Her thoughts were scattered by the arrival of Ghost Last Sung. Down from his stag, he presented himself before the guards and was admitted into the cave.
“Your child council about to judge him too?” Fetch asked.
“They will hear what he has to say,” Starling replied. And that was all.
They spent the rest of the wait in silence. Ghost Last Sung emerged, pausing outside the cave entrance. He looked at Starling for a long moment, face betraying no emotion, yet his stillness—and hers—were heavy with regret. Averting his gaze, the older warrior continued on, shoulders held strong. Starling watched him go and Fetch was struck by the undeniable change in the she-elf. This wasn’t the withdrawn, frightened waif pulled from the Old Maiden. She had been lost then, the trials of the marsh numbing her to the world. This Starling, though reserved, had shed that sense of hopelessness. She was focused, vibrant even, the way a wildflower upon the parched plain was vibrant. She was rooted, quietly thriving. This Starling was easy to respect. And trust.
There was a long span after Ghost Last Sung’s departure. At last, the guards summoned Starling and Fetch back to the Sitting Young.
The same girl spoke for the council.
“Woeful Starling, we accept you are returned. You have suffered much in pursuit of ancient mysteries. Time and powers beyond our reasoning have shown that pursuit will not be ended. We would be unwise to cast you out as was done in the past.”
“You humble me with your kindness and forethought,” Starling replied, and Fetch heard the slightest quaver in her voice. “However, with respect, I cannot remain. My task is incomplete.”
“Then we will not hinder you. Know that Ghost Last Sung was offered a path to restore his honor. He refused and must be banished. He renounced his brave-sworn to spare them punishment. Only his son will follow him into exile.”
Starling bowed her head in acceptance. “This brings grief to my heart.”
“It brings grief to all the Seamless Memory. The loss of Ghost Last Sung and Blood Crow is a great one.”
The eldest boy now spoke, turning his attention to Fetch. “As for the aberra—the half-elf, you and your tribe may continue to dwell here.”
It took Fetch a moment to realize what had been said. “My people can stay?”
The eldest girl dipped her chin. “Yes.”
“What of the Ruin Made Flesh?”
“Should it dare come here, the Selfless Devourer will destroy it.”
“You have my thanks,” Fetch replied, her words borne on a flood of relief. They were led from the chamber as swiftly as they arrived.
“Come,” Starling said. “I will return you to your people.”
As they walked, Fetching could not keep the grin from her face. “You should know, I start getting ornery with folk that save my hide more than twice.”
Starling gave no response.
“That’s my fool-ass way of expressing gratitude.” Still nothing. “Starling? They said you could stay. Why would you leave?”
“I cannot linger. I came to put myself before Akis’naqam as I must, but for the salvation of my child, I must go.”
“Won’t you both be safer here?”
Starling did not answer until they reached the top of the trail that led down into the swampy valley that was the Bastards’ new refuge. Here she turned. They were alone now, well away from the fires and huts and caves of the Tines. The glow of the night sky was trapped in the she-elf’s eyes.
“You thank me for saving your life. In many ways I have ended it. I do not believe the Ruin Made Flesh will be foolish enough to come here. He will not risk facing Akis’naqam. Here, you are safe from him. And so, you can never leave.”
“He’s a tough son of a thick,” Fetch agreed. “But we won’t hide from him forever. When the Bastards are ready, we will return to the Lots.”
“Perhaps. If you wish them to have a chance, you will not ride with them.”
Fetch’s jaw clenched. “This is another of those times, Starling. You got something to say, say it.”
“It will bring you pain.”
“I’ll manage.”
“The Ruin Made Flesh is drawn to you. Not to your land or your tribe. You. I believe you know this, though you have feared to speak it aloud.”
Fetch went cold, her jaw tightening further. “Do you…know why?”
“Yes.” Starling’s voice was soft, contrite. “You and the Ruin Made Flesh are ta’thami’atha.”
The meaning blossomed within Fetch’s mind. She began to quiver, the pale light from the dark sky ice upon her flesh. She laughed, fighting the building, painful shivers.
