Snapper’s accidents grew more frequent by the day. The toolshed was only the first victim; soon, the communal well had toppled over, the firewood store went up in smoke, and the beach acquired a new tide pool. After a migraine one morning put a twenty-foot crater in the road to town, Minnow banned Snapper from taking any more fresh catches to the market.

“Sorry, but it’s too dangerous,” Minnow said, taking the pail from Snapper’s hands.

Snapper loved seeing the marketplace, with its lively bustle of faces both familiar and foreign. However, he was in no shape to argue with Minnow. Nodding a brief farewell, he changed direction to return to the beach.

With his back to Minnow, Snapper scrubbed both hands over his face. Minnow was right: his episodes were unpredictable and uncontrollable, a danger to everyone. Although Minnow seemed not to have any trouble being around him, other villagers did not have the same protection. Isolating himself until this ended would be better for everyone.

“Wait,” Minnow called out.

Snapper glanced back, but Minnow had not moved as far away as he had expected. Instead, the fish pails were on the ground, and she was walking toward Snapper.

As Minnow approached, one hand rummaged about by her collar. She pulled out the carved stone pendant that she had owned since childhood. After running a fond thumb over the pattern engraved on its surface, Minnow took off the necklace completely.

She held up the pendant by its string, and the flat red stone swung under her hand.

“This pendant seems to redirect your power away from the wearer. My mother once told me that it came from a wise and powerful Sage Doctor. If anyone can help you, it must be he who made it,” Minnow suggested. She held the string up with two hands now, raising it toward Snapper’s face.

Snapper bowed slightly, and Minnow slipped the string over his head.

“Go home. Pack whatever you need for a journey. Find the Sage Doctor of the Northern Mountains,” Minnow commanded.

As anyone familiar with the area might have pointed out, the Northern Mountains were quite vast, and finding one person among that expanse could take decades. However, Snapper had never backed down from a straightforward task, and he didn’t intend to start now. He nodded, patting Minnow’s hand with his own.

“Take care of yourself, dear child.”

Minnow scowled and swatted at him. “Hardly a child. I’m almost as old as you, Grand-uncle. Go on now. Daylight’s wasting. I have to get the catch to the market, but I’ll see you again when you return.”

Snapper had already been old when Minnow’s mother was born, and yet now Minnow’s face bore the same lines of age. How time sped by—if he returned from the search after months or years, who knew how much Minnow and her family might change in his absence? Snapper could only hope that they met again in Minnow’s lifetime.

With great effort, he blinked away the grim thoughts. If Snapper could catch one fish amid an entire ocean, then surely he could find one Sage Doctor throughout the entire land.

“Farewell, Minnow Fisher. I will never forget your family’s kindness.” Snapper dipped his head in a simple bow, Minnow nodded in response, and they parted ways.

At the house, Snapper looked over his abode for the last several decades. After the unfortunate explosion in his sleep, he had repaired the toolshed by nailing a tarp to several large driftwood posts. This resulted in a comfortably waterproof shelter, though sleeping in it did feel a bit breezier than in the previous toolshed. He and Minnow had salvaged most of the tools as well, and these were organized in neat improvised shelves made of driftwood and netting.

Snapper had planned to replace the shelves with solid wooden ones once the local lumberjack brought back the monthly wood imports, but that would have to wait until Snapper’s return. In the meantime, the driftwood racks held the neat rows of fish hooks and tools well enough.

Spreading a spare tarp on the floor, Snapper packed the essentials. Sustenance: a water canteen, a sack of biscuits, and several dried fish. Tools: rope, thin string, a handful of fish hooks, a whittling knife, flint spark-rocks, and a steel cooking pot. Shelter: a blanket and a change of clothes. Miscellaneous: a pouch of coins, Minnow’s pendant, and a map.

Snapper paused. His map was a homemade ink sketch of the village and surrounding beaches. He didn’t own a map of the western lands. Minnow had one detailed map, passed through generations in the Fisher family, but it only noted important fishing spots along the coastline. The village marked the furthest westward extent of the map, while the east-facing mussel mud-flats and the shallow coral seas beyond were charted in meticulous detail. That map had all of the information a fisherman could wish for—water depth, current speed and direction, and even sketches of common types of sea life. Unfortunately, maps of the ocean would do little good for a land-bound traveler.

