by Ian Rodgers
“It’s one monster after the other out here,” Dora muttered to herself.
Nodded heads concurred with her statement as they slunk into emerald depths of the jungle.
Chapter 16: The Jungle’s People
“Here we are! The Beitoga Rest Stop!” Tarn said cheerfully on the seventh day of their trip into the Sprawling Jungle. Dora sighed in relief as she caught sight of the wooden walls of a small village.
It lay next to the bank of the Kolwine River and was a staging ground for travelers heading deeper into the jungle. The village wasn’t much, just some small huts circling a larger building with a dock a few feet away.
Canoes and small sailboats were moored at the tiny pier, and orcs of all shades of green were coming and going. Some were clearly fishermen, their nets and fishing spears a dead giveaway for their profession. Others were harder to pin down, but the way they were dressed – in a very Orrian manner with shirts and trousers – suggested that these orcs dealt with travelers and foreigners more often than not.
Dora coughed and looked away from the more traditionally dressed orcs in the village. That is to say, not very dressed at all.
Most of the orcs went about their business dressed in a loincloth, and little else. Even the women! She felt faint, and slightly inadequate, after seeing several green skinned women walking around without a top on. The Healer supposed that if someone didn’t have access to cooling charms and enchantments then being almost entirely naked did wonders for resisting the Sprawling Jungle’s unique brand of heat.
“Oh, sweet goddesses!” Dora heard Enrai gasp, and she frowned, stealing a glance at him.
“Don’t stare!” she hissed, kicking Enrai in the shin when the Monk refused to tear his gaze away from the sight in front of him.
“Well, this is, um, certainly new,” Ain said, coughing delicately and quickly averting his own gaze. “I mean, I’d heard about the, uh, ‘local attire’ but hadn’t really believed a word of it.”
“Seeing is believing, you prudes,” Tarn said with a roll of his eyes as he led them into the rest stop. Some of the villagers called out to the elderly orc in greeting, and he responded to them cheerfully in the guttural language of his people.
Dora only knew a few words in orcish at the moment but was able to catch the gist of the various helloes and well wishes. Tarn might have been an excellent guide and tracker, but his ability to teach was almost non-existent. Still, it’d been less than a week since he had started teaching her. Maybe she’d learn some more by the time they reached Argyne.
As they entered, more than a few curious gazes alighted on Dora and Enrai. Ain received his own share of observers, but they were giving him suspicious stares. None outright hostile, but definitely mistrustful.
Dora walked on, used to being an oddity, but it was still a new and less than comfortable experience for the Monk and Spellsword. They endured the myriad gazes professionally, though, not letting their discomfort show.
“Shorz jorz, Tarn!” a portly, dark green skinned orc cried out.
‘Respectful Greetings,’ Dora thought, translating the orc’s words.
“Shorz tuz, Ogma!” Tarn replied, embracing the other orc happily.
‘Greetings returned,’ she mused, filtering the guide’s greeting. The pair chatted for a bit in private before returning to Dora, Enrai, and Ain.
“Girlie, Baldy, elf, this is Ogma Dryfish, chief of Beitoga. He’s also the man who owns the best boats in this stretch of river,” Tarn introduced.
“Shorz jorz, Ogma,” Dora said politely, offering the other orc a handshake. He accepted with a wide grin, happily pumping the half-orc’s hand up and down vigorous.
“Shorz indeed! Tarn tells me you too are a Yellowmoon,” the fat orc said jovially.
“Scarrot took me in when I had nothing. If anything, I prefer to go by Dora Halfmoon, rather than Yellowmoon,” Dora said, managing to extract her hand from his exuberant grip. At the mention of her boss, Ogma winced.
“Ah. Him. Yes, well, it might be best if you didn’t spread that around too much.”
“He’s not well liked?” she asked cautiously.
“It depends on who you ask. I think half the orcs you speak to would want to kill him. He was not gentle or kind when he eliminated the Greysliver tribe. A lot of their allies and some non-aligned tribes got caught in the crossfire,” Ogma revealed. He then let a tiny smirk dance across his lips. “The rest of us would say he’s someone to be admired and praised for what he did. Plus, more than a few women wanted to be his bride. Some were even willing to share him, the lucky boar! He’s quite the prime piece of meat and embodies the highly valued traits of ruthlessness and loyalty to a fault.”
