Ume

 

“We have baths in our wing, but these are much better,” explained Ume as they led Mika through the labyrinthine corridors and walkways of the clannag. “Kurr’s told everyone, so there’s no point in trying to hide you away.”

“Do you…do you think any other thralls will challenge for me?” wondered Mika, finding herself feeling strangely comfortable around the schola orcs already.

Ume chuckled.

“Powers, no. Only princes challenge princes.”

“How many different, erm…Arkha are there, anyway?” she asked as they crossed a covered bridge to another, much older-looking wing. Peering around as they went, Mika was again reminded of home. At one point in their history, it seemed, the orcs had shared tastes in architecture with her own people.

“Four,” answered Eshge. “Princes, scholas, guardians and hunters.”

“No warriors?”

Eshge smiled. “We are all warriors, in our own different ways.”

“Here we are,” said Ume, as they came upon a broad stairwell leading downward. The air was steamy and fragrant, growing ever more so as they descended. Reaching the bottom, they spilled off the stair and into a huge natural cavern, its floor pocked with glowing green pools fed by waterfalls that cascaded from openings in the walls. All around were clusters of orcs, bathing and lounging, talking and laughing. And though Mika had not much familiarity with their kind, even she could see that they were grouped by Arkha…though of course, there were no princes present.

As they entered, everyone quieted and turned to stare. At once, one of the orcs—this one fully dressed in a gray tunic, trousers, and a well-stocked pocket-belt—hurried up to them.

“My esteemed scholas, welcome. May I assist you?”

“Yes,” replied Eshge. “We’d like a pool to ourselves.”

“And soaps to clean and calm,” added Ume.

The attendant led them off to the back of the cavern, where bathed all the orcs with long hair and softer builds. Mika’s bemusement must have shown, for Eshge fixed her with a raised brow.

“I wonder what your people must think of our kind, now, that you seem so surprised at our baths. Or are they unfamiliar with the concept of bathing altogether?”

“Eshge!” Pulling a fan from her belt, Ume whacked the other orc on the shoulder. “So rude.”

“I’m just curious.”

“We do bathe, and I think if you’d been through what I have, you’d smell even worse,” said Mika, unable to resist dignifying the question with a response. “And I am curious too. Tell me more of the Arkha. How was it decided that I am a schola? What distinguishes each type from the other?”

Bowing again, the bath attendant removed a set of small bottles from one of his pouches, and Ume accepted it graciously. Yet another bow, and the gray-clad orc was off.

Then Ume and Eshge began to undress.

For a moment Mika just stood there, jaws agape. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected. Perhaps that they might help wash her hair, like handmaidens. But certainly not join her.

“Well,” said Ume. “We tell by vurkha, mostly. Er, scent. You are not orc, so you don’t smell exactly like one of us, especially right now. But that’s certainly what you’re closest to.”

“Technically speaking, schola translates to something like weaver,” said Eshge. “But contextually, it also means ‘one who creates.’ Most of our inventors, our artists, and our architects are scholas. Also, many of those who bear and teach the children, as well as those who see to the running of homes and the planning of cities.”

Hanging their clothes over a convenient outcropping of stone, the two orcs slid into the bath. Once settled, they looked expectantly to Mika. She froze on the spot, careful to keep her eyes on theirs, unable to endure the embarrassment of her own response should she catch herself staring at anything else. For a moment, she had no idea what she’d do. She was as terrified of close, naked proximity to the orcs as she was tempted by the warmth and fragrance wafting from the waters.

In the end, warmth and fragrance won.

“Hunters are those who seek,” continued Eshge as Mika undressed and removed her bandages, finding no trace left of the verisor bites. “Many of our rangers, scouts, researchers, ship’s crew and actual hunters, of course, belong to that Arkha. Guardians are those who keep. A good deal of our scholars and those who help rear the children are guardians, and many become actual guards, soldiers and captains. And princes—”

“I already know about princes,” Mika said, sliding into the water between the pair as they parted to make more room for her. Uncorking one after the other of the bottles, Ume dumped their contents into her hands and rubbed them together until they turned violet and began to foam.

“May I?” she asked, looking to Mika.

