[Queen of Orcs 02] - Clan Daughter

by Morgan Howell

  “How far is your home from here?”

  “One moon’s walk at least.”

  The news disheartened Dar. All her efforts had been toward reaching the mountains, and she had come to think of them as her destination. Instead, they were only another obstacle. “How can we pass through them?” she asked.

  “It is said there are secret paths,” said Zna-yat.

  “Secret? Then, what good are they?”

  “You’ll find way.”

  Zna-yat’s lack of concern annoyed Dar. She was worried about the journey, and it felt like only she bore that burden. Dar was tempted to tell that to Zna-yat, but decided there was little point; he would agree to whatever she said, but his faith would remain undiminished. Instead, she asked him to tell her what he knew about the Blath Urkmuthi.

  Dar learned that the mountains were inhospitable and mostly uninhabited. However, their harshness had made them a haven when the washavokis invaded. The surviving orcs retreated to the heights to launch attempts to retake their lands. At Garlsholding, they spoke of these forays as “the Goblin Wars.” They had lasted for decades and were savagely fought. In the end, the orcs won back no territory; all they acquired was an evil reputation.

  During the Goblin Wars, orcs lived throughout the mountain range, though the most habitable portion lay to the east. The climate was milder there, for the highlands were less elevated. After the fighting ceased, the orcs abandoned the harsh western heights to settle north of King Kregant’s realm.

  Zna-yat recounted the hard times after the invasion—how refugees from cities tried to farm stony mountain hollows. He spoke of slow starvation in winter and sudden butcheries when summer brought washavoki raids. Zna-yat recounted how the urkzimmuthi in the east gradually recovered, although they never equaled their former glory. It was a long story, but Dar learned nothing that would aid in choosing a route. The old pathways had been made for fleeing washavokis, and even if they still existed, they were not meant to be found. Eyeing the sack of food, Dar wondered how long it would last.

  Since the orcs expected her to lead the way, Dar studied the lofty wall of rock before them. She assumed that any eastward pathway would lie within the interior of the range, and she looked for a means to get there. A cleft to the west appeared to be a pass. Dar pointed it out to Zna-yat. “That seems good way,” she said. “You have sharp eyes. What do you think?”

  Zna-yat gazed at the cleft. It resembled a gap in the cliffs, though it could be a dead end. It was located atop a steep slope of jumbled boulders. “Climb will be long and hard,” he said.

  “Hai,” said Dar. “I think urkzimmuthi would choose such path to flee washavokis. Pursuit would be difficult.”

  “That sounds like wisdom.”

  There was still enough daylight to go farther, and Dar was anxious to continue. She pointed out the way and told the orcs to gather firewood as they walked. “We’ll have fire tonight,” she said. “Washavokis are far behind, and it will be cold in mountains.”

  By the time the sun had set, the travelers were high above the plain but only partway to the cleft. It had been an exhausting and perilous climb, where the sound of constant wind was broken by the occasional crack and rumble of falling rock. Once, when they huddled behind a boulder as stones shot past, they found an orc’s bleached skull. Despite the danger of sleeping on the slope, Dar was too spent to continue in the dark. Her feet, though hardened from weeks of walking, were sore from clambering over rough rock, and every muscle ached.

  The travelers set up camp by a huge boulder that offered shelter from falling rocks, but none from the wind. The ground about it was so steep and uneven, they had difficulty marking the Embrace of Muth la. When Zna-yat finally succeeded in lighting a fire, it blazed brightly and streamed sparks into the windy dark. Though the fire comforted Dar, what she really wanted was Kovok-mah’s arms about her. Yet he sat immobile, his eyes on the flames.

  Zna-yat roasted their ration of pashi over the flames. Mothers owned the food, but sons often cooked it, and Dar was glad that Zna-yat had taken over the task. When he was done, she served the roots, which were more flavorful when roasted. After eating, Dar climbed onto Kovok-mah’s lap. Only then did he hold her.

  Dar rose with the sun, stiff from the previous day’s exertions. She led the way into the cleft, reaching it by late morning. It was choked with fallen rock. As Dar clambered over loose stone and boulders, she spied scattered bones along with rusted weapons. Eventually the footing grew less precarious. A final turn revealed a narrow alpine valley and, beyond it, another ridge. The valley was a desolate place of scattered boulders and windblown grass. The travelers entered it and headed eastward.

