“About the Godking, about herself, and about orcs. She showed me a clan of orcs far from here that are not like my clan. They are honorable and commit no evil. And they follow the god of Marian and of Lilliandra.”
“This is the Godking that the lady Marian spoke of?”
Gash nodded. Mara nodded in understanding
“Well, this clan you saw sounds wonderful. I can imagine a clan of noble orcs like you and Trogla. Maybe even Grak-”
“They were nothing like my clan,” Gash interrupted. Realizing the bitterness that had come out in his tone, he looked to Mara and saw that she had noticed it as well. He looked back out in front of them. “I remember your words. You said you have seen me wrong my clan in small ways. Can you tell me how?”
Mara swallowed as she determined within herself how she should answer.
“You agree to lead them,” she said at last, “but you treat them like I suspect they treated you. Perhaps you are not as bad as they were, but I have watched you and listened to you. You try and force them to speak common around me. I am thankful, but I do not think it is right. You have never even asked me to do so. Your common gets worse when you speak to them, as if…you think them too stupid or too low to be spoken to with the words you use to speak to me.”
Gash gripped the windowsill, leaning his head against it. They were not easy words to hear.
“I do not think you dishonorable, Gash. But they did forsake their kind to follow you. I can see that you are very angry and bitter about whatever they did to you. Perhaps you fight it. It would seem to me that is what you would do. But you lost that fight upon the hills.”
Gash gripped the windowsill tight and did not move from his position. Mara could see the pain in his actions and she was compelled to speak once more.
“They must have hurt you greatly,” she said.
After a moment, Gash replied in a dark tone, “Greater than you know.”
“So tell me.”
Gash looked at her.
“Gash…” Mara began, “…I told you before that I am here with you through whatever you must face. I have named you my kin. I will not force you to speak to me, but I would ask it. Please tell me.”
Gash regarded her for long moments.
“Tell me your question,” he requested of her.
Mara regarded him a moment and then nodded.
“Very well,” she said. “If it will help you to open up, I will share it with you. But please do not repeat it and do not try to advise me on it. It is difficult enough for me to live with it, much less to have one try and give advice about something they could not possibly understand. But please, tell me of your past first.”
Gash looked to the slumbering forms of his clan lying nearly motionless several feet away. He then turned away from the window and sat down with his back against the wall. Mara joined him. He sat for long moments in silence, thinking back through his time on the Great Plains of Sylrin.
At last he began the impossible task of prying himself open and exposing his heart. Slowly, incident by incident, he unfolded the horror that he had lived for sixteen years among the orcs. He did not tell everything, for he had neither the time, nor the constitution. But he spoke openly enough that she would understand well what it had been like for him.
The two sat there for some time after he had ceased speaking, Mara stunned at the things he had suffered through.
“I did not know it was so bad for you,” she said at last.
“They will not change,” Gash said in reply. “I tried to treat them honorably. I tried to show them the right path. But they still act like orcs.”
“They are orcs,” Mara stated. “They have much they need to turn away from. You may have turned away from it long ago, but to turn away from something you have known your whole life is not something so easily done. Do you not understand that?”
Gash looked at Mara. Her face was fair and honest. The words she spoke to him on the dwarven mountain came back to him. It did seem as if she had been borne from the same womb. There was an old orcish word he had heard spoken only once or twice that carried such meaning. He thought on it now with a new heart towards his heritage. For the first time he did not feel disgust with it, though he felt he still should. But for certain, he knew his heart towards this human named Mara. And so, for her honor, he spoke it.
“Mmringoul.”
Mara stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
“Same womb,” he said, repeating her words.
Mara’s face then broke into a wide smile and she hugged Gash tightly.
“Well, I suppose it is my turn,” she said.
“To make too much noise?”
The two looked to see H’ruk sitting up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. After a moment, the large orc gave Grak a couple of shoves.
“Get up! I know you awake.”
Grak and Trogla also began to stir and copy their elder orc’s actions. It was then that Gash and Mara noticed it to be midday, the sun piercing the clouds and melting the snow upon the mountainside.
“We should get moving,” Mara suggested. “May I tell you of this later?”
Gash nodded and the party stood and prepared to move.
*********
They traveled east all that day through the frigid mountaintops. Despite the chill and thin air, the sky was clear and the wind low. Once she had dug out some warm furs from her pack and donned them, Mara found herself enjoying the journey and the landscape around them. They managed to keep walking and thus their bodies stayed warm. As dusk fell, the party reached a cliff overlooking the next mountain. Beyond lay the thinly forested area just before the North River Mountains. To the southeast, they could see the Collapsed Mountain’s jagged form standing like a great road marker to the east, its collapsed, snowy peak standing even higher than the cliff upon which they now stood.
Gash looked down, searching for a place to make camp. He spotted what looked like the mouth of a cave popping out of the snow. Immediately, he began to climb down the cliff, the others following close behind. By the time they reached the cave, the sun had set and the light was fading from the sky. As he entered, H’ruk voiced his objection.
“That not look like dwarven road,” he said.
Gash turned and looked back at him.
“No,” he replied. “We make camp here tonight. We find a way down in the morning, then return to the dwarven mountain.”