“He didn’t touch me,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “Kicked me. Strangled me. Beat me near to death. But he didn’t touch me. A fucking thick that’s not a raping cunt.” She laughed again, enjoying the effortless way the Tine words for “fucking” and “cunt” entered her mind and danced off her tongue. “Who would have thought, you rustskins are as nasty as us half-orcs.”
The she-elf looked down at her mournfully. “You again mock.”
“I do! It’s a damned jest. It must be!”
“No. No, I am afraid not.”
“So say it.”
“Why must I? You know. You understand.”
“Because I can’t!”
Starling gathered her breath. “Ta’thami’atha…”
The barbed blade of that word’s meaning stabbed Fetch once more.
Womb-joined.
“It is what my people call siblings that are twin-born. The mysteries your mother uncovered prevented you from being cursed, but they did not prevent the creation of the thing she feared. That all elves fear.”
Fetching gagged on a scream as Starling finished.
“The Ruin Made Flesh is your brother.”
THIRTY-FOUR
HALF-ORCS WERE NEVER TWINS. NEVER. Orc seed did not share the womb.
The thought burned a circle in Fetch’s brain as she descended the brutal trail into the swampy valley. Starling followed, close and silent. Down in the hollow, the closeness of the trees permitted little of the moon. They had not taken a pair of steps from the trailhead when they were challenged from the darkness by a familiar voice.
“It’s me, Cat,” Fetch answered.
Polecat walked from behind a cluster of dense hawthorn, stockbow held at his waist.
“Chief? Thank all the hells. We were set to come looking for you at dawn.”
“What did I say about that?”
“Not to,” Polecat confessed, “but—”
Fetch walked by him without slowing.
“What happened up there?” Polecat asked.
“A heap,” Fetch replied.
“Should I gather the boys?”
“No, let them sleep. Keep your watch.”
“Who is that with you?”
Fetch did not break stride. “What, Cat? You no longer recognize women you wanted to fuck once they’re pregnant?”
Polecat called after them, sounding hopeful. “Does she want to fuck?”
Fetch led Starling through the dark toward the hut. Big Pox grunted and stirred in his pen as she passed, her fury intruding on the beast’s dreams. Fetch gestured for Starling to wait and crept inside. Stepping carefully over and around the sleeping orphans, she went to the bed shared by Warbler and Beryl, Wily tucked in between them. Beryl’s eyes were open before Fetch reached her side, shining faintly in the scant light.
“Outside,” Fetch whispered, and left without waiting for a response.
Beryl emerged from the hut a few moments after Fetching. Seeing Starling, her face wrinkled with puzzlement before relaxing with recognition.
“That’s—”
“Yes. Pay her no mind for now. Tell me about my birth.”
Warbler appeared i
n the doorway, a Tine blanket draped over his bare torso. Beryl grew still, stubborn.
“Why? You never wanted to know before.”
“Just tell me.”
“Fetch?” Warbler’s deep, hushed voice rumbled. He limped away from the hut. “What is this?” His craggy features took in the three women.
“Avram,” Beryl addressed him without taking her eyes off Fetch. “Go get Idris.”
The old thrice took a step.
“Stay put, Warbler,” Fetch said. “If I wanted Oats here, I would have brought him. I got a Tine woman none of us have seen in near two years telling me that the thick preying on the Bastards is my fucking twin. I got no reason or inclination to be patient right now. So tell me what I want to fucking know.”
Beryl took two steps and slapped her. It was a hard blow, jerked Fetch’s head to the side. She tasted salt as her teeth cut the inside of her mouth. She whirled back with a snarl, ready to strike the older woman, but was stopped by Beryl’s face, steel tempered in fury.
“You’re not a chief here, Isabet. Not in this moment! There isn’t any Fetching or Oats or Warbler in this moment because I say there is no hoof. I say! This is family and when it is family I give the commands. I did not expect to ever have to talk about this, but if I must, then I am damn well going to do it the way I want it done.” Blazing eyes moved to Warbler. “Go get our son.”