  The way seemed easy at first, but over time the incessant wind took its toll. Dar couldn’t get warm, and she was thoroughly chilled by the time they encountered abandoned dwellings. Their roofs had caved in long ago, and all that remained were shallow pits surrounded by the tumbled stones. Their circular design marked them as orcish structures. Nearby were rows of stone wind-breaks to shelter garden plots that had reverted to turf. Gazing upon the ruins, Dar pitied the orcs who had once lived in them.

  Around noon, the travelers entered a winding canyon in the far ridge. The footing was treacherous and it was late when Dar and the orcs exited and found themselves high on a mountainside with a commanding view of the country beyond. A range of snow-covered peaks lay to the north. The area between the overlook and the distant range was only slightly less mountainous. It consisted of a confusing series of ridges and valleys that reminded Dar of a rutted road. She turned to Zna-yat. “Do urkzimmuthi still live there?”

  “None I’ve heard about.”

  Dar wasn’t surprised, for the rugged terrain below looked almost as barren as the valley they had left behind. Here and there, Dar spotted green. But bare rock dominated. Dar imagined the orc refugees’ discouragement when they first gazed upon the scene. It was a bleak place and the travelers’ prospects seemed equally bleak. Even wolves can starve, thought Dar.

  Thirteen

  The way down the mountainside was neither easy nor evident, and Dar was forced to turn back several times when she encountered a sheer drop. Night caught the travelers high upon precarious slopes. The orcs huddled on a narrow ledge while Dar passed out the food. They seemed exhausted. After eating, the orcs quickly went to sleep, while Dar worried she had led them astray.

  They reached a narrow, twisting valley by the end of the next day. It was a stark place, supporting only hardy vegetation. There was coarse grass, scrubby brush, and an occasional stunted tree. Sometimes the travelers encountered ruined dwellings, but whatever crops had grown there had vanished without hands to tend them.

  The terrain—not Dar—determined which way they went. High ridges restricted travel, often forcing her to walk in the wrong direction. The alternative was to climb over a ridge into another valley that twisted also. In such a maze, it was impossible to tell how much progress was made. The orcs turned inward and marched silently. As cold, hunger, and fatigue wore down Dar, her misgivings intensified. The orcs’ silence seemed a sign that they had misgivings also. This journey was my idea, Dar thought. I said I’d lead them home. She regretted making such a rash promise.

  After two days of wandering within the maze of valleys, Dar’s spirits were at a new low. At dusk she pointed to a ruined house whose tumbled stones still marked Muth la’s Embrace. “We’ll stay here.”

  The orcs quietly entered the ruin and Dar opened the bag of food. There were only five pashi roots left. “Food is Muth la’s gift,” she said.

  “Shashav, Muth la,” replied the orcs.

  Dar handed Kovok-mah a root. “Muth la gives you this food.” As she spoke those words, Dar felt the food was Muth la’s final gift—a gift she didn’t deserve. A tear rolled down her cold cheek. Dar wiped it away and handed out the remaining roots. When they were gone, she rose and wandered empty-handed into the dark. She didn’t care where she was headed, as long as the orcs
didn’t see her tears. A line of rubble loomed ahead. Dar climbed over the stones, then slumped against them. As silent tears flowed, she heard someone approach. Dar dried her eyes as Kovok-mah stepped over her hiding place. “Go away,” she said.

  Kovok-mah silently laid five pieces of pashi root by Dar’s feet. The sight of them almost made Dar break out sobbing. “I don’t deserve these!”

  “This food was Muth la’s gift,” said Kovok-mah, “and we may give to whomever we please. Will you eat with us?”

  “I wish to be alone.”

  “Then I must go,” said Kovok-mah. “Yet my chest desires something.”

  “What?”

  “Your happiness.”

  “You might as well wish for more food,” said Dar. “There’s none of that either.”

  “Please, Dargu. May I stay?”

  “Why would you bother?”

  “I think you understand.”

  “I don’t,” said Dar. “All I know is that love is like food. It fills you for a while, but soon you’re empty.”

  “That’s not what I smell.”

  “Don’t tell me there’s scent for emptiness, too!”

