The fire pits were snuffed out, and so were the bonfires. The place of the feast in front of the village’s center courtyard was quiet. It was humming with life just an hour ago, but now only had some small forest critters sniffing a half-roasted leg of meat curiously. A fish gremlin eyed the butchered upper-jaw of a Sawmouth Snapper from a distance while wiggling its tendrils. A Kaloxen calf rushed past the Cloudberry brush in the yard but stumbled to a stop. It turned around and headed back to the Kaloxen sheds.

There were no dhionne, hence no treats or neck pats.

Like a village ravaged by a gheist tide, left behind to rot with the dead souls of Blue Banshees. Yet, there was no carnage. And the din from just a few stone’s throws away broke that illusion of silence.

Bromwyn could see the silhouettes of the missing villagers lining the shoreside near the lake waters. The contours of the old, young, and even children moved around with palpable avidity. They planted torches in the sand, lighting the whole place up like the late-night shire banquets. Even the intensity was the same as if they had just wrapped up a major hunt out from a sinister manna-riogh.

Maybe they had.

An elderly man with a serpentine back hurriedly made his way towards them. He had droopy eyelids and a head too large to balance properly with his spindly long neck. Two ears like fish fins jutted out from his shaggy, coiled hair. He carried two large Crawfish in his hands tied by grass ropes under their claws and sported a grin revealing his cracked yellow teeth.

“Me lord! Good you could make it.”

“Ol’ Bandy? Those are Longclaw Crawfish if my eyes aren’t playing tricks. Romero wasn’t speaking drunk tales? It’s actually true that the Earthloch prince invented a strange hunting technique for you folks?”

“Sure did! But he calls it fishin’ poles. Gets all mad like an explodin’ fire fruit when we say otherwise.” Ol’ Bandy pointed in a particular direction. Elrhain was there, vigorously moving his hands as he explained away to an attentive audience. Agwyn too chipped in from time to time, raising laughter from Elrhain and villagers alike.

“The royal lordling’s something else. Never in my life did I think me old bones could hunt a gheist again. But lo and behold.” Ol’ Bandy said. “By the by. Do we have to include these to the cyclic tributes me lord? Some young’uns been asking if we’re allowed to fish like this. Clan rules never said anything about it, and geezer Grammadu, the storyteller, can’t say either.”

Randuman waved his hand. “It’s fine. We can discuss it later. Rather than that, you all can continue fishing tomorrow since the night is no longer young. The lake won’t run away. But what’s going to happen to the feast if no one mans the fires? Or do you want the prince who taught you to hunt again to go hungry? What would the other villages say when they learn that we, the Haragols, are ungrateful enough to starve our benefactors?”

Something seemed to click in Ol’ Bandy’s brain. “Aye! Didn’t think of it like that. Now, we can’t have no one saying we scalefolks are ungrateful. Don’t worry me lord, I’ll drag everyone back to cook up the best seafood the lordling’s have ever eaten right away. Actually, let me put these two Crawfish here. The prince was saying how he’d never eaten one.”

With that, the hunched old man placed the two mortal gheists beside the butchered Sawmouth Snapper. Then, gripping his kilt with his bony hands, Ol’ Bandy sauntered back to the others.

Randuman said with a thoughtful expression, “Siorrakt. Although it pains me to refuse, let this Randuman decline your offer for a bet.”

Bromwyn ruffled his Viking hair, still looking at his darling son-in-law and daughter. The two children were acting like they had no idea what an epoch shattering, mind-boggling, colossus of a feat they had just pulled off.

Randuman continued. “Because it looks like let alone twenty cycles, the prince and princess have already sniffed out a solution to one of Earthloch’s most pressing problems today!”

With that, the dirty old man burst into a guffaw and thumped his trunk like a gleeful gorilla.

Bromwyn could only sigh with a “Yeah.” He decided to leave the complicated thinking to his old man. As a father, all Bromwyn could do now was protect his two gems from evil eyes, and that would be enough.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

***

“Daddy! Can Ruba come p-play with us in the Elder’s Rest? Can she? Please? I promise I won’t let her break anything.” Agwyn twittered while holding a steaming hot roasted tuber the colour of mangoes. The little girl turned her upturned eyes towards him.

Bromwyn had no defences against that despite his peak Oceanic cultivation. He could only nod like one of those Impelakty eunuchs, fawning mindlessly at the cuteness enraptured him.

It had been a few hours since Elrhain had introduced fishing. If Ol’ Bandy hadn’t yelled his way into persuading the villagers with his annoying yet impeccable logic, they would have most likely continued fiddling with fishing poles throughout the night.

But unsurprisingly, the lord’s order won out. The cooking for the feast soon wrapped up amidst everyone’s high morale.

