When they reached the cabin, Lum awoke and looked about. Seeing the structure before them, she and Gash looked it over. It was derelict, the thatched roof partially collapsed from years of neglect.
As they entered the empty doorway, they saw the humble size of the cabin. A lone, but raised bed occupied one corner near the fireplace. A chair sat next to the bed and, strangely enough, there lay piled on the bed a fresh bed of straw and pile of folded linen. But the one thing that grabbed their attention more than this was the large skeleton lying face up in the middle of the floor. The two stared at it a moment in wonder.
Lum stirred and Gash placed her on the floor. He then looked over the skeleton from his standing position as Lum did so from the ground. It was large, roughly the size of an orc. Its teeth were sharp like an orc’s and there were two tusks sticking up from its lower-jaw. Gash noticed that some of the ribs were broken in a way that sparked something in his mind. Pulling his axe from its holster, he stretched it out over the skeleton and placed one of the blades into the section of broken ribs. It more-or-less fit, but there was no way to tell for sure.
“Look, Gash,” Lum said, dragging herself to the skeleton’s head and pointing to its tusks, “these bigger teeth look like yours.”
Gash looked at them more closely, and found Lum’s assessment to be correct. Was this skeleton related to him somehow? He held no memory of his time before the Cursed Land and so had no recollection that aided in who…or what this was.
He looked over it again and checked its size. It could have been a male of Grak’s size, but such were few and usually died as youths due to their size. It was more likely a female; an aunt. Or perhaps…
“Mother,” Gash spoke aloud.
“This was your mother?” Lum asked in a hushed voice.
Gash shook his head. “I not know.”
The two remained in silence a moment before Lum again spoke. “Shouldn’t we bury her?”
Gash looked at her.
“That’s what you do when someone dies, especially someone important to you. You bury them in the earth, you set a marker to honor their memory and you say something nice about them and then commit then to the Godking.”
She paused before continuing in a more somber tone.
“That’s what Mother told me when Father died.”
“Come,” Gash said as he picked her up. “You must show.”
He then took her outside and she proceeded to help him find a good burial place. They then began to dig, Lum’s small hands and inexperience contributing little physically, while her presence and compassion strengthened Gash’s heart considerably.
Gash then returned to the cabin, gathered up the bones and laid them gently, and neatly in the hole. They then filled in the dirt and gathered some rocks to set as a marker. The two stood and sat before the grave, Lum looking occasionally up at Gash, waiting for him to speak, Gash not knowing anything to say.
What do I say? What can I say that would make a difference? I did not know this person. Who were they? Did they know me when I was a babe? Why can I not know them now? Why have I been robbed of the chance to know them? I might have known myself better. But was I robbed? Or is this all in the Father’s will; that I should be denied the privilege of knowing my kin, that I may struggle and fight and learn to depend upon him and him alone and find myself in him? I do not have the answer.
As Gash stood there, pondering these things, he became suddenly aware of a sweet voice resounding around him. He looked down to his right to see Lum sitting, manipulating her voice into a sweet, soothing sound in a language he did not understand. The sound was alien to his ears as he had never before heard a song, nor singing. But though her voice cracked and was often off-key, Gash did not notice, for the few imperfections were lost in the beauty of the whole, and he was content to stand and listen until Lum’s voice became hoarse and she could sing no more.
Gash knelt down then, and gathered the little girl in his arms. As he began to turn away from the grave, Lum called out hoarsely, “Wait. Wait.”
Gash stopped and turned back to the grave. Lum bowed her head, closed her eyes and folded her hands.
“Great Father,” she began, “we thank you for this person’s life. We thank you for allowing us to find them and give them a burial. Please comfort their family and bring them to the knowledge of you. We thank you and we give you praise.”
Gash then turned and carried her back inside, his thoughts marveling over the great faith this child showed even in the face of her failing health, even in the face of death. Setting her on the bed, he then left to go hunt and was soon back with game and water. He gave Lum as much to drink as she liked and encouraged her to drink as much as she could. He attempted to fix the bed for her, but he had never known how and so she instructed him from the chair beside the bed, her voice hoarse and her breathing raspy. When night had fallen, he let her sit outside by the fire as he cooked the animals.
The two were silent a long while as the meat cooked, filling the air with the sweet mixture of cooked venison and burning wood. There was something peaceful and simplistic about the night before the fire, as though it was a time for them both that would never come again. Gash even saw Lum smiling. He wondered where her little mind had gone as she stared into the flames. He knew she longed to tell him. He also knew that it was becoming difficult for her to speak. He scooted close to her and put an arm around her and she leaned into him.
“I’m glad you’re my friend, Gash,” she said hoarsely. “Can we stay here a few days?”
Gash looked down to see her staring up at him with her golden eyes and peaceful smile. He nodded.
“Yes,” he added aloud.
Her smile did not diminish as she looked back toward the fire.
**********
The next morning found her coughing up more blood and suffering from some sort of chill. They had spent the night in the open, the air being what Gash thought to be plenty warm. He quickly took her inside, wrapped her in the linens, and held her close. The air was only slightly chilled, but it seemed to Gash that it was too much for her. After some time, Lum’s shivers settled and Gash laid her in the bed and covered her properly with the linens and the animal hide they had taken from Marian’s cabin.