  “I smell atur.”

  “Well, I can’t smell it. I don’t know how you feel. You don’t speak to me. You don’t touch me.”

  “I hold you at night.”

  “But only at night.”

  “I behave properly,” said Kovok-mah.

  “I don’t know what that means! All I know is that I feel alone.”

  “But wind carries my feelings.”

  “What good is that to me? I can’t smell them,” said Dar. She seized Kovok-mah’s hand and pressed it against her face. “Touch carries your feelings. Words, also. Wind does not.”

  Kovok-mah shook his head. “I’ve been foolish. I sing to mother who cannot hear.” He paused. “This speaking…this touching…seems strange to me.”

  “Just say what you feel.”

  “That is seldom done, but I’ll try. Touching will be difficult.”

  “You had no problem by the pool.”

  “I had permission then.”

  “You don’t need permission.”

  Kovok-mah looked shocked. “Would you have me act like some washavoki?”

  Dar realized that was exactly what she was asking. “Thwa,” she said. “I must act like urkzimmuthi mother, but I don’t know how.”

  Kovok-mah simply gazed at her. Even in the darkness, she could tell he was uncomfortable. Kovok-mah’s silence made Dar equally uncomfortable. Why won’t he show me what to do? she wondered. Then she had an insight. He needs permission. “Sit beside me,” Dar said. Kovok-mah complied. “Pretend I am mother.”

  “You are mother,” said Kovok-mah.

  “Pretend I’m urkzimmuthi mother who smells atur.”

  “Does this scent please you?”

  “Hai.”

  “Then you will touch this son whose atur pleases you.”

  “What if I don’t?” asked Dar. “What will son do?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What if I, also, smell of atur?”

  “Still nothing.”

  “Why?” asked Dar.

  “Sons who touch mothers without their leave offend Muth la. She will not welcome his spirit when he dies, and it will wander, lost forever.”

  Dar envisioned Murdant Kol trudging the Dark Path for eternity. The idea was fiercely satisfying. “But if son and mother both have atur, why would she not touch him?”

  “Mother’s muthuri may object,” said Kovok-mah, “or perhaps son’s muthuri.”

  “They must approve?”

  “Hai.”

  Dar was glad there was no one to tell them how to behave. Through further questions, she discovered that, from a human perspective, the roles of orc males and females were reversed. It was mothers who made advances, while sons were expected to be demure. Understanding a mother’s role was one thing; acting it out was quite another. Dar had no experience with the subtleties of romance, even with her own kind. Expressing her feelings to an orc seemed doubly difficult. Yet she had to try. Rising to her knees, she sniffed Kovok-mah’s neck. “Perhaps I smell atur,” she said. “I can’t really say.”

  “It’s there, Dargu.”

  “Touch me,” said Dar. Saying the words felt awkward, like she was begging or, even worse, demanding.

  “Mothers do not speak, Dargu.”

  “What do they do?”

  Kovok-mah showed her. Among humans, the gesture would have been brazen and slutty; yet Kovok-mah assured her that it was both proper and polite. Dar tried it, and Kovok-mah tenderly brushed her face with his clawed fingers. “Dargu, I…” He paused, unsure how to put his feelings into words. “Dargu, my chest is filled with you.” Then he gave Dar a clumsy kiss.

  When Dar and Kovok-mah returned to the circle, a fire was blazing and the orcs were awake. Dar was acutely aware that they could smell what she was feeling. Kovok-mah sat down and she climbed upon his lap. Then, although it felt awkward, she took Kovok-mah’s hand and guided it to her breast. The orcs acted like it was an everyday occurrence.

  Zna-yat smiled. “So, Kovok-mah has not displeased you.”

  “Thwa,” replied Dar. “I’m displeased with myself. I’ve led poorly.”

  “I think not,” said Zna-yat. The others gestured their agreement.

  “We may die,” said Dar.

  “Perhaps,” replied Duth-tok, “but no washavoki will slay us.”

  “You’ve done well,” said Varz-hak.

  “They speak wisdom,” said Zna-yat. “You’ve shown us Muth la’s path, however it ends.” He bowed his head and made the sign of the Tree.

