Hungry Heart - Book #2 - Ch. 14 (Patreon)

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five / Chapter Six / Chapter Seven / Chapter Eight / Chapter Nine / Chapter Ten / Chapter Eleven / Chapter Twelve / Chapter Thirteen 

Chapter Fourteen – What Is Lost Can Be Found Again

He was surrounded by nothing but darkness, something of it reminding him of the time when he had been taken by Demophios together with Claw. However, while the snake’s trick had let them feel cradled by a false sense of security, there was nothing of the kind in the creature’s belly. Varg knew he had to be fast if he wanted to succeed in his quest. The beast’s stomach was a lake of burning acid that took its toll on Varg’s skin even as it worked to heal itself. He could have shifted, but he knew not to do that since the creature from the old tales much preferred the flesh of shapeshifters, which could only mean that its body was adapted to devour any such treat delivered right at its door.

Therefore, Varg had chosen to act against it as human since there lay his only chances of winning. He slashed with his sword, carving an opening in the wall of the creature’s stomach. He couldn’t say he was surprised upon seeing the wound closing since that was what the beast was best at doing.

That meant that he only needed to focus his efforts and be faster. With all the strength he could muster, his breathing shallow so as to not inhale the fumes rising from the acid lake, he began moving his arm, cutting and cutting in the same place, going deeper and deeper, the creature’s natural ability of healing itself slower than the rhythm of his hits.

***

The dust rose around Yarag where the Grand Chief had landed. The entire crowd went completely silent, and no orc moved or even dared to breathe, or so it seemed. Duril kept his eyes trained on Yarag, without blinking.

The Grand Chief growled in his face, making the hair of his head stand on end, but still he didn’t take one step backward. Instead, he closed his fist harder on the hilt of his curved blade with determination.

“How dare you speak of such things?” Yarag thundered. “I warned you!”

“My friends are in danger because of you. Is it too much of a payment for the Grand Chief of Zukh Kalegh to let them go free in exchange for my saving your life?”

Yarag growled again, showing sharps teeth, his tusks glinting dangerously in the sun. But still, Duril didn’t move.

“You’ll be dead to us, all of us, Not-Orc,” the Grand Chief warned him.

“Then I will be dead, but my friends will live,” Duril shot back. If that was what Yarag wanted, his life in exchange for his companions, it was a small price to pay, and he would pay it willingly.

“You will be hunted down like prey,” Yarag warned again. “Your lying mouth will never speak again.”

Duril knew that an admission that he had been close to dying was too much for Yarag to make, but he was in no position to press his luck, so he fell quiet and just sustained the hardened stare until he could feel the surface of his eyes drying and cracking in the merciless desert wind.

Yarag growled again, seeing how no reply was given to his words, and went straight for the creature lying on its side. Inside its belly, there was movement, a sign that Varg was struggling to get out like an unnatural unborn kit from a womb. On the other side, Toru, Claw, and Sog were trying to dig in the same place, their arms moving relentlessly, without reprieve.

The Grand Chief pushed them aside, making them scatter around like toys at the whims of an angry child. Then, with another inhuman growl, he raised his arms, curled his fingers, and then descended upon the beast’s belly at incredible speed. Duril rushed closer, as did the others.

Yarag was digging inside the creature’s body, his strong arms pulling apart the flesh, making it rip, and they all hurried to grab the folds of skin and the meat underneath to help him prevent the wound from closing again.

“Help us,” Duril shouted at the crowd, but no one moved.

Just one stepped forward, and Duril recognized Winglog who hurried to them and began helping. The Grand Chief could always give the order so that the others would come about and help, but he didn’t seem keen on doing that.

Duril insisted, nonetheless. “Help us! Help us!”

He couldn’t offer a solid reason for which those bloodthirsty creatures would help him, an outsider, yet he continued to plead with them. At first, a couple of strong orcs moved away from the crowd and approached cautiously. But, soon, their numbers grew and they all descended on the fallen creature, drawing their curved blades and releasing angry cries.

