by Ramy Vance
One of the orcs named Cire, who was about Terra’s size with strong tan arms, stood when he saw her and pressed his fist to his chest. The rest of the orcs did the same.
When Terra raised her fist, pain shot through her arm, and she almost collapsed. She managed to get her fist to her chest before falling forward.
The orcs were already headed to Terra, and they caught her before she hit the ground. “You should still be asleep,” Cire said as he helped guide her to a cot in the corner of the hall.
She groaned as the many hands touched her. They were drawing attention to the open wounds and pulled muscles. “Couldn’t sleep,” she muttered. “Everything hurts a little too much.”
“We will help you with that.”
The orcs laid Terra on the cot as Nib-nib scuttled over to her, his beady compound eyes wet with what Terra could only assume was worry. The mantiboid pressed his forehead to Terra’s hand and held it there for some time.
“This one has been very worried about you,” Cire explained.
Terra looked down at Nib-nib, who still hadn’t removed his forehead. “You understand him?” she asked.
“Mantiboids are from our realm. Some of us who keep with the old traditions continue to learn their language. It is a useful language to speak. On our world, they are one of the oldest races. Folk make the mistake of assuming they are childlike, some even taking them as pets.”
Terra kept her thoughts to herself. She’d honestly been thinking of Nib-nib as something of a child. It was difficult not to, given how the creature carried himself.
Nib-nib held his pincers out in front of his mandibles as they started working. He was producing the same goo he’d spat on Terra before. It wasn’t nearly as disgusting this time but still made Terra’s stomach turn slightly. She was looking forward to the effect, though.
Cire pulled up a seat next to Terra, while the rest of the orcs returned to the larger group. “It was mantiboids who taught the orcs about the land—at least, the orcs who were willing to listen. They also reminded us of our magic. Few orcs remember.”
Nib-nib spat up the green-and-blue goop onto Terra’s arm and covered one of her wounds. The goop stung as much as it had before. She winced and averted her gaze. She didn’t remember any of the sword or ax wounds hurting this much.
Cire was staring at Terra intently. She looked away from his uncomfortable eye contact as he spoke. “The rest of the fighters are grateful for you,” he started. “Before you, we didn’t think we’d survive. ‘Meat for the arena’ was what the guards called us.”
Terra sat up and returned Cire’s gaze just so she would have something to look at other than whatever Nib-nib was coughing up at the moment. “And what do you guys think now?” she asked. “Because I sure as fuck feel like meat at the moment.”
“I feel like I have a chance. One I don’t want to waste.”
“Where are…where are the bodies? Did they take them?”
Cire shook his head as he pointed to the darkest corner of the room. Many of the chairs in the room were positioned there. The dead sat in the chairs regally, as if they were lords watching over their domain. “It is an old orc tradition,” Cire said. “Our greatest warriors dine with us until the end.”
A week ago, this scene would have scared the shit out of Terra. She’d never been able to deal with anything that was dead. But something had changed since she’d come into the arena. They weren’t dead things. They had fought side by side with her. It seemed the most honorable thing for them to remain.
Nib-nib scuttled away, chittering to himself. “What did he say?” Terra asked.
“She said something about blood sisters. If you didn’t know, Nib-nib has been using her birthing cells to heal you. She’s been coughing up her eggs.”
“Are you saying she’s been having her period on me?”
Cire shrugged as he picked his nails. “I do not know what human bodily function you are referring to, but in my realm, those eggs are a delicacy. The mantiboids only offer them to the strongest of their and our warriors. I haven’t seen one deem anyone worthy of their eggs in my life until now.”
Terra stared down at the wound Nib-nib had healed. “Well, tell Nib-nib I appreciate it. A lot. How’s everyone else holding up?”
“They’re tired. Worried. But invigorated. None of them believed they were going to survive. Neither did I, yet here we are, not only living but victorious. Makes me curious to know what will be coming next.”
“You and me both.”
