“I’m guessing this is your guest’s companion of whom you spoke,” he said her.
“She has a fire in her belly to be sure, Captain,” Marian said. “And I’m afraid she owes Gash a lifedebt as well.”
The captain looked at her in disbelief.
“She will not leave,” Marian continued, looking to him. “She has sworn it upon her life and to her dying breath.”
The captain looked back to the scene ahead. He was becoming more frustrated and disheartened as the moments passed…and as Gash’s allies increased.
Has all of Sylrin gone mad?
“I suppose you would have me spare her as well,” he said to Marian.
“I would ask it,” Marian said slowly. “But as she is attacking your men, I understand your need to do your duty. I do ask that you consider her only head-strong and foolish, rather than an outright enemy. I do not believe she would intend to do serious harm to your men.”
Finally, the captain’s composure hardened as he let out a sigh.
“Your compassion is a rare trait, Madame,” he told her. “Be sure you have not let it fall on those who would betray it.”
He then patted the shoulder of the archer, again signaling him, and moved forward toward the scene, calling out to his men.
“That’s enough, men! Stand down!”
Everyone’s attention was drawn to the stalwart figure, including that of Mara who still stood ready to fight, her breath heavy in her chest, and her body thick with sweat. The captain looked to her.
“I should have you executed for attacking my soldiers,” he told her.
“Come up and say that to my face if you are so bold!”
“Archers!”
Instantly, twelve archers stationed in a semi-circle around the cage raised bow and crossbow alike and aimed them at the young woman. Mara swallowed nervously and lowered her staff as her eyes slowly followed the line of archers aimed squarely at her. She would have inwardly cursed herself if she hadn’t been so scared.
“You are very skilled, girl,” the captain stated calmly. “But I think not so in your mind or you would not be as rash as you have shown yourself to be. I think not even you can dodge well enough to avoid a maelstrom of arrows.”
Mara just watched him, her muscles tense. One word from him and she could easily lose her life. Her staff went to a two-handed grip and she began to make ready to deflect as many arrows as she could and hopefully survive, though, in her heart, she doubted she would.
“I understand you owe this creature a lifedebt,” the captain continued. “I’m afraid you’ve allied yourself with the wrong creature to be amongst this troop and this people. Be grateful that you fell into the company of Marian of the Wood before you fell into mine.”
Mara looked to see Marian standing beyond in the flickering light of another torch.
“Know this, girl,” the captain continued, drawing her attention back to him. “You have made yourself my prisoner. I do have the power to end your life and will do so if it suits me. You will not leave from that spot until we have reached our destinations, or I will have my archers demonstrate their skills upon you. Understood?”
Mara nodded nervously.
The captain then turned and walked to his sergeant who stood nearby.
“I want four archers surrounding that cage at all times,” he ordered him. “If she moves from that roof, have her run through. And tell Dolanas to stay on his guard.”
“Sir,” the sergeant said with a nod. He then dispensed the orders as the captain walked off.
As the archers lowered their weapons and began to take up position, Mara sunk down to the wooden roof of the cage. Her nerves shook her like a tremor. Somehow she had suddenly found herself in the deepest trouble she could possibly be in. Despite her efforts to do good, despite her heart to do right by herself, her clan, and her family, her actions and pride had trapped her. And she was now a prisoner to a foreign people in a foreign land…perhaps forever. She could not help it. In the despair and fright of the moment, her head sank into her hands and she began to silently weep.
************
Mara tossed in her sleep. Her face cringed and her lips moved in bitter, angry words that did not find their voice in the waking world. Her hand tightened and loosened its grip on her staff held close to her body like a trusted friend in the midst of many enemies. Suddenly, her mouth opened in a horrendous shout and she vaulted to her feet, her staff held in an attack posture, ready to fend off some unseen enemy. Her teeth were gritted and her muscles were tense. Her eyes glared open as her conscious mind came to reality. Seeing the darkness and torchlight around her, she realized she had forgotten where she was and looked around.
She stood on a platform of logs high off the ground in the midst of a camp of soldiers all dressed in black armor of varying types. The torchlight gave light to several groups of soldiers lying in ready slumber or going about various tasks, or just sitting and doing something light to pass the time. One such sat upon a tree stump at the base of the platform upon which she stood. It was not until Mara saw the archers looking up at her, their weapons raised at her that she remembered where she was and how she had gotten there.
It was not a platform she stood upon, but a cage. And it held within it one to whom she had pledged her life; an oath which she had allowed to be forgotten in a surge of pride and rage. Instead of freeing her friend, she had made herself a prisoner.
Despair and sadness overtook her. Her hands released their death grip on her staff, moving to a one-handed grip as she sunk to the roof of the cage and pulled her knees to her chest. The blood rushed back into her hands sending a warm sensation through her fingers, but she paid it no mind. Her head leaned forward and rested on her knees. Why had she been so foolish, so headstrong? Why could she not tame her temper, her pride?
