Unlike humans, who had religions that fractured with a thousand opinions of what the Aspects intended, the orocs were singular in their spirituality. They shared a united belief that their parent Aspects provided via the forest. Saplings grew to harvesters, who grew to be ancients, who in turn either took root if they were female, or became shamans if they were male, who listened to the rooted life trees and brought their wisdom to the clan. Once they completed the cycle of life, the spirit was returned to the forest of Azaria and Trocus, where they would tend to the life tree of the universe, whose roots drew sustenance outside the Void.
The songs reminded her of nothing so much as the little tunes she would hear around Jaegen, sung for the seasons, or the harvest, but all focused on one aspect or another. Take away the obvious physical differences and some of the stranger cultural elements between humans and orocs, and it could have been a common human village, filled with life and love and hope for the future.
A shadow fell across her as she studied the scene. She turned and almost stumbled over her own feet, as Argant had slipped up behind her. How did someone so big move so quietly? The oroc shaman’s antlered headdress made him blend into the forest whenever he stood still, and his every movement spoke of measured intent.
“You … watch us.” He struggled with the simple human words.
Halli started in surprise. To the best of her knowledge, Argant didn’t speak Promencian. She switched to her growing command of their language. “I watch you, yes. I’m curious. How you live. What you believe.”
His nostrils and eyes flared, though whether because she spoke in his tongue or the content of her speech, she couldn’t tell. A rumble shook him.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because we’re all living creatures, aren’t we?” She pressed a palm to her chest, and then reached out to him. He took a step back, as if fearful of her touch. “Life should respect life. Balance. The more we learn about each other, the more we might understand each other. The more we might be able to live in peace.” Halli tried to draw on the concepts she had overheard to express her answer.
“Peace.” He rumbled again, then let out a large breath. “Humans do not want peace.”
“But we do.” She frowned. She knew that she was missing some of the context of what he was saying. While Halli had learned a lot, her command of Rocmirian was not yet fully fluent. “Most of us want peace, at least.”
“Humans burn and bend and break. You destroy nature so you can build lies in its place. Humans have …” he shuddered, “uprooted life trees. What we do will only bring the hunger for more sap spilled, but we must speak the language humans use if we are to be heard. We must speak with returned violence.”
Halli shook her head and frowned. “Maybe that’s because we haven’t learned enough. As a people, we’re young.”
The shaman bobbed his head. “Yes. Your kind are all saplings. All green wood. But not so green that you can be ignored.”
“But I’m trying to be more,” she said. “I’m trying to grow. To … to set deeper roots. We made peace treaties with your kind, so we all would have space and time to grow. And I’m trying to show you not all humans are the same.”
His brow knotted. “Your kind broke the agreements.”
Halli shook her head. “Our kind, maybe. But it wasn’t me. It wasn’t my people, my family. None in our village had anything to do with the attack on Foxleaf. I swear it on my spirit and my parents’. Whoever wronged your people—and it was so terribly wrong—they’re still out there, and they could hurt you again while you’re focused on the wrong target.”
“You think we are wrong?” His antlers quivered with his growl.
“Not in wanting justice or vengeance, not in chasing balance.” Halli was swimming out of her depth and she knew it. Who was she, a seventeen-year-old girl, to be arguing with a centuries-old shaman? But for some reason, he was listening, and she wasn’t going to stop while he was. “That’s natural. Humans want the same thing when we’re hurt … or afraid. I think that’s where a lot of our misunderstandings come from. We’re a little afraid of each other because we don’t really know one another. But we could change that.”
Argant stared at her, unblinking, for a full minute. She tried for a tiny smile, fighting to keep from trembling or cowering beneath his heavy gaze.
“You speak with the cycles of a life tree, yet you are but a sapling. I must discuss with the grove.” Then the shaman stalked off, saplings and ancients shifting from his path in veneration.
Halli sighed as she watched him go, feeling like she’d failed in communicating something important to them both. How could she have argued better, made him understand clearer? Did she speak the oroc language more poorly than she thought? It seemed like her words had been right, but who knew how he’d really taken them?
