Something Extra - Hungry Heart - Ch. 6 (Patreon)

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Chapter Six – The Messenger

Toru placed the mask made of bark over his face, just for Duril’s sake. The cotton cloth fixed to it on the inside made it comfortable enough, although the healer had explained about breathing only through the fabric. 

“It’s not much, but it is better than breathing in the poison rising from the lake,” Duril said. “I soaked the cloth in herbs that will keep the poison from reaching your nose too quickly, but--”

“I know. I’ll have to be fast.” Once he shifted, the mask would be useless, but Duril couldn’t know. By how the healer looked at him, Toru could tell he was worried.

He took Duril aside, away from Varg. He placed both hands on his shoulders and looked into the warm chocolate eyes. “I won’t die,” he said, with all the conviction he could muster.

“If you’re asking me for permission, you know I cannot give it to you.” Duril placed his hand on Toru’s cheek. “Come back alive.”

“Is that the only thing you’re asking?” Toru smirked. “Easy-peasy.”

The chocolate eyes were bright with unshed tears, but Duril forced a small smile. “It’s the only thing.”

“And if I don’t manage to kill the beasts?”

“I don’t care. Just don’t let them or the lake get you. I don’t think I could bear it.”

If a chance was presented to him on a silver platter, Toru knew better than to ignore it. “No one will get me. I’m tough, you know. But,” he closed the distance between them until their chests were almost touching, “I want a reward for putting my ass in danger.”

“I’m sure the guild master and the mayor will not be tight-pursed when it comes time to repay you for your service.”

“But they can’t give me what I want.” Toru was so close he could feel Duril’s breathing on his face. The shy type was his type. By how Duril’s eyelids fluttered, he was pretty sure his hints weren’t lost on the other.

“I’m certain they’ll do their best to satisfy your requests, whatever they may be,” Duril replied, as his breathing became a bit deeper.

“You’re the only one able to do that.” Toru wasted not a moment. He placed his lips quickly on Duril’s mouth and gave the small tusks a quick swipe of the tongue.

The healer let out a small yelp, and he took one step back. Toru was satisfied. Even if it looked like Duril was flabbergasted by the kiss, he didn’t look disgusted or anything. That was enough for him, for now. Later, Duril might come to realize that it wasn’t only girls he liked.

“I’ll come back for more,” he said and offered Duril a broad grin. 

The healer was at a loss for words and didn’t even manage to say goodbye as Toru hurried out.

***

Duril was in shock. He couldn’t even start processing what the shock was about, and how much he was affected. There was no doubt. Toru was keen on driving him insane with his games. He knew that the young man was putting his life on the line, but he didn’t need to joke about it only to show off his courage in the face of death.

He touched his lips where Toru’s mouth and naughty tongue had been only moments earlier. There was a faint trace of a sweet taste, and Duril didn’t dare to lick it as it would mean that he was bound to lose his mind. 

Toru was a big joker. When he got back, Duril would have to talk to him about toying with people’s feelings.

Not that Duril wasn’t secretly grateful for the kiss. It had been a long time since someone kissed him, and no one had ever been so sweet and gentle. Not a kiss in his life had ever been this arousing either. Toru knew how beautiful he was. Once he was no longer a stranger to the town, the people would start seeing him for what he was. A strong, beautiful man, courageous, too, and if he killed the black rocs tonight, a hero, too. The mayor had better repay him royally for his service.

With all that on his side, Toru would be coveted by many girls and parents of said girls who needed to marry. He would forget about befriending the town’s pariah, and Duril could only hope that he wouldn’t be a stranger when they would meet out in the street by chance.

That made the beating of his heart return to normal. Duril knew a few things about dreams. Never dare to dream too far or too big. That would make the life he led appear unhappy and hard to bear. And that was no way of living.

He went back to tend to Varg. The wolfshifter was in better shape than before, and his natural hardiness had beaten the poison. But he still needed to rest for a while, even if he had insisted on seeing Toru off on his mission.

“Is he gone already?” Varg asked.

