Heretical Fishing

Book 5: Chapter 35: Never Mind

Book 5: Chapter 35: Never Mind

Heretical Fishing

War was coming. Seer Eustace could feel it in every single one of her wizened bones. There would be death and destruction. Misery and pain and heartbreak. More heartbreak than most could fathom.

So why did she feel so calm?

Wind whipped past as she stood at the prow of Elegos, sister galleon to the prime vessel. Theoris was the only preceding ship in the divine fleet, and they sailed behind and to the side of its wake, carving a graceful line through the deep blue.

Theoris was lined by metallic constructs. Those on its stern and starboard sides glittered like gems under the rising sun, almost as brilliantly as the divine chi stored within and slowly pouring out into the water below. Eustace turned to the left, gazing at the twenty ships fanning out to that side—one wing of the giant V carving a path toward Gormona.

The same relics covered their hulls, just as they did Elegos’s, creating a giant deadzone that would annihilate any cultivators or spirit beasts wielding essence of a different aspect.

Perhaps that was the reason for Eustace’s calm...

Someone swore behind her. A sailor had lost hold of a rope. When it hit the water, it immediately started to smoke, the water seeming to boil around it as it melted, the section exposed to air catching flame before sinking into the depths. The sailor stared at it with wide eyes. So did Eustace. Curious, she leaned down, picked up an empty crate, and tossed it into the sea.

It, too, caught flames. Eustace frowned. The divine chi wouldn’t only destroy enemy cultivators, as Aletheia had claimed; it would also destroy inanimate materials. Eustace grimaced as she imagined the effects. Would the constructs dissolve reefs and other hiding places, leaving the creatures inside exposed to predation? Such was the fate of the weak.

She had long ago cast aside the inherent guilt that came with power. Strength, to anyone with even half a brain, meant responsibility. If one could annihilate evil-doers, was it not objectively immoral to not? She’d thought so, once. The first few decades following her awakening, she had worn herself thin doling out justice and righting wrongs.

It had almost killed her. So she had stopped.

Call it selfish. Call it a coping mechanism. Hells, call her a monster. Far worse names had been flung her way over the centuries, more often than not coming from fellow Seers. And where were they now? Departed, one and all. Their divine wicks had caught flame, flared bright, then burned away. The kingdom’s faithful saw them as martyrs. They’d slurped down The Crown’s propaganda like pigs at a trough. Eustace couldn’t hate the citizens for believing those lies—who would want to believe the terrible truth that each Seer died by their own hand?

She didn’t hate the fallen Seers either. She respected their choice, even if she didn’t understand it. Unlike them, Eustace took a more measured approach. Rather than rail against every perceived injustice, she only eliminated the foulest of offenders. She had preserved her own sanity. If they had all followed her example like Anius, there would still be dozens of Seers alive. It broke her heart to think of all the good they could have done over the centuries, if only they had rejected some of the guilt and responsibility.

Realizing that her thoughts were souring the fresh air, Eustace turned to the woman beside her.

Fern was hardly recognizable. Gone were the wounds, tattered clothes, and layers of muck she’d used to hide her identity back within the dry dock, replaced by the simple robe of a Seer. She held onto the railing and leaned into the wind, her dark hair swept back to reveal beautiful features enhanced by the telltale flawlessness of a cultivator. Newfound confidence radiated from her, seen in the soft smile gracing her lips, the looseness of her unburdened shoulders, and the genuine enjoyment of life that shone from her core for all to see.

In this woman stood the proof of Eustace’s resolve. If the Seer had burned herself away like all those fallen comrades, who would have led the charge for little girls to be schooled alongside little boys? Who would have opened up and secured funds for Prostheia’s orphanages? And, more importantly, who would have killed that disgusting pig of a principal who had been content exploiting the capital’s most-vulnerable?

Without Eustace’s denial of responsibility and guilt, there might be no Fern on this voyage. For that, Eustace experienced a rare glimpse of divine euphoria, a genuine smile of her own arriving on her face as she stared out at the ocean they sailed across. She lost herself in that moment, the sun a pleasant counterpoint to the gusts of wind sporadically blowing over the deck.

“Should I be worried?”

The question snapped Eustace out of her reverie. She raised a brow and cracked an eye to peek over at Fern. “Why...?”

“Because you actually looked happy for once. Besides, it’s been a good fifteen minutes since you last insulted someone. I was starting to think you’d fallen asleep.”

“Perhaps I did. I was dreaming of the most wonderful scene...”

“Oh?”

Eustace nodded and let out a satisfied sigh. “Picture this: I’ve just thrown my toad of a neighbor overboard. He is bobbing along beside the ship, his voice and prodigious size getting farther and farther away by the second. Ahhh, if only it were true.”

The only other person near the prow snorted. Anius was fanning himself as he lounged on a certain bench, which had once sat in the shade of a tree but currently sat atop a warship sailing to a far-off continent.

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“I’ll never forgive you for bringing that along, bastard.”

Anius’s gaze flicked to Fern. “See how I dominate your master’s every thought? I daresay she would be lost without me, a ship with torn sails in the middle of a becalmed sea.”

It was closer to the truth than either Seer would care to admit. Eustace didn’t know if she would have made it through some of the darker times without the genuine spite that had, over time, turned into friendship. They had told each other as much in rare moments of openness, but it had been a long while. Perhaps now was the perfect occasion? She planned on deserting the kingdom at the first opportunity. She might not get another chance...

