Half-Orc Redemption

by Luke T Barnett

  That was it. Gurak was dead and Gash lingered, a half-alive creature of inherent evil and pathetic weakness. An un-orc worthy of nothing, to anyone or anything. There was no more purpose in his life. He had achieved his purpose and it had all come to nothing. There was nothing more for him. And there was nothing in him. The half-breed of no name and no life was no more. And finally, his will and mind collapsed and he resigned himself to death.

  III. Beauty

  Long ago, Gash had learned to sleep lightly. Often being forced to stay outside the camp until he brought back food, he would many times wait for hours for a rabbit or a troop of deer to pass by. Sometimes he would wait so long he would fall asleep. It was only by being able to sleep in silence and wake at the slightest irregular sound that he was sometimes able to catch anything at all.

  This time, however, instead of hooves, his ears had awakened him to the soft placement of footsteps on grass. Having spent so many nights on the plains waiting for herds, he momentarily forgot where he was. But the sound of the wind was different. There were sounds of birds different and closer in proximity than those he heard upon the plains. It was only a few moments before he remembered where he was and only a moment longer that his heart remembered its former pain and final resignment to death.

  Yet he lived. He felt the chill of the morning air and the wetness of dew upon his body. His brow cringed.

  ‘Why do I still live?’’ his thoughts turned in his head. ‘Nothing left for me. Just let me die.’

  It was then that he again took notice of the sound that had first awoken him. It was not an animal, at least not one that walked on all fours. And it was getting closer.

  Whatever it was, he wished it would just go away and let him die in peace. But the footfalls grew ever closer until they stopped right beside his head.

  Then, to both his delight and confusion, the soft, but stern tones of a sweet, angelic voice entered his ears.

  “Awaken and arise, Gash of the Bloodaxe. Your time has not yet come.”

  There was a hint of command in the voice. But there was something else as well; strange and unknown to Gash. It was a tone that the half-orc’s tortured heart could not recognize and yet was powerful enough to reach it and compel him to respond. His eyes opened and saw only the dirt and short blades of grass. The voice had come from the other side of him. Stiffly, he lifted his head and, in much discomfort, turned it to face where the voice had come from. His eyes befell a pair of soft, brown leather boots. Their upper portions were bordered on either side by curtains of leaves. Two pillars of ivory rose statuesquely from the tops of the boots.

  Getting his hands underneath him, Gash ignored the pain that followed, pushed himself up onto his knees and looked up at the figure that stood before him. If there had been an orcish word for beauty or if he had known the word in the common tongue, he would have gladly used both. For up until that moment he had never seen anything so beautiful in all his life.

  The feminine figure stood roughly five-and-a-half feet tall and was draped in what appeared to be a cloak composed of many leaves that were connected in some unseen fashion. Beneath it, she wore a simple gown of white that came down to her mid-thighs, a green sash tied around her waist. The tone of her skin was a strange sort of pale, almost pearly white. The color of her long, straight hair matched her skin, its locks falling freely to her waist. Her ears, while mostly hidden, came to points that poked out from beneath her hair. Her face was slightly worn but was no less beautiful for it. Her eyes, green and clear as emeralds reflecting a summer sky, had settled on Gash as she gently smiled upon him.

  Gash sat staring at her, mesmerized by her beauty. After a moment- or an eternity, he couldn’t tell which- he realized his mouth must have been agape, for he suddenly found himself closing it as his trance was broken by the stranger offering him a stark-white hand. It was a bit of a silly gesture as Gash, being as tall as he was did not have to raise his head very much to look her in the face. Nonetheless, he accepted the kindness, took her hand and half-pulled, half-pushed himself to his feet.

  His body was stiff, his muscles feeling knotted in several places. He determined he must have been asleep for at least a day, if not longer. He exercised his joints a moment, cracking several of them as the stranger patiently stood by, watching. The stretching brought warmth to Gash’s body and a sense of waking and clarity to his mind. Though he had not forgotten his former mindset, he had to admit that it was not an unpleasant experience.