“Yes. Sir Varg, are you perhaps hungry? Rory brought a bit of soup.” The look on Varg’s face was priceless. He had a feeling he had seen it somewhere before. “Also, a bit of steak.”

Of course, here was the second meat-eater Duril had had the chance to meet recently. He brought the plate and helped Varg adjust his position so that he could eat. Seeing how he was struggling with the fork and knife, Duril hurried to cut the steak into pieces for him. He was certain the wolfshifter would have eaten a lot less ceremoniously had he been alone, so he needed to offer his help without making too much of it.

“You’re not allowed to call me ‘sir’, Duril,” Varg said sternly. “Look at you, cutting my meat, like I’m some weakling. Since you got to see me in such a state, you better not ‘sir’ me again.”

Duril nodded. He felt a bit overwhelmed by Varg. Even sick and immobilized in bed, he still had a presence that made the house appear small and unfit for his stature. 

He allowed Varg to eat in silence. “I’ll leave the bowl of soup here,” he said.

“You can have it,” was the prompt reply. 

“But--”

“No ‘buts’. I heard you refusing Rory when he offered you food on the grounds that there are others who needed it more. You might tell Rory ‘no’ all you want, but you’re not allowed to say the same thing to me.”

The words were said in a rough tone, but Duril recognized kindness for what it was. He nodded and began eating slowly. He was used to the sensation of hunger, so much so that it didn’t bother him. For that, he was thankful for his orcish blood. Because of it, he still had reached a good height and had strong bones, and there were few things that could overcome him. Hunger wasn’t among them.

“You and the kitty --” Varg stopped for a moment.

“The kitty?” Duril asked. “Do you mean Toru?”

“It’s just a small joke between us.”

Of course, Toru, with his impetuous personality, had gotten under Varg’s skin in an instant. But something about him reminded Duril of a big cat, too. “What did you mean to ask, Sir … I mean, Varg?”

“He lives with you,” Varg said directly.

“Yes. For now. I suppose the mayor will grant him a place to stay after … he comes back victorious.”

“You don’t doubt him, do you?”

Duril shook his head. “I do not know him, but he’s valiant and strong. I have faith in him.”

Varg nodded slowly. “He wants you.” The words were said directly, without passion.

Duril had a feeling a reply was needed. He blushed and shook his head. “He’s just kidding around.” Could it be that Varg had somehow witnessed their small exchange from earlier?

“Hmm.”

Why was it that Varg asked such questions, though? Duril risked one look at his patient, only to be met by an intent stare. He felt a sudden heat under that look, and didn’t know what to make of it. “I’d better go to see the other patients. You have water here. And if you need anything … But I will come back to check on you every now and then.”

“Duril,” Varg called for him before he could walk out. “Thank you. I will make sure that your effort is properly compensated once this is over.”

Duril nodded, not knowing what else to do. He knew better than to count on the townsfolk’s gratefulness, but he wouldn’t say anything to Varg. The wolfshifter didn’t have a say in how the mayor ran things, even if his position was a privileged one. “So, you believe Toru will come back safe and sound, too, right?”

Varg smiled. “Yes. I have great faith in him.”

Somehow, Duril felt his heart growing lighter as he heard those words. Toru would come back, and even if he just wanted to kid around, Duril would kiss him back.

***

The piercing cries filled the air. Toru stood perched on a short cliff jutting up into the sky, his paws poised perfectly in balance. He scouted the pests, in circles above him. “You want me?” he roared. “Then come and get me!”

It could be his striped back or something else about him that must have made those black rocs mad about catching him, but he was indeed so good at running that none had managed to nick him even once. 

The lake stretched in front of him. The memory of the small kiss he had stolen from the healer was vivid in his mind. It was just a little jump, a little jump and then he would go back and see that he got Duril to keep his part of the deal.

He wasn’t some unwise stray cat. He had picked a part of the lake that was as narrow as it could get. From there, he could launch into a big jump and have the birds follow. And then they would die.

