Born a Monster

430 330 – Into the Maze

It was two days later that one of the priestesses found me, and showed me the contract.

“This is ridiculous.” I said, shortly into the second page.

“That,” she said, “is standard.”

“Three HUNDRED years of service?” I asked.

“Two of which is just training to see where your aptitude within the Purifiers is, before a ten year intensive training.”

“She does mean intensive.” Raevik said. “As in, life threatening.”

“Do you want this lad as an apprentice, or not?” she snapped at him.

He smoothed out his imaginary mustache. “I said I would train him ... IF his aptitudes match well enough.”

“Who would sign away thirty decades of life?” I asked. Yeah, yeah, who tells a trio of gods that you’ll take a twenty four year tour of their theosophies?

.....

“Only everyone you’ve been hanging around with.” Hagon said.

“Don’t worry about it.” Sandro said. “We may live like Warriors or Monks, but we have a decent enough survival rate.”

“And yet,” the priestess said, “you will sign it.”

“Why would I do any such thing?” I asked. “I’m barely five, and you expect me to know how I’ll feel at three hundred and five?”

“She means,” Miltor said, “the church has extended as much free hospitality as it’s going to. If you want to join us in tonight’s mission, you need to do so as one training to be a Purifier.”

And, if I hadn’t known myself as well as I had, I might have taken the Church up on their offer. After all, it was just a tiny, tiny fraction of my lifespan. Right?

“The day may come when I’m willing to settle in one place for that long.” I said. “And... the training is very tempting.” I slid the leather pages a few inches toward her. “Could I get a delay?” I asked. “Perhaps six decades?”

The priestess snatched the contract back. “As if you’ll be alive in six decades without our support!”

“I might surprise you.” I said.

“Walk with me.” she said. I was expecting her to head toward the central cathedral, but instead she took me out to the road and hung a left. “Tell me what you see.”
“Merchants, vendors, shoppers of various castes... what am I looking for?”

“These are the people who are alive and well because of those noble few whose company you just spurned.” she said.

“I haven’t spurned anyone.” I said, “I just have other tasks that I need to take care of before making any more commitments.”

On a whim, I checked my Servant of the Divine, which had forty five more points than I recall earning.

“A matter of vengeance, I suppose.” she said.

“Among other matters, yes.” I said. “For the next twenty two or so years, vengeance is going to be a big theme in my life.”

“Upon whom? No. Never mind, I’ve decided I don’t care. And you have decided...” she pulled me around the corner, hand firmly on my shoulder, “to live THERE. The block. Common Custody. No parents, no family.” She stopped, seemed surprised when I didn’t immediately do so. “Once they process you, it is out of my hands.” she said.

Then, she proceeded. “Shall I tell you some of the horror stories that I’ve heard? Of what your noble guardians do at night? Of how those who cause problems are... disciplined? Of... WAS THAT A SIGH?”

“Of boredom.” I said. “But yes, please do drone on about stories I’ve heard so often. Forced labor, indentured servitude just a hair above slavery... not that either of us has a hair. Of blood donations, willing or otherwise. Of thirty year olds just starting their adolescence forming gangs and forcing their youngers into even worse service. Of a series of foster families, who want the joy of children to do their housework, without the horror of giving up a hand each and spending so long raising a child that they actually care about. Are these the stories you wish to impress upon me before turning me over?”

She tried to slap me on the back of my head. “I came from Common Custody, fool. The truth... the truth is that it is not so bad. Not for everyone.”

If she’d noticed how her pace had picked up, she was a better actress than I’d given her credit for. “The truth is that some of those things happen, but it isn’t every day, and it usually happens only to problem children. Moving my life to the Church has improved it greatly. If you feel otherwise, then by all means feel free to... where are you going?”

“This is the stairwell upward, toward the Maze. Where the minotaurs live.”

“Child, I have not sworn to escort you. I merely volunteered. What waits for you above, other than slavery until the day you die?”

I sighed. “Do you truly think I’ve been here this long without any opportunities to study minotaur culture? I find a pride that will have me, and I join them.”

“A pride...?”

She burst out laughing. “You mean to say...” and I turned away from her, nodded at the Protectors on duty at the bottom of the stairs, toggled Fleet of Foot, and began ascending. Round and round and ... gods, stairs are BORING. Ascending and clockwise, so that any attacking force from above had their right hands against the wall, while defenders had theirs toward the open center.

I sometimes feel shame at that, at not even trying to confront my siblings one last time. But... they seemed united in their hatred of me. Hey, three siblings, three gods of vengeance I knew...

No, there was certainly no shortage of vengeful gods. Let them make their own choices. If they came to kill me... well, I had a pretty decent head start.

“Hey!” a deep voice boomed from ahead. “Whoever you are, you’d better be minding your step!”

“And your manners.” boomed another. “Else we’ll kick you so hard you’ll roll down steps all the way back to the Mines.”

“As if we didn’t all know the law.” I said, coming one more lap closer to being in view. “As an honorary dwarf, I have the right to travel anywhere I chose, Mines or Maze.”

“Honorary?”



“You think he means honorable?”

“No, I don’t. I think he means... HOLY SHIT.”

The other drew ... I’m tempted to call it a two handed cleaver merged with a sickle, but that doesn’t do it justice. Call it a war cleaver, since Usuul-Ganori isn’t going to mean anything to the average reader. “What?” he said, hefting it to a shoulder. “That little thing?”

“You haven’t seen it fight in the arena.” the shorter one said. “What do YOU want here? Which of our noble matrons are you going to snub now?”

“I’m not here to snub matrons.” I said, “But I’m not going to waste time being their slave, either. I’m looking for one of your prides.”

“My cousin’s daughter leads one of those.” Cleaver said.

I blinked. “You stay AWAY from our children!” he shook a spear of ridiculous proportion to the hallway at me.

I mean, sure, it was heavy and the point was sharp enough, and of superior grade steel. It was just fine for thrusting... provided your target wasn’t agile or...

“I mean it!” he said. “Go back where you came from!”

“Wait.” I said. “FEMALES are part of a Pride?”

“We’ll never tell you!” Spear said.

“Of course.” Cleaver said. “Women are so very smart. They always end up in charge of everything, just because they think so much better than we men can.”

“That’s not true!” snapped Spear. “Take that back.”

“Or what, you’ll trip over your spear and get bloody spittle on my armor?”

I sighed, and rolled my eyes. I let them start bellowing at each other before slipping past them along the wall.

And into the Maze of Othello, a series of interlinked caverns, mined tunnels, aquaducts and sewers , tunnels scented with candles and incense and spices, colored with paints and colored sand and hung with colorful cloths. Which, random as each seemed, were entirely not.

I didn’t know that at the time. “Excuse me,” I asked a passing man carrying a broken chair. “Where is that chair going?”

He snorted. “Pit of discards.” he said. “Where else?”

Oh, but the seat of that chair was just the right size for a square shield... and I happened to want one. “Show me the way.” I said, “And I’ll carry it.”

Yes, a combination of the word theo, or god, and philosophy, pontificating about how things ideally should be.

A minotaur pride is roughly two parts street tough, one part urban scavenger, one part conman, and one part Bravo. The class, not the attitude. Although the class can be accused ... you know what, put that in lower case if you want. I have spoken the truth. Oh, in numbers, not individuals.

Do NOT get those two mixed up when you need a drink. It’s super simple. The top one is drinkable, the bottom is not. Being short, I’ll also mention that although made of stone tiles, do NOT stand on the sewer edge just to reach the aquaduct. Because you’ve already imagined why. Just don’t.