Born a Monster

502 Not A Dry Eye

It seems that Hammid, also, was well loved in the khan’s camp. There was open weeping not only from the khan, but from...

The news spread like a plague; people cried openly, fell to their knees, they slapped themselves (particularly their faces) and clenched at their clothing. Men and women hugged the nearest person, just to have someone near.

Before us, the khan was curled up as though over his sprawling intestines. He did not stop when Shinabib took his hand, grasping at it like drowning men grab the nets on the sides of their ships.

The khan, not Shinabib; Shinabib was calm, almost eerily so.

“How?” mother asked. “How did he not know?”

“Be silent.” the man told her. “It is enough that he did not. Understanding is not important.”

It was an elderly man, the top of his head bald and shiny, who came to collect the khan. There was no familial resemblance, but we shapeshifters look for other things as well.

Okay, not all shapeshifters; but I had learned to look for behavioral tells.

Things like gait, posture, intonation... the old man was more like the khan than bloodlines alone could account for.

.....

“Come, my khan.” the old man said. “The sun is hidden, but you can do this in private.”

“Was my cousin slain in private? Please, tell me we recovered his body. That he has been properly burned, at least.” the Khan implored.

“My khan,” the younger man said, licking his upper lip, “we cannot lie to you, not before the one nameless god.”

The khan wiped his sleeve across his face, to little practical effect. “Speak to me directly. What has happened to my cousin?”

“My khan...”

I sighed. “I am a Truthspeaker, and literally cannot lie to you.”

The khan looked at me in shock. Surely he had seen me there?

“I saw Hammid beheaded, and his head given to the guards who were on watch...”

“You SAW this?” Asheph ibn Harran ibn Pesh asked. “You saw this with your own eyes?”

“With these very eyes.” I said.

“And you did nothing?” he screamed at me. He jabbed his fingers forward. “Your foul black eyes will see nothing ever again!”

Now, I need to explain this. Yes, I had the Insight and Charisma to see how upset he was. I had the Agility to react, and the Valor to dodge. In terms of pure statistics, what actually happened should not have.

My System complained at me as both my eyes burst like grapes in the wine press.

“Bwaah!” I screamed, or something like. And then, “That was not very diplomatic, great khan.” I said in the dialect of the Kamajeen.

“Diplomatic?” he shrieked, and struck me on the head. The elder and Mother’s cousin pulled him away from me. “Talk to me about diplomatic! Say the word again! Say it now!”

He broke loose from the others, and swung again at my head.

I have stated, numerous times, and in multiple ways that my eyesight is not my only sense, nor my sharpest, nor my most acute. I took his right forearm in my left claw and twisted, establishing an [Elbow Lock] and forcing him to his knees.

Just a hint? Whenever Might is equal, whomever has reach and speed has the advantage. But he wasn’t fighting me. That, or he was the worst adult fighter I’d seen in... three months? Maybe four?

“I’m not going to pretend I understand your culture.” I said to him, “But we are not friends, and you have no right to blind me in this manner, even if I will heal.”

“You DARE lay hands upon me?” He punched at my kidney, bruising his knuckles on my scales. “I am a khan. Release me at once!”

I hesitated; I couldn’t see faces, nor the expressions. I didn’t need to; a quick [Emotion Sense] helped to clarify. People were in deep emotional states. It was not the time to be an outlet for further frustration.

“Fine.” I said, releasing him.

“I want...” the khan said, “I want that MONSTER restrained!”

I sighed. “That will not end the way you think it will.”

But they tied my wrists and ankles in tasty rawhide, and threw me into a makeshift lean-to normally reserved for riding lizards. I was hungry; that lasted all of twenty one seconds, and then I was foraging for food. Only when all my stomachs were full did I return to the lean-to.

What? Oh, you wish to know why. Mainly because there was no point in running. Anything the khan could do with me in captivity, he could do by having his riders chase me down and overpower me.

Or could he? I had no problems killing the actual lizards themselves; something about me drove them into an unthinking feeding frenzy. Their riders... I wasn’t impressed with them, either.

And... it’s really hard to consider someone your equal after forcing them to the ground before you.

I didn’t. Consider him my equal. He had EIGHT levels in a social class. Khanate culture required one to have a military class, a divine class, an artistic or crafter class, and a social class. If he’d led a balanced life, then that meant he had eight levels of various military classes. My skills were exceptional for a first level Pankratios (or Karateka, if you counted that as a military class instead of Chi), but not so much that I should be able to overpower him that easily.

So, I sat there in a lotus position, just mucking out my chakras, trying to get my soul clean enough to meditate, and purify mana, and all the other mystical stuff that I’d been ignoring for far too long.

As an analogy, I used a cooking pan. Sure, one day you might leave a few flecks of food burned into it; other than the taste of charcoal, it’s fine. But, if you do that too many days in a row, then you’re no longer cooking on metal. You’re cooking on the built up layer of crud over the metal. The uneven cooking and unreliable taste only make things worse.

Sooner rather than later, you’re spending multiple hours to do a thorough cleaning, rather than a few minutes a day. I caught a curse causing a lump on the skin of my left calf, and washed it away. Using my claws to cut away the cancer was... unpleasant.

I was engaged in using my Lifeshaper powers to survey my own body for other damages when the old man came in. He gasped. Which bothered him? The fact I was free, or that I had bled all over the ground?

“I... um... I came to cut you loose.” he said.

“It is not the first time I have been so treated.” I said.

“I wish you to understand our culture.” He scratched the side of his nose. “Our khan... is not able to apologize for his earlier conduct. Even if you were not partially to blame for... events...”

“I have heard you treat rape victims like this as well.” I said. “Have you heard of the term ‘gaslighting’?”

I was disappointed; I had expected him to at least sputter. “I understand why you are angry. I also understand you have some manner of healing magic?”

“I will need one hundred sixty five nutrition a day.” I said. “I can eat more than that, roughly two forty or so in a single meal, going higher or lower depending on the quality and composition of the food.”

“That... is a significant factor more than most people eat.” he said. “Do you, perhaps, have a rhino or hippopotamus where a normal man would store a tapeworm?”

“None that I know of.” I said. “I have System stomachs, like but also more functional than the inventory that most people have.”

“I like carrying scrolls without digesting them.” he said.

“I have the more normal inventory slots as well.” I said.

“Oh?” he asked. “How large is your inventory?”

“Eight long, eight wide, and eight high.” I said. “It was only recently that I realized I could build up as well as out.”

“I can’t...” he said, and then his eyes unfocused. He reached out to touch something I could not see, stretched it upward. He then tapped it twice, and gasped. “I can carry a small campsite.”

I didn’t doubt it; it was a lot of inventory. Flipping through the layers manually was a pain, but such is life with my System.

He also swiped to a side, as though spinning it. “It has a number of axes equal to my Insight.” he said.

“Does it?” I asked.

Crap, even mine did. “Amazing.” I said. “And confusing. I could probably hide things in here so well that I could hide them from inventory-looting classes.”

“Indeed.” he said. “I owe you much, for teaching me this. As I teach others, the abilities of the Kamajeen will increase roughly ninefold. What would you ask of me in return?”

“I think I shall start with your name.” I said.

“My public name is Venkatar ibn Samish ibn Al’Katar.” he told me. “I am vizier to the khan.”

No, he wasn’t speaking of the weather. Or, he was, but poetically rather than literally.

I had to use the Furdish word. We Acheans used a variant of lying, one that indicates ongoing and consistent failure to be honest. The Kamajeen, so long as it wasn’t a Kamajeen you were addressing, didn’t care.