The wepir began convulsing, its limbs shuddering as blade after blade sank into its tough skin. Yarag did the most damage, his arms as thick as boulders bulging under the strain, the veins along the muscles so taut that they threatened to burst at any moment.

Even as worried as he was about Varg’s fate, Duril couldn’t help but admire the feat of strength needed for such a task. Yarag was truly the Grand Chief because no other was like him in the entire horde.

The beast then shook off all its attackers like they were nothing but pesky flies, taking them all by surprise. It rose on its hind legs and let out a growl that made everyone, orc and shapeshifter alike, fall silent. Then it stood like that, making strange gurgling sounds, blood oozing from a thousand cuts, until its belly began growing and moving.

“It’s Varg!” Duril shouted. “Just one more time!”

But before he could manage to make another dash with his blade toward the creature, its belly burst open, and Varg tumbled down and rolled at his feet, in a puddle of horribly smelling liquid.

The creature gave its dying breath with one last growl and fell on its back, making the orcs gathered around it scatter in all directions. Victorious shouts could be heard from Toru and Claw, and soon Sog and Winglog joined them. Enticed by this new display, the horde began growling in response, expressing its collective joy.

Duril didn’t have time to take in the others. He dropped to his knees by Varg’s side and despite the foul smell clinging on his clothes and hair, he took him in his arms and shook him. The wolfshifter’s eyes were closed, and Duril feared the worst. Could it be that they had taken too long to help him out of that prison of flesh? He let his tears flow freely and closed his eyes for a moment.

“Do I gather that you’re not happy to see me, Not-Orc?” the familiar voice he knew so well teased him.

He opened his eyes, let out a strangled sob, and squeezed Varg in his arms. “You’re alive!”

Varg embraced him, too. “I am, and I believe that it’s thanks to you.”

They pulled apart only so that they could look at each other.

“I’m so sorry, Varg,” he began and choked on too much emotion racking his body.

The wolfshifter rested his hands on Duril’s shoulders and squeezed in sympathy. “No need for that. Now we’ll all have something to tease you over. We heard that you’re a big warrior now.”

Duril laughed and cried at the same time. “A fool and nothing but, that’s the only thing I am,” he retorted. “How can you forgive me so easily?”

“I’ve made my fair share of mistakes in my life,” Varg replied. “And yours is not by far the worst I’ve ever seen burdening someone, be him beast or human. But you’ll have to make up to someone else, much more than to me.”

Duril turned, following Varg’s eyes. Toru towered over them, and his golden eyes were burning.

The tigershifter knelt in front of him and took him in his arms. “You’re my Duril,” he said with conviction and held him tightly.

“If you still want me,” Duril replied, still choking over his heart growing so fast and large inside his chest.

“How can you even think that?” Toru chided him while still holding him so tightly that they were both in danger of losing their breath. “When I would kill the entire horde for you.”

“I’m sure you would,” Duril replied and caressed Toru’s hair gently. “You can do everything. And I must beg you to forgive me for having done what I did.”

“You will have to convince me,” Toru said without letting go. “You will have to promise that you’ll never do that again, leaving me, us, like that.”

“I promise,” Duril said through his tears.

A shadow fell over them, and Duril raised his head to see the Grand Chief towering above. His eyes were filled with barely contained anger. “Take your friends,” he spat, “and leave. You’re not welcome here anymore. And don’t expect mercy if we ever cross paths again.”

With that, he moved away. “These strangers,” he pointed at them, “will leave now. For today and tomorrow, none will follow them. But after that,” Yarag turned again toward them, “hunt them down and bring me their hearts.”

Duril didn’t expect any less from the Grand Chief. He had committed a mortal sin in his eyes by letting the others know that Yarag was still alive only because of him. That kind of transgression was not something the Grand Chief of Zukh Kalegh would ever live down. So, he wiped his tears quickly and helped Varg to his feet. “We must go, my friends. Because of me, we must now flee.”

