CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
MATERNAL
Malice continued to struggle as the pair escorted her back to the tavern where Lilyana remained. Despite the woman’s best attempts, the bonds that contained her could not be slipped or broken. Tormag threw her roughly into a chair in the corner of the room and tied her down as Bitrayuul retrieved two more stools for them to sit on in front of their captive.
Calus stood motionless behind the bar, equal parts confused and afraid. He began to mumble something barely audible before Tormag called out to him. “Aye, yer fine, lad. We found who we was lookin’ fer. Don’t worry, we won’t be breakin’ nothin’. How’s the girl?”
From behind the bar, Calus simply pointed upstairs to the rooms.
Tormag nodded in response to the boy. He let out a grumble as he slid onto the stool and shifted his attention to Malice. “Bah, damned woman. Me feet are still achin’. All we were wantin’ was t’ talk.”
The restrained woman spit at his feet. “So speak, dwarf!”
Tormag gave a hopeless sigh. “Bit, I’m beat, don’t ye doubt. Ye ask the questions.”
Bitrayuul had refrained from speaking since the alleyway encounter. He was too lost in his own thoughts that this might be his real mother. What were the odds? Was Bothain truly such a devious tormentor to put this on him? It hardly seemed real. Could this simply be a dream so vivid in its design that his emotions rubbed raw but prevented his rouse?
Tormag nudged him again to break his spell, drawing empty blinks from the confused half-orc. The dwarf prodded him again and eyed the woman.
“I-I . . .” Bitrayuul started uneasily, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “I need to know some things about you. We are not here to bring you any harm. Our purpose is not for ourselves, but for another. Will you answer?”
Malice narrowed her eyes menacingly, while underneath, her poisonous ocean of hate unraveled itself in secret curiosity. “Ask your questions.”
“We are here because we encountered a young girl hidden alone in the Lithe, her father freshly slain by orcs before her own eyes. Lilyana is her name. She claims her mother, Alice, resides in Riveton, though she has not seen her for years.” Bitrayuul studied her reaction with each word. Only at the mention of the girl’s name did he catch a flicker of panic.
“I believe you to be that mother,” he continued. “Our quest is elsewhere, and the girl sleeps naught but a room away. Will you care for—”
Malice could not control her emotions any longer. She broke out in outrage. “Who dares to ask such of Malice? You know not of what you speak! The woman for which you search is dead! Long lost to the horrors of this world. Her weakness knew no bounds. She was a frail, sorry excuse for a life wasted by the exploitations of others. Who dares to revive that pain!? I will carve the heart from your chest and swallow it whole! You know not of what you speak, you do not!”
Bitrayuul and Tormag were taken aback by the sudden onslaught. Prior to this, their captive had remained resolute in her silence. Now, her ceaseless stream of curses flowed with her tears as her secrets were brought to life. Her litany of insults finally came to a halt as her wailing mixed with screams of anger. Adrenaline coursed through her, nearly granting her the strength to break the twine binding her in place.
“Free me! Free me from this cage and see the strength that was born from that pain, captor! To know what it is to live in pain and humility, hoping each moment’s breath be the last that ties you to this rotten and unforgiving world. I know nothing of what you speak, I cannot! That is dead! A final peace after unending torment that would fill a hundred lifetimes. Yet, you breathe life into a flame that you cannot hope to hold!”
Tormag had heard enough. He calmly rose from his chair and slid a rough hand over her mouth to silence her. Sympathetic eyes looked into hers. “Aye, we’re knowin’ yer pain, sure as stones, woman. This world ain’t one o’ pleasantries. Life be pain, ye know this t’ be true. But, would ye not wish t’ protect the girl from that pain?”
Her eyes drifted to the ground as her body went limp. What was once persistent wailing had simmered to occasional sobs. Her breathing eased until, finally, from her huddled position, she spoke lightly in remorse. “I cannot. Four years. Four long years. She has suffered or triumphed without me. I cannot bear the sight of her.
