by Ian Rodgers
In fact, the bottoms of the wagons and cages in the Menagerie had this same magical array carved into them so if any ‘passengers’ tried to cause trouble they could be subdued immediately.
Dora watched impassively as the Megalith Snail finally collapsed under the barrage of magical and electrical energy.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” Holt asked, approaching Dora from the side, his own eyes latched onto the massive gastropod as well.
“I never thought that simple copper wire could be so useful,” Dora stated, nodding in acknowledgement of the older man’s skills.
“Human ingenuity is a terrifying thing,” Holt pointed out.
“Yeah, but here is where an orc’s power comes into play,” Dora said, watching intently as a new challenger entered the ring.
Scarrot Yellowmoon strode forward, careful to avoid the smoking strands of metal as he glared down at the insensate Megalith Snail. He drew his leather whip and quickly laid quick, sharp strokes upon the monster’s tender flesh.
It whimpered in pain and tried to escape into its shell, but the dark-skinned orc reached out and grabbed one of the eyestalks. It writhed at the contact but ceased trying to retreat into its portable home.
“Bring the cage over here!” Scarrot shouted. A cage set onto a wagon was pushed forward, and a ramp was lowered.
The orc began to step forward towards the open cage, and whipped the shell of the Megalith Snail lightly to convince it to move forward with him. The magical beast gurgled but complied, and in a few moments the newest addition to the Menagerie was safely secured in a fire-and-acid-proof container.
“Add a few doses of Healing Potion to the Megalith Snail’s next few meals so that it’s better condition for sale by the time we reach Creidor,” Scarrot ordered as he stepped away from cage.
“Now, let’s pack it up here and head back to the caravan and have some well-earned food!”
This brought a cheer from the lips of the hungry men, and they hurried back to the circle of wagons. Dora smiled eagerly and followed after the group. As she passed by, a heavy hand clapped her shoulder.
She froze at the contact, old fears bubbling to the surface. The offending appendage was removed almost immediately as Dora tensed up. The half-orc maiden sucked in a deep breath and turned to the person who’d accosted her.
It was Scarrot, who was staring at her with narrowed eyes and an unreadable expression.
“Yes, boss?” Dora asked softly.
“Good work out there. You performed admirably. Rindel, I think she deserves a reward.”
“Got it, boss. I know just the thing for her,” the gnome agreed, shooting the light green skinned woman a smile and a wink.
Dora’s spirits rose. She had a feeling she knew what the cook was planning and felt happy and excited, her earlier worries vanishing. Indeed, she smiled widely as the diminutive chef reached into a secured pack on the food cart and removed a jam pastry with crystalized honey glaze over it.
“Here you go, the last of the jelly buns. Hopefully when we get to Creidor I can get the supplies for more, but right now, enjoy this. Might be a bit stale though.”
“It’s perfect,” Dora whispered, biting into the snack and sighing in bliss. She knew she should eat her lunch first, but this was far too tantalizing.
As she ate, the tastes of her old life flooded back, and she could visualize her mother standing in the kitchen and preparing these for special occasions.
Off to the side, Scarrot watched, nibbling his lower lip.
“Don’t worry, boss, like I promised we can make more later,” Rindel claimed, a knowing grin on his face.
“Hmph.” Scarrot didn’t bother dignifying the smug gnome with a proper response.
Chapter 3: This life of ours
“What’s that? What’s that? Jam, jam, jam!” A young, mint colored girl pranced happily around a small kitchen, waving her hands in the air.
An exasperated sigh came from a young woman preparing dough, but she smiled kindly as she observed the energetic child.
“Dora, do you want to help me make the jam buns?”
“I like jam buns!” the young half-orc declared. She ran out of the kitchen, but hurried back to her mother’s side dragging a wooden chair.
Propping the furniture up against the counter, Dora clambered up and stood next to her mother, eagerly bouncing up and down.
“I need you to knead this dough. And after we bake them, we’ll add the filling, OK?”
