Chapter 8
After he introduced himself, Malek led me out of the hut, and only then did I finally lay eyes on the largest—and most feared—orc clan in all of Lyraen.
I had to admit, the sight was… very disappointing.
Whenever I had heard tales of the Oksha, I had imagined a huge territory teeming with orcs sharpening their war axes, training in blood-soaked combat pits, and plotting which kingdom they would pillage next.
What I saw now, however, was a far cry from those dark fantasies.
The village was nestled deep within the forest, shielded by a towering wall of Elanil trees, their twisted trunks rising like black spears aimed at the heavens.
Fences of barbed wire coiled around the perimeter like jagged thorns, adding a secondary layer of protection.
The dwellings were modest wood-and-wattle structures, their low roofs seeming far too small to contain the massive orcs who moved through the central yard.
Contrary to the monstrous warriors I had expected—covered in scars and dragging heavy weapons—the orcs before me wore simple, functional garb. Some carried heavy sacks across their backs, while others repaired fissures in the cabin walls, hammering with precision.
But what truly brought me to a halt, my jaw practically hitting the floor, was the sheer number of children running around.
They weren't small in the way a High Fae child would be; they were easily the size of a High Fae adolescent, yet they possessed chubby faces and eyes bright with the kind of pure innocence only a child coul hold.
Their hair was different from the adults' as well, worn at medium length, but devoid of any braids.
Every one of them shared that same midnight-black shade as Malek.
They played and laughed without a care in the world.
Looking at them, no one would guess they belonged to a people whose reputation had been forged in violence.
“What is it?” Malek asked, and only then did I realize he was standing right beside me, his gaze fixed on the same spot as mine.
“I…” I blinked, scrambling to gather my thoughts. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen so many children in one place.”
It was true. High Fae took an eternity to have children.
Generally, we waited at least fifty years before even considering the idea.
Sometimes even longer, as was the case with my parents.
Both Alasdair and Laurelin were over a thousand years old and only had children after four hundred years of union.
My father hadn't sired a single child with his previous partner.
The logic was simple: enjoy centuries of freedom before deciding to procreate, since we had all the time in the world. Apparently, the Okshai didn’t share that philosophy.
Malek arched an eyebrow, giving me that same ‘Hm, is that so?’ look. I was being reckless. Clearly, orcs didn't think like High Fae, which meant Oguk must be similar to Oksha. I should have kept my mouth shut.
"I mean, not this small," I hurried to amend, letting out a hollow laugh. "In Oguk, the children are... older."
Malek blinked slowly, the corner of his mouth curving in a mix of amusement and sheer bewilderment.
“You like them?” he asked, gesturing toward the playing children. “Ashkem?”
I repeated the word carefully, trying to mimic his guttural pronunciation without sounding like a total idiot. Or rather, a brusak.
"They’re... small." I shrugged. "And chubby."
Malek nodded, apparently satisfied with my answer, and resumed walking.
I noticed the other orcs gave a slight bow as he passed, touching their foreheads in a sign of respect.
However, the moment their eyes fell on me, the atmosphere shifted.
The same orcs who bowed to Malek stared at me with suspicion, their nostrils flaring as they caught my scent.
A few even bared their fangs, letting out low, threatening snarls.
It definitely wasn't the warm reception I had hoped for as a fake orc, but considering I had spent hours lost in the forest and almost became a meal, it was still better than nothing. I squared my shoulders and walked with a confidence I didn’t feel, pretending I knew exactly what I was doing there.
We followed a stone path that cut through the heart of the village, flanked by huts with smoke curling from their chimneys, until we stopped before a structure larger than the others, though it lacked a door or even the bead curtain I’ve seen in most of the houses.
Malek entered without announcing himself, and I followed, albeit with far less confidence.
The scent hit me first: burnt wood, fat, dried herbs, and meat.
The hut was a sort of communal kitchen, spacious and bustling with activity.