It was not a choice of words Fetch had ever heard Beryl use. Warbler was briefly taken aback too, but he recovered quickly and hobbled off without so much as a glance at Fetching. Beryl went around behind the hut. Fetch followed, unhurried, Starling her shadow.
Beryl stood by the woodpile, back turned. She did not speak or move until Warbler came thumping up with Oats in tow. The younger thrice looked near panicked, but his bearded face relaxed after seeing both his chief and his mother were well. Warbler approached Beryl, touched her briefly on the shoulder, and sat upon the wood-splitting stump. Oats drifted to Fetch’s side, eyes clinging uncertainly to Starling as he moved.
Unlike Fetch, he knew better than to voice any questions.
Beryl began slowly, talking to the night. “She was calm, your mother. Never seen a laboring woman so calm. Didn’t speak a word of Hisparthan, but not much needs to be said when a baby’s coming.” She turned now, gaze eschewing all but Fetch. “I don’t know what you want to hear, Isa. After nearly thirty years I don’t have many details left. It was the easiest birth I had ever tended…until it wasn’t. You came out and I was surprised she wanted to hold you. I was afraid she might harm you until…I saw her smile.”
Fetch’s teeth were clamped on the cut inside her mouth, the pain fortifying. She had not expected this would be difficult to hear.
Beryl saw the struggle, acknowledged it by continuing. “You were in her arms, safe. I was watching close, still not trusting. And a good thing, because I was able to grab you quick when her fit started. I thought it was her expelling the womb sack, that’s often a killer. I helped it out, knew the bleeding would be the end for her. But the sack in my hands was heavy. And moving. Your mother was dead before I had the thing cut open. Never saw she gave birth to an orc.”
Oats made an involuntary noise, choked it back. Fetch felt him looking at her as his mother went on.
“Hells, it was the first thick infant I had ever seen, but there was no mistaking it. The two of you looked nothing alike. That happens with humans, sometimes, even with twins, but this was different. You weren’t much different from any other mongrel, but…he was bigger, darker, even than a thrice-blood.”
He. Fetch felt sick. It was true.
“An elf woman birthed one half-breed and one full-blood.” Beryl shook her head. “Never heard of anything like that, but I didn’t know anything about point-ears, really.”
“They were both half-elf,” Starling said, her accent thick when speaking Hisparthan. “He was corrupted by the Filth. She was not.”
Beryl gave her that look that could drive a nail. “I don’t know about that either. Just what I saw.”
“How is he still alive?” Fetching asked, trying not to shake.
Beryl squinted, perplexed and angry. “You ever killed a babe, Isabet? Of any kind? Answer me!”
“No.”
“Neither have I. Seen enough die on their own for that.” She took a long, fluttering breath. “I buried the Tine woman myself, hid the boy. An old frail named Branca was still alive then; it was her orphanage before mine. Her hearing was nearly gone and little could wake her, so it wasn’t difficult. But Warbler rode in, so I had to wait for him to go back out on patrol before I could leave.”
“Leave?” Oats asked, confusion boiling over his tongue.
Fetch voiced the answer. “You took him to Dhar’gest.”
The thought was near impossible to fathom. Few went south to the Gut, crossed the Deluged Sea and into the dark lands of the orcs. Few, hells, none! But a woman with a baby? It defied all reason, challenged everything Fetch thought she understood.
Beryl lifted her chin defiantly, as if she still suspected to be punished. “I took a hog. Rode west and south until I reached the Fangs’ lot. They helped me get across the Gut. Saw what I was doing as…I don’t know, sacred? Saving an orc child. They almost took him in, but the vote didn’t pass. I guess even the Fangs of Our Fathers aren’t mad enough to try and raise a thick. Dhar’gest was the only place he had a chance of surviving, with his own kind.”
“How?” Fetch said, hearing the awe in her voice. “How did you make it back?”