Any other day, all the kids would have been long asleep by this time. But tonight, Ysbail and Cati talked about everything under the sun with Ruba, not minding if their words made sense or not. Then they would inevitably come back to fishing and start making grandiose plans.

Howell continued studying the eight properties of the fishing pole he had found out with a few village youngsters. Even the adults lent him their ears. They acknowledged his skills despite his much younger age and the fishing pole being out for hardly a few hours.

And for the villagers themselves, the topic that dominated their discussions was one and the same. Fishing poles, hook-traps, and rope-sticks.

Even Bromwyn was half distracted, his mind wandering back to Elrhain explaining the how-to-dos of this simple yet effective object to Randuman.

The feast ended in a flash, and the midnight moon had already unveiled. No one cared how the time seemed to flow so mercilessly as they chattered and laughed.

Bromwyn tucked the two kids under the blanket and delicately caressed Agwyn’s cheek. The little girl uttered an illegible sound, then reflexively pushed his hand away. She rolled over and grabbed Elrhain’s arm like a body pillow.

The other Earthloch scions, excluding Cadfael and including Ruba of Haragol, were snuggled into a snoring pile in the next room, snoozing away. The chieftain himself would accompany these dumplings for the night in case of emergency. It’s a task he had gladly taken upon himself to spend even one more minute in his silly and forgetful daughter's company.

He would never regret that, for it was his pride and joy. He would never, ever think otherwise…

“Buahaha. Do you see Romero? Your old man still has it. Who else can claim to hunt ten Rockfin Hatchlings in but a half hour? Who dares?”

…if not for Randuman’s boisterous laughter echoing out from outside.

‘Detestable! What, ‘the lake won’t run away’. How dare that old coot be so audacious? How can the host run away to fish throughout the night while the guest has to remain acting as a guardian! I’m his Siorrakt no less. Can I consider this mutiny?’ Bromwyn massaged his temples and tried to shut the Haragol Onthoakt’s loud voice out. But alas, he was peak Oceanic. His senses were too sharp.

‘I want to try the fishing pole too!’

Tonight would be a restless night for many.

***

The next day.

Elrhain and Agwyn were already back in the clan courtyard and lazed away on their bed. Today was a rest day. They both refused to go cultivate in a damp cave after yesterday’s fun night of festivities. Not to mention the torture Lilian had put them through this dawn.

There was a tearful farewell with her new fourth BFF, Ruba, just a few hours ago. But Agwyn would be alright. After all, Bromwyn promised to let the Haragol heiress cultivate with them in the Elder’s Rest under Tudor’s teachings tomorrow onwards.

Elrhain slapped his pudgy arms, then his legs.

「It feels so tingly.」

「They made us sit in a scrying array first thing in the morning! It bloody sparked like Pikachu. Of course it’s tingly.」 Agwyn said with a vexed voice. 「I can’t believe that Naeman witch. She cut my hair! The nerve of that pompous slut!」

The little girl eyed the end of the lock of hair she usually twirled with a forlorn expression. It was about two inches shorter now, and it looked absolutely hideous. An event catastrophic enough to ruin the rest of Agwyn’s day.

「That’s it.」 Agwyn head-butted her pillow as if it could magically solve all her cosmetic problems. 「I don’t want to take this any longer. It’s not like their voodoo MRIs can even detect anything.」

「They were jotting down notes though. Are you sure?」

「Positively. They can only find something after I tell them where to look for it. And I will do that tonight. I think mommy and daddy will be less cranky too. They sound so mentally worn out.」

「Are you sure you’re sure?」

Agwyn suddenly sat up, then crossed her arms. 「Ellie, why must you always make me so distressed?」

「W-What is it now?」 Elrhain stammered, dropping the curving of Alleigh he played with.

「You put up a mental barrier again!」

Elrhain looked away, knowing not to step into a trap intentionally. Naturally, this didn’t make Agwyn stop pestering.

Finally, the girl harrumphed with a, 「Fine! But know that I will be highly vocal about my discontent! 」

「You have that legal right and the freedom of expression as a legitimate citizen of the Collective.」

「Meanie.」

The two spent the rest of the day bantering and gossiping, pulling Cyra’s hair when she wasn’t looking, and being a nuisance to all the servants working around their primitive complex.

Finally, it was supper. The time to execute the plan weeks in the making.

But as Agwyn was prepared to hurl the measured bombshells onto her family’s unprepared noggins; she was preemptively ambushed by the last person she wanted to meet tonight.

Lilian, the Grand Shamanka, placed a stunned Agwyn on her lap and spoke with a sombre voice as she braided the little girl’s hair into pigtails. “Gwyn dear. Don’t you have something very important to share with us?”