After the World

by Maire Brophy

  I wasn’t as robust as before; a diet of grubs will do that to you. My arms and legs had got very scrawny in the cave. To think I stayed there for so long, barely moving. The journey had shocked my body. It was like I had let it melt, and then I expected it to be solid again, without any notice. I climbed out of the river and lay on the grassy bank, the water spilling off me. As it slowed to a steady drip, I looked up at the moon. After a few moments, I roused myself, with the obligatory groans from my body. I crawled to the edge of the river and looked in.

  The water was moving. Tiny waves knocked against each other and swirled around rocks, but the edges were more still. The moonshine dappled the water; it was bright and dark at the same time. The sparkle made me fearful, but then I remembered that the river was my friend. And so I looked.

  There was my face. A long time since I had really looked at it. It looked weathered, worn, hard. My old scars made their familiar pattern, but there were new ones on top of them. Ones I don’t remember getting. A broken fang, a legacy of that last battle, made my face look more lopsided, or maybe that was a trick of the running water. The result was that I was no prettier than I had been, I just looked weaker, older, used up, a husk. I still recognized my own face. I was surprised by the disappointment I felt at that. I felt different beyond recognition and found that I hoped it would affect the outside as well. But perhaps it was too much to hope for such a disguise.

  I lay back down on the grass and shut my eyes. Dozing in the night, with the air on my skin. What a luxury. With every breath, I sunk deeper into the ground. Even the trees forgot I was there. And so did I.

  It was happening all around me. We lost more and more. They cut through our bodies like they were wisps of air. All around me they fell, my soldiers, my fighters, my children. All the countless hours of training ― the hollering, the whipping, the shouting. I taught them to fight by my own club. I raised bruises and welts and gave them their first scars. But it was not enough. Not near enough. When the first fell, I consoled myself that I had many more, and that we would outlast these weak-willed, soft things. They were raised with silk and cotton; their skin tore at the lightest of touch. They were no match for us, despite their steel.

  And yet, we kept on dying. The waste of it. All those hours of training, I should have bestowed it on worthier creatures. If they were so lazy and soft, they deserved to die. Onward, I pushed them, onward! There would be no retreat. No comfort for them. I was at their back, and I would kill any that tried to flee. I cracked my whip. They would be worthy of me, or they would perish. Onward! I roared and bellowed until I was hoarse, and yet they defied me and kept on dying. Was that any way to treat their general, after all I had done for them? I raised them out of mud holes and caves and told them the world would be theirs. I gave them hope. I gave them glory. Were they really to repay me so poorly?

  I roared until the sound rang in my own ears. The clouds fell back, and the sun poured in. I roared in defiance, and lost sight of all.

  I woke up panting. In dreams, your thoughts are not your own, or they are, but in all the worst ways. How many times had I tried to repress that memory? That and a thousand moments like it, where a different decision would mean that I would not now be alone. It wasn’t the sun that blinded me; I was already blind.

  I stood up and felt my stiff joints shudder. I walked back to the boulders; another day’s sleep and I would be on the move again. Suddenly I longed for my cave. Things were simple there. If I found my people, things would not be simple any more. The thought bloomed in my mind and made my steps falter. It’s funny how little things can save you.

  An arrow whizzed past where my head would surely have been if I had kept walking. The hunters were here.

  Three of them.

  I realized why the trees were wetting themselves with excitement. One was an elf. Elves are creatures of the day and night, and so they aren’t hampered by the lack of sun. The others were not so gifted, but the bright moon made them able to see somewhat. Even still, they must have been crashing around looking for me, and all the while I was having a lovely sleep.

  Stop sleeping! I just about dodged the next arrow and ran at top speed toward the elf. Close combat would work better for me, although they had swords and I did not. I remembered that bit a little too late. I grabbed hold of the elf and sunk my claws into his arms. His bright armor burned my hands, but I hurt him too. He squealed at my grasp.