No matter. It would be simple enough to purchase a land map at the next town over. He wrapped the tarp into a neat bundle around the items, securing the whole assembly with rope. As a final step, he tied his second favorite sun hat to the bundle; his favorite hat had been burnt beyond repair several days ago.

After packing, Snapper said tearful goodbyes to each of Minnow’s children, followed by less tearful but equally sincere goodbyes to the neighbors. He laid out the nets, coated the boats with a second waterproof layer of pitch for good measure, and visited the graves of Minnow’s predecessors—especially Minnow’s grandfather, a deep-sea fisherman who had served as both friend and trusted employer to Snapper in days long past—to pay his respects with one last candle.

By the time the sun blazed directly overhead in the splendid blue sky, Snapper walked along the westward road connecting his coastal village to the larger transport hub of Redwater Township.

On the road to Redwater, Snapper met a trader whose wagon had fallen into a rut. Though native to the Redwater area, this fellow had traveled far and wide across the land. Never one to pass idly by when he could contribute, Snapper helped the trader lift the wagon back onto the road.

The trader offered Snapper a ride to Redwater, and Snapper agreed. Both trader and Snapper sat at the front of the wagon, watching the horses bob and sway in front of them.

They soon arrived at Redwater Township. Before parting ways, Snapper asked one last question of his temporary travel companion.

“Do you know the northern roads? I seek the Sage Doctor.”

Pity crossed the trader’s face. Only the desperately ill—or family members of such—had reason to actively seek the Sage Doctor. The trader sketched a rough map of the way northward, drawing roads and cities in careful lines of dark ink.

After parting ways, Snapper went to the marketplace. There, he glimpsed a real, trained Caster for the first time in years. At the time, he was searching for a small snack to stave off hunger for a few more hours when a fruit seller caught his eye.

The young fellow held multiple oranges in either hand. As Snapper approached, the seller began to juggle the fruit—slowly at first, in an impressive display of coordination and dexterity, and then faster. Most peculiarly, as the juggling display picked up speed, the fruit seller’s hands moved less and less. Soon, the fellow held his palms out flat while four oranges whirled in the air a full foot above his hands.

“A wind Caster,” Snapper realized, watching the performance with wide eyes. Only a Caster could summon the elemental powers to keep fruit aloft without touching it. This fellow must indeed be skilled if he could call upon the wind to serve him at will. Snapper had tried to control his own powers for years, and all he’d managed was the rare explosion when he least expected it—not to mention the increasingly frequent accidents happening lately.

Another observer hushed Snapper, telling him, “Just watch.”

The oranges flew in different arrangements: a circle, an X, a smiley face. The other market-goers around Snapper cheered and applauded as well, equally impressed by the fellow’s skill.

At the end of the performance, Snapper purchased two oranges for the road.

Thus armed with a map and a snack, Snapper set off on his travels once more. He walked along the main streets, stopping at various towns and waystations to investigate the whereabouts of the Sage Doctor. He found a clue in one town, where the inhabitants spoke of a mystic healer from the mountains.

Evidently, the Sage Doctor had passed through on a southwesterly heading not two weeks past.

Snapper then traveled west toward the Empire. There, he gazed upon impressive walls of stone, wherein lay the golden cities and steel-packed garrisons that country folk whispered of in awestruck stories.

Back when Minnow’s grandfather was on the village council, and the wall had still been under construction. The old fisherman hadn’t understood why the wall was built a hundred miles inland when the coastal villages were technically part of the Empire too. He’d ranted to Snapper—and, indeed, to anyone within earshot—at length about the placement of the wall. Apparently, the coastal lands were too poor and sparsely populated for the Empire to justify protecting them with a physical construct.

Snapper, for his part, hadn’t shared the old fisherman’s indignation. He rather liked looking out from the house and seeing the natural beauty of the world: to the east, an immeasurable expanse of blue sea that stretched to the horizon; to the west, cozy cottages and walking paths nestled among the swaying fields of wild grass. If one confined an Empire inside a cage of one’s own making, which population did it truly protect, the one within or the one outside? Even without a wall, the village was peaceful and catches were prosperous.

As the wall grew nearer, two guards in shiny metal armor broke away from the gleaming cluster by the closed gates. They met Snapper halfway, and one held out a hand, palm raised.

