’t the tiny spoonbait that had enticed the giant kote responsible for knocking me out of commission. The beast had attacked one of its younger brethren that I was pulling to shore. A veritable croc like that would never pounce on a tiny piece of metal—the bite-sized morsel just wouldn’t be worth the effort.
My plans to come out to my favorite spot on the wall were shattered the moment I walked outside, nearly fainting from the sun’s rays. The weather was just about perfect, neither too hot nor too cold. With my feet working and my head clear, I didn’t need to be stuck here amid the fort’s cluttered structures. The ambiance wasn’t amazing, and instead of the fragrance of spring tickling the nostrils, I was smelling far less pleasant things, from chimney fumes to shit wafting in from the direction of the cesspit.
I took my time down to the path to the pebbled beach, discovering subtle changes once there. Drying in the fishing shed were the fort’s nets. All of them. I had never seen so many at once. Until now, all the nets had been set in shifts: some at night, some in the morning, some at noon. I didn’t know the logic behind such a system, having simply noted the facts on the ground.
I didn’t see the boats, either. There had been two in all: the small one had been regularly used for fishing, while the large one had been stored on the beach, overturned. Tracks of the vessel being dragged to the water were still clear on the beach.
So where were they now?
The missing boats weren’t in the channels hugging the island. Nor under the bluff on the right bank. It took quite a bit of head-swiveling as I traversed the beach to spot them. There, on my left, the two boats stood in a tiny bay, obscured by beds of short reeds, bows burrowed in the sand. I couldn’t spot anything else. No humans, no movement amid the reeds.
Recalling Beko’s words from earlier, I surmised that the boats had been utilized to transport folks to gather hornflower. And that the gatherers should be doing just that somewhere along the left bank. Same as my partner.
I didn’t know how to get there, but it wasn’t in my plans, anyway. Coming down the mountain had confirmed that my strength was returning, but it was too early to claim total victory over my illness. Instead, I should sit and rest while enjoying the sun and the fresh air, which should aid my recovery, and craft some tackle besides. The best I could hope for, after letting my feet rest, was to walk down to the end of the beach. The pebbles there were of the smaller, finer variety, and the water was almost entirely free of snags and large rocks. If I felt strong enough, I could even try and fish out a few smaller kote with minimal risk of stumbling onto a mature one.
I could go there now, actually. There, I could activate Fishing Instinct from time to time, whi
le working on the tackle, and observe the lives of the river dwellers in precisely that location. It would be useful to confirm whether my conjectures were correct. Besides, the more I knew about Blackriver and its residents, the better.
* * *
I took my time crafting the first tackle. There was nothing to be gained by rushing—frail as I was, I needed to take it easy to avoid any setbacks in my recovery. So I worked on the tackle instead, chiseling the little jig and adorning it with filigree that would merit even grandpa’s approval. I could almost see the sparkling disk gyrating in the water, propeller-like, as I dragged it slowly across. The only thing it was missing was a treble hook. Guppy only had the basic single variety in stock, which resulted in too many missed bites. Good thing kote were a stubborn species. Once one set its sights on its prey, it didn’t let up until it was hooked.