“Come out. I then see you better.”
Mogweed tensed. Fardale turned his eyes on his brother. A hawk with a broken wing can’t fly. Forest cats prowl in the bushes. Fardale hinted that they would need help if they were to pass through og’re lands.
Fardale hopped on his three legs closer to the lumbering creature, leaving space for Mogweed to climb out. Still Mogweed hesitated. He knew he had no choice, but his legs refused to budge.
“I will not harm you, little man. My word be my heart.” The beast tapped a bloody claw to its chest. The og’re’s words had a trace of sorrow and weariness. It was more the voice than the words that finally freed Mogweed’s legs.
He climbed from under the overhang and straightened to face the og’re. Its flat, crushed face, with huge nostrils and thick lips, caused Mogweed’s mouth to twist in disgust. Its mountain of muscle and bone trapped Mogweed’s tongue.
Fardale nudged his brother with his nose. Mogweed swatted him away. What did you say to an og’re?
Fardale huffed loudly and squatted on the wet rock. The wolf turned his gaze on the og’re. Mogweed sensed the mosquito itch of a sending. But Fardale’s thoughts were not directed at him. Mogweed watched the og’re reach a claw up and scratch its thick brow. It shook its head.
“A valley far away?” the og’re mumbled. “What be that?”
Mogweed spoke, realizing what his brother had attempted. His voice squeaked. “It’s the wolf’s name: Distant valley, Fardale. He communicates with images.”
“Wolves do that?”
“No.” Mogweed’s confidence grew when it seemed the og’re was not going to attack. “He is not a wolf. He is my brother. I am called Mogweed.”
“I be Tol’chuk.” The og’re nodded his chin in greeting. “But how be this wolf your brother?”
“We are si’lura—shape-shifters. We can speak through our spirit tongues to one another.”
Tol’chuk stumbled back a step. His voice cracked across the stone. “You be tu’tura! Deceivers. Stealers of babies!”
Mogweed cringed. Why were his people so persecuted? A twinge of anger penetrated his fear. “That is a lie! We are simply a people of the forest, and much maligned by the other races. We harm no one and live our lives peacefully.”
Mogweed’s words sunk visibly into the og’re. Mogweed saw Tol’chuk narrow his eyes in thought. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. “I hear truth in your words. I be sorry. I hear bad stories.”
“Not all tales are true.”
The og’re sagged, and his shoulders slumped. “I be taught that many times today.”
“We only mean to pass through here. That beast you killed drove us into your lands. Please let us pass.”
“I will not stop you. But you will not survive in our lands alone. The og’re tribes will hunt you down before you clear the pass.”
Mogweed winced.
“Even now, the beast’s screams echo to my brothers.” He pointed to the sprawled carcass of the sniffer. “Soon its blood will draw many, many og’res. Then they will eat you.”
Fardale pulled back to his feet with the og’re’s words. He hopped closer to his brother.
Mogweed’s breath caught in his throat. Og’res would be swarming through here!
Tol’chuk seemed to sense Mogweed’s panic and spoke softly. “This night, I must leave my lands. If you like, I can come with you. Protect you and help hide you in these lands.”
Travel with an og’re? Mogweed’s mouth was sand-dry. Fardale faced him. Mogweed opened to his brother’s sending.
A pack grows stronger as it grows in size.
Mogweed found himself nodding, but he could not take his eyes from the long fangs of the og’re before him. Let’s just hope, he thought, that the pack doesn’t get eaten by one of its members.
TOL’CHUK STARED ACROSS the fire at the two brothers. They had traveled well into the night before finally stopping to rest the few hours until daybreak. The wolf-brother already lay curled with his nose tucked under a sodden tail. The splinted forelimb stuck out and pointed at the crackling fire. Tol’chuk watched his even breathing. Fardale was fast asleep.
Movement caught Tol’chuk’s eyes. The other brother lay wrapped in a blanket on the far side of the fire, but from the open eyes reflecting the firelight, this brother did not sleep. The one called Mogweed had remained wary of Tol’chuk throughout the journey.
“You need sleep,” Tol’chuk said in a low voice, still struggling with the common tongue. “I guard. I do not need much sleep.”
“I’m not sleepy.” But Mogweed’s voice cracked with exhaustion. The man’s eyes were bloodshot, and bruised crescents outlined them.
