Heretical Fishing

Book 2: Chapter 85: Disarming

“There is an arrow trained on your head, stranger,” the camouflaged man warned, glancing at me.

I had Borks gripped by his scruff, stopping him from insta-murdering the misguided spearman. I looked over my shoulder, and sure enough, there was a teenage boy with a bow. It was pulled back, the tip of the arrow trained on me. There was one reason I hadn’t taken both of our attackers out—well, one main reason: Maria was in no danger.

Neither of these men—likely father and son, judging by the look of them—were cultivators. If she were so inclined, she could probably throw one at the other hard enough to end them both. Hell, I wasn’t sure that the spear could break her skin if she stood still, but if the man tried to stab her, it would be like a newborn trying to jab a mountain.

Realizing no one had spoken for a long moment, I cleared my throat. “If you’ve come to rob us, you can take whatever you like.”

“We’re not thieves!” the adolescent behind me yelled.

“Quiet!” the man snapped, shooting a warning glare at his son.

“Then what do you want?” I asked, keeping my voice calm.

The spearman tightened his grip, his hands shaking. “To ensure you’re not the king’s men.”

King’s men? I thought. Interesting...

“We’d have to take you prisoner.”

I nodded. “I think I know what’s going on. You traded with the caravan that came from other villages, right? Now you’re worried about the king coming to punish you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied, but his eyes told the truth of it. They’d gone panicked at my mention of the caravan.

“Look, we’re not with the king, okay? Anything but. Now, can you remove that spear from my girlfriend’s side before I lose my cool?”

“I’m the one giving orders here!” His eyes were still wild, and they darted between Maria and me, his knuckles white on the spear’s shaft. “If you’re not with the king, what are you doing out here in the forest? How do you know about the caravan?”

I felt the immediate urge to goad him with a comment about the caravan he just accidentally confirmed, but I pushed it down, knowing it would just make things more tense.

“I thought you didn’t know about the caravan?” Maria said, smirking at him.

The man blanched and I burst into laughter, unable to help myself. “Maria! You’re being inflammatory!”

“Hey, he’s the one that’s got a spear aimed at my important bits. Is that an old sickle you’ve reshaped, by the way? You’re a farmer?”

Maria’s casual tone, despite being held at spear point, broke the man for a few seconds. His mouth moved up and down inaudibly until he was able to reboot. “You’re acting awfully relaxed for being one movement away from death, lass.”

“We know about the caravan because my friends organized it,” I explained, making a calming gesture with both hands. “We’re out here on a camping holiday. Look, we even brought our cute dog!”

I pointed at Borks, but when I looked over, I realized he was snarling.

“Borks—show them your cute face. We’re trying to de-escalate.”

His face transformed immediately, his eyes placid and tongue lolling from the side of his mouth.

“See? A harmless couple out and about with their friendly and definitely not dangerous dog.”

“Enough!” the spearman yelled. “I need a moment to think. I...”

“I believe them, dad,” the teen said. “I think they’re telling the truth.”

“Quiet, Toby! The king employs all manner of underhanded folk. Just because they look innocent, it doesn’t mean they are. Gods above, the more innocent they appear, the more we need to distrust them!”

Maria rolled her eyes. “This is getting tedious. Can I?”

I let out a weary sigh. “Yeah, go for it.”

“What are you—” the spearman started, cutting off as Maria whirled on him.

She swept her left foot around, grabbed the spear’s shaft, twisted it from his grip, then held the tip to his neck. The movement was beautifully controlled, not so fast that it would identify her as a cultivator, but definitely nearing the upper-limit of a regular human’s capabilities.

I raised an eyebrow at the son. “Would you mind putting the bow down? I don’t wanna have to knock you out or something.”

“You are with the king!” The father yelled.

The son’s eyes darted between me and his father. His hands shook violently, the entire bow wavering.

“We’re not with the king,” I said. “We’re from Tropica and just happen to practice martial arts for funsies. It’s quite good for your health—especially when it stops you from getting speared by a confused farmer.”

