-From Canticles: 1:14-15
Szez’tek Vooznal gazed down upon what had been wrought by the neonate of His Strong Right Claw, and He was pleased. “Good, Juvenile of Scales. Now, learn patience. You will need it for what lies ahead of you.” He rumbled.
“Shashk said to tell everyone not to eat the mage corpse,” Vivex hissed, “and to get it and the skin to the… the acolytes?” The Initiate hadn’t been told what those were.
Religion? Her Instinct guessed.
Keshka grunted, signaling one of the other Greenscales over, a thin sickly one that constantly signaled dirty white subservience. The female archer ordered him to take the carcass away so that it would not be mixed up with the other food. He ran past various Truescales processing the destroyed canopy and trees, cringing as he went. Several of the warriors snapped at him, flickering orange amusement as he cringed even more.
Disgusting.
Fodder. Her Instinct hissed before Vivex was distracted by finally taking in the total destruction around them.
Tok and the runeslave had completely devastated the surrounding area. Deep furrows were carved into the soil, the very ground scarred by their contest. The underbrush was crushed flat, whole trees were snapped and smashed to bits, and buried boulders, ones as big as she was and more, were torn free of the earth. And some of those were cracked and sundered into pieces as well.
Some of the Truescales were taking it in turns to work to salvage what they could from the wreckage. Sectioning out the worst of the destruction for firewood, taking more time to sort the rest. Still more were grabbing the aether filled containers from the barges, pouring the glittering substance out onto the roots of Arubra’s red alder.
Branches and leaves sprouted before her very eyes as they did, the bark becoming thick and craggy like a crocodile’s scutes. The wind swirled in gusts through the leaves, giving a sense of flexing muscles. As they did the Provider placed a hand against the trunk, rumbling something Vivex couldn’t hear.
Another group of Truescales was walking through the dead, making sure that there were none left hiding amongst their fellows. The occasional scream of a discovered parasite became less and less frequent as they moved through the corpses, though one eighth genera tried to run, drawing her eye until one of the archers downed him.
Vivex’s tongue flickered out, and her head snapped back to the fires, eyes wide.
Gods…
Rich toothsome aromas filled the air, and the little warrior’s mouth watered. Inhaling the scents deeply, she hurried closer. Her tongue waggling faster with her excitement even as saliva dripped from her chin and mouth.
Consume!
Not just meat… something else too…
The Truescales were each using their own methods. Some sprinkling something onto the sliced flesh, others packing it on thickly, rubbing the meat and working in the powder. Still more wrapped the meat it in wide leaves and encased those in mud to roast under the fires. Those didn’t just use dried spices, but harvested plants as well, whiptails for certain, but also other tubers and plants she didn’t recognize. Green tops with white below, ending in tiny bulbs. Pungent. Like nothing she had seen on the island.
Must be local to this area!
Her Instinct hissed. Bristlegrass.
Her tongue flickered out, the smells new and enticing, her saliva puddling on the ground beneath her feet as she walked closer to her Tutor. Vivex’s stomach gurgled. Their warmth was soothing on the bruises and cuts that hadn’t healed with the Barkskin’s magic as she got closer. Her eyes were fixed on the sizzling steaks there.
Do I cook my own? Perhaps, though she wanted to find out what the other Truescales were coating the meat with. She shifted towards one of the adults who was rubbing something onto a fresh steak, pressing it into the folds, something ground fine and greenish in color.
A hand, frustratingly larger than her own, moved to block her before she could get close enough.
“Not yet, Initiate.” Keshka said with a flicker of amused yellow-orange stripes around her eyes, pointing with a claw to the more temperamental male that had also been in the tree. “You will eat with me, but you have other duties first. Report to Zegoth.”
He was over on the far side of the clearing, away from the river. Others were there as well, carving into the meat and collecting hides for tanning, both from the dead smoothskins and Truescales alike. Zegoth had stripped one of the human corpses and strung it up against a tree by the wrists.
So, some of our own did die. That surprised her for a moment before she realized how idiotic that was. There were enough of the humans to kill some of the Truescales, how could that be surprising?
The subadult watched the brood, skinning, butchering, even splitting the bones for the marrow. Practiced motions of many cycles, but it was more than that.
Respect.
Grunts came from her Instinct in the back of her mind.
