Born a Monster

500 Short Journey With the Kamajeen

When I thought of the Kathani, the residents of the Khanate, I thought of large cities by the river, or small ones by a lake. I thought of dances, and singing, and banquets of strange foods.

Big surprise, the Kamajeen don’t do that, especially not for prisoners.

In retrospect, it makes sense. As a nomadic people, they have fewer resources, spending more of their time surviving and less of it just relaxing.

Hm? Oh, yes. They didn’t have a chain or noose on me, but I would find that I was regarded as a prisoner nonetheless. The Kamajeen don’t bother with such things; why would they, when leaving the tribe was certain death?

Lucky me, that they hadn’t adapted to the comparative luxury of our broken lands.

The soil was too salty for agriculture, and the scrubs that sustained what passed for an ecology were bitter and mildly poisonous. The bugs carried intriguing diseases, few of which were fatal, but none of which were pleasant. Above them were mildly boring (but nutritious) creatures, and the sparse ecology supported no predators that could threaten a group of people.

The mystic add ons were... a bit more dangerous. Beneath the earth, the morlocks held dominance; generally speaking they didn’t lurk near the surface, which could not support their appetite. The lithovores, called Stone Cows by the locals, were generally peaceful; they converted rocks to other rocks. There were dryads and satyrs and manticores, posing their usual threats, but not in numbers that concerned their neighbors.

Although I had heard rumors of Stymphalian creatures, those with skins of gold and hearts filled with hatred for people, I would see only the one while I was there.

But we’ll get to that.

.....

Shinabib and his mother shared a single riding lizard.

Harrama was an older female, long past egg laying age. She scented the air and clicked her lips when I approached, but said nothing. They had left her almost an entire rope as tether, to a spear that came free of the earth with the slightest of tugs.

I gathered the three of them had been together for a while.

The mother set an idle pace to the northeast, and though we sighted riders and footmen, we reached the camp only late at night, the moon free in the sky and the stars twinkling like a handful of diamonds.

“What,” asked one of the guards, a foot archer. “has Shinabib finally captured himself a wife? She’s nearly your size, how is he to...”

“Oh, be silent, Hammuz.” Mother said. “This is no lesser being than the Rhishi, whom the half-men fear. Apparently with good reason.”

The guard poked at me with his bow. “It doesn’t look like much. All scrawny and poorly fed.”

“He slew the Axe Hero of the half-men.” Shinabib said.

“He was skilled, but unworthy of the title.” I added.

“You permit your hostage to speak?” the guard asked Mother.

“I gave him a piece of cloth to gag himself with, and he ate it. His hunger is clearly supernatural.” she said.

“Are we eating, now that we are here?” I asked.

“WE are eating.” Mother said, “You are free to scavenge on your own near camp.”

And so I did, the guards taking little notice of my comings or goings, though one looked distressed when I pulled up a small scrub, eating it roots and all. She said nothing, so neither did I.

I had to eat near two hundred nutrition just to survive without selling back evolutions, after all.

Once my stomachs were full, mostly of the wood-like scrub with a few sides of various worms and night insects, I returned to camp. It wasn’t as though I couldn’t escape any time I chose, and I had questions about the Kamajeen.

I unfurled a blanket by Harama, and slept on my belly beneath the stars.

A word of advice? Never sleep by a cold-blooded lizard whose body mass is roughly triple yours. You are warm, and their belly is cold, and the sleeping twitches that bring them on top of you will definitely wake you.

There was no crushing damage, and while my lungs weren’t working at full capacity, they worked enough. With a noise between a grumble and a sigh, I returned to sleep.

Yes, that’s an ability Dreamwalkers have, even if I didn’t actually need it. I’d slept in worse conditions when I’d had to.

I awoke when Harama did, her rising grinding me against pebbles. (Yes. Through the thick woolen blanket I’d used as a bed. It was many things, but perfect was not among them.)

