Hercufleas by Sam Gayton

me! I’m the
hero
!’
    â€˜Prove it.’ She laid a hand on Artifax, who gave a miserable cluck and buried his head under his wing. ‘Do something heroic, something that tells me all this cold and hunger is worth it.’
    She stomped off to sharpen her axe, leaving Hercufleas staring down at the dark hole in the ice. He gulped. What might swim down there? How sharp were its teeth? He pushed the thoughts from his head. Greta was right. If he couldn’t face a fish, how would he fight Yuk?
    Hopping over to the twine, he looped it around his waist, double-treble-super-tight.
    â€˜Go on then,’ he called. ‘Let’s go fishing.’
    Greta took up the line. She dangled him above the ice hole. ‘Take a deep breath,’ she said. ‘Give three tugs when you want to come up.’
    Hercufleas nodded as she lowered him down. There was a snapping sound (like when you break a biscuit in two) as he split the thin rime of ice covering the hole. Then a sploshing sound (like when you dunk a biscuit into a mug of tea) as he fell into the black depths of the lake.

23
    I t was like plunging into an alchemist’s cauldron and slowly turning to lead. There was a flash of unspeakable cold, then Hercufleas went numb. The freezing water turned his arms and legs into dead weights. His eyes were heavy but he forced them open. Bubbles escaped his lips as his jaw dropped.
    Above his head, the ice was a glowing, crystal sky. Greta’s feet were two dark smudges, like angry clouds. On either side the water stretched away to a dark blue blur, with shafts of light coming down from the other ice holes. It was still and beautiful and utterly lifeless. No fish anywhere. Perhaps this place was like the Sorrows after all.
    Hercufleas reached to tug the line so Greta could hoist him up. They’d have to find food somewhere else.
    Then something moved. He didn’t see it, just felt it. The water rippled beneath him, sending him bobbing on the line. Hercufleas glanced down into the void below. Nothing but endless black. Unease stirred in his stomach. How deep was this lake? What slithered and wriggled under his feet, out of sight?

    He bobbed again. Now he saw the dark water shifting. A long shape was swimming up from the depths. It was big. Really big. This was a bad idea. A very, very bad idea. What if this fish liked to chew its food before it swallowed? What if it was too strong for Greta? What if it yanked too hard and the line broke?
    Bubbles flurried past him. Panic took hold. Hercufleas grasped the thread and tugged it three times. Greta yanked him out the lake. He dangled above the hole, sodden and spluttering and shivering, forcing his numb lips to speak.
    â€˜F-f-f-f-f-f-f.’
    â€˜What’s the matter?’ she said. ‘Out of breath? Anything down there?’
    â€˜F-f-f-f-f-fi. F-f-f-f-fish.’
    Then the fish burst up from the ice hole, snapped its jaws around Hercufleas and swallowed him whole. In a whirl of slime and spit he slooshed down its throat. Halfway down, he jerked to a stop, dangling from the thread. His lifeline. Taut as a piano wire.
    Don’t break, he prayed. Please don’t break. As long as the line held, Greta could pull him out.
    Then the fish bit down on the twine and it snapped. Hercufleas fell with a splash into its belly.
    He reeked of fish guts for hours afterwards.
    â€˜How about I dunk you in the lake again?’ Greta offered. ‘That’ll wash the stink off.’
    Hercufleas scowled, shuffling closer to the fire. An enormous fish steak was sizzling slowly on the embers, skin crisp and black. Artifax sat beside the fish’s skeleton, belly plump, clucking contentedly in his sleep. Hercufleas looked at the remains again. Compared to him, the fish was the size of a whale.
    â€˜Lucky,’ Greta said again, staring at the skeleton. ‘It jumped out of the hole after you and landed straight on the ice, bouncing and flipping and