He had succeeded in averting the horrible fate awaiting his companions at the hands of the horde, but only for a short while. Now, they were fugitives, and he had just added a redoubtable force to their list of enemies, as if they didn’t already have to fight the evil that lurked all around the world as they knew it.

Claw put one heavy hand on his shoulder. “Leave regrets behind, Duril. You have no need for them. And we’re with you, through thick and thin.”

Fresh tears gathered in his eyes, but he didn’t let them fall this time. Those words meant a lot, especially since they came from Claw who was with them by a whim of fate alone. Varg and Toru came to his side. “Let’s put as much distance as we can between us and them,” the wolfshifter said. “And Claw is right. We’re not only with you, we’re a whole. We’re glad to have you back.”

Duril nodded, overwhelmed by so much love and understanding. Toru took him by the shoulders, possessively and growling a small warning as they walked through the throngs of orcs that watched them with bloody eyes, snarling at them and throwing promises of future violence at them as they passed.

***

The desert was, once more, open in front of them, for as far as the eyes could see. Toru didn’t believe that he would ever come to miss the vastness at their feet, but after that grueling battle against Zukh Kalegh, his chest filled with the hot air and was thankful for it. Duril was by their side again, and everything was all right with the world.

So far, they had been busy running, as fast as their feet could carry them, to get as far as possible from the horde. Even though he didn’t want to admit it, the orcs were a fearsome bunch, with their tusks and curved blades. And they were so many! Never before had Toru seen such a large mass of warriors. They had fought against them and killed hundreds of them, but still their force couldn’t be ignored.

And now, they were a frightening enemy that could move for days and nights without stopping. That big orc had been clear that they would be considered prey from now on. That didn’t bother him so much. What did, however, was that they might want to steal Duril from him again. The Grand Chief of Zukh Kalegh had wanted Duril by his side, that much Toru could tell. But then, who wouldn’t?

He held Duril close, decided not to let him stray away from him ever again. The healer didn’t protest one bit, and kept his arm around Toru’s waist in turn, looking just as unwilling to let go. Toru knew that Varg would want to hold Duril, too, but it would have to come later, because right now he couldn’t allow the healer to get even a little distance away from him.

After their glorious fight and victory, weariness was creeping into his bones, nonetheless. “Demophios,” he asked, “can’t you make a place with water and a bit of shade again? I’ll take a mirage over having to spend another hour without water.”

“I suppose you could use the respite after that battle,” the snake replied from his safe place, pinned as he was to Duril’s shirt.

“Demophios belongs to you, Toru,” Duril said, only then probably realizing that the material form of the wise snake had remained in his possession.

But Toru didn’t allow him to move his arm to remove the pendant. “Keep him. He tends to be so annoying sometimes.”

“I do take offense at that,” Demophios said in that haughty irritating tone of his. “And I am your burden as much as you dislike me.”

“I don’t exactly dislike you. I just don’t like you much,” Toru replied.

“How come you have such a wise companion with you, Toru?” Duril asked. “And if Demophios doesn’t mind, I don’t mind holding onto him for a while.”

“For a while,” Demophios agreed. “And as to the story of how we came to be together, you will have to hear it after our brave warriors have gotten a bit of rest.”

Like before, in the distance, the mirage of an oasis appeared, and Toru almost wanted to spend the last remnants of strength in his bones and flesh to hurry there. Varg and Claw expressed their agreement with his suggestion.

“We sure don’t mind a bit of rest indeed,” Varg confirmed. “Thank you, Demophios,” he added gallantly, making Toru snort.

Claw laughed. “It is easy to see who’s the closest to his cub years in our group.”

“What do you mean?” Toru bristled.

Claw ruffled his hair from behind. “We need this, the impetus of youth. Only because of you, kitty, puppy and I went through that ordeal of confronting the orc horde.”

“Indeed,” Varg added. “But it wouldn’t hurt for you learn to a bit of manners toward your elders, kitty,” he teased Toru.

“Demophios is not an elder,” Toru protested. “He’s an ancient snake who got bored of lurking around in the desert, waiting for his death.”

