069 – Meals

***

I had grown accustomed to death and gore since my reincarnation, as well as eating animal flesh. But witnessing a pig the size of a bison get disemboweled sickened me. Its wet guts spilled out onto the beach, intestines and other offal, in a pile of slippery goop. Famigrist split the corpse down the middle and then peeled off its skin like the rind of a fruit. The severed head rolled my way and came to a stop at my feet.

It was a grisly scene made worse by the smell of the flammable bile and burnt flesh.

I probed the head with a wisp of flame. The monster had some new essences worth recording. I used my small knife of spiritual steel to slice into the jawbone and loosen the distinctive tusks. There was no point letting anything go to waste after all. The giant tusks popped out of the mouth with a good yank.

The trolls carried away quarters of the carcass and placed them on long spits over campfires. Trolls and goblins weren’t picky about their meals. They would eat flesh raw, roasted, or half rotten. The humans needed to cook their bacon.

“Here. Take this,” Famigrist dropped a bloody lump next to the pig’s head.

“Uh. Thank you. What is it?”

“The prize for the hunter. It’s the beast’s core.”

“What’s a core?”

“A stone that grows within the breast’s of the most powerful monsters. They take centuries to form. Swordsmen seek to consume them to increase their own magic power.”

“Really? It doesn’t look too appetizing.” I held up the core. It was hard like bone, but flesh and gristle still clung to the exterior. “So this is why people go hunting monsters.”

I recalled that witches had wanted to catch the giant turtle that dwelt in the lower part of the Spitpoison, and they scolded me for scaring off the eye-titan that made its lair in the citadel. They desired those monsters’ valuable cores. When I witnessed the birth of a devil-bird, its mother ripped a small organ out of the dead father and fed it to the chick. That was probably a beast core to help speed the child’s growth.

Smaller monsters, such as common goblins and trolls, didn’t have cores. They only grew within those that had enkindled their own flames. Bowsk the Mighty, the daemonic leader of the trolls, might have grown one had he lived longer.

“Have any monster-hunters come after you?” I asked Famigrist.

“Many have tried over the centuries. But I serve Lord Hrolzek now. No hunters have dared to face the Void Cult.”

Famigrist had a good reason to belong to our organization. The cult kept him hidden and protected him from monster-hunters. Few other groups would accept a monster into their ranks as anything other than a slave, yet the Phantoms made him an officer. The other swordsmen might have resented having Famigrist as an equal, or even wished to kill him for his core, but none dared go against the wishes of Lord Hrolzek the Vortex of Oblivion.

“Thank you for the gift, Famigrist. It will certainly aid my studies.”

Our trip up the river was delayed for a cook out on the beach. The troops devoured the roasted boar. The goblins and the humans ate their fill, happy for a hot meal. Meanwhile, the meat had a more profound effect on the Warcreeps. The poor trolls had not eaten flesh since their capture. The Goadsmen fed them seaweed, roots, worms, crayfish, and mushrooms, a diet specially designed to break their wills. Trolls, unlike other creatures, were shaped in body and mind by their food. A feast of monster ham stirred within them an almost forgotten carnivorous spirit. Their eyes gleamed a little brighter. They moved with more energy. They recalled the taste of blood.

After the gloaming, we left most of the carcass on the beach for the scavengers and launched our boats into the river. The trolls, with full stomachs, rowed at double time.

The birth and life cycles of the monsters interested me somewhat, as the subject was adjacent to daemonics. Monsters formed in two ways: possession and birth. Possession was the origin for all monsters types. A daemon inhabited a normal living thing, plant or animal, and then biologically modified its host. That’s how you got werewolves. Most of those monsters were one off creations and evolutionary dead ends. But, in certain cases, a number of people twisted into monsters might meet, reproduce, and found a new tribe that continued on in the manner of normal creatures. A few daemonic goblins had, at one point in time, started a new species.

Most creatures in the valley were this second type of monster, born from two parents. Only a few were fully fledged daemonic creatures, such as the devil-birds or the saber-tusked boar.

Complicating this system, natural born monsters could be possessed by daemons as well, and mutated into even more nightmarish forms, layer on layer. Over tens of thousands years, this sped-up form of evolution populated the whole continent with an unimaginable variety of life. Monsters big and small had replaced all the species of my era.

***

“We’re here,” Famigrist announced suddenly. He stood up at the prow of the ship and pointed to an unexceptional spot where the river forked.

“Where’s here?” I asked.

“Our destination.”

