Hungry Heart - Book #2 - Ch. 21 (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 / Chapter Fifteen / Chapter Sixteen / Chapter Seventeen / Chapter Eighteen / Chapter Nineteen / Chapter Twenty 

Chapter Twenty-One – The Desert Knows Your Name

Duril was getting busy, moving about, checking on Varg and Claw now and then, and searching the horizon for signs of Toru and Sog. Sometimes, it was harder to wait, and although he didn’t stop his pacing for a moment, the soft tendrils of fear began to wrap around his heart. This desert wasn’t his home, he decided, and looked up, at the merciless sun. Under its unforgiving rays, the fallen orcs around him were slowly turning into nothing but decaying corpses, and while part of him rebelled against the fate of Zukh Kalegh, another knew that Toru had a point when he told him that they should only save Varg and Claw, and then find their way out of that place.

How much had he changed since entering the Great Barren? Duril looked at his hand. Its palm was more leathery now, the lines covering it deeper, as if his destiny had chosen to make itself known with all its mysterious power. Toru had heard the call of the road what seemed like such a long time ago and come to Whitekeep, and from there, Duril’s destiny had taken shape, as well.

But wasn’t fate a harsh mistress, after all? Duril didn’t regret having met his kin on his sire’s side, but it had been only for a short time, and it ended bloodily. Did they bring with them the evil that roamed the land? Toru had feared the same thing in Shroudharbor, and now Duril felt like he was, at least in part, guilty for what was going on with the horde he belonged to with half of his soul, no matter how much he wanted to deny it.

They were destined to be travelers, and their home was nowhere. Yet, he would fight for this one, another to be left behind, with everything he had. Would it remain in ruins, like Whitekeep? Duril hoped not, but hopes had served no one ever.

He knelt by the side of Varg’s head and caressed it. So strange it was to stare into that face he knew so well and see it tinged with the greenish tint of orc skin. The tusks hadn’t grown too long, but they no longer appeared so out of place as part of Varg’s handsome features. Why were they turning into orcs? It was just another mystery, but Duril couldn’t tell if it were the magic of the desert, or another trick of the evil they were hunting.

He placed a small kiss on Varg’s forehead. “Do not worry,” he whispered. “Toru will come back soon, and I’ll make a cure for you and Claw.”

It wouldn’t be the first time he talked only so that he could hear his voice and find reassurance in it when no one else was there for him. How tremendously things had changed for him. Toru had filled his heart with wonder, Varg with fondness. They were parts of a whole, and now they traveled the world, in search of the highest meaning of all.

“Duril!”

Toru’s voice made him raise his head. Duril’s heart skipped a beat when he noticed that Toru was carrying Sog over his shoulder. Could it be that they had just lost another? He hurried to the young tiger.

“He’s only sleeping,” Toru said quickly once he noticed the expression of worry etched on his face. “Here are the flowers.”

Duril was grateful to take the improvised basket from Toru’s hand. “How did you get them?”

“It wasn’t easy, but I’ll tell you all about it later. Can you make the cure for Varg and Claw?”

Duril didn’t know exactly if the recipe he was supposed to concoct had other ingredients, and he could only assume that the most important thing was to make a potion the way he knew how. Nonetheless, he nodded.

“Then hurry,” Toru said and hugged him briefly with one arm while he held Sog with the other.

Duril placed Toru’s shirt on the ground and brushed lightly over the flowers to spread them out. They had a strong scent, somewhat peppery and very refreshing. If his knowledge of plants with the power to cure an ailment served, they had to be truly effective. He took the concave stone from his bag and the small hammer and began to crush the stalks and the petals.

Toru put Sog down and watched closely over his shoulder.

“Now it’s all up to me, Toru,” Duril explained. “You can rest. There’s no need to tell me that you two were in a fight.”

Toru remained unmoving and continued to watch him work. “Do you have something in your bag for burns?” he asked.

Duril threw him a questioning look and, right away, he noticed Sog’s back. He nodded. “Yes. It’s that brown bag. You’ll find some crushed leaves inside. Blend them with a bit of water and make a poultice. I’ll show you how.”

“No. You continue to make the cure for Varg and Claw. I’ll take care of it.”