She eyed the frothing soap and sniffed. It had a floral, herbal scent whose tingling warmth spread into her lungs as she breathed it in.

“Just don’t touch my hands,” she acceded. “Ever.”

At once the orc set to work on her hair. And almost as quickly, the same wonderful tingling sensation set into Mika’s scalp. She released a long sigh, letting her eyes close without really meaning to.

“Nice, right?” Ume sounded pleased. “And the soap smells good while also still covering up how tasty you—” she stopped short, and Mika popped an eye open just in time to see the dagger-sharp glare Eshge had struck her with. “Sorry.”

When it was all over and the bath attendant came rushing back with two large robes and one small one for Mika, she almost found herself reluctant to leave. It wasn’t that the orc’s company was pleasant, exactly. But it wasn’t particularly unpleasant, either…and the water was just so soothing. Gathering up their clothes, the scholas led her back to their own thrall’s wing. Mika pulled her robe tight about her and shivered. But the chamber the orcs led her to was warm, and built from and into the chasm wall itself. It was also nicely dark there, and even had proportions and furnishings appropriate to her own size. Everything was carved of stone, though the chairs and couches were softened by silk cushions and pelts.

Was this a child’s room, perhaps? It didn’t seem like one. Everything was dusty, save the bed—which looked as though it had been quite hastily fitted with a fresh mattress and quilts. And though they were deep beneath the ground, there was a window, looking out into a high-ceilinged cavern lit in blue by glowworms. There, a trickling waterfall flowed…its quiet music complementing the atmosphere.

“There is a water room, there,” said Eshge, jabbing their finger out to indicate an entrance covered by a fish leather hanging on the other side of the chamber.

“Is there anything else you need before we leave you to your rest?” asked Ume, folding back the bedcovers for her.

“No,” said Mika. “Shall…shall my room be guarded?”

“Oh, our whole wing is guarded, and no one in our thrall would ever harm you,” soothed Ume.

“I can send for someone to stand post at your door, if you’d feel more comfortable,” said Eshge, taking Mika by surprise.

“Yes, I would prefer that,” she replied, hesitating. “And…I would prefer it most if it could be Threl.”

“I don’t think he’ll be available,” sniffed Eshge. “But I’ll see what I can do.”

“Would you like me to wait with you here until someone arrives? asked Ume.

If they’re willing to leave me unattended here, the wing must be well-guarded indeed.

“I would,” answered Mika. Eshge inclined their head minutely and then left them while Ume took up position as temporary guard at the door. After using the water room, Mika crawled into bed. Within moments, the Dream had swallowed her up.

 

---

 

It was Threl who roused her, his near-constant smile looming over her and his braids brushing her face as she snapped awake.

“Ack!”

“Heard you asked for me,” he said, looking smug. “It’s almost feast time, better get dressed.” He lifted something pearly gray in one hand, setting it down over the chair beside her bed. “I’ll leave you to it, but I’ll be right outside the door.”

He’d changed his form yet again, now boasting wide hips and hefty cleavage, accentuated by the clinging lavender gown he wore. As always, he had his long-barreled weapon slung at his back, and another smaller one at his belt which Mika hadn’t noticed before.

“No luck with Ume?” inquired Mika, stopping him in his tracks on the way back out.

“Er, no. I think I’m more comfortable around her when I feel like I’m someone more like…like her, I guess. So I figured, a change…” he trailed off, shook his head and made to leave again.

“Can all of your kind do that? Change your bodies?”

He stopped and turned around. “Yes, but some of us are better at it than others.”

“How should I call you? He? She? Something else?”

Threl shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

“But Eshge. They are a they, yes?”

“That’s right. They’re orcin-traditional like that, but most people around here like to use the old Ahvari genders these days.”

“What’s your Arkha?”

“Hunter,” he said, back straightening.

“And you’re….half orc?” Making sure her robes were still wrapped tight about her, she dragged herself out of bed.

“Sure am. Elf blood sticks. Takes what it wants from whoever we breed with, but the results are still always elf. I don’t think a one of us doesn’t have at least a little ancestry from every facet of Ahvar. Anyway I’ll tell you the rest of my life story later, Miks. I really meant it, feast starts soon.” He ducked out, leaving her to puzzle over the intricate lacings of her borrowed dress.