  This was no elven warlord. It was just some cub. There were these cubs everywhere ― such an epidemic. I spun around, putting the elf between me and the others, just as one of them attempted to strike me with a sword. Elven armor’s not bad ― the sword didn’t make it through. The elf kicked up with his legs and managed to get free of me. They squared off against me. The only bow was lying on the ground. I knew I was closer to them than they would like.

  I bared my claws and roared, showing my fangs. I didn’t need a sword to fight. I could scrape and tear and bite. I was not yet completely disarmed. They were nothing to me; I had faced much worse. I had faced their heroes, their kings, their gods ― and these child things were not worthy to face me. I could see in their eyes that they knew it too. It had been a mistake to hunt me. Maybe their last mistake.

  I rushed them ― they had given me the advantage. I grabbed one of the day creatures and lunged at his neck with my teeth. It didn’t take much to tear. They were so soft. The salty, metallic blood filled my mouth, and with a gurgling sound, he dropped to the ground, spilling more blood on the way. The elf took a swing at me again. This time, his sword contacted my back before I could react. He was no swordsman, but the elves had biting blades that hurt far more than dull steel. The pain sparkled across my back. It served the opposite of its purpose. I did not cower. I was not quelled. A horrified elven face is a very pretty thing.

  At last, the other remembered she was there and lunged at me. I caught the blade in my hand. Of course, it cut me, but that was nothing. Someone who knew what they were doing would have taken my hand. But I was so sure. I reached out with my other hand for her throat, and she dropped the blade and ran. The elfling ran too.

  So much for being hunted. They were probably just used to little goblins. Now I had two blades.

  I picked up the body of the fallen one and dragged it to the river. I pulled off the leather armor. With loosened buckles, some of it might fit. I threw everything that might be of use to the side and stepped into the river. My blood darkened the water as it churned around me. I reached up and dragged the body on the bank into the river. It slid effortlessly down the riverbank and bobbed to and fro in the current. The river gently tugged it from me, and so I let go. The river gurgled its appreciation and speedily took it away. The body seemed appropriate thanks for all the river had done for me.

  I stepped on to the bank again and knew that the dawn was coming. If they had but waited a couple of hours, it could easily have been my body in the river. The sun would have weakened and blinded me, and I would have been easy prey. Aloneness makes us vulnerable. I should move on, lest the younglings return with a bigger party. I pulled the leather jerkin over my head. It was very tight, and it creaked as I breathed. But it was better than nothing, and the pressure eased the stinging cut on my back. The leather breeches were a harder, but I ripped at them until they fit ― anything to cover my skin in the sun. I pulled the sword belt around my middle and carried the other sword in hand.

  I started to run on. The new leather hampered my gait. Day creatures run straighter than us, stretched out to their full height like an awkward, two-legged horse. The chest leather forced me to run straighter ― I’m sure I was slower for it, but I kept going.

  The inky sky was yellowing, but I thought I might have to risk exposure to the morning. I could run for a bit before the sun got too high ― before its piercing gaze caught me. I ran toward the mountains, but they were still very far away. I was sweating under the leather, and I started to falter. Even in the damp of the morning, the day was stifl
ing. I stopped and pulled the jerkin off me and scrabbled around to find some soft ground. With my arms freed, I dug my claws into the ground and hauled up as much dirt as I could. I dug and dug until the sweat ran down my back, and I could feel my skin start to burn as the sun hit it directly. I pulled back on the jerkin and got into the hole, covering myself in soil.

  I could feel the sun’s heat through the dirt; after all I wasn’t buried that deeply. Soil fell into my mouth and nostrils as I sucked in the air. It was hard to breathe and keep out the light. This awkward balance would have to do.

  I lay there, slowly baking in my soil oven, and thought about what had gone by. Brave little younglings, shocked to face a great orc, despite all the signs. That meant there was none of my kind nearby. She must not have come this way. Perhaps the cleared plain made her change course. Perhaps she was dead. Maybe there were no orcs in the mountains, even though these mountains looked as sweet as any I had ever seen. If there were orcs in the mountains, wouldn’t they be harrying this land? Was I the last orc?