Duril smiled and gave Toru a quick kiss. “I knew you two would get along.”

Toru scrunched up his nose, but then he smiled. “He’s not bad for an orc.”

That was a start as good as any, Duril decided. He continued to crush the flowers of destiny, while he gave Toru guidance on how to make the poultice for Sog’s back.

From the corner of his eye, he observed how Toru turned the orc gently, laying him on his belly, and then spreading the concoction over his injured back. How could he ever lose hope, when he had someone with such a big heart by his side?

***

Toru wasn’t sure his poultice worked and studied Sog’s back with a frown. “How long does it take for this to work?” he asked Duril.

The healer was almost done with a large pot of cure made from those flowers he and Sog had brought, a sign that he wasn’t letting go of the idea of saving the entire tribe of orcs. Toru ignored the fallen bodies around them, focusing on treating Sog’s skin. For Duril’s and Sog’s sake alike, he wouldn’t say another word about the horde no longer being fit for saving. If Duril asked him to go around and stuff potions down the throat of rotting bodies, he would do that.

“It will help the skin heal,” Duril explained, “but things won’t change if you keep watching. All cures take time to work. Come here.”

Toru moved closer to Duril.

“Can you see this?” Duril whispered. “I think it’s working.”

Indeed, Varg’s tusks seemed to withdraw slowly. “And you said all cures take time. This one doesn’t,” Toru pointed out.

Duril laughed and kissed his cheek. “It may be because it’s a cure you brought. Everything you touch is magical.”

Toru smiled, pleased with being flattered like that. Then he looked over his shoulder at Sog. “Your friend is so brave, Duril,” he said softly. “I’m sorry I treated him badly.”

“I don’t have to forgive you because I’ve never been mad at you,” Duril said. “But you can tell him.”

“No way, he likes to call me a silly tiger.”

Duril laughed. “It doesn’t matter. You two became friends, too, and that means that there is a stronger bond between you than mere words. Now help me pour some of this potion down Claw’s throat, as well.”

***

Varg blinked and groaned as he felt the sun on his face. How had he fallen asleep under the naked sky like that? He rolled over on his side and immediately was grabbed and pulled into a tight hug. He didn’t have to open his eyes wide to know who that was. “Kitty,” he said, “you’re about to suffocate me.”

Toru pushed him away, looked at him intensely, and then pulled him back into another hug, just as fierce.

“Have I been dead?” Varg asked, realizing that would be a good explanation for why Toru was squeezing him so roughly.

“As good as,” someone else replied.

“Duril?” Varg asked, and finally looked around.

They appeared to be surrounded by stillness and death. Varg felt his chest growing small even as his nose refused to breathe in the foul air.

The healer came to his side, too. “Varg, we’re so happy you’re alive.” He hugged him just as hard as Toru. “Claw is coming to, as well, but we have our work cut out for us.”

“What happened?” Varg asked. He rubbed his forehead as his friends and lovers allowed him the freedom to move. “The last thing I remember is that we used the pearl--”

“The pearl turned into this gigantic sword,” Toru began to talk quickly, “and I grabbed it, and Demophios wanted me to put him in the hilt, and Sog did. Then we slashed through the black hand of sand that had a hold on the sun, and we fell from the sky. Demophios is lost, and Sog got blessing marks from the sun.”

The tiger stopped for a breath only then.

“So a lot happened,” Varg concluded. He would hear all about in detail, later, as it looked like right now they had to get moving. “What do you need me to do?”

Duril’s eyes shadowed with pain for a moment. “Demophios said I would save the horde, but--”

He didn’t continue and just looked around.

Varg nodded. “Let me get that bag of fleas, and we’ll help.” He had lived long enough to know that hope was never lost. Even if the horde seemed as good as dead, the words of the wise snake couldn’t have been spoken in vain.

Toru and Duril helped him to his feet. His mouth was so dry, he thought, and ran his tongue over his teeth. He stopped for a moment. “Is it my imagination or do I have some really overgrown fangs?” he asked.

“You were almost an orc until moments ago,” Toru explained.

“So, I almost had a pair of tusks?” he asked.