He could tell that Duril was growing increasingly curious, and he had so many things to tell him. Although they had been apart only for a little while, it felt like they had lived entire lives and had so much to say to each other. But, before that, he had other plans. Boring stories about defeating ancient wise creatures would have to wait until he was satisfied, and his heart was once more back in its place and beating with ease.

Duril sighed, making him turn his eyes on him. “My bag is lost,” the healer said mournfully. “The tome with our adventures, and the pearl from Shroudharbor, all gone.”

“Did the orcs destroy it?” Varg asked.

“No. But I left it behind and everything that was in it because I could only think of being reunited with you.”

“Who’s up for going back and taking it back from those bloodthirsty orcs?” Claw asked and laughed.

“Don’t count on me,” Varg replied in kind. “We’ll find another tome for you to write in, Duril. As for the pearl, I believe that our bond with this bag of fleas is growing stronger no matter what. What could it do, anyway?”

Toru knew that Varg was trying to make Duril feel less disappointed in losing his bag, so he felt the need to add his bit. “If you still had some cabbage in there, it’s no loss.”

All his companions laughed at the same time. Even Demophios joined in.

“Don’t worry, healer,” the snake said. “Things that are lost can be found again.”

Toru perked up his ears. “What is it you’re not telling, snake?”

“You’ll see,” Demophios said enigmatically.

Another sigh from Duril followed. “I left something more important behind, or better said, someone.”

“Who?” Toru asked, much intrigued by that.

“Sog, that orc with a single tusk.”

“That vicious beast?” Toru raised his voice in disbelief.

The coolness of the oasis conjured by Demophios was already enchanting them with its sweetness and promise of rest.

“He’s just a poor soul,” Duril said. “And I’m afraid,” he choked for a moment, his eyes wet, “that Yarag won’t show him any mercy like he showed us.”

“Don’t cry over him,” Toru said and pulled him close, not knowing what to do.

“How could I not? Because of me, he got himself into this. He helped us first, and Winglog told him what fate awaited him.” Duril turned his head to look over his shoulder and out into the shifting sands. “Demophios, in your wisdom, what do you believe? Was Sog punished by his kin for helping me?”

To everyone’s surprise, the wise snake let out a small laugh. “The small orc is not as helpless as you believe him to be, healer. He’s more resourceful than many of his horde. If only they saw him for what he truly is.”

“He’s an ugly thing with only one tusk,” Toru said petulantly. Then he swallowed his words when he realized that Duril must have bonded over his own missing limb with that foul vicious creature who wanted to turn his leg into stew.

“And also the one who made Duril his amazing blade,” Demophios pointed out.

In all truth, Toru was curious about the weapon that Duril seemed to handle with ease like he had been born for doing so. That part of the healer, the orc who could fight and run his blade through enemies like a true warrior, was unknown to him yet. But he planned on getting to know it through and through, with no delay.

Because if Duril wanted to be a great warrior and that was his destiny, Toru would still love him with all his heart.

***

Varg was thankful for having Demophios with them, and he was just half-joking when telling Toru that he should behave with a bit of deference toward the wise snake. So far, he had helped them in many dire situations and despite their rocky beginnings, he had proven a valuable ally, even though he couldn’t handle a sword and didn’t even have a real body anymore.

Wisdom was a precious commodity, and Varg was grateful for it in all its forms. He stole a look at Claw, who was resting with his back against a large tree, his eyes closed. Even if he was completely still, Varg could tell that the bearshifter wasn’t sleeping. Since he wanted to allow Duril and Toru some time by themselves so that they could get reacquainted after the intervening adventures, it was a good opportunity to learn of Claw’s take on everything that had happened so far.

He stood and walked over to where the bearshifter was resting and took a place next to him.

“Leaving the two lovebirds alone?” Claw asked.

“Yes,” Varg didn’t deny it. “There will be a time for me to get together with them, but Toru’s too young to be patient. Or willing to share when the needs of his heart are too great.”

Claw chuckled. “That’s one truth we can’t deny.”