Their motions, flickering hues, and the patterns displayed by the Greenscales, showed the amount of reverence that was paid to the dead. Deliberate motions. Not even the smallest portion wasted, so that none of the effort the corpses had carried out in life was squandered.
Something tugged softly at her attention. A sound? She forgot it almost instantly, too absorbed by her own thoughts. Noticing something else as she watched the strangely peaceful scene.
So much food. What would they do with it all? Preserve it? They would certainly not waste it, not after all the effort they were going through now.
Another tug, definitely a sound and a little louder this time but forgotten just as quickly as it was noticed.
She had never thought she would see so much meat, and barely a squabble over it. She wondered what the Truescale hides would be used for.
Perhaps cordage? But for what?
The vibrancy of it all was entrancing, smells, sounds, and sights all combined to swamp her mind. And yet she wanted, no, needed to take it all in.
Her people… Flickering hues as they talked, passing meat from one to the next, discussing things she wanted to listen in on. So much to see and know and BE.
“Initiate!”
The warrior nearly jerked out of her skin, turning with a snarl before instantly making deference flicker across her scales. Keshka had been trying to get her attention.
Apologize! Her Instinct snarled.
“Sorry, Tutor,” Vivex hissed, “it’s just… so much that is new all so fast.” She flickered her apology too, head lowered over a neck that wasn’t red, subconsciously mimicking her Provider’s body language.
Idiot. She didn’t want all three of her teachers angry with her. I have to pay more attention.
“Report. To. Zegoth.” Keshka had taken off her crafted camouflage, her prefixes signaling annoyance and amusement in equal measures. Each syllable was enunciated with the clarity of a cloudless sky. If it wasn’t for the neutral prefixes Vivex would have been worried that this female thought her slow.
Keshka’s coloration was fixed in the default greens, blacks, and browns, exactly like Ropemaker. All except for around her eyes, and her forearms. Both flickered palely with mild annoyance as Keshka squatted next to one of the fires, picking up a steaming piece of meat and tearing into it herself. Grunting in approval.
Another one of the warriors, a female, squatted next to her, close enough that their shoulders pressed together.
A male moved closer on the other side, not making contact, but he was clearly part of the trio.
The new female passed him a sizzling slice of meat, and he started eating, hunkering down quite close to her, grunting.
Vivex growled along with her stomach. She wanted to eat! But all three of the mature adults turned to stare at her flatly, and Keshka’s eyespots flickered, that look of promised violence returning. Before she knew it Vivex found herself padding off in Zegoth’s direction.
“Runt…” The new female muttered, just before Vivex was out of earshot, and the Initiate jerked to a halt, quivering.
Kill! Attack! Murder!
All three adults ignored her, continuing their conversation as if she wasn’t there, clearly ignoring her.
“Quiet.” Keshka growled, snapping at her companion loudly, “She is an Initiate and passed the trial. And the Ambassador even rescinded her judgment because of the Soulbound Warrior invoked his rights.”
Soulbound Warrior? What could that mean?
The male grunted, though his tail slapped the ground with a thump. “They all are distracted by food so young.” His prefixes were dismissive. Demeaning. “Such problems are becoming worse.”
The new female turned, leaning more against Keshka and flickering bright orange amusement in a rippling pattern, “Careful-”
“Why? It is clear that the smoothskins are causing it somehow.” The male continued, taking another bite of steaming flesh, head jerking as he positioned the piece and swallowed it. “Softening us up for their next assault. The only explanation.”
“Well I think Tok has made a mistake.” The new female hissed, taking another piece and ripping into it. It was only moments before she got to the bone and started gnawing. “If he has a soft spot for that joke of an Initiate, someone will find it and stab him there.”
Vivex contained her fury and forced herself to stop listening, stomping forward.
The very idea of anyone assaulting the Provider! She gnashed her teeth, fuming.
Her stomach gurgled and she took a quick detour, climbing up into the canopy and finding the pond orchid she had used to wash mid fight. She angrily snapped up the tadpoles. One big mouthful of them.
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They wriggled all the way down as she used a vine to swing back to the ground, and she found that she was still frustrated and still hungry. She slashed a fern to ribbons with her claws as she stormed forward. Fighting the desire to roar, to run off and find something else to kill.
Runt, runt, runt, runt! Every time!
She felt like she could chew stones and spit arrowheads.
If this is what it is to be Fodder, I have to make sure I am not graded as such. She looked over the gathering, seeing them now, much smaller, or deformed, and all with that cringing beaten down look.