“Can we add honey?” Dora asked, reaching out for a bottle of the golden nectar nearby.
To her disappointment the vial was moved out of her reach.
“Yes, but not yet. First, we need to do this. Everything has an order to it,” Dora.”
“Like with healing?” the young girl inquired, looking up towards her mother.
“Yes, just like healing. What’s the first thing to do when a patient comes in?” the Healer inquired.
Dora pouted as she thought through the question and formulated her answer.
“Identify the problem,” she said slowly, reciting the lesson from memory. “Observe how the ailment interacts with the body. Once the problem is discovered and you know what needs to be done, prepare a cure.”
“Very good, Dora! Now let’s make some jam buns to celebrate,” the Healer praised, patting her daughter’s head. The half-orc smiled widely and began to attack the dough, pounding it with her tiny fists.
“Is mommy a good Healer?” Dora asked after a while.
“I like to think so. I did pass all my tests from the Healer’s Order after all. Why?” the blonde-haired woman asked, interested as to the sudden interest her daughter was showing.
“I wanna help!” she declared. “I wanna help mommy heal people! I wanna be a Healer, too!”
“Why, Dora? Not that such a dream is a bad thing, quite the opposite. What brought this about?”
Dora looked down, unable to meet her parent’s searching gaze. After a bit of mumbling, she gave her answer.
“I wanna be useful. I heard one of the men in the funny clothes talking loudly about how if you aren’t helpful, you’re a bad person. I’m not bad! I’m a good girl!”
“Ah. While you shouldn’t take everything the wandering missionaries preach seriously, it’s a good dream to have,” the young mother said, bobbing Dora on the nose and leaving behind a smidge of dough on the tip.
She laughed as Dora scrunched up her face cutely trying to see the glob of raw food that had attached to her nose before batting at her face trying to wipe it off.
“Alright, Dora. If you’re good, and keep up with your chores and other lessons, I’ll let you watch as I do my job, and teach you a bit about what it means to be a Healer of Cynthia,” the mother declared, her heart aching with joy as her daughter cheered and clapped, sending clouds of flour and dough everywhere.
“For your first lesson on being a Healer, repeat after me: Do no harm save that which must be done to help others…”
.
It was an errant sunbeam that woke Dora from her dreams this time. Though she was pleased by the gentler awakening, she wished she could return to her sleep and see her mother once again.
Groaning, she got off of her cot regardless and began to prepare for the day. Two days of hard riding on the back of Starspot had made her calves and buttocks sore.
The grizzled leader of the Yellowmoon Menagerie wanted the group to push on further and faster now that they possessed a more volatile monster.
Sure, Sphinxes were powerful and dangerous, but Megalith Snails secreted a noisome fluid that corroded everything it touched, be it organic or otherwise. It was better to sell it quickly to someone who actually had the means to contain it safely.
Plus, they had fewer supplies thanks to their new addition. To remedy all their problems, Scarrot ordered a forced march to push the caravan as far as it could go as fast as possible.
The caravan was currently less than a day’s ride from Creidor, one of the
few major settlements in the Cracked Land side of the Dreadlands. Translated into time by traveling with lots of wagons and luggage, another day or so would be needed. If lucky, they might arrive by nightfall.
“You’re up early,” Rindel noted as Dora emerged from her tent, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
“Against my better judgement,” the half-orc grumbled. “Last time I put my tent in the path of the rising sun.”
The gnome chuckled, passing the green maiden a mug of tea. Taking it gratefully, Dora sat on a pile of luggage and watched the other members of the Menagerie move about in the early morning light.
She recognized only a few familiar faces amid the crowd. Most of the men who worked in the caravan were part timers, hired on for just a portion of the long journey through the hostile wastes. Some did so for quick cash, others because they needed to go from one place to another.
It kept expenses down, but left only a small core of hardened and loyal followers to the Yellowmoon Menagerie.
Dora’s eyes drifted to the gnome at the cooking fire. Quartermaster and the oldest member of the group, Rindel had been with Scarrot for a long time, supposedly since the Menagerie was formed.