“Many years ago, I was taken by orcs. I was a prize presented to their chieftain, where I suffered his . . . brutality. Life within a cage, not knowing death, though I begged for it. To be the plaything of another. You could not wish such a fate on your gravest enemy. Such an existence . . .” she trailed off as the painful memories broke through her resolve for a moment. Her dagger eyes were now clenched shut in torment.
After the brief silence, she continued her story. “A son was born. A foul, mixed thing. Oft as a youth I heard the beauty that it is to be a mother. How such an act was truly the height of purpose. They were wrong. Such an act was not meant to be undertaken by force. By hopelessness of a fate not your own.” Bitrayuul and Tormag noted her fingers were dug deep into her skin, drawing blood. It flowed easily, and as she continued, she tore at her flesh even more. But she had to go on, Bitrayuul thought. His hand clutched Tormag’s to prevent him from stopping her torment. Tormag saw the pain and eagerness in his son’s face, but he was nevertheless dismayed at his honorable companion’s selfish persistence. He retracted his hand.
“It was that night I managed my escape. Broken. Weary. My disgusting child left behind with the pain I had suffered. One of the chieftain’s own freed me from my prison. She had witnessed my nightly torment, only looking on unfazed. But, in that last night, at the height of my anguish, she freed me. Despite my weakened state, I ran. I ran until my legs could no longer carry me—all the way to the edge of the forest. There a man found me covered in blood and dirt. He carried me to his home where I was cleaned and cared for. He told me I entered an unshakable slumber for near a tenday. Yet, he cared for me.
“A woman he had never known. No kinship to tie us. Only that I was in pain and he sought to bring comfort. That man became my husband. And none, I believed, deserved my love more. Not only did he replenish my body, but also my mind. It was his hand that taught me the skills needed to defend myself. I came to know the sting of the blade as it cut into my skin, and the relish one could feel as it cut into another’s. He was my teacher. My lover. My savior.
“Years after he found me, he set me on my path—toward actions that would truly grant me relief. Orcs. Hunting them. Killing them. Anything to bring woe to those who had brought it to me. I spent years gutting the beasts, picking them off one by one in the forest. Torturing them. Murdering them. Always with the same intent in mind, to repay my rapist. I sought him out for a decade with no luck. My blades claimed over a hundred orcs, yet none of the blood spilt belonged to the one I wished.
“It was after that time of hunting and ‘healing’ that I finally realized something. The man I was with had used me as a weapon. Not in the hopes of healing myself, but in playing out his own game. He had manipulated me, exploited my pain, so I could be his puppet. Pulling the strings of my heart and mind into his own design. He had whispered of a chance of regaining myself, and I had believed him. A fool, I was! As if I was some flirtatious child fancying her heart’s first target. As if I deserved any more pain!”
The woman’s audience was stunned into silence, especially the half-orc. His curiosity had served its purpose. This was his mother. He now knew the truth of his birth—and the truth of his mother’s disgust for him. She had not perished at his entrance to this world, as he had been told. She had lived. Bitrayuul had so many questions, but he let her continue.
“I confronted him. After almost two decades. Lily was already in her third winter, and my pain had subsided to near nothingness. But when I discovered his true intent, I could not go on in silence. I had finally swept away the smoke of deceit and discovered his true nature. The betrayal stung, of course, but in a way, I was grateful. After all, I had healed. D
id I care that my healing had been due to his scheme? Should I not pay homage to the man who had saved me?”
Once again, she steadied herself before continuing. “He was my captor—more so than the orc that had confined me for nearly a year. I was angry and disgusted at the beast and his brutality, but it was honest in its pain. This . . . my husband, the father of my child, the man who I cherished above all else was of the most devious kind. His assault was tenfold that of the orc. His was done as if I wished it upon myself. Tell me, would you rather an assailant stab you a hundred times, or be convinced to cut yourself a thousand as if it was your own desire?” she asked rhetorically.
