d6 (Caverns and Creatures)

by Robert Bevan

He turned his attention from Cooper to Julian and waddled over in his direction. He looked up at Julian with one good eye, and one not-so-good. The off eye was milky white and didn’t look to be functional.

  “Um…” Julian could feel his voice shaking. “Hello.”

  The lizardman grunted and looked down. He plucked a leech from his inner thigh and popped it right into his mouth.

  Julian supposed you didn’t earn a body like that being finicky. His heart was pounding and his face was burning. “My name is Julian.” He had to start with something.

  The lizardman spoke through a series of what sounded like burps, slurps, and gargles.

  “I, uh…”

  “He want to know if you gots any questions,” said Boudreaux.”

  “Questions?” repeated Julian incredulously. “Okay. Here’s one. What do they plan to do with us?”

  The lizardman dressed in teeth spoke to Boudreaux without having had Julian’s words translated. Julian took this to mean that he understood the Common tongue, but refused to speak it.

  “He say the chief wanna have y’all fo’ supper.”

  Julian swallowed. “That could be interpreted two entirely different ways. Which one did he mean?”

  “He didn’t specify,” said Boudreaux. “Any mo’ questions?”

  “What’s wrong with my face?” asked Julian. “Hell, what the fuck is wrong with Dave?” He looked across to Dave, whose face was swollen like a hairy red balloon.

  “Well I can answer that,” said Boudreaux. “The old man done flung his shit at you.”

  The six lizardmen with the blow-darts, who had been standing around silently until now, quietly laughed. Even the fat one smiled.

  “Yeah,” said Julian. “I seem to recall that. So what? Does he shit acid or something?”

  “There’s berries grow wild out here in the swamp,” said Boudreaux. “Deadberries we call them. Bright red, and poisonous as devil sperm. No joke, one of those deadberries be enough to kill a grown man, iffin he be stupid enough to eat it. But that crazy ol’ fool eat ‘em like candy. He don’t die, but he shit mo’ in a day than you or I does in a month. That be the truth!”

  “So his shit is loaded with deadberry juice?” said Julian.

  “That’s right,” said Boudreaux. “Now think about that. That’s just the juice, done been mostly digested already. And look what it do to yo’ outsides.” He gestured at Dave. “Now think about what a fresh berry gonna do to a man’s insides.”

  “Why didn’t it have any effect on Cooper?”

  “He was protected by a layer of filth.”

  “How long are we going to be like this?”

  “Not long,” said Boudreaux. “Shaman gonna fix you up.”

  The fat lizardman in the alligator tooth skirt, the shaman, removed a membranous pouch, tied off at both ends with a cord, from around his neck. He untied one end of it and reached his hand inside. When he pulled it out again, it was covered in what looked like infected puss. When he spread it on Julian’s face, the smell offered further evidence to support his hypothesis.

  “Ew!” cried Julian. “That’s so fucking gross.”

  The shaman laughed at him as he lathered on the slimy yellow substance. Then he turned around and waddled over toward Dave.

  By the time the shaman reached Dave, Julian could feel a noticeable decrease in the severity of the burning and itching.

  Once Dave’s head and Tim’s hand had deflated to their appropriate sizes, the shaman waved his hand, loosening the vines that held them all.

  Julian’s face didn’t itch anymore, but he scratched it anyway, just because he could. His skin was equally smooth on both sides, if not a little slimy and smelly. Suddenly, a thought occurred to him.

  “Where’s Ravenus?”

  “You bird be all right,” said Boudreaux. “He visit with the chief right now as we speak.” He must have been telling the truth. Julian would know if Ravenus was in trouble. “We can go join them as soon as you friend wake up.”

  “How long is that going to take?” asked Tim, wringing his recently un-swollen hand. “We’re under some time pressure.”

  “He a big strong guy,” said Boudreaux. “But they done shot him up with six times the normal dosage. He could be out a while.”

  “Ice his balls,” said Dave.

  “I’m not going anywhere near his balls,” said Tim. “You ice his balls.”

  “Fine,” said Dave. He removed his helmet and filled it with swamp water up to where the face of it opened up. “Julian?”

  Julian pointed at the contents of the helmet. “Freeze.” A thin, blue beam of light crackled through the humid air. The water in the helmet cracked and groaned as the molecules suddenly expanded, as if the one in the middle had just farted.

  Dave turned the helmet upside down, and a helmet-shaped chunk of ice plunked down into the water. He put his helmet back on. “Whoa!” he said. “That feels great!”

  He picked up the ice chunk and stomped through the muddy water to where Cooper was still restrained in a thick tangle of vines. He averted his eyes as he reached the ice under Cooper’s loincloth.

  Cooper began to squirm, then moan, then giggle. “Knock it off, Buford! That tickles.”

  “Who the hell is Buford?” asked Julian.

  “That’s his dog’s name,” said Tim.

  “Ew,” said Julian. “I don’t even want to think about what –”

  “Then don’t!” said Tim.