  That thought was so unbearable that I let out a wail. This was a mistake, because it meant a mouthful of dirt and much coughing. Once again, I regretted letting her go on her own. Maybe we were the last ones. I lay there in despair for a while. Orcs are not really given to despair. We’re not really ones to wallow. We usually just get on with things. That’s how we survived when we were all hiding in holes; that’s what made us a surprising threat to the day creatures. I would continue to be an orc. Onward!

  I woke in the waning day and waited until dark before getting out of my soil pit. The leather had been pristine when I got it, apart from some bloodstains ― always a nice touch. Now it was mottled from the soil, much more my style. I pulled the jerkin off with some difficulty. The cut on my back had congealed, making it stick to my skin. I yanked it, and it eventually came off with the scabs. I felt the blood flow on my back again, but I made myself busy tearing the seams so that it would fit better and allow me to run as I liked ― bent with my arms trailing on the ground. When I put it back on, I was able to move like myself. I examined the steel of the blades ― they were cheap and brittle. These were no swords with names, just bits of tin cut to shape with a scissors. My nails were sharper, but at least they would give me reach. Satisfied, I moved on, looking for higher ground so that I might scope out the land.

  I wasn’t wrong to move in the dawn light. There was a flicker of fire in the distance that told me the younglings went back and fetched their parents. Maybe there was a proper elf warrior among them, and I could have had a fight worthy of me. There’s that word again. Worthy. What was I worthy of now? Maybe they would come and end my sorry existence, but I knew the will for survival burned strongly within me, and I would not go down without clawing every last second out of my life. I faced the mountains and moved off, running faster now, bolstered by my break at the river.

  Foothills. Actual foothills, with proper rocks and everything. Between me and the mountains lay a thick bank of trees. It’s hard to say how deep or far, but they danced about the nearest mountain’s feet like the hem of an elf’s gown. The nearest mountain rose up well above the trees. I just needed to go through this forest.

  Something about the trees gave me pause. There were no sounds. I could hear no rustling of leaves or birdcalls. Broad leaves plastered the sky. Gnarled roots and branches mirrored each other, and the green of the leaves bled into the moss of the forest floor. I felt certain that there weren’t even grubs digging in the ground here, and that these trees were never bare, even in the depths of winter. The darkness they provided was not homey. These trees were very quiet. They watched me with silent intensity. I would not scratch any bark here.

  Not far into the forest, the canopy became so dense that the moon could no longer be seen. I walked carefully, picking up my feet over roots and being mindful not to break any branches as I went by. It took all my restraint not to trample a sapling in my path, but I had survived in this hard, new world long enough not to tempt fate. After I passed the sapling, I felt like the trees relaxed. But they remained silent, which is very unsettling in a tree.

  It took me two nights of walking to get through the forest; I kept going through the darker ends of the day as well. It was slow, but I was protected from the worst of the sun. I sensed that I should not sleep here, and so when it was brightest, I simply sat on the forest floor and waited. By the end of the second night, the trees became sparser, and I came to the end of the tree line.

  There was one tree past the tree line ― a lonely pine standing separate. It was different from the others, in form and in spirit. Between the mountain ridges and inclines, and the shade from the trees, the sun was not much of a threat now. I knew the trees would keep intruders out. Most would not be as careful as I. I sat down beside the lonely pine and gave myself a blanket of dead needles. I had made it to the mountains. What was to come next scared me more than the sun or the greatest elf warrior could.

  There were two options. Either I would find more orcs, or I wouldn’t. I couldn’t decide which was worse.

  I woke knowing the silent forest was still keeping an eye on me. I walked across the slopes until I found ways to walk upward. I had to backtrack several times. I was new to this mountain, and there were no obvious orc trails or signs. Some must have survived all this time, so I kept looking.