“Ah. I see,” Dora said, feeling a bit off-kilter hearing that. She could handle Scarrot being feared and respected. That was a common state of affairs back in the Cracked Land. To hear he was lusted after? The thought of that sent shivers of disbelief down her spine.
“Let us put aside such talk for now! Come, you must join me and my family for dinner! I insist!” Ogma said, slapping Tarn on the back.
“Of course, my friend. We’d be honored,” the guide accepted.
As Ogma walked off to prepare for the evening meal, Dora leaned over to Tarn.
“I assume we’ll discuss business over dinner?” she asked. He nodded.
“It is the proper way. We enjoy Ogma’s hospitality, and then, after a we’ve eaten, I haggle with him for a boat,” he explained, a faint smile on his face. “He and I go back a while. Even before the Yellowmoon tribe was being oppressed, the Dryfish tribe were good friends to us. Ogma and I would fish and hunt together. And when the Greysliver campaigned against us, he sheltered my family while I fought. He is an honorable man who does good business with me.”
“Good to know,” Dora said with a smile. She then glanced around and lowered her voice. “So, um, what kind of food will he serve? Because I cannot handle spicy food at all.”
Tarn laughed at that. “Don’t worry, there will be fish and bread and a variety of meats and fruits to sample.”
Dora sighed in relief at that. As she turned away to observe the daily life of the village and offer her services as a Healer, she missed Enrai and Ain share a scheming smirk with Tarn. It took exceptional willpower for the three men not to burst into evil, maniacal laughter.
∞.∞.∞
“There you go! Keep the weight off of your leg, and it should be good as new by tomorrow,” Dora said, smiling kindly at the young orc child as her palms ceased glowing silver. He babbled excitedly at her in orcish, and she nodded, only catching one out of every five words he said.
“Thank you for healing my son,” the boy’s mother said thankfully, bowing her head towards Dora. Her Common was somewhat stunted, but her sincerity and joy came through clearly.
Dora waved her praise away with a grin. “No, it was not a problem. I was happy to help,” Dora said. “I’ll check on him before I depart tomorrow, alright?”
The mother bowed again while spouting profuse thanks, and she headed off. The boy with the badly broken leg had been the last patient for the day. She wiped a bead of sweat off of her forehead with the back of her hand, satisfied with her work.
For the past few hours while she had waited for Ogma to inform them dinner was ready, Dora had spent her free time healing the inhabitants of the small settlement, as well as a few travelers who’d been passing, free of charge. The villagers of Beitoga now looked at Dora with gazes filled with awe and respect.
At first, she had started out just offering her magical services while standing near the docks. Then, after seeing how effective her Healing magic was, some of the women of the village had offered her a woven mat to sit on, cool water and fruit juices to drink, and an umbrella to shield her from the harsh rays of the sun. The villagers’ kindness had been unexpected, but greatly appreciated.
Dora rose from the mat and stretched before gazing out over the Kolwine. The sun was starting to set, twilig
ht setting the river aflame with orange and yellow reflections. Dora found there was a sense of tranquility during this time of day. The creatures that dwelled in the jungle were either returning to their dens or nests for the evening or waking up and preparing to prowl through the darkness. A peaceful silence hung over the river.
“Ah, there you are!” Dora perked up when she heard Ain’s voice behind her. Turning around, she spotted Enrai walking beside him. Tarn was nowhere in sight.
“Tarn sent us to fetch you. Dinner’s ready,” the Spellsword stated.
“Mmm, sounds great!” Dora said, feeling her stomach gurgle in hunger.
“We’re having it at Ogma’s home,” Ain continued. “He was impressed with your healing prowess and wants to thank you for your selflessness.”
“A free meal is all the payment I need,” Dora said, fighting off an embarrassed blush.
“In that case, you’re in luck!” Enrai said, giving her a thumbs up. “I snuck a peek at the kitchen, and they are making a veritable feast! And best of all, it’s all fresh!”
Dora licked her lips eagerly. “Oh, that sounds good! I’m so tired of rations and overly salted preserved food!”
“Me too, Dora,” Enrai said sympathetically. He then grinned. “You think they’ll have any decent alcohol? I haven’t had a drink since we had that farewell meal with Reed back in Creidor.”