“Theresa...” the father said.

“Theresa?” I asked, not at all understanding.

The name wasn’t meant for me, however. Something changed in the adolescent when he heard it. Standing tall, he took a deep breath. His hands stilled, and he drew the arrow back once more, training it on me.

“I need to be sure you’re not with the king. Swear it to me, and I’ll lower my weapon.”

Here’s something, I thought. The mere mention of a name was enough to turn the boy’s spine from jelly to titanium. Who is Theresa…?

I nodded. “Alright. See those things on the ground next to the tent?”

The boy wouldn’t take his eyes from me, so I looked up at his father. “Do you know what those are?”

He swallowed, a line of sweat running from his temple down to his chin. “I don’t, no.”

“They’re fishing rods!” Maria announced, beaming. “We in Tropica are into some seriously heretical activities. Very un-kingly, wouldn’t you agree?”

“It’s a cover, son,” the father growled. “No one would actually fish. The rods are clearly an attempt at misdirection.”

I swore, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “Borks, would you try to find a skeleton? Don’t give me that side-eye, mister. No attacking them, alright? Just find one of the jungle-perch frames I threw into the shallows.”

Giving the bow-wielding teen a low growl on the way past, Borks disappeared into the shadows.

“Sooo,” I drawled. “You two come here often?”

“Don’t listen to him, Toby!” the father blurted. “He’s trying to build a relationship with you so you don’t shoot!”

“That’s not true! I’m already in a relationship.”

“Fischer...” Maria shook her head, making a disgusted face. “He’s like... twelve. Don’t even joke about that.”

“I’m turning fifteen!” Toby countered, his cheeks flushing.

“Stop talking to him!” the father ordered, finding some of his nerve despite the spear to his throat. “They’re making it more difficult to shoot at them!”

Borks slunk from the shadows, his body wet and tail wagging. He walked toward Toby and spat something out. Two fish frames, their filets removed and heads picked at by creatures in the shallows, sat lifeless on the forest floor.

“See?” I said. “Fish. We caught them, fileted them, and ate them.” I pointed at myself. “I’m Fischer, and I enjoy fishing. This is Maria—she also enjoys fishing and eating said heretical beasties.”

“It’s true,” Maria added. “They’re delicious.”

Borks barked his agreement, most of his agitation having melted away after being able to retrieve something.

“That still proves nothing!” The dad—who was reminding me more of Roger by the second—yelled.

I let out a weary sigh; my enjoyment of the day was slowly bleeding away. “Mate, can we give up the posturing? Neither of you are murderers, and you’re not going to shoot us.”

“You don’t know what we’re capable of.”

I shook my head. “Maybe you’re capable of it if your family were in danger, but you’re not convinced that we are with the king or whatever. If you were, you’d have told your son to shoot the second Maria disarmed you.”

“I’m sorry, dad...” Toby lowered his bow, letting the tension go from the string. “They’re right.”

“No!” the father wailed. “Please. You can have my life, but let the boy go. He’s only young and his sister needs someone to care for her.” He closed his eyes and lifted his neck, giving the Spear Maria held a better angle to strike. “Look away, Toby.”

“My guy...” Maria said, lowering the spear. “Your son is right. We’re not going to hurt you.”

He cracked an eye slowly, unbelieving. “You’re... you’re truly not with the king?”

“Nah, mate.” I grinned. “We’re from Tropica on a holiday to the capital.”

“But...” He took a step back from Maria. “How did you disarm me so easily if you’re from a coastal village?”

“I told you, mate.” I gave him a wink. “We’re into martial arts.”

“But...” Toby said, stepping around to his father’s side. “My dad was in the army. Where did you learn to—”

“Toby!” his father admonished. “Still your tongue!”

“Martial arts,” Maria reiterated, giving me a smirk. “Fischer is actually the strongest of us, and he could have taken you both out the moment you showed yourself if he wanted to.”

