The Curse of the Winged Scorpion
Inauspicious Beginnings

Thecargo hold of the Bhuvanti sky barge stank of fear sweat and mortal waste. Emptyeyed women and children huddled in chains and stared straight ahead into afuture no less dire than their immediate present. Fantel stood in the midst ofthe assorted humans, her back pressed against the wall. The steel felt slimy throughthe sack cloth garments her captors had forced on her when she was draggedaboard the slavers ship. She wore her chains lightly; her back straight, herchin up. She listened to the shifting song of the Phantasmal engines; thesusurrus whisper of power seething through hidden circuitry had changed. Thebarge was losing altitude, slowing down as it descended through the air. Aftertwo miserable days in flight they had reached their destination. Soon would bethe auction where Fantel and the rest of her – travelling companions – would besold to the highest bidder.

“Seraphimguide and keep me; by Dalmund’s light I am freed from mortal bondage. I shallfear no torment and know no pain in the arms of my saviour.”

Fanteltwitched and looked down at the huddled woman curled up in a ball beside her.the woman’s legs were dragged up to her chest, and she had her arms wrappedaround her knees. She rocked back and forth repeating the same tired prayerover and over again. The woman’s lank hair was matted with old blood and underthe harsh lights of the hold Fantel could clearly see the scabbed line of aknife wound scouring her scalp. The woman reeked of death and despair; the foulmiasma rising from her in almost visible waves. Fantel wrinkled her nose andwished she could move away. There was nowhere to go. The slaves were allchained together, every manacle linked by heavy chain to the manacles ofanother, and another and another, until each woman and child packed into thehold became the others jailor. The chains wove together into an impenetrablelatticework in the centre of the hold, which had forced the slaves to press upagainst the walls. The floor of the hold was revolting. A slurry of shit andvomit covered every inch of the steel panelled floor. The smell had at firstturned the stomachs of everyone packed inside, but now the stench had becomemerely another prisoner unable to escape.

Fantelhad been a wanderer along the path of humans and a stranger in strange lands forthe last twelve years. A lone Chimera lost amid the ever shifting tide of humanfolly. She was no stranger to misfortune. Perhaps she had even sought it; whatbetter fate for a heretic Chimera? This was not the first time she had wornchains, nor, she suspected, would it be the last. Yet she did not considerherself bowed and beaten as these human women were. She was no slave; she wasFantel. Alone and apart from everything that made her Chimera, by choice andpenance, but never broken, never defeated. To be defeated suggested that shehad once fought, and to fight she would need something to fight for. Fantel hadnothing. No cause, no purpose, no Great Pulse to echo. Not anymore.

“Seraphimguide and keep me, by Dalmund’s light…”

Throughher skin Fantel could feel the sky barge sigh around her; the steel wallsthrummed with the slowing beat of power through mechanical veins. A groan ofhydraulics caused the hold to shudder. Fantel’s fellow captives reacted intypical fashion. The children wailed, pitiful animal bleats, and a few of thewomen, those who still had the mind to be afraid, stifled sobs. Under the rainbowglow of the phantasma lights dozens of filthy faces looked toward the sealedcargo door. To Fantel the sick light in the eyes of the women and childrenreminded her of the fever hope in the eyes of plague victims. They did not hopefor escape, or freedom, or even the promise of a better tomorrow. Instead thewomen looked toward the door in the hope that death would replace them swiftly.Those women who had laid claim to the children swimming in excrement at theirfeet, clasped their bony shoulders and dragged the little humans up, thrustthem forward to meet the knife first. No one was under any illusion; there wasno hope here. Fantel felt tired, dreadfully tired. No wonder the Chimeribelieved humans were a cursed breed.

Thelights flickered, sputtering as the ship docked. Beyond the interior wallsFantel could just pick up the sound of clomping boots as the crew scurriedthrough docking procedures; shouting orders and insults to each other in thesinuous Bhuvanti tongue. The engines clicked and hissed and phantasmal gassessquealed through exhaust pipes overhead. It sounded like whispering, like agaggle of voices trying to speak to her underwater. If she just listened hardenough she might be able to understand but more likely she would go mad trying.Phantasma fuel was nothing more than the ghosts of the dead, burned up to powerthe luxuries of the living.