“That was my downfall. A pain I could not bear, or so I thought. Instead, in my moment of uprising against him, finally breaking his spell, he made the final cut himself. The man I had trusted more than any other raped me. Not only did he make me realize the hidden pain he had inflicted on me over the years, he also forced me to relive the pain that had brought me to him. What luck I must have to draw such sadists toward me. You should have seen his eyes as he overpowered me. It wasn’t an act of passion or anger. There was only the thrill. He had been waiting for this. Living in silence for all those years tormented him. He was the maestro that had created a masterpiece, only for it to never be seen in all its splendor. Then, in that moment, he knew I had finally noticed. He could not hold back his smile. Consummating his long torture of me brought him to ecstasy.
“After the act, he simply waved me away. I was a puppet that had fulfilled its purpose, he told me. Such an assault was unknown to me. The secret workings of a man so deviant that I could only feel horror. I thought of him, my life, and Lilyana and how it all was a fraud. I toyed with the notion of stealing Lilyana from him for fear of her suffering the same fate as I. However, in that moment, I did the only thing I knew. I ran. Vengeance did not cross my mind, only survival. Escape from the life I had suffered. I pleaded with myself to return to her. To save her from this demonic fiend, but each time I attempted to muster the courage, I could not. Even visualizing her face brought me to his. The pain was too close—too real.
“I did not have the strength in me to walk back into their life. To face my demons. To know I had been merely a pawn in a game that played out without my knowledge. So, I came here, to a place where I knew I could live unnoticed. Here, I could shed blood of any I wished. Here, I would ‘heal’ my sorrow in the only way I knew until I could finally muster the courage to break the chains of my past and reclaim Lilyana from her manipulative father. Tell me, is she safe? Is she sane?”
Bitrayuul spoke up first. “Yes, she is safe. As far as we could tell, no ill will befell her at his hand—only love. However, as you say, he weaves a story so deep that even the characters in place do not know the pages they fill. She needs her mother. As she once was—a beacon of hope and happiness. That is much to ask, I know. But will you forget all that was and share her life?”
A tear streamed down Malice’s face. “I wish nothing more . . . But despite him being gone from this world, I still feel his claws in me. No, her life would be the worse for it. I would beg of you to leave her to her peace. She should not suffer as I—to know the true nature of the man she loved. Her memory of him should remain untainted. I am not fit to be a mother. I left her to the demon whilst I ran in my own selfish desire to survive. How can I be the one to care for her?” she whimpered.
The half-orc removed his helmet, allowing her to see him as he was. “Malice, you see my face?” he asked, watching her eyes instantly shift from quiet despair to pain-filled rage as she noticed his origin. “I am the son you left behind—the product of your misery. My whole life, I thought I was the cause of your demise. That pain I have lived with, but now sitting before you, I know it to be false. I hold no ill will against you. I was blessed with a mother and father,” he said, gesturing toward Tormag, “who showed me love. Now, here I sit, a lifetime later, to tell you that Lilyana is in need of her mother. Unlike me, she knew you, if only in brief, though her memories of you fade. Nevertheless, that girl has no one else. Only you. This world is unkind, but there is kindness. If you truly believe the words you speak, we shall bring her to an orphanage or elsewhere in the hopes she will be given the love that you cannot. But, it is our hope that you will regain your will and reunite with her.”
The woman’s eyes still seethed with anger. Her conditioned hatred of orcs was too great to be broken. “You, half-orc, may be of my womb, but know that I cannot muster any feeling but hatred for you. That hatred may be unfair, unwarranted, and ill-received, but it is there. I am of the mind to kill you, though you have not wronged me. Even now, I heard almost no words of my daughter as I was intent only on how I could escape my bondage to bring an end to your life! That is the nature of the woman you would leave this girl to.”
Bitrayuul gave a sigh and replaced his helmet, hiding his heritage once more. Instantly she visibly settled, confirming her deep-rooted stigma. “Nevertheless, Alice—”
“Malice! It is Malice!” she shouted, her heart racing in rage, though it calmed quickly.