  Dar was comforted, despite the orcs’ fatalism. The Cloak of Mothers would be a far better resting place than the Vale of Pines. Yet Dar couldn’t help thinking they would be dead all the same.

  Fourteen

  The following day, Dar woke in better spirits. She guided the orcs by plodding along, choosing whatever path felt best to her. For all practical purposes, they were lost, although neither she nor the orcs ever had more than a vague idea where their destination lay. By late afternoon, they were deep into the maze of ridges and valleys. By then, finding food seemed as important as finding a way home. Though they foraged as they walked, the results were scant. Dar wondered if starving orcs had scoured the land so thoroughly that nothing edible survived. Despite all their efforts, she and the orcs were reduced to eating woody mushrooms that served mostly as an exercise in chewing.

  The next day was like the previous one, except everyone was far hungrier. Walking on an empty stomach was tiring, so Dar halted the march early, attempting to substitute rest for nourishment. The trek resumed next morning. In the afternoon, they entered the broadest valley they had yet encountered. There, they discovered a shallow river. Dar turned to Zna-yat, who knew the most about the Blath Urkmuthi. “Have you heard of this river?” she asked.

  “Thwa,” he replied. “No one visits this land. Its lore is forgotten.”

  Dar decided to follow the river downstream. After she and the orcs had walked a while, they passed a place where debris partly blocked the channel. Lama-tok stopped and stared at it. “Dargu, I see something interesting.”

  Dar walked back to where he stood. “What is it?”

  Lama-tok pointed to the stones that had trapped the debris. “That is bridge.”

  Dar saw Lama-tok was right. The river was spanned by a straight and even line of stones that obviously had been placed there. Only the pile of branches and logs on the upstream side had obscured their symmetric pattern. Sometimes a single large boulder formed a stepping-stone. More frequently, several stones were fitted carefully together. “Another ruin,” said Dar. They had encountered several that day.

  “This one has been repaired recently,” said Lama-tok, pointing to one of the stepping-stones. To Dar’s eyes, its unmortared stonework looked little different from that of the others; however, she didn’t doubt the former
mason. She scanned the countryside and thought she saw a hint of a path. Either few travel here, or they don’t wish to be detected.

  The other orcs gathered round. Duth-tok agreed with his brother that some of the stonework was new. “No more than one winter old.”

  “Who would have done this?’ asked Dar.

  “Urkzimmuthi fitted those stones,” said Lama-tok.

  Dar turned to Zna-yat. “You said this land was abandoned.”

  “That is what tales say,” he replied. “If urkzimmuthi still live here, no one speaks of them.” He looked warily about and the other orcs did the same. No one told Dar they were concerned for her safety, but their actions spoke for them. The Goblin Wars were fought here, she thought, recalling Zna-yat’s stories of washavoki raids. Hatred is bound to linger.

  “Dargu,” said Zna-yat. “Which way should we go?”

  Dar considered the possibilities. We can try to find whoever made the trail, she thought, or we can flee. The latter choice was more appealing, but Dar felt it was the wrong one. If Muth la is truly directing my path, I’ll be safe. She pointed to the faint pathway. “We’ll go that way.”

  Kovok-mah said nothing, but he was visibly worried by Dar’s choice. When she began to lead the way, he stayed close by her side. Dar was only a short distance from the river when the trail disappeared. She halted and peered around for some clue that orcs had passed there. Nothing appeared disturbed. She turned to her companions. “I cannot find way.”

  “Do you wish to find strange urkzimmuthi?” asked Zna-yat.

  “Hai.”

  “Trail is marked with scent,” he said. “I can follow it.”

  As Zna-yat moved in front, Dar saw Kovok-mah shoot him an angry look. Kovok-mah smelled the trail, too. As Dar had this thought, she felt Kovok-mah’s hand gently stroke her back. “I’ll be all right,” she said, knowing that Kovok-mah also smelled her fear.

  After Zna-yat took the lead, Dar expected to encounter orcs quickly. She got that impression because he moved so surely, pausing only infrequently to sniff the air. Yet, when the sun set, the travelers had gone far without discovering the trail makers. Before it became too dark for her to see, Dar called a halt. “Gather much wood,” she said. “Tonight, we’ll build big fire to show we aren’t hiding. If urkzimmuthi come, be peaceful.”