As for her, it would be two years since she’d left her old life to join up with this one. In just a few days she’d be seventeen, and then a week after that…
Dora blinked slowly as she realized the significance of her stray thought.
Two years. Had it really been that long?
“Hey, Rindel. Why did you join up with this group?” Dora asked as she nursed her cup of tea. The diminutive figure glanced up.
“Odd question. And out of the blue somewhat.”
“I just realized it’s been nearly two years since I joined,” Dora admitted. “And you’re one of the few people who’s been with the outfit longer than as just a temp. I sort of wanted to know… what drove you to this.”
“Ah,” Rindel said slowly, putting his ladle down. He stared at Dora who shifted under his piercing look.
“You do know that you have choices other than this, right, Dora? You don’t have to stay here, even if you feel indebted to the boss,” Rindel pointed out.
The half-orc looked away causing the Quartermaster to shake his head at her antics.
“If you must know, my tale is hardly that impressive. Scarrot and Holt were making a trade caravan, and they needed talented and skilled people. They offered good pay, they seemed like people who wouldn’t betray or cheat me like my previous employers, and, so far they have yet to disappoint me.”
“B-but, did you know that this was, um…” Dora was unable to say anything, and kept glancing at the wagons.
“Yes, I knew the merchandise was people,” Rindel said.
“Why?” Dora whispered.
“Because that’s just how it is down here. Do what you can to survive. And at least the Yellowmoon Menagerie only trades in crime and debt slaves. They never kidnap or peddle innocent flesh.”
“I know that, but I can’t get over it. Slavery is wrong,” the half-orc muttered.
Rindel just hummed in contemplation, finished the breakfast porridge and passed Dora a steaming bowl.
“Oh boy, oats and beans. Do the wonders never cease?” Reesh called out sarcastically, accompanied by a massive, towering bulk of muscles and tanned skin.
The hairless half-amazon Uldo said nothing and just accepted the offered food from the gnome, offering a nod in thanks.
Dora couldn’t help but stare at the bald man with a hint of wariness. He was the muscle of the operations and the epitome of a gentle giant, rarely speaking. He could drag a loaded wagon if needed, replacing a horse he was so strong. She knew he’d never hurt her, or anyone else, but that didn’t remove the fact that he could crush stone by flexing gently or sitting down too hard.
“Why can’t you be like Uldo here, Reesh? Or even Dora? They never complain,” Rindel teased.
“Uldo never talks and Dora is too nice to say anything mean or hurtful,” Reesh retorted.
“Well maybe you should follow their example,” Rindel joked, earning laughs from the group. “Hey, since you guys are here, why not answer dear Dora’s question.”
“And what’s that?” Reesh inquired, glancing at the green woman.
“Why are you here? I mean, you and Uldo and Rindel are the only people who have been with the caravan longer than I have. Why stay? Why even join?” Dora asked.
His veneer of cheerfulness slipped and was replaced by a cold hard mask. A frown split the lanky human’s face.
“That’s rather personal, Dora,” Reesh said, voice low.
“I want to know, Reesh. It’s been nearly two years for me, and I’m… just thinking too hard,” she replied, scared by his sudden shift in mood.
“You’re a nice kid, Dora, and there are some stories that are unpleasant for decent folk to hear,” the thin man said. “But if you want to know, listen close.”
He squatted down and leaned in to the young woman.
“Long story short, I was a slave myself,” Reesh began, ignoring the choked gasp from the half-orc. “And I won my freedom by killing my owner. I fled, I was found by Holt half dead, and he and the boss took me in.”
“And before you ask why I would join up with slavers when I myself had just escaped from a similar fate, look around you,” the handyman ordered, grabbing Dora’s head and moving it from side to side so she took in the desiccated realm beyond the campsite.
“See that? Nothing but misery and emptiness out there. And I had no way of leaving the Dreadlands to seek a better life, nor a reason to. Orphans tend to be sold as slaves for a reason. No one will miss us.” His green eyes seemed to glow in the light of the cooking fire.
