Half-Orc Redemption

by Luke T Barnett

  “Perhaps…”she began, “…perhaps there is some incantation we must speak. Perhaps that is what these symbols are. They are on this side as well.”

  As Mara approached to finger the strange symbols, Gash reached to the doorframe and pulled himself up to stand on its crossbeam. He immediately became aware of a waft of cooler air milling about him. The fact that the mountain air was already frigid made this even stranger in his mind and he reached out a hand to the far side of the doorway. The air was indeed colder on that side. It was an odd sort of cold, however, one that did not seem to chill him…at least, not physically.

  He looked at Mara. He could still see her through the doorway on the far side, still examining the etchings. Not knowing what else to do, he moved to drop down on her side of the doorway. Mara began to say something, but her voice halted in mid-sentence as though she had blinked out of the world.

  XXVI. Grot

  Gash’s feet landed in tall grass. Fresh, summer air filled his nostrils. A noon-time sun beat down on his thick hide. He looked around and immediately felt a sense of entrapment. He stood in a wide, open plain on a midsummer’s day. Several white puffs of clouds lay scattered across the deep blue sky. It could have been anywhere. But Gash knew it all too well.

  He looked frantically around for the doorway, but it was nowhere in sight, neither was Mara. What was in sight, much to his dismay, was the litter of tents whose familiar look…and smell…he thought he had escaped.

  As he stood, paralyzed by their sight, a curiosity began to grow in him. For though he saw the tents, he saw no figures moving among them. Eventually, though the feeling of a cage did not fade from him, his paralyzing fear diminished, and he decided that whatever was happening, the strange sight of the empty encampment may be some sort of clue to solving it.

  Steeling his will, he drew his axe and took determined steps towards the camp. It was not that far off and he reached it within moments. His pace slowed as he entered the encampment. Everything was as he had remembered it. He could even pick out details that he remembered from the day he had slain Gurak. But there was no Gurak. There was no one. Tents flapped lazily in the wind, their openings revealing their empty, but recently occupied insides. Fires smoldered in fire pits. There were no weapons lying about and no half-done projects. Nothing there matched up and he knew it must be some sort of façade. He searched the distant trees for the plainsman, but he did not see him. He continued to look around as he walked through the camp. Eventually, he found himself standing in front of Gurak’s elevated throne. He stared up at it as a cool wind blew by. Somehow, he could tell the structure held some special significance in this puzzle. It certainly held such for him personally.

  “I have defeated you,” Gash said finally. “You have no more power over me. I have freed myself from your grasp. You are no more.”

  The throne did not offer a reply. It sat silently, scraps of cloth tied to it flapping in the occasional breeze. Its imposing form towered over him as an immutable obelisk of dejection and baseness for his kin.

  He stared at it, thinking upon all that the monster had brought upon him, upon his tribe. His tribe. Gash looked around at the empty tents and a deep, stabbing sadness filled his heart. He had actually hoped for them. Throughout the years of torture, of hatred, of apathy, something inside had actually hoped for a better existence for his people. He had hoped to free them from Gurak’s hold. When he realized that would not change them, it nearly drove him to death by his own apathy.

  Now he had come to the very realm of Grot himself to attempt the same thing for the whole of his kin upon the face of Sylrin. What would become of him if the same result came to him? He shuddered at the thought. Could he come through such a defeat?

  Defeat?

  Yes. That’s what it was: A physical victory against Gurak, perhaps even against Grot, but ultimately a defeat in turning his kin from their wickedness. That was the pain when he slew them on the battlefield. That was the rage on the hilltop. That was the battle and words with Grak. That was what held him from the battlefield when he left to defeat Grot and all the time he spent with Lum. Had he just been trying to convince himself that he could save her at least?

  That was it. He wanted to save them, to save her. He wanted to be the one to save them from their fate. But he could not, he did not, and he would not this time.

  The axe dropped from his hand as resign overtook him. There was no hope for him, for his tribe, for his kin, for Lum. His life was an exercise in futility. He had no purpose. It had all been in vain.

