Page 10 of Sanctuary of the Shadow
The leader of the group, a particularly nasty human called Cragar, would be delivered an especially gruesome death. Perhaps he would remove his limbs and watch him bleed out slowly in the dust, pleading for his life.
The images of purpling faces and struggling, bloodied bodies did not disturb him as much as they perhaps should have, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He did not have mercy for those who showed him none.
The first day of travel was spent baking under the harsh sun with no way to shelter himself. The shredded sarong he was given as clothing provided no relief. His wagon-cage was pulled by an antagonistic camel that spat upon any that strayed near. He sympathized with the irate beast, forced into service against its will.
The hours stretched on, the sun climbing higher in the sky. He was given no food, no water. By late afternoon, the cumulative effect of his injuries, dehydration, and malnourishment began to catch up. Staring at the flat, lifeless landscape, he slowly succumbed to delirium.
He slipped into unconsciousness, hoping for death to take him, only to awaken later in darkness, shivering in the bitter cold. Moonlight illuminated the rolling desert and the tops of the travelers’ tents a short distance away. A fire crackled between them, offering an inviting warmth that didn’t extend to him.
Inside his cage, he discovered a small bowl of foul-smelling porridge had been left along with another jug of water. For better or worse, his desire for death was not stronger than his will to live, and he greedily consumed both.
The next morning, after dismantling the tents, the traders threw one of the big sheets of canvas over the top of his cage for shelter. Evidently, they’d realized their prize wouldn’t be worth nearly as much if it died of exposure. A shame, because said prize lost his only source of entertainment—watching his camel companion traverse the arid landscape.
Thus passed the rest of the month-long journey.
During the day, he saw nothing but the underside of the canvas. At night, the canvas was removed, and he lay on his back and stared at the stars, watching the moon wane and then wax again.
Faced with the never-ending monotony and the black hole that was his past, his intelligent thoughts began to deteriorate. Gradually, he became what the traders thought he was—a creature. A frightening, feral creature.
He made no attempts at communication. He crouched in his cage and snarled at any who approached. He left his claws unsheathed and his fangs bared. He lost his mind to visualizations of bloodshed.
Just when his sanity began to slip irrevocably, everything changed. The day after the moon completed her next cycle, they arrived at their destination.
The creature didn’t see this. He could see nothing but the sun’s glow on the underside of the canvas. But he could smell it. The scent of cooking spices, the smoke of countless fires, and the pungent reek of unwashed bodies assailed his sensitive nostrils.
Then, he could hear it, too. The shouting of hagglers, the clanging of ale tankards, the jingling of coins, the barking of stray dogs… It all blended into a cacophony of madness-inducing clamor, especially unbearable after weeks in the desert’s penetrating silence.
They had finally arrived at the market where he was to be sold, though he would have preferred death over that fate. But what could he do?
Wait, he told himself.Watch and wait. Seize your opportunity when it comes. Kill anyone who stands in your way.
That tiny shred of determination was the last remaining tether to his sanity, and he clung to it.
…
“I’m telling you, it was uncanny. Looking at him was like looking into a void. This”—Cragar cast a disgusted look at the cage—“is some new trick.”
The creature in question had known he was valuable to the traders because of his supposedly strange appearance. So in the only act of rebellion he was capable of, he had altered it.
He had, in fact, discovered a new ability. Bothered by the attention he was receiving, he had briefly imagined blending in more.
And then his skin tone had changed.
All of a sudden, it had transformed to a golden brown, similar to that of some of his captors. He didn’t have a clue how he’d done it but figured it was just another trait marking him as an unnamable oddity.
He had suffered greatly for his defiance—they had tried to convince him to revert with a savage beating—but apparently, he was a stubborn creature as well as a resilient one.
And watching his captors squirm now made every second of pain worth it.
“I don’t know how he did it. We just blinked, and he looked like this.”
The buyer pursed his lips. Standing at a looming height, he radiated an unmistakable aura of power and authority. He held a staff with a small globe on the end, topped by a long spike, and a glint of loathing shone in his bright blue gaze, as though the creature’s very existence was deemed a stain upon his world.
Well, two could play at that game. If the creature hated his original captors, within seconds of meeting that hostile gaze, he hated his future owner even more.
“You’ve no idea what he is?” the tall man asked.
“Well, after his little display, we’re thinking he’s a chameleon Hybrid, sir.”
