Fractured World 011 (Patreon)

“Well, don’t drink the water or stay in here too long,” Samira said, glancing at the corpse of the cub.

“These stones, they do this?” Yasimir asked.

“We found some flakes in the creek by where we live,” Samira said. “For their small size they had a decent amount of magical power. They managed to give you a shock when they were touched.”

“And these?” Garran asked. “Is this what Dal was looking for?”

“These bad boys will probably kill you if you touch them,” Samira said. She eyed the crystal like growths upon the wall. What made this area special? What made these things grow here? She looked back at the dead cub and sighed. “We better get out of here.”

The other four nodded in agreement and hurriedly left the cavern. The sun was beginning to set as they exited the small valley. The odd sensation of something watching her had left with the death of the Goliath Bear Pig. She wondered if its description had changed due to the mana that was infecting it? Dal probably would know.

If Dal was also correct, those mana stones would be worth their weight in gold pressed latium. He could feed them to the dungeon and do all his dungeony things with it. Hopefully not getting killed in the process.

Yet, as she had said, touching the stones would probably kill them. She had felt the tiny electrical shock from the mana flakes they had dug up and she had no intention of adding any weird crystalline growths to her body.

“The meat is foul,” Yasimir announced, bringing Samira from her thoughts.

“Say what?”

“The bear pigs killed, the giant one, its meat is fouled by whatever was growing from it,” Yasimir explained.

“Someone tried to eat it?”

“Big heart, big power,” Yasimir said as if that explained everything.

Samira shrugged, not really wanting to delve into the monkey bird’s cultural obsession about eating the hearts of their enemies.

“But we found this.”

Yasimir held up a rock that was the size of her head. It glowed like the crystals inside the fissure, but this didn’t have the same crystalline appearance of the other. It was porous and pitted, blood and some gore still sticking to it.

“Any idea?” Samira asked.

“No,” Yasimir said. She kept holding it up to Samira. “Take.”

“Me? Why?”

“You kill beast. This is yours.”

“Thanks?” Samira said, taking the giant rock. It was warm in her hands and she could feel a little tingle of what she suspected as being mana. “We’ve processed plenty of bear pigs, none of them had this.”

“Those crystals, they do this to them?” Garran asked.

“Was growing under the heart,” Yasimir said. “Blood flowed through it.”

Samira set the stone down. “The crystals in that cave mutate life. It’s full of mana, but it’s dangerous for anyone living to go in there for a long period of time. Plus the crystals themselves are dangerous if touched, they’ll fry you. Even tiny flakes hurt.” She nudged the stone with her boot. “This is full of mana too, but not like that of the other stones. This is more like the mana crystals we can generate. Full of energy and warm to the touch, but not painful. So I’m guessing that this creature was processing the mana that it got from the crystals into some kind of useable mana, a mana that we use.”

Samira hefted the stone again and closed her eyes. She tried to absorb it.

Nothing.

“Well, its not like the mana crystals after all.”

Samira sighed and tucked it into her pack. It was big and bulky, but it didn’t weigh all that much.

“In the morning we return conquering heroes,” she said and the others grinned at that.

***

The new day broke and the group left behind the mana crystal caves and headed back toward Petra. The day was gloomy, clouds finally forming in the sky. The K’thari were shivering and the monkey bird scouts were also looking worriedly at the sky.

According to Yasimir storms in their world were pretty intense. Samira was oddly glad some weather was finally showing itself. It had been nearly two weeks since they had arrived and finally it was raining.

They made quick progress down into the lake valley, following the creek back to Petra. Already Samira was seeing some signs that with the top predators gone, everything was a bit more relaxed. More birds were singing and more animals were spotted among the trees. Not the carnivore mana hungry monsters, just some normal deer like animals that were skittish when spotted.

Even with the threat of the bear pigs gone, the Temple People had a lot of hard work ahead of them. With seven hundred mouths to feed, they would have to begin hunting and fishing as much as possible. The weather was turning cooler and as she and Dal suspected winter might be coming.

They would have their work cut out for them, just the six of them. At least they had access to a couple of chainsaws and axes. The Templars were down to simple tools and manpower.

That thought gnawed on her. She couldn’t in good conscious allow people to starve and die when she could lend some kind of hand to help. They had metal, they had tools, but enough to keep hundreds alive? Would they also drown while trying to help save others?

Ultimately the survival of the Cuthoma was going to be in their own hands. As she had said in the story about the Beast of Gévaudan. The people would have to rise up and slay the coming winter themselves.

It took them most of the morning to reach the outskirts of Petra, the weather had gone back to being a gentle fall day. The sun occasionally peeked from behind heavy clouds, but the threat of rain seemed to have dissipated. Samira was slightly disappointed. Was this world just all sunshine and monsters?

