She wasn’t exactly graceful, on land, but she managed well enough, twisting and coiling, using her tail to propel her like a snake. His fishmother was now well over fifty feet, a veritable sea monster. She followed after him, her massive form carving a slash through the vegetation as he took her to the location where Grim had made his altar. Grim had wanted to put it closer to the ocean, homage to his origins, but Viisvang had insisted it be where they had first met. With some difficulty she had brought out an enormous thick slab of quartz, hued a dark rose. Viisvang privately thought it looked like meat, but Grim had seemed so proud of herself, comparing its color to various flowers, that he hadn’t want to say anything that might upset her. And anyway he liked meat.
Surrounding the altar were various treasures he hadn’t yet brung, small piles of coins and gems, jewelry and other metalworking. A miniature vessel made entirely of gold with precious stone detailing in a clear glass bottle that he had debated keeping for himself. It was so detailed he could spend hours looking at it, imagining the tiny people aboard. Grim had also brought him delicacies that wouldn’t travel well in the seas. A large elaborate hookah with several different shisha mixes that Grim had coaxed him to try, saying it would add to his mystic if he lounged on the brocade pillows she brought and smoked it in front of her crew while giving them godly guidance. She was much more concerned about his godly image than he was, but he indulgently followed her directions. She was such a devoted worshiper, he thought fondly.
As they approached the altar, the fishmother became more and more agitated, pushing ahead without his direction and mumbling to herself in excitement. ‘Oh it smells delicious…I know you’re hungry…soon we’ll feast.’ Feast? Viisvang was getting that apprehensive feeling again, maybe she had actually been eating the treasure? Could she tell that there was treasure he hadn’t yet brought her? He hoped she wouldn’t be too upset, he was going to bring it all eventually.
They broke into the clearing Grim’s crew had made, where the chest had originally been buried, the fishmother peering around curiously. She clacked her teeth, the screech of glass on glass cutting sharply through the clearing, less warbled than it usually was under the waters in their coral home. ‘What a lovely shrine they have made you, precious one,’ she observed, eyeing the leaf-roofed altar, adorned with brightly colored flowers and decorative coral. The stone had been hewn in a sort of reclining couch shape, draped with rich silks and pillows, a couple ornately carved supportive columns holding up a covering for shade over top. Heaps of treasure surrounded it, his hookah propped next to the divan for easy access. Grim had turned out to have quite the eye for aesthetics.
‘Climb up, let Mother see how you look on your throne,’ she said, encouraging. Viisvang smiled, climbing up to the altar, taking a rakish pose and demonstrating to her how he would sit and look down at his subjects. The fishmother cooed supportively, ‘oh how dashing you look, precious one!’ She curled around the clearing, circling the tree break, serpentine, her head resting on the edge of the dais. She had begun to shrink a little, as got farther and farther from her hoard, though the reduction had stalled when they entered the clearing, with so much treasure present to be dedicated to her.
‘Mother! Try this! My devotees brought it for me!’ He lifted the mouthpiece of the hookah towards her, striking a match to ignite the hashish. The fishmother closed her bloody lips around the mouthpiece as he had demonstrated, taking a deep draw of the smoke. She breathed out smoothly, the smoke curling upward into the leaves. Viisvang giggled watching her, his own breaths out smokey bubbles that popped as they reached the foliage above. She smiled back fondly, a hazy happy smile he hadn’t seen on her face since before he had gifted her the dagger.
‘Oh precious, what a delightful gift!’ She rolled onto her side, lolling in the dappled sunlight that made its way through from the canopy above. Her breaths were more relaxed now, deep and easy. ‘...hm? What was that? …Of course I haven’t forgotten.’ She murmured to herself. ‘Mother?’ Viisvang questioned. ‘Just talking to my dagger, precious. She’s so very hungry. Can’t you hear her?’ He inched closer to his mother’s teeth, trying to get another look at the dagger, his fishmother opening her mouth accommodatingly.
‘Fishling,’ a voice called out, feminine and lilting. ‘I look forward to meeting your devotees as well!’ she said, her markings pulsing darkly following the cadence of her speech. ‘You’re the dagger?’ The voice laughed, the harsh sound of sword striking sword. ‘Yes, and I have been waiting for one such as your fishmother for a very very long time. I’m grateful you introduced us.’ Viisvang smiled with uncertainty, ‘I’m glad I could assist you. Mother is very great and deserves all the treasures of the world.’ The dagger laughed again. ‘Of course precious one,’ she said, using his fishmother’s favorite endearment with the faintest hints of mockery in her tone.
