The Ogre Apprentice

by Trevor H. Cooley

  Eww, said Squirrel.

  “Can you please stop talking about it, Master?” Fist asked. The description of the damage was making him woozy.

  “Fine,” Locksher said, sounding slightly offended. “I merely assumed that you would want to know what I was repairing, that’s all.”

  “It’s probably best to know after it’s fixed,” Maryanne suggested.

  “As you prefer,” Locksher replied. He finished work on the leg wound and sat back momentarily. “Well, that’s done. I could have perhaps done more with the right elven herbs, but it will have to do. Shall I repair your dislocated toe or would you rather I just said nothing about it?”

  Fist blinked. He hadn’t even felt that injury. “Please fix it, Master. I would just rather you talk about something else while you do it.”

  “How about the moonrats?” Maryanne said.

  “Ah, good idea,” Locksher said. “Aside from Alfred, you are the most well put together gnome warrior I have ever met.”

  “Uh, thanks?” From the gnome’s tone, it was easy to tell that she wasn’t sure if that had been a compliment or not.

  Locksher went back to work, repairing Fist’s toe and then moving up to focus on his kidney. Fist sucked air in through his teeth as the wizard told them what he had discovered. “My investigation is still in its early stages, but I have some fantastic findings so far. These moonrats are not being controlled by the enemy we are investigating.”

  “Really?” Fist said, his voice strained. “How do you know?”

  “The eyes of the dead moonrats are . . . well, dead,” Locksher replied. “When Mellinda controlled them the eyes remained a conduit to her power even after the death of their host. The eyes of the unfortunate creatures you brought me last night are mere empty receptacles. They have no spirit magic connection to anything.”

  “Then why are they in these mountains?” Maryanne asked.

  “That, my dear, was a fine head scratcher,” the wizard said, moving on from the kidneys and focusing on Fist’s ribs. “The answer was the live moonrat you brought me. Loud little thing. I was forced to remove its vocal chords,” he said, making a quick gesture towards the one beast that was still breathing. He had placed a sack over its head to shield its sensitive eyes from the sun.

  “What I discovered was that, though it was not projecting any spirit magic, it was sensitive to it. Those eyes of theirs are complex magical instruments and, it’s just a theory mind you, but I believe that they have somehow sensed the ‘evil’ we are chasing after and are gravitating towards it. The changes we have heard in their moans are in reaction to the signals they are receiving.”

  “Then the evil in the mountains is not Mellind-ack!” Fist’s question ended in a gurgle because Locksher had left his ribs and started working on the damage to his throat.

  “It’s hard to tell,” the wizard replied. “All I can tell you with any certainty is that if she is the one behind this, she no longer has control of her former children.” He shrugged. “I still have some tests to run.”

  A short time later, the wizard finished with Fist’s throat and moved on to his face. “In fact, I could use your help with those tests, Fist. Especially if you want me to finish them up today so that we can continue on our journey.”

  Actually Fist had hoped to spend the afternoon taking a nap. He’d had little sleep the last several nights and past experience told him that the physical toll of the fight and the healing Locksher was doing were going to wipe him out. But at that moment Locksher was fixing his broken nose and Fist was too busy trying not to sneeze to raise any protests.

  “There. That should take care of it,” Locksher said.

  “Wow, that was fast,” Marianne said, nodding in appreciation. “Some of the quickest healing I’ve seen.”

  Locksher waved away the praise with an absent gesture. “I’m no specialist. But in my position it’s best to have a thorough understanding of anatomy. After that, healing is merely proper application of elemental magic theory.”

  “You is all better already, Big Fist?” Puj asked.

  Fist sat up, feeling barely a twinge of discomfort in his body. “Yes. Well, mostly,” he said, wincing at the puckered pit of a scar in the side of his left shin.

  “It’s not attractive, I know,” Locksher said. “But I told you this would happen. In the future if any part of your body is removed, hold onto it. Scarring is much easier to avoid if the original material is available. Now, stand up and tell me how you feel.”

