“Yet another? Muth la has blessed her.”
“I’ve brought her here to show you.”
“That’s long journey for one so young.”
Nir-yat grinned. “She’s big for her age. Will you see her? She’s behind bush.”
Unable to contain herself any longer, Dar stepped from her hiding place. Kovok-mah froze. “Dargu?”
“I’m Dargu-yat, now. I’ve been reborn.”
Kovok-mah bounded down the slope, halting just before Dar. “How’s that possible?”
“Magic,” said Dar as she grasped Kovok-mah’s hand and brushed it across the front of her kef. “I’ve become urkzimmuthi.”
Kovok-mah reached out and traced the lines of Dar’s tattoo, but not in the way she had imagined. He seemed unable to believe his eyes and compelled to confirm such a miracle by touch. “Surely, this is Muth la’s doing,” he said in an awed voice.
“Hai,” said Dar.
Before she could say more, Kovok-mah embraced her, lifted her up, and breathed in deeply. Dar threw her arms about his neck as he savored her scent.
“Dargu. Dargu. Dargu,” he said in a low voice that mingled joy and wonder. “You’ve changed, yet you’re same. I don’t understand.”
“You’ve always understood,” replied Dar. “You saw urkzimmuthi in me before anyone else. If it wasn’t there, magic would have failed.”
Kovok-mah smiled. “I’m glad I was so wise.” Still holding Dar’s torso with one arm, he swung his other arm beneath her knees and lifted them so she was cradled in a nearly horizontal position. Dar giggled as he began to plant orcish kisses all over her face and neck.
This prelude to giving love was interrupted by Nir-yat. “Cousin Kovok,” she said, “Dargu walked two days to see you. She can manage to walk to your hut. I’ll watch your goats.”
Kovok-mah set Dar on her feet, bowed to his cousin, and led Dar to his hut. It was located in a small hollow with steep sides that formed a natural corral. A high fence of interwoven branches enclosed the hollow’s entrance and a wooden shelter for the goats lay at its rear. Kovok-mah’s hut was next to it—a tiny, windowless stone structure with a hide flap for a door. It didn’t look much larger than the reed shelter he carried on his back when he fought for the king. The goats seemed to have better accommodations.
Dar strode across the muddy ground and entered the hut. The opening was so low she had to stoop, and its interior was spare. A mat of woven reeds on the earthen floor, some pegs in the wall, and a small fireplace were the sole amenities. When Kovok-mah entered, their two bodies nearly filled it. Dar barely noticed. She was with her love, and only that mattered.
The sun was low by the time the two lovers had spent their passion. Dar dressed and gazed about the shadowed hollow. Goats had stripped all its greenery. The air smelled of them and their manure. “This is where you live?”
“Hai.”
“All alone?”
“I have my goats.”
“Who serves you food?”
“I must serve myself.”
“I’ll stay and serve you.”
“This place is unfit for mother,” replied Kovok-mah.
“I’ve slept in worse places.”
“But you’re urkzimmuthi now,” said Kovok-mah. “Our mothers live in halls. Did you see any at our camps? Even in Taiben, there are none.”
“I doesn’t matter,” said Dar, “as long as you’re here.”
“It matters, Dargu-yat, because it will matter to my muthuri.”
The resignation in Kovok-mah’s voice disquieted Dar. It reminded her of when she had warned him of the ambush in the Vale of Pines. He knows there’s trouble ahead and feels powerless before it.
Nir-yat proved an inept goat herder. When Kovok-mah found her, his goats were scattered over the mountainside. Nevertheless, he thanked her before he hurried off to round them up. Dar watched him scramble up the slope, captivated by his grace and power. “You must have had good time,” said Nir-yat. “Your atur overpowers smell of goats.”
Dar smiled. “Thank you for watching them.”
“You’re welcome,” said Nir-yat. “Though, if I’d known they were so stubborn, I would have thought twice. It was like herd of muthuris. Which reminds me—you should bathe before you meet our aunt.”
On the way to the hall, they stopped by a stream. As Dar scrubbed away her scent in icy water, Nir-yat spoke of their destination. The Mah clan occupied many halls, which were scattered over the mountain. The one Kath-mah lived in had only one hanmuthi. “We’ll be greeted by Ter-mah,” said Nir-yat. “She’s Kath-mah’s younger sister.”