  He collapsed to his knees, his eyes staring at the ground. Tears began to stream from his eyes as sadness and deep depression came on him like a wave. He had been here before. He could not pull himself through it again. His efforts were meaningless.

  Futile… Meaningless… Worthless…

  …Un-orc.

  The words reverberated over and over again inside his mind. He heard them in his own voice. He had no will to stop them. He felt their crushing weight. He felt as if he should not be thinking such thoughts, but stronger still was the sense that to do otherwise would be wrong, unjust, and untruthful. He knew he deserved it; every debilitating word. He could not fight it. No matter his strength, no matter his will, he could not succeed and he could not fight the darkness that had enveloped his soul. The voices continued until he had no more strength in him and he collapsed into a sobbing heap upon the ground.

  He no longer cared what else happened. He just wanted release, escape…rest. He just wanted what he wanted. He didn’t care. He just wanted to die, for surely, if his efforts were so meaningless, there was no point in continuing on in this futile waste of a life. It was over.

  And then, through a river of tears, his eyes saw move to stand before him, two soft, leather boots bordered on either side by leaves of green. White legs and a white garment lowered into his vision, but they made no sound, or perhaps the voices were merely drowning it out. A soothing voice rang out clear in his mind, and in its softness, deafened him to all other sounds.

  “Father, I pray, open his eyes.”

  Gash found himself suddenly surrounded by darkness. His emotions had stabilized. He no longer felt the utter despair he had been in just a moment before. He did not even feel the tears upon his face. The voices too had ceased and he was now surrounded by a deafening silence. Not even his own breathing could be heard. He moved to stand only to find that he was already standing. The moment he discerned this, his vision was drawn upwards to a bright light appearing out of the darkness. It shone down upon him and he was able to discern that its light was brighter than anything he could imagine. So bright was its light as it grew that his whole body ached with pain just from looking at it. It’s very essence was pure, good, and righteous. At the same time, it was just, holy, powerful, and terrible to behold. He found the more he looked at it, the more his body ached and trembled, yet he could not look away. He stared at it in utter terror, knowing his complete obliteration was imminent. Yet he could not scream. He could not run. He could do nothing but stare. And suddenly with revelation that filled his heart with terror, he realized the light shining down upon him to be none other than the Godking.

  And when he thought he could take no more, a booming voice echoed around him. So great was the voice that his body and mind reacted the same as to the light so that he thought he might go mad at the onslaught of both, his body feeling as if it would fly apart that instant. Yet the words were clear and completely understood. And they were those that only and always pierce to the heart and divide the soul and spirit.

  “Who is this who presumes to stand before my servants? Who threatens to destroy them by his strength alone? Who is this who makes a mockery of principalities and powers; who presumes that he is more than mere flesh? Is not the Godking creator of both? Is he not sovereign? Are not all, both holy and fallen, sinful and righteous, servants of my will, be they willing or unwilling? Who is this that questions the right to rule all things; that right which
belongs to the Godking alone?

  “Now prepare yourself, son of orc and man. Stand and be tested, that you may see what is in your heart, that you may see that the Godking, it is he and he alone who rules all, who is sovereign, and who alone knows the hearts of all flesh. He has mercy on whom he will have mercy and whom he hardens, he hardens.

  “Stand, son of orc and man, if you are able, and be tested! Let us see you place the mountains! Let us see you disperse the oceans or summon light from darkness! Let us see you reach into the heavenly realm with your mighty hand and cast the hosts of wickedness into Oblivion!

  “Now stand and be counted, son of orc and man. Look! I shall show you what is truly in your heart! And you shall know that the Godking, he is god above all and there is no other beside him.”

  Gash stood before the Great Light shining down upon him as he watched his final days with Lum play out in heart-rending recollection. The scene changed and he saw himself standing amongst the bodies of the three orcs of Grot who had sought Lum’s life. He remembered the pain he felt at killing them, yet feeling no guilt. He saw Lum kneel down beside one and heard her words, “They never listen.” And he felt a deeper pain and anger at the injustice of it.