“Really?” Dora asked, surprised. She hadn’t expected that. Ain just shook his head.
“Don’t listen to him, Dora. He just wants to try and get drunk and practice some ridiculous fighting style called ‘Drunken Fist.’”
“Hey! It’s a legitimate Qwanese combat style! It just has a bad reputation because of all the liver failure and collateral damage!” Enrai retorted angrily.
“No drinking to excess today, Enrai,” Dora scolded. “We don’t want to embarrass Tarn or ourselves in front of these nice people.”
“Ugh, fine! You sound just like my mother,” the Monk groaned.
“OI! If you three want food, hurry it up!” Tarn’s voice suddenly boomed across the docks, and the trio shared a look before bolting towards the chieftain’s hut.
Ogma’s dwelling turned out to be the extra-large structure in the center of the village. The space was not dedicated solely to him and his family, though. Orcish culture held that the chief’s home was the communal center as well. It was where excess food was stored, as well as supplies. If there was a healer or shaman, they lived with the chief.
The setup was a lot more open and casual than anything Dora was familiar with. She had a hard time imagining the Partaevian emperor, the Tower Lords, or even Reed, opening up their homes to strangers and allowing it to be used as a combination of charity, bank, and warehouse without some skimming off the top, or outright corruption.
It seemed to work for the orcs, however. Ogma greeted all three of them with hearty bellows of “Hello!” and strong, bone-rattling handshakes. He then led them all inside, where a short, squat, round table had been set up in the center of a room. Instead of chairs, mats and pillows were placed in a circle around the table, in a style rather similar to the Saludan’s eating arrangement.
As Dora, Enrai, Ain, and Tarn sat down with Ogma, food was brought in by several women, who were introduced as his wife, daughters, and granddaughters. A few male orcs joined the group shortly after the food was served, and Ogma proudly claimed they were his sons-in-law.
“Jerrel here is one of the finest boatsmen on the river! He’ll steer you clear of all dangers and get you to where you need to go!” Ogma boasted, slapping the other orc on the back.
“Yes, if I recall he was still courting Malapa when I was here last. Glad to see he grew a spine and managed to win your approval,” Tarn said, nodding at the youngish orc who blushed alongside his new bride.
“Now, let us eat! We’re all hungry, I’m sure of it!” the boisterous chieftain declared, and everyone tucked in, chatting as they passed the various dishes and platters around.
“What sort of fish is this?” Dora asked, stuffing the sweet, succulent flesh into her mouth. “It’s delicious!”
“It’s Pigcine!” one of Ogma’s granddaughter said cheerfully.
“Hmm, I thought so,” Dora said, sighing in joy as the unusually mixed flavor of pork and fish filled her mouth. The Pigcine was a strange aquatic beast. It had the head of a boar attached to the body of a large goldfish. They tasted amazing but were hard to catch because they lived in the mud of rivers, rarely surfacing, preferring to swim through murky depths and eat whatever plants and smaller fish happened to be around. She’d eaten it only a few times, and it hadn’t been fresh.
“And what’s this?” the Healer asked eagerly, taking a slice of meat that had been cooked while wrapped inside faintly sweet-smelling leaves.
“Boar meat, rubbed with a few spices, and wrapped in banana leaves as it was steamed,” another granddaughter said. “It’s good for you!”
“HMM! Oh, this is all so good!” Dora moaned as she ate everything that was offered to her. Ogma’s youngest daughters and granddaughters were crowding around her, trying to get the half-orc to try the dishes they’d made.
“She’s certainly popular tonight,” Enrai said with a laugh as Dora sampled each and every food that came her way.
“She’s a girl with a rare and valuable magical talent, as well as a big appetite! Both desirable traits! Why, if I had any sons, I’d offer her their hands in marriage!” Ogma stated, laughing aloud.
Dora overheard the chief’s loud comment and choked on a fried plantain. She quickly grabbed a jug of goat’s milk and poured herself a tall glass, chugging it down to clear her throat.
“WHAT?” she finally gasped out, even as the women of Ogma’s household tittered in amusement at her reaction.
“Don’t be so upset, Girlie!” Tarn said with a wink. “It’s a compliment! A compliment, I assure you!”