“If Kath-mah is eldest, why isn’t it her hanmuthi?”
“Kath-mah has two sons, but Ter-mah has two daughters,” replied Nir-yat, as if that explained everything.
It was dusk when Dar and Nir-yat entered the modest hall where Kovok-mah’s parents lived. Ter-mah was seated in the hanmuthi to formally greet them. “Sister’s husband’s sister’s daughters, welcome.” Nir-yat and Dar bowed and returned the greeting. Then Dar’s formal introductions began. These were in order of precedence. She was first greeted by Ter-mah’s daughters, followed by Kath-mah, who had green eyes like her son. Dar then greeted those whose standing was lower than hers: Ter-mah’s husband, then Ter-mah’s daughters’ husbands, followed by Javak-yat, who was Kath-mah’s husband, and finally Ter-yat’s daughters’ children. When the introductions were completed, Ter-mah fed the visitors.
After the meal, Dar and Nir-yat retreated to the chamber of Kath-mah and her husband. Their aunt and uncle were eager for news, especially of Dar’s rebirth. Javak-yat seemed pleased to have a new niece, but Kath-mah’s reaction was more complex. She turned to her husband. “Your sisters certainly have Muth la’s favor,” she said. “Zeta-yat became queen. Zoy-yat became matriarch. And Zor-yat, who already had five daughters, now has six!”
“Muth la favored you also, Mother,” said Dar. “Very few survived battle, but your son was spared.”
Kath-mah snorted. “Spared? Small difference it makes. I never see him.”
“We seldom see his brother, either,” said Javak-yat to his wife. “That doesn’t mean he’s lost to us.”
“Kadat lives in his wife’s hall!” retorted Kath-mah. “He already has daughter. Kovok lives with goats!”
“War is hard,” said Dar. “Even sons who live may have wounded spirits. Give him time to heal.”
“Dargu-yat,” said Javak-yat, “you were with our son. Will you speak of him?”
Dar’s emotions ambushed her. She felt the urge to pour out her feelings to Kovok-mah’s parents, but she didn’t dare. Instead, she was stammering about his bravery when Nir-yat interrupted. “War was hard on my sister also. It pains her to speak of it.”
“Pardon me, Dargu-yat,” said Javak-yat. “I didn’t realize what I was asking.”
Dar nodded politely. “You are as thoughtful as your son.”
Kath-mah looked at Dar quizzically; then her expression turned irritated. “Well, war may have brought you pain, Dargu-yat, but it made you urkzimmuthi mother. Kovok became goat.”
The next morning, Javak-yat left to tend his cheese-making. Kath-mah remained in the hanmuthi to host a “samuth.” Dar broke down the word into “see” and “mother,” which described a samuth’s function perfectly. Unblessed sons came by to introduce themselves, flirt, and hopefully impress an unblessed mother. Nir-yat had been to many samuths and knew all the sons who dropped by. She was in her element—perfectly comfortable and totally in command. Dar found her playful, witty, and sometimes rather lewd.
If it hadn’t been for Dar’s presence, only Nir-yat’s favorites would have bothered to show up. Word was out, however, that a new unblessed mother was at the samuth. Almost every unblessed son in the surrounding settlement dropped by. Dar evoked the same reactions in every one—curiosity and disappointment. The encounters were often difficult because orcs didn’t resort to polite pretense in awkward situations. Many sons thought Dar
was interesting, but all found her ugly and communicated that impression—sometimes tactfully and sometimes not. The samuth lasted through the midday meal and late into the afternoon. Throughout, Dar yearned for Kovok-mah, yet dreaded he might appear. He did not.
After the last visitor departed, Nir-yat whispered to Dar, “Your first samuth is always hard. Every son comes. Next time, only those who like you will.”
“Then I’ll have no visitors,” Dar whispered back.
“Don’t believe that! Sons are drawn by more than looks. Jvar-yat is as ugly as goat; yet she’s blessed.”
Dar smiled, though she wondered if Nir-yat’s reference to a goat was intentional.
Twenty-five
Dar and Nir-yat left the following morning accompanied by two mothers who wished to visit the Yat clan hall. The company caused Dar to forgo visiting Kovok-mah again, for she feared word might reach Kath-mah’s ears. Already, Dar feared Kovok-mah’s muthuri would be a barrier to her happiness. That concern increased Dar’s despondency over leaving.