I stood up and scanned the surrounding area. “The tribe of trolls live nearby?”

“No. They live outside the valley. Look to the western mountains. Between those two peaks is a narrow gap that leads to the highlands. That’s where we’ll find the troll tribe.”

“So we aren’t really at our destination at all? It’s a long ways yet. And we’ll have to go on foot.”

“The minions will wait here with the boats. Get your scouts ready, Goblin King. We set forth at once.”

The boats approached the river banks, and we waded ashore through the mud and reeds. The human minions moored the boats to large willow trees whose branches sagged over the water. This was the endpoint of their journey. The Faceless would wait here for our return. The monsters and I would continue through the wastelands.

“The goblins are ready. What about food?”

“We’re leaving it all for the humans,” Famigrist said. “We monsters will hunt as we go.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

“Here. This will provide your nourishment.” He handed me a bow and a quiver full of arrows.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

“I don’t know how to play this musical instrument,” I said and plucked the bowstring. “And it only produces a single note.”

“You can learn. You threw a spear well enough.”

“That was out of desperation.”

It seemed eating monster meat was going to be the norm from here on. This mission wasn’t just to capture new trolls for the army, it was to fatten up the existing Warcreeps and restore their fighting spirit. A long hunting trip would turn them back into hungry killers.

We began our march toward the mountain peaks.

The trolls marched single file, while the goblins ran ahead to scout the woods. The scouts stuck bamboo spikes in the ground to mark the locations of traps to avoid, such as plants with poison thorns or exploding fruit. They reported back on the best routes to avoid, dead ends, and predators. Nimblesto translated for Famigrist and me.

If there was one thing I hated, it was the outdoors. The nearest to nature I could tolerate was a short walk through a park followed by a hot shower. Being in the woods was a nightmare of discomfort with insects, nettles, mud, rain, wind, heat, and cold all competing to make me utterly miserable. And the wastelands of the continent were a thousand times worse with toxic plants and animals.

My newly augmented body saved me from the worst of the outdoor experience. It didn’t keep off the dirt and mud, but it cured other problems. I could withstand extreme temperatures or dispel exhaustion by consuming a bit of mana. Minor aches and pains faded to nothingness. Cuts and scratches healed overnight. My feet never blistered. I could have lived in the woods completely naked like a wild beast.

“Here are some targets for you,” Famigrist said. He pointed up to the forest canopy, where dark shapes swung from branch to branch.

“I can’t see as clearly as you at night.” I squinted. “You want me to shoot some monkeys?”

I nocked an arrow and raised the bow. The arrow shot off into the leaves, missing the animals entirely and disappearing into the night. Using this thing was harder than it looked.

After my pathetic first attempt with a bow, the trolls employed their slings. They missed often, but their continuous barrage of sling stones stunned the creatures and dropped them to the forest floor. The monsters had the outline of gibbons and moved through the trees in a similar manner, but on closer look, they had insect characteristics: chitinous exoskeleton, mouth pincers, compound eyes, and feathery antennae. When the trolls ripped into the bug-monkeys, green ichor and other juices sprayed out.

One of the goblin scouts held up a handful of rubbery flesh for me.

“I think I’ll skip this meal. Thank you.”

The Spitpoison forked off into a small tributary river. This ran through shallows and over rocky stream beds dotted with boulders. We traveled parallel to the river, because it lead to the gap in the mountains. Even when we traveled out of sight of the stream, we could hear its rushing water.

Traveling overland slowed our progress, so Famigrist pushed his troops through the night and into the next day. He wanted to stick to the schedule. The minions would assume our deaths if we took long and then row back home without us. The trolls grumbled in the daytime, but the thick forest helped shade them from the burning rays of the sun. After the midday gloam, the troops napped.

I decided to practice with the bow while the monster’s slept. Unlike other swordsmen, I had no qualms about using commoner weapons. They were just murder tools. Unfortunately, Strythe had never used a bow, which meant I inherited none of his skills. This was learning from scratch.

Bug monkeys didn’t appeal to me. I wandered through the forest looking up to spot a decent sized bird. The wastelands had a huge variety of weird birds that would all look more or less the same after plucking their feathers and roasting them on a spit. Maybe I would find a nest with edible eggs. The birds made a huge ruckus, squawking, chirping, whistling, cawing, warbling, and screeching worse than the devil-birds at the citadel. They made the forest a noisy place.

