Born a Monster

Chapter 24: Born A Monster, Chapter 24 – Linkboy, Linkgirl

Born A Monster

Chapter 24

Linkboy, Linkgirl

Her name was Kismet, and she was of the M’warri people. Her coloration was grey, with white tiger stripes (not that I had seen a tiger at that time).

She followed me everywhere. Somehow, she convinced someone it was okay for us to room together as children. And then we were sharing a bed, with her snuggling into me as if I was the one providing warmth.

“Nastyman is scared of you.” She said.

“Duenas is the one who countered his magic.”

.....

“Yes, but he’s scared of YOU.”

If so, that made Nastyman unique; I didn’t know a single other person that was scared of me.

At least my time being bandaged was done. The stitches had stopped popping, and were safe to be removed.

“Hardly a scar at all.” Sangru said. Sangru was a swarthy fellow, short and hairy, and wise. I couldn’t afford to learn Herbalism and Medicine from him, but he was well enough known to adventurers they would hire him as a healer.

“Still itches.” I said.

He slapped my hand from my belly. “Stop that! You have claws, and the last thing you need is to tear your own wound open again.”

I had learned not to try explaining how much it itched to Sangru. “I understand.”

“And you’ll stop scratching?”

“No.”

“Ungrateful child, be gone.”

Kismet’s ears perked up. “I hear the table being set for breakfast.”

She was full of energy, wanting to run and race and climb and jump. I had internal injuries I could still feel. But I could walk.

She had two bowls of porridge; as the “non-human kids”, the Guild had already accepted that we were a set. She was already calling herself a Linkgirl, and I was training her as a valet.

If you ever want to know how well you know something, teach another. I learned of things like silver polish, or how fruit juices mixed into soap created pleasant scents. When to coat metal pans with butter instead of oil to make the cleaning easier.

We were washing dishes when Reynald found us. “Stop washing those dishes, dry off, and come.”

Reynald was tall and thin, though not so much as Nastyman. He walked with a limp from where a carnivorous frog had injured his ankle. He was two ranks below the local guildmaster, which made him four ranks above us.

“So who does the dishes?” asked Kismet.

“Someone. Else.”

I thought we might have been in trouble again, but we headed toward the front door. Were we being thrown out? No, no, of course not – I was worth too much money to the Guild.

Maybe they were selling us to a butchery with a taste for exotic cannibalism?

The waiting rooms were lined with bookshelves; very few books graced those shelves. Each trinket there, a knife, a horseshoe – represented a past guild member. The elegant woman inside was layered in linens, died various hues of blue. Her skin was pale, her ears pointed.

“An elf.” Kismet said, the wonderment clear on her voice.

Pale ears twitched, possessed of more muscles than ears ought to. “My name is Adara Lynessa d’Argent.” She said, in stilted Furdish. “But you may call me Adara.”

#

Kismet and I introduced ourselves.

“I you are both Linkfolk?”

Heard? Understand? Hope? I flagged it for later translation.

“We are, Lady Adara.”

“Please, Adara will be fine. We have an to a nearby to clear it of the dead. Do the restless dead scare either of you?”

Kismet drew herself up tall. “I fear nothing with Rhishi near me.”

“And you?”

“I have no idea, never met one.”

“And you both work for standard rates?”

We nodded.

“Excellent. Be at the Brutal Boar tavern by noon. If you’ve no clue where that is, just come with the warriors we’ve hired from here.”

Well – that was a mixed bag. There were – stories – about what Guild mercenaries did, particularly when bored. Of every six such warriors, two were former (or current) bandits, two served as legal penalty for other crimes, one was just there to gather coins, and one had dreams of being the next minor folk hero.

Adara’s Agility had to be at least four; she stood, and made it look natural, like she flowed into a standing position. She was barely gone when Kismet pounced on my left hand, grasping it in both of hers. “We have a job! Together! I was so worried!”

“About what? Nastyman?”

She nodded, and then snuggled under my armpit. “You’ll protect me? If he shows up?”

“I don’t know; he seems pretty strong to me.”

She yanked my tail. “You’ll protect me. I know it.”

We didn’t need Reynald to tell us what to do. We signed out packs, bedrolls, cooking kits, flint and steel, a ball of twine, all the essentials of travel. We didn’t get torches or lamps – those would be provided by our employers.

Then, to the kitchen, where we signed for five days of meals – salted fish, spiced pork, soup mixes, a small pouch of salt, roasted grains with raisins, two loaves of bread each, and soft sugar-muffins fresh from the oven.

“I’d tell you to eat the sugar muffins before they go bad, but I remember what being young was like.” Madra told us.

“We hear and obey, Missus Madra! Ooh, cranberries...”

“Are you going to say thank you?”

Kismet struck me with an elbow.

“Thank you for your cooking, Madra. We appreciate your efforts to feed us on the road.”

“Both of you?”

“Meph maam.”

“Then begone, else I’ll remind you both how ticklish you are.” She waggled fingers at us threateningly.

We left, posthaste. While others might threaten, Madra almost always made good on her threats.

“OooOoo, we have an adventure!” She struck a pose. “Be ready, world! None of your secrets are so shadowed as to hide from the torches Kismet and Rhishi.”

“Fire reveals.” I confirmed.