A sudden wave of sadness crashed down upon her. Would he attempt to stop their desertion, or would he watch them go? She hoped he would come, but after his recent actions, she wasn’t sure he would risk running.

Before the emotion could overwhelm her, she raised two middle fingers at her old friend and used an almost-extinct language to level an insult so severe, so offensive, that their god-empress might execute Eustace on the spot if only she understood the words.

Sven—who still claimed he was a ‘honey merchant’ and definitely not a spy—was the only other person by the prow. Judging by his expression, he understood the sentiment.

Even Anius was taken aback, eyes wide and brows high. Then laughter erupted from his throat, his stomach shaking as he struggled to breathe. “By the divines, Eustace! When was the last time you said something like that to me?”

“Probably back when we actually wished for each other’s demise.”

“Wait...” He leaned forward, face going serious. “You ceased wishing for my death? If I’d known, I would have stopped prodding this sympathetic charm years ago.” The bastard produced a small doll resembling her from his robe, then withdrew a needle from its arm and stabbed it back in, watching her as if waiting for a reaction. But he couldn’t keep it up for long. His laughter returned just as loud and violent as before.

Eustace shook her head. “How long have you had that prop for?”

“I had it prepared specifically for this trip. I didn’t think I’d use it so soon...” Suddenly inquisitive, he raised the doll, stared at it, then at her, then at it again. With a thoughtful expression, he lobbed it over the side of the ship, watching her closely. When she didn’t also sail over the railing, he threw up his hands and let out an exaggerated sigh. “Guess I’m stuck with you. For now.”

Fern’s frown had been progressively deepening in confusion, and she finally reached her limit. “You two are...”

“Weird?” Eustace asked.

“Attractive?” Anius suggested at the same time, which made Fern’s frown turn into a glare.

Eustace patted her apprentice on the shoulder. “I still have many lessons to teach you, so many that you’ll likely forget half of them, but never forget this one, dear. Seers live long lives. If you wish to keep your sanity, find at least one friend that keeps you on your toes and makes you laugh.” She gestured across the deck at her companion of countless years. “I obviously failed to find such a friend, but he was the next best thing.” Sadness tugged at her again.

“You can talk, hag,” Anius replied, unaware of her conflicted thoughts. “At least you had some choice. I was your subordinate back then, so I had to let you stay by my side at first. And later, no matter how many times I cut you off, you just grew right back. Like a recurring wart. Or—”

Golden light shone over everything. Burning agony followed. Someone screamed. Fern. More voices joined in as the rest of the ship’s crew were blasted with power they couldn’t hope to handle. Anius leaped to his feet, casting aside his visage of indifference. The Seers both reached for their essence, and they slammed a divine shield into place.

The reprieve was immediate. The sailors on the main deck gasped in relief, many from the wooden boards they’d collapsed to. Eustace grabbed Fern to stop her from suffering the same fall. Her apprentice’s knuckles turned white as she strained to keep hold of the Seer’s arm, the rest of her skin pink and tender. Anius grabbed Sven and pulled him into the bubble, bolstering the man’s comparatively weak level of cultivation. Behind them, veteran mages of the Forty Hands dashed to their surrounding ships, checking on the vessels manned by the newly awakened.

Another pulse of gold came, originating from the galleon and washing over the entire fleet. This time, it was restorative, healing the destruction wrought by their god-empress’s lack of control. Fern blinked and stared down at her repaired hands, still shaking all over from the memory of Aletheia’s touch.

That momentary exposure must have been torturous, and as Eustace looked towards the leading warship, she felt an old, old anger flare to life in her chest. She leaned forward, expression contorting, vision pulsing.

Anius’s shielding pressed down on her. “Peace, Eustace,” he said, resting a hand on her shoulder. “It is not worth it.”

She wanted to spit in his face. Wanted to scratch and flail and escape his grasp. But he was right. She took a slow breath, and he let her go.

“Thank you. Old toad.”

“Any time, hag. Shall we go check in with the god-empress?”

Before Eustace could answer, their ruler spoke. “Come.”

Eustace gestured for Fern to stay, and both Seers leaped across the divide to find a confusing scene. The moment they landed, they prostrated themselves, emulating the Prime Cadre’s submissive posture.

“Stand, Seers,” God-Empress Aletheia commanded.

They obeyed, bowing at the waist, awaiting further instruction.

“My apologies for the damage done to your apprentice, Eustace. I will compensate her upon returning to the Kingdom of Light.”

You can compensate us all by flying into the sun, is what she wanted to say. Instead, she bowed lower. “That is fair of you, God-Empress.”

“No.” The word slammed down onto Eustace, making her legs shake. “It is just. There is a difference. But that is not why I summoned you. Tell me... what do you think of this message?”

Eustace looked up, gazing at the artifact in the center of Theoris’s deck. She read the words. A chill ran down her entire body. As she read them again, the blood drained from her face. She licked her lips, trying and failing to alleviate their sudden dryness.

Well, those were the reactions she emulated, anyway. Anius did the same. Neither of them would have survived the previous monarchs if they hadn’t mastered the control of such things. Internally, she rejoiced, seeing nothing but opportunity in the messages.

She read the words for a third time, and it took everything she had to stop her true feelings from leaking past her careful circulation of essence.

God-King Fischer has marked a Chosen Champion!

Long live Fin, Chosen Champion of Tropica!