Of course, what neither Duril, nor Varg knew, was that killing all those birds in one go was a bit of a stretch if not entirely a lie. The mask Duril had given him lay next to him, and Toru’s heart grew small for one beat. He descended, making the birds follow him as he gained as much ground as was needed for him to jump over that lake of death. 

His lungs expanded. He breathed in. The cries above him were hysterical, filling his ears with doom, but he didn’t relent. One jump and he would know if his master plan truly worked. 

All his paws were in the air, and everything before him was a fog. He closed his eyes and no longer breathed, suspended like that for a moment that seemed an eternity. His paws hit the ground and he continued to run, not daring yet to let the air get back into his nose. 

The cries of war turned into cries of pain, and Toru turned to admire his masterpiece. Black wings struggled, and the air carried an acrid stench to him. The circles above were thinner now. 

“Do you think you can have me?” he roared to the black skies above.

He let a few birds come close and then he broke into a sprint again. One more time; he could do it one more time, and then another, until he would make sure that each of those ugly beasts would find their resting place at the bottom of the lake.

Toru let out a cry of victory when he landed on the other side, unscathed once more. Again. Again, he told himself, and his lungs and every muscle in his body were there to serve him. He was a tigershifter. The humans around here knew of no such thing as him. And he would save all their sorry asses because for the first time in a long time, he had a home to turn back to, and warm arms waiting for him.

***

It had to be the tenth time or so. Toru looked around and there appeared to be no black roc left to deal with. He shifted back into his human form and sat on the edge of the cliff to catch his breath. He picked up Duril’s mask and was about to place it on his face when a big bird landed on top of him.

Toru’s blood froze. How come he hadn’t heard it? He dropped the mask and tried to shift but the bird moved fast and toppled him from the cliff while its claws buried themselves deep into his shoulders. He was on his back with the bird on top of him, its pitch-black eyes burning into him. It spoke to him, although its beak was closed.

“Do you believe you saved the day, little tiger?”

It spoke right into his brain, and, with its voice, a creeping sensation of danger grew. “What the hell are you?”

“That doesn’t matter. You’ll die soon. Here’s a small consolation for you. They’ll sing you praises in that godforsaken town. But they won’t know we rained doom over their heads only because we came for you.”

“I must be imagining things because of the smell,” Toru said to himself.

“Oh, no, I’m real, and soon your death will be real, too.”

The beak opened, and Toru’s eyes grew wide as he saw green fog being released slowly from it. He stretched his arms, trying to find something to hold onto so that he could push himself up and kill that beast.

The fog moved gently, and Toru held his breath. His right hand found something and, just as the fog almost reached him, he placed Duril’s mask over his face. He took one deep breath through the herb-scented cloth and with it he found his strength. 

He moved his free arm and made his hand into a fist. The hard hit to the temple made the bird’s head jolt. Fighting against the pain in his shoulders, he grabbed the bird by the neck and started squeezing. 

“You cannot escape your fate, tiger! You will never defeat us!” were the bird’s last words before it went limp in Toru’s grip.

Toru groaned in pain as he pushed himself up. He didn’t dare remove the mask from his face, afraid that the bird wasn’t dead yet and could still have some nasty tricks up its sleeve. He found a large rock and brought it back to where the bird lay. He smashed its head, over and over, trying to remove not only that horrible creature from the face of the earth, but also the dread it had put in his soul with those prophecies of death.

His arms grew numb after a while, but he continued to smash it, over and over, until there was nothing left of it. As he finally moved away, he still kept the mask on his face, afraid to breathe without it. The voice of the black roc was still in his head, making his ears ring and his heart falter.

***

He was shivering, and the blood kept pouring from the wounds in his shoulders as he marched toward Whitekeep. His eyes no longer served him, drowned in sorrow. Could it be the truth, what that bird had said? Had he unknowingly brought death upon Whitekeep? But how? And why? He was no one, a stranger to the place.

The gates opened in front of him. “It’s over,” he murmured. “It’s over.” If it only were the truth.

