Poisonous Fox

The rest of that day, as we traveled, I learned more about the fantastic jungles to the south. Having steamy and tropical climes, I of course had to ask about the gloomy weather, and if they perhaps had at least seen the sun.

Apparently, the term came across as unfamiliar. The closest translation I could think of was the Kaivan term for ‘great sky spirit,’ which they misconstrued as the grand temples their civilization built around and upon.

I had been lucky, when I had asked that question. Knowledge, or hints of knowledge, as of seeing something as fantastical as a heavenly body, other than an overcast sky, would have painted me as quite the outsider. Apparently.

But regardless of the near faux pas, I learned a substantial amount until the caravan stopped that evening to make camp.

We had settled into a speculative conversation, once again, as to my origins. Such as my species, and where I might have originated. The Kaiva had made a game of trying to guess based on whatever clues they thought they could derive.

“But the eyes, her eyes!” Larissen said. “Such a burning blue, where else could that come from but the sea?”

Kissen snorted, “Rhymes gain no points.”

“But this is serious,” Larissen said. “Far to the west, the isles, and beyond that, the jeweled sands. Are those not rumored exotic?”

“But–” the sick one, who was named Issen and the eldest of the trio, interjected with a rasp. “-but how could a pup go from there to–” he ended in a cough.

“Easy, brother,” Kissen said. “And this is also my question.”

“Humans, of course,” Larissen explained.

Neither of the other two could immediately refute that.

Kissen instead came from another angle. “My brother forgets, that Kitten speak our tongue. That is not so across the Liching Seas.”

“And how is this known?” Larisssen asked.

“Are these undead Kaivan?” Kissen asked, amused.

Issen snorted, but added nothing else.

Larissen did have a follow up for that, however. “Perhaps not, but another reason could exist as well.”

“Oh?” Kissen asked, mildly amused.

“Yes. That reason. It is…” he trailed off to build suspense, “...humans.”

Issen chuckle-coughed while Kissen snorted.

I finally decided to divert the game. I had another question for them, Kissen in particular. It centered around a term she continued to use when speaking of me.

“Why call me Kitten?” I asked, slightly mangling their tongue. “Or… pup?” From my sparse memories, I knew I was old. Around my twenties, or so I thought. Well beyond what either of those affectations would imply, unless the Kaiva were unnaturally long lived. So I felt marginal surprise when that ended up being exactly their answer.

“Youth,” Issen said. Kissen and Larissen both agreed, nodding along.

Which was strange. Granted, physically, I was smaller than all of them, even Kissen, so that I could not necessarily explain it as sexual dimorphism. But that could have also been a genetic quirk, similar to the other physical differences.

Still though, I had to know more.

“How young do I look?” I asked.

Kissen and her brothers exchanged glances.

“Fifteen, and no older.”

By this time, we were no closer to discovering my origins, and the camp had been set. Our discussion had unknowingly drawn the attention of one of the humans.

“Animals,” a man said, approaching.

He wore a hooded jacket made of dark leather, with a padded vest. Leather bandoliers strapped across his chest and waist, which were lined with fluid filled vials, some glowing, some opaque, none of them labeled. Beneath his hood, the left side of his face had been masked, with an orange lens completely hiding that eye. His mouth had been left uncovered, revealing canines that seemed inhumanly sharp.

Most notably, though, was not his looks, nor the alchemical mixtures. No. It was the scent of distress and pain that lingered after him, alien, yet familiar, and almost jogging a memory free.

The man could have cared less about my inspection.

He smeared at me. “You, animal–” he said with much disdain “-what species are you?”

I guessed that even the humans wanted in on the game. Not that I would admit that out loud. I could have imagined Larissen saying something along the lines of, ‘This one thinks the human should get in line.’

Apparently, he saw something in my expression he disliked, for he raised his voice. “Answer me!” he demanded.

I opened, then closed my mouth. Not to be obstinate, but I had trouble getting a read of this man. And without knowing if what I said would further my cause or not, I was disinclined to offer out potential leverage against me.

When my silence became apparent, he snarled and threatened. “I will find that answer. And the means will not be enjoyable. Now show me your arms.”

He wanted to see the tattoos? With that attitude? I thought not. I pressed my forearms to my sides, hiding the marks from sight.

“Beast,” he spat.

One of his hands traced the vials along his bandolier, and they stopped on a corpulent orange one.

I tensed, and I was not the only one.

He almost pulled it loose. Almost. But at the last second, he seemed to think better of it, instead smiling nastily.

“At least it shows your feeble brain comprehends basic Imperial. Which may be useful–” he muttered, more to himself than to me, before refocusing me with his ire. “-I know your glyphs are in High Silver. What living stone was used? Who performed the Rites? How–”

At that point, he was interrupted by a familiar, boisterous, and ridiculous young woman.

“Alchemist Apprentice Charson,” Sir Kate called out loudly, striding up to meet him. “These are questions that I find relevant as well. Have you determined any answers?”

The man, apparently Apprentice Alchemist Charson, performed a complete reversal in his attitude and inclined his head slightly to Sir Kate. “I have found the beasts uncooperative. Have you had more success in this matter, perhaps?”

“No,” Sir Kate answered. “Lieutenant Muleater and scouts were unable to find her trail. Whoever injured her did so far enough away as to leave no residue and it is unlikely that they followed her.”

“Unfortunate but expected. Perhaps the beast has a Talent that played a role?”

Sir Kate shrugged, “She will tell me soon, I feel.”

“Ambitious to trust a beast’s intent,” Charson said. “Though perhaps it feels indebted as you expended quite the valuable healing tincture. Not that creatures understand wealth. But surely, even simple minds must understand the value of healing… how will you justify that expense, if you would humor me?”

“What do you mean?” Sir Kate asked, frowning in confusion.

“Healing another’s property,” he said. “Do you think its owner will compensate you, perhaps? Or are you expecting a reward?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Something like that.”

“Or perhaps, you mean to lay a salvage claim?” he asked with a wry smirk. “But do I not remember your contract–”

“Enough,” she said brusquely.

Charson feigned insult. “Now, I know many find my craft distasteful, but surely you could afford manners? You could, after all–”

“Enough!” she snapped. “I don’t know what your game is–” she pointed a finger at his chin “-but stop! I’m not in the mood.”

“And here I was near about to offer you an elixir,” he said, in an insufferable smug yet deceitful tone. “Perhaps one to benefit your speed and dexterity? A permanent boost?”

“Yeah?” she asked. “What for?”

“Merely for the–”

“Nah,” she said. “Keep it to yourself. I don’t need any deviations on top of everything else, apprentice.” She finished all but in a disdainful sneer.

The conversation was breaking down, and I could not fathom why. What rivalry was at play, or what injury had their egos suffered? The antagonism was difficult to follow; I was missing context.

Fortunately, before I was caught up in any further escalations, the Lieutenant barked for Kate’s attention. “Kate! Have we discovered any abilities from the Marks? Any unusual behavior?”

“No!” Kate shouted back across the camp, rather than heading towards her aunt.

“Then attend to your duties!” Muleater shouted back. Several other voices were cajoling throughout the camp as people settled in. A moment later, Muleater added, “And Ken is available for a spar.”

“Ugh,” Kate groaned. “Fiiine,” she said. She turned and left after that, but not before she gave the alchemist one final threatening glare. “Keep your hands off her,” she warned, stomping away to attend to her duties.