“You had, not almost,” Duril said. “I think your teeth will go back to normal completely. And your skin is no longer green.”

Varg chuckled. “It looks like I missed my chance to see how it would feel to be in an orc’s skin.”

“You were an orc, but a dead one,” Toru said and squeezed his shoulder hard.

“You don’t like dead orcs?” Varg joked. His friends looked like they needed a bit of laughter. “What about those that are still alive?”

“I like them much better now,” Toru said solemnly.

Only then, Varg noticed that there was someone on the ground, lying there, not far from them. “Is that Sog?” He didn’t appear to have become a corpse like the rest of his kin, but his back was covered by a horrendous layer of puss and blood turned crusty.

“He breathes,” Toru assured him. “I put the poultice on him Duril taught me how to make to treat Sog’s blessing marks that he got from the sun.”

A lot, indeed, had happened, or Toru wouldn’t speak so fondly of an orc who wasn’t Duril. Without sparing another word, Varg hurried to Claw’s side and helped Duril and Toru to open the bear’s mouth and pour some potion down his throat.

Claw woke up with a sputter. “What are you doing? Trying to kill me in my sleep?”

Varg laughed and pressed a loud kiss on the bear’s hirsute cheek. “No, just wake you up. Don’t you think you slept enough?”

The bear looked around, just as confused as Varg had been earlier. “What is that stench? Is everyone dead?”

Toru hushed Claw quickly. “They’re not dead,” the young tiger whispered.

“They’re not?” Claw didn’t seem convinced at all.

“We have Duril’s potion, and we need to give it to everyone,” Toru explained.

The bearshifter was the kind to catch on fast, and he didn’t ask for more explanations. He pushed himself up from the ground while taking Varg’s offered arm to steady himself. “It looks like we need to get to work then.”

They truly needed as many hands as they could get to spread the potion around. Even if it were a fool’s errand, they still needed to try, Varg decided and took a soaked cloth from Duril’s hand.

“Pat it on their lips, so that it gets to everyone,” Duril said.

Varg nodded. “Let’s get this done.”

***

Duril had sworn he wouldn’t be the kind to despair easily, but Toru, Varg, and Claw returned from their run-arounds with the same frown on their faces. Did they need to make a stronger potion? But the flowers were all gone now, and the large pot in which he had made the concoction only had little left in it. Duril could already see the bottom.

“Any sign?” he asked softly.

The shaking heads told him all he needed to know. They sat in a circle, around the pot.

“I cannot believe it,” he said. “I knew it would take a miracle, but--”

“Did Not-Orc make the potion to wake up Zukh Kalegh?”

They all turned toward Sog who had just awakened from his slumber and was padding toward them with a large smile on his face.

“I did, and we’ve been treating everyone,” Duril said, trying to school his face into a neutral expression.

Sog looked around, his arms swinging about. “So why are they still sleeping?”

No one said anything. Sog’s smile faded. “Sog saved the horde,” he whispered. “No, no, no, they should be alive!”

Toru jumped to his feet to catch Sog who was swinging his head about. “Duril did everything he could. And the rest of us, too.”

Sog moved swiftly away from Toru. “No, you’re lying, you’re lying to Sog!”

“You’ll come with us, and we’ll be your horde,” Toru insisted and tried again to catch Sog.

“Who wants a silly tiger as a horde?” Sog shouted stubbornly. “Sog wants Zukh Kalegh to live!”

Duril held the pot, showing it to the orc. If they were all dead, Sog was the last of them. So many lives, wiped away by that evil. Duril couldn’t pretend that he could wrap his head around the significance of such a senseless thing. Maybe some would think that the world was a better place now that this horde of bloodthirsty orcs was no more, but Duril saw it for what it was, a proof of what that evil could do, wiping out an entire race like it was nothing.

Sog stared into the pot and remained silent for a moment. Then, he grabbed it and smashed it against the ground while howling in despair. Toru jumped on him from behind and held him tightly. Varg and Claw hurried to help him restrain the desperate orc.

And Duril looked down, prey to the same feeling as Sog, but without daring to let it out because he was afraid he would be split in half on the spot. His eyes stared at where the last drops of potion fell. He couldn’t believe it so he rubbed hard against his eyelids. From them, flowers began to grow, so fast that at Duril’s feet, a mass of tangled stalks and beautiful crowns of petals soon appeared.

