Chapter 29 Threk
THREK
Silence.
For the first time in a life I can now remember, my mind is quiet.
The screaming is gone. The constant, boiling, red haze of the elven magic, the unceasing, agonizing demand to kill and break that has been my only companion... it is gone. It did not fade. It was burned away, scoured from my very soul by that white, healing light.
I feel… peace.
But I also feel cold.
A sharp, biting cold is on my skin. I open my eyes.
The world is white and gray. Soft, gentle flakes of snow are falling from a swirling, purple-gray sky. The air smells of ozone and ash.
I am… me.
I am lying in the snow, and I am naked. My body feels… light. It feels wrong.
I lift a hand.
It is not a hand. It is a claw.
No... I blink, and the memory of the claw fades.
I lift my hand again, holding it in the strange, pearlescent light.
It is a hand.
Five fingers. Not three and a thumb. Five. The skin is deep green, not gray. The nails are blunt and short, not black daggers.
My hand.
The memories slam into me, a flood of agony and light. The Wildspont. Larda’s black, killing magic. The searing, final pain as my back exploded.
And Betty.
My heart seizes in my chest. I push myself up, my muscles coiling with a new, unfamiliar grace. My body is not a mountain of rage. It is smaller, taller, leaner. It aches, but the wounds… the Worg-bite, the raider's blades… they are gone.
I am whole.
I see her.
She is curled on the moss and snow a few yards away, a small, broken pile of rags and grief. Her body is racked with sobs, a raw, desperate sound that tears through the new silence in my head. She is clutching something to her chest.
The wooden star.
She is grieving me.
Seeing her like this breaks the dam.
Namir.
The name hits me, a forgotten word that defines me. I see my mother, my father and my clan. They flash before me as if beckoning me home. I remember my life before. The sun. The sky. My people.
Then... fire. Elves. Screams.
I recall the magic tearing my bones and stretching my skin, the red haze descending for the first time, smothering Namir, burying him alive inside this monster's body.
And then… her.
I remember the cold. I remember the snow. I remember the pain. But most of all, I remember the red. The endless, screaming red haze in my mind. It was a cage. It was agony.
Until her.
My heart breaks. Not with pain. For her.
I stand, my new legs strong and sure in the snow. I am naked, but the cold doesn't bite me. Not like before.
I walk toward her, my steps silent in the newly falling snow.
She flinches. She looks up, her blue eyes drowned in tears, her face a horrid mask of pure, absolute grief.
Her grief turns instantly to terror.
She sees me. A stranger. A naked, green-skinned warrior with tusks looming over her.
Her eyes roam over me, full of disbelief and questions.
“Betty,” I murmur.
It is not the Urog's growl. It is deep. It is clear. It rumbles with a tone I do not know. It is my voice.
"Threk?" she whispers. It is not a question. It is a prayer. It is a ghost's name.
"It is... it is me," I say, my new tongue clumsy with words. I kneel in the snow before her. I show her my hands. Hands, not claws. "It is me."
She stares at my face, her eyes darting from my hazel eyes to my tusks, to my long, black hair. She is confused. She is looking for her monster.
I need to show her.
I touch my chest. My chest. The skin is clean, smooth, green. Except... one place.
I place my fingers on the scar. The star-shaped scar, pale and silvery now, right over my heart.
"It is me, Betty," I say again, my voice thick with an emotion so powerful it steals my breath.
Her eyes lock on the scar. Her breath hitches, a small, sharp sound.
"Threk," she breathes.
"I remember," I say, my voice breaking. I need her to know. All of it. I cannot hide anything anymore. "I remember before. I... I was Namir. I had a clan. A mother. I was a warrior."
She listens, her eyes wide, her tears forgotten, her body trembling.
"Larda... he took it," I say, my hand clenching into a fist at my side as the memory of the pain surfaces. "He put me in a cage. Inside my own mind. It was... cold, Betty. So cold. And red. Always red. A constant screaming inside my head. Always pain. Always rage."
I look at her, my heart aching with a love so vast it drows me.
"And then... you."
I reach out my hand. My real hand. It is shaking.
"You spoke. Your voice... it was the only thing. It was... quiet. It stopped the screaming. Your scent... I... I held onto it. It was my anchor. You fed me. You warmed me. You touched me... and I was not a monster."
I take her hand. The one clutching the star. It is so small. "My life before... Namir... it was a shadow. This time... with you... that was my real life. You are my life, Betty. I am your Threk."
Her hand turns in mine. Her small, cold fingers clutch me.
"I love you," I say, the words raw and true. "I love you, Betty."
She makes a sound, a sob of shock and joy and disbelief, and she lunges for me.
She throws her arms around my neck, her small body crashing against my naked chest.
I pull her up from the snow. I lift her as if she weighs nothing. I stand, holding her against me, her legs wrapping around my waist as if she will never let go.
Her hands frame my face, her cold fingers touching my cheeks, my tusks, my hair. She is learning me.
"Threk," she sobs. "You're real. You're here. You're whole."
"I am here," I rumble. My voice. My arms. My heart.
I kiss her.
It is not the clumsy, curious press of the Urog. It is not the savage, claiming hunger of the beast.
It is me. It is Namir's memory and Threk's love. It is slow and deep and sure. I taste her tears and the salt of her skin. I taste her hope.
She kisses me back, her lips parting, her body melting against mine. It is a reunion. It is a first time. It is everything.
We break apart, panting, our foreheads pressed together in the falling snow.
"You... you saved me," I say, my voice thick.
She pulls back. Her hand lifts and touches the star-scar on my chest.
"No, Threk," she whispers, her blue eyes shining with a strength I have never seen. "We saved each other."