Beastborne

by James T Callum

  They let out another shrill whistling cry and another four appeared from the covered wagons to surround them. Hal slowly took his hand away from his falchion and raised them non-threateningly.

  The karaks behind them corralled them forward and the more Hal took in the scene the stranger things became.

  What he thought were bundles of canvas were wrapped up bodies, in what appeared to be makeshift burial shrouds. Several weapons and discarded bits of armor littered the ground as if the entire caravan had been ransacked.

  And the karaks. The karaks were moving with a swiftness of order and discipline that Hal had never seen before. The karaks that helped move the caravan along were brilliant creatures, but they mostly kept to themselves.

  Their drivers formed tight bonds, as Hal witnessed between Lurklox and her karak who wouldn’t let anybody else sit in the driver’s seat without Lurklox beside them.

  This was on an entirely different level. Not a single human was around and the karaks wore armor. Or, at least they attempted to cobble together bits and pieces that they strapped to themselves in order to resemble armor.

  A few had what looked like short swords bound to their large taloned feet. And the blue-feathered karak at the center of the caravan was making high-pitched cries that the others were responding to.

  “They’re hurt,” Ashera said in a hushed, pained voice.

  Ushered in front of the large blue plumed karak, the wounded creature gave Hal a deeply mistrusting look and made a squawk at him. When Hal didn’t respond – because he couldn’t speak karak – the bird ruffled its feathers and stood taller.

  The spike on its lopsided, ill-fitted helmet glinted threateningly, though Hal wasn’t convinced it could bring it to bear quickly enough. Not that he had even the slightest intention of fighting the karaks.

  Especially not when he was able to see between the wide stance of the blue karak to the few huddled forms behind it. Young karaks, roughly half the size of the huge birds. Their yellow feathers were stained in blood and they made pitiful cooing sounds.

  “I can’t understand you,” Hal said to the karak. “But I think you can understand me, right?” He kept his hands clear of his weapon and stopped Splicing.

  The effect was immediate. The karaks relaxed by a few visible degrees, enough that Hal began to wonder if it was all a front. A defensive reaction to the sensation of his aberration and eldritch Essences.

  He didn’t have much time to ponder their reaction because the lead karak squawked loudly and flapped its short wings in what Hal thought was acceptance.

  I could really use Vorax’s help right about now, he thought. Then again, they might get spooked even more at the sight of the mimic.

  Looking at his party, most of them weren’t the least bit concerned. Karaks were known to sometimes be rebellious or free-spirited but they were still karaks after all.

  Even if these specific ones were well-trained, the six friends were confident enough in their own capabilities that even outnumbered 2 to 1, they felt safe.

  Most of them looked on with varying degrees of concern and sympathy. Karaks were rare creatures, and for them to be alone was rarer yet. That they survived some calamitous event that befell the caravan was obvious.

  Hal wasn’t about to rule out that they had a mutiny and killed the people currently wrapped in the burial shrouds. Though the way they treated the bodies, with a degree of respect considering the shrouds themselves, he doubted it.

  “We don’t want a fight,” Hal continued, motioning to his friends to nod along. “If you need help… we have food and water. There is medicine.” Hal pointed back at the caravan. “We have people who can heal your wounds.”

  The karaks looked at each other, conferring in low warbling calls back and forth to each other as they ignored the group and put their heads together in a huddle.

  Looking around the wreck of the camp, there were several karaks organizing sacks of goods into piles. One of them was sorting through a pile of weaponry and gear even, discarding broken or damaged pieces to the side.

  “This isn’t new,” Angram said, crossing his arms. “These karaks might have gone wild.”

  Hal turned to him once he noticed the karaks largely ignored them now as they discussed whatever it is they had to discuss. “How do you mean?”

  “I mean, they might have reverted to a wild state where they will accept no partners, no masters. I’ve heard of it before but it’s exceedingly rare. They’re too valuable usually to be wasted like that.”