  Fist did as he said. Everything was fine. His leg was stable. “I feel pretty good. Thank you, Master Locksher.” He yawned exaggeratedly. “I’m tired though.”

  “Good!” Locksher said. He picked his pipe back up and lit it with a flare of fire magic. He raised an eyebrow. “Now be a good apprentice and bring that moonrat corpse over here.” He pointed. “The one labeled with the number three.”

  Fist spent the rest of the afternoon working with the wizard. This mainly involved moving the moonrat corpses around and observing while Locksher performed various experiments. The wizard used him as a sounding board, asking him questions he already knew the answers to. It was as if hearing his theories out loud helped him determine their validity somehow.

  Usually, Fist found Locksher’s method of teaching interesting, but his mind kept wandering and by the time evening came around, he was mainly concentrating on trying to stay awake. It didn’t help that Squirrel was in his pouch, snoozing away. The squirrel’s hazy dream thoughts made Fist’s eyes seem even heavier. As far as he was concerned, night couldn’t come quickly enough. Soon as the sun was down, he stumbled over to his bedroll. Puj was waiting for him.

  The ogress was holding a large steaming bowl. She held it out to him. “You fighted good today. I maked you food. Just for Big Fist. Winners stew.”

  “You did?” he reached out and accepted it from her, doing his best to make his smile seem enthusiastic.

  Puj had been the main cook for the journey before the Mage School had supplemented their supplies with magically prepared human food. Now that those rations were mostly gone, the ogress had been taking up her old role again. The results had been mixed.

  He looked into the bowl. The liquid inside was a dull red and he saw chunks of meat and roots and something that looked like piece of sponge. To his relief, it smelled quite good. Fist had become so used to the spices and flavors of the more intelligent races’ cooking that going back to ogre food had been difficult.

  She nodded at him, urging him and Fist began eating it in the traditional manner. Ogres rarely used utensils, so the eating of stews consisted of picking out the bigger chunks with their fingers, often cursing if the liquid were too hot, then sipping some of the liquid out of the bowl until it was easier to get at the smaller pieces. It was a time honored method and effective enough with the usually tough ingredients ogres tended to eat.

  Fist was pleasantly surprised. The meat was tender and only slightly fatty. The roots had been cooked to a soft consistency and the spongy things he saw ended up being pieces of cheese bread left over from the Mage School rations. It was a little light on salt, but the events of the day had left him ravenous. He downed the bowl quickly.

  “That was very good, Puj!” he said.

  “Good!” she said, clapping her hands together. “Maryanne shooted a big bird for me to use and helped me find the yummy roots.”

  “Well. You did a very good job. Thank you,” he said. Fist yawned. “Now I’m going to go to sleep.”

  Puj scooted her furs closer to his bedroll. “Is you making that magic light again tonight?”

  He opened his mouth to say no, but then he thought about it. He was so tired. Surely Darlan wouldn’t be mad at him for draining his magic just this once. A full night’s sleep without dreams sounded so luxurious. Besides, he was in a tribe surrounded by ogre warriors and had Squirrel to watch over him. Surely there was no danger now that the situation with Beard was taken care of.

  “I will b
e making that light, yes,” he said.

  “Oh! I will watch,” she said with a smile.

  “Alright, but you know how this makes me very sleepy,” Fist said, climbing into his bedroll. “Stay by me. Beard should leave you alone from now on, but just in case.”

  She nodded, scooting closer. “Stay by you. Yes.”

  “And don’t go out of the camp, even to pee, unless Maryanne is with you,” he added.

  “Only pee with skinny women. Yes,” she said eagerly.

  “Okay,” he said, giving her an uncertain look as he laid back onto his pillow. Why was she so enthusiastic about this? But the pillow was so nice and the allure of sleep so heavy in his mind, he shrugged off any questions. “Now keep quiet for a minute while I talk to Justan.”