Upon reaching Perta, Samira looked around to see that much work had been done since they were last here three days prior. Trees were being cleared and land was being prepared for buildings and future fields. She watched as groups of Cuthoma wielding little more than stone axes hacked and slashed at trees and brush.

They might be small, but they had great strength and stamina. Samira felt a wave of shame at the thought that these people would be in need of saving when winter came. They seemed to be working very well by themselves.

She was surprised to see a large fire burning and several clothed Cuthoma working in what appeared to be a forge. She paused as the others headed off to make their reports, although Garran also paused to watch the Cuthoma. Half a dozen Path females were melting something in a crucible.

“What is that?” Samira asked.

“Metal. Don’t know what kind,” the Path female said. “We found much metal in a field not far away. A strange device, maybe. Not from our world.”

“The airplane wing,” Samira said. She smacked her head. It was made with aluminum, something that could be easily melted and shaped. Samira told them as much, explaining what the metal was and what it could do. Strong, but light, easy to work with.

“Cast it then?” one of the smiths asked. She looked at the crucible the metal was melting within and nodded. “We know how to cast. Like bronze.” She nodded again and begin talking rapidly with the other smiths.

Samira smiled as she left them. Happy to offer what little help she could. She added metal working books to her list of things she needed to see if they had access to. Grady’s hard drives were a god send, as the doomsday prepper had left multiple copies and backups for his little post apocalyptic survival library. With the Cuthoma’s numbers, the knowledge they had, perhaps they could rebuild somekind of civilization.

The thought cheered Samira up as they decided to make camp for the day outside of Petra. The area was busy with people working, cleaning, and the cute little chickies running about under-claw. The Cuthoma were generous with their food, mostly some kind of grain that was reddish in color and dried fruit.

“These are pretty good,” Samira said, chewing one of the dried fruit. They were yellow in color and tasted like raisins. Although they were the size of her fist. “Not bad.”

Garran looked up from the camp fire he crouched before, three deboned fish lay grilling in a frying pan. The other two of the trio were also watching the cooking fish in fascination.

“Don’t eat much fish?” Samira asked.

“No,” Garran responded. “Never, actually.”

“Fish are only for the High Mothers and Priests,” F’darr added. “No one eats them on the pain of death.”

“Death?” Samira asked.

“Not many lakes, only in the deep caves. Nothing like this,” Garran replied. “All white, no eyes.”

“I have eaten fish,” Lokkar said proudly. “My old master would allow me to finish his leftovers.”

“Scrap eater,” F’darr muttered. “Like a poskani, eating trash.”

Lokkar hissed. “It is an honor to eat the a Priest’s leftovers,” he snapped. “I was held in high esteem. I was beloved by Priest D’komar.”

“Yet, here you are, two years into a lifetime service of a mercenary,” F’darr said, continuing to pester the other.

Lokkar bared his teeth and F’darr did the same.

“Enough,” Garran snapped. “The fish is done.” He turned to Samira. “High Mother do you wish to partake?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Samira said. Although she would have loved some, she could wait. The trio looked ready to salivate over the cooked fish. Let them have their fill, it wasn’t as if there would be no more fish. There was an entire lake filled with them.

If the Cuthoma were any measure, the fish were damn easy to catch too. Every hour a stream of Cuthoma would stomp back from the lake carrying a load of fish to smoke and store. She had to give it to the Cuthoma, they were well organized and efficient.

“Mother Samira,” a Cuthoma said as she approached their small camp. They had decided to stay out of the way, nearer the woods and upstream from the rest of the monkey birds. The Cuthoma was slight and some of her feathers were turning a shade of blue, indicating her age. “It is said you are a healer.”

“I’ve got the Nurse Perk and I was a nurse before this. Although only on humans.”

“Your work on my wounds were wonderfully done,” Garran said. “They are almost healed.”

“That being said,” the Cuthoma female said, a twinge of annoyance in her voice for being interrupted. “We have some injuries that we hope you would be able to see to. Although we have healers of our own, we do not have the blue or red stones needed to purchase Perks.”

“I’ll be glad to help,” Samira aid. “Although I’m not sure what I can do and how I can help.”

“Any attempt will be appreciated,” the woman said.

“Alright, lead on.” Samira replied, finishing off the giant raisin.

***

Nurse Perk II

Bluestones gained 20

Samira yawned as she finished adding a salve to the burned arm of a fire tender. The young Cuthoma squirmed and chirped in distress, but under the watchful eye of her mother and twin, she didn’t struggle too much. The medicine was from the Temple itself, which as a sort of clinic had plenty. They just didn’t have her Perk to boost and speed up healing.

“Many thanks, Healer Samira,” the mother replied, patting Samira on the arm.

“Many thanks,” the young Cuthoma replied and gingerly touched her arm. “It does not hurt so much.”