  Feeling much looser, he looked down at the stranger who now found herself looking up at him. Meaning to say one thing, Gash found himself saying something completely different, much to his embarrassment.

  “You are very not ugly,” were his words in the common tongue.

  The stranger responded by widening her smile and showing her teeth as she moved her head to look towards the ground. Her cheeks had become slightly red and Gash stood there rather confused as to what was happening to her.

  At last, looking back to him, her face having returned to its former state, the lady spoke.

  “If that is to mean that you think that I am beautiful, I thank you,” she said in angelic tones. “But it is merely the beauty of my master shining through me.”

  There might have been many questions Gash wanted to ask her. But at that moment, it seemed to him that there was only one question even worth asking.

  “Why have you come to me?” he asked bitterly, still wanting to be left alone.

  Her smile faded at his words.

  “You wish me to leave you to die,” she stated.

  Gash turned his head away. Her beauty shamed him. He felt as if he could not speak the truth to her face, that the horror of his decision, or more likely his person, might somehow taint her beauty. He did not know how she knew his thoughts, but neither did he care. He just wanted her gone.

  “Yes,” he replied.

  “I cannot,” she stated plainly.

  Gash whipped his head to look back at her. He was surprised at her boldness. Among the orcs, such a reply almost always meant a challenge. This female, Gash thought, was incredibly thin, though not unhealthily so, and would be no match for him in a fight. Could she really have meant that? Her kindness and beauty told him it was not so. Yet he found himself at a loss as to why she refused to leave him in peace, resigned to his chosen fate.

  “Why?” he asked in annoyance.

  “I have told you. Your time has not yet come,” she replied. “You yet have much purpose, Gash. Your purpose did not end with Gurak’s death. If it had, you would have died there upon that ground. Yet you live. Did you honestly intend to escape the land which you have cursed in your heart only to die a few hundred feet from it? You have not even so much as looked upon the beauty of the freedom that lies before you.”

  Gash remained silent a moment. He was again shamed, this time by her words. They made him feel like a coward. Perhaps, he thought, he was one. He again wondered how she could know him so well. Perhaps she had spoken to the plainsman. Perhaps she had watched him from afar as the plainsman had. Silently he wondered, but still, the desire for his death was strong and he shoved the shame and wonder aside and returned in the voice of a bitter heart.

  “What of it? What do you care?”

  “Do not embitter your heart, Gash,” the stranger responded. “It is naught but a fool’s choice.”

  “And have you come to be my teacher?” Gash responded, his anger rising. He was tiring of her shaming beauty and her frightening knowledge of his very heart. “Who are you to say such things to me?”

  “Merely a slave,” the stranger replied calmly. “But my master is one far greater even than the one your people call to as their god.”

  Gash stood there, momentarily stunned out of his bitterness. No one had ever made such a bold claim before. Yet he could not deny the authority that was in her statement. For a moment, he truly did not know how to react. The intrigue pulling at him, he finally managed to gather his wits together to ask a
question in a calmer tone.

  “How do you say this?” he asked.

  “Because,” she said carefully, “my master is the one who created him.”

  Gash stared hard at her. Such blasphemy had never dared been spoken in the presence of an orc. How she was still alive after having made such bold claims was a mystery to him. He marveled at the fact that she had not bee stricken with a plague of worms eating her alive for her statement. Gash saw the seriousness with which she looked at him and realized her to be in full knowledge of what she was saying.

  “You know you speak kumechk,” Gash stated.

  “You think it blasphemy because of what you have been taught,” she replied. “But you yourself have known Gurak’s words to be naught but lies. Do you not think the others taught his words for fear of his wrath?”

  Gash thought for a moment as he stared at her. He knew her to be right. But the questions then became: What was the truth? Did this stranger know? And how would she?

