Boy from Nowhere

Forsaken Crest

Time to go fishing. Before his eyes had even opened, the boy's mind had already set itself onto the singular task. Rise with the sun, head out to the shore, and fish. Of course, he still wasn't quite used to it, but it was his job and there was no contesting that. He had siblings to feed.

Lugging himself out of bed and yawning, he made his way to the restroom, quickly brushing the taste of sleep from his mouth and splashing his face with water. Slipping back into the bedroom, he gently pulled the corner of his futon back and tugged on a board. It slowly peeled away from the floor, revealing a small pouch and a gutter's knife. Nemesis pulled out the knife, gently running a finger along its smooth edge. Sharp as ever. Good.

He walked to the door, pulling his jacket off of the coat hook and slipping the blade into a pocket. The floorboards creaked slightly under the Inkling's weight, causing him to flinch slightly. He tugged on a pair of worn sneakers, gingerly turning the knob and slipping outside. The morning sun had just begun to peek over the mountains, casting a dim orange glow across the treetops and blotting out the stars. A small cluster shone stubbornly despite the lightening sky, the crossing waves. Clear weather, good.

The trip downhill to the docks was silent, save for the occasional birdcall and the crunch of gravel under his feet. The trees thinned as the slope evened out to meet the sea, the surf lapping tirelessly against an ancient stone formation. Nemesis walked around to the side of the small shack at the end of the path, picking a spear up off a rack, a two-pronged fishing trident. It was heavy and unwieldy, standing taller than he did, but there wasn't anything he could do about it.

Setting the spear aside, the boy pulled his knife out of the jacket and let the cloth fall away from his body. It met the deck with a light flump, followed shortly by his shirt. Nemesis exhaled deeply, letting his throat close up. The waves slapped gently against the beams holding the dock up, throwing reflections up into his eyes. Gasp, don't breathe.

Picking the trident back up and adjusting his grip, the boy squeezed his eyes shut. Hopefully none of the predators were patrolling the waters. He sprinted off the edge of the pier, letting the cool water swallow him. The sounds of the surf rushed around in his ears as the currents threatened to pull him off balance. The sunlight shot into the dark waters, distorting and spraying out in all directions, illuminating the seabed with uneven light. Little fish rushed around in schools, tiny silversides and whitebait darting around amongst the stone formations. The boy forced his gills to flap, letting the cold water run over them so he could breathe again.

Hovering in the water, Nemesis watched, waiting for prey. Nothing stirred between the boulders by the shore, darting out of the crevices to snag the smaller fish. Kelp swayed to the currents off in the distance, and under the pier were crossbeams reaching down to the floor. Catching anything this early was unlikely, but he swam down anyway. Touching down on the rough stones, the boy went from stone to stone, peering into caves and probing their depths. Part of him was relieved that there wasn't anything big hunkered down within the hollows.

A rush of movement caught the Inkling's eye, causing him to whirl around and raise his spear, but it had gone before he could even catch a good glimpse of the thing. The waters had grown lighter, the sky above a rosy red as the sun climbed higher. He could see the undersides of the docks now, with a few fish zipping around the wooden pillars, but nothing looked big enough to stab... Groaning internally, the boy kicked off the rock he was on, kicking off toward the kelp.

Everybody hated fishing in kelp. Lines got tangled, knives got lost and nets got snagged, predators tore apart the unfortunate and desperate. The outlines of massive fish had occasionally been seen lurking around their stalks, but they were skittish, darting back into the vegetation at the slightest movement. There was both danger and bounty nestled amidst the kelp, and here he was, swimming toward the forest of swaying fronds.