Finallythe sky barge grew still, like a great beast lulled into hibernation. Momentslater the cargo hold door opened. “Lyst’s tits,” the Bhuvanti slaversilhouetted against the open doorway recoiled back into the passageway. Hethrew up an arm to ward against the smell and the inch-thick river of filth,which rushed forward to lap at his shiny, silver gilded boots. The man’s rich,red-brown complexion paled to something old and yellowed, features twisting underthe intricate whorls of his Dha-hali tattoos into a mask of revulsion. Heshuddered and his beaded braids shivered. Semi-precious gems – carnelians,opals, and pearls – reflected the oil-slick colours of the lamps while ahundred impossibly delicate silver bells tinkled from the ends of his blood redbraids. Snapping out orders to unseen compatriots the slaver stepped back fromthe doorway. A glare etched his broad features. The green-gold tracery of histattoos, infused with Anima, danced across his skin, shifting pattern frommoment to moment.

Asecond Bhuvanti male appeared in the doorway, this one dressed in the dullleathers and workman-like brown coveralls of one of the sky barge’s crew. Hedid not wear Dha-hali marks on his skin. He stared wide-eyed into the hold ashe aimed the head of a huge hose through the door, twisted the nozzle, and letloose a torrent of water into the room. The water hit those closest to the doorwith the force of a battering ram, knocking children to the ground and punchinginto the empty stomachs of the women. The panicked crewman strafed the hoseright and left, up and down, jumping and flinching every time the Dha-halislaver barked at him from the safety of the passageway. The water diluted thethick sludge of filth, which flowed towards clogged sluice grates set into thefloor. The sluices gurgled, spitting up bubbles of gritty brown waste. Fantel refusedto give ground when she was hit by the hose. She braced against the water asbest she could. The cold blast of water went through her like a shiv to thegut, but under the shock there was relief as well. Some of the filth coveringher skin sloughed off with the water.

Finallythe slaver was satisfied. Snapping out one final order to cut off the hose, heirritably waved the crewman away and, watching where he placed his booted feet,stepped almost daintily into the hold. He was dressed in typical Dha-Haliattire; a high collared tunic of midnight blue cotton stopped at his knees andleft his arms bare. Gold twinned leather armguards covering his forearms andthe back of his hands. The man’s ornate cuirass, a complex mesh of finelyworked gold filigree and magic weaved leather and mail, covered broad shoulders.At his waist he wore a wide sash of red silk from which hung a spade headedblade. The Dha-hali slaver wore loose silk trousers dyed a brilliant red underhis tunic. All in all he cut a dramatic figure, but one hardly suited forstealth or subtlety. Fantel supposed that the Dha-hali had little need for either,at least not in Bhuvam. The Dha-hali raiders more or less ran the Bhuvam Isles.The Suluman of Bhuvam, Hannick Anoush the Fourth, was nothing more than a figureheadcaught in the Dha-hali crosshairs. Fantel had not known the Dha-hali dabbled inthe slave trade, but she supposed it was no real shock. She did wonder if theDha-hali would be so brazen as to walk their newly acquired cargo through thestreets of Anubad right under the Suluman’s nose.

Herattention was brought back to the present when the slaver stepped into the holdstopping where the spider web of chains had come together in a thick knot. Hissharp eyes flicked over the gathered humans, critical and completely devoid ofcompassion. His full lips curled into a feral sneer when he laid eyes on thepraying woman, still rocking back and forth against the wall beside Fantel.

“You- woman – shut up.” He snapped in Bhuvanti. The woman did not look up, butinstead ducked her head lower toward her chest and tightened her arms aroundher knees. The woman had been praying in Dushkui and likely she could notunderstand the Bhuvanti tongue. Ignorance would not save her, however.

“…Ishall fear no torment and know no pain in…”

“Silence,”in two swift strides the slaver reached the woman, ducking under and around theknot of chains. He grabbed the woman by her hair, hauling her to her feet, andsmashed his fist into her face. Fantel felt the jerk of the chain connectingthem as the woman rocked back against the steel wall of the hull and crumpledto the floor. Brilliant scarlet gouts of blood poured from her nose and splitlip. She cowered, throwing manacled hands up over her head.

“Dalmundsave me from my mortal bondage…in your light I will be free…Dalmund save me inmy torment…in your arms I am…” The woman’s voice rose in her panic, as if shethought volume would bring salvation. The slaver kicked her in the ribs, thetoe of his fine boots hooking underneath her torso, lifting her off the groundan inch or more, before the force of the kick slammed her once again againstthe wall. She gasped, wordlessly, choking on the blood streaming down her face.

“Youwill be silent.”