  “You say your master is greater,” Gash repeated back to her. “He has shown this to you?”

  “He has,” she responded, “and so much more. Though Gurak’s wrath was great among your clan, the wrath of the Godking, my master, is infinitely greater. He cursed Grot for his rebellion against him. And he has cursed your kindred for the same.”

  Gash listened with interest now. Something inside him desired to know the truth of his kindred as if some hope could be found for them there.

  “Tell me,” he said.

  “Long ago, your kindred the orcs served faithfully the Godking, creator and master of all. But Grot, having been cast to Sylrin like lightning and burning with hatred like fire, promised them power, strength, glory, and honor if they turned from the Godking to serve him. Though they knew such to be naught but lies and outright rebellion, the lure of greater strength and power was too great. They chose to believe Grot’s false promises and turn their backs on the promises of the Godking.

  “Because of your ancestors’ rejection of his truth and goodness, their hearts lusted after power and strength. Those that did not follow Grot were nonetheless enticed by what they saw in others and before a generation had passed, the whole of your race had walked into darkness.

  “Thus my Master was very angry with your people. He sent many of his servants calling them to return to him, lest the Curse should come upon them. But they did not listen, nor give heed to him, but chose instead to slaughter his servants and deepen their condemnation. His word has overtaken them. His warnings have long since come to pass. They are a cursed people.

  “Yet, he is patient, loving, abounding in mercy and eager to forgive and restore. Thus this message has today come to you, Gash of the Bloodaxe, that you might turn from the ways of your people and be a force for righteousness among them.”

  Gash stared at her as he thought upon her words. She spoke not in disgust or disdain, but as one deeply grieved. Such a heart towards the orcs he had never before seen and did not quite understand.

  “Why say this to me?” he asked. “I have never embraced their ways.”

  “But you have,” she replied. “Just as they rely upon their strength in battle, so have you relied upon your own to defeat Gurak and free your clan from his reign. But your heart betrayed you, for it, like all hearts, is desperately wicked. You weep that your strength accomplished nothing in the end. It is the same for all who seek their own way. Though there are those, like yourself, who have turned away from-“

  “Those?” Gash interjected a spark of hope igniting in his heart. “Others like me?”

  The stranger paused for a moment.

  “Forgive me,” she said. “I did not mean to deceive. That I know of, you are the only half-orc.”

  Gash’s body slumped and his eyes turned to the ground.

  “There are others of your kin that have not yielded their hearts to the worship of Grot,” the stranger continued. “But I know not who they are nor if they are half, like yourself. It has not been shown to me. What I do know is that they need someone-”

  Gash just shook his head. He had hoped he was not the only one. He had hoped he might find some true kinship, some sense of belonging. Instead, like the rest of his life, even unto the destruction of Gurak, he had found only disappointment and heartache. He wanted no more.

  “Go,” he told her, and then proceeded to plop down in the grass, brooding.

  The stranger let out a breath of frustration.

  “You have kindred who have been deceived into darkness,” she said, “and because of Grot’s hold upon them, they are killing the kindred of your other half.”

  Gash’s mind sparked in revelation. He had not thought of the humans as his kindred before, though they were as much his kindred as the orcs. The fact that the orcs raised him did little to define who were his true kindred.

  “You could help them, Gash,” the stranger continued. “You could help both of them.”

  Gash did not respond but continued to look away.

  “Are you not willing?” the stranger pressed him, her tone more convicting than questioning. “Does your heart not still burn for the redemption of your people?”

  “They took my youth from me!” Gash shouted, snapping his head to face her. “It is theirs now. Let them save them.”

  “No, Gash,” the stranger responded. “You took your own youth. You had many chances to embrace freedom and you forsook them; all because you saw an evil that needed to be destroyed. You sacrificed your youth to see that justice was done. And by the purpose of the Godking, you succeeded. And here you sit, on a field of victory, on the edge of freedom, the world before you, wallowing in misery and self-pity.”