She headed back toward the caves, looking for Sven. Maybe he’d have an idea of what she could’ve said better. If she got another chance to speak to the tribal leader she wanted to be more prepared. She had to find a way to bridge the chasm forming between orocs and humans before both races fell into its bottomless depths. It was the only way for her to save the others and win their freedom.
***
Chapter Seven
Tetra Bicks
Twilight fog filled the air. A light drizzle poured down, the first non-snow water of the year. The stink of charred flesh kept drawing bile to the back of Tetra’s throat; the fog was trapping it in place. He’d been at the task all day, all week, and now Drayston soldiers roamed the battlefield by torchlight, pushing back the evening mist to continue the work as late as possible. Moans of the wounded and dying quavered up from all directions, not all of them human. How had they survived so long? The first step in clearing the field involved sorting out any who clung to life, even if they looked dead at first glance. Wouldn’t do to have a soldier start screaming on the pyre.
The oroc prisoners were under heavy guard, burying their dead. Tetra tried to ignore them. Every time he saw them, his fists clenched, and he had to calm himself. Inevitably, the voice would sound in his head: Save her. It was a constant reminder that Lord Drayston was going to do nothing.
Tetra picked his way through the piles of bodies, looking for signs of life. Part of him hoped to find the oroc, Gnarrl, among the dead—or at least wounded enough for Tetra to finish him off with his bare hands.
He’d first encountered such mangled remains in the midst of Jaegen’s destruction, seeing loved ones cast aside like scrap meat. The nausea had returned in full force when Bealdred first dragged him out onto the field, but it ebbed as the day had worn on. Even now, three days later, it surged when he encountered particularly gruesome sights, especially when he saw soldiers speared by the stone spikes. He put a hand over his mouth to fight the urge to retch.
Bealdred, with him again today, had headed off to scout his own portion of the field. At least Kafa remained at Tetra’s side, snuffling about and growling at oroc corpses. Every day Kafa was by his side. Healer Alma had even commented on the absence of his hound, noting that the boy and dog had adopted each other. Tetra grinned at the thought and ruffled Kafa’s nape.
A clank of armor made him raise his head. He waited until it came again and locked on the source of the noise.
“Come on, Kafa.” He stepped around the pile of corpses. Kafa followed, hackles raised.
When the noise came once more, Tetra reoriented and spotted a figure crawling through the fog. He came closer and then froze. An oroc pulled itself along with a broken human sword. Numerous wounds bled midnight blue, and it left a trail as it dragged itself through the battlefield.
“Mikkels!” Tetra cried. “Over here.” The corporal stood nearby, eyes closed. He was using his water affinity to search for blood flowing in the unconscious and wounded. The technique made even the weakest Tidus crucial in the aftermath of a battle, if they could master the concentration required to perform it. Though it wasn’t as efficient as a Geist’s ability
to detect signs of life, it was an effective, if slow, substitute.
After a moment, the corporal’s voice cut through the fog. “Tetra?”
“Here,” Tetra shouted again, tightening his fingers around his mace.
The corporal’s sword rattled against his armor as he jogged into view. His gaze picked out the wounded oroc right away.
“Stay back.” Mikkels approached the oroc. The wounded creature’s painful crawl stopped as Mikkels walked around in front of it. Its wide eyes were yellowed and bloodshot as it stared at the humans with clear hatred.
Mikkels was careful to stay out of the oroc’s reach. “We need an officer. You go. I’ll wait here with—”
They both jumped back as the oroc flung the broken sword at them. It fell short, and the beast rolled onto its back and raised broad hands to the sky.
“Killers! Slayers of saplings!” the oroc cried. “Lying humans. Treaty breakers.” Tetra and Mikkels frowned at each other as the oroc continued. “Trocus and Azaria curse humans for murder. Rocmire ancients and saplings demand make justice.” It coughed up a mouthful of blood.
Tetra shook a fist. “You attacked Jaegen first. You started this!” He pulled out his mace, hefting it up to his shoulder as he stepped forward. Mikkels grabbed the collar of his shirt, fingers catching his brace, yanking him back.