“Why we not find way down now, G’uar?” asked Trogla.
“Because he cannot see in the dark,” H’ruk said derisively.
“You tread harsh, H’ruk,” Gash stated angrily. “It not safe to travel at night. It is colder and storm could come without us seeing. And Mara will be too cold. We camp here. Leave in morning.”
With that, Gash turned and walked further into the cave.
It did not extend very far, but it was far enough to fit all of them and give them protection from the wind. The close quarters kept their body heat near each other, keeping them warm. The ground ran slightly uphill and so was dry, though still very cold. Mara dug in her pack, at last pulling out some twigs and two small stones. She clapped the stones together producing sparks until at last, the pile of twigs caught on fire.
“It will not last long,” she said, “but it is at least a little warmth.”
There in the cave, the group ate their meager meal of dried meat. Mara and Trogla conversed in common while H’ruk spoke to Grak in orcish, Grak giving little in reply. Gash merely sat there in silence, listening. By the time the group had settled down, the fire had long since extinguished itself. But Trogla could not sleep. It seemed as though her appetite for Mara’s knowledge of the world was insatiable.
“Mah-rah,” she whispered.
“Hmm?” Mara replied, half-asleep.
“Are humuns really not able to see in dark?”
“Mmmhmm.”
“Why?”
“Cause…nighttime is for…sleeping,” Mara replied,
her voice trailing off.
Trogla was not satisfied with the answer, but nonetheless decided to leave it alone and try to get some sleep. Her mind would not let her, however. She kept thinking of the ocean and the distant lands that lay beyond. As she lay there, she heard a stirring and noticed Gash rising from his spot next to Mara.
“What wrong, G’uar?” she asked him.
“Not sleep,” he replied. “Stay. I return soon.”
Gash then moved past the group and out of the cave.
**********
Gash looked out over the vast blackness before him. Stars shone bright in the sky and it was enough for him to see some things. H’ruk had been wrong. It was not that he could not see in the dark. Indeed if there was some kind of light he could see well enough to move, if not to engage in combat. It was only in total darkness he could see nothing, unlike those of full-blood heritage.
But little light or no, he walked farther out into the cold and the snow, searching for signs of the orcish army pursuing them. He walked until he had reached a cliff and he looked out below him searching for torchlight. He searched for some time, seeing nothing, but at last he saw distantly a small light blinking in and out. It seemed too close to be the orcish army and he could not figure why it was behaving so oddly. He then felt the wind begin to pick up. He looked up, noting that the stars were blinking out and his limited sight was being swallowed up in darkness. Another storm was coming. Deciding it was time to return, he turned and began walking when he heard footfalls behind him. He whirled and was suddenly met with a warm body slamming into him. The two of them rolled in the snow. Gash felt a pair fist slamming into his jaw and his stomach. He could hear heavy breathing and grunts as he fought back.
At last, Gash managed to toss the form off of him and stand up. His axe was in his hand in an instant and he stood ready for the next attack. But none came. He knew who it was that had attacked him. But where had his attacker gone? He listened intently for footfalls, but he could hear none. The wind began to whistle in his ears. He couldn’t stand out in the open any longer. He had to get back to the cave. But which way was the cave? Gash turned this way and that, trying to get his bearings. He knew he and his attacker had only tumbled a few steps. He chose a direction walked the distance he thought they had tumbled, his mind still sharp, expecting an attack. Searching for the light he had seen before, he walked in a wide circle around the place where he had drawn his axe, his eyes looking intently into the wind, searching for the blinking light. At last he saw it, though just barely blinking in and out. All he needed now was to turn around and head directly back and he should find the cave. But just as he spotted the light, the footfalls came again. He whipped around, swinging his axe low. The haft struck his attacker’s body as his attacker struck him. Gash’s footing slipped out from underneath him and he fell into darkness.
XVIII. Little One
Pain ripped through his body. At once forsaking his axe, he reached out and attempted to grapple some ledge or cliff. His hands were met with rock, but not enough to grip. He continued to grope for some handhold in the darkness but was rewarded only with his air or a skinning of his palms or rapping of his knuckles. It seemed to him that every time he reached out, he was rebuked for his efforts. He slammed into rock walls. His limbs met rough rock at an excruciating speed. His fall finally ended in a thick bed of snow, his body hitting rock underneath. He tumbled and rolled down a steep slope, snow flying around him as he went. At last the ground leveled and his rolling ceased.
He lay face-down in the snow for some time, his body full of scrapes and bruises, his heart broken over his fate. He had been betrayed. Though he had been warned, it did not lessen the pain of the betrayal. And now Mara was alone with his betrayer. He wanted to clench his fists and pound them on the cold rock. He wanted to scream in rage and anger, stand up, and find his way back to the cave and-
At this his thoughts froze and his anger melted into sorrow. He had been betrayed. The ones he had trusted had betrayed him. Perhaps only one attacked him but all might have known. Yes. All had known. They were orcs. They were evil. Trogla’s oath meant nothing. All the honor, all the declaration of loyalty. It all came to nothing. They were orcs- ugly, wicked, dishonorable, horrid. And he had been outcast once more.
