They indulged in his treasures while they waited for Grim’s return. Her visits were erratic, unpredictable, but the fishmother was patient. She particularly liked one of the plant mixtures that Viisvang placed in the hookah bowl, made of a ghostly diaphanous fruit in the shape of a heart, that he cracked open to gather the fibrous pulp inside. It had a sweet milky flavor, and the smoke it produced was thick and viscous, it coated the tongue and oozed out of the fishmother’s gaping mouth, almost gelatinous, pooling across the grounds of the clearing with a faint pinkish hue.
Åma, as the dagger introduced herself as, had always been a dagger, she said, when Viisvang had inquired if she was a soul somehow trapped in the metal. She had taken such an issue with the misconception that she had taken it upon herself to tell him her entire history. She was gluttony itself, she said grandly, her script glowing with malevolent light as she preened. Made for the red princess, a royal woman with a thirst for battle and victory, her admirer had forged her a dagger that would match her voracity. They had crafted it with their own hands, killing many to get the requisite iron from their blood. During the tempering process, they had quenched the blade with blood rather than oil, inscribed it with a prayer of their devotion, sinking it into their own heart upon presenting it to the princess. She had been enchanted with the gift, using it for many battles, but its thirst for blood had been so extreme she had followed her suitor’s footsteps and gouged it into her own heart as well, gorging it on her heartblood. Fearing the curse the mourning family had sent the blade abroad, to be presented as a gift to a sun god that would be able to control its hunger. The ship carrying it had been overrun with pirates and the blade had been fed widely on the blood of many crew members before ending up in Grim’s treasure chest.
Viisvang had been entranced by the story, he had never heard of another god besides himself and his fishmother. But Grim had known what he was right away, was she familiar with other gods? He felt the churnings of jealousy in his stomach. She had better not be worshiping other gods too. He looked up at the sun. It couldn’t be that great a god. He was definitely much better.
Viisvang had just started showing his fishmother all of the treasure he had been going to present to her when the dagger called out ‘they’re coming!’ her voice breathy and eager. The fishmother paused her praise for the chalice in Viisvang’s hands, looking towards the tree line, as figures began to materialize between the trunks and undergrowth, eyes squinting into the green shadows.
‘Pirate god!’ crew members called, approaching the clearing, waving their bounty in greeting. ‘God Viisvang!’ Grim hailed. She had instituted that only she, the pirate queen, was allowed to say Viisvang’s name, and his delight in her showmanship had him condoning her choice. Grim’s second was the first to enter the glade, a small but thickly muscled woman with closely cropped hair and large gold earrings. She pulled up short when she realized the massive shadow stretched around Viisvang’s glade was living, his fishmother rolling upright to greet the new arrivals.
Viisvang flushed happily at her gaping expression. His fishmother was a striking beauty, of course his devotees would be stricken with awe in her presence. More crew members stepped into the glade, equally as astounded to find a monstrous sea dragon in their midst. The fishmother had gone very still, her eyes still locked on the first arrival. ‘Precious, are these your worshipers, why don’t you bring them closer?’
Grim’s second looked warily at the fishmother’s smile, the sharp broken glass lining her jaws and the blood dripping down her chin. She straightened her shoulders and approached, bowing her head in respect to her gods. She was just straightening when the fishmother struck, with speed implausible for her size. The fishmother lunged towards the woman, snapping her jaws shut around the woman’s arm, ripping it off with a violent shaking motion, flinging the screaming woman against a nearby tree and swallowing down the appendage with a happy gurgle. The glade erupted into furious chaos.