Theslaver drew his leg back to kick the woman again. This time the kick landedsquarely against her breastbone. The woman gagged, all the air leaving herlungs in a pained whoosh. The impact threw her onto her back where she waswedged between the floor and the wall. She stared up at the slaver with blankand uncomprehending eyes. She was scared out of her wits. She reached for theslaver. He stamped on her wrist, grinding the fragile bone against the floor.The sharp snap the bone made rang out like a shotgun rapport in the deathlysilence of the hold.

“Filthycur,” the slaver sneered, pulling a slender dagger from a sheath within hisright armguard. Fantel moved. A single side-step placed her between the slaverand the woman. The slaver jerked back a half inch, surprised. He had not evenregistered Fantel’s presence before now. He blinked. Fantel’s hand was notchedsnugly under his chin, her palm pressed against his bobbing throat. She curledher fingers, lightly, around his neck. Her claws pricked through the ends ofher fingers. She itched to tear open the man’s throat.

“Howdare you.” The slaver looked angry, but not afraid. “Unhand me now, woman, ordie like this filth.” Fantel saw her own reflection in the slaver’s brown eyes.She barely recognised herself. She looked just like the other miserablewretches in the hold. Her face was gaunt, her yellow eyes sunken, her mouth athin slash, and her hair was lank and knotted, mussed against her skull andcolourless like cobweb. She was caked in filth and drenched like a drowned rat.No wonder the slaver lacked the sense to fear her; she looked human. A spark ofanger, dull and stuttering lit deep within her. She would show this man thatshe was no mere human. She flexed her fingers against his warm skin. She felthis pulse jump. Flexing her fingers again she let her claws extend, the ends ofher fingers tingling deliciously.

“Wh-what…” the slaver could not see what had happened toher hand, but he could feel the prickle of her claws against his skin and theripple of shifting flesh and sinew in the hand wrapped so tightly around hisneck. He stared at Fantel, confusion shading toward fear finally.Dispassionately Fantel squeezed down on the man’s neck, fascinated by her ownalien reflection gazing back at her from the slaver’s eyes.

“Mishmantake me,” he jerked backward, wrenching free of her hand – her nails scouringshallow runnels through his flesh. The slaver slapped one hand against his neck.He drew his hand back and stared at the blood coating his fingers as if hecould not fathom where it came from. “Chimera,” he breathed, “you are Chimera.”

Fanteldid not deign to reply. She was Chimera, and yet she was not. To this man herappearance would mark her as one of the Chimeri, but to the Chimeri she was notone of them. To be Chimeri was a state of being, not just a particular set ofphysical traits. The true mark of Chimeri was an adherence to the Great Pulsethat Fantel had long ago rejected, and thus in turn the Chimeri rejected her. TheDha-hali laughed suddenly, a vicious bark of noise. Fantel had a split secondto react. The Dha-hali slashed at her with the knife in a horizontal arc.Fantel parried. The knife scraped against the iron links of her chain. Theslaver laughed as if pleased with her display of reflex.

“Chimera,”he said again wonderingly. “Mishman must smile on me; such an unexpected bounty.”Quick as a striking snake he reached behind his back with his free hand,groping for something hidden inside a pouch hanging from his sash-belt. Fantelshifted her stance, ready to deflect another physical blow – whatever form ittook – and was therefore unprepared when the slaver whipped out a small darkglass bottle with a spray nozzle and shoved the bottle straight into her face.Fantel jerked her head to the side, but the slaver was standing too close, andthe wall stopped her from moving away. A fine mist of some sort of pressurisedliquid sprayed all over her cheek and neck. Immediately her face started totingle and a deep burn took root under her skin, seeping into the bone of herlower jaw. Her nose ached, reacting to the sharp astringent odour.

TheDha-hali punched her in the stomach. Fantel doubled-up, but managed to keep herlips tight closed. She tried to fall forward onto her knees and protect herface– and therefore her mouth and nose – but was thwarted by the Dha-hali. Hesnatched up a fistful of her hair, wrenched her head back, and positioned thespray bottle right in front of her face once more.

“Youare going to make me a rich man Chimera; a very rich man.” Gold teeth gleamedat the back of his mouth as he grinned. Fantel snapped her eyes tight closed,breath held painfully in her lungs. The stinging spray burned into her fleshand invaded her senses for a second time, scorching her lungs and numbing herbrain when it went up her nose. Her last thoughts before she was swept away onthe cold, sharp sent of pepper and iron was that she really should stopinterfering in the ways of humans.