His strength was gone and he lay there on the ground weeping uncontrollably. It seemed an eternity for him that he lay there in shame and sorrow. He felt all had been lost, slipped through his fingers like so much melted snow. Yet he remembered the words of Lilliandra, of the plainsman, of Marian, and of Mara. He knew he still had purpose and he still must do something, even if it was just to stand up and start to walk.
Though he still felt that no strength was in him, he found he was at least able to push him self up on his hands, and then to his knees, and then to his feet. He stood there, his cuts stinging and his body aching, the wind ice cold on his face. His left eye would have swelled shut had it not been cut open in the fall. Now it just throbbed and stung.
Pulling his emotions together, he looked this way and that but could not discern any landmarks, nor in which direction he should head. Deciding the best option to be back the way he had tumbled, he slowly began to trudge up the hill. Only a few steps and his toe stubbed against something. He reached down and found his axe lying half-buried in the snow. Taking it up again, he painfully placed it in its holster and continued walking.
The hill sloped up and then back down again. He searched around that area for some time, but could not find the cliff from which he had fallen. The wind grew fiercer and snow began to whip around him. His hide was thick thanks to his orcish heritage. But this storm was cold and he walked in deep snow. His boundaries were being tested with almost every step. He exercised his arms, despite the pain such action caused, and beat his chest to keep up the warmth in his body. If only he could find the cliff from which he had fallen. The lights of the sky were obscured. He could see nothing. He thought he might fall off another cliff or run into a wall, but he had no choice. He had to keep going or die. And he wasn’t ready to die…not yet.
As he walked, his mind went back to his kindred. Not able to escape the betrayal, his mind became stuck on them and their actions. His anger grew and with no relief from the thoughts, simmered into bitterness. His arms ceased beating his chest and instead wrapped themselves around it as the cold penetrated his thick hide all over.
He walked for hours. His body ached from the fight and the fall. His feet and legs stung from the cold, slowly becoming numb in the seemingly endless hilltops. He needed shelter. He needed warmth. What he would have given for some tree bark and a small...flame?
Gash halted his pace at the crest of a hill as his eyes spied something in the far distance; a faint light, blinking in and out, like that of a torch standing unshaken in the midst of a snowstorm. He heard something on the wind as well; a throaty sound, like the guttural cry of beast.
Gash stumbled forward as fast as his frozen legs would allow. The run was long and more than once, he nearly fell in his stumbling. But though the wind felt colder against his face as he ran, the increased action warmed his blood and he suddenly didn’t feel quite so cold. Before long, the blinking light grew into the whipping flame of a tall torch stuck firmly in the snow. How the torch remained lit in the midst of the whipping wind, Gash could not say. But beyond it, the high, wooden walls of a fortress could be seen. Gash slowed his pace, remembering his experience in Galantria. He knew who ever lived there would be even less inviting, being on the very borders of the Northlands. His limbs were half-numb, half-stinging. The chill air burned in his lungs. He had to take the chance.
Reaching the walls, he walked along, running his hand across the smooth wooden trunks in search of a door. There had to be one. Where was it?
“Ho there! Who goes!”
Gash looked up but saw only the walls disappearing into darkness.
“I gots an arrow trained on y’um! Don’t think I can’t shoot y’um in the dark! Give
word, or I’ll shaft y’um through the eye!”
Gash’s limbs screamed at him to get out of the cold. But this man’s arrow pointed at him, though minimal in threat, screamed even louder. It would not do well to cause trouble. This man had done him no wrong and Gash wasn’t looking to give him reason. He just wanted some shelter from the storm.
In a bold move of honor and trust, Gash stepped back from the wall and further into the torchlight, his axe nearly touching the whipping flame of the torch. He was glad to next hear the man’s voice instead of the twang of a bowstring.
“What seek y’um hur, orc?” the man demanded. “And be true-ei with yar words lest y’um find’m me arrow in yar skull.”
“Shelter,” Gash called into the darkness.
“Shelter we gots,” the voice replied. “Tell me why we should shar it with y’um, orc.”
Gash simply stared into the darkness where he suspected the man was, his glare unwavering, as his lips moved to form the calm words of a very bitter soul.
“I am no orc.”
The voice did not answer for many long moments. Gash merely remained staring, his ever-present scowl upon his face. The man must have heard some deep truth in the half-man’s words, for a door, previously hidden to Gash’s worn eyes opened up and a human with a long mustache and covered in thick hides stepped into view. Cautiously, the man approached Gash’s towering figure. The man held his hand on the hilt of a sheathed sword as he approached.
“Y’um sury look the part of an orc, scum,” he said, his voice full of disdain. “If yar not an orc then what are y’um?”
Gash looked down at the man as he approached. His anger rose a bit at the insult, but it was of little consequence. And truthfully, he could not blame him.
“Cold,” was Gash’s simple response.
“Aer women and chil’ren aer not here to sasfy y’um, monster. Be shar y’um understand tat.”
“’Nough, Prall,” said the voice from the darkness, “jus let’m in.”
Half-Orc Redemption Page 27