Tol’chuk studied him. How frail was the human race. Such tiny arms, like budding sapling limbs, and a chest so small he wondered how a man could catch his breath. He spoke to Mogweed, urging sleep. “Hard daytomorrow. There be two more days of long travel to cross the pass and leave my people’s lands.””
And then what?”
Tol’chuk’s brow furrowed with grooves. “I know not. I seek answers. When I found you, I hoped for some sign, some meaning to our meeting. But you be just lost travelers.”
Mogweed yawned, his jaw stretching wide. He mumbled to the fire. “We, too, seek answers.”
“To what?”
“Why we can’t shift.”
“You cannot change?”
“No. There was … an accident … and we became stuck in these forms. Like you, my brother and I are on a journey, to try to find a way to free our bodies. We seek a city of trace magick among the lands of the humans, a city named A’loa Glen.”
“The trip you take be a dangerous one. Why not be happy with the way you are now?”
Tol’chuk saw Mogweed’s lips curl in disdain. “We are si’lura. If we remain in one form longer than fourteen moons, the memory of our si’lura heritage fades until we become that form. I do not want to forget who I am or where I came from—and most of all I don’t want to stay a man!” Mogweed’s voice had risen enough to cause Fardale to stir in his slumber.
This was obviously a sensitive matter to Mogweed. Tol’chuk crinkled his face, then rubbed his chin with a claw. When he spoke next, he changed the course of their talk. “Your wolf … I mean your brother … he sends me the same picture over and over: A wolf sees a fellow brother. Over and over. I do not understand this picture.”
Mogweed hesitated. The silence stretched. If it weren’t for the reflection of the fire revealing Mogweed’s staring eyes, Tol’chuk would have thought him asleep. Finally, Mogweed spoke. “Are all og’res like you?”
This question startled Tol’chuk. Were his deformities so obvious that even another race could spot his ugliness? “No,” he finally said. “I be a half-breed. Human and og’re blood mix in me.”
A trace of bitter amusement laced the small man’s next words. “You are wrong, og’re. You are not half human. You are half si’lura.”
“What be this you speak?”
“I know of hunters and other humans of the Western Reaches. The blood of humans does not flow through you. No race of the many lands can hear a si’lura’s spirit tongue. Yet you can. Your eyes … they are the same as ours. You must have si’lura blood, not human.”
Tol’chuk sat rock-still. His heart slowed its beat, and the ground suddenly chilled his bones. He remembered the Triad’s hushed response when he had spoken of his mixed blood. The words “he knows not” had flowed from them. If the Triad had known of his true heritage, why hadn’t they told him?
Tol’chuk shuddered. Mogweed’s words had the scent of truth—especially after seeing how weak and small the race of humans grew. A female of the human race could not withstand the mating with an og’re. The og’re females, while weighing no more than a man, were squat and thick with bone. A human female could not withstand the mount and forcefulness of an adult rutting og’re. Even some of the toadish og’re females were crushed and broken under excited males. That’s why a m
ale kept a harem of the small females: If one was crushed, there were always others.
Tol’chuk lowered his head into his hands, his mind spinning. A si’lura altered into the form of an og’re female could have survived his massive father. But did she do this deliberately, or had she become fixed in og’re form and forgotten her si’lura past? Tol’chuk would never know. She had died giving birth, or so he had been told. But what was true?
Mogweed must have sensed Tol’chuk’s shock. The man’s tongue clucked in his throat, obviously fearful he had offended him. “I … I’m sorry if—”
Tol’chuk held up a hand to quiet him, his jaw frozen. Words stayed buried in his throat. He only stared in silence at the two brothers across the fire. Here, too, was his tribe. He saw the fearful look in Mogweed’s eyes. And here, too, like his og’re home, was a place he would never be fully accepted. The og’re half of him would always offend and terrify this new tribe.
Tol’chuk watched Mogweed burrow into his blankets and pull a woolen corner over his head. Tol’chuk sat numb. The fire offered no warmth this night. He stared at the few stars winking through the breaks in the clouds. The fire popped as it devoured the bits of wood.
He had never felt so alone.
THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Tol’chuk regretted his complaints of lonely solitude. Suddenly the mountain paths were too crowded. Mogweed’s words had kept Tol’chuk’s thoughts grinding throughout the night. Only the morning distraction of breaking camp interrupted his shock. It was this roiling consternation and lack of rest that weakened Tol’chuk’s keen wariness. Before Tol’chuk could hide his companions, three og’res had rushed them from a leeward slope of the mountain trail.
He stared at the three og’res of the Ku’ukla clan, the very tribe that had killed his father in the raids. Thick with muscle and scar, these three had seen many battles and were well hardened by war. The leader of the pack towered over Tol’chuk.
“It’s the half-breed of the Toktala clan!” grunted this giant of an og’re. He pointed an oak log that he carried in his free hand in Tol’chuk’s direction. “Seems even a half-breed can capture a bit of game on these trails.”
Tol’chuk stepped in front of the cowering Mogweed. Fardale, listing on his three good legs, remained near the thick thigh of Tol’chuk. The wolf growled toward the band of og’res. Tol’chuk kept one hand knuckled on the wet stone to maintain as much true og’re form as possible. If he were to have any chance of surviving this assault, he must not provoke their disgust. Relieved to use the og’re language again, he forced his tongue to its most masculine guttural. “These are not blood meals. They are under my protection.”
The leader pulled back his lips to expose his fangs in an expression of amused menace. “Since when does an og’re do the bidding of a man? Or is the half of you that is human overwhelming the og’re?”
“I am og’re.” Tol’chuk allowed a hint of fang to slip free of his lips, warning that the words of the leader threatened retribution.
This show, though, only seemed to amuse the huge og’re. “So the son of Len’chuk thinks himself better than his father? Do not threaten the one who sent your father to the spirit cave.”
Tol’chuk stiffened, and his neck muscles bunched up. If these were true words spoken, here stood his father’s killer! He remembered the Triad’s words that the Heart would guide him where he needed to be. Tol’chuk fully exposed his fangs.
At this action, the amusement lighting the leader’s eyes died away, leaving only a sharp menace. “Do not bite more than you can swallow, little half-breed. Even this insult I’ll ignore and let you live—if you give your catch over to us.” The leader’s eyes pointed to the wolf and Mogweed. “They’ll make a tasty stew.”
Though they spoke in the og’re tongue, some meaning must have been transmitted to Mogweed. Or maybe it was the hungry lust in the leader’s eyes as they settled on the small man. Either way, Mogweed moaned and pulled farther behind Tol’chuk. Fardale stood stiff, but his growl thickened.
“They are under my protection,” Tol’chuk repeated. “They will pass unharmed.”
“Only strength of arm will decide that!” spat the leader. He slammed the oak log on the trail. The thud echoed off the peaks around them.
Tol’chuk glanced at his own empty hands. He had no weapon. He bared his empty hand. “Claw to claw, then.”
The giant og’re cackled. “The first law of war, half-breed. Never give up the high ground.” He kept the log.
Tol’chuk’s brows lowered. What chance did he have against this armed opponent? “So this is the honor of the Ku’ukla clan.”
“What is honor? Victory is the only true honor. The Ku’ukla clan will rule all the tribes!”
As the leader huffed and prepared to attack, Tol’chuk rapidly scanned the trail for a weapon—rock, stick, anything. But the night’s rain had washed the trail clean of debris. He had no weapon.
Then he remembered. No, he had one weapon: a stone. He fumbled his thigh pack open and removed the huge heartstone.
The leader spotted the rock in Tol’chuk’s hand. The giant’s eyes widened with recognition. “Heartstone!” Obvious lust trembled the og’re’s limbs. “Give it to me, and I will allow all of you to pass.”
“No.”
A bellow of rage exploded from the leader, and he raised the oak log high. Tol’chuk pushed Mogweed and Fardale aside. Facing the giant, Tol’chuk prepared to use the stone as a weapon. He had killed earlier with rocks, perhaps he would prevail here.
But he would never be given the chance to find out. As he raised the Heart of the Og’res, a shaft of sunlight pierced the clouds overhead and struck the stone. The sun’s touch on the stone burst into a thousand colors.