When she’d finally gotten the thing on, she examined her reflection—surprised to find that she not only liked how she looked, but cared about it. Which was silly, of course. She’d be seeing no one that night but orcs and a few elves. But still, the iridescent fishscale leather pleased her, as did the silvery silk lining. But there were still no gloves, and the hem was much too long. Plucking it up in one hand, she lifted her skirts to avoid tripping on them.

By the time she emerged, Ume and Eshge were waiting outside with Threl.

“So precious!” exclaimed Ume as she stepped into view. Mika wrinkled her nose. She couldn’t tell if the orc referred to her more like a child or a pet. Either way, she didn’t know quite how she felt about it. Deciding the dignified response was to be angry, Mika settled for that.

Their trek to the feast hall led them out into the open air, where a light rain had begun to patter over the stone walkways and mossy rooftops. The sky—only just visible through the haze and trees—had gone dark. The air was rich with the scent of cooking meat, too strong to be washed away by such a gentle downpour. And all across the city, the green and violet lights of stained glass windows glowed to life. As they climbed a curving set of stairs and crossed a bridge, a hint of music and laughter could be heard through the sounds of falling water, growing ever louder.

And then they were there, the feast hall, a great covered open air space perched upon and carved directly from the clannag’s highest outcropping. It was bright, lit by the glow of strung-up lanterns and the cookfire blazing in its central hearth. Musicians had set themselves up near its heart, plucking at instruments longer than Mika was tall and beating at painted drums. Birds and other creatures called out in the night, their songs glaring against the sudden silencing of all the orcs in attendance—bards included—as they caught sight of her.

Eyes watering already, Mika braced herself as she pulled her goggles down. The crowd was a sea of blue markings. She prayed it was the rich aromas of the feast that drew them out. But she couldn’t help but notice the hue intensifying on the brows of all whose eyes lingered on her longest.

The music resumed, and with it the conversation and whispers, the occasional guffaw. But the weight of innumerable eyes bore down upon her, and Mika’s instincts shrieked at her to flee. She quashed it down. Catching her gaze from the crowd, Bosarg gave her nod. His thigh seemed entirely better, and he stood upright upon a new pair of wooden legs. Mika smiled at him despite herself, nearly tripping over a pelt in her distraction.

There were a lot of pelts, in fact, all strewn about in clusters. But of tables and chairs, there were nearly none. There was, however, the great cookfire and the feast itself—the foods all arrayed upon a stone ledge all around it or else blackening on a pike in its flames. Threl and the others closed in protectively about her as they headed for the bounty.

“What do you want?” asked the elf, grabbing halved koanut shell dishes for both of them. “I can lift you up to see for yourself, if you like.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Oooh, there’s stuffed gumfigs!” exclaimed Ume. Like the orc herself, her brow markings were lovely, curving things. “Would you like some of those, princess? Oh! How about some roasted rock eel? That looks delicious…”

As Ume picked over the feast, Mika accepted a little of everything she cooed over. With a brimming horn in her left hand and a shell overflowing with food in her right, she followed the others to gather with the rest of their thrall and its allies. A position close to the only four chairs in the space, and ones which had the look of thrones at that—carved of a fine dark wood and draped in shining furs and featherhides.

A horn blew, its echo blaring in Mika’s ears before she could cover them. All attention turned to the feast hall’s main entrance.

The princes of Clan Dragha had arrived. Uthur, Retga, Kurr…and a fourth she’d never seen before. He sported the same chitinous armor as his peers, and bristled with weapons as did most orcs present. But he had garnet-red hair so dark it was almost black, worn unbound about his shoulders. There was a red cast to his gray skin, too, and a crimson dye upon his tusks. Or at least, Mika hoped it was dye.

The drummers began to beat a heady rhythm, building like an over-excited heartbeat and reaching a crescendo as the four princes took up positions near the hearthfire. While other orcs filled the would-be royals’ hands with drinking horns, everyone who wasn’t standing rose to their feet with their own horns hefted. Sensing it coming, Mika put down her food and drink and covered her ears. At once, the whooping and howling began, and it didn’t stop until Retga put up a hand to call for silence. Mika felt the force of an intense focus upon her, and looked to the stranger prince to find his eyes piercing through her, the exact same shade of gold as Uthur’s.