“Everyone, look!” he shouted in surprise.

They all halted their efforts to try to restrain Sog.

“They’re spreading!” Toru exclaimed. “Everywhere!”

The pleasant scent of the flowers fought against the stench of decaying bodies. Duril followed them as they gave birth to others and others, running like water around the corpses, spreading like a tide.

Even Sog remained quiet, as they watched the incredible thing happening before their very eyes.

“I believe that Demophios’s prophecy was true, after all,” Varg said and pointed somewhere in the distance.

Duril brought his hand to his mouth to stop it from trembling. Were his eyes playing tricks on him? But no, it was as clear as day. Heads were starting to lift, limbs and heavy armors rose, and with them, came the sound of life.

“They’re alive,” he whispered at first, not wanting to give voice to some figment of his imagination and nothing more. “They’re alive!” he shouted.

The same words broke free from the chests of all his friends. Duril grunted as Toru crashed into him and then lifted him from the ground like he was nothing. Sog began running round and round, grabbing an orc here and there, helping him to his feet, and shouting unintelligible things.

Duril had a bit to object to about Demophios’s prophecy nonetheless. It had been Sog, after all, who saved the horde, even if through an act of rightful anger. That was the part of the horde, he thought, and understood why having such amazing companions with him mattered so much. He was never alone, and Sog wouldn’t be the last of Zukh Kalegh, either.

***

They were surrounded by the horde, again, but this time, they weren’t out for blood. Duril held Toru by the hand, while Varg flanked him from the other side. Behind them, stood Claw, proud and tall as he was, but also menacing. And somewhere, Sog was with them, too, but Duril couldn’t search for him, not now when they were all under such an intense scrutiny from all those eyes.

The crowd parted and allowed the Grand Chief to walk toward them, with Winglog to his right. Yarag didn’t look like he had just been dead until not so long ago. None of them looked anything like the corpses they had been, and Duril wondered, for a moment, if they hadn’t all been prey to some incredible nightmare that had seized their minds and turned them into its toys.

“It looks to me like you made me cheat death twice, Not-Orc,” Yarag bellowed in his usual, sonorous voice.

“I’m afraid I’m guilty of that,” Duril admitted and felt his chest swelling as Toru squeezed his hand.

Yarag laughed and then scratched his head. “Since you’re not one for the horde’s ways, I guess this is the part where you ask something from me in return.”

“I’ll ask something, too,” Toru said. “You stop sending your orcs after us. We saved you.”

Yarag laughed and slammed one closed fist over his armored chest. “Consider it done. Not-Orc, what is it that you want?”

Duril let go of Toru’s hand and went round Claw to find Sog hiding with his hands both wrapped around his head as if he feared even to listen to what was said. He took him gently by the shoulders and brought him face to face with Yarag.

“He had an important role in saving the horde.” Duril turned Sog around slowly. “He fought the sun and got burned.”

The crowd murmured, and they seemed to acknowledge Sog’s sacrifice.

“He got stung by the bees of destiny.” A collective gasp of surprise came from the horde. “And he lived so that he could bring the cure for all of you.”

Duril waited a few moments as he took in the faces of all the orcs gathered there. “For that, Grand Chief, I ask you to take Sog back and consider him a warrior from now on.”

Sog jolted as he heard him talking about a thing he must have considered astonishing. “Not a warrior, Sog,” he whispered.

“Yes, you are a warrior,” Duril insisted.

“Hmm,” Yarag said and crossed his arms over his chest, while his eyes glinted with mischief. “What kind of warrior is he if he doesn’t have a blade of his own?”

Duril smiled. The Grand Chief was still trying to test him, even now. He pushed Sog at arm’s length and then he grabbed the blade he carried on his back and in one swift move he pulled it from its scabbard. He offered the hilt to Sog, who looked around with scared eyes. “Take it,” he said with conviction. That was between him and Sog. Not even the Grand Chief could intervene, unless he forgot his honor, and Duril knew that he wouldn’t.