We donned our backpacks and set off to find the mercenaries.

#

Our draw of mercenaries could have been worse.

Of the twelve, we only had three former bandits: Oscar, The Cudgel, and Diamond.

We had five others, serving time for their crimes. Elcaon and Vandamir were poachers, Rutgard had stolen a chicken (and a merciful judge had let him keep both hands), Chandra had done something I wasn’t old enough to know about, and Malchor had knifed a man in a barfight.

Our two coinpinches were Olydaea and Henton, who were married to each other.

Of our dreamers, Anston was in charge. He wanted to become a knight, and was skilled with spear and shield. Gemina had delusions of becoming a Fire Warrior, even though her swordplay was lacking. Oh, it was probably better than Anston’s, but having since seen actual Fire Warriors – she was trying, but wasn’t even close to the genuine article.

There were also four drovers: The Hayseed brothers, Quarn and Sethimus, and two others I didn’t recognize.

I introduced Kismet to all of them, including the new bearers Chix and Helados.

She made certain everyone knew that I would die to protect her. Thank you, Kismet, for asking me first.

But not every truth needs to be voiced in words. A final check of gear and we were off.

The soldiers led the way, the bearers close behind them, and the two of us racing to keep up.

Let me be clear – the fire in my belly was a thing of angry pain, not the spirit of adventure.

There were two carts, and the drovers loaded themselves up either into the driver’s seat or onto the softest spots. Kismet had good hopes for a bag of wheat, and I sat next to her on the dried peas.

We had three heroes with us. Adara the Blue I had already met.

One was a skinny man, clad in boiled leathers and radiating confidence. He swaggered himself to our cart, and took up position with a crossbow.

“Oh no.”

“What?” Kismet asked. She had drawn out a book of letters, Furdish, Manoran, and Iteni.

.....

“I know that one. He fought goblins shoulder to shoulder with Ethan-Ivan Baldinov, also known as Baldo.”

“Who is that?”

“He was an axeman. There’s a statue dedicated to him in Seacrest.”

“I think you’re just trying to get out of reading lessons.”

“No. Just pointing out these are famous heroes. I don’t think they’re only fighting skeletons and zombies.”

She yawned. “Your cowardice is boring. I guess I’ll go to sleep and you can learn your own letters.”

“No. Please. I want to learn to read.”

“Oh, what’s this one?”

“That’s a Furdish letter Qua, pronounced like the Manoran Q or the Itini Kw.”

She checked the book. “Right, okay, let’s try a harder one.”

With a crack of leather, the carts began rolling out.

#

It was impossible to write in the jostling cart, even if either of us had remembered quill and parchment.

Instead, she pointed to every insect and bird and beast, every tree and flower and shrub, and used me as her encyclopedia.

There was one incident where a drover was splashed in the face with brine from a small keg of pickles, but the day passed relatively without incident.

I was just amazed how much something could hurt without dealing additional damage. Not that I wanted any; my max health was still nine of its normal twenty, increasing by a point a day.

But there was work – while the drovers parked the carts and tended the oxen, we helped to set up four rows of three tents each, square around a well-tended fire pit.

“Give me that hammer, boy, and I won’t you tonight, just your girlfriend.” Helados said.

I had just finished pounding down a stake, and handed it over. “What is ?” I asked.

“It’s when a man pokes this snake,” he indicated his pants, “into whatever holes he wants, for as long as he wants.”

Kismet smiled. “You won’t, though.”

“Won’t I?”

“You won’t.”

“And why would I not do that?”

“Because we travel with sellswords.”

“And? Not one of them will protect you at night.”

“Protect me? No. But you get that sort of thing started, do you think they’ll let you go first? You think they’ll even share?”

“I’m willing to find out.”

“No you won’t. Come on, Rhishi. Let’s see what we can forage.”

I nervously nibbled on some grass. “Where do you get that courage?”

“What, that grubby bully? You stand up to those. They’re like pumas, they pounce only where they smell weakness. That’s not courage, that’s survival.”

The area had been picked over, but we did find some garlic to spice our meals with. “With some comfrey and sage, we can make a Healing potion.”

“One that heals your wounds instantly?”

“Well, no, the best ones I can brew take an hour to provide healing.”

Kismet sniffed, and turned as though her nose was drawing her back to camp.

A stew had been started by the soldiers, a separate pot for the heroes. We poured water from our canteens into a pan, and started our own pork stew.

Our employers asked backgrounds from all of us, which we provided as we ate.

Then, I lugged my pain-filled belly off to bed. Kismet wrapped herself around my upper back, using my shoulder as her pillow.

I fed Black Snake, and let her out for the night.

When she screamed, it was right into my ear. “Rhishi! He’s got me! Nastyman’s got me! Help!”

It was Helados, of course. He was strong enough to pull both of us out of the tent.

“Well,” he said, adjusting his belt buckle, “looks like I get a choice between both of you. Ladies first...”

I thought at first that he was levitating into the air, slightly turning to the right.

It was Nastyman, holding him by his belt and shoulder. His mouth smiled too wide, and he bit into Helados just above his right hip.

With apparent disinterest, he let Helados fall.

“Kissy kissy, Kismet.” He reached a thin finger forward to stroke the bottom of her foot. “Did you miss me?”

#