It transpired that the fishmother’s body was simply too heavy to move, so he and the crew members piled the treasure on top of her and set it all aflame with copious amounts of alcohol, carving a large trench around her body to keep the fire from spreading to the surrounding forest. The flames burned hot and high, the heat of it scorching on Viisvang’s face, but he couldn’t bear to look away while she burned. He had recovered Åma beforehand, the flames wouldn’t be hot enough to melt her, so for now he wore her strapped to his waist. He didn’t trust her with anyone else, couldn’t bear for another of his precious people to be bewitched by the cursed blade. She whispered to him the whole time, coaxing, cursing, comminating, but he stood firm. Her words were wind in his ears.
He wasn’t sure what to do with himself, now. His whole life had been centered around his fishmother, around bringing her treasure to grow her hoard. Who was he even without her? His life without her opened up before him like a yawning abyss, empty and frightening. But he had Grim. And her crew. He wasn’t all alone, he reminded himself, looking out at their ship, anchored offshore, rocking softly on the waves.
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The ship was a mighty thing, a massive beast powered by both wind and electricity, hung with wine red sails with giant engines affixed on the rear. Storm engines, Grim had explained. His gifts were being well-used. A magic formation was painted on her underbelly, their previous method of capturing storms, the paint now chipped and faded, a smattering of barnacles on the hull.
Grim had invited him to join them, join their crew and sail away to adventures abroad, but he wasn’t ready to leave the island. He had decided to take up residence in a chain of underwater caves formed from lava tubes, accessible by land only from behind a waterfall in the center of the island. They were filled with massive fluorescent crystals and salt spires, tiny blind, transparent fish swimming lazily in the pools threading the floors. He had begun to bring up much of the fishmother’s hoard into the caves, knowing that she would be furious if some other god got ahold of it. He would keep it for her, he vowed. Keep it safe in her memory.