Winglog took a step forward, much to his surprise. Then, he dropped to the ground on one knee, his head bent. “Warrior Sog, you are this tribe’s pride and glory. Accept your sword and join us.”

Sog stared in disbelief, his hands pulled against his chest. Around them, more and more orcs did the same.

The only one standing at the end was Yarag. Duril knew that he wouldn’t ask the Grand Chief to kneel. But he knew what Yarag was doing when the orc took the blade from his hand and then grabbed Sog.

“You’ll still be my cook, warrior,” the Grand Chief said as he slapped the hilt to Sog’s palm and forced him to take it.

Everyone broke into loud cheers, while Yarag took Sog like he weighed nothing and placed him on his shoulder.

***

“I had no idea orcs knew how to feast,” Toru said and hiccupped.

Varg pulled him close, holding him under his arms like a mother bird’s wing. “We learn something new every day, I think. What did you learn, kitty?”

The details of the amazing fight Toru and Sog had carried were still fuzzy, as they hadn’t had the time to sit together as a group and talk about their adventures in depth.

Toru fell silent and serious; Varg tipped his chin up to look into his eyes. “You’re never sad. What’s wrong? Duril is with us, we made peace with the horde--”

“I lost Demophios,” Toru blurted out and tried to turn his head away.

Varg held him in place and kissed him on the forehead. “It wasn’t your fault. And who’s to say that it wasn’t his purpose to serve you during such a trying time and then disappear from your life for now?”

“For now?” Toru asked, his speech a bit blurry from all the liquor served freely by the orcs to their saviors. “Do you mean he might just reappear one day?”

“Nothing’s impossible,” Varg pointed out. “And he’s immortal, isn’t he? Thanks to you.”

“I guess,” Toru admitted. “What was it like being a dead orc?”

Varg laughed. “Is that what you truly want to ask me?”

“Yes. You were away from us, and I thought you’d never come back.”

It appeared that sweet wine could make the kitty’s tongue come a little loose. Varg didn’t mind that at all and, to the contrary, he wanted to take a bit of advantage of that. “Did you miss me?”

“Sure I did,” Toru admitted.

Varg caressed his cheek slowly and then brought their lips together for a kiss. Toru got bolder, and Varg decided that it was no longer up to him to pull away. He leaned back to allow Toru to climb on his lap so that they could kiss more deeply.

“I missed you, too, kitty, even while asleep,” he admitted in a quiet voice as Toru rested his head against his shoulder.

***

“If you’re here so that you can hear more expressions of gratitude from us, save your breath, Not-Orc,” Yarag said.

Duril smiled as he sensed the unhidden cheerfulness in the Grand Chief’s voice. “No, I’m not here for that.”

He was back in Yarag’s tent, and Winglog and Sog were both there. Sog was cradling his blade in his arms, talking to it like it was a living thing. Winglog stared at him, slightly amused, but he was silent.

And the Grand Chief dwarfed everyone as usual with his mere presence.

“I came to say goodbye.” He cleared his throat as moisture suddenly gathered in his eyes.

“Ah. Off to new adventures, then? You might be the most traveled orc of Zukh Kalegh,” Yarag said.

“It’s nice to be good at something,” he replied and smiled. Teary goodbyes surely weren’t the thing for bloodthirsty orcs.

Yarag leaned forward so that they could somewhat look into each other’s eyes, if Duril tilted his head back far enough for it. “You’re part of Zukh Kalegh, healer. Don’t you forget that.”

“I might never return here,” Duril said. “I don’t know where the road might take us.”

Yarag nodded. “Think nothing of it. You’ll be welcome here anytime, whether it might be a year, a century or a millennia from now.”

“Are you saying that you’ll be here, waiting?” Duril teased.

“Orcs don’t wait. And all orcs die. But even if every soul you saved today is no longer be here, to welcome you when coming back from your travels, fear not. The desert knows your name.”

Duril nodded and struggled to stave off new tears. The orc part of him had to accept it, even if the pull toward this strange race was strong.

“I’ll be on my way at the break of dawn,” he said. “I’m glad I got to know my kin,” he declared.

Yarag just nodded.

Duril made a bow and walked out of the tent, but hurried steps behind him made him turn. He smiled as he saw Sog and Winglog coming after him.