The weather mirrored Dar’s mood. Dank fog obscured the road and hid the mountains. Cold drizzle arrived by late morning. Everyone walked silently, which suited Dar, who had no desire to chat. The four spent the night huddled beneath a ledge, unable to light a fire. The next day, drizzle turned to steady rain. Dar was thoroughly bedraggled when she reached home.
Warmth and food eased Dar’s body, but not her mind. The brief reunion with Kovok-mah only increased her pain over their separation. Her yearning seemed as physical as thirst or hunger, and just as necessary to satisfy. Yet Dar knew there was little chance of that happening soon.
Dar hid her feelings as best she could, assured by the knowledge that there is no scent for unhappiness. Each day, she worked hard in the kitchen, in hope that keeping busy would ease her heartache. Her cooking improved, but not her spirits. She thought no one had noticed her mood until she was summoned to speak with the matriarch.
When Dar entered the Great Chamber, she found Muth-yat alone, peering out a window. The sky was gray and the brown peaks had their first dusting of snow. The matriarch turned and smiled. “Dargu-yat, I’m pleased to see you.” She walked over and touched Dar’s tattoo. “Jvar-yat did fine work.”
Dar returned Muth-yat’s smile before bowing. “I’m much pleased with it, Mother.”
“As you should be. Are you also pleased to be urkzimmuthi?”
“Very much.”
“I understand why, for I have lived among washavokis,” said Muth-yat. “When my muthuri was queen, I often visited them. Old washavoki king ruled then. He was different from his son.”
“So I’ve heard,” said Dar.
“Washavokis have no Fathma,” said Muth-yat. “That’s why son is king now, even though he’s cruel and has strange desires.”
“He favors killing,” said Dar. “I’ve seen that myself.”
“Without Fathma, we might have queens equally cruel and strange.”
“I’ve heard of Fathma,” said Dar, “but I’m not sure what it is.”
“Fathma is special spirit,” said Muth-yat. “Muth la created it long ago and gave it to first queen. It bestowed wisdom, compassion, and fortitude. Before queen died, she passed Fathma to mother most fit to rule. If old washavoki king had possessed Fathma, he wouldn’t have passed it to his unworthy son, and washavokis would have better king now.”
“So Fathma doesn’t pass from mother to daughter?” asked Dar.
“Sometimes it does, but often it doesn’t. Muth la guides queen before she dies.”
“When you took me to place where I was reborn, you mentioned Fathma. You said it returned to urkzimmuthi there.”
“I’m pleased you remember,” said Muth-yat. “Fathma is passed when queen approaches death. When washavokis destroyed Tarathank, they killed queen and everyone around her. Fathma was lost, and there was no queen. Chaos followed. Many died and much was lost.”
“How did Fathma return?” asked Dar.
“Child was born who possessed it. She grew up to be queen.” Muth-yat grasped Dar’s hand and leaned closer. “If urkzimmuthi lose Fathma again, evil times will return. I tell you this because it’s my greatest fear.” Muth-yat’s face grew grim. “When Fathma passed to my sister, she became queen. Now she lives among washavokis in Taiben. There are no urkzimmuthi mothers there, only sons. She is sick. She may die.”
Dar had seen the mage who was “treating” the orc queen’s illness. He didn’t seem capable of charity. More likely, he’s making her sick. “Sons should take queen from that place,” Dar said.
“I agree,” said Muth-yat. “Yet sons obey queen, not me.”
“Does she want to stay?”
“She says she does.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Though Dar felt uneasy giving advice, she thought she must speak up. “I think you should visit queen and find out.”
“Mage has forbidden it.”
“Urkzimmuthi do not obey mage.”
“Queen does,” said Muth-yat. “Mothers are turned away. None have seen her for five winters. Dargu, I think mage has used magic to gain power over queen.”
Dar thought it was possible, but she was puzzled why Muth-yat confided in her. Such matters seemed to concern the Council of Matriarchs, not someone like her. Then Dar realized where the talk was heading, and the thought twisted her stomach.
Muth-yat smelled Dar’s fear, but continued anyway. “Dargu-yat, you’re urkzimmuthi mother and daughter of queen’s sister. Yet washavokis are fools. They will not see this. You could go to Taiben. You could see queen and learn what has happened to her.”