“I dunno, any man that marries her would have to put up with not only her own high standards, but those of Scarrot and the other members of the Menagerie,” Enrai said jokingly. “Seems more like a punishment than a reward.”
Dora scowled, and grabbed an empty bowl, chucking it at the Monk’s head. He laughed and caught it easily, his honed reflexes making it a simple task. He was slapped upside the head by Ain, however, as the elf came to Dora’s defense.
“Thank you, Ain. At least I can count on one person to be on my side tonight,” she said with a haughty sniff.
“Of course. Here, try some of this… what did you call it? Magalai?” the Spellsword inquired as he pushed a bowl of bright yellow stew towards Dora.
One of Ogma’s granddaughters nodded silently, a bit of a nervous look sent the Grand Elf’s way. The inhabitants of Beitoga village were not hostile to Ain, thankfully, but they were distant, and tried to interact with him as little as they could get away with.
“What’s in it?” Dora asked, placing her spoon into the serving bowl.
“Goat meat, vegetables, some spices, and a local grain of some sort,” Ain said. “It was very good.”
She smiled at Ain and happily stuffed a heaping spoonful of the stuff into her mouth. For a moment, time seemed to still. Then, her eyes widened, sweat popped all across her face, and she let out a piercing scream of pain as her mouth almost literally exploded in flames.
“HOT! HOT! TOO HOT!” Dora cried tumbling backwards as the insanely spicy dish seared her mouth.
Ain began to laugh, the mirth echoed by Enrai, Tarn, and then everyone else as the Healer rolled around on the floor, scraping at her tongue in desperation.
“Watah! Watah!” she begged, groping for a cup of soothing liquid. Two glasses, one filled with milk, the other with water, were passed her way, and she downed both of them. The fire on her tongue abated slightly, and she collapsed back onto her seat with a whimper.
“How could you, Ain? I trusted you!” she sobbed.
“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help it,” the Spellsword claimed, s
tifling his laughter.
“That was evil!” Ogma declared sternly, before reaching over and slapping the elf’s back. “It was great!”
“Indeed, it was hilarious! You’re alright, Spicy,” Tarn said, and Ain frowned at his newly instated nickname.
“Could I get a better one?” he asked. Tarn shook his head, smirking smugly.
“No can do, Spicy. No can do.”
Ain sighed in defeat while Dora cackled at his misfortune.
“Serves you right! How dare you trick a poor, defenseless maiden like myself?”
“I’ve seen you accurately nail monsters right in the eyeball from four hundred yards with your crossbow. If you’re defenseless, I’m a scribe,” Enrai pointed out. Dora blushed and looked down, though she’d argue the color was due to the lingering heat of the dish.
“Not that good,” she mumbled, before stuffing some non-spicy food into her mouth to cover up her embarrassment.
“No, he’s right, you’re very skilled with the crossbow,” Ain added, backing up Enrai. “You don’t get much chance to shine with it, admittedly, since you have us to take care of most threats. And your incredible skills in healing often overshadow other personal achievements…”
“What Ain is poorly trying to say is that you’re a good shot,” the Qwanese Monk said, rolling his eyes at his friend’s elfish effusiveness.
“A Healer and a hunter? You’re certainly diversely skilled,” one of Ogma’s son-in-laws mused. “Did you learn from Scarrot?”
“No,” Dora said, her mood dimming slightly. “I was taught Healing magic by my mother, and my archery talent was cultivated by a family friend.”
Dora couldn’t help but think fondly of the kindly blacksmith who’d been her and her mother’s sole ally back in Far Reach. She wondered what he was up to these days?
“Well, what did you learn from Scarrot?” he asked, leaning in.
“He was busy with the Menagerie, so he didn’t have time to teach a newcomer like myself much. Oh, he showed me some tricks, and a few spells, but for the most part, my lessons on how to survive in the Cracked Land were passed on through the other caravan workers,” Dora said, slightly evasively. She wasn’t going to tell them that the only thing the bitter, peg-legged orc had personally taught her had been the secrets to gaining absolute control over a slave collar. It bothered her that she could do such a thing – shamed her, really – and she had no interest in letting other people know about it. Ain and Enrai were enough, and she trusted them not to abuse that knowledge.