Then I saw them.
Beyond the frenetic militia, I spotted the orcs’ distinctive, green-skinned forms. My stomach clenched.
Why are they here?
But I already knew the answer. They were here to abduct someone. Whoever the unlucky individual was, there was little hope of resistance. In the countless abductions reported by the news over the last few days, there had been not a single mention of a failed attempt.
“Ma, keep watch. I’m going to grab the backpacks,” I yelled over the sounds of erupting gunfire as the militia engaged the orcs. “We leave now!” I turned towards the closet where I had stored our backpacks.
The town was no longer safe. I wished Captain Hicks and his men the best of luck, but they were doomed already and I wasn’t about to let me and Mum share their fate. We should have left when we had the chance. Damn it. I cursed the impulse that had caused me to delay.
“Jamie!” Mum’s bone-chilling cry of fear, like nothing I had ever heard before, made me swing around.
“Wha—?” The words died in my throat and my face drained of colour. Looming large outside our house were two of the green-skinned monsters.
The orcs were here.
“Quick, Ma,” I shouted. “Run—”
It was too late.
The door and the surrounding wall shattered, and two nine-foot-tall giants barged within. The first, an armoured brute with one chipped tusk who was wielding a hammer nearly as tall as I was, locked eyes onto my mum as he advanced.
I limped back into the lounge. Fumbling for the gun in my backpack, I forced myself in front of her. “Leave my—”
My useless words were cut short as a massive fist seized me and picked me up effortlessly. My legs dangled in the air as the orc raised me higher for inspection. The behemoth shoved his face in mine.
He is going to eat me! my mind screamed.
But the orc only took one long sniff before grunting dismissively and tossing me out the window. Frame and wooden bars shattered—no obstacle to my violent momentum.
I rolled to a stop on the front lawn in a heap of broken glass. Except for being dazed and battered, and sporting a host of stinging cuts, I was otherwise whole.
Thoughts frayed, I pushed myself upright on trembling limbs and saw that I lay at the feet of three more orcs. All of them observed my struggles in contemptuous silence. Based on the staff one of them bore, I knew him to be a magic user.
Mum shrieked.
No!
Orcs forgotten, I whipped my head around in time to see her small form sail through the same window that I had. My heart nearly stopped at the sight. But at the twitching of her crumpled form, I began to breathe again. She was alive.
I scooted over to make sure she was alright. Like me, though she was covered in cuts and bruises, she was whole.
Wood squealed again as the two armoured giants made another hole in our abused house on their way out. I threw myself protectively over my mum as the pair lumbered passed, but they ignored me and instead made for the line of waiting orcs.
My heart thudded in painful relief. But it was short-lived. Our straits were dire. This isn’t good, Jamie, not good at all. How are you going to save Mum? I had no answer.
“These two were the only humans inside, Shaman,” reported one of our captors, his voice barely more than a growl.
The shaman stroked his chin with one clawed hand—carefully manicured I noted inanely—and studied Mum for a silent second before flicking his gaze away from her to me.
His eyes narrowed. Pinned by his stare, I huddled down small while my mind worked frantically. A moment later, rocking back, the orc’s eyes widened in shock. “Impossible!” he exclaimed.
The other four orcs tensed and set cautious hands to weapons. “What is it, Shaman?” asked the brute to the shaman’s left. He was larger than his fellow warriors and his armour more elaborately decorated.
“His Magic Potential, Pack Leader. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before!”
“Hrnn,” grunted the pack leader in disinterest and relaxed from his alert posture.
“You don’t understand,” replied the shaman, outraged by his indifference. “The warlord himself will reward us for this!”
Not even that seemed to spark the pack leader’s interest. “What about the other one?” he asked, pointing with his axe at Mum. “Do you need her?”
The shaman flicked his hand dismissively. “No. Kill her.”
“What? No! Don’t!” I screamed, shielding Mum with my body. “I’ll do anything you want. Just don’t hurt her!”