  The scene began to fade and he heard Lilliandra’s voice full of wisdom.

  “Tell me what you have seen in these orcs that is liken to what you have known.”

  In rapid succession, Gash saw a flurry of scenes flash before his eyes. He saw his axe swung by his own hands, cutting down orc after orc. He remembered the hatred he had held for them, hidden deep down inside which he released upon them almost involuntarily as he defended the knights. He also remembered that same mysterious pain running through him with each blow dealt. He saw himself striking Gurak down in judgment and bitter anger. At last he saw himself as a youth staring bitterly back at himself. He saw the look in his own eyes and knew it well, and the truth struck him like a hammer.

  Long before he killed Gurak, long before the plainsman offered him freedom, long before he came to the cursed land, he had murdered every member of his tribe many times over. Lum’s words came back to him then, and his heart melted within him.

  “All of us are evil. None of us deserves to live.”

  At this, Gash sunk to his knees and wept bitter tears of repentance. He saw himself for what he was, the un-orc they had always claimed him to be; worthy of nothing with a heart of pitch, incapable of good, and falling infinitely short of being worthy of the Godking. And at last his heart understood as Lilliandra’s voice echoed around him.

  “…the end is death.”

  His end it was, deserved and earned. There was no life in him, only death. That was his true nature, that was his fate, and that was what all his works had earned him. He had incurred upon himself the wrath of the Godking. So he resigned himself again to death, this time knowing it not to be what he desired, but what he deserved.

  But then Lilliandra’s words sounded again, cutting through his dejection.

  “His thoughts are not our thoughts, nor are his ways our ways.”

  Lum’s voice spoke again causing understanding and desperate hope to fill his heart…

  “But the Father…gives us life…anyway. All we have…to do is…ask,”

  …and at last, Gash spoke.

  “Great Father, Godking, ruler of all that is, greater in strength than all. I have done great evil. I am great evil. I have nothing but death before me. And I have nothing to give for my life. But you, who rule over all life and death, can give me new life. Please forgive my evil, remove your wrath from me, and give me your righteousness. I submit to you. Do what you will. I am yours.”

  “Do not fear,” the voice spoke again. “And do not despair.”

  Gash collapsed to his hands, something tremendous yet incorporeal being wrenched from his body. New life flooded his heart and breath filled his lungs as if he had been choking his entire life and could suddenly draw breath.

  “An enemy you were. A knight you shall be.”

  The voice faded and Gash found himself lying on the floor of the tower, staring at the pair of soft leather boots bordered on either side by a curtain of leaves. Lilliandra’s voice sounded strong and clear in his mind.

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

  Placing his hands on the stone floor, Gash pushed himself up, feeling the warmth of renewed strength in his arms. He stood, feeling the same strength in his legs. New life coursed through him, filling his spirit, flowing through his veins, his half-orc heart beating stronger than ever before.

  He looked to Lilliandra who stood there before him. Though it seemed to him that she was somehow not there, but some place far away. She spoke to him in the voice of her mind.

  “You now hold within you the eternal nature of the Godking,” she said. “No force of darkness can now possess your spirit, nor control you as it once had. But by entering Grot’s realm, you have enabled him to escape out of it. He would have possessed you, you being half-orc, and used you to lead his orc forces to ravage the world. But now that you have been transformed and purified, his mind turns towards Mara. Even now, she battles a fight she cannot win for her enemies do not tire and will yield to Grot when he comes.”

  “What must I do?” Gash asked her.

  “I am blocking his passage out,” Lilliandra replied, “but I must turn my attention to Mara, lest she be overtaken. If you seal Grot in his realm, he will be thus trapped until Judgment and unable to egress. However, he will still have a hold on your kin and you will be trapped there with him.”

  “But if I kill him, his hold will be broken,” Gash suggested.

