Page 20 of Sacrificed to the Orc

His hand clenches into a fist - but his eyes shift for a second, over to the rows of homes where his people live. “Nothing is worth that.”

I draw away from him, laying back in the furs and looking up at the blackness of the ceiling.

“Hazel, if I could trade places with you, I would.”

I turn my head, glaring. “Words, words, words. If you mean that, you’d find a way to get me out of this hell.”

He looks back, searching the village for prying eyes, then reaches through the bars. I pull away from his hand, and it hangs there for a moment, before he clears his throat and leans back once more.

“I promise you, Hazel. I will get you out.”

I close my eyes, and all I can see is the knife rising and falling, cutting into my heart, over and over again.

13

ASKAN

Hazel lies back against the furs, her breath shallow. Panic overtakes her, her eyes clenching tighter with fear, and she whimpers, an animal cry of pain that cuts my heart. The wave of primal terror passes, a momentary reprieve before crashing over her again.

And I’m helpless to intervene.

Hours pass before her breathing steadies, a gentle rhythm. Gods, but she is small, so fragile, so innocent and helpless.

Her words echo in my mind. It is not her hatred that pierces me, but her fear.

Her terror is my torture. I wrought it upon her. Each moment that slips by draws us nearer to the blood-moon rising.

Rising, I skulk along the valley’s shadows, my fingers brushing the runes of stealth, causing the fierce red glow of my tattoo to fade in response. I feel as though a man could be walking within arm’s reach of me and not see me. I pass the last house and journey through the tight passageway. The obsidian altar gleams in the moonlight. I spare it a glance, striding towards the black, ominous shrine at the far end of the grove.

Without hesitation, I duck my head into the tunnel of the forbidden cavern.

The passageway is so tight and low I must crouch. My crimson tattoo reacts, burning painfully hot against my chest, searing me as I am beckoned by a blue-black, pulsing light.

My eyes go wide in horror and awe, unable to comprehend the being that rests in the center of the oval room.

An Orb. Blue-black, the size of the cave-bear, dwelling on a metal dais. So dark it sucks up every drop of light, so burning bright I cannot look at it without my eyes watering, resting dormant yet charged with potential.

The hairs on the back of my neck rise. I pull my gaze from it with every ounce of my will, forcing my attention to the mural-clad walls.

Depicted in the same blood-red of my tattoo, the murals tell the stories of my kin. A wave of unease strikes me. I was told we were born of the earth, but the first picture depicts huge meteors descending from the skies, landing on the fields. From them, orcs funnel out. Then, the pictures start to make sense. Grand hunts, joyous feasts, homes filled with laughter…then the decline, empty homes, the drawings becoming erratic and confused with each stroke, until there are only blood-red scribbles leading out in a thousand different fine lines like splinters.

Drawn closer to the Orb, I am ensnared by its pulsing power. I stand before it, my face an inch from it, my legs moving as if they are beyond my control, until I can see nothing but pulsing, obliterating energy, my mind fracturing in two as I witness simultaneous futures.

In one, Hazel is tied naked to the altar, staring upwards but not seeing, her eyes rolling back as the chanting melts her mind and her throat is slit, and from her rises elk spirits, floating into the air, animals rising from deep slumbers throughout the land. The shapes and forms flow, and I witness the village of my people swelling in numbers, orc babes growing, aging in an instant, forming families of their own. The vision is black around the edges, dripping in blood, and I cannot focus on any one part of it at once.

In the second, splintered vision, which I perceive at the same time, Hazel stands on the mountain top, a crown of vines on her regal head, her mouth opened wide as pulsing, powerful tones deafen me, bolster me, surging up in me and making my heart pound so fast it is like a drum that matches her rhythm. At her side, I stand, my mouth open in an endless roar, joining her chorus, a crown of living vines growing and writhing on my head like snakes. The orcs of my tribe, weary and bone skinny watch in awe, and from the far northern forests, where the great trees have lived centuries, something listens, awaking from a deep slumber and moving towards her voice. Every shape moves and twists, reality blurring, even the powerful, endless mountain melting to dust and rising anew.

I’m thrown back by a surge of power, landing heavily on the ground. The images are seared in my mind, chaotic and wild.

I pull myself to my feet, weakly, and narrow my eyes at the Orb. What I am seeing is not a God, but something else, something alive, something mortal, with designs beyond my fathoming.

And yet, I know it does not lie.

I can feel the truth of its visions in my bones.

I grip my temples with my hands, the pressure intense, the lightning pain of the headache unbearable, and I rush out of the cave and onto the grass of the sanctuary, gasping for air.

The weight of truth crashes down.

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