Beryl’s lips parted to answer, but a pall settled across her face, caused her to falter. Eyes bright and brimming she went to Warbler, placed a hand on him, and faced away to hide the tears. The grizzled mongrel’s hand covered hers.
“I went and got her,” he said, gruff voice cracking. He looked haunted as he began to talk. “She’d been gone for days when I returned. It was another two before the Claymaster allowed me to go searching. Might have caught her, otherwise. I tracked her, but the Fangs had already helped her cross by the time I reached their lands. Had them shave my head, left Border Lord in their keeping, and swam the Gut. Covered my Bastard tattoos with mud when I made land. Never been so glad to be a thrice-blood. Still, I had to keep my distance from any thicks I saw. Slow-going, not sure how long, but I finally found her…among them.”
Warbler’s eyes went blank, stared at the ground, drowning in the memory. He blinked, dislodging tears. “More days just watching, waiting for my chance, wanting to die, to kill, every time one of them…hurt her. Used up all the luck I would ever have in this life, sneaking in there…but I got her out.”
He wept freely now, silent and unashamed.
Beryl turned, composed, kept her hands upon Warbler’s shoulders and took up the story once more.
“We made it home,” she said. “The Claymaster was furious, wanted to oust me for the theft, but he saw reason when I told him what the Bastards would gain if he waited half a year.” Her eyes went to Oats, adoring and afraid. He looked back, finally understanding why he was standing there.
Beryl gave a small, almost apologetic, shrug. “Best to tell all of it, all at once, if I had to at all.”
“I wasn’t ever going to ask, Mother,” Oats said, an old, inner promise given voice.
“I know.” Beryl’s eyes shifted to Fetching and hardened. “Satisfied, chief?”
Fetch was numb, but she gave an answer. “Are you? That babe you saved is a devil now. He’s the reason we’re hiding in this hole.”
Oats did not hinder his grunt of surprise this time. “The huge orc that nearly killed you? That’s your brother?”
“No,” Fetch snapped at him. “Don’t call him that. I got brothers. And he is not one of them.”
Clutching each other, Beryl and Warbler stared. The older half-orcs were wide-eyed, worn out. Warbler looked regretfu
l, but Beryl was incensed. She came out from behind him and strode toward Starling.
“How did you know about this, point-ear?”
Starling remained untroubled in the face of aggression. She studied Beryl, her patience seeming to feed as her confronter’s unraveled. At last, the elf woman took a breath.
“The mother you aided, her path is now mine. I have walked it since leaving the marsh, though it took me time to understand its mysteries. What she intended to do, I must do. Where she partially succeeded, I must fully.”
Oats was visibly troubled. “What the hells does that mean?”
“Fetching’s mother divested her of the Filth, but it would not be fully denied. A Ruin Made Flesh was still created.” Starling looked at Fetch. “That it did not consume you in the womb is a testament to the potency of the magic your mother invoked. I believe this is why Akis’naqam spared her, despite the continued presence of the Filth. To destroy her would be to destroy you, something that had never existed before.”
“How does that help me stand against him?”
Starling grew hesitant. “I do not understand.”
“The Filth didn’t kill me in the womb. It didn’t turn me into a loon-brained puppet like the Sludge Man. Ruin hesitated to kill me the first time. This magic has kept me alive. Reckon it can also be used to kill him.”
“That will be…difficult.”
“Killing orcs always is.”
“This is no mere orc.”
“I am very fucking aware.”
“Yet you fail to see your very nature. You are lya’záta. My people are not wrong to name you an aberration, but they are wrong in their scorn. The Filth cannot corrupt you, for it was never meant to be part of you. Your very being is a victory against its evil. You are pure.”
“Fuck purity! There must be more. Some chanty elf hoodoo involving spit and blood and hells-knows-what-all that is going to give me some way to fight him.”
The look Starling gave her was pitying. “No.”
Fetch raised an arm, pointed upward. “What about when I was fighting N’keesos and the others? There was…something. For a moment, I had the same strength, speed.”
The True Bastards Page 46