“So, I stayed here, doing what I had to in order to survive. The story is the same everywhere in this cursed land. Kill or be killed and do what must be done, because the only person who cares if you live or die out here is yourself. Remember that.”
Story complete, Reesh stood up and accepted a bowl from Rindel before stalking away to eat elsewhere in the camp. In his wake it felt like a lightning bolt had been earthed and disaster averted, and the surrounding people let out a sigh.
Shaken, Dora took a deep breath trying to calm herself. The tiny cook gave her a pitying look before serving a few other men who’d came by, but kept their distance from the terrifying slaver.
“What about you, Uldo? Do you have any words for me? A story, or perhaps a scathing retort as to how I’m acting foolishly?” Dora snapped, glaring at the stoic musclebound behemoth of the group.
To her surprise he shook his head.
“If you can still feel guilt, you can still find mercy,” Uldo said cryptically. The giant of a man walked away, leaving Dora to ponder the longest sentence she had ever heard the half-amazon speak. That it was a piece of scripture from the teaching of Cynthia made it all the more mysterious to the half-orc.
“After you’re done eating, go check with Holt if there’s anything else to do before we set off,” Rindel suggested. She nodded mutely at the order, thoughts adrift.
Breakfast finished, she spotted the goateed second-in-command standing by the cage containing their recent catch. The Megalith Snail had retreated into its shell, and Holt had a frown on his face as he examined the magical beast.
“Is there anything you need me to do?” Dora asked.
“Can you use a bit of Healing magic on this thing? The potions we fed it don’t seem to be working very well. They’re just too weak for a creature of this size,” Holt requested, gesturing to the large gastropod.
“I can try. Most of my magic works best on humans and other similar bipeds,” Dora said hesitantly.
She reached through the bars and placed a hand on the obsidian shell.
“See, if you want to use magic to alter things in a body, knowing about the anatomy and how the body works is best since you can easily improperly mend a bone or organ and cause even greater problems.”
The hand beg
an to glow green, a shade lighter than her own skin. Dora closed her eyes in concentration. She released a wave of magic through the giant snail’s body, muttering an incantation.
After a minute, she pulled her hand away and turned to Holt.
“It just seems to be tired. My Diagnosis spell was a bit confused by the unusual biology it has, but apparently the big baby exhausted itself in the fight and is recuperating.”
“That’s good. They sell for a decent amount, but only if they’re healthy,” Holt said with relief.
“What are they good for? What possible use does an acid leaking, rock eating, fire-hot monster have?” Dora mused.
“Their slime can be used as an abrasive and polish for magical metals like mithril or adamantium since regular tools would break on them,” Holt explained. “And the shells of adults can be made into quality ceramics and dishware.”
“Huh.” Dora looked at the Megalith Snail in a new light before turning to Holt.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I have a question.”
“Go ahead and ask,” the goateed slaver offered.
“Why do you work here? Why did you and the boss make the Yellowmoon Menagerie?”
“Money and freedom,” Holt answered immediately.
“As traders, we can move freely to make our living. Scar and I? We were born and raised in a static environment, full of metal bars and chains and bereft of freedom or joy. Out here, we make our own paths.”
He turned away, facing the sunrise. Dora joined him, staring at the golden dawn with conflicted thoughts.
“Yes, this is an ugly business you and I have found ourselves in, and yes, I feel ashamed that I do it and that it is necessary. But who are the real monsters in this line of work? The sellers who simply provide, or the buyers who allow this to happen?”
Leaving the half-orc to chew on that thought Holt walked away. Before he forgot, he turned his head slightly and shot her a wry grin.
“By the way, congratulations on making it to seventeen. Hopefully we’ll see a lot more of you in the years in come.”
.
Dora stared out over the desolate landscape, eyes firmly fixed on rugged stone walls that rose up distantly on the horizon. A grimace planted itself on her face, and she turned away to glare at something else.