“Ah,” Mother said, as I was removing stones and rolling it up, “it turns out I do not need to look for you. Get a good breakfast, we leave shortly after the sun rises.”

I pointed off to the south. “I’ll be eating off to this side.” I said.

Shortly after the sun rises turned out to be when the sun was still hidden behind the Twelve Daggers. Shinabib said rude things about my diet, and I finished off the bramble I’d been working on, and we were off.

We passed by a camp at mid-day, and Mother turned down some rather paltry offers to buy me.

“Oh look.” I said. “Bee nest. That means honey.”

“That means bees.” Mother said.

I asked the bees.

They were, and I turned away, not a lick of honey inside me.

It wasn’t as if I was starving; there was plenty of foliage, if one wasn’t picky. They had thorns and poisons and bitter chemicals woven through their bodies. I had a need to survive.

“You cannot be from here.” Shinabib told me. “This land would be as barren as the one we come from.”

“This land is far from barren.” I said, “Although, yes, eating foliage alone is boring.”

“Get used to it.” Mother said. “Until we trade you off to Asheph ibn Harran ibn Pesh, we are too poor to feed you.”

I blinked. “Am I a prisoner?”

“You are a hostage,” she replied, “a guest who cannot leave until paid for.”

“Hostage?” I asked. “No offense to Asheph ibn Harram...”

“Harran.” she said. “Asheph ibn Harran ibn Pesh. As your treatment will be entirely his choice, it would be wise to remember his name.”

“In any case, I do not think this will go quite as well as he believes.” I said.

“That,” she said, “will be his problem, and by station Shinabib and I will be no less than two camps away. Well clear of any bloody revenge that you have planned.”

“Why do people expect such things from me?”

Harama said.

Shinabib found that humorous, but Mother did not.

“Oh, hush, Harama.” she said, stroking the sides of Harama’s neck. “By this time tomorrow, we’ll be rid of him.”

Harama let loose a mental sigh.

“How much do you think he’ll pay for the thing, mother?” Shinabib asked.

“Oh, it will not be much, Shinabib.” Mother said. “Remember, there are gifts to your uncles and their relatives, four in total, between us and the khan.”

Shinabib sniffed. “Then why aren’t we just selling him back to the half-men? What they would pay is more than we’ll get this way.”

“Because.” I said. “Things are difficult between your people and the hobgoblins. You might end up dead from such an exchange. Your mother is trying to keep you safe.”

“And what are you trying to do?” Shinabib asked.

“Shinabib!” his mother exclaimed.

“No offense is delivered.” I said. “Please remember, our culture is more direct than yours. Yes, Shinabib. I am eager to meet Asheph ibn Harran ibn Pesh. I desire to see him, to take his measure with my reticule, and perhaps even to speak with him.”

“Oh.” Shinabib said. “You are delusional and vain. Or is that too direct for even your Achean culture?”

In response, I laughed. “You are not the first to notice such things, Shinabib. Nor even the first to speak of them. If you intended insult, you will need to work harder.”

“Would it offend if I told you your very culture seems insane to me?”

“Shinabib.” his mother warned.

“No more insane than yours appears to me, or that of the hobgoblins, for that matter.”

“Those redskins are insane.” Mother said. “I don’t understand how they haven’t murdered each other in their sleep.”

I spread my hands to indicate lack of understanding. “And yet, they live, and have thousands of them here to settle our lands.”

“Your cities, you mean.” Mother said.

“No.” I said. “They also mean to settle this very land my feet are upon.”

“If that is the truth, then we need to get you to Asheph ibn Harran ibn Pesh. Quickly.”

Yes, in Kathani, specifically the southern dialect. I was no slouch with leveraging my System for the basics of a new language, and then filling in the gaps myself. And no, I don’t bother to count them.

Yes, there were other digestive evolutions needed to eat the broken lands shrubs. Boring, no reason to go over them. I was capable of clearing the land, when I had to. There were good reasons not to, such as soil erosion.