She knew she only had so much patience, and would likely get herself killed fighting back at such treatment. That or just leave. She was not going to live her life being judged by her size forever. Not without losing her temper and challenging one of them.
Her Instinct shrank away from that thought, and her mood only got worse. Idiot. Experience. It hissed, adding. Live.
She sighed, not entirely convinced, but enough to move forward in this fresh social situation with caution.
Vivex slowed, taking her time as she drew closer to Zegoth, looking at the human corpse he had hung from the tree, stripped to the skin and stretched tight by each of its limbs.
Gods, they are all hideous. Though if she was being fair, this one was less disgusting, and quite informative. Though it didn’t have the signaling facial fur to mark it as male, the nudity of the corpse made it clear.
The fur on the head is shaved short. She could see the stubble there, but not on the face. That meant that facial fur was not a good trait to rely on.
But then what is? She doubted that any would wander about nude. Her experience was limited with them, but none of them so far had been. It stood to reason that it was uncommon for them to do so.
Runeslave. Her Instinct hissed.
That abomination wasn’t free to make choices.
The coloration of this corpse’s skin was slightly darker than the rest, meaning that Smoothskins had a range of hues that they could be. This one was almost the same color as dried leaves.
“Move closer, runt.” Zegoth hissed, flickering maroon and crimson annoyance in spots across his body for an instant.
She growled but fought down her need to shove the male against that tree with her knife in his back, moving closer to the corpse.
“Good, now pay attention.” He growled back, glaring at her, “Smoothskins often wear earthbone armor.” Using his claw, he made shallow cuts along the body outlining the corpse in segments, and it took her a moment to realize he was showing where the earthbone scutes would be. “What would a limitation be if this armor was like an insect’s shell?” He inquired.
She thought of the abomination in the temple, skittering legs, wet dripping mouthparts, thick chitinous plates that had to be dealt with.
“If it is over a joint the joint wouldn’t move.” She said.
“So, to get through you..?”
“Attack the point where the joint bends.” She hissed, pointing at the armpit, the elbow, the knee.
Zegoth waved an impatient hand, “Yes yes, good, or push in between the plates. Now, there are other nuances to their shells, what they are made of and how they are made, but that is for another time.”
He hissed thoughtfully, and glared at her again. “However, this isn’t the only type of armor they have.” Zegoth picked up a strange sort of cloth, and from the look it seemed to be quite heavy. As it moved, it clinked like the chain to the Provider’s scabbard, and she could see it was made of-
“Earthbone… rings?” She said, stepping forward and running her hand against it.
Zegoth hissed angrily and slammed a closed fist painfully right on the top of her head. She stepped back, pulling her hand away.
“Do as I say when I say, idiot! Runt! Malformed Fodder!” He was almost foaming at the mouth by the end. Each insult louder than the last, until he was roaring at her. Vivex felt her jaw tighten even as she senced the eyes of the pack fall on them.
Fight! Kill!
Her hand gripped her knife before she realized what she was doing. He glared, and she felt her control slip and her own black and red flickered across her face.
He growled deep in his chest, a frightening sound, and just as fast as she grabbed the hilt of her blade he was inches away from her, filling her vision. His black and red slammed into place, saturated. He took a step closer, looming over her, forcing her to step back, snarling and baring large teeth, radiating dominance somehow in that same way that Keshka did.
“Try it, runt.” He hissed through clenched jaws, suddenly quiet, his own hand moving to a knife.
She glanced at it, a stout thing, longer than her own. But she was ready for it now, and she was faster than any oth-
Bang!
Vivex hit the ground as Zegoth slammed his forehead into hers. He had taken advantage of her not paying attention. Zasa’avi’s eyes sparkled in her vision for a moment as she clutched her forehead.
“You may actually be some sort of prodigy, you may fight like you are ten times your size, and you may be the most stubborn of your hatching.” He hissed, leaning down, prefixes full of hate, “But I am five and twenty years young, and for eighteen of those years I have been honed on our northern border with the smoothskins.”
He snarled, snapping his jaws, “So know that what I say next is true. The weakest among us,” He gestured to the whole company of Truescales, “could easily cull you and any other five of your broodmates you choose to name, and live!”
Several of the others turned to look, and Vivex met their eyes. She saw only flickers of black and red challenge and orange amusement before they all looked away. Dismissing her.
