Chapter 14 #2
One time, I tried something different. Instead of a punch, I feinted and kicked at the side of his knee—a move I’d learned from Leone.
Malek’s reaction was fast. He caught my leg midair and lifted me with ease.
Before I could react, he slammed me to the ground, the air leaving my lungs in a sharp gasp.
“You’re fast,” he said, looming over me. “But predictable.”
I wheezed, struggling to breathe, frustration rising in my chest.
“Again,” I said, trying to stand—but my body gave out. I sank back down, exhausted, my breath uneven.
Malek crouched beside me, the scent of the forest mixed with sweat invading my senses. He chuckled—easy, almost carefree. For a moment, I just watched him, trying to reconcile that sound with the feared warrior, the one whispered about in so many stories in Ceilte.
Malek Strong-Axe, the merciless orc warrior, possessed a gentler, even pleasant, side.
He wasn’t one for easy smiles, nor was he particularly charming.
Still, there were moments he surprised me with quiet words of support or his endless patience.
He’d spent hours training me under the harsh sun, and not once had he complained.
The two sides didn’t seem to fit, and yet they coexisted within him. It was a quiet contradiction, one that stirred my curiosity.
As we held each other’s gaze, his smile slowly faded. He ran his tongue over his lower lip, the gesture subtle but charged. My attention drifted to the movement of his throat, lingering there longer than it should.
My breath caught in my throat, heat rising under his gaze. For a moment, everything else faded, leaving only the space between us. The air grew oppressive with something I didn’t dare name, and in the silence, I felt us drifting toward a line neither of us fully understood.
Malek opened his mouth to speak, but a sharp voice cut through the moment. I turned and saw Ni’kira—the same orc who was always flirting with him—standing at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed, a calculating look on her face.
She said something about a hunt. Malek only nodded, dismissing her. Over his broad shoulders, I caught the flash of anger on her face before she turned and disappeared into the shadows of the woods.
“Let’s go. That’s enough for today, krash’uk.” He held out a hand, and I took it.
“What does that mean? Krash’uk.” I repeated it, the word tugging at something in my memory. “I’ve heard it before… I’m sure of it.”
“One day you’ll know,” he said, a hint of mystery in his tone, before handing me a canteen.
“I think I’ve heard it somewhere…” I murmured, taking a long drink of the cold water.
"Perhaps it’s similar to a word from Oguksh."
My throat closed at the mention of the Oguk dialect—I didn’t know a single word of it. Oguk was far from Ceilte, one of the most remote clans in Lyraen, and we rarely had any contact with them. If Malek—or anyone else—started speaking it, I wouldn't know how to respond.
The Ruk’hai arched an eyebrow at my coughing, a hint of amusement in his eyes.
"A-ah, yes... that must be it," I stammered, trying to recover.
Malek smiled again and gave me a quick wink before turning and walking off across the meadow.
? ? ?
The bath was quick this time. My aching body welcomed the cold water as I rubbed ingyl leaves into my muscles, easing the soreness.
When I returned to the village, the bonfire was more lively than ever, the air filled with the scent of roasted meat and smoke. Malek, however, was nowhere in sight. I pushed aside the flicker of disappointment and took my portion.
Some orcs waved at me with friendly smiles. Their attitude toward me had changed completely in such a short time, all because I was akra’yn.
After I greeted some of them, I made my way to Kalisha, who was already eating her kuran’k. She seemed different today—quieter, her face touched with concern.
"You look terrible," she remarked, not taking her eyes off her stew. Apparently, her bad mood remained intact.
"The Ruk’hai is a tough teacher," I replied, taking a bite of meat.
"Malek isn’t easy to win over," she added, pulling me from my thoughts.
I frowned. "Why do you say that?"
Kalisha looked up, her gaze steady, almost challenging. “He doesn’t like to socialize.”
I let out a small laugh. “I’ve noticed.”
“He only cares about battle and the clan. He’s never given a female this kind of attention before.”
“What about Ni’kira?” I asked.
“Persistent. They all are. But Malek never accepts their offers.”
A chill ran down my spine. “And you?” I asked carefully. “Did you try too?”
She looked at me like I’d said something unforgivable and spat on the ground.
“Brusak!” she snapped. “Malek’s kuturo. Family.”
Heat rushed to my face. Now that I looked closer, I could see the resemblance—the skin tone and the eye color.
“Morak,” I said quickly. “I didn’t know. What is he to you?”
“My aunt’s son.”
I nodded and went back to my meal. When I noticed her gaze drifting again and again in the same direction, I followed it to Drak. He stood on the other side of the bonfire, laughing with the orcs who had trained in the meadow earlier.
“What about you? Is there anyone you’d want as a partner?” I asked cautiously. Her shoulders stiffened. “How about… Drak?” I whispered, unable to hide my excitement. I did love a bit of gossip.
Kalisha let out a low growl and glanced around to make sure no one had overheard me.
“I just met him today. He seems like a good orc. Why don’t you talk to him?”
She laughed—a sharp, humorless sound. “Talk to him? I am rak’er.”
She flexed her short fingers, eyes darkened with bitterness.
“And what does that change?”
In Ceilte, appearance was everything. Here, strength and skill mattered. Kalisha was strong, skilled, efficient—nothing about her hinted at weakness.
“I can’t fight,” she said at last.
“But you’re strong,” I pressed. “Why can’t you?”
Her gaze softened, tinged with sadness, and a tight knot formed in my chest. “It’s Okshai law.”
"That’s cruel."
"It’s survival," she corrected, resigned. "In Marukoksha, only the strong remain. Drak wouldn’t choose someone who can’t fight by his side."
I fell silent, seeing her through new eyes.
"He doesn't know what he's missing," I said sincerely, squeezing her hand.
Kalisha startled at the touch. Something in her yielded, and a brief smile appeared.
"Maka’ri, Fiona."
The connection was brief, but enough to soften her expression. Still, as I watched her cast another glance toward Drak, I made a decision. Kalisha was muscular and strong. If I, a fake orc, could learn to fight, she should be able to as well.
"I can teach you," I said. She stared, surprise flickering across her face. "The Ruk’hai trains me. If he teaches me, I can teach you."
Her smile wavered. "I can't."
"I am akra’yn," I insisted. "Malek won't say no."
She hesitated. "If he finds out..."
"He won’t," I smiled mischievously. "We can train in secret."
This time, the smile reached her eyes. "You would do that for me?"
"Of course. You helped me when I first arrived."
Kalisha wrapped me in a strong, unexpected hug. "You're a good brusak, Fiona. Strange, but good."
I couldn't help it; I let out a genuine laugh. "And you're the grumpiest."
She rolled her eyes.
"Tomorrow, before the kuruno."
"It's a deal."
We finished the meal in silence. Kalisha’s excitement was palpable, and seeing her smile warmed something inside me. Perhaps being akra’yn wasn't so bad after all. Maybe I could use this position to help my new friend.