  “Yes,” she said, still watching him and grinning. Puj knew who Justan was. She didn’t quite understand how Fist talked to him when he was so far away, but she was used to the idea.

  Fist closed his eyes and almost drifted to sleep right there. It took a great effort to reach through the bond. Justan wasn’t in a position to speak right then, so Fist just told him that he would tell him what happened the next night. He returned to his body and his muscles groaned in protest as he forced himself to sit up again.

  “You will make the light now?” Puj asked. The ogress was sitting cross legged on top of her furs with her elbows on her knees and her chin resting on her hands.

  “Yes,” Fist said, wondering why she was so eager.

  He turned to face her and raised his hands in front of him enacting the complex air spell. The ball of light swirled into existence, glowing so brightly at first that it hurt his eyes. Then he poured more magic into it, forcing the ball to shrink and the light to dim. Finally it was the size of a plum and let off just a soft glow. Fist was so tired that he expected the light to wink out almost immediately, but he had used very little of his power that day. It took a while to fizzle.

  Puj watched him, the light from the orb reflecting in her eyes. “I like you, Big Fist,” she said softly.

  “I . . . like you too, Puj,” Fist said. He was worried that she might read more into his meaning, but her only reaction was a slight widening of her smile. “I’m glad you’re safe now.”

  With a sudden pop, the light winked out and Fist felt his body shutting down. He lay back down and rolled to his back. His eyelids drooped and he welcomed the dreamless sleep that would come.

  Then Puj was leaning over him. She bent down and he felt her lips close over his. Fist was too tired to resist. After worrying about this for so long, he was surprised to find that he really didn’t mind. It felt good to be kissed.

  Puj pulled her furs over his and slid into his bedroll with him. His will to keep her away was gone and when he didn’t try to push her away, she snuggled up close to him, and laid her head on his chest. She wrapped one arm and leg around him. It was quite nice, something he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

  “Thank you for fighting,” Puj said softly.

  Fist’s eyes closed completely. “You are part of my tribe,” was all he as able to mumble before drifting to sleep.

  The next thing Fist was aware of was an explosion of pain against his skull. A high pitched ringing filled his ears.

  Fist! Shouted Squirrel’s thoughts. They seemed both close and far away at the same time. Fist help! Puj!

  He tried to open his eyes, but a stinging liquid filled them. He willed his body to move but managed only a weak twitch. The air was full of a confusing cacophony of sound and yet was quiet. It was all so fuzzy. He tried to reply. Squirrelllll?

  Fist! Fist . . . . Squirrel’s thoughts faded and then there was darkness.

  “Fist! Can you hear me?” asked a voice Fist couldn’t quite identify.

  “Now-now. Give him a moment. I’ve just finished,” replied a calm male voice. It took a moment, but Fist recognized it. That voice belonged to Locksher.

  Fist’s eyes fluttered open to the soft blue of early morning. “Wha? Where?”

  “Oh good, you’re awake,” said Maryanne, placing her head on his chest.

  “Huh?” Fist turned his head. His face was wet. His pillow drenched in blood. “What happened?”

  “Slowly, Fist,” Locksher said. “You’ve had severe head trauma.”

  “My head?” Memories of the night before started to come back to him.

  “They smashed your head with a boulder,” Maryanne said. She lifted her head from his chest and looked at him. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. “I thought you were gone.”

  “They, who? Beard and Glug?” He tried to sit up. “Where are they? Where is Puj? Where’s Squirrel?”

  “We don’t currently know Squirrel’s location,” Locksher began.

  “He’s to the north,” Fist said, the bond answering his question. “He’s alive, but . . .” Squirrel’s thoughts were a mask of grief and rage. “Puj?”

  “I’m sorry,” Locksher said.

  Maryanne sobbed. “She’s dead.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “No.” Fist pushed Maryanne away. Squirrel! He climbed to his feet and swayed, nearly passing out. “Where is she?”

  “Be careful,” Locksher admonished. “It is not time for jumping about. You had a fractured skull and your brain was seriously damaged. I just finished a rather delicate repair.”