“Really?” Toby asked, staring at me with adolescent exuberance. “How?”

“They’re bluffing, Toby. A single man couldn’t possibly—”

I grabbed my favorite knife from where it was sheathed at my hip. Letting a hair-thin trickle of chi from my core, I sent it up my arm as I released the knife. It flew through the air, the chi guiding it and keeping the blade straight as it sailed toward its target. Just as Maria had, I kept my movement at the upper-limit of what was possible for a regular human. The knife slammed into the trunk Toby had originally stepped from behind of, driving an inch into the wood there with a muted thonk.

The blood drained from the father’s face; awe grew over the Toby’s.

“Whoa!” he said. “Did you see that, dad?”

“Who...” the father swallowed. “Who are you people?”

“Just a couple of lovers on a fishing trip,” I said. “With our cute dog, of course.”

Borks came to my side at the mention of him, and I patted his head, letting my appreciation for him flow.

The father slumped to his knees. He sat there for a couple of breaths, then lowered his forehead to the grass. “Thank you for not killing my son.”

“Uh... you’re welcome?” I shared a look with Maria, who shrugged back at me, similarly wordless.

“What is your name, mate?” I asked.

He glanced up from the grass. “Why do you want to know?”

“You know our names, and we know your son’s name... what’s yours?”

He raised his head, chewing on the thought for a long moment. Eventually, he spoke. “My name’s Rodger, but all my friends call me Rod.”

Maria and I locked eyes and both burst into laughter. I fell to the floor, my legs no match for my mirth as tears came to my eyes.

“What...?” Rod asked, looking between us. “What’s so funny?”

“We know a Rodger,” Maria answered, covering her smile. “He was also in the army. You two would get along.”

“Except you seem a little more okay with the whole fishing thing,” I added, wiping a tear from my eye.

“I’m not at all okay with it—there were just more important things to worry about.” He shook his head. “If you’re both on a fishing trip, you’re both heretical fools. It’s just not natural to be—”

I couldn’t hear the rest, my chortle drowning it out. Maria joined me on the ground, his choice of words landing like a physical blow.

“Yeah, you two would definitely get along,” I said when I could speak again. My cheeks hurt from smiling too much, and I rubbed them as I sat up. “So, weird question—Theresa is your daughter, right? The ‘sister’ that Toby would need to look after if Maria had given you a terminal poke?”

Rod’s face was red with embarrassment, but it blanched at my question. He didn’t answer, but words weren’t necessary; his face told me the truth.

“How sick is she?” I asked, trying to appear serious.

Toby, seeing his father wouldn’t answer, spoke up. “She has always had it. My mother passed when she was born, so it’s just me and dad that look after her.”

“Other villagers? Could they care for her if you didn’t return?”

My inquiry made color return to Rod’s face. “That’s none of your concern.”

“Okay,” I replied, holding up both hands. “I was only making sure she wasn’t super sick.”

Maria shot me a meaningful glance, knowing me well enough to see my intention.

“You’re not agents of the capital, right?” Rod asked. “So you’re going to let us go…?”

“True.” I nodded. “You’re both free to go. We’ll pack up our camp and move. No offense, but I don’t relish the idea of you returning with your entire village in some foolhardy attempt at self preservation.”

“We wouldn’t do that!” Toby exclaimed, his face indignant.

“But they’ll still move, anyway.” Rod stood, brushing dirt from his knees. “Can I trust you won’t follow us?”

“We won’t,” Maria said, passing his spear back to him. “We’ve got our own business to be about.”

“Come on, Toby. Let’s leave them to it.”

“One last thing.” I strode forward, extending my hand.

Rod stared down at it for a long moment, then grasped it.

“It was nice meeting you, mate. You too, Toby.”

“Y-you too!” Toby replied, shaking my offered hand.

I thought for a moment, considering if it was worth the risk. Maria poked me in the side, and when I looked her way, she nodded. I smiled back at her.

“If you two get in trouble,” I said, “or if Theresa gets more unwell, come and find us. I reckon you’d get along well with my friends back in Tropica.”