“I would have liked to say it’s my skills, but it’s just the Nurse Perk being activated,” Samira said. She stroked the head of the Cuthoma who gave a chirp back. From her hours working with the Cuthoma she had discovered a head stroke was considered a combination of a pat on the back and a hug. Everyone stroked heads; she had to even accept a few herself, but due to their height difference it was a lot harder for her to be petted.

Samira had thought that her human only medical experience would be useless in helping the Cuthoma, but she had been surprisingly wrong. The Cuthoma were flesh and blood and bone, just the same as any creatures on Earth or from any other world. They were humanoid in shape, they had the organs all in roughly the same places, and seemed to suffer the same ailments most people did.

She had set broken arms, legs, stitched up wounds, redressed old woulds, and tried to help as best as she could those that were beyond her medical expertise. The Temple of the Golden Feathered was no hospital by any means, it was a temple to their most powerful god and a place that the sick and desperate went when all else failed

Between Medical Check and Nurse II, Samira was able to get to the heart of many problems. Unfortunately, there were far too many cases that she had no idea how to treat. The System seemed to be able to translate even diseases she didn’t know about or ever heard of into English.

Havanii’s Rot

Koppaka Disease

Markanna Blight

Feather Rot

Bright Eye Sickness

She could heal the minor stuff, but the deeper injuries and diseases were beyond her. She had a few tablets of antibiotics, but the need to conserve it for her or Dal was strong. She also didn’t know if using it on the Cuthoma would have any effect or it could outright kill them.

Although her descriptions of what ailed various individuals was well received by the healers of the Temple. They had extensive knowledge, but many weren’t as experienced in diagnosing the sick and injured. They were as Samira was, nurses and caretakers, not doctors.

Samira sighed and washed her hands in a basin she had been brought. The sun was setting and the organized chaos that had been happening outside of the temple was dying down. There were dozens of fires burning, a lot of smoke rising, and the smell of fish lay heavy in the air.

From what she could tell, the Cuthoma were making everything from smoked fish to charcoal to creating kilns to begin making needed pots. There was already a spot they had been collecting clay and other materials.  Samira was impressed as she headed back to her camp.

Lokkar was already asleep and Garran was resting beside the fire, wrapped in a blanket. F’darr was forlornly trying to put her compound bow back together again, even though Samira has told her they’d fix it when they got back to the units.

Samira sat down by the fire, feeling as if she had down something worthwhile. It was an emotion that had been difficult to come by in her old life. She did impactful things, yes, but it didn’t fill her with the sense of accomplishment she had once felt.

The chill air, a slight breeze, the smell of smoke and a bit of blood from her clothing, she had killed a giant ass bear pig, she had found Dal’s chamber of magic, and she had healed people who needed her touch. It was a good day.

“It is a good day,” Garran said. “We have slain a great beast, we have helped people, and we have grown in power. After a hard battle, it is good to sit with your fellows and bask in the fact you survived. Death comes too fast and with little warning.”

“A job well done,’ Samira said. “I could not have done this without any of you, Lokkar, F’darr, and you Garran. I’m glad you’ve come into our lives. Without you, these creatures would have devastated the Cuthoma. Without you, I would still be hiding in at the storage units.”

Garran bowed his head. “There will be a time when we must seek our people. To see if they have survived this world.”

“I know,” Samira said.

“Well you come with us if we do?” Garran asked.

Samira was taken aback by the question. She hadn’t really thought beyond this moment, beyond the coming winte. Would she leave behind the units and Dal?

She looked across the flames and the soft chittering of the Cuthomas they finished up their work.

“Yes,” she said. “This world is new and so big. I wish to see what lies beyond the horizon I can see.”

***

There was a cacophony of noise and screeching of warning in the middle of the night. Samira snapped her eyes open and zipped open her tent. She had the revolver in her hand and was scanning the area, the dim fires illuminated little, but she could see Cuthoma running about.

They were too far away for the translator to make out what they were saying, but it seemed like the Guards were on high alert.

Garran and the others exited their tent, clutching weapons and readying for the worst. Had there been more bear pigs the Cuthoma hadn’t accounted for? There had been a lot of fish being processed and that could have lured any amount of predators to Petra.

Samira checked the shotgun and saw that it was still loaded. She held it in the crook of her arm and gestured the others to follow her to find out what was going on. They flipped on their flashlights and headed toward the commotion.

“What are you doing here!” a Cuthoma screeched.

“I am here for the friend Samira,” a voice cried out.

“Begone foul thing!”

“Hold up,” Samira said. She and the others approached the two dozen guards clamoring around another figure. The flashlights showed it was another Cuthoma, dull colored and scrawny.

“Allakor?” Samira asked.

“Samira!” The monkey bird cried in relief. “You must come back. Blood, injuries, and potential death!”