  Fist looked around. Half the camp was gone. The few ogres that remained were huddled near the fire wide-eyed and talking furtively. Charz was the only one still sleeping. Fist swayed again and Maryanne helped steady him.

  “I’m sorry!” she said. “It happened so quick. We were all caught by surprise.”

  “Squirrel!” Fist shouted both aloud and through the bond.

  You let them live! was Squirrel’s accusatory reply. Now that Fist was more awake, he could tell that his bonded was some distance away. He wasn’t hurt, but was running fast along the ground. Now Puj is dead!

  The accusatory nature of his tone hit Fist like a punch to the stomach. He had to see her. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe there was still time to do something.

  He gripped Maryanne’s arm. “Bring me to her.”

  “This way,” the gnome said.

  “Just a moment,” Locksher said. He waved his arm, sending out a net of air and the blood and grime fell from Fist in a sheet, hitting the ground and leaving the ogre clean. “I’ll go with you. Just be careful. You may be unsteady on your feet for awhile.”

  “Here. This’ll help,” Maryanne said, handing Fist a piece of dried meat before she jogged to the northwest of the camp.

  Fist shoved the meat into his mouth and chewed as he followed her. The cold ground stung his bare feet, but he didn’t take the time to put on his boots. The meat was uncomfortably spicy and he almost spit it out, but he was too busy focusing on keeping his footing. His legs were weak and his vision swam.

  “Are you alright, Fist?” Locksher asked. The human was beside him, glancing at him in concern. “I healed the damage to your brain, but synapses are funny things. They tend to have a long memory for trauma.”

  “I’m fine,” Fist growled. He tripped on an uneven bit of ground and nearly fell, but caught himself. His mouth was now afire from the meat he was chewing, but the feeling was somehow invigorating. His mind cleared and his steps became more secure. There must have been something magical in the spice.

  Maryanne led them through some large rocks and into a small copse of pine trees before she stopped. A group of ogres were standing together, chanting over Puj’s body. It was a death chant, something usually reserved for important members of the tribe. Crag himself led the dirge, his face grim.

  “Stop!” Fist shouted.

  Crag’s eyes brightened as he saw Fist approach. “Fist! You are better-.”

  “Back away!” Fist snapped, pushing both Rub and Bash aside so that he could kneel next to Puj.

  The ogress was lying on her back, her eyes open and unseeing as they reflected the morning sky. The ogres ha
d moved her body into the standard pose for a dead female, with her fingers spread and both hands placed over her womb.

  Fist placed his hands over her and sent out his magical energies. He immediately knew that he was far too late. Her body was still warm, but she was no longer breathing and her heart had stopped. There were techniques for getting a heart started again, but he knew it wouldn’t matter.

  Elemental magic could do a lot of things. Experienced wizards could fix almost any injury, heal a broken body completely. They could even get the blood flowing in a dead body and keep it breathing. But they could not bring back a soul once it had gone. Wizards had tried different techniques for thousands of years, but without a soul the brain would not function. Without the assistance of magic, the heart would stop and the tissues would die and decay.

  Fist had practiced his healing magic on corpses magically preserved in this way many times at the Mage School. The wizards could create whatever wounds they wished and have students repair it over and over again and the body would react in the same way a living one would. But Fist could tell the difference. That absence of a soul was obvious in every cell even if it was technically alive. Those corpses were no longer a person. Just an intricate puzzle made of meat and bone.

  Working his magic on those bodies had always been unpleasant for Fist and he got that same feeling when looking inside Puj now. He stopped and leaned back, tears streaming down his face. He reached up and closed her eyes. Doing so wasn’t an ogre tradition, but it was a human one, and Fist found it much more appropriate.

  “May I?” asked Locksher. “I haven’t had a chance to examine her yet.”

  “You haven’t?” Fist said, turning an angry gaze on the wizard. “Why not? An hour ago you could have saved her!”