Strong hands grabbed him. “Did they die? All of them?”

Toru nodded. He didn’t dare to look at Varg. He wasn’t fit to look at anyone. He shouldn’t have been there, but blindly, he had followed the road back home, the home he had for now. A numbness in his body engulfed him. 

“Toru!” someone shouted, and he was in the warm arms he had longed for not so long ago. “Make way, please. Good people, please let us pass, he’s hurt.” The worry in Duril’s voice reached him as if his head was underwater.

He wanted to tell him not to worry, to let him know that it was only because of his mask which Toru had thought briefly of discarding right after leaving the town on his quest that he was still alive. And also, he wanted to ask for forgiveness. 

***

Duril dressed the wounds on Toru’s shoulders, his heart small at the sight of the deep gashes. With much difficulty, he had managed to pry open Toru’s hand holding the mask to his face. “You’re safe here. You can breathe,” he said, again and again.

Varg had a deep frown etched on his face as he oversaw Duril’s efforts to treat Toru. “One of the birds must have gotten him. I should have never let him go alone.”

“He was stubborn,” Duril said. He noticed the guilt in Varg’s voice, and he felt plenty, as well. They had all remained inside the town, in perfect safety, while letting Toru risk his life. 

It wasn’t only the wounds worrying him. There was something changed in Toru’s face, and that made Duril feel a pang of hurt right in the middle of his chest. But he knew he had to get to the bottom of it. Toru would get well, and then Duril would give him anything only so he could see that lopsided grin again.

“It’s these wounds,” he said. “I don’t want to let my mouth run without making any sense, but I’m afraid it’s--”

“Some sort of magic. I’ll go get the witch.” Varg disappeared without another word.

Duril changed the compress on Toru’s forehead and caressed his cheek. “You’ll be fine.”

Dull eyes turned toward him. “How could I ever be?”

His skin was warm, and it could be that he was running a fever. “Of course you will. Don’t you want that reward you made me promise to give to you?”

A small smile lit up that handsome face for a brief moment. “Did you promise me something?”

“Yes, of course I did. Only that you were already gone and didn’t hear me. You are fast, indeed.” Duril forced a smile out of himself, for Toru’s sake.

“Your mask was good,” Toru said. “It saved my life.” He reached for Duril’s hand and held it. “What did you promise me?”

Duril pressed a small kiss on Toru’s cheek. “Anything you want.”

“Anything I want,” Toru echoed his words, and his eyelids dropped.

***

Varg couldn’t get rid of the frown on his face if his life depended on it. Magic? Who would wield such power in these parts? The witch living in Whitekeep had weak magic, but at least she could uncover what held Toru back from healing. And maybe, she could concoct a cure, something that the healers couldn’t make on their own.

She was an old woman, too, and Varg wondered briefly if all witches were old women everywhere. For as long as he had known her, she had been old. 

He entered the small yard and noticed Agatha bent over a pot and mumbling something to herself. 

“Hey,” he called for her. He had to try twice more to finally draw her attention.

Agatha moved her glassy eyes from the pot and watched him curiously. “What’s a sir doing in my humble home?”

Varg sighed. “I asked no one to call me that.”

Agatha raised a gnarled finger. “You didn’t. But others did.” She moved with difficulty and gestured for Varg to come closer. “What brings you here, wolfshifter?”

No one in Whitekeep called Varg that, although they knew of his nature. “We were attacked.”

Agatha nodded and angled her head to stare at him. “The messenger, yes.”

It was bad if the old woman had already lost her mind. But he needed to try anyway. “Throngs of black rocs. We vanquished them.”

“Not you.” Agatha pointed the gnarled finger at him like she wanted to stab him with it.

“It’s true,” Varg admitted. “A newcomer did.”

“Newcomer. What comes around goes around.”

Varg didn’t have time for Agatha’s puzzles. “The newcomer, he’s badly hurt. One of the birds tore his shoulders with its claws. Anything our healers tried doesn’t appear to work.”