“Stop right there, sir.” The two guards came up to Snapper. They held spears, and sheathed swords swung from their belts, but neither one seemed overtly hostile. Snapper paused in the middle of the road, and the guard who had spoken shook his head. “Sorry for the inconvenience, sir. Usually you’d have no trouble passing, but there’s been outlaw trouble recently. Enemy troops from the Liege of the Black Ford are kidnapping honest folks in broad daylight. These days, we can’t be too careful.”

Snapper nodded. “Makes sense. Vigilance is important. How can I help you?”

“What business does an old fisherman have in the Empire?”

Snapper self-consciously touched the brim of his second-favorite hat. It seemed to be an uncommon style in these parts, enough so that many people had identified him as a fisherman at first glance. Pushing the hat up to better show his sincerity to the gate guards, Snapper explained his purpose.

“I seek the Sage Doctor of the Northern Mountains. I heard that he went this way,” Snapper said.

The guards exchanged a glance. Pity crossed the face of the one on the left.

“You heard right. The Sage Doctor passed this gate a fortnight ago, but you won’t find him now. The Liege’s men took him from an inn just down that way.” The guard pointed to a small footpath that split off the main road. “No ransom request, nothing. If it weren’t for my duties…” the guard took a deep breath. “Rumor has it that he saved many lives. I wish that I could repay him somehow. It’s a real shame, standing by while he’s a prisoner.”

Snapper frowned. Troubling news indeed—the Lieges were a set of independent Caster warlords powerful enough to live outside the Empire’s laws. What could enemies of the Empire possibly want with a Sage Doctor who spent most of his time practicing medicine in the rural reaches of the Empire? If some Liege had imprisoned the Sage Doctor, then convincing the latter to help Snapper might prove more difficult than anticipated.

“Thanks for letting me know.” Snapper gave each of the guards a curt nod. “Keep up the good work, folks. With you around, the Empire is in safe hands.”

Snapper set off down the new path.

When the sun dipped low in a sky bluer than the depths of the sea, Snapper spotted cottages sprinkled about a small town center.

Snapper approached these houses, hoping to find a place to stay for the night. Through the window of one cottage, a family was just preparing dinner. The sight was too similar to Minnow’s home for Snapper’s tastes, and he walked past this one quickly, leaving the denizens to their privacy.

At the next house, Snapper passed the open front of a blacksmith’s forge. A fire roared in the furnace, heating a bar of iron that glowed a buttery yellow. Besides the bellows, a young man had dozed off on a low wooden chair. With each rise and fall of the fellow’s chest, the fire brightened and dimmed in eerie synchrony.

Snapper shook his head and decided to skip that house. Sleeping smith’s apprentice next to a forge—a certain recipe for disaster, especially when that apprentice might Cast in his sleep. The fate of Snapper’s toolshed was evidence enough of such risks. If the blacksmith couldn’t even give his own apprentice a proper place to sleep, he was unlikely to have safe lodging for guests.

As Snapper approached the town center, he passed more houses. Some were dark and empty, while others bustled with domestic activity. Taking shelter in the former was out of the question; no honest laborer deserved to return from a long trip just to find a stranger living under their roof. Asking the latter type for shelter was tempting, if only for the echo of companionship that he’d felt back home with Minnow and the Fishers, but he ultimately could not bear the thought of disrupting a happy family if any accidents occurred.

A small roadside inn caught Snapper’s eye. Though built along a main street, it was isolated from the surrounding buildings by an artistic border of planted herbs. Most of the rooms were also unoccupied, judging by the open shades and dark interiors.

Satisfied, Snapper stepped inside and set a few coins on the front desk.

“Your cheapest room,” he requested, and he was not disappointed.

His room was the furthest one from the dining area, located by the stables at the very back of the inn. It had a low sleeping pallet in one corner, a bucket, and one window with a direct view of an adjacent street.

The street had slightly more foot traffic than Snapper would have liked, but at least it was an open space. If any accidents happened here, onlookers would hopefully have time to run before any serious damage occurred.

Snapper unrolled his bundle, spread his blanket across the bed, and settled down for the night. The sound of chirping crickets soon lulled him into sleep.

Raised voices startled Snapper from his reverie. He opened the window shades, searching the foggy blue-grey morning for the source of the disturbance.