  “Hey guys,” said Cooper. “What’s up? Thanks for chilling my balls, Dave.”

  Dave dropped the ice and rubbed his hands together in the swamp water.

  “Cooper,” said Tim. “This is the shaman of the lizardman tribe. He’s not going to hurt us. Well, not yet at least. So don’t lose your shit when he releases you, okay?”

  Cooper nodded. The shaman waved his hand, and the vines loosened their grip.

  The shaman led the way, having Boudreaux warn them to follow his lead exactly, for the path they traveled was artificially elevated to a point just six inches below the water, rendering it completely invisible. Any deviation from the path would put the deviant in much deeper, and less friendly, water.

  They walked single file. Boudreaux followed the shaman. The rest of the line alternated between captive and captor, with three lizardmen taking the rear. They made no effort to hide the fact that their blowguns were stuffed with fresh darts and ready to fire.

  They walked until they reached a peculiar section of swamp, where some of the trees had a strange, conical pattern of vines growing on them. At ground level, the vines grew out of the water about five feet away from the trunk. They came together to wrap around the trunk about fifteen feet up.

  Julian was just about to ask about the strange vine formations when some of the vines of one of them parted, and a lizardman emerged, stretching his arms out like he’d just awakened from a nap. Seeing the marching party, he immediately bowed and gurgled some kind of greeting to the shaman, who raised his hand slightly in acknowledgement.

  “Your people live in those?” Julian asked to any lizardman who was listening.

  “Welcome to Q’abbatt,” said Boudreaux.

  They continued along the submerged trail, which would suddenly change direction at haphazard intervals, only to change back to the original direction just as suddenly. Julian imagined the time a terrestrial army would have trying to chase these guys through their native habitat.

  The farther they walked, the higher the concentration of vine huts became, until the base of every tree they saw was surrounded by the conical vine formations. Some of them were noticeably larger, and took on more of a dome shape. Others still connected two trees by vine-covered archway. Julian guessed these larger vine formations were the homes of either the more well-to-do lizardfolk, or maybe just the ones with the largest families. He was so preoccupied in his speculation that the main attraction caught him completely by surprise.

  “Oh my God,” said Dave.

 
“Fuck me, that’s big,” said Cooper.

  Julian looked ahead. A massive pavilion, also composed entirely of vines, stood within six of the mightiest cypress trees in the swamp. The trees stood in a hexagonal formation, a thick braid of vines reaching down from the top of each one to support the massive, six-pointed, living structure. In truth, it was probably no larger than a four bedroom, two-story house. But here in the swamp it looked to be about as big as the Superdome.

  The shaman stopped, halting the entire procession, and belched out some lizard words.

  “He say you’s free to step where you like now,” said Boudreaux. “But y’all make sho’ you mind you’s manners in the presence of the chief.”

  “You hear that, Cooper?” said Tim. “You keep your goddamn mouth shut. Even if your balls catch on fire, you just nudge Julian and point to them.”

  The shaman waved his arms, and the vines before them untangled from each other and parted like a theater curtain. The entire party stepped inside.

  The vine curtain closed behind them, but the pavilion didn’t get any darker. Glancing around the interior, Julian noticed sconces along the walls, providing more than ample light. By their lack of flicker, Julian guessed that the sources of light were some permanently Light-enchanted stones, as he’d seen so much of in this world already.

  The largest cypress tree of all grew in the center of the pavilion, supporting the high, pointed ceiling. Floating at its base was a massive, rectangular slab of polished wood. It had a hole in the center, just a little larger in diameter than the tree that grew up through it, and smaller holes at regular intervals along its edge. Several dozen smaller slabs of similarly polished wood floated freely in the shallow black water covering the floor. They had holes in each corner.

  The air above them was a cacophony of squawks, chirps, whistles, and caws. Looking up, Julian saw all manner of tropical birds. Some flew freely. Some perched on the lower branches of the great cypress tree. Others sat in cages suspended from the vine ceiling. They ranged in size from that of a hummingbird to that of an eagle, with colors more wild and vibrant than Julian had ever encountered in nature.

  “They are beautiful, are they not?” said a lizardman stepping into view from behind the great cypress tree. He didn’t look particularly old, for a community which chose its elders as their leader. Neither did he look particularly strong, for a community through which the hierarchy is decided through violence. He didn’t even look like a fat, bloated slug, laden with gems and jewelry, like Julian imagined a swamp monarch who had gained his title through heredity alone might look. He wore a simple leather cord around his neck, adorned with a few brightly-colored feathers. The confidence and dignity with which he carried himself left no doubt in Julian’s mind, however, that he was in the presence of the chief.

  Julian plopped a knee down in the stagnant, black water. “Your highness.”

  The chief waved his hand dismissively at Julian. “Please. There is no call for such formality. I am not royalty. I am but a humble tribal chief.” He turned to the shaman. “Our guests are weary from travel. Please provide them a place to rest.”

