The girl dragged an older teenager and a woman by their arms while shouting, “Mother, elder Brother, see? I told you I wasn’t lying. The prince really taught us how to hunt gheists!”
As if to prove her point, the third fishing team led by another of the older village children hauled in a Gnarly Eel from the lake waters with perfect timing, raising gasps from the visitors.
“See? See? It’s the rope stick! We don’t have to trouble lord cultivators for meat anymore. We can get it ourselves!”
The girl pipped and preened as though the achievement was hers.
The teenager, supposedly her elder brother, cautiously made his way to the caught Eel and took a deep breath as he watched the slimy creature wiggle. Very alive, very real. He gawked as he noticed the many basket-holes filled with all kinds of seafood catches.
Fish, snakes, shrimp, and crabs. Not merely the left-over clams and critters after an ebbing tide, but true and pure gheists from the lakes!
Elrhain trotted over and gestured at the repaired fishing pole. “Want to give it a try?”
“Yes!” the younger sister answered for her elder brother, who was floundering into a hasty bow. She didn’t wait for Elrhain to teach the newcomers the know-how either, proudly proclaiming the method to cast the line and attach the bait with puffed chests.
Before long, the adult villagers lost their reservation and approached the kids of their own families. They got the hang of the process faster amidst the exciting explanations. Being physically stronger, they also did not run into many of the difficulties the weaker younglings did.
“Useless. Give me that! Do you want to make me lose face in front of old hunter Akmon’s son?” One man yelled at his much taller son as he snatched the fishing pole away from the youngster. The boy had failed for the third time to pull up what was probably the same Three-eyed Burbot the family to their left had just caught. He had no face left!
“Aye, that’s a Longclaw Crawfish alright. I’ve not had one since my pop’s days.” Another old man said, reminiscing that one time his family was fortunate enough to spear up this delicious crustacean that now dangled in front of him.
“Haha, ol’ Bandy, looks like the Longclaw Crawfish we’ve caught is longer than yours!” Yet a third man, younger than the first two, teased. He held up the crawfish with a bark-like outer shell as if to show off.
To his fellow villagers, to his club-wielding little sister. And most importantly, to the prince and princess with a mix of fear, anticipation, veneration, and hope.
More people came drawn by the commotion, drowning out even the busy preparations of the feast. They first looked on skeptically. Until another round of loud cheers at some successful hunt or failed tug of war shattered their defenses to smithereens.
Mouths went agape, as hands did rise in the air. More people learnt of the magic of fishing in a dazed haze. More people gradually collected their bearing, mustering up the courage and enthusiasm. They threw away whatever dull wood they were chopping or meat they were roasting and squatted down, crafting their own poles under the delighted kids’ guidances. It reached the point where even Elrhain, Agwyn, and captain Anouk had to stop fishing to help out.
The blazing light moved.
It no longer illuminated the meaningless venue of the feast for the royalty and now cast its orange radiance on the feast of the soul, where the budding first blush of civilization was taking shape.
It was accompanied not by the bitter discontent of the servants and their want for more food, but the laughter of children and parents alike with dreams of a better future.
***
Bromwyn poured more aged fruit-pulp mixed with spring water into the chitinous container. Opposite to him, sitting in the village headsman’s seat, was the current leader of the Haragol Onthoakty, Randuman Earthloch Haragol.
The old man, who was about two inches shorter than Bromwyn, filled his own cup to the brim and hailed, “Chieftain, Here’s to continued prosperity and triumph in the collapse. This Randuman can testify without a doubt after seeing the current Earthloch scions that the future is bright! Notably Cadwell, Morys, and Livian’s kids, already better fighters than I was at thrice their age. Shame that the prince and princess are so young. Two years later, I will assuredly make sure to pay attention to the entire process of how they hunt aquatic gheists with main house teachings.”
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“Hahaha. I could not agree more. But, ahem, I think five cycles old is still too young for my dear Gwyn. In any case, it looks like the Haragols too have settled in nicely in this place. I see the scaffolds full of gheist meat and the hunter’s hauling impressive Sagathan catches.” Bromwyn clinked his cup with Randuman’s, then chugged the whole thing down. Hiding the fact that he absolutely, utterly refused to let Agwyn come anywhere near the Haragol settlement again for the next three, no, five cycles at least.
This old coot was too much, wanting to make his baby girl fistfight with slimy, greasy lake monsters. Not on his watch!