Wood-burning stoves lined one wall, spitting live embers while enormous dark clay pots bubbled atop them.
Wooden barrels, which I imagined were filled with lard for preserving meat, lined the other side.
In the center stood long workbenches where orcs worked tirelessly—cutting, seasoning, grinding, and sharpening knives longer than my forearm.
As soon as I stepped inside, the noise died down. I could feel their stares like fingers crawling over my skin. An uncomfortable silence settled over the room until an orc female with corded, muscular arms and skin marked with scars approached us.
She offered Malek a bow, touching her forehead with her fingertips.
But when she shifted her gaze to me, her expression hardened.
Her eyes, a deep forest-green like moss, locked onto mine.
Her lashes were long and heavy, shadowed by striking brows that curved in a firm line.
It was a beautiful face, in a brutal way.
Her hair tumbled down to the small of her back, every bit as dark as Malek’s, but where he wore only a few select braids, hers was a masterpiece of thick, interlocking plaits adorned with bone rings, wooden beads, and strips of weathered leather.
Each time she moved, the ornaments chimed together, a delicate, musical sound that stood in stark contrast to her intimidating posture.
She lifted her chin and said something to Malek in Okshakai, the words rattling off her tongue far too quickly for me to grasp. He countered immediately, and the two of them spiraled into a heated exchange.
I took advantage of my guide’s distraction to sweep my gaze across the kitchen. The other orcs had resumed their work, but they continued to watch me from the corners of their eyes. Every so often, I caught one of them whispering to another, their hushed words followed by laughter.
I rolled my eyes at their childish display and returned to my survey of the kitchen, noting the stark contrasts with Ceilte.
As a child, I had haunted the castle kitchens searching for sweets, so much so that I had struck up a friendship with the head cook—a charming dwarf who adored doting on the Lord’s daughter.
The castle kitchen was vast and airy. There, the cooks and their assistants used magic for everything, from enchanting a spoon to stir a stew to levitating pans over the flame.
Orcs, however, couldn’t access magic as we did.
They relied heavily on runes, yet remained incapable of casting even the simplest of spells.
They did everything by hand. With their corded, massive arms, the orcs stirred pots, ground spices in heavy stone mortars, and hauled baskets of ingredients that, in Ceilte, would have been moved with a casual flick of a wrist.
The orc female speaking with Malek shook her head vehemently, gesturing wildly as she jerked her chin toward me and then pointed at the floor. She was livid. Malek met her fury in kind, fire blazing in his eyes as he snapped something back in the same heated tone.
Finally, he huffed like an enraged bull and barked a single word—Kalisha.
I stiffened, straightening my posture as I waited for him to offer some explanation in Common as to what that meant, but he didn't even spare me a glance.
Instead, his eyes continued to sweep across the kitchen, searching for someone among the crowd of busy orcs.
It only dawned on me that it was a name when a short orc female, her black hair braided at the temples and her eyes a warm brown, emerged from between the workbenches.
"Kar, Ruk’hai?"
To my immense relief, Malek answered her in Common.
"Kalisha, this is Fiona." He glanced at me briefly, as if to confirm he had pronounced it correctly. I nodded, suppressing a smile at the sight of a giant like him checking his pronunciation. "She’ll sleep with you. Find work for her."
My smile vanished. I stood there, rooted to the spot, completely blindsided.
Sleep with her? Work?
I opened my mouth to demand exactly what he meant by that, and to make it crystal clear that I refused to sleep with anyone in exchange for a roof over my head, but he simply turned around and strode out. His heavy footsteps made the utensils on the tables rattle.
I stared after him, jaw agape at the sheer audacity of leaving me alone with a total stranger, when Kalisha pulled my attention back.
"Fio-nah." She butchered the pronunciation, dragging out the last syllable with a heavy emphasis on the na. "Come."
She reached out and grabbed my hand, and only then did I see it.
Her fingers were gnarled and stunted, noticeably smaller than those on her other hand.