“Did you mean to leave without giving us a proper goodbye, Not-Orc?” Winglog asked.

“I thought orcs didn’t like such things,” Duril replied. “I was afraid I might have overstepped by coming to tell that to the Grand Chief.”

“Come with us,” Winglog said. “You’re a warrior, and there’s a tradition you surely don’t know.”

“Come with Sog,” Sog added. “Warriors fight under the moon. The silly tiger can wait.”

Duril didn’t argue. He knew Toru and the others would understand if he came back late. Now they moved through the horde with no fear. As unfathomable as it was, the horde of Zukh Kalegh carried friendship toward them in its collective heart now.

***

“So fast asleep,” Claw commented as he took in Toru’s unmoving shape, protected by Varg’s arm.

“He went through some incredible adventures today, and without us,” Varg replied.

Claw sat by his side, brushing his shoulder against him. “A frightening thing, whatever this evil is. And I believed that fighting the entire horde of Zukh Kalegh was enough of an adventure for this part of our journey.”

Varg could sense that the bearshifter had something on his mind, and it wasn’t just the fact that they were now supposed to have a clear path to The Quiet Woods, his home.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked directly, never one to beat around the bush.

“The world has changed, and not for the good,” Claw began. “When I was young, I used to think that it had to be a good place because I was in it.”

Varg chuckled. “I’ve been known to suffer from the same affliction of pride. That’s the fault of younger years, I suppose.”

“It’s true for some,” Claw replied and gestured lightly toward Toru who shifted in his sleep, mumbled something and then threw one arm over Varg. The wolfshifter just pulled his precious charge closer.

“Indeed.” He waited for Claw to continue.

“I sometimes go to sleep thinking of the place of my birth,” the bearshifter started after a short moment of reflection. “And I dream about it, the way it used to be. But can I truly hold hope that nothing has changed? I’ve lived outside of the flow of time for so long.”

“We won’t know until we get there,” Varg offered an honest answer. “And know this, Claw, that you can always join us if you’re so inclined. Even if The Quiet Woods remained the same, would you want to spend your days hunting salmon and searching for honey? With us, you’ll always be in danger of losing some fur off your back, so it’s clear what choice is better.” He grinned.

Claw laughed at his joke. “You sure know how to convince someone to join your party. A life of peace and quiet, or one full of adventures?”

“And us. Don’t forget us. We’ll always be around to make sure you don’t get enough peace and quiet even when we’re resting.”

“Stop tempting me, puppy,” Claw said in a gruff, but playful voice. “You make a good point, though. After you released me from the house of merchants, I thought the only thing I needed in my life was to get back to the place of my origins and live the rest of my days as part of it. I’m just not so sure anymore.”

Varg nodded. He wouldn’t insist more than he should. That was a decision for Claw to make. All he could do was to assure him of his and the others’ friendship if he ever chose to join them.

***

He was walking down the path of the same dream again. The unshakable conviction that the dream was trying to show him something was still with him, and this time, Toru tried to look around.

All he could do, however, as the walls like mirrors seemed to close in on him, was to look straight ahead. In front of him, on the ground, his shadow stretched, clear and dark, an elongated shape that made him appear taller, bigger than what he knew himself to be.

“What do you want?” His voice was only in his head, and the part of him that struggled to make sense of this insisted that he ask the questions.

There was no reply, so his dream self tried to squeeze his eyes shut. A gust of wind surprised him, and he stood there looking down the narrow path. Beside him, another shadow walked now.

Toru turned his entire attention to it, as he couldn’t move his head. The shadow, much shorter than him, walked in the same cadence as his steps.

Its shape became clearer, the more he looked. It was a tiger, but somehow, with the power of foresight only dreams could lend, Toru knew it wasn’t his tiger shape. This one belonged to another, and he sensed a great power coming off his companion, a new strength that entered his blood.

“Father?” he asked, unsure.

The wind blew again, and Toru blinked. When he looked around, he was at the orcs’ camp, and Varg was holding him from behind in a warm embrace. He had the strange sensation that he had just learned something important, but his mind remained blank. He couldn’t remember what he had dreamed of.

TBC

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