  The shaman grumbled some lizard words and waved his hands around. The giant slab of wood floating at the base of the great cypress tree began to rise on a bed of vines. They secured it in place by worming their way through the holes on the edges. Similarly, vines grew out from beneath the water, collecting the smaller slabs of wood and dragging them in pairs to positions around the perimeter of the larger slab. Smaller beds of vines pushed one of every pair of slabs six inches out of the water, while securing the other vertically behind it. Where a few moments ago there had been a haphazard scattering of floating pieces of wood, there was now a full set of dining room furniture.

  “Have a seat,” said the chief.

  At once, the six lizardmen with the blowguns took places behind every other chair on either side of the table, leaving no room for any of the captives to sit next to one another. Julian, Tim, Dave, and Cooper took their places behind chairs between the lizardmen. Boudreaux and the shaman circled around the table, but remained standing. The chief took his place at the head of the table and sat down, followed by the lizardmen, and further followed by Julian and his friends.

  “Permission to speak, sir?” said Julian.

  “Of course!” said the lizard chieftain. “I grow tired of my own voice. Please voice whatever is on your mind.”

  “My familiar,” said Julian. “He’s a big black raven. I was told he was here.”

  “Ah, Ravenus!” said the chief. “A fine, mighty specimen of a bird.”

  “He’s okay then?”

  The lizard chieftain laughed heartily. “I dare say no bird in the history of the world has had a better day than Ravenus has had today. And the stories he has to tell.” He wiped a tear from his eye. “Which one of you is Dave? Please let me see your arm.”

  Dave reluctantly held up his leopard-skinned forearm.

  “So it’s true,” said the chief. “Remarkable.”

  “You speak Elven?” asked Julian, switching to a British accent.

  “I speak many languages,” said the chief, matching Julian’s accent.

  Cooper, who hadn’t spent any skill points to learn Elven, opened his mouth to object, but Tim shut him up with a severe glare.

  “May I see him?” asked Julian.

  “Well that’s up to Ravenus, isn’t it?” said the chief. “Ravenus, come hither!” he said into the air.

  Ravenus flapped, with the grace of a drunk moth, straight into the trunk of the great cypress at the center of the table. He fell over on his side, his black plumage flecked with foreign, vibrantly-colored feathers. He hopped to his feet and hobbled toward Julian like he’d just spent a full day riding bareback on a galloping horse.

  “Ravenus,” said Julian. “Are you okay?”

  “I think so, sir,” said Ravenus. “I’m a little sore, but on the bright side, I’d estimate that five hundred years from now, at least seventy percent of the birds in the world will be able to trace their ancestry back to me.”

  “Why all the long faces?” asked the chief. “I’ve traveled around a bit, and I’ve never met a halfling without a story to tell, or a half-orc without a crude joke. It strikes me as ironic that the elf among you is the most chatty.”

  From somewhere in the bird-filled canopy above, a white blob landed on Cooper’s head and dribbled down his cheek.

  The chief burst into loud, raucous laughter. The six blowgun lizardmen joined in the laughter, though theirs was far more controlled and subdued. Cooper stared straight ahead, deliberately tight-lipped. When the bird shit made it to the corner of his mouth, he licked it off. The facial expression that followed suggested that the taste was more bitter than he had expected.

  After a long, uncomfortable moment, the lizard chieftain’s laughter calmed down. “You’ll have to forgive me, half-orc. I… This is silly. I can’t keep calling you half-orc now, can I? My name is Feather Dancer. May I have yours?”

  Cooper continued staring straight ahead, his lips pressed together tightly enough to turn coal into diamonds.

  Feather Dancer frowned. His forked tongue flicked in and out a few times. “Is he ignoring me?”

  “I’m sorry, your highness,” said Tim. “His name is Cooper. He’s deaf and dumb.”

  Feather Dancer stared at Tim. “Is he now?” He turned his attention to Cooper and placed his elbow on the table. He blew gently on his thumb and index fingers, snapping them as he did so. The sound of the snap came from directly behind Cooper’s right ear. Cooper’s head jerked slightly to the right.

  “Shit,” Tim whispered under his breath.

  “Well he’s certainly not deaf,” said the chief. “Tell me, Cooper. Are you dumb?”

  Cooper shrugged at Tim and turned to the chief. “I have a below-average Intelligence score, yes.”

  Tim planted his face on the table.

  “We apologize,” said Dave. “We didn’t want t
o deceive you, but we thought it best if Cooper didn’t talk. His Charisma score is also very low. We didn’t want him to offend you.”

  “Your words are strange to me,” said the chief. “Even for mammals.” He placed both elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Tell me, gentlemen. Do you know what the most potent weapon in war is?” He looked at Julian.

  “Trebuchets?” Julian guessed.

  “No,” said Feather Dancer. He turned to Tim.

  Tim sighed. “Um… I don’t know. Fire?”

  “Wrong.” The chief looked at Dave expectantly.

  “Smallpox?”

  “What?” The chief rolled his eyes and looked impatiently at Cooper, as if he was only doing so because he felt obligated to let him have a guess. “Well?”