Chapter 23 Threk
THREK
Her words are a soft, final sigh in the humming air. "It's all... it's all going to be okay."
But her scent is a lie.
It is the wrong scent. Under the smell of berries and snow, under the sulfur of the spring and the clean smell of us, there is a new smell. It has a sharp, thin, terrible smell.
It is the smell of grief. A final grief. It’s an ending.
My heart, which had been full and warm, turns to a cold stone in my chest.
This is the same scent... the same feeling... I smelled it on her when she froze in the hovel, when the raider was lunging, when she had given up.
It smells like goodbye.
My hand, the one she is holding to her cheek, clenches. No.
I look where she is looking. At the wall. At the pictures in the glowing green light.
My mind is clearer now. I see.
The first picture. A beast. It is me. A ten-foot monster of rage and claws.
The second picture. The beast is kneeling. A great, white light is eating it.
The third picture. The light is gone. A new man stands tall. He is... Orc. He is what I was, in the ghost-memories that hurt.
I understand the pictures. Beast... magic... Orc.
A cure.
But I see her.
She is not looking at the Orc. She is staring at the carved words under the pictures. Her face is pale. She is crying, but her smile... it is wrong. It is broken. It is finished.
She is happy to be sad.
I know these words. I know her shapes.
"Life."
"Given."
I know those words. She taught me. Life. To give.
A life given to restore what was lost.
My mind, my new, clear mind, puts the pieces together.
The beast becomes the Orc.
The price... is a life.
And she is standing here, smiling that terrible, final smile.
She wants to trade.
NO.
The word is a silent roar in my skull. It is so loud it shakes me.
This place is not a sanctuary. It is a trap. It is a lie. It wants to eat her.
The red haze surges, the elven magic screaming in terror and rage. Magic is pain! Magic takes!
But my own fear is stronger.
I let go of her. I lunge for the stick lying at the side, unused and touched by magic.
She gasps, startled. "Threk? What—"
I turn to the dirt floor. I stab the stick into the earth.
I scratch with all my strength. Violently. Tearing the glowing moss.
NO.
I stab the stick in the dirt. It snaps.
Not enough.
I slam my fist on the ground. NO!
I point at the scratches. I point at her.
"No!" I roar. My voice is a broken, cracking thing. "NO!"
She flinches. Her eyes are wide with shock. "Threk, you don't understand—"
"I understand!" I shout. I draw in the dirt with my claw. The symbol. Our symbol.
The circle.
I stab my claw in the center. I point at her. I point at myself. I point at the circle.
"Us!"
I look at the wall. At the picture of the creature. The man she wants me to be.
I roar in disgust. I grab a handful of mud and hurl it at the wall, smearing the image.
"No Orc!" I shout, hitting my own chest. "No cure! This... Us! Only Us!"
I do not care about being an Orc. I do not care about Larda. I do not care what I am.
I only care that she is.
I cannot lose her.
"Threk... please..." she sobs. "It's my wish. My gift. For you! To be free!"
"You are free!" I roar, my words clumsy and thick with panic. "I am free with you! Not this! This is magic! Magic hurts! Magic... TAKES!"
I grab her arm. I haul her to her feet. "We go. Now."
I drag her toward the shimmering light, toward the portal. We will go back to where we came from. I would rather face Larda and all his soldiers than stay one more second in this place that wants to eat her soul.
"No!" she screams, digging in her heels. She is small, but she is strong. "Threk, stop! You're hurt! We are tired! We cannot run!"
She is stubborn. She is fighting me.
"This place is safe!" she cries, pulling against my grip. "The elves are not here! We can rest! Just for tonight! We can... we can rest. Please."
I stop. I stare at her.
She is panting. Her face is pale with exhaustion. Her body is weak.
She is right. My leg is a fire of agony. I can barely stand. We cannot run.
But her scent...
I sniff her, pulling her close.
Her scent is still wrong. It is full of lies.
She is pretending. She wants me to rest. She wants me to sleep.
So she can do it.
A cold, black terror fills my heart.
She will sneak away. She will give herself to the magic.
I will not let her.
I lose the argument. But I will not lose her.
I nod. "We... rest."
Her body sags with relief. "Yes, Threk. We rest. It's okay. I... I won't do it. I promise."
Liar.
I do not let go of her arm.
I pull her away from the murals. I drag her back to the side where there are furs pile up, probably left by some beast, far away from the wall of lies. I pull the furs, waving it to remove the dust and checking if there’s nothing hiding underneath.
I push her down into the furs.
I lie down beside her. Facing her.
I wrap my arm around her waist, a bar of muscle and bone. She cannot move without me knowing. If she wakes up, I wake up.
I pull her tight against my chest.
She tries to smile at me, that sad, fake smile.
I shake my head. I press my face into her hair. I breathe in her scent, searching for her.
Mine.
I growl the word against her scalp, a low, desperate, furious command.
Stay.