Tormag tapped his ally on the shoulder, requesting a secret audience. Once out of earshot, he whispered, “Lad, are ye sure about this? She be broken, son. I know she be yer own mother but think o’ the girl’s safety. Is this the best choice?”
The half-orc looked back to Malice, straining to escape from her bindings. “I have to believe so. Otherwise, what else can we put faith in? Two people may be saved here, Tormag. Lilyana needs a guardian just as Malice needs to be free from her own suffering. I know it to be true that the girl is her only hope. I believe that if Lilyana was given the choice, she would give her mother a chance.”
The old dwarf thought to himself for a moment before replying, “Well, let’s test that theory.” He strode to Malice and easily lifted her entire frame—still strapped to the chair—and started up the stairs. The woman shouted and cursed at him before being dropped to the floor. In her anger, she failed to notice that Tormag had taken her to a room. Her silence came abruptly as her eyes found the diminutive figure wrapped tightly in a blanket on the bed.
Quickly, she whispered, “No, no, no. Take me from this place, dwarf. I—” Her words trailed off as the girl stirred. The whole room froze in anticipation. Slowly, Lilyana’s eyes groggily opened to take in the blurry sight. She raised a small hand to her face, lightly rubbing the night’s glaze out of her eyes. Her adorable yawn was enough to bring tears and a smile to Malice’s face. As they made eye contact, the girl was the first to speak.
“Mama?”
CHAPTER THIRTY
HOPELESS
“Keep a wary eye, lad,” Cormac stated while lifting his widened nostrils into the air, “we’re in orc territory now. I can smell ‘em.”
Fangdarr halted his march to take his own whiff. He stood sniffing in each direction but found nothing. His attention shifted to Bear, “Bear, you smell orcs?” The beast had already been testing the scents and in response, she fluffed her ears, tucked them against her head, and gave a low growl.
“We’re downwind, so they shan’t be too close, I’m thinkin’,” Cormac added.
With a nod, Fangdarr trotted forward, sure to rub the taut ears of his companion as he passed her. As if given the cue that the threat was diminished, Bear instantly perked up and happily danced forward with her master. Cormac followed in line, continuing to sniff as he walked.
Despite the persistent looming scent of orcs, the group made good progress without interruption as they continued south along the western Adder’s Tongue river. The sun was currently in the midst of its descent, warming the forest as it slid between the leaves of the trees.
“Fang, we should stop here for the night,” Cormac said. The orc looked at his friend in puzzlement then scanned the surrounding wood for the reason. Noticing his confusion, Cormac continued. “We’re on the outskirts of yer clan’s border. The sun is settin’, and the path ahead is treacherous and haunted, so it’s said.”
“Haunted?”
“Aye, if ye believe the stories. We’re close to the Echoed Marshes, by my guessin’. Probably half a day’s walk more. With the sun already goin’ down, that’s not a place we want to make camp, don’t ye doubt.”
Fangdarr sat against a nearby tree in momentary respite. “I have heard the name. Never been there. What in marshes?”
Cormac, too, dropped his pack and sat adjacent to the orc. “Naught but death and disease. It’s a full day’s walk just to pass, if we’re quick. We could go around, deeper into the Orclands, but that would add a day to the journey and risk runnin’ into yer clan. The marshes be treacherous, don’t ye doubt. We’re just on the border of Metridium Lake, which feeds the marsh. We can wash in the lake and take the evening to relax and plan our next move. If we leave early enough in the mornin’, we should be able to push through the marsh before nightfall.”
The orc contemplated the situation in silence. It was true, he did not wish to encounter more of his clan. He knew he would inevitably be forced to end more of his kind for, once they lay eyes on Cormac, their fate would be sealed. Their rage would drive them beyond reason—and truly, what reason could he give? There were no words he could offer that would convince an orc to spare the dwarf and leave them to their journey. No, he knew the outcome would always be the same. With that, he made his decision to remain outside the Orclands.
Orcblood Legacy - Honor Page 17