Page 23 of Sacrificed to the Orc

“Someone’s going to hear,” I whisper.

“Do it,” he repeats, his voice harder.

I take in a deep breath, and I sing a note, a woeful, pitying note, from deep within my soul. Words flow out, words I never learned, and Askan rises, turning, as a horn sounds in the village and orcs start running out of the village.

He yells at me in orcish, his eyes wild with fury as I stand, propelled by the power of my words, the ethereal notes of my song rising, wrapping around me, a power I do not yet understand or control. Hope springs, sweet and fresh, as the fine, ground powder responds, shifting hues as I coax more magic from my voice, letting the song go freely from me, out of my control. The powder’s transition from grey to blue is like the blooming of a nightflower, the color deepening with every note.

My melody becomes deeper, slow and rhythmic, and his eyes start to droop.

“Silence, witch!” he yells, rattling the bars, and I close the pouch, handing it to him, and he slips it clumsily in his loincloth, his eyes silently pleading with me to continue the song even as exhaustion sweeps over him.

His eyes close. He sways, back and forth, fighting to stay on his feet.

Askan falls to the ground like a sack of flour as angry orcs sprint towards me, their expressions a blend of anger, confusion and fear, some nude, others with leather armor haphazardly bouncing over their frames, their hands planted firmly against their ears to block my song. A larger orc rushes in, pressing his right ear against his shoulder and grabbing the keys from Askan’s belt, making me tense up as his hand nearly grazes the hidden pouch. His eyes are filled with fear and hatred, but he summons his bravery, unlocking the door and rushing in. The keys clatter to the ground as he wraps his damp, sweaty palm around my mouth, pulling me to his chest and silencing me. His stink is revolting, like a wet dog, and he snarls as he holds me tight, other huge orcs piling in with ropes, binding my wrists and ankles, looping the rope against the iron bars so I am trussed up, unable to move an inch.

Among the commotion, the tattooed orc who came to the cave—the one with the intricate wolf designs etched into his skin—shakes Askan roughly, desperation in his movements. “Askan!” he yells, in grief, terrified his war-brother has been slain by my song.

When Askan’s eyes blink open, slowly, the wolf-tattooed orc heaves out a huge sigh of relief, then his cold, green eyes stare at me, filled with hatred. He barks out rough commands, and an orc doubles the gag around my mouth, pulling it so tight that I struggle to breathe through my nose.

Askan springs to his feet, rubbing his eyes and refocusing himself. He snarls at me, cursing me in the orcish tongue, then roars at the gathered orcs in fury. The ferocity of their tone sends them reeling, rushing away from me.

But the wolf-tattooed orc is not easily cowed. He states something to Askan in a low, intense voice. Askan runs his tongue over his fangs, then strides into the prison cell. My lungs are burning, aching for air, and as I panic, I breathe quicker through my nose, each inhale getting only the tiniest thread of air.

He loosens the gag slightly, pulling it down so I can breathe clearly, staring at me and asking forgiveness silently. He grabs the keys, locks the barred door, and lets the wolf-tattooed orc walk him away into the village.

Six wary orcs are standing twenty paces away from me, gripping their weapons and staring at me with distrust and worry as Askan is led into the village.

15

ASKAN

Ishrug off Rakar’s grip. “I’m not a fucking invalid. I can walk,” I snarl, stomping towards the village.

“We don’t know what curse that demonspawn put on you. You need to be looked at by the shamans, before it can take root.” He keeps his tone respectful, filled with worry. The only thing he fears is the dark magics of the humans, magic he believes propels their bullets from their rifles, cutting you down from far beyond the range of an arrow.

There’s no argument I can make that won’t cast more suspicion on myself. Resigned, I let him walk me to my dome abode. The interior is spartan with wooden furnishings. Stone drawers, cool to the touch, are built into the walls, and my bed sprawls invitingly across one side. I head into the bathroom, turn the tap to cover any noise, and reach surreptitiously into my loincloth, dropping the pouch to my foot, where I kick it behind the toilet.

Then I wash my face, staring into the flawless mirror. As I splash myself, the running water makes me furious. It flows as if by magic, but it is not magic, nor are the rifles that the King’s men wield.

It is technology, built by the minds of our species long ago, when we were more than just brutes.

I leave the bathroom, shutting the door, and sink heavily into the chair, the wood creaking like an echo of my fatigue. Rakar’s gaze is like a weight, pressing. “Your slumber was like death. I thought you were taken from me, by that witch,” he snarls, and slaps his hand against the stone wall, fury in his scent.

“A little song won’t be my end,” I laugh, trying to seem untouched.

He scratches at the stubble of his sharp jaw. “Black magic is no joke, my war-brother.”

Gorrim appears at the door, concern written on his face. “Askan, are you well?”

“I’m hale. Or you want to test it yourself?” I growl out, and he raises his hands, apologetically.

“I mean no disrespect. I heard what happened and came straight here.”

“I’m fine.” The rhythmic thudding of Vorkar’s bone staff starts as a low tap, then grows louder, unsettling me with every thump.

Draegon and Vorkar appear at the entrance, and Gorrim steps inside my spacious home. Though the space is too vast for one man, with its ladder leading to a second level designed for a family, there are so few of us left that each adult of the tribe now has such a place.

Gorrim leans against the ladder, he and Rakar bowing their heads in respect at the elders. I get up, offering my chair, but they shake their heads. Both elders watch me carefully, Draegon’s milky, blind eyes seeing more than I would like them to as he tests the air, smelling my scent.

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