Randuman, oblivious to the Siorrakt’s inner turmoil, let out a heavy sigh as he replied to Bromwyn’s earlier statement. “Aye, that might not be the case. With the manna becoming richer, we’ve had to throw away more parts of gheists now. The few Sawmouth Snappers your house’s kids caught today were actually the only low Earthen realm gheists I’ve seen in the last week. And I fear the situation will only get worse.”
“Even in lake Sagathan?” A sombre look set on Bromwyn’s face as he asked the question. The lakes in Lochuir, especially Sagathan, were always known for their gheists having less poisonous flesh, even at higher ranks. It was one of the reasons the founders established themselves here so many ages ago.
Randuman nodded. “There’re a few manna-rioghs spawning some low realm gheistrums. But it’s only a matter of time before these too ascend in realms. The only things left are the mortal critters, but those are only good for filling your stomach and not cultivation. At least for Earthen and up. I can’t force the Haragol hunters to seek them just for mortal folks. There’ll be deserters leaving for other noble houses! I bet the East and West high-noses would love to see that happen.”
“That’s true.” Bromwyn looked out of the window. The sun had set, and the stars conquered the sky. There seemed to be a ruckus coming from the distance. Joyous voices if he’d ever heard any. Were the people here really that glad to be hosting the main house?
Bromwyn renewed his resolve. Many problems were plaguing his land because of the sudden collapse. But nothing was unsolvable with grit, blood, and sweat. In fact, his father, the Grand Elder of the clan, was already in the process of devising an answer to the food problem so preposterous, the other high noble clans would vomit their lungs out at its mere mention if not wage war outright.
But desperate times called for desperate measures. And the collapse brought Earthloch both desperation and time.
“I will let my father know. Try to hold out until Equinox. By then, we will have a solution. I promise you this.” Bromwyn downed another cup of the pulp-water. “Now then, about the matter from before. An acolyte from the Grand Shamanka and Elder Croneira’s place should have reached you.”
“Those black, big-eyed rats eh? I’ve let my hunters know. My second cousin who is the Haragol shaman and his apprentice, our healer, has confirmed it too.” Randuman said. “To think that these tiny vermin were the ones spreading the child taking Swampling’s curse. We’ve already killed and burnt a good hundred around these parts, but they never seem to end.”
Bromwyn lightly knocked his knuckles on the stone floor. “That’s the problem. There might be a manna-riogh spawning them. But the delvers have found nothing. And not one rat has a core, which at least a few should even though they are in the mortal realm. That is, if they truly are first-generation riogh-spawned gheistrums.”
Bromwyn stopped, then exhaled out. He saw Romero returning to the house from the window with a perplexed look on his face. The commotion outside also seemed to have grown louder.
The chieftain cracked his neck. A weird feeling rose from within, telling him something was not quite right. He spoke with an uncertain note, which was soon drowned out by pride. “Whatever may be the case, we can only wait until the end of the five winters. If these vermin all die out, then that is great. If not, well, we will see when that happens. And besides, the Swampling’s curse has already been defeated.”
“Hahaha! And so it has. Man, that announcement at the grand hall was truly something. As expected of the Grand Elder, so artful even when showing off!”
“It isn’t showing off when it’s the truth, good Onthoakt!” Bromwyn beamed. “My son and daughter are geniuses. I’m willing to bet even with The Besmirched Hoarder, Roggh’zhist, The Scorched Wormgod Over-under, that if they were twenty cycles older, they’d probably sniff out perfect solutions to our problems from the unending scrolls in the dust-covered archives.”
“I can see that happening. The prince talked more grumpy than my second cousin’s first son. And let me tell… Hmm?” Randuman stopped in the middle of his guffaw and looked outside. “Hasn’t it gotten noisier?”
Bromwyn agreed, at last finding the raucous outside unnatural too. “I thought the Haragol folks were always like this, taking after your carefree attitude.”
“How strange. Although my daughter-in-law and son always tell me I am too out of it compared to all other nobles. Speaking of which, Romero, you are back. What’s all this noise about? Did Ol’ Bandy start telling off the young’uns again?” Randuman called out to his eldest son, who had entered the house sweating as though he had just sprinted three mountains in one breath.
“N-No. I mean, yes. But not quite.” Romero panicked. “Father, it’s the prince. H-He-“
Randuman leaned forward while Bromwyn stood up with the force of a volcano, his eyes glowing lilac red. “What happened?”
Romero gulped down his panic.
“He hunted a gheist.”
“WHAT?!”