I spotted large birds in the upper branches, shot in their direction, and missed repeatedly. The unharmed birds took flight. Perhaps they were too advanced targets for a beginner. After several misses, I remembered that my quiver had a limited amount of arrows. I had to recover my missed shots or run out. So half the hunt involved me searching the underbrush for the cursed things.

The sky became dark and overcast with clouds. The day had passed, and it was time to return to camp. At that moment, I realized I had no clue as to which direction home lay. I had wandered off with my eyes on the upper canopy, not paying any attention to my surroundings or the route back. I listened for the sound of the flowing river, but heard nothing. Usually the moon would be a natural compass. Before noon, its western half was lit, and after noon its eastern half. But a gray layer of clouds obscured the sky.

With no other way to orient myself, I could always look for landmarks. Our slave raid had to pass through two peaks in the mountain ridge. That made an obvious marker. I could meet the rest of the group there if need be. But to see the mountains, I first needed to get to away from the thick trees or to a high ground.

I hated the outdoors. Not only was it dirty and annoying, everything looked the same. Too many trees and rocks. It was going to be embarrassing to admit I got lost on my first mission in the valley.

Traveling through the darkening forest, I spotted a blur movement ahead. A beast silently passed among the trees and bracken. I crouched down. Perhaps it was a predator. Or it might be something to shoot at. Returning with an animal might make up for my dumb mistake.

The shadowy creature stopped to graze among the underbrush. It had a graceful form and a grand set of antlers. The monster resembled a large hart with a silvery coat of fur. I brought out my bow and nocked an arrow in the string.

Looking down the length of the arrow at the innocent creature, I hesitated. Killing a disgusting monster for food, such as a bug monkey, did not appeal to me one bit. I didn’t want slimy insect flesh. But killing a handsome beast like this one felt more like a crime. That made no sense. All living things wanted to stay alive. Their aesthetic value didn’t change that fact. I shook off the stray thought.

The hart’s keen senses alerted it that was something wrong. It bolted just as the arrow flew from my bow. It disappeared into the woods.

Where the beast had grazed, I discovered drops of blood staining the leaves. My arrow was nowhere to be found. It must have struck true. Now I had to follow the animal’s trail, or it would die pointlessly, and I would feel even more guilt for my transgression.

***

It did not take a skilled tracker to follow the trail, for the large creature pushed aside the underbrush in its path and bled freely as it ran. I worried that its wild course would lead me even further from the camp. The widely spaced prints showed that the hart had fled with tremendous speed, making great bounds and digging its hooves deep into the turf. As the daylight began to fail, so I used a lumestone to better light the shadowy forest floor.

The wounded hart lead me into ever thicker woods.

At a cluster of rocks, the tracks lead to an unexpected find. I wasn’t the only one following the trail of sprinkled blood. Other monsters could follow the wounded prey as well as I, and even better, for they had a superior sense of smell. A pack of wolves sniffed the ground and raised their head at my approach.

“Ha ha. Nice dogs. Don’t mind me. Just passing through.”

These wolves had not been domesticated for friendliness; they had mutated into a larger, more aggressive species of canine. The wolves had thick manes over their necks and chests, which gave them a leonine appearance. Their snouts had grown extra long, with rows of interlocking fangs protruding from their mouths. Rather than baying or howling, the monsters clicked their jaws rapidly, making a disturbing sound like castanets.

I pivoted and sped off the opposite direction. In a moment, I had gone from predator to prey, hunter to hunted. My fire heated up and the trees swept past. Green plants whipped at my face. A wild clacking sounded behind me, letting me know the pack of monsters pursued me. Running through the woods at night was dangerous, for one wrong step could get me impaled by a toxic barb or sunk in a pod of tar or entangled in thorny vines.

This was life outdoors. Not just inconvenient, also deadly. You couldn’t visit nature as tourist. No, nature made you a part of nature whether you liked it or not. Now I had no idea where I was or where I was going. My course was set by necessity. I ran like a frightened rabbit. The clacking hounds were at my heels.

I burst out of the dense underbrush into a wide clearing. Running across a grassy meadow, I turned to look at the monsters only to find they had stopped at the edge of the forest. The wolves gazed momentarily with hate filled eyes and then disappeared back into shadows. They gave up their chase rather than follow me across the threshold of this new place.

A warm breeze blew across the meadow and carried floating beetles who flashed colorful lights like giant fireflies. Fuzzy creatures hopped among the waving grass, happily stuffing their cheeks with seeds and nuts. A fat bird fluttered from the sky and pecked ripe berries from luxuriant bush. All was quiet and peaceful.

I had come to a strange new place.