  Lilliandra stared at him, fear showing in her eyes, though her face remained stern.

  “Gash, be warned:” she said at last, “though he cannot harm your spirit, nor take you with him to Destruction, he can still end your physical life. I can still bring you out, but not if you trap yourself in and he remains.”

  Gash contemplated the matter heavily. His kin were fierce, bent on the wrong path, and wholly controlled by the monster that lay within that realm. If Grot remained, they would surely ravage the face of Sylrin or be obliterated in the attempt. If Gash escaped, it would only be to death or to more torture at seeing his kin engrossed in one of two unwanted fates.

  A thought struck him: he still wanted to save them. He still desired their freedom from Grot’s control. But unlike when he had first set his mind to destroy Grot, it was not out of a desire to kill their god, nor did he at all think that he himself was capable of completing the task alone. Just as he could not save them, he had been unable to save himself. It was the Godking that had saved him from himself. And it would have to be the Godking that saved his people from their wickedness and turned them to him.

  My people.

  The thought was solid and felt truer than anything he had ever thought concerning his kin.

  “My people,” he said aloud. And the words seemed to strengthen him. They were his people, despite what they had done, and he desired to see their redemption. He knew he could not do it himself. But whatever part he could play in that end, he would gladly fulfill. And for the first time, he felt purpose in his existence. It brought strength all the more to his body and an inexplicable peace to his heart.

  “I can tarry no longer,” came Lilliandra’s voice.

  Gash looked at her.

  “How do I seal him in?” he asked quickly.

  Lilliandra raised an arm and pointed a finger at the stone doorway.

  “Destroy the doorway and you will seal off the realm,” she said.

  “Go. Save Mara,” Gash said as he picked up his axe and moved to the doorway.

  “Farewell.”

  Gash looked to her and as her image faded out, he thought he saw her turn and draw from within her cloak two shimmering blades. Not hesitating, even for wonder, Gash spun, swung his axe in a wide arc, and brought the axe-head down hard onto the crossbeam. The stone crumbled unde
r the heavy weight of the axe and fell to the floor in a heap of rubble.

  The moment it happened, a scream, deep-throated and gurgling, ripped through the air, then died away into echoes and then silence.

  “She lied to you.”

  The whisper echoed around him. It was the same voice that assaulted him on the hilltop when he had escaped the Cursed Land. It was the same voice that had crippled him when he had entered this realm. Its words were smooth, deceptive, yet stabbing and filled with poison. He was determined not to succumb to their lies again.

  “You have doomed yourself to my claw, half-blood. I will take you to the Abyss with me. You will watch your precious Lum suffer and die for eternity.”

  Gash spun as the whispers continued, turning this way and that, his axe held in a defensive posture.

  “It’s your fault she died.”

  Gash felt a pain in his heart and his conscience.

  “If you had not brought her from the mountains, she would still be alive. You killed her. It is all because of you.”

  The words were crushing. But unlike before, he knew where to turn.

  Father, you can do all things. Strengthen me now to defeat this Grot, that my people might be freed from his grasp. I have no hope but you. As for my life, do what seems best. I place it in your hands.

  His eyes caught something. He turned and saw the cloaked form across the room.

  Your will be done, he finished, and charged the creature.

  XXVII. Onslaught

  Mara sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor of the tower chamber. The room swayed gently beneath her and the frigid air pecked at her skin. She sat with her elbows resting on her legs, her fists pressed into her cheeks, and her eyes fixed sulkily on the upside-down door frame. She had been sitting there for the better part of an hour, waiting for Gash to re-appear. When he had first vanished, she had become frantic, attempting again and again to enter the doorway, first from this side and then from that side, all to no avail. The panic soon gave way to worry and anxiousness, causing her to pace the room. Eventually she surrendered to patience and sat down. Now she was just bored and slipping quickly from patience into brooding. She took in a breath and let it out in an exaggerated exhale, as if she could somehow communicate her impatience across the void to wherever Gash had gone.