“Thank you for the offer,” Rod replied, hesitant. “We’ll keep it in mind. Come on, Toby.”

We watched them go, and when they were from sight, we started packing up.

“Keep an eye and make sure they don’t return,” I said to Borks.

He nodded, skulking toward the treeline and watching the darkness.

“So, that was insane, right?” Maria said.

“No kidding. I can’t believe they actually snuck up on us...” I glanced in the direction they’d left, seeing nothing but shadows and dimly lit trees. “I didn’t hear a thing, and the fact that Borks didn’t smell them tells me they understand tracking and wind direction better than most.”

My brow furrowed as I started considering the implications, but Maria, seeing right through me, poked me in the side again.

“I’m proud of you, Fischer.”

“You are?” I raised a questioning brow. “Why?”

“Because I saw the fury on your face when he came at me with the spear, but you trusted me. You also had empathy for strangers that ambushed us in the night. Moreover, you told them where they could find help if Rod’s daughter got sicker.”

I snorted. “Only because you told me it was okay.”

She shook her head, her hair bouncing against her face. “You would have done it anyway. I just sped up the decision.” She wrapped her arm around my back. “Every day you do things that make me love you even more.”

“You think that made you love me more? I wish you could feel what I feel—the way you disarmed him in a split second did things to me. The way you handled that pole so deft—”

She unlooped her arm from me and slapped me on the arm at the speed of light. “Don’t finish that sentence. You’ll undo all the good work you did tonight.”

A laugh flew from me, rolling over the grass and bouncing off the trees. Despite being ambushed no less than ten minutes ago and being held at arrow point, I felt calm and free.

***

As Rod led his son back toward their village, anxiety and fear warred for dominance within him.

Toby followed his steps exactly; the years he had spent training his son in the way of the hunter hadn’t been a waste. Proud as Rod was of his only boy, the thoughts assaulting him were immutable.

To think that mere villagers could be so powerful...

It rivaled the strength he’d seen those dreaded cultivators use on the battlefield. Unbidden, some of the scenes of destruction flashed through his mind, making bile rise in his throat. He shook his head, trying to clear it of the flashes. The sound of a stick snapping rang out through the forest. Rod froze.

“Dad. Are you okay?” Toby asked. “I can’t remember the last time you stood on a stick.”

Looking down at the offending twig, Rod clenched his jaw. “I’m fine,” he lied.

As they continued on, he played over the interaction in his mind, searching for where he could have improved—what he could have changed to get the upper hand. There was nothing, though. Short of shooting arrows from the dark and assassinating complete strangers, they couldn’t have won that fight. The speed with which the man had thrown that knife... even if Rod had held him at spear point instead, he’d still have been easily disarmed by the martial artist. He replayed the woman—Maria—so easily removing the spear from his grasp and holding the tip to his throat. It really was like the speed he’d only seen cultivators possess, and it made the bile rise in his throat once more.

Is it possible that they’re cultivators? Sent by the crown to dismantle their little pocket of resistance?

Rod blew air from his nose, acknowledging just how ridiculous a suggestion that was. If they had been cultivators, he and his son would have been dead before they knew it. Besides, they weren’t collared. The king wouldn’t abide slaves that weren’t forced to do his bidding under threat of death.

The knowledge that he couldn’t have done anything different should have made him feel worse. Surprisingly, it made him feel at ease. He guided his whirling thoughts, focusing on the information they’d gotten from the misguided encounter. As distasteful as it was that they were fishing—actually fishing of all things—showed how little they cared for the crown’s rules. Perhaps there was something there. Was it possible that their village could find allies in Tropica? Others willing to go against the tyranny of the king and his cultivators?

Once more smiling at his own hubris, Rod shook his head. No one outside of his village could be trusted. He was thankful for the restraint the strangers had shown, but he didn’t trust them. He couldn’t.

He returned his attention to the surroundings, his thoughts still troubled as they made their way home.