  “You think they’ll attack us?” Mira asked. She casually put her halberd up across her shoulders and looped her forearms over top, holding it in place.

  Everybody gave the Dragoon a wide berth. She wasn’t the least bit threatening but she had a tendency to swing around. And with the halberd angled as it was, somebody was likely to get cut.

  It wouldn’t be the first time.

  “No,” Angram said, quick-stepping to get away from Mira. “I swear she’s going to cut somebody’s head off with that thing one day. What I meant is that they have been on their own for some time. The bodies have been cold for a while and look at the long raking claw marks on the wagons near the broken wheels.”

  They all followed his gaze and now that he was looking for it, Hal saw what he was talking about. It reminded Hal of a child trying to use a screwdriver. There were long rents all along the paneling around the broken pieces.

  “Are you saying….” Hal started, but Elora spoke over him.

  “They tried to repair the wagon. That is so… precious.”

  “Yes, well… as you can see the people here must have been gone for some days since by my guess. The cart over there, southwest of us? You can just barely see the stacked bodies inside. They were trying to transport them and must have broken down.”

  “Have they been following us?” Hal wondered aloud.

  “Kweh,” said the blue karak, lowering his large-beaked head to look Hal straight in the eye. The karak’s large dark eyes were sad and soulful. Even if he couldn’t communicate with words, Hal could feel the sorrow rolling off the lead karak.

  Before Hal could say anything more, the karak flashed forward with that large scooped beak of his and with surprising accuracy nipped his sleeve without pinching his arm beneath.

  The karak tugged him, again with alarming gentleness, toward a large chest that had countless scratches and impact marks. Several kitchen knives and other utensils were strewn about, broken and bent from the crude attempts at picking the lock.

  When that failed, they had obviously tried to break it open by main force.

  Hal looked up at the karak. “You want me to open this?”

  The blue karak released him and looked straight into his eyes. “Kweh.”

  47

  The thought did cross his mind to just bash the thing open, but upon further inspection, the lock didn’t seem particularly complicated. Hal called over Mira and motioned to the lock. “Think you can pick it?”

  “Why me?” she asked, trying a little too hard to sound offended.

  “Because you look like you’ve done a lot of shady shirt,” Hal said flatly. “I meant shirt.” He gave an exasperated sigh and looked Mira straight in the eye. “You know I mean shirt and not shirt, right?”

  Mira stared at him for a while, and just when she seemed about to reject that, she gave a curt nod. “Sure, that’s fair.” She set her halberd aside and knelt to the task.

  In a few moments, she had the chest picked and opened.

  “Better than I could have done,” Elora admitted.

  The lithe elven woman merely shrugged and stepped back. They all did as the blue karak came forward and inspected the contents. There was some gold of course, but most of it looked like bandages and potions.

  Hal spotted a few [Elixirs] glowing with their telltale purple-red inner light and several small [Health Potions] along with many others he didn’t know the name of.

  As the karak used its beak to rifle
through the contents, Hal caught Ashera moving her lips as she cataloged each of the items within.

  Finding what he was after, the karak plucked it gently and held it out between his beak to Hal. It wasn’t hard to imagine what he wanted. Karaks were brilliant, but they lacked opposable thumbs.

  Just the sort of thing you’d want to pop off the cork on a deep violet potion. Instead of taking the potion bottle back after Hal opened it, the karak led him back to the young wounded birds.

  He ruffled his feathers and gently nudged them with his head. It reminded Hal of a cat gently headbutting to show its affection. The young karaks made sad, pained noises that tore at Hal’s heart.

  In a flash he was by their sides, looking between the wounds and the potion he had. Up close, he saw that the blood that matted their feathers was somewhat old.

  Lifting the feathers out of the way, eliciting a pained cry from the yellow-feathered karak, Hal saw the wound below. An angry, green-edged slash. That it was poisoned seemed obvious enough but the item he held in his hand was no traditional [Antidote].

