Princess Mikanasha Raska G4I2 (right) with her construct Ixos, pictured demonstrating the symbolic gesture of her people for “have a nice day and thanks for reading,” (Age of Ahvar Year 4443, colorized)

 

 

“My princes.”

Bosarg began again to dip into a bow, until the iron-haired orc waved a hand to stop him. Turning her attention back to the old healer, Mika was astonished to see that he, too, bore markings upon his forehead. They were sparse and pale gray, almost white.

“At ease, brujhir-ab,” said the unnamed prince.

Frowning, Retga’s eyes fixed on Mika. As she drew closer, her forehead marks pulsed and brightened.

“Can she understand us?”

“Oh, yes,” replied Bosarg. “And she can speak, too. Just doesn’t seem much keen on it.”

The orc’s scarlet eyes fixed upon Mika’s brow, the furrow between her own deepening.

“It’s disconcerting, the blankness,” she said. The healer grunted in agreement.

“You may go. Thank you,” said iron-hair.

Bosarg thanked him and hummed his way out, the floor planks creaking in protest beneath his great wooden feet. Both princes’ attention now turned to her, Mika clutched the blanket tighter about herself. It was like wearing a tent built for a family of eight, but heavier. In spite of its warmth, her body trembled.

Iron-hair knelt before her, extending a hand in her direction. She eyed it until it clenched and dropped back to drape over his knee.

“I hope you’ll forgive the chaotic reception,” he said. “I am Uthur, and this is Retga. This ship and crew are of Clan Dragha, our clan, as are these lands—for many leagues and from jaw-to-jaw.”

Mika wondered at how he managed to speak so well with those tusks protruding from his lips. Looking up close, she saw now that they were decorated with carvings inlayed with smoky gemstones. He wore crystals in the piercings along his tiny ear ridges and his lip, too, and tattoos edged past his scaled sleeves and trailed down his hands. The heads of beasts Mika didn’t recognize, their jaws splayed open, teeth long and sharp.

She said nothing, only stared…dizzy with the scent and size and presence of the pair. Cornered as she was, her instincts had given up on flight, urging defiance instead.

“May I know your name?”

When still she didn’t answer, Uthur frowned…looking rather more concerned than mad. But Retga hissed in frustration.

“What were you doing in our lands?” she demanded. “What drove you to the surface?”

Mika pressed her lips tighter together.

Uthur sighed and rubbed his forehead. Retga cursed.

“If you are not ready to speak, then I shall,” said the iron-haired orc. “You are of great value to our people, and we are returning with you to Kanijha, our capital. There you will teach us the Stonesong. In exchange for your services you will have our protection, and you shall be provided for until the end of your days.”

She gaped at him.

Teach the Stonesong? Stay with them forever? Absurd.

At her silence, his honey-colored eyes tightened at the corners and he stood.

“We should arrive shortly after sun-up. I suggest, in the meantime, you ready yourself to speak.”

“And you will speak,” warned Retga. “For you shall have no food or drink from us until you do.”

Uthur curled his broad, flat nose. “I do not think allowing her to weaken will ready her well,” he argued. The other prince emitted a low rumble, not quite a growl…but something like it.

“Fine,” she said. “Let her have ofke, then, but nothing else.”

Uthur rolled his eyes and grunted. Turning her back on the both of them, Retga began pulling boxes from shelves and tossing their contents about. Her hair shone in the lantern light...its color metallic and indecipherable, changing with every new angle.

“What—”

“It’s here somewhere,” said Retga. “Grah, found it.”

When the orc whipped around, Mika trilled in surprise—thinking at first that Retga clutched a body in her sharpened claws. But in the next heartbeat she realized it was just a doll.

“Got it back in Ardna for the nephlings,” she said, now peeling off its clothes. “Should fit well enough.”

Mika backed away, bumping up against the cabin wall as she pulled the blanket tighter about her. Glancing up, Retga laughed and tossed the dress at her before dropping the naked doll back in its box. Scrabbling to drag the thing off her head, Mika let the blanket fall.

“Don’t worry, you can put it on yourself.” Retga said, slapping Uthur’s back as she turned towards the door-hanging. “I’ll let you finish up here. Gods’ luck, brother.” And then, smirking, she stomped off. Uthur curled his nose as he followed her to the door, stopping at its threshold to stick his head through the tapestry.

“Threl!” he bellowed. “Get up here.”

As he turned back to Mika, a hand going up to rub at his forehead in a gesture that was almost awkward, Threl burst through the hanging.

“Yes, Majesty?” He breathed, chest heaving. Only, Mika was unsure of whether she should have been thinking of him as a he at all, as his figure had quite changed. The elf and orcs did not wear any markers she recognized, so she’d never been quite sure of any of their genders to begin with until someone referenced them. But he or she or they had now developed an ample bust, his already tapered waist contrasted by a fuller set of hips. And he, too had forehead markings—like the veins of a leaf, going down even past his eyes. Within heartbeats, they’d transitioned from green to pearly white.