Her eyes full of tears, she raised her head and looked to the stars that filled the sky. The scene was beautiful and peaceful before her. It was a peace that stabbed at her heart, for it held for her a deep secret that she could not unravel and a deep pain that she feared would be with her to her death.
A knock from beneath her pulled her out of her pondering state and back to the one who sat below her; the one who had saved her life; and the one to whom she was bound. She could not allow herself to be weak. Not now.
Hastily, she wiped the tears from her eyes and rubbed her face, attempting to hide her sorrow. Moving onto her hands and knees, she looked at the two archers at either corner. They held their weapons close as they watched her. She crawled a little forward to the edge and the both of them stood and cocked their crossbows. They made no further move as Mara laid down flat on her belly, her head hanging over the edge. She watched them a moment, to see if they would raise their weapons or order her back. They didn’t. She glanced once more at each of them and then let her head drop to look into the cage.
“What?” she said.
Gash sat in darkness. She could barely see him through the shadow of the cage.
“What is don-ga?” he asked.
“It is someone who judges someone before he knows them,” Mara replied. “I believe your language calls him a fool.”
“Gooklak,” Gash stated from the darkness.
“What?” Mara asked, her brow furrowed.
“It is orcish.”
“Gooklak,” Mara repeated him. “I like that better.”
Gash gave no reply but merely sat there in the darkness of his prison. Saying the word left a bitter taste in his mouth and he quickly tried to forget he had spoken it.
“I can not lay like this,” Mara complained as she raised her head, rolled onto her back and scooted down so that her head rested on the solid wood of the roof of the cage. She stared up at the starlit sky. Her heart was calm and her soul seemed to yearn to reach out into the sky and touch those brilliant dots of light. Her hand reached up as if to grasp them and pull herself up to them. But she knew she could not, no more than she could close her eyes and awaken
in her homeland with everything in its right again. Her hand closed and went back beneath her head as her thoughts went to the one who sat imprisoned beneath her.
“Gash,” she said, “why do you not remember your home?”
Gash’s body became suddenly weak at the words. They had brought forth from deep within him an unknown and unwelcomed fear. It was a strange sensation and one that Gash could not explain. This only served to strengthen it and frustrate Gash.
Receiving no answer, Mara chewed her lower lip. Perhaps she had said the wrong thing again. She then remembered her earlier words in the cabin and closed her eyes, silently berating herself. Rolling over onto her stomach, she again spoke, attempting to repair what damage she had done in the rashness and inconsideration of her character.
“I…I did not mean to harm your self,” she said hesitantly.
She closed her eyes tight, gritting her teeth against the roughness of going against her pride.
“Please…forgive me,” she said.
Gash’s fear had not subsided and he knew not how to empty himself of it. But perhaps, he thought, he could distract himself from it.
“What…what does it mean?” he asked Mara, trying to hide his fear.
“What?” Mara replied quizzically.
“For…give me.”
Mara blinked, caught off guard.
Could he really have meant that? Does he truly not know?
Remembering her earlier error, she did her best to form better her words.
“Ummm…” she began, fighting off the urge to explode in disbelief as before, “…it…means…that…ummm…”
UGH! How could he not know that?
“I can not believe you do not know this,” she muttered under her breath before switching to a more normal tone. “When there is…blood and harm…between two people, whether much or little…and it is the fault of one…who wishes to erase the blood…and the harm…and bring the two back together…UGH!”
Mara sat up and slammed her palms onto the roof of the cage.
“Curse your common tongue!” she spouted. “I can not say what I mean! Ask Marian. I can not explain.”
Mara then crossed her arms and flipped to her back, landing on the hard wood of the cage with a thud. She lay there for a moment, fuming, her breaths coming out in frustrated breaths. Gash made no sound and the two sat in silence for a time. At length, Gash spoke.
“For mercy.”
“Yes,” Mara replied.
“But not from death.”
Mara paused, taking in the half-orc’s words and trying to make sense of them. Suddenly, his previous words came to her; his words about killing the knight, about orcs being monsters, the look that he gave her when she had attacked the man on the hillside. A revelation came to her. And at last, she began to understand.
“Is that…” she began in disbelief, “Is that what your people…what orcs are like? Do they seek only to bring death?”
She received no answer.
She rolled over and leaned her head back down to look into the cage.
“Gash,” she said staring at what she could see of him, “Is this what you have known?”
Gash looked at her. She could see his face half in shadow and flickering torchlight. A look lay upon it that seemed darker than the night that surrounded them and it made Mara shiver.
“It is orc,” he replied coldly. “Strength, honor. Weakness, death. Un-orc, nothing.”
Mara’s mouth went slack in the shock and horror of the moment. Her life had by no means been peaceful, but now sat before her one who grew up in a society filled with those who defined honor by strength and who would lay on the weak the cruel fate of death and for the un-orc…
Mara considered what sort of fate would be suffered by one who was un-orc, but the thoughts were more than she could take.
Her eyes again searched for Gash in the shadow of his cage. She found him and suddenly became very afraid of him. Her mind caused her to begin questioning what sort of creature would come out of a society like that and what that meant about Gash. She began to see him not as the noble, selfless person who had saved her life, but as a child of monsters, prone to their same bloodlusts, their same cruelty, and their same evils.