Gurgling laughter pushed more blood out of the oroc’s mouth. “Lying human. Aspects know truth. Aspects make justice … balance …” Its head fell back as it expelled a last breath.
Tetra frowned. The kill should have been his, but the oroc had died too quickly and Mikkels had pulled him back. Yanking his shirt free he turned to face the corporal. “Why did you stop me?”
“It was already dying, Tetra. It served no purpose for you to bash its head in. Besides, I wanted to see if it would say more. Needless killing … you kill in battle, not in anger.”
Tetra shook his head in frustration and squeezed his eyes shut. “When will it be time to save my sister? When will I finally get to go to her?”
He reopened his eyes, not caring that he could feel a tear running down his cheek. The two locked gazes.
“I’m sorry. I know it’s hard. But Tetra, I give you my word that when the time comes, I will be there by your side. I promise you that I will help you.”
Tetra stared into the corporal’s eyes and saw nothing but sincerity there. He felt Kafa nuzzle his hand.
“Come on,” Mikkels said after a moment. “We should find Sergeant Reynolds. Report what it said. This could mean that more attacks are coming.”
The sun finally set, and the mist took over the night, barely fought back by their paltry torchlight. The castle was more brightly lit, the steady glow of volamps making it seem inviting and warm. Carefully picking their way across the bodies, they made their way back to the castle. Tetra looked for Bealdred, but couldn’t spot his hulking form anywhere. Between the fog and the evening’s dark, it was impossible to see more than a few feet with any clarity.
Once they entered the castle’s gates, they found the courtyard packed with guardsmen. The group concentrated around the entrance to the castle’s command wing. Lord Calhein stood at their center, back to the approaching Tetra and Mikkels, armor gleaming in the rich volight. He was speaking to none other than Sergeant Reynolds.
The lord’s voice rose as they drew closer, rolling over the quiet crowd.
“… for single-handedly bringing down an oroc battle chief and preserving our defenses in the face of overwhelming odds, I promote you to the rank of major and give you my gratitude, as do, I’m sure, the guardsmen who still live thanks to your bravery.”
The guardsmen cheered Reynolds’ name. The major bowed, though with an uncomfortable expression. As he rose from the bow, his gaze landed on the duo approaching the crowd. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips and he pointed at them.
People turned their way, and the crowd parted as Lord Drayston headed over. Tetra looked to Mikkels for reassurance, but the corporal just shrugged.
“This is the boy, eh?” Drayston asked Reynolds once they arrived.
“This is Tetra Bicks, my Lord.”
Drayston grunted and eyed him up and down. His gaze lingered on the straps of the back brace, clearly visible through Tetra’s shirt. “Won’t be a boy much longer, will you? Found the need to almost get yourself killed fighting orocs again, hm?” Laughter washed through the crowd, but the lord’s tone turned serious. “I don’t blame you after what they did to your home.” He was silent for a moment and the courtyard grew quiet with him. “I’m told you saved a guardsmen’s life before dragging him to the infirmary. You placed yourself between a wounded guardsman and an attacking oroc. Is this true?”
Tetra glanced down, unsure how to deal with the question. It was true that he had done that, but the memories of the battle felt disconnected, like he was seeing someone else’s actions. He didn’t want attention for the fight, he just wanted to go to the Rocmire and find Halli. “Yes, my lord. But he saved mine first.”
Drayston’s laugh thundered over him, and Tetra stared up in shock. “By the Aspects, do you know who it was you saved?”
Tetra shook his head mutely.
“My nephew, Oltarian Drayston. He’ll be a lord himself one day, thanks to you. What do you think of that?” Lord Drayston clapped a meaty hand on Tetra’s shoulder, though he did so gently.
While it stunned Tetra, the man’s identity hadn’t mattered at the time. It still didn’t, if he told the truth.
“I’m … happy to hear it,” he looked down at the ground. Tetra felt a flush rising in his cheeks.
“Brave and humble.” Drayston yelled over the guardsman. “Lord Major Illamer, you are shamed by a boy!” The Lord Major stood nowhere in sight. A fortunate thing, in Tetra’s opinion.
Reynolds leaned in. “There’s the other matter we spoke of, my lord.”