Cire cleared his throat and shifted in his chair, crossing and uncrossing his arms. “Before I came here, I was a shaman. We specialized in tending to our warriors. If it is acceptable to you, I’d like to help Nib-nib heal your wounds.”
Terra smiled mischievously at the orc. She thought his underbite kind of charming, even if it was because of the two huge bottom incisors that nearly reached his nose. “What all does it entail?”
Cire chuckled softly. “I’ll heal your internal injuries while praying over you to strengthen your spirit. And, uh, a lot of touching.”
Terra’s body went warm as she squirmed in her cot. “Oh, uh, yeah, sure, I guess you can. I mean, for the healing. And spirit and all that. Go for it.”
Nib-nib had returned with a plate of food and a jug of wine. She placed it on the empty side of Terra’s bed, then proceeded to cough up more of her eggs on Terra’s thigh.
If there had been any concern that what was going to transpire between Cire and Terra would be sexy, that worry was instantly relieved. “Uh, you can get started if you want,” the girl murmured.
Cire stood over Terra and held his hands over her forehead. He sang softly under his breath. She didn’t recognize the words. It was Orcish. The language sounded harsh, almost like German, yet Cire somehow transformed the guttural grunts into something sweet.
Nib-nib stopped what she was doing to listen. She watched silently, holding a batch of her eggs in her claws as Cire touched Terra’s forehead lightly.
The moment his fingers touched Terra’s skin, she felt something warming her from the inside. It was like a fire had been lit in her bone marrow. She could feel her blood cells dancing in rhythm with the orc’s words. When he withdrew his touch, her body went cold.
Across the dining hall, the rest of the orcs had taken notice. The humans and mantiboids as well. They stood, drawn to Cire’s song. Slowly, they made their way over, the orcs taking the lead, forming a circle around Terra’s cot.
Part of Terra was mortified that everyone had come over to her side. What was happening seemed like it should have been done in private—or maybe Terra was reading too much into it.
The orcs who encircled Terra started to sing as well. Their voices were softer than Cire’s. Less gentle, too. They provided something like a percussion to Cire’s soft melodies. The rest stood outside the circle and watched.
Cire waved his hands over Terra’s face, drawing his fingers down beneath her eyes and then up to her temple, where he let them rest. White-hot heat shot through Terra’s head. It felt as though her brain had been pierced with a knife. Her whole body went numb, and when she closed her eyes, she saw bright red patterns floating above her.
The patterns turned to vague shapes that seemed to fight with each other to take form. Finally, they collapsed into each other, creating a lake of red water. The water burst up into the air as if it were a geyser, floating, taking the shape of Terra’s body. She watched herself watching herself.
Then the water fell and disappeared.
Terra opened her eyes, and all of a sudden, she heard the song again. The orcs were beating their chests and chanting a deep, guttural sound. It was nearly impossible to distinguish their voices from the beat that they stomped on the floor.
Cire had moved down to Terra’s side. He took her hand in his and pressed his lips to her fingertips. Then he took her other hand and did the same, holding both in his while he sang softly to her.
It was not instant, the fas
hion in which Cire’s song gradually unraveled and enveloped Terra in its entirety. She could not tell what the words were, not specifically. It would have been impossible. But she could understand the song.
“Sister, sister of my tribe, beat of our heart. You stand in death, you robe yourself in blood. Our enemies fall at the sound of your name. In you, I trust. In you, our chiefs live. Hear me, let your bones be strong, let your skin be steel. Let your heart be a sword. Sister, sister of my tribe, beat of our heart.”
When Terra opened her eyes, Cire had stopped singing. He had moved away and joined the rest of the orcs, who still stood in a circle around Terra, beating their chests, drumming with their feet.
The drumming tapered off until there was silence. The humans and mantiboids drifted away from the circle, probably confused as to what they had witnessed. Soon the orcs left as well, leaving only Nib-nib and Cire, the latter pulling up a seat beside Terra. “How do you feel?” he asked.
