Chapter 208: Resplendent Quetzal
Corozal was finally quieting back down after a tumultuous string of days. Juan had been worried that it would never return to normal, but without the ragged army occupying every inch of the town, stinking up the place, the resident profession masters were able to comfortably settle back into their routines.
The fact that it was possible to return to their routines was a testament to the influence that Coop was having on their little town. Before he had come from his Ghost Reef, Fernando and the other more responsible elders had been counting down the days before they would have to take drastic actions. Juan didn’t want anything to do with it. He was happy as long as he was free to fish.
The army that had amassed in Corozal over the past week had been, rather abruptly in his opinion, mobilized under the leadership of Juliana, the region's famous Beast Soul. She and her pet were welcome guests who had eased the burden on the town by defeating trapped Elites so that the locals didn’t inadvertently level up and ruin their survival strategy. She even took out a Field Boss on their behalf in the past. She was one of the four Elites of the Jaguar Sun, and the one that had looked after the local area the most throughout the assimilation. Juan hadn’t personally met the other three, though they were universally known and equally respected. If he asked Juliana, she would share the credit for her successes, but he knew when a girl was being modest.
Tzultacaj the Thunder Axe, leader of the Jaguar Sun movement, was the obvious hero of those opposed to the Cult of Chakyum, but Juan thought he lacked the charisma that Juliana demonstrated. His individual endeavor from Day One of the assimilation had been the inspiration for many in their refusal to surrender, so he held a special place in the consciousness for any that continued the struggle against the Cult. Beyond his unwavering opposition, there didn’t seem to be much to him. To Juan, he seemed like a man consumed by his purpose. It was sad, really, but that’s how it went sometimes. Some people burned with intense brightness.
Then there was his second, Juliana the Beast Soul, who could move through the jungles with the grace of the movement’s namesake, and utilized her strengths to save many, even as hope faded. Sierra the Cloud Dancer was the third. She was known to roam the lands far away, in the cloud forests of Costa Rica, and had been contacted by Juliana in preparation for their next fight. Mateo the Ingenious Guerrilla was the fourth and final Elite who prevented the Cult from comfortably expanding deeper into Mexico. He had been instrumental in transforming Tzultacaj’s simple fight into a proper revolutionary movement, gathering people beneath the black and red banner of the Jaguar Sun to stand in opposition to the shadow of death that the Cult of Chakyum represented.
The four of them had succeeded enough to have their names and reputations known throughout the land, but it seemed like they lost momentum after the siege event for reasons unknown to Juan. It was the sort of thing that Fernando worried about, so Juan might hear bits and pieces, but it wasn’t really his area of concern.
However, when someone used his front yard to organize an army, even he was bound to notice. People had been trickling into the town for what felt like weeks, culminating in Juliana’s appearance as she led a particularly large group that had gathered as she traveled back from the south. But once they had their marching orders, they were off again.
Juan was finally able to take his customary spot on the end of the main pier, free from interference, accompanied only by the regular pelicans, with his trusty fishing rod firmly leveraged between his armpit and his raised knee. The trick was to pull his arm across his belly with his free hand, that way the first bite wouldn’t drag the rod out of place if there was some totally inexplicable reason that he lost concentration. If, for instance, the waves lulled him to sleep, he wouldn’t lose his fishing rod… again.
He let his loose weave straw hat cover his face as he prepared for another hard day of ‘work.’ His loose pants were already rolled up to his knee on his other leg, letting his foot hang over the edge of the concrete pier so that when the high tide reached its peak his toes would get wet. That’s how he knew his shift was over. He wriggled the back of his head into the rolled up poncho until he found the perfect position for a master fisherman to ‘concentrate.’ He sighed in contentment with the town definitely getting back to normal.
His stance may have seemed lazy to those with an untrained eye, but it was actually carefully calculated, optimized through decades of routine practice. Juan had been born in Corozal, and he had been fishing ever since he could walk. One of his earliest memories was of himself and his brothers, covered in mud, after a hurricane wiped the entire town out, fishing among the debris while the elders of the family decided whether to rebuild or leave.