“Keep an eye on the goblin until someone says otherwise,” ordered the prince. “Get her some ofke and,” he lowered his voice, “some food. Ready her for Kanijha. I assume she knows nothing of our ways. If she has questions, answer them. Within reason, of course. I must go.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. You can count on me, my glorio—”

But, cutting him off with a gesture and a curt nod of acknowledgement, the orc huffed through his nose and marched from the room.

“Oh, and get out here,” Uthur called after him a heartbeat later. “She needs to change her clothes.”

The elf mouthed a silent “oh!” and scrambled after the prince, his feet just visible as he took up his post beyond the hanging.

Scrunching her nose, Mika considered the garments. They were made of fine materials…layered silks and furs in shades of citrine and muddy greenish-brown. They did seem rather warmer than what was left of her own scrap of a dress. So, shrugging from the remains of her mushroom leathers, she fumbled her way into the doll’s clothes. Indeed, they fit rather well—though the sleeves were a bit long and the hem a touch too high. Tying her waist-bag back on over the dress’s belted sash, she folded what remained of her old garment and stuffed it in. It might not be much, anymore, but it was a piece of home.

Besides, it was edible in an emergency.

“Almost done in there, Pigbat?” called the elf through the tapestry.

She hissed.

“It’s Mikanasha.”

Threl ducked through the hanging, eyes wide.

“Was that a swear?”

Mika sighed from the back of her throat.

“My name. Mika, for short.”

“Oh!” exclaimed the elf, perking up. “I’m Threlenlief Torgasbrood, Seventh Branch, Seed of Fourteen.”

She stared at him.

“Threl,” he added, smiling. “Like you’ve heard. Wanna go out on deck? They’ve sighted some amagara.”

Sniffing, she followed him out—more to find out what an amagara was than anything else. Thankfully, the rain had lightened somewhat. Threll leaned over the railing, pointing excitedly over the ship’s starboard side. But Mika saw nothing, except perhaps the faintest hint of movement down below the surface of the churning canopy. The ship slowed. Then there was the hissing whine of unreeling rope as, down on the main deck, orcs with huge barreled weapons slung over their backs repelled over the side of the ship.

As the orcs plunged beneath the surface, a flock of small creatures drifted into view just above railing level. They had bodies shaped like flattened arrows, fleshy and smooth and dappled green, with slender tails that ended in fins that resembled leaves. They hummed and trilled as they flew, purple light glowing through their gill slits.

“Are those amagara?” wondered Mika, pointing.

“Nope,” Threl chuckled. “Just little treeskates. Amagara are landwalkers. Here.” Pulling something shiny from one of his belt pouches, he handed it to her. A small telescope. Pushing up her goggles, she put it to her eye, directing it through the netting of the rail to peer down through a shifting gap in the canopy.

And there she saw them…great towering beasts, at least ten orcs in height. There were three of them, their necks ridiculously long and slender, balanced by equally long tails and broad, striped bodies. Their crests of coral-like spines inflated and contracted again in time with their breath.

“Why are they going down there?” asked Mika as she peered through the scope. “I thought we were headed back to the capitol.”

“We are, but we make the most of every trip. We spot good meat, we don’t let the opportunity go to waste.”

We?

She frowned up at him, handing back the telescope.

“Why are you with them?” she asked, curiosity driving her to boldness. “I thought elves and orcs were enemies.”

Again Threl laughed. “That’s more of a tradition now than anything else. Elves and orcs haven’t killed each other on a large scale in decades. We have other ways of settling our differences, these days.” He smiled, eyes going distant almost as if recalling a fond memory.

“I’m half orc, technically,” he added. “I don’t suppose you know much about how elves are?”

“Only that they’re lecherous, indulgent, and not to be—ack!”

The ship lurched suddenly, and Threl frowned, looking around.

“Greensingers are having trouble, feels like.”

Down below, the orcs in view scrambled to keep their bearings. Mika yanked her goggles back down and saw that almost all of their forehead markings had gone fiery orange.

“What are the markings about?” asked Mika, already forgetting her last question.

“You mean the colors? It’s a part of how we communicate. Conveys…feelings, I suppose.”

She thought she could guess what orange meant.

“What do blue markings mean?”

Threl’s gaze shot down at her.

“Blue is a complicated one,” he hedged.

But before Mika could press him further, there was an ear-curling crash as what looked like an absolutely massive tree branch arced up over the side of the deck and plunged through it, sending splintered wood and orcs flying in every direction. The ship bucked, and Mika nearly lost her balance—stumbling sideways and catching hold of the elf’s leg for support.

“Oh, fuck,” whispered Threl, as what she could see of his face went pale. Below, someone blew a horn, and the orcs began to whoop and howl.

“What is it?” Shrieked Mika as another branch shot up over the deck. The ship rocked back and she tightened her arms about Threl’s leg.

“Treekrake,” hissed the elf through gritted teeth. “I have to help.”

Unslinging his weapon, he released a ululating battle-cry. Then, yanking his leg from her grip, he catapulted over the railing.