The sight caught me by surprise for a heartbeat longer than it should have.
Sensing the weight of my scrutiny, Kalisha jerked her hand back with a defensive motion, tucking it away beneath the folds of her apron.
Her shoulders turned tense, and her jaw locked tight.
"Hurry up," she growled, refusing to meet my eyes.
We continued through the village in a heavy silence, but I found I didn't mind as I took the opportunity to map my surroundings.
The huts were scattered with a chaotic irregularity, built with complete disregard for aesthetics, yet they looked sturdy enough to weather any storm.
Some featured bleached bones dangling above their thresholds; others bore runes carved deep into the wood, symbols I didn't recognize but that surely hummed with wild power.
Between the structures, fires crackled even in the height of day, and the air felt thick, saturated with the scent of woodsmoke and damp earth.
I was also acutely aware of the eyes following us. Some were curious, but others were hostile. I felt like a painting on display at an art exhibition, a strange masterpiece everyone wanted to pick apart.
Kalisha strode ahead with long, purposeful steps. I noted with a prick of curiosity that the villagers didn't even glance her way. She moved like a ghost among them, while they stared at me like I was some strange creature.
We passed through a more open clearing where a few orcs were training with spears and axes; the rhythmic thwack of metal biting into wood echoed through the forest. One of them, a mountain of muscle with a jagged scar that cleaved his face in two, paused his drill the moment he saw me.
He muttered something under his breath before spitting into the dirt.
I made a face of pure disgust and jerked my gaze away.
"Don't do that," Kalisha said suddenly, not even turning my way. "Those who lower their heads become prey."
"I didn't lower my head," I countered, baffled by her implication.
Kalisha huffed, a sound that seemed to be the universal orcish expression for indignation or irritation.
"You looked away," she corrected, her voice hard. "You must stand your ground, or they’ll eat you alive."
I let out a long, weary sigh, already exhausted by a day that had barely begun. How many more things would I have to learn just to fit in?
Everything. The answer was everything.
? ? ?
Kalisha gestured to a hut set slightly apart from the others.
It was larger and more spacious than the rest, and though built from the same materials, the lines were smoother and more carefully crafted.
The door was nothing more than a curtain of bone beads that clattered together as Kalisha brushed through them.
I rolled one of the white spheres between my fingers out of sheer curiosity, surprised by how smooth it was.
Inside, the scent of woodsmoke, wood, and cured leather permeated the air.
The interior was simple: a stone fireplace dominated one wall, and a massive chair crafted from wood and leather sat before it, complete with a low stool.
The floor was packed earth, softened here and there by animal pelts.
The bed was against the wall opposite the hearth.
It was nothing fancy, just a low frame of raw wood piled high with thick furs that worked as both mattress and cover.
A short distance from the bed sat a wooden tub, so large that to any High Fae, it might have been the size of a small lake. Kalisha stood with her arms crossed, her expression far from friendly, waiting for me to take it all in.
Though it was nothing like what I was used to, the hut would suffice. Despite its rustic nature, it offered plenty of space, which was vital if I was going to have to share it with this brooding orc.
"I like it," I said, attempting a smile. If I were to remain in Oksha, I needed to start making friends and finding allies. Kalisha was ill-tempered, but she would do. "However, there’s only one bed, so how will we...?"
She stayed silent for a moment, looking at me strangely.
I took the opportunity to do the same to her.
She was shorter than I was, but her arms and legs were toned with muscles.
Her brown eyes were the color of barley liquor, rounded and slightly arched.
She had full lips and rounded cheeks, a combination that made her look innocent.
If it weren't for the fact that she looked like she’d just swallowed a lemon, I might have even ventured to say she was pretty.
"Brusak," she barked, jarring me from my thoughts. It was my turn to knit my brows, confused by the sudden insult.
"I beg your pardon?"
"This is the Ruk’hai’s hut," she declared, her voice flat. "You’ll work here."