  Five nights of searching brought me to a path. It wasn’t an orc path, although orcs may well have used it. It appeared to be the main pass through the mountains, although eaten up by the trees. Those trees weren’t always here...they weren’t even here that recently. The forest looked ancient, and it probably was, but I had learned a thing or two about trees in my time, and this was no ordinary forest.

  Still, the trees had let me pass, and now I had this trail in front of me. I didn’t need to worry about being flanked by day creatures as the trees, inadvertently, had my back. Things were looking up. I set forth on the mountain path.

  The path twisted and turned about itself, but I decided to trust it, because I was tired of not trusting anything. It was steep and hard going and disappeared around rocks. It wouldn’t have bothered me in my prime, but that was such a long time ago. Best not to think about it. At times, I felt like it was magical, tricking me into just wandering in circles, but somehow always upward. This mountain was harder on me than I expected. Maybe not all mountains welcome orcs. I stopped trudging and took a breath. Cliff walls flanked either side of the trail, and the twisting track meant that you could only see a short distance ahead or behind. In this moment, it was like the mountain was pressing against me. I looked up to the sky ― the only way I was not walled in ― and saw the stars glittering. I would have preferred clouds.

  I sat down on the path and leaned against the wall. I pushed my ear against the mountainside. It was certainly feeling prickly ― no one had talked to it in such a long time. I lay my hands against the mountain. It reminded me of a large troll ― quick to leap to extreme emotions but longing for companionship. Sometimes, I think if a mountain could follow you home, it would. I thought of the mountain I grew up in, and in that moment, I ached for it. The longing overwhelmed me. I can only blame the influence of the mountain for this. Despite its own pain, it felt my longing, and it knew me. We were of a kind, me and this mountain. Stony, lonely and more emotional than was good for us.

  After a while, I stood up, patting the rock wall as I rose. I stepped forward again on the troublesome path and kept heading upward. The path twisted again, but abruptly it changed, and I was on a ledge with quite the vista. I could see where I had come from, all the way across the plains. I could trace the river across the land and make out the expansive clearing. I could see more tilled fields and villages. I had not really appreciated how the day creatures had spread. I now saw that I had scarcely been more than a few hours from them during my whole journey. They were everywhere. Only the silent forest at the foot of the mountain deterred them.

  Time to look beyond where
I had been. This mountain stood out from the others in the range and seemed to be cut off by the forest that surrounded it. No wonder it was so lonely. I wondered why the forest had chosen to surround this mountain. The forest was much deeper between the mountains and would be much more difficult to travel through. You couldn’t shut your eyes with these trees around, and I wasn’t sure how long I could travel without sleep. But I would puzzle out this mountain first and then deal with moving on. I turned back up the path and continued to explore.

  Walking was easier after I made friends with the mountain. It kept showing me things, eager for me to experience all there was to be had. Lovely as it was, some things were harder. It was rockier and harder to find food. Nothing seemed to live here. Perhaps the mountain drove everything away in bouts of eagerness and sulking. I wondered how I would cope when the day came, but somehow, I felt the mountain would provide.

  I was getting weary from the climb, when the path opened and diverged up ahead. This main pathway split two ways. I was at a loss. One seemed to climb steeper than the other, but neither looked like clear, trouble-free paths. I stood for a few moments, resting and wondering if I was able for an even steeper climb, when something caught my eye. A third way revealed itself. It wasn’t a clear trail, by any means, but I could see a way to climb up off the path; there seemed to be a ridge running above it. I traced the line further and saw another possible climbing route and something that looked like it might be a path much further ahead. The mountain was showing me the way.

  Clambering up rocks meant my progress was much slower. I hauled myself over the second ridge and saw how it gave a clear view of the mountain pass, while providing complete cover. I realized that even when it had high traffic, this mountain pass was treacherous to travelers. I knew this was a place for orcs. I looked up again and continued my climb. Time was not my friend as I was aware that while hidden from the path, I would be very visible to the sun when it decided to rise.