Terra had forgotten that this was to heal her body. She couldn’t recall anything ever having hurt. “Uh, I think I feel a lot better,” she said.
“I’m sorry if that was a little rough. I haven’t performed the ceremony in a very long time.”
“No, no, it was great. That was great.”
Cire stood up abruptly and pressed two fingers to Terra’s forehead. “You should get some rest,” he said before walking away.
Terra watched the orc leave. At her right, Nib-nib was chittering loudly, looking for something under the cot. “What’s got you in a fuss?” Terra asked.
Nib-nib came up from under the bed. She held a blanket and a loose pair of leather pants. Then she pointed to Terra’s pants.
Terra went bright red as she grabbed the blanket and the leather pants from Nib-nib. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Nib-nib chittered again. This time, Terra understood some of what she said. “No worry. Most shaman big flirt. Get changed. Then rest.”
Nib-nib scuttled off, leaving Terra to bask in a golden afterglow that covered any embarrassment.
Chapter Fifteen
When Terra woke up, the dining hall was empty of her fellow fighters. Instead, there were ten large orcs standing in a line next to her cot, holding swords and torches. One of the orcs came closer when Terra sat up. “The Game Master wishes to see you,” he growled.
Terra groaned and lay back down. “Tell him I need another couple of hours before we start having meetings,” she snapped.
The orc who had spoken kicked Terra’s cot over, and she spilled onto the floor. She got to her feet quickly and rushed the orc, who was taken by surprise. Her forehead collided with his, and the blow sent him stumbling backward. She reached to rip his sword from him.
Another orc surged toward Terra faster than she could move, and punched her in the jaw. The strength of the blow sent Terra to her knees. This orc was much stronger than the ones she’d been fighting in the arena.
As Terra rubbed her sore jaw, the rest of the orcs surrounded her and drew their weapons. “All right, fine, I guess I’ll meet with the guy,” she mumbled as she raised her hands. “Anything I should know ahead of time?”
The orc Terra had punched joined the others. “If you try any shit like that again, we will kill you,” he said. “Your success in the ring doesn’t protect you from everything.”
“Noted. Nice punch, by the way.”
The orc blinked, caught off-guard by Terra’s compliment. He recovered quickly enough and stalked out into the darkened hallway. The other orcs followed, forcing Terra to walk quickly to avoid being nicked by their swords.
Unseen by anyone else in the room, the tracker perched on the side of Terra’s bed rose and followed them.
Down the hallway. Silence other than the tramping of their feet. If it had been any other situation, Terra would have found the sound comforting. It reminded her of Cire’s touch, his worn hands on her sweating forehead. Then another memory cropped up. Reading about death marches in high school.
This was a different hallway than the one leading from her cell to the dining hall. She hadn’t noticed it the entire time she’d been in the hall. The pathway sloped down at a slight angle. Wherever they were going, it was under the arena.
The only light came from the orcs’ torches. Long shadows were cast across the walls. The orcs stood at least a foot taller than Terra, their shadows stretching up nearly to the ceiling. “You guys seem like you have tougher asses than the ones I’ve been whipping,” Terra taunted. “How come I haven’t been fighting you in the arena?”
One of the orcs behind Terra sneered. “Because you wouldn’t have made it past the first round.”
“So, you guys are, like, the final bosses or something? Also, I’m assuming you didn’t see me land an ax in a balrog’s head. You telling me you’re stronger than an ancient demon?”
None of the orcs replied. They trekked the rest of the way in silence.
The hallway opened into a series of different pathways in the catacombs beneath the arena. The orcs guided Terra to the middle one, which ended in a stone door with an orc rune etched into the center. The orc who had punched Terra knocked on the door.
After a moment, the door creaked open. The orc moved out of the way and motioned for Terra to enter.
She went into the room, and the door closed behind her. The walls were the same stone the arena must have been built on. Torches covered the walls, and a chandelier hung from the ceiling.