Shame seared her as anger still simmered within.
I thought I had dealt with this… This was going to be agony to endure, she could tell. Why was she not acting like before? Was she a coward?
No! Her Instinct hissed with grinding teeth. Not right. Not yet. Her Instinct hissed with finality, and she realized. Something had shifted in her mind, something reacting to the interaction, and something else. A… Smell?
“Yes,” Zegoth continued, as if he had read her mind, “you are once again at the bottom, Fodder. So try it. Save us all the trouble of dealing with you, and challenge me.“
He hissed leaning back and away from the Initiate, purposely giving her space to try.
A cicada buzzed loudly.
After it was clear she wasn’t going to say anything or try anything else, her Tutor snorted and began his instruction once again. He shook the shirt of earthbone rings, “There are curses the smoothskins use on their armor. Some only effect their killer. And some of those explode the item into blazing hot shrapnel.” He glared at her intently, lifting the rings in his clawed hand, “Be vigilant.”
She blinked, then flickered the barest fraction of subservience. “I didn’t know, Tutor.” Vivex hissed, keeping her prefixes respectful.
He pointed at the throat of the parasite, a small hole from an arrow in it, volume lowered, and prefixes less harsh than they had been just moments before, “This one is your kill, so you are lucky that it was not enchanted in such a way. I am lucky, as your first idiotic notion was to touch something you didn’t understand fully yet.”
She ground her teeth.
Her Instinct seethed.
He ignored her again, still talking “It is not a common thing, but when dealing with smoothskins influenced by the Falsescaled there is no such thing as too much caution.”
She flashed deference again, though her head throbbed from his strike.
He could have started with that information.
Unlike when the Provider had enforced a rule or system, there was no sense of a hint towards a loophole or workaround here. As if Zegoth had just wanted to put her in her place and nothing more.
“Some armors have runes, giving them special properties. It is a secret of the third genera. Her Tutor continued, “This armor is plain though. Usually, chainmail isn’t runed. You can get through the rings with a stout blade, or an arrow. But it takes some getting used to.”
She paused. Thinking of her own blade. Would it cut through runes? It had cut through a spell after all. But She didn’t want to talk to Zegoth about it. I’ll ask Tok later.
Zegoth draped the chainmail over the corpse and looked at her, shades of annoyance still flickering through his pattern. “Do it.”
She drew the black blade and held it in her hand. She glanced at Zegoth then felt the links with her other.
Invert the blade? That felt right. She did so and lifted it high, slamming her weapon against the rings.
It was an odd feeling, a sort of bursting sensation, the rings holding her strike back before some failed. Her knife stopped in the meat.
“Good, again.” He said, turning the armor slightly.
And she did it again, and again, and again. Each time she got a better feel for it. She tried other strikes as well, seeing which ones could break through the earthbone fabric.
“What is the point of this?” she asked finally, looking at the mangled piece of armor. Her stomach gurgled loudly. The developing smells of the meal had gotten more and more potent over time.
“You never practice hunting your prey?” He asked derisively, prefixes full of unrestrained hostility.
Why is he provoking me? Did he really want to have an excuse to kill her that badly?
Yes! Judgment. Test. Both.
She liked the idea of killing him, imagining the look of surprise, the flicker of fear though his pattern. It was the crimson part of her that loved the thrill of combat filling her before she could tamp it back down.
No. When the time is right.
Yes. Agree. A maroon thought.
Vivex just stared at him, saying nothing, holding onto her plain coloration as tightly as she could. She was pretty sure that there were flickers of maroon around her eyes though.
Once he realized he wasn’t going to get anything else out of her, Zegoth continued. “The strongest of the smoothskins, behind their mages, wear both kinds of armor,” he said, ignoring her anger, “it means that you must be able to apply that much force to very specific areas.”
He looked at her, flickering brownish-orange dismissal, “As it stands, if you see one of the shelled, flee. You are far too small to take one on and live. I would even say if you see one in mail alone you should flee.”
I will be the judge of that. She doubted she would have a problem with either.
She felt eyes on her and she looked, seeing Shashk watching her. The ambassador stared at her, unblinking, tearing hunks of flesh free from a Greenscale femur as she did, her tail undulating thoughtfully as one of the others spoke to her in hushed tones behind a hand.
Calm… She remembered the Redscale’s words, and remembered how Tok had hidden aspects of the challenge behind them for her to parse out.