As Muth-yat waited for a reply, she smelled Dar’s fear grow stronger. “Mother,” said Dar in a shaky voice. “You’re wise to say washavokis will not see me as urkzimmuthi. They’ll treat me like mother of their kind. This mark on my forehead means anyone who kills me will receive gift. Though I fear death, I fear something else even more. I will have urkzimmuthi spirit, but be compelled to live like washavoki.” Tears began to flow down Dar’s face. “It’s horrible life, with no dignity or peace. Our speech lacks words for cruelties washavokis inflict on mothers.”
Dar fell to her knees before Muth-yat. “Please, Mother, don’t ask me to go. My chest will break.”
Muth-yat stroked Dar’s hair as she would a child’s. “Dargu-yat, Dargu-yat,” she murmured. “I won’t ask you to go against your chest. You’re my sister’s daughter. Stay in our hall and be happy. I’ll find another way.”
Dar wiped her tears, feeling both relieved and ashamed. “Shashav, Mother.”
Muth-yat smiled. “Go back to kitchen. Think no more of queens or mages.”
Muth-yat had returned to the window when her sister entered the chamber. “Snows are coming,” said Zor-yat. “Dargu should leave while road is clear.”
“Dargu isn’t leaving,” said Muth-yat.
“What?”
“She’s afraid,” replied Muth-yat. “I don’t blame her. You know how washavokis treat mothers.”
“Dargu was washavoki. She’s used to it.”
“She’s urkzimmuthi now.”
“Which means she must obey you,” retorted Zor-yat.
“I believe she must go willingly. Otherwise, fear will lead to her death.”
“So what? She’s going to die anyway.”
“If she’s to achieve our goal, her chest must be behind it,” replied Muth-yat.
“But you said it’s not,” said Zor-yat, showing her irritation. “All our efforts have been pointless. And she’s living in my hanmuthi, not yours. I have to call her daughter and eat her terrible cooking.”
Muth-yat smiled. “Gar-yat says it’s improving.”
“Then serve it in your hanmuthi!” Zor-yat sighed. “Sister, we’ve spoken like washavokis and what have our meaningless words gained us? Welcoming Dargu hasn’t worked.”
“Not yet,” replied the matriarch. “But we haven’t learned Dargu’s secret.
When we do, things may change.”
“Time’s running out,” said Zor-yat. “I hear our sister calls for more sons to kill for washavoki king.”
“Hai. She wants them in Taiben before winter.”
“More sons to die! What madness!”
“Yet, we must obey,” said Muth-yat. “Zor, discover Dargu’s secret. When sons leave for Taiben, I want Dargu with them.”
Twenty-six
Dar was stirring a pot of stew when she glanced up. Washavoki soldiers encircled her. They held out bowls, expecting to be served. “Go away,” she told them. “I’m urkzimmuthi now.”
The soldiers moved closer. “You’re no piss eye,” said one.
“I am. I’ve been reborn.” Dar held up a hand to show them her claws, but her nails were flat. She stared at them, puzzled.
“You don’t scare us.”
A soldier thrust his bowl at Dar’s face. “Fill it.”
Dar looked about, but saw only washavokis. After she ladled stew into the soldier’s bowl, others held out theirs. Dar served the men, all the while wondering how they got there. They crowded closer, jostling her. Dar ladled stew as quickly as she could, but the mob never seemed to thin. Then a soldier pushed his way through the others, shouting in a gurgling voice. “You stole my dagger.” Dar knew it would be Muut even before she saw him. He glared at her with dead eyes, his crushed throat a dark purple. “You’re a thief!”
“You no longer needed it,” said Dar.
“Give it back!” Muut lunged, and Dar threw stew in his face.
“Serve the man,” said a steely voice, “and this time, mind you get it in his bowl.”
As Dar dipped her ladle in the pot, Muut disappeared. In his place stood Murdant Kol. He smiled coldly. “You’re still my woman,” he said, holding out a bowl. “Do as you’re told.”
Dar started to obey, but when she lifted the ladle, Murdant Kol’s bowl uncoiled like a snake and became a whip.
Dar woke with a start, moist with sweat. Moonlight streamed though the window, illuminating Nir-yat and Thir-yat, who were sound asleep. Dar gradually calmed down, but not completely. Her dream left a lingering disquiet that she couldn’t shake. It was the feeling that, despite all that had happened, she still belonged to the regiment.
[Queen of Orcs 02] - Clan Daughter Page 16