“So, we fought against the mad horde of Zukh Kalegh,” Varg started, wanting to bring the bearshifter around to willingness to share his insight.

“A mission for people out of their right minds, but we pulled through,” Claw confirmed.

“What do you think? Will the orcs hunt us down by nightfall tomorrow?”

“Duril drove a spear of the most painful kind through the Grand Chief’s heart,” Claw explained.

“What do you think that was all about? The Grand Chief must have known we were telling the truth. He knew their Not-Orc was our Duril.”

“No doubt about it. Duril saved Yarag’s life, from the little we could gather from our gentle healer.”

“And fought side by side with him,” Varg added.

Toru had been particularly possessive of Duril ever since they had walked away from the horde, so they had had little chance of learning what transpired there. But Varg wanted to have an idea about their newly acquired enemy, sooner rather than later, so chatting with Claw seemed like the right course of action.

“Each tribe has its legends,” Claw explained. “I cannot tell you if Duril is part of one or creates a new one as we speak. Imagine that, puppy. Duril walked in there, claiming to be an orc and a healer. What could have those orcs have thought about him?”

“According to him, that he was some spy. But why would such a thing be hard to believe? I mean, Duril is clearly only half, hence the name they gave him, Not-Orc. And despite what the Grand Chief must have thought of him, I doubt many of those bloodthirsty tribesmen would have seen him as their equal. As you recall, the guards we killed when we got close to Zukh Kalegh had no lost love for him.”

“True,” Claw confirmed. “But didn’t the Grand Chief strike you as being cleverer than just another orc?”

Varg could only agree. “He saw us as a threat and decided to eliminate us, and I cannot truly blame him. It is possible that he believed us capable of becoming a cause for tearing through the edifice he had built for the horde by letting us go without a trial and throwing us in that ring for what appeared, at first glance, to be nothing but mere entertainment.”

“See, puppy? You don’t really need to ask me about these things,” Claw teased him.

“I do,” Varg replied firmly. “Two heads are better than one, and yours is bigger and wiser than mine.”

“I appreciate your trust, then,” Claw said courteously. “Duril did what no other orcs could do for Yarag, even if they wanted. He turned him back from death’s door, and that’s an unforgivable thing.”

“Unforgivable? What do you mean?” That appeared to be such a strange thing to say, Varg thought.

“Orcs are born in blood and forged in battle. They meet their fate, heads up, without fear. Death doesn’t scare them. When the old lady with the scythe comes knocking, they’re ready for it. Hundreds and hundreds met their end today when they went against us. Did you read fear in anyone’s eyes as you fought?”

“No, I cannot say that I did. And that made them all the scarier,” Varg admitted. “To see their comrades fall by the dozens and still march on, that’s not something you cannot admire, as twisted as it is. No other species can take pride in such determination in the face of death.”

“So,” Claw said, “Duril gave the Grand Chief a dangerous gift. A different side of things. Orcs don’t have healers. Why do you think that is?”

“The moment a warrior can no longer fight, he’s useless. Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

“Yes. But a healer changes things. They treat small orcs like Sog like slaves, and yet, is Sog nothing but a mindless creature to be treated like that?”

“The little vicious thing gave Toru quite the fright when he bit his leg,” Varg said and laughed.

“Just don’t let kitty hear you laughing about it,” Claw warned him but did so playfully, like between comrades.

“I wouldn’t dare. He’ll stare at me with those angry eyes until he makes my teeth tingle and want to munch his ears. But what do you mean about Sog? Demophios told us that he was the one to make Duril his blade. I haven’t had the time to examine it closely, but it appears to be the result of a feat of craftsmanship.”

“And that is exactly what I mean,” Claw said. “In that tribe, Sog is the lowest of the low, and yet he hangs around the Grand Chief, preparing his meals. Yarag must have seen him as something more than just chum, as they name those that don’t belong with the warriors. And he’s a master blacksmith, something you would think orcs would appreciate above all.”

“I’m afraid it’s not our place to question the horde’s ways,” Varg said. “Duril worries for the friend he left behind. And I worry that his fate wasn’t kind.”