‘I will not tolerate insubordination.’
Her Instinct grunted, settling in behind her eyes.
What was the other? Then she remembered.
‘If you take too long… I will abandon you… Name you what you are to me.’
So, it is not just effort, but doing so efficiently? That could be the case.
She had to make progress, if only to have the freedom to get away from all of this judgment. To think at the end of the battle she had wanted to stay amongst her people. Vivex quickly was losing all interest in staying in the Belly of the World. And part of that really hurt. Surprisingly so.
Weak.
She pushed that aside, she had to focus on what was ahead, on how to pass this next trial. And any new information would push her towards that. The subadult turned back to focus on what Zegoth was saying. Which was good because he had started to notice her wandering attention, based on the maroon returning to his pattern.
The big male proceeded to show her the locations of the vitals on smoothskins. Kidneys, liver, lungs, and heart. He showed her how she could vertically attack the lungs by stabbing close to the neck, or through the armpit, avoiding most of the bones. Pealing back flesh on the corpse to demonstrate his points.
Things she already knew for the most part. But if she wanted to stay in Shashk’s good graces she had to sit through it, and it wasn’t like she learned nothing.
“This is a kill,” Zegoth said, slamming his knife into the corpse just above the hips, “as is this.” He swapped hands and did the same. He made her try, and then cut the corpse free and ordered her to skin it, watching her.
She started, and he almost immediately smacked her in the back of the head. “What are you doing runt? Too much meat on the flesh! Pull! It will stretch.” He placed a hand on hers and pulled, showing her.
She hissed and continued.
“Gently, slow smooth strokes of the blade. And it needs to be sharp, a dull blade is useless. Same with your claws.” He snatched her blade from her and she almost snarled, but he grunted when it easily cut into his claw with gentle pressure. “Good, at least you care for your blade. Good color for shadows, but not for bright patches, remember that.” He slapped it back into her palm.
She grunted, not trusting herself to respond without sarcastic prefixes.
He thumped the back of her head again, as if the information was a post to be driven into the dirt that was her skull.
“You hear me?”
“Yes! Stop!” she snarled, knocking his hand away and flickering her black and red again, jaws snapping, mixing in deference at the same time, turning away before he could respond.
He snarled and his eyes narrowed. After a moment of thought he hissed, “Stupid runt. You think any of this will possibly change what happens?”
“I will do what I can to improve myself, Tutor. What more can any of us do?”
Danger.
She ducked, and his hand sailed over her head, claws whistling through the air.
“One true statement changes nothing, small one.” He growled.
“Yes, Tutor.” She hissed, remembering to use respectful prefixes this time.
Once the corpse was skinned to his liking, he started pointing out more locations, the tendons and ligaments. “Cut here, and they will not be able to walk. Slice here and they won’t be able to grip.” Zegoth growled.
He bent the fingers, stretching the muscles of the corpse. “See how far back these go? A slice to the forearm can effect the fingers. There are other places too where this applies.”
Vivex could hear the others eating. Her stomach growled, the smell of the corpse not helping. But she forced herself to focus, even with drool dripping down her chin once more.
Zegoth looked down at her after pointing out the veins and arteries, his pattern flickering, complex hues swirling and strobing back and forth.
He still despised her that much was obvious. But, if she wasn’t mistaken, the hues and pattern indicated that he was happy with her focus, and maybe impressed she had predicted that second strike? Vivex didn’t know for sure, but that was her guess.
Trust. Her Instinct whispered. She was the best with her camouflage after all.
She looked up at him, waiting, flickering pride when she noticed that impressed pattern in him again, desaturated to make it clear she didn’t mean to be arrogant.
Please let us be done…
“Enough, we will discuss more tomorrow.” He spat, standing, “After Keshka gives you pointers with your bow. Go to her. I will salvage what is left of this.” His prefixes made it sound like it was her fault that the meat was in a dreadful state.
She hissed and scrambled back to the others, excited to eat and get away from the grouchy male.
Finally! Food!
She saw that the other two adults were still with Keshka, and she realized she would have to contend with both of them as well as the kinder female.
She hissed and just hoped she could finally eat.
PATREON! It is at least 15 chapters ahead, and I am working hard to get it permanently up to 20, with plans to add even more! All money there goes right back into making the series as good as I can, and every cent of it is appreciated more than I can say.