“Thank you for the reminder, Major Reynolds.” Tetra had the feeling Drayston had used Reynolds’ new rank on purpose. “You’re also the one who predicted the orocs’ attack?”
“I—” It hadn’t happened like that, but Reynolds gave him a nod and Tetra bit down on the words that had been about to come out. He hadn’t seen anything. He just knew that they were murderous, a fact that everyone else seemed to miss.
Mikkels spoke up. “He’s the one who brought the possibility to our attention, Lord Drayston.”
From somewhere in the crowd, Bealdred’s gleeful bellow rose above the murmurs. “Orocs would be turnin’ these walls to dust right now, if not for the git.”
The lord stroked his beard. “Seems we all owe you a debt of gratitude. Foremost, I swear we’ll find the perpetrators of the attack on Jaegen. We must still wait to hear what the king decrees, but I’ll take matters into my own hands if he isn’t willing to see justice done.”
The words sounded hollow after what Tetra had overheard in the Great Hall the day before. Tetra tried to swallow the stone in the back of his throat. He felt a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder from Mikkels and looked up, meeting Lord Drayston’s eyes. “Thank you, my lord. That’s all I ask.”
“Thank you, Tetra Bicks.” Drayston raised a hand. “I hereby name you an honorary guardsman of Drayston.” Another cheer went up. “Perhaps someday you’ll honor us by joining our ranks as a true soldier of the king. After you attend the academy, of course!”
After a few more heartening shouts, Drayston called for everyone to get back to work. As the crowd dispersed, Reynolds and Bealdred stepped forward.
“Serg—er, Major Reynolds,” said Mikkels.
“Corporal?”
“I think you should hear this.” Mikkels gestured to Tetra.
“Gonna save us again, are you, git?” Bealdred asked, grinning.
Reynolds tugged at his mustache. “What is it, Tetra?”
Face still aflame from all the attention, Tetra recounted the oroc’s dying words.
After hearing them, Reynolds shook his head. “Thank you,
Tetra. But I doubt they were anything more than the dying curse of a soldier on the battlefield. However, I will keep them in mind.”
Tetra started to argue, but Reynolds interrupted him. “I know what you have heard, Tetra, and what you think. Trust me. I won’t disregard you, but right now they are too scattered and too few to attack again.”
***
Chapter Eight
Malec Haldenfeld
The hidden glade was filled constantly with the smell of cooking food. To two starving boys, it was like the Aspects had answered their prayers. The glade was filled and active. Sunlight penetrated the forest canopy, making the hidden glade bright and cheery. The Admired, as they called themselves, number twenty-two women and men. Each of them seemed to have a past to hide. Not that a hidden past was uncommon, according to the stories Malec had heard about outlaws. Being wanted was just part of their life.
For several days, Malec tried to keep Pavil from making a fool of himself at the bandit camp—for that’s what he determined it to be quick enough. Not just outlaws, but bandits. Try as he might, Pavil seemed as goofy and clueless as ever. At first, Sibyl tried to explain them away as a band of hunters, having chosen to live off the land by virtue of their strength and wits. But it didn’t take a genius to figure out the truth. Every Admired, as they called themselves, carried weapons at all times and wore patchwork armor that looked culled from a dozen different victims over a hundred different fights.
Their camp lacked much in the way of comforts or finery, yet Malec glimpsed the occasional silver ring or gold chain, as well as ivory carvings and gilded chests. One thing he quickly noted was a pulley system around the edges of the camp. The Admired had carefully attached ropes to the upper branches of the trees in the clearing, and by loosening or tightening the anchors could pull back the forest canopy to let light in or to completely cover the glade to protect from rain and snow.
The weapons caught his eyes, too. Many of them looked too well-crafted for the men who wielded them, sparring each other with clumsy blocks and blows. The boys had watched Tetra’s uncle practice with other villagers, and even soldiers, when his unit stopped in Jaegen. They knew what a skilled fighter looked like. Only a few of the Admired showed the level of skill of the soldiers they had seen fight. How else could they have gotten those weapons, then, except robbery … or murder?
Bloodletting Part 2 Page 4