The pack leader ignored my words and advanced steadily forward. “Please, please—” I begged.
Rough hands grabbed me from behind and flung me away. I tumbled to a stop, face first in the grass.
“Careful with him, you fool! His hide is more valuable than yours!” the shaman shouted, berating the offending warrior.
“Jamie?” Mum’s bewildered cry was no more than a whisper, barely audible.
“Ma! I’m coming!” I yelled as I scrambled to my feet and spun around.
I was too late. An eternity too late.
The pack leader’s axe slashed into Mum. And out again. “No!” I shrieked, staggering forward. It can’t be. It isn’t real. Mum can’t be… But the sound of axe’s wet squelch as it struck unresisting flesh refuted my denial.
I dropped to my knees in time to her body’s own soft thud, and heard over and over again in my mind the sound of axe on flesh.
“What have I done?” I moaned. Arms wrapped around myself, I rocked mindlessly back and forth. Oh, Mum, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Why had we not left days ago? Why had I kept us here?
My head throbbed. Agony exploded behind my eyes. This can’t be real, I thought. I fled the pain. Fled myself, and watched—a spectator only—as the pack leader bent down over Mum.
Numb with disbelief, I was untroubled by the act. I kept my gaze fixed on Mum’s feet and her floral-patterned dress. It had been her favourite.
A single rivulet of crimson trickled down Mum.
I frowned, but did not let myself follow the disturbing line of red back to its source. I lacked the courage.
More streaks joined the first.
I blinked, still not understanding. But despite my denial, reality intruded. The rivers of red transformed into a tide and seeped into Mum’s once-pristine dress, marring it with ugly splotches.
It was blood. Her blood. I swallowed, unable to hold myself apart any longer. I looked up.
The pack leader was wiping his axe clean on Mum’s clothes.
Horror lashed at me, and my own vision turned red. In a haze of fury, I surged to my feet. Uncaring of the orcish warrior standing guard over me, I threw myself forward.
The orc reached for me, but I twisted away. Rage fuelled me as I charged the pack leader, intent on wreaking vengeance for the one person whose life mattered more than my own.
Another orc stepped in my way. I dodged, but failed to evade his grasp completely as his hands clutched at my shirt. With a mighty heave, I ripped free. Snarling, I resumed my charge, then staggered to halt as I caught sight of Mum’s corpse—headless.
Why hadn’t I noticed that before? I thought inanely.
Twisting my head, I searched frantically for the rest of her. Two feet away I spotted Mum’s severed head. I slumped to my knees, the life draining from me as I was transfixed by the frozen horror in her expression.
For as long as I live, I will never forget that: my last sight of my mum. Her eyes, opened unnaturally wide, stared sightlessly; her nostrils were flared wide in fear; and her mouth gaped open in a wordless scream of terror.
Oh, Ma.
Caving under the weight of my grief, I sagged listlessly and bent my head to the ground.
Mum was dead. She couldn’t be. But she was.
A heavy foot thudded down. On top of Mum’s head. The pack leader.
“Get up, yo
u snivelling worm,” he snarled. Winding his foot back, and in an act as foul as it was sickening, the orc booted her away.
I lifted bloodless eyes to stare at the orc. Had he not desecrated Mum enough? Why heap further perversion on her?
This monster cannot be suffered to live, whispered the voice of cold hatred.
My rage reignited and all reason fled. Bounding to my feet, more animal than human, I leapt onto the shocked warrior, and clawed at his face.
Kill him. I will kill him, I vowed, seething with hate.
Blows thudded into me. I ignored them, feeling none of the pain. I raked my nails along the orc’s face and carved deep furrows into his skin.
“Gently, you fools!” the shaman screamed. “Don’t kill him!”
More blows landed, likewise unheeded. I had a singular purpose: to kill the green-skinned monster before me. Wrapping my legs firmly around the pack leader’s neck, I tightened my grip before digging my fingers deeper into his face.
