Born a Monster

523 Masaad the Medic

“My System says it’s just [Dehydration] and two levels of [Fatigue].” I said.

“Well,” Masaad said, “with everyone on water rations, I’d recommend licking any moist spots you can find underground. Not much we can do here on the surface.”

“I’m sorry.” Taranda said. “My water rations aren’t enough for myself, either.”

I blinked. “But what about all the cactii around here?” I said. “Surely at least one of them has water inside.”

Masaad chuckled. “Good luck finding that one among the others.”

I blinked. “They’ll be the ones that aren’t wilted. Then look for the ones bulging slightly outward. It doesn’t seem hard.”

“It doesn’t seem hard.” Taranda said, “But it is.”

“A lot of common sense just doesn’t apply out here. Why have a Medic on staff at a death camp?”

“I thought this was a salt mine.” I said.

.....

Taranda bounced part of a pecan shell off my side. “No food, no water, not enough light, poor tools, long shifts – and you really think the objective of this mine is to produce salt?”

“I guess... no, I don’t understand this. Why don’t the slaves rebel, if they know themselves doomed?”

“Once, maybe twice a season, they do.” Masaad said. “Lack of Sanity means they usually take only a few lashes from the pain rods to subdue.”

I blinked. I tried to remember, had the guards hit everyone in my chain line at least once?

“How do they GATHER that much pain?” I asked. “It seems like they’d need at least ninety mana per shift.”

“Every citizen of the Khanate is required by our religion to have four classes.” Taranda said.

“Military, Religious, Social, and a Craft.” I said.



“Just so.” she agreed. “So each and every person here can feel those emotions and given enough prayer time, can just store it in the rods directly.”

Wait. I had heard what I’d dismissed as muttering from the nearer guard. But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense that they would be gathering fuel for their weapons.

I scratched the right side of my face, still raw from my initial encounter.

“Stop that!” Taranda said, swatting at my hand.

“Why should I not scratch where it itches?” I asked.

“Because,” Masaad said, “you’ll make infection more likely.”

I took a deep breath, and almost told him of my Lifeshaper powers. But no, I’d learned that for a people who liked magic in their tales, the Kamajeen had a healthy disrespect for all but the divine methods of channeling it.

“I think I already have enough factors that it no longer matters.”
He picked up one of Taranda’s shells, and hurled it at my head. I caught it in my mouth, chewed and swallowed.

[Negligible nutrition. Eat in larger volumes for a full serving.] my System let me know.

“It annoys me that you can do that.” Masaad complained. “It is unnatural.”

Taranda shrugged. “Saves me a lot of time carrying the trash out to the burn pit.”

“You still have to do that daily.” Masaad said. “We mustn’t draw attention to our rebelious monster.”

“I’m not sure a plan to steal what I can carry and escape into the wilderness counts as a rebellion.” I said.

Taranda’s eyes watered. “You have a heart of stone, and a soul of salt, and you DESRVE to die here!” She didn’t even pelt me with shells before fleeing the tent.

Or perhaps tarp is a better word. It was a roof cover with four poles supporting the corner, leaning down from the mud-brick building it was up against. In the afternoon, Masaad hung up a rug to block the setting sun, but it didn’t reach the ground.

Also, the building itself wasn’t set properly to the path of the sun, but that was a different architectural issue.

“She is emotional, but she has a point.” Masaad said, breaking my chain of thought. “Even if one only wanted to escape, breaking the order of things here would keep one from being pursued.”

I sighed. “If things are as bad as you say, less than a third of the miners have the Sanity to join me.”

“I would have said one in ten, but yes, there is an issue that you cannot succeed with only the miners.” he said.

I scratched that itchy spot on the right side of my jaw.

Masaad tilted my head and looked at it. “That,” he said, “is definitely infected. You should lance it with one of your claws and squeeze it until the pus stops emerging.”

“Surely you don’t mean yourself and Taranda.” I said, making a furrow in my skin that just missed the zit. I used the thumb, and clipped the other side.