In a side street just outside of Snapper’s window, several men in identical black cloaks had formed a partial circle around two local teenagers—a boy and girl, both around the same age as Minnow’s oldest son. The girl clutched a basket in one hand and her companion’s arm in the other. Both were cornered against the wall of a neighboring building.

Snapper left his bundle in the room and stepped outside. If random people were going to interrupt his sleep, then he at least deserved to know the cause of the ruckus.

The men were all foreigners with the stocky build of the southern lands, heavyset and stern of feature where Snapper’s wiry frame towered over the locals. They wore leather armor poorly concealed under their loose full-length travel cloaks, and rod-like protrusions on their backs betrayed the presence of armament. Their head and facial hair was trimmed carefully short, as opposed to the practically short—and slightly burnt—shrubbery on Snapper.

Their attire might have been intended to give the appearance of militant uniformity, but it fell rather short of that impression. To Snapper, the high-maintenance haircuts and expensive black dye on their cloaks suggested that these were minions of some wealthy noble with delusions of grandeur.

“...did you study under the Sage Doctor?” one minion demanded as Snapper approached. The cloaked fellow slowly moved forward, looming over the two teenagers.

The girl flinched at the harsh tone of the question, and the boy retreated a step before shaking his head frantically. Given how much the boy was shaking already, the motion seemed more reflexive than intentional.

“I don’t know any Sage Doctor,” the boy said in a squeaky voice that cracked halfway through. His eyes darted around frantically, lighting up with hope when he spotted Snapper standing behind the spokesman. “Please let us go.”

The minion caught the sideways glance. He turned around and looked up… and up.

Snapper looked down at the shorter fellow with the pleasant smile that he reserved for select types of spiny sea crabs. No matter how they might pinch his fingers, crabs nevertheless tasted delicious after they were boiled.

The minions all rushed to draw their weapons, and their half-circle dissolved into a more unruly mob. In the chaos, the two teenagers ran down the street. Snapper soon found himself staring at several shiny swords and maces.

“Peace, peace,” Snapper said quickly, holding his hands out in a placating gesture. “Pardon my interruption, good sirs, but these two clearly don’t know what you want. Perhaps I can help you. Put the weapons away and we’ll talk.”

It took several long moments for the leader of the minions to first calm himself, and then calm his fellows.

“We’re looking for the Sage Doctor’s student. Do you know where he is?”

Snapper shook his head slowly. “What student?”

“Ever heard of the Sage Doctor? Master of the energy of the universe, Healer from the Northern Mountains, and so forth?” the leader asked, sounding slightly discouraged. At Snapper’s vigorous nod, the leader perked up. “Right. Well, he’s powerless. Complete sham, if not for the rumors of what he used to be able to do. Must have passed his Casting on to a student. Most likely someone their age,” the leader said, pointing at the two fleeing teenagers. “Ever heard of a kid who can burn down a whole prairie in one go?”

The prairie bit sounded rather like a regrettable incident that had occurred a couple of days ago. Fortunately, no one had been wounded, and only a few dozen acres of grass had suffered. Snapper had a suspicion about his own abilities, but these fellows were clearly looking for a young person. He shook his head again.

“I haven’t met any young Casters with unusual powers, if that’s what you mean. You might have better luck searching by the blacksmith’s, though. I heard the apprentice is good with fire. He works the forge even in his sleep,” Snapper said helpfully.

The minions seemed surprised by his cooperation. Excitement flashed across their faces at Snapper’s words.

“Good observation. Might just be the one,” the leader said. “Thanks for the tip. You’re not bad for an old fishmonger.”

“Don’t mention it. Is there anything else I can help you fine folks with today?”

The minions exchanged glances, pleased to find a sympathizer this far from their homeland. “If you hear anything new about the Sage Doctor’s student, let the Liege know right away.”

Snapper, of course, hadn’t the faintest clue how to communicate with the Liege. Fortunately, the minions were more than pleased to welcome a helpful old fisherman into the fold. They gave him directions to the Liege’s castle.

“It’s a bit of a trip from here, but there’s a fine reward in store for anyone with information,” they assured him.

Snapper nodded along, but he needed no prize of riches or fame. Finding the Sage Doctor would be rewarding enough.