The blows stopped. Yes! I exulted. He is mine now. I pushed harder, trying to gouge the orc’s eyes out even as his own tusks ate into me.
The shaman entered the fray, and something—not a blow—struck me from behind. My vision blurred. No! I wailed. I can’t die. Not yet. I must kill him.
But my will alone was insufficient to hold the darkness at bay, and consciousness fled.
Chapter 7
12 May: 5 days to Earth’s destruction
Gentlemen, we must face reality: humanity has been subjugated. We cannot do anything to save Earth’s millions, but we can still save ourselves. We must negotiate with the overworlders. —Unknown politician.
Awareness returned slowly.
With it came voices, reaching my ears as if muffled by great distance.
“We can’t take him through the portal like this. His wounds are too severe. He will never survive.”
“Who cares! Blasted human. How dare he attack me.”
“Perhaps you shouldn’t have enraged him then,” growled the first voice. “What were you thinking?”
The second grunted. The pack leader, I thought as memory returned. He is still alive. I despaired. Mum was dead, and not only had I failed to save her, I had failed to punish her killer too. I choked back spiralling grief and bitterness.
Keeping my eyes closed, I followed the conversation of the two listlessly.
“What do we do now?” asked the pack leader.
“Send one of your men back to fetch healing ointments, or better yet, one of the healers.”
“Healing ointments?” asked the pack leader sceptically. “Is he really worth all that?”
“Listen to me, you fool! He is worth more than all our collective hides. If the warlord hears that we let him slip through our fingers, we will suffer for it.”
“As you wish,” said the pack leader, his voice tight with anger. I almost smiled. Anything that made that killer unhappy made me happy.
The voices of the pair faded as the two walked away, and with nothing else to hold me to consciousness, I too retreated into the comforting embrace of sleep.
Mum is dead, I thought forlornly as darkness claimed me again.
✽✽✽
When next I woke, it was to the smell of pungent herbs. I wrinkled my nose in distaste at the odour. Too late, I remembered that I was in enemy hands and could be under observation.
“Good, you’re awake. Open your eyes,” said the shaman.
I debated ignoring him. The orcs have already done the worst that they can to me, I thought in painful realization. What else is left for me in this life? Why not let it all go?
“I know you are awake. Open your eyes. Now. Or I will get Yarl to start killing more of your kind. He will take great pleasure in it.”
“Yarl,” I whispered, tasting the feel of the orc’s name on my tongue. So that is his name. I swallowed back grief. The pack leader’s name reminded me that I had failed, that Mum’s killer was still alive.
Beyond that, I still had a purpose. To kill Yarl. To kill them all.
There is time yet. The orcs seemed to consider me of some value, and while my first opportunity at revenge had been squandered, vengeance was still within my grasp.
I let my rage cool. Haste was my enemy. My first failure had taught me that. I would not avenge Mum with hot, impulsive action. Cold calculation. That is what I needed.
I must be like stone.
I would grieve later, I told myself. Now, I needed to harden myself. Drawing in my anguish and loathing, I locked it all away in the dark recesses of my mind and left it to fester. With time it would harden into a ball of fury that, when the right opportunity presented itself, I would unleash.
Feeling my emotions drain away and equilibrium return, I opened my eyes and glared balefully at the shaman looming over me. “What do you want?” I spat.
The orc only smiled in the face of my anger. “You are feeling better I see. Good. We have wasted enough time in this benighted world of yours. Sit up.”
I sat, groaning with the effort as I did. My back and arms felt as if they had been beaten to a pulp, and my face… I lifted my hands to probe the spot where I remembered the skin being ripped open by Yarl’s tusks.
The shaman slapped away my hands before I could make contact. “Don’t do that,” he ordered. “You will disturb the salve. And the wounds still need to heal a bit.”
Why was I of such value to them? Then I remembered the conversation I’d overheard and what orc bands like this one were tasked with. I must have Magic Potential.
Good. I could use that.