Tol’chuk winced at the bright light. Shading his eyes against the radiance, Tol’chuk saw the leader bathed in the Heart’s glow. A soft smoke drew forth from the giant’s body and maintained the shape of the leader for a single breath. Then, like a hearth’s soot drawn up a chute, the wispy smoke was sucked to the stone and vanished into its radiance.
As the smoke disappeared, the clouds closed overhead, and the sun vanished. The stone lost its luster.
Tol’chuk and the other two og’res stood like granite statues as the leader’s body teetered for two heartbeats, then collapsed to the trail. The log rolled from his limp claws.
He was dead.
The other two og’res stared with eyes stretched wide. Then, as if on some unseen signal, both turned in unison and fled from the trail.
Mogweed stepped to Tol’chuk. “What happened?” he asked, his eyes also on the stone.
Tol’chuk stared at the corpse of his father’s killer. “Justice.”
OVER THE NEXT TWO days, Mogweed noticed a change in Tol’chuk. They traveled mostly at night to avoid the eyes of other og’re tribes. But even in darkness, Mogweed spied how the og’re lumbered as if shouldering a heavy burden. The creature seldom spoke, and his eyes had a distant glaze to them. Even Fardale’s sendings were ignored by the og’re.
So Tol’chuk knew of his heritage. Why did this news so damage the creature?
Mogweed dismissed his concerns about the og’re. He was just relieved that the party had crossed out of og’re territory and into safer lands this afternoon. The summit of the pass through the Teeth lay just ahead. Beyond the ridge lay the lands of the east—the lands of humans.
Even though nightfall approached and they would soon need to prepare a campsite, Tol’chuk trudged ahead of the others to the cusp of the ridge. Fardale followed at the og’re’s heels like a trained dog.
Mogweed watched his brother leap with difficulty atop a rock. The splinted forelimb hindered the wolf but did not stop him. Nothing seemed to slow him down for very long. Mogweed reached to his side and felt the iron ribbing of the muzzle through the leather of his pack. He had scavenged it from the dead sniffer when everyone’s eyes were busy elsewhere. It might come in handy if he ever needed to control Fardale. He patted the spot. It was
best to be prepared.
Stopping next to the boulder, Mogweed gazed out at the eastern slopes. The shadows of the peaks stretched across the lands as the sun set behind him.
From here, all paths led down.
Fardale raised his nose to the breeze coming from the lower lands. Even Mogweed’s weaker nose could pick up traces of salt from the distant sea. Such a foreign and intriguing smell, Mogweed thought, so unlike home. But what also colored the air, almost overpowering the subtler scents, was a more familiar odor. “I smell smoke,” Mogweed warned.
“Old smoke,” Tol’chuk said, his voice stronger than it had been during the previous days. He seemed to be studying the scent, drawing it deep into his throat. “The fire be at least a day old.”
“So is it safe to continue?” Worries of a forest fire slid across Mogweed’s skin.
The og’re nodded. “And now that we be out of og’re lands, maybe it be time we parted ways.”
Mogweed started to mumble words of thanks for Tol’chuk’s help when suddenly the og’re gasped and clutched a hand to his chest.
“What’s wrong?” Mogweed asked, searching right and left for danger. Fardale leaped off the boulder and loped to Tol’chuk’s side. The wolf placed a concerned paw on the og’re’s leg.
Tol’chuk straightened his back and lowered his hand to his pouch. He removed from among his belongings the huge jewel that had killed the og’re. The stone pulsed a ruby red in the dimness. Its brightness stung the eye. Then, as if it were a coal cooling after supper, the fire receded in the stone until the light vanished.
“What is that? You never did tell us.” Mogweed tried to suppress the greed in his voice. The jewel had to be of extreme value. It might come in handy if they needed to barter in the human lands.
“Heartstone.” Tol’chuk returned the jewel to his pouch. “A sacred stone of my people.”
Mogweed’s eyes still stared at the pouch. “That glow? Why does the stone do that? What does it mean?” “A sign. The spirits call me forward.” “Where?”
Tol’chuk pointed to the spreading vistas of the eastern slopes of the peaks. Fingers of distant smoke climbed into the waning light. “If you will have me, I will journey with you into the human lands. It seems our paths are not yet meant to part. Ahead may lie the answers we both seek.”
Wit'ch Fire: Book One of The Banned and the Banished Page 18