Her eyes looked more sunken than the day before. He knew he could not take her back to the colder climate of the mountains. They had to remain where they were and hope Lilliandra found them as she always had. There was little else they could do.
They stayed there in the valley for weeks. Gash would hunt while Lum rested, which was much. Other times he would climb the dwarven path and search the horizon, hoping to see Lilliandra’s pearly-white and leaf-cloaked form emerge from behind a peak, or crest a hill, or walk up from behind. But she did not come.
Gash spent much time at Lum’s bedside, feeding her, for she could no longer feed herself, and speaking with her – often far beyond any amount he had ever spoken; for she talked less and less as the days passed and Gash’s heart broke continually as he watched her slip away. But he would not weep, still holding out hope. And he would not let her see his frustration, nor his sorrow.
But one day, as the sun hung low in the sky, Gash’s hope waned. He sat there holding her hand and looking upon her and found he could hide his sorrow no more.
“I miss your voice,” he said, his deep scowl gone, replaced by a sorrowful look and tear-filled eyes. “I have failed you. For-give me.”
Lum lay there pale and sickly, looking back at him with her still brilliant, golden eyes. Her breathing was labored and raspy. She smiled at him and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. And by the grace of the Godking, she managed a few raspy words.
“Gash, don’t be sad,” she said. “I’m going to be with the Father.”
“But…” Gash found he could barely manage the words as tears trickled down his scarred face, “you deserve to live.”
“All of us are evil,” Lum managed. “None of us…deserves to live. But the Father�
��gives us life…anyway. All we have…to do is…ask.”
Lum then closed her eyes and breathed out a soft, but raspy breath.
“Have you ever…asked him…Gash?” she asked.
Gash could not answer for the sorrow that had taken him.
Lum lay there, her breathing slow and raspy. Her face, despite her sickness, looked somehow joyful. Gash could not say how he could tell, but it seemed evident to him. She was not afraid.
Gradually, Gash began to notice her breathing become more and more shallow. He knew her time had come and his heart was slowly rent in two. Slowly, her breathing disappeared. A short time later, her small hand became cold.
Gash sat there for some time afterward, just holding her hand in his, staring at her still and silent form; unable to move. At last, Gash breathed out a hard breath, gently gathered up Lum’s body into his arms and carried her outside.
Laying her softly in the grass beside the grave they had together dug for the skeleton they had together found, he pulled his axe from its sheath, laid it in the grass beside, them and dug his fingers into the grass next to her. Within an hour he was finished and he climbed out of the pit and looked once more upon Lum’s silent form.
He then turned and walked towards the nearest hill. Cresting it, he searched the mountaintops carefully in all directions as the sun sank slowly behind them. Upon seeing nothing, he took in three deep breaths and with all the force he could muster, shouted Lilliandra’s name. He shouted till his breath was gone and his chest hurt. His call echoed and resounded amongst the mountain peaks, reaching even to the distant open lands from which they had come. Breathing heavy, he then turned and carefully scanned the peaks and forest one last time. He stood there for some time, searching and waiting. At long last, as the light began to fade from the sky, with immense pain in his heart, he forced himself to turn and head back down the hill. When he arrived at the graves, he stopped and looked upon Lum’s peaceful form.
Amidst every fiber of his being screaming for him to stop, Gash picked up Lum’s lifeless body, stepped down into the pit and gently laid her upon the soft dirt. He then placed his hand on her cheek in a final goodbye, climbed out of the hole and began to fill it in, unable to look again at the grave until he was done.
When at last the grave was filled, Gash gathered some stones and piled them at the head of the grave as a marker. He then stood looking upon the small grave trying to think of something to say, or sing, or pray. But nothing came. There was only a deep groaning within the deepest part of his heart and an abiding sadness that seemed both a comforter and a torturer.
I could not stop it. I could not change it. She is gone. Dead. I could not stop it. Why could I not stop it? Why could I not save her? She needed me and I could not save her. She is gone. Gone…
As the weight of the reality fell upon him and the last remnant of light faded from the sky, Gash found it pointless to remain there any longer and so, reached down and found his axe in the dark. Lacking the will even to hoist it onto his shoulder, he turned and began slowly drudging west, forever leaving behind his little one.
XXI. Broken
Weeks had passed since Gash visited Marian, the little golden-eyed girl Lum in tow. She had not heard from them since, though she had attempted to remain vigilant in her prayers for them. She passed the days as she always had, gathering wood for fire, preparing broth, praying to the Father, and remembering, reciting and recording the Scriptures she had been taught as a child. All the while she waited for the next visitor that would happen upon her abode whilst traveling the Serpent Road. But none other than Gash had come since she had returned home. It was no weight upon her. She had been alone for long periods before. She knew that eventually, the Father would bring a visitor her way that she may share a meager meal and knowledge of his grace with them. She simply did not know, nor did she expect, precisely who, nor in what condition.