‘NO!’ she shouted inside her mind. ‘He has shown you nothing but honor, bravery…righteousness. Surely he is not like them. Besides, righteous or horrid, you have an oath to fulfill. Perhaps by honoring your oath, you can help him to erase what evils he has learned.’
Her face displayed her newly strengthened resolve as she looked at the one to whom she was bound by honor and blood.
“I have regret that you have suffered such horrors, Gash,” she said. “But whatever evil these orcs have within them, it is not within you. You have something greater than they. You have honor and righteousness. That is far beyond many that I have met. You are not one of these orcs. You are dru-gin. You are a man worthy of great honor. Whatever evils you face, even if you find them within yourself, I shall be next to you. I shall not leave your side.”
Gash looked upon the stick-wielding girl whose head now hung upside-down. Through the flickering torchlight, he could see her determination reflected in hazel eyes. He could hear her loyalty in her words. She too had shown more honor in the short time he had known her than all of his kin put together. And he wished to honor her in return. Calmly, stalwartly, his nerves back to normal and his strength renewed by her words, he bowed his head and gave her a slow nod of affirmation.
VIII. Travel
By the next morning, the heat and humidity had left the valley, leaving behind a crisp chill. Mara had pushed the fear and sorrow to the back of her mind, determined instead to focus on that which lay ahead. She decided her best move would be to keep vigilant for opportunity to free Gash and herself, and in the meantime, keep herself fit and ready. Despite her lack of sleep the night before, she had woken an hour before sunrise to begin her morning exercises. By the time the sun had risen her body was dripping with sweat. She finished a set of hand-stand push-ups and then rolled to her feet in a squatting position. Picking up her staff, she breathed out a few short breaths and then stood and began the quick, controlled movements that made up her kata.
Gash sat in the cage listening to the thumping of Mara’s footfalls as she moved across the wooden roof. He could almost imagine her movements. His mind went to the constant battles of his clan. They engaged each other willingly, constantly seeking to sharpen their skills, prove their strength, build upon their ferocity, and seek glory. There was never any practice or anything like what the stick girl was doing, only battle. Gash wondered if that was the reason for their lack of skill. For even as he had observed them, he had seen the constant flaws and mistakes in their fighting styles; mistakes that were rarely caught or improved upon. They just fought the same each time they battled. The only things that ever increased were their viciousness and ferocity. They never learned, only battled.
Gash and Mara spent the day conversing little and sleeping much. Mostly, they were just bored. Preparations were being made by the knights for the return of the troop and the eventual moving on of the caravan.
The troops returned that night with several caribou in tow, much to the joy of the army and the refugees. Marian helped with cooking and distributing of the food. With the help of some of the refugees, she was able to stretch the food and feed the entire troop with only three caribou. The rest of the caribou were dried for later consumption.
At the captain’s orders, the first servings went to the troop who had gone to fetch the game. Next were the refugees, then the lower-ranked soldiers, and on up the chain until the captain was nearly the last to receive his meal.
It was near morning before Marian was able to take two bowls of soup to feed Gash and Mara. Nearly falling asleep as she walked, she made her way through the camp toward the wheeled cage.
“Mara, Gash, I have your meals,” she called as she approached.
The two of them sat up at her cal
l and moved to the edge of their respective prisons.
“I regret that it took me so long to get these to you,” she said, “but here they are at last.”
“They get none,” a voice announced as the bowls were suddenly snatched from her.
She turned to see one of the archers standing there holding the two bowls of soup. Marian let out a sigh.
“Young man, I have neither the energy nor the patience to argue with you. Please, just give me the bowls, that I might serve them and go and find my rest.”
Marian then attempted to take them from him, but he held them over his head, out of her reach.
“Really, young man,” she shot at him, crossing her arms, “how childish.”
“Call it what you want,” the archer shot back. “The orc and his friend- Hey!”
He had suddenly felt the weight of one of the bowls being lifted from his hand and turned to see it balanced expertly on the end of Mara’s staff. The teenager carefully pulled the bowl in and grabbed hold of it without spilling a drop. While the archer was distracted, Marian grabbed the other bowl, turned and slid it into the cage. Gash and Mara eagerly drank their meals as Marian turned to the archer and said, “There, now was that so hard? Good eve, Sir Knight,” as she curtseyed, turned, and began to walk off.
“Stop there, Woman!” the enraged archer called out, readying his crossbow. Marian froze. He was about to raise his weapon when he felt cold steel against his throat.
“You raise that crossbow to that lady and I’ll have your head in my lap,” Dolanas’s voice rang in the frightened soldier’s ears.
Marian turned to see Dolanas standing near the archer, the polished blade of his halberd resting beneath the archer’s chin.
“You know as well as I do that the captain gave no such restrictions and that this woman is under our protection. Harming her is an act of treason.”
He then turned to Marian, though he did not remove the blade of his halberd from the soldier’s neck.
Half-Orc Redemption Page 12