  The blue karak looked sharply at Hal but didn’t make any motion to stop him as he poured the bottle’s contents over the wound. Before his eyes, the green tinge vanished. The blood that came out was bright red.

  Elora was at his side, another of the bottles in hand as well as a [Health Potion]. Her face was tight with sympathy and together the pair had the three curled up adolescent karaks breathing easier and without pain.

  But they were young and tired from their ordeal. No sooner had their wounds been cured did they fall into a deep and restful slumber.

  By then, several karaks were gathered around the group. Rather than threateningly watching them, there was a look of tentative interest. Even hope, though Hal could have been reading them entirely wrong.

  He wasn’t sure how much cross-species emotions could be conveyed through the eyes.

  The lead karak, after checking on the children, came over to regard Hal and Elora. It leaned forward very gently and bumped its head into Hal’s and then Elora’s, drawing a gasp from the girl.

  At Hal’s curious look, she said, “They trust us. Or at least, do not consider us a threat.”

  “Please tell me you have been able to speak to them this whole time and only wanted to hold out to make things awkward,” Hal said.

  “No, but… oh.” Elora shook out her blonde hair. “Komachi probably can understand them. Vorax would too I bet. Karaks aren’t really monsters but you never know.”

  Hal was shaking his head as soon as he heard the mimic’s name. “I don’t want to cause a problem.” He turned to the blue karak who was watching them with a faint air of amusement. “Go get Komachi.”

  With a nod, Elora turned about and headed toward their caravan. She didn’t linger long and was back in short order with the sleepy brown-furred pobul resting comfortably on her shoulder.

  “Can you speak with the karaks?” Elora asked Komachi.

  The pobul gave her a sidelong look, then turned her warm lambent gaze on the karak. “Komachi.”

  Hal suppressed a sigh.

  What proceeded was a long drawn out conversation containing little more than a smattering of “warks,” “kwehs,” and of course, “komachis.” All spoken with varying inflection and at different levels of enthusiasm.

  It all felt like some kind of grand cosmic joke played at his expense. Like pokemon talking to each other even though it made zero sense. Resigned to his lot in life, Hal waited until the karak and Komachi finished their discussion.

  When it was over, Komachi slithered down into Elora’s waiting arms. “He says they lost their humans to monsters. But the humans were very keen to follow you so they thought they should do the same. Now they don’t know what to do.”

  Hal looked to each of his friends then the blue karak. “Do you want to come with us? We have room if you want to travel alongside the caravan, and there are other karaks as well.”

  “Ehhh,” Komachi said, twitching her many tiny whiskers. “These guys are kinda sketchy. Rogue karaks might try to corrupt our sweet, friendly birbs. Komachi loves her big birbs!”

  “Then you’ll be there to keep them in line,” Angram said, leaning over to pat Komachi on the head.

  The pobul scrunched up her little face and turtled her head a little to dodge Angram’s hand. Rolls of fur bunched up around her neck as she glared at him. The very suggestion of work was offensive.

  “Kweh!” replied the karak, fluffing up its downy blue feathers on its chest.

  With a final glare at Angram’s grinning face, Komachi stretched back out to normal. “He says, ‘Yes, but only if we remain independent. We will not be slaves. But we accept you as a friend of our tribe and will accompany you out of these accursed lands.’”

  “He said all of that, with a single word?” Hal asked, skeptical.

  “Bleh! We aren’t humans,” Komachi said, wagging a pad at him like a tiny finger. “Our communication is sophisticated and deep. You hear a single word because you’re a pleb.”

  Hal rolled his eyes and looked back at the karak. “You’re welcome with the Bravers Guild so long as you wish to be.”

  In response, the karak leaned forward and tilted its head down to expose the large feathery plumage atop its head. “Ya gotta touch your head to it,” Komachi said as if Hal was utterly uncultured.

  Doing so, Hal was surprised at the prompt that showed up.

  Kweh Gang Reputation Up!

  New Rank: Kweh.

  The Kweh Gang now views you as a trusted friend and will permit you to come and go within their territory as you please.