One late fall day, she was walking through the part of the forest closest to her home, gathering sticks and branches from the ground for firewood. The air was crisp and quiet, the storm clouds overhead threatening rain, but not yet letting loose their torrents. She held a decent stock in her arms and bent to pick up another branch when her ears alerted her to a familiar sound off in the distance, down the hill towards the brook. She paused in her action and listened until she became certain of what she heard: footsteps, heavy ones at that. They crossed the brook and continued on the south bank, moving towards her through brush and fallen twigs at a slow, unsteady pace. Slowly, she stood and faced the direction from which the sound came. She was not afraid, not at first, and certainly not for herself. But she had never known one to come down through the valley from the north away from the Serpent Road and so she was more filled with curiosity than anything.
As she stood watching, waiting, holding her bundle, she saw come up the rise, a balding head of pale green and stringy, black hair. Her hope rose as the familiar scowled face came into view. But just as quickly as her hope came, it melted into shock. He did not notice her at first and she stood there, stunned at the traces of sadness and exhaustion she could see on his face, even through that hardened look. His weapon he drug behind him as if no will evermore existed to burden its weight upon his back.
As the full measure of him came over the rise, she whispered his name. He stopped and noticed her. She stood staring at his face, seeing again the exhaustion and sadness that seemed to cry out to her in a sorrowful song of a thousand voices. He simply looked back at her, attempting to hide his condition and maintain his hardened look. It was too much for even him to bear. At last, he collapsed in a heap upon the ground.
“Gash!” Marian cried, instantly dropping her woodpile and rushing over to him. She kneeled and placed her hands on his shoulder and back.
“Gash,” she called out to him, shaking him. “Gash, hear me. Hear my voice. Go not away from this place.” Brushing aside her long, dark-brown hair, she leaned over and lay her ear by his mouth as her hand went instinctively to his forehead. His breath came slow and weak upon her ear and the warmth she felt beneath her hand brought upon her a sense of worry, for she knew well its meaning.
“Stay,” she spoke gently into his ear. “Hear my words and go not from this place. Stay with me, Gash. Hold to life and come safely back to it. I will take care of you.”
Getting her hands beneath his shoulder, she lifted him and slowly managed to roll him onto his back.
************
Gash found himself in darkness. There was no sensation save for intense heat that seemed to surround him and fill him to his very soul. He could smell the foul stench of that red river. He could feel the heat coming off it. He heard Lum’s voice screaming and calling out his name. He didn’t know how he knew, but he turned in the direction of the river, which he still could not see and dove towards it. Instantly, he was enveloped by a burning heat. He called out for Lum, but could barely manage her name through his own painful screams. He could feel his flesh melting. His arms flailed, but felt nothing but heat. For a moment, he could see and his sight revealed the little girl, high above him, safe on an out-hanging cliff. Somehow, he could see her golden eyes. There was great sorrow in them as she stared down at him. He reached out his hand towards her and was suddenly dragged under, all going black once again. The burning heat took him and he was certain he would die.
Then it was broken. Coolness touched his forehead. It was damp and soft. And he found his body relaxing, going limp. The heat became less, though still great. The coolness began to dissipate, but just as quickly, it was renewed and was joined by a similar feeling upon his chest. A voice, sweet and motherly called out to him from the darkness. It told him to rest and not to be afraid. His thoughts went back to Lum and he felt tears roll down the sides of his face, as though he lay on his back, as he called out her name in sorrow once more.
**************
He awoke to a cool breeze blowing over him, his nose taking in the cool, fall-time air. He blinked his eyes
open and saw before him the stone ceiling of a cavern, light pouring in from somewhere at his feet. The ground beneath him was soft and also very cool upon his skin. He sat up to see the end of a cavern opening into a lush forest; the ground falling away just outside the entrance. He turned and found Marin lying on the ground next to him, wrapped in furs and given to a peaceful sleep. At her head was a large bowl filled with what appeared to be wet rags. He moved to wake her and stopped. He wondered at his own actions then. Unsure as to why he had ceased his movement. Was it not her that he had sought? He wished to speak to her, and yet, he did not. Retracting his hand, he moved to sit against the wall of the cave and stared at her, attempting to sort out the thoughts and feelings that ran through his mind. He sat like that for some time and was still sitting there when Marian at last stirred.
She opened her eyes, taking in a deep breath of the chilled air. Blinking, she looked and noticed Gash sitting in his place. She rose then and looked at him full-on. She could still see the sorrow on his face, but his defenses were back, his scowl as prominent as ever.
“Gash?” she called to him. “When did you wake?”
Gash did not answer, but stared off into nowhere.
“Can you speak?”
His eyes moved to look at her, yet he still he did not respond.
“The fever must have run hotter than I thought,” Marian said as she moved to his side. She placed the back of her hand against his forehead and breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, praise the Father, it seems to have left you. You were in that condition for three days, but you may have held it even longer before you came here. I thought the coolness of the cave might do you well. Praise the Father it did. Perhaps your speech will return in time.”
Marian moved to stand.
“Can you walk?”
Gash did not respond but looked back into nowhere.
“I see,” Marian said, understanding. “It is not by sickness that you do not speak but by choice.”
Half-Orc Redemption Page 32