  She squatted next to him and stared hard into his eyes, her face mere inches from his.

  “Know this, Gash of the Bloodaxe:” she told him, “Gurak was not the only evil. There is lesser and there is far greater. And it cannot be defeated by strength of arms or earthly will.”

  Gash steadily returned her gaze. He was not intimidated, but there was experience and knowledge in her voice. She spoke with authority, though he knew not of what depth, and so her words carried weight whereas those in his clan purporting their “truths” had not.

  “You saved your kin from the reign of that monster, whether you intended to or not,” she continued. “Yet you will lie down and let their unnatural bloodlust continue until they have eradicated your lesser kin?”

  “What you have me do?” Gash almost shouted as he stood. The lady stood after him and continued to stare up at him. “Kill a god?”

  “I would have you heed the words of the Godking,” she replied strongly, “who freed you from your torture, just as you pleaded with him to do. He now calls you to return to him.”

  Her tone softened slightly as she continued.

  “You yearn for purpose. You think yourself strong and uncompromising. You claim in your heart to regard no man. You are determined to set your eyes upon justice and see it through to the end. You desire to treat every matter with honor, giving no regard to fear. You strive to do what is right, no matter the cost. Yet in all these things you fall short and the end tears at your heart.”

  Gash stared at her, his anger having risen for the same reason that he held it in check. She was right. So right, in fact, that he could not explain her knowledge. The question had become undeniable. And so, finally, he asked.

  “Who are you?” he said. “How do you know me?”

  “My name is Lilliandra. I am a light elf and slave of the Godking. Though he would that a male of your own people would speak his word to you, Sylrin has all but forgotten him. Thus he chose me and sent me to you, that I might declare these things to you, that you may be freed from the torture which holds you captive still. You can be a leader for your people, but not if you continue to walk in your own strength and choose to remain in your despair.”

  Gash brooded as he looked to the ground. Again her words shamed him.

  “What good is it?” he finally
asked, negatively. “They will not change.”

  “But neither will they any longer believe in the power of Grot.”

  Gash looked back to her in surprise.

  “You have defeated his greatest voice in your clan. You brought him to his knees as if he was nothing. They will no longer believe on the name of Grot. No matter how great an act or warrior they encounter, their minds will always return to the day when you slew Gurak in front of them.

  “Do you see? You needn’t defeat one who pretends he is a god. You need only return to him who created you to be more than you are. Depend upon his power for your strength and not on your own strength as the rest of your kin have done for so long. Through your actions, he will break the power of Grot and free your kin from his grasp forever.”

  Hope sparked in Gash, and a desire to know better this God of whom the female spoke began to grow as a burning flame.

  “Who is he, this Godking? Why would he do such for me?”

  “He is as his name implies: A god and king above all kings of Sylrin and all gods of the heavens, those that are false and those that are true. He is righteous, just, beyond all corruption and he does not change.

  “He created the world that is before your eyes. Even you and I were brought forth by the breath of his mouth. He has done all of this for his own glory, for his own purpose, and according to his own council. He need not that any man should advise him nor even seek him. He uses us and blesses us because he loves us. He loves you, Gash. And that is a gift more precious than a lifetime of victories. But we are fallen and in our hearts we reject him. Thus we suffer, and thus we are under his wrath if we continue in our rejection of him and choose to walk in the rebellion of our own ways.”

  Gash merely stared at Lilliandra in confusion. He had heard the word “love” spoken of before. It was a word that had no equivalent in the orcish tongue. He had heard elder orcs talk of times when they had captured and killed a pair of humans; that one human would plead for the sparing of the other human even to its own death simply because they loved them. It seemed to Gash an affection or an attachment, the limits of which he could not quite grasp. Now this “light elf” that stood before him claimed that this Godking did such things because of this affection or attachment that he felt for Gash. Such a thing did not make sense and Gash merely stood there, thoroughly confused.