A furious hissing sound pierced the air. I looked up in time to see a burning projectile crash into the shimmering barrier of red above us. The world outside disappeared as the dome’s surface was momentarily consumed by a conflagration of sound and blinding-white light.
Involuntarily, I flinched. Yet neither the heat nor the flames from the explosion managed to pierce the shaman’s magical shield.
“Your countrymen,” grunted the shaman, unperturbed by the incoming fire. “They have been throwing flaming rocks at us for the past hour. The fools don’t seem to learn. They will never get through my shield,” he said with a hint of pride.
Artillery fire. Captain Hicks, it seemed, had managed to get the decrepit and obsolete tank operational. Was he trying to root out the invaders? And if all that had happened, for how long had I been out?
I took in my surroundings. The orcs hadn’t moved me. We were still outside my home. Former home, I thought bitterly. Whatever happened from here on out, I wouldn’t be going back to it.
Another mortar shell cracked against the shaman’s shield. This time, I didn’t let myself be distracted by the impact and kept my eyes fixed on the orc.
As hard as he tried to hide his reaction, the shaman’s small start of surprise and swift upwards glance betrayed his concern.
Ah, I thought. The orcs were not invincible after all. God bless our bloodthirsty militia captain. Maybe he and his band of crazy old men could do what the rest of the country’s military had failed to do and kill a few of the loathsome creatures.
My gaze dropped to a crate lying next to me. The wooden box did not belong to me and Mum, and I had never seen it on our lawn before. Where had it come from? As I peered inside, my eyes widened.
The shaman noticed both the direction of my gaze and my reaction. “Some of your people’s strange firebombs. Yarl collected a few. The stupid fool wouldn’t listen to me when I told him they wouldn’t survive the transition through the gate. Do you know what they are?”
I shook my head, feigning ignorance as a glimmer of an idea took shape. To distract the shaman away from the object of my interest, I instead said, “What do you want?”
The longer I kept the shaman talking here the better. His shield, after all, could not last forever. Surely, sooner or later, it would sustain too much damage to remain in place?
But whether he was
concerned or not by the falling mortar shells, the orc shaman appeared in no hurry. Taking his time, he reached into his pouch and pulled out a medallion. “Hold this in your hand.”
Suspiciously, I eyed the object he held. It was a gold disk inscribed with more of the overworlders’ strange runes on both sides. “What is it?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
“Take it and hold it your hand,” repeated the shaman, ignoring my question. “If you do not,”—he gestured behind him—“I will get Yarl’s soldiers to hold you down while I force you to comply. I do not need your consent.”
My gaze slid beyond the shaman. Four orc warriors waited there, Yarl standing at their fore. With his arms folded, the pack leader glared menacingly at me from under hooded eyes. But the effect was spoiled by the red ribbons of blood decorating the warrior’s green face.
I smiled, and even went so far as to chuckle on seeing the pack leader’s scarred visage. Yarl’s scowl deepened and he seemed poised to leap at me. Not wanting to give the orc a chance to take out his frustration on me, I grabbed the medallion from the shaman’s hands.
The object was cool to the touch and fit neatly in my palm. I looked down and studied it more closely. Thousands of tiny runes had been inscribed across its entire surface. But despite the decorative alien script, the medallion looked little different from an oversized coin. My brows drew down in consternation.
What is this thing? And why does he want me to hold it?
“Close your fist around it,” said the shaman.
I glanced up at him. The orc’s gaze was fixed on the medallion. His face hardened as he noticed my hesitation. “Now,” he growled.
I didn’t have many choices here, I knew. My gaze flicked to the wooden crate. Not yet. With a small shrug I complied with the shaman’s order.
I froze as my fist closed around the medallion. Heat was flaring out from the object and into my body. “What the hell—”
I broke off as my vision blurred and a wave of nausea passed over me. I swayed, but before I could fall the dizziness passed and my vision cleared.
I blinked. Then blinked again.
Words floated in the air.
Overworld (Dragon Mage Saga Book 1): A fantasy post-apocalyptic story Page 5