  It took them the better part of an hour to strip the wagons of anything worth carrying. The karaks helped where they could. Several of them wore armor and equipment that was hastily cobbled together to fit on a karak. They stood nearby, imperious and alert like any true sentry might.

  They acted more like people and the way they carried themselves with armor sets so intentionally disparate Hal couldn’t help but feel like they were trying to mimic classical Classes.

  He saw a karak wearing a modified set of canvas robes with long slits in the sides for its wings to poke out. Another karak with black feathers stalked about with a modified saddle fit with several spellbooks strapped to the sides.

  All of the bodies were stacked into one wagon and set ablaze as a final send off to the men and women who had been a part of the caravan. Hal couldn’t help but wonder who they were and why they were following him.

  The incredibly good luck of finding a dozen karaks with four young adolescents was incredible. If he could convince them to stay, they could be a great help to the burgeoning Guild and soon-to-be Settlement.

  Even with the karaks help, the sun was beginning to sink toward the western edge of the world when they finally put the destroyed wagon circle behind them.

  As they set up for camp the tall pillar of smoke finally disappeared against the dark velvet of nightfall. True to his word, Hal had shown the karaks around to the dwarves that were in charge of food for the karaks. And they partook of the food alongside their working cousins.

  Komachi elected to ride one of them and despite the pobul’s usually bratty-but-adorable nature, Hal found himself grinning at the spectacle. The Kweh Gang karaks, for all their eccentricities, were quite gentle and sweet.

  It didn’t take long for the karak chicks to begin joining in the fun. They were about the same height as a dwarf and the surly men and women of Clan Bouldergut were more than happy to distract themselves from the fairly boring wagon ride.

  As darkness began to fall in full, they searched for a defensible spot to set up camp. The trilling calls of the karaks and the deep belly-laughs of the dwarves were a piece of constant background music.

  When they stopped to camp that night, Ashera sought Hal out with a concerned expression. She held a small tattered leather-bound booklet in one hand that was salvaged from the karak wagons. “We have a problem.”

>   48

  Sitting at the table, reading by the light of a lamp, Hal thumbed through the tattered leather-bound diary.

  “Fifty-thousand sparks?” Hal asked incredulously, tossing the book down onto the table. It slid halfway across the smooth polished surface, forcing Mira to pick up her mug to avoid it getting knocked over.

  “That doesn’t seem the most important part to latch onto,” Elora said behind him.

  “I know, but… really?” Hal couldn’t let it go. “Aren’t we worth a little more than a fifty-thousand bounty? I mean we’re a threat to Rinbast’s whole operation, aren’t we? One that slipped through his fingers back on Murkmire to boot. You’d think we’d command a higher price.”

  Mira snickered, setting her mug atop the journal like it was a coaster. “Don’t lump me into that. This bounty is on you.”

  Ashera placed a calming hand on Hal’s shoulder. “Perhaps we should be grateful Rinbast is still underestimating us.” Ashera looked at Mira as she emphasized the last word. “If one of us is targeted, we all are,” she reminded them.

  “We have ranged far and wide,” Ashera continued, “our trail will be cold to many but the most experienced trackers. And any that hail from Murkmire may be less-than-ready to turn on somebody so recently in good standing.”

  “She’s got a point on more than one count,” Mira said, taking a long draw from her mug and kicking her feet up onto the table. “The people we’re likely to run into looking for that sort of bounty aren’t the sort that will cause us much trouble. They’re the ones itching for payment of any kind, and the true professionals wouldn’t bat an eye at that price.”

  “Is it normal,” Angram began, leaning against the wall of the wagon, “for run-down bounty hunters to have that many karaks? Their number is greater than our own and, if you forget, they were quite expensive.”

  “That’s a fair point,” Hal said. “Why did they have so many karaks? The journal wasn’t very explicit. It was more of a mixed ledger talking about their rations, the people they had with them, and the most recent bounties they took.”