“Here, here.” Masaad said. “You are making a mess of the process. Let me do this!” he grabbed a needle and a tiny spoon with a hole in the center, and set to work. “I mean, of course, the guardsmen and women themselves. Many are discontented by their assignment here.”

I didn’t shake my head while his instruments were on my. “That seems unlikely; why would they risk mutiny or treason, whichever would apply?”

“Because,” he said, “they might survive here, but they do not thrive. And the outside, the desert animals and worse, those do not always keep to their side of the wall. Guards also, are here to die.”

I rubbed the outer edge of my palm against my good eye. “That makes no sense.” I said. “Even as stupid as they seem to be, the guards must have realized this. Why would they continue to serve here?”

“Do you think they plan their rebellions without using the prisoners as fodder for the loyal troops?” he asked. “What is lacking is a mind and a personality that can motivate both groups to work together, to suffer the losses of combat, and to carry on.”

“Well, that’s not me.” I admitted. “The guards seem to see me as a problem, and my fellow miners haven’t even seen fit to exchange names.”

“And have you given them yours?”

I snorted. “They seem less interested in that than in making certain they make their salt.”

“Of course they are.” Masaad said. “For those of level four or below, that’s enough food to survive a day. For those over, it is another day of slow starvation rather than rapid. For the slaves, salt is life.”

“What happens to the surplus food?” I asked.

“The guards divide that among themselves. The more slaves that go hungry, the more of their own hunger they get to sate. But make no mistake, the average guard is still hungry when they tighten their belts and sleep.”

I rubbed my left cheek and it produced an audible crack.

“What have you broken NOW!?” Masaad asked.

I waved a hand between us. “I am merely shedding.” I said. “That happens when my skin sustains enough damage, though it happens most readily in spring, and least in the fall.”

“That both seems normal and unsettling. Don’t let your fellow miners know, or they’ll rip off pieces of your skin and eat them in front of you.”

“Not that my skin is without nutritional value.” I said, “But why would they... never mind.” I said.

“Because they are hungry.” Masaad said.

“Because they are human.” I said. “Because a single serving of food now means more to them than their own future.”

“And yet...”

Taranda’s cussing slowly faded into audibility as she approached.

“Keep it in mind.” Masaad said. “Once or twice a season, it happens.”

“Ugh.” Taranda said, sulking into the tent with a clay jug. “It can’t rain enough here, if you ask me.”

“I admit I am more used to greener plants than the colors I find locally.” I said.

“Indeed.” Masaad said. “Rain occurs only when there are storm clouds. A pity that nobody knows how to make those.”

“I’ve heard this before.” Taranda complained.

“But he hasn’t.” Masaad said. “I’ve heard such wonderous things about the rain dance ceremony performed by the local hobgoblins. Did you get a chance to meet any?”

I shook my head. “I met some of the local gnolls.” I said.

Taranda stiffened. “My parents died to gnolls. I thought the nearest gnolls were two days away.”

“As did I.” Masaad said. “That they would be so close indicates a different type of storm is coming.”

“The guards still stand on the walls, such as we have.” Taranda said. “They would fight for us, if the gnolls came, wouldn’t they?”

Masaad spread his hands. “Who will fight and who will cower can only be known at the time.” he said. “I’ve seen youths fight with valor, and veterans disgrace themselves in the eyes of the Unknowable Father.”

“Lizard poop.” Taranda said. “I’ll bet you next month’s fruit that at least half of them fight.”

“I want my fruit ration.” Masaad said. “More than I want to be right, I want my fruit ration. I decline your foolish bet.”

She turned her eyes to look at me. “My fruit ration against yours?” she offered.

“I cannot lie to you.” I said. “We the miners don’t get a monthly fruit ration, not that I’ve heard of.”

“But I see the guards share fruit with the slaves.” she said.

“Maybe they are just kind.” Masaad said.

“Lizard poop.” Taranda said. “You can’t hide their reasons from me forever.”

Masaad stroked his beard. “Not forever, but at least one more day.”