Page 6 of Sacrificed to the Orc

“I’m Hazel. What’s your name?”

His green eyes flash upwards. They glow like gemstones, and I raise my eyebrow at him. “You told me you wouldn’t treat me like a beast. Don’t you at least owe me your name?”

“Askan,” he growls out.

“How did you learn to speak my language,Askan?” I put a little emphasis on his name. I need to humanize myself to him, do everything I can to make it harder for him to bring me to his tribe for sacrifice.

“Save your words. Eat.” He grunts out the syllables like each one costs him.

I do as he says, spooning a piece of stringy meat and chewing it. Tough, lean, probably squirrel.

I glance to his wicked war-axe, always within arm’s reach of him, balanced against the rock he is sitting on. “Will it be you who does it? Is that the axe that will cut my throat?”

He glances downwards, not speaking. I can’t take it anymore. I throw my bowl at him, hot soup scalding him as he jumps to his feet, furious. I stand up, wanting to hit him. “Oh? I don’t deserve to know how I’m going to die?”

He takes a huge breath in, his massive chest expanding, then breathes out, his abs contracting, controlling his rage. Then he crouches, picking the pieces of squirrel that flew from my bowl out of the snow, methodically placing them into his soup.

“It will be quick, done under the light of the blood moon. That is the only thing I can promise you. That it will be quick, and your death will have meaning.”

“I want you to do it. I want you to be the one who slits my throat,” I snarl at him, my words dark, filled with hate. His green eyes flash with an emotion I cannot place.

“That is your right,” he says, and sits down, heavily.

I want to be strong, but I can’t. I slump over, defeated, and the hot tears stream down my face. I’ve never felt so weak, so humiliated, so completely helpless to determine my own fate. He sits, silently, eating, as if my tears mean nothing to him.

Finally, I can speak. “Please, I’m begging you, Askan. I have a cellar full of food. My village would give you tribute to last the winter, if you let me go.”

“I can offer you no comfort. No words. This is what must be.”

“Why?”

“When I was six, we feasted on elk. The shamans foretold the day when the meat would be turned to rot. This day would usher in a century of famine and blight, and our tribe would die out. It would only be ended in one way.”

He lifts his bowl, downing the last of his food, and scrubs the bowls in the snow, then dries them off with a towel as his words ring in my head, over and over. He neatly puts his camping supplies into his leather satchel, slings his axe into the loop of his leather belt, and pulls his coat around him.

I wipe the tears from my eyes.

“We go now. I will carry you.”

“I can walk.”

“Your legs are short and stubby.”

“I can keep up.”

“If you try to escape, I will chase you down. I will find you.”

“Understood,” I say, and he shrugs, turning and striding deeper into the forest. I hustle to catch up. I have to move at a near jog to match his long-legged stride. He finds game trails naturally, and I follow his huge bootsteps, keeping my head down and moving. Even when heavy branches nearly block the way, he ducks under them, moving branches aside with his hands gently instead of cutting them with his axe.

I try to keep my bearings, making a mental map, but the deeper we go into the forest, my legs burning with exertion, the more lost I am. Even if I managed to escape, I’d starve in the forest without any way to hunt.

He glances back every so often to check on me, and I grit my teeth, forcing my aching legs to keep going through the snow that is up to my calves. My pants are soaking through, my breath coming out in ragged gasps, but I won’t stop.

Askan is impossible to get a read on. He seems to believe that his actions are preordained, that he has no free will, simply moving like a puppet by the strings of fate.

I need to convince him his Gods are against this.

My foot catches a twisted root, and I fall, trying to get up to my feet. I can barely put any weight on it. He stops, looking back, his green eyes resting on me.

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