Agatha raised her finger again. “His is a wound of the heart and mind, not of the flesh.”

The witch knew a lot more than him; that was certain. And Varg couldn’t question how she knew everything without being told. Maybe she had heard some of the townsfolk talking about the savior of Whitekeep.

“Will you come and help us?”

Agatha fell silent. “I’m an old witch. What can I do?”

Varg opened his purse. “See all this gold? It’s yours.”

The old witch pushed against his hand like she couldn’t stand the sight of coins. “I don’t need it.”

“What do you want, then?”

“For him to have, he has to give.”

Varg was starting to lose his patience. “Stop talking in riddles, woman,” he said harshly. “What is it that you want?”

Agatha’s face seemed to light up, although any ray of sun must have been lost a while ago in all the creases folding her skin. “A tiger’s strength.”

Varg fell silent. That wasn’t something anyone but him in Whitekeep knew. It wasn’t a detail Agatha could have learned walking the street or from gossipy old women. “You want his strength?” he asked slowly.

Agatha waved. “Only one hair. From his tail. It’s all I need.”

“As payment?” Varg asked.

The old witch stared at him. “To make the poison go from his mind.”

“Then let’s go,” Varg said. 

Agatha grabbed her cane and began walking. Barely. A snail carrying its house was faster. Varg set his jaw hard. He picked the old witch up from the ground and placed her on his shoulder.

“Sir Varg.” She giggled like a young girl.

Varg stopped himself from rolling his eyes. Luckily, Toru was worth it, even his parading all over the town with Agatha perched on his shoulder like some madman’s lucky charm.

***

Toru heard voices but couldn’t make out the words. Duril sitting by his side was a soothing presence, but his heart was grieving, and he couldn’t tell a soul why. 

“What’s the remedy? What do we need to do?” Duril hurried to ask, the moment someone entered the small house.

“You out, out,” a hoarse female voice said. 

“But I’m a healer --”

“Out, out,” the voice said again. “You too, Sir Varg. Out.”

Toru didn’t want to be alone and tried to push himself up. He came face to face with an old woman whose glassy eyes stared into his with something like mischief. “Young tiger.”

“What do you want, hag?” What were Varg and Duril thinking, leaving him alone with that crone?

“I’m Agatha,” the woman said, “but you can call me old witch.” She laughed, which Toru found strange, but also a bit funny. 

“Old witch,” he said.

A hand dry as paper rested on his face. “Tell me, young tiger, what did the messenger say to you?”

Toru recoiled from the touch. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Agatha sighed and sat on a chair next to the makeshift bed. “You know, young tiger, you know. I can make you well. Give me that burden.”

“I don’t have anything to give you, old witch,” Toru insisted.

He yelped when Agatha pushed one finger into one of his wounds. “The message, it went deep. It doesn’t let your flesh heal.”

“That bird was cursed. It had to be,” Toru mumbled. “I should have healed by now.”

Agatha moved again to appear in his field of vision. “The message, it tells you one truth and one lie. It poisoned your heart,” she placed one hand over his chest, “and your mind,” she placed the other on his forehead.

Could it be that the bird had lied about coming after him? Toru’s heart leaped for joy. But what if that wasn’t the lie? But what was the lie?

“Tell me, young tiger.” The old witch wasn’t a sight for sore eyes, for sure, but her voice was soothing. “Tell me, and I will give you back your strength.”

Toru began moving his lips. As he talked and talked, his eyelids grew heavy. Soon, he drifted off, and dreamed of Duril and Varg coming into the room and giving him a kiss each.

***

“Good as new,” Toru said as he stretched his arms. He could barely feel the wounds the black roc had given him. That had been one strange bird, having survived the onslaught and all that. It had tried to poison him with gas from the lake, too, which, for a stupid bird, was surely a clever thing.

There was a small nagging sensation at the back of his mind as if he had forgotten something, but he pushed it away. It was good to feel his shoulders and also to have Duril fret over him, bringing him all kinds of goodies to eat, and trying to meet any possible request he might have.