“That appears to be true,” Claw confirmed. “He chose it for himself, nonetheless. And that takes courage. If he had been nothing but chum, would he have made such a daring decision, sealing his own fate?”

“He must have valued Duril’s friendship more.”

“And that is one of the many powers of our healer friend.”

Varg remained silent for a while. “Do you believe whatever happened there changed Duril?”

“I’m certain of it,” Claw replied. “How couldn’t it have? The call of blood is not something anyone can escape. It is a law of nature, and one of the heart, as well.”

“I couldn’t agree more with you, my friend,” Varg said in kind. “So, should we act surprised the next time Duril jumps into the thick of battle with his curved blade poised to cut through enemies of all kinds, or should we treat it like that’s the real him?”

Claw let out another small laugh. “Part of him belongs to his sire, even though he has never met him. And that part of him is a great warrior, not a simple orc.”

“I must admit that the idea is not as unappealing as I would have thought it to be. Duril has always pulled his own weight, but now we have another allied blade. And I’m grateful,” he added as he placed a hand on Claw’s shoulder, “for having a strong bear with us, too.”

Claw opened his eyes and looked at him. Varg couldn’t help but notice how handsome the bearshifter was. Something in the other’s eyes told him that his appreciation was mirrored and returned in kind.

***

Duril didn’t protest for a moment as Toru dragged him to a place that was hidden from the others’ eyes. There was no point in asking what he wanted because he was being guided by the same desire.

The tigershifter approached him with shyness, in spite of the fact he had been so determined to get him there, in the thick and lush greenery. Duril wrapped his arm around Toru’s shoulders and held him close. Gently, he made him kneel on the ground and pulled him in for a kiss. Varg had gone to talk to Claw and most probably wouldn’t notice that they had gotten away for a while.

“Toru,” he said tenderly, “will you ever be ready to forgive me?”

“I already did,” the tigershifter replied and teased his bottom lip, easing them back into a kiss as impatient as their hearts. “Wait,” he said. “Let’s put Demophios away, as I don’t think he wants to see us kissing.”

“I’ve seen many things in my long life, young tiger,” the wise snake replied promptly, as soon as his name was mentioned. “Nothing is new for me.”

“I don’t want an old geezer to peep on us,” Toru said with conviction, taking Duril’s shirt off, folding it and placing it behind a tree. “There, now we won’t be interrupted by that annoying snake.”

Duril laughed softly and caressed Toru’s cheek as he let himself be lowered to his back. Their kisses were so familiar, yet they felt so new and exciting. How could he have been so blind and a fool to forget how he felt in Toru’s arms? He didn’t need a horde to feel powerful. It was enough for this young tigershifter to look at him with his eyes full of love to make Duril know that he was ready to conquer the world and turn it on its head if need be. With Toru and Varg by his side, everything was possible.

He continued to murmur small pleading words, asking for forgiveness, and Toru shut him up each time with his impatient lips. It was the sweetest way to be made to forget all of the things he had done lately, although Duril wanted it to be just a small reprieve for now. He would remember everything for as long as he lived, and he would never allow it to happen again.

Even if a part of him felt like it was left behind. It wasn’t the most important part of him. It just was. And he had made his choice long before he had even known there was a horde and a call of blood that had the power of making him aware that he belonged somewhere, and that there was home in the ancient sense of the word, somewhere on the face of the earth.

Toru’s kisses grew more urgent and demanding, and Duril responded to them in kind. Their breaths mingled, becoming one. This was love, and this was home, as he had discovered it. “I will never leave your side, ever again,” he promised as Toru took his body slowly, helping them settle into the same rhythm that lovers from before time had always known.

“Never,” Toru whispered. “Always and forever, mine.”

“Yours,” Duril confirmed. “Yours till the end of time, Toru.”

The joining of their bodies only confirmed what they both knew. That they were in love, and that they would always be lovers and share the deepest bond ever known. Duril felt at home, the regret lingering in his heart slowly fading away.

TBC

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