It was he, the stranger, who spoke first.

“My brujhira! We thank you for this gracious welcome!”

Again Mika braced herself as the clamor renewed. Thankfully, it died down again within heartbeats, for the instant the red prince opened his lips once more, all other orcs closed their own.

“Tonight, we drink first in anticipation of the Rite of Gold, which only three nights hence shall see new kings seated upon the thrones of Kanijha!”

He paused for more cheers and howls. Mika flinched.

“And all the powers will it, those kings will be Dragha kings, the new age to come…the Dragha age!”

There was something about the way he spoke, a charisma that elevated every word, that emanated outward from him fierce as the glow of an orcin bonfire. The uproar at his words shook the trees outside and sent birds screeching from their nests.

Mika’s teeth ground together as she bunched the ends of her sleeves up and jammed them into her ears. But that was the last of his toast, and the orcs quieted as they drank. Scooping up her horn, Mika took a sip herself. Whatever it was—some sort of ale, she supposed—it was spicy, slightly sweet, and very strong. At least to her.

The red-haired prince stepped back then, and Uthur came forward.

“We drink next in honor of our clan’s newest addition, whose blooding takes place this very night. Princess Mikanasha Raska G4I2, a Stonesinger.”

And then everyone was looking at her again while also being very loud, and Mika cowered under their attentions until finally the actual drinking began again. She took a larger gulp this time. The drink set a warm little fire in her belly, its hazy glow softening everything, blurring out the fear and sadness and terrible memories that lurked always at the edges of her awareness.

With each toast she drank more, paying less and less attention to the prince’s words as the world grew ever more dewy around her.

And then finally the toasting and speeches were over, and Mika sat back down to her food. While Kurr and the red-haired prince took their places at two of the thrones, Uthur and Retga ignored them…instead cutting through the crowd to join their thrall.

“Still in one piece, I see,” said Retga as her eyes caught upon Mika. “You continue to surprise me, Threl.”

“You honor me, Your Majesty,” chirped the elf from Mika’s side before taking an enormous bite of rock eel.

The orc curled her lip.

“Who dressed her? Ume?”

“S’right,” said Threl around another mouthful of meat.

Mika huffed.

“This, from a lady who never changes out of her armor. I can only imagine the smell of those leathers. Actually no, wait,” Mika paused, sniffed at the air and made a face. “I don’t think I’m just imagining it.”

Retga’s eyes went wide as Threl slapped a hand to his mouth to cut off his sudden guffaw. But Ume laughed openly and uproariously, leaning against a smirking Eshge for support. Uthur looked as though he was trying not to smile.

“I saw Retga in a dress, once,” said an orc of the thrall to whom Mika had not yet been introduced. “A few decades or so ago.”

“Wasn’t that on a dare?” wondered another.

“Shut your faceholes, you sniveling traitors,” snapped Retga, her lip twitching briefly up into a smile before she caught control of it again. “Or I’ll shut ‘em for you.”

At their response Mika was overcome with relief, for it had occurred to her that everything depended upon these orcs and their willingness to help her. But she had never been forced to abase herself to anyone in her life, and the thought of doing so now made her sick. She’d have done it, nonetheless, if she’d thought it might gain their compliance and respect. Yet she’d guessed and gambled otherwise, and from the sound of it…she thought she might have won.

The orcs bantered on as Mika ate her way through the rest of the food—most of it absolutely delectable, to her continuing surprise. And then, when the koanut shells had emptied and all had fallen into talk and further drinking, a horn was blown. Uthur and Retga parted from their thrall once more to join the other princes as they stood from their thrones.

“The feast is done, and the time has come,” announced the red-haired prince. “Thrall Alaric formally challenges Thrall Uthur for claim of the clan’s place in the Rite of Gold and for possession of the Princess Mikanasha Raska.”

“Thrall Uthur accepts your challenge,” replied its namesake, and his voice had a rich and growling depth to it that was more intense, more aggressive than Mika had yet heard it.

“And so it is,” said red-hair, his smile spreading into a hateful grin. “To the Hunter’s Hall.”

“To the Hunter’s Hall,” agreed Uthur.