Ah, he knew. He had dreamed of Duril and Varg kissing him, which was pretty weird because he surely didn’t want the mutt to put his lips on him again. Even the thought sent a small shiver coursing through his body. The fact that it wasn’t unpleasant was of no consequence.

“Duril, just sit already.” There was something else he wanted, and he couldn’t have it if the healer was running to and fro like that. 

They were back at Duril’s hut, and that felt like home, so Toru liked it best. Also, Varg wasn’t in sight to make him question what that dream had been all about after all. 

“Closer. Like here.” Toru patted the seat next to him on the bed. 

Duril sat right away. Toru took his hand. “Thank you for saving me twice.”

“Twice?”

“More than twice? How long have I been dead to the world?”

Duril seemed puzzled about something, but Toru felt he was within his rights to ask for his reward. He leaned in and kissed Duril softly. To his surprise and delight, there was no resistance. Instead, Duril used his arm to embrace him and kissed him back.

Hmm, that was nice. Toru felt like purring, but that would be weird, and seeing how Duril was allowing him to kiss him, he wasn’t the kind to push his luck. 

Duril looked at him with far gone eyes when they stopped. Toru smiled and pressed his nose against the other’s. “As much as you like girls, I’ll make you like it with me,” he said with conviction.

Duril smiled back. He tried to speak, but Toru shut him up with another kiss. He didn’t want to hear things like that being a mistake and such. If he needed to bide his time to make things happen, he didn’t mind at all.

A loud knock on the door interrupted their pleasant pastime. Duril blushed profusely and hurried to get the door.

Toru pouted. Of course, it had to be the wolfshifter again, trying to ruin their fun. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Varg, willing for him to disappear by sheer mind power alone.

Unfortunately, that didn’t appear to work. Varg was still there, looking at him like he was a huge piece of steak. 

“By the way you look at me like you want to claw my face, you must be fine,” the wolfshifter said with a broad grin.

“Not so fine since you came through the door,” Toru shot back.

“And to think that you cried when you thought I was a goner,” Varg said, his eyes never leaving Toru. 

“That was just sweat,” Toru retorted. “Because you were heavy, and I had to carry you.”

“I’m glad you did.” Varg’s grin turned into a fond smile. “Without you, I would have been dead.”

Some of Toru’s annoyance disappeared. Yeah, he cared about the mutt, too, but he wasn’t going to let it show, though, now that they were all fine. 

“You are both invited to the ceremony. The mayor intends to extend his thanks and not only. The guild master also has plenty of things to say, especially about you, Toru. I think someone just got himself a well-deserved welcome to the town. Of course, rewards of a more substantial nature will be handed out to the hero who saved Whitekeep.”

Toru would have rather just spent his time there, trying to see how far he could get with Duril without getting smacked in the face. But Duril probably wanted to see the ceremony, and probably there would be meat there, too. Such an occasion couldn’t be missed.

“Maybe I should just stay here,” Duril said. “You go ahead, Toru. You are worthy of being celebrated.”

Toru stole one look at Duril. He looked sad. Without hesitation, he took his hand and then stared at Varg. “If Duril doesn’t go, I won’t go, either.”

“Duril, please, come,” Varg said. “Toru is not the only one we celebrate tonight. The healer who helped us halve the birds’ numbers by coming up with the clever idea of using poison deserves to be praised, too.”

“Compared to you and Toru, I did very little,” Duril said but left his hand in Toru’s.

“That’s nonsense. And from now on,” Varg said and placed one hand on Duril’s shoulder, “if anyone tries to look funny at you, they’ll have to deal with me.”

Duril offered Varg a big smile, and Toru pursed his lips. Could it be that the wolfshifter intended to steal the healer right from under his nose? He wouldn’t let that happen in a thousand years. He let go of Duril’s hand to grab him by the waist and pull him close. “Duril’s coming with me.”

Varg grinned. “You’re both coming with me.” He moved behind them and hooked his arms over their shoulders, sneaking between them.

What an insufferable mutt.

TBC

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