A desk sat near the back of the room in a bizarre parody of an office.
Ten orcs filled the room, these even larger than the ones who had brought her here. They wore nothing on their chests and their muscles appeared unnaturally large, as if the very fiber of their strength was barely able to be contained by mere flesh. They didn’t bother looking at Terra as she entered.
In the middle of the room was an ornate gold bathtub with an etching of an orc’s head aflame carved into the side. A frail hand hung over the side of the tub. “You may approach,” a voice from the tub cooed.
Terra didn’t want to go anywhere near the tub. Whatever was in there, she could go without seeing. But there wasn’t anything else to do, and none of the orcs in the room looked to be particularly good at conversation. Terra approached the tub.
A small orc floated in the murky water of the tub. He was smaller than a goblin, with muscles that appeared to have dried up. His body was wrinkled, and folds of flesh hung from his face like slices of meat in a butcher’s shop. Great, bulbous eyes stared out from under the folds, full of an intense life Terra could not recall ever having seen. They were ancient eyes—eyes that might never die.
The Game Master held himself up in the tub and ran his wet eyes over Terra. “You’ve caused quite the stir in our coliseum,” he cooed. “Quite the commotion indeed.”
Terra stared around the room, trying to keep her eyes off the freakish thing soaking in the tub. “Uh, glad to hear it. Was pretty sure the only reason I was in there was to get killed.”
“That was the initial reason, but you’ve proven yourself as a warrior of exceptional caliber thrice now. Although we are servants of the Dark One, we cannot stop being orcs. Strength recognizes strength, power calls unto power.”
Terra remembered what the prisoner orcs had told her about the Dark One’s servants giving up what it meant to be an orc. She couldn’t possibly dislike this guy enough. “Thanks, I guess. Game recognizes game, though I must say, you’re looking a little unfamiliar.”
“Spare me your asinine human attempts at wit. I brought you here to discuss your future. Your prospects. Namely, how you can keep on living.”
“Do you mind if I take a seat? I really don’t want to have this entire conversation looking at your weird baby dick.”
Game Master didn’t seem to take offense at the insult, and he motioned for Terra to sit on the chair behind the desk. She walked awkwardly to the chair, feeling the eyes of all the orcs following her.
After she sat, the Game Master
continued, “A warrior of your considerable talent should not be fighting in the arena. You should be on the front lines, leading our forces. If you would consider it, the Dark One would have use for you.”
Taking a seat behind the desk had been a good idea. Terra felt braver with a little bit of distance between her and the freakish orc imp. “Me? Lead an orc army? Christ, that’s been my dream since I was a little girl. Especially an army that follows someone named the Dark One. My parents would be so proud.”
The water in the tub started to boil. Terra saw the steam rising. “Please, Not-a-Male, there is no need for such hostilities,” the Game Master said. “I have no doubt we can come to an agreement. Do you want money? Glory? Men to attend your every need? Women? Perhaps an orc?”
Terra leaned over the table, clapping her hands. “Actually, that would be great. I have this one really intense need, one that I just gotta scratch. You think you could help me with it?”
The water stopped boiling, reduced to a simmer. “What would you like?”
“To get the hell out of this place and back to my fucking life.”
Once more, the water began to boil. The small hand extended from the tub and motioned at the closest orc, who wore a flowing black cloak around his shoulders. He reached into the tub and lifted the Game Master from the water while another orc quickly dried the creature.
When the Game Master was dry, the orc with the cloak bundled the Game Master up. Two more orcs approached and wrapped the cloth around the orc’s face so that the Game Master hung from the orc like some freakish child strapped to a confused mother.
The Game Master shifted his attention to Terra. “Before you spit on any more offers, please come with me.”
He turned to leave the room, and Terra followed. They entered the hallway, the orcs flanking them, and returned to the main catacomb chamber. Here the Game Master turned left and headed down the tunnel, beckoning Terra to walk at his side.
