Page 29 of Sacrificed to the Orc

“Oh, nothing at all,” I say grabbing another handful of berries, chomping then down. When I grin at her, she giggles at my stained fangs. She bends, fingers working the soil, and pulls out a robust carrot. I follow suit, searching the dirt, finding potatoes nestled in the rocks. I return to the cave, grabbing a bucket, and walk to the edge of the greenery to the thick snow banks. I pour snow in the kettle and start a fire, and she brings potatoes, carrots, garlic and even a small onion, which I chop up and throw into the boil, until the delicious smells waft up.

I struggle to pull out my chair, the vines giving way, and I sit down as the stew bubbles. Hazel washes her hands in a bowl of snowmelt and sits across from me, the huge chair too big for her, her feet dangling and kicking back and forth as she smiles. It’s a moment of perfect stillness. The soft bubbling of the stew, the stray lock of hair that she brushes away. I reach across the table, capturing her tiny hand in mine, her hand so soft and smooth compared to my rugged greenness. It sends a shiver through my spine, and I raise it to my lips, placing a gentle kiss. Her fingers twitch in response, the corners of her lips lifting ever so slightly.

“I could get used to this,” I whisper.

“Me too.”

I breathe in the scent of the stew, and her aura, calm and hopeful, when the wind shifts, blowing a breeze into our sanctuary. My hackles rise.

I smell Rakar and Gorrim the moment before they appear at the entrance. Rakar’s sword is drawn, and Gorrim has his bow flexed to the limit, the arrow pointed straight at Hazel. Her hand tenses in mine like a bird about to take flight. I hold it firm, freezing, watching the two men I considered my closest friend staring at me with a mix of confusion and hatred in their eyes.

My axe is propped up against the chest, out of arm’s reach. I curse myself for thinking this place was safe. They must have seen the direction my father and I went on our hunting trips, and the greenery marked it as our sanctuary.

Rakar sniffs the air, and his expression twists, in a mixture of horror and agony. “What have you done, Askan? What have you done!”

Gorrim’s hand shakes, and one slip and the arrow will fling into Hazel’s back, piercing her through the heart.

“You’ve damned us all,” rasps Rakar, tasting my stink on her, tasting the subtle change in her scent, no longer a virgin fit for sacrifice.

I stand, slowly, my hands outstretched, not reaching for the knife I used to chop the vegetables, positioning myself in front of her. The arrow would pierce my chest, the tip through my back, but it will not touch her.

“How could you do this? Did you lie about your vision?” Gorrim’s eyes are wide in anguish.

“I did not lie.”

“She was our salvation!” Rakar’s words are venomous.

“She still is. Look outside, Rakar. See the frostberries ripened. A full season, in just one night, because ofher.”

“Dark magics,” says Rakar.

“I saw two futures, my war-brothers. There are two paths to saving our tribe. With her at my side, our Queen, and I as warlord.”

“She’s twisted you with her song.” Rakar tightens his grip around his sword.

Gorrim lowers his bow. “It’s over, Rakar. She’s unfit. The blood moon rises in two days. There’s no more time to get another sacrifice. We go back and say we didn’t find them…and Askan, you leave, and you never come back. You’ve killed us. Remember that, every day of your life.”

“We can stop him from spawning a cursed breed that will be our ruin.” Rakar’s lips curl back, showing his ivory fangs. He steps closer, but I do not go for my axe. “Put an arrow through his chest before the witch starts her song.”

“I won’t,” says Gorrim. “I can’t.”

I step forward. Rakar tenses, but I keep my hands wide. Drawing close, my movements deliberate and slow, I guide his blade to my throat. It’s the only way I can be sure that Hazel stays silent. She will not risk opening her mouth with his blade at my throat.

I need these two by my side if I am to save my tribe.

“We have followed the laws of the shamans a thousand years. And look at us now, Rakar. Look at the empty homes of our village. And look outside. You saw the plants grow. That is hope.”

“We do not plant. Or we will become astheyare.”

“We will become nothing. A distant memory in this land. I saw twin futures, Rakar. One is gone. The other is still there. We can restore the herds. We can flourish once more.”

“The tribe will never accept a human Queen.”

“Theshamanswill not accept a human Queen. But the hungry people will. Our stores were emptied for that feast, to show trust in the Gods. The Gods are watching us now, Rakar. They gave us free will. You can cut my throat and kill our entire tribe with just a flick of your wrist. Or you can lower your blade, and we will show you.”

“Show me what?”

“The power of her song.”

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