Metallic Genealogy

Bilford awoke in a dark room. In the distance, he could hear the sounds of sharpening cutlery.

"Blast," he said, with a groan. There was a pounding on his head akin to a massive fist on an oaken door. He tried to get up to run from what, in his groggy state, he assumed to be a giant tax collector, but his arms, as well as the rest of his body, failed to move. Once his mind was somewhat clear, he discovered that this was because he was tied to a stone slab. “Bilberries,” he muttered to himself.

Suddenly the door burst open, bringing with it the morning light as well as one of his memories: it was the hunter who had beaten him unconscious the previous night. Bilford recognized the man by his blackened, unbrushed teeth, unkempt hair, and bad, tree-wilting breath. Also, with that light came some further realizations. For instance, he now could see that he was in a cave, most likely carved out by hand due to the rough-hewn nature of the walls. Also, as far as caves went this was an extremely untidy one. Plainly his captors were slobbish brutes with little to no organizational skills. There was garbage everywhere, plates left on tables, chairs tipped over, smashed bottles littered the floor. Although, as the arriving aggressor was soon upon him, he had no real time to critique his surroundings with greater detail.

"What are you going to do to me?" Bilford asked the brute.

"You'll find out soon enough," the hunter said. Cutting the frightened prisoner free from his slab, he threw Bilford to the ground and immobilized him once again with another bit of rope. He then grabbed Bilford by the ankles and dragged him out of the hut; jagged icicles caught him on the back of the head and producing large gashes. Blood oozed out of his head onto the white, freshly fallen snow, leaving a ghastly trail behind him.

"Here's the answer to your earlier question," the hunter said, his voice animalistic and savage. He showed Bilford a large pot bubbling in the center of a flattened cairn covered with gnarled and burning kindling.

Bilford whined in shocked disbelief at the scene before him. Not only had he encountered beastly filthy men, but also cannibalistic ones at that. "Why didn't you take the goats?!" He began to blubber and the word 'goats' was nearly incomprehensible.

The hunter began to laugh hard at this, blackened bits of teeth broke off and settled onto his lip in a most unappealing way. "Because we don't like goat," he stated boldly, pounding his chest with passion. "The meat is stringy and salty, and the fur can't be used for suitable clothing. We are sick of goat. They are no good for anything."

"Then why did you kill them?" These were not fake tears Bilford was spouting, but rather quite genuine ones. Though he was completely terrified, he felt if he could keep up this conversation perhaps the man would realize that he was a sentient being worthy of preservation. If not that, then perhaps a rousing conversation might cause his teeth to fall out completely, thus forcing him onto a softer diet.

The hunter tilted his head, and appeared annoyed that his dinner was asking so many foolish questions. "We didn't want them to infect you with the rinse!" He dragged his prisoner to the edge of the burning kindling and dropped his feet to the ground. "Not that it's any of your concern." He whistled and several more small fragments of black tooth flew out of his mouth. Unfortunately, the noise also called over some of his friends to help lift Bilford closer to the bubbling fluid.

"The rinse?"

"Yeah, yeah." The hunter waved him off.

Bilford tried to act curious. "What's that?"

By this time, the other hunters were grabbing Bilford by the legs and shoulders.

"WHAT IS RINSE?" he asked with huge eyes, and more emphasis, trying desperately to get their attention.

"The rinse," the hunter sighed, "is what them goats got." He coughed suddenly and spit a tooth to the ground. "It makes them poisoned...uneatable. That's why we had to kill them before they bit you”

This was all the information that Bilford needed. In his excitement, a plan had formed in his brain almost immediately. "But they DID bite me," he shouted, just as the hunters began to swing him over the churning waters. "Look at the back of my head!"

The hunter who was holding his shoulders bent slightly, grunted softly and nodded.

"Look," he said. "See the bite marks?"

The first hunter, scowled, came over to inspect the wound. He, too, grunted and then sighed. He nodded his head and signaled the others to drop Bilford to the ground.

"This is NO good," he said. "He is the second one!"

It was at this moment that Bilford saw the crash site of the shuttle that had flown from the prison ship. "Did he get away?"

The hunter began to untie the ropes from around Bilford's legs. "Aich," he said, which Bilford took as a term of agreement. "The driver was all metal," he said. "A robot! We tried to shoot it, but all of our shots bounced off it's chest. It killed a few of our men and then ran off into the blizzard, screaming like a madman." He finished untying Bilford and propped him back up to his feet.'

"Now what are you going to do with me?"

The hunter smiled, exposing his horrific full set of blackened and chipped teeth. "The same thing we do with all of our worthless prisoners," he said. "The only thing you're good for. To appease Manma!”

“Manma?” Bilford imagined all manner of horrible scenarios, all of which were much worse than being boiled alive.

The man laughed, and leaned close to Bilford's face. Though the stench was horrific, the prisoner managed to keep his composure. “Manma is the evil spirit of the volcano. We're going to throw you into her belly!"

“I see,” Bilford said. “That's a very progressive attitude.”

The other man laughed. “Manma don’t care if progressive or nonda. She’s angry when she’s hungry. You’ll do, rinse or no rinse.” He then slapped the first man on the arm. “Maybe the rinse hasn’t spread to his feet yet. Let me eat his feet.”

The first man’s eyes grew wide. “You be the one to tell Manma why she has an incomplete offering, I suppose?”

The second man shrugged and moved away. However, he quickly returned with another idea.

Bilford struggled to keep up with the conversation. This was made more difficult without knowing the names of any of these people. However, he wasn’t about to ask, and he assumed that it really didn’t matter if these men had names of not. But for the purposes of clarity, at least in his own mind, he decided to nickname the first man “Black-Tooth,” and the second, more inquisitive man, “Bowel Stink”.

“Maybe we can somehow sew those pots to his legs after we cut his feet off,” Bowel Stink said. “Then Manma will not know the difference.”

Black-tooth beat at his chest, and sent the man away. Black-tooth was quickly becoming Bilford’s favorite of the beastly men.