Chapter 6
Graz
T hat night, instead of finding my comfort in some soft, rounded body, I sit down with my bag full of shriveled-up worms and examine them closely.
I have so many opportunities right here, so many chances to try new things, that I’m paralyzed by the options. Maybe the first thing I need to do is build myself a translator in case I encounter that human again.
I work late into the night, using the magic I have inside the pendant around my neck. I mimic what I did when I made Lo’zar’s necklace, the one that let him appear however he chose, and make my wish: to be able to communicate with humans.
Then, before it can dissipate, I lock it away in the pendant. Now, it’s frozen in time, executing my command whenever I need it.
I lock away the bag full of worms in a box in the back of my shop, but stuff one in each pocket in case I need them on the way. Maybe they would come in handy for refueling my supplies should I run out.
Now it’s time to go.
* * *
I hate traveling.
I hate leaving my shop, where I have everything I need within arm’s reach. But I have to get to that second ruin first, in case the human woman comes back with the others in her party.
I know I can’t leave again without telling Gusak where I’m going or he might get suspicious this time. The Stoneteeth are a great distance away, and I’ll be gone for far longer. I’ve got to make up some kind of lie that’ll make him think I’m looking out for his interests and working toward the betterment of the clan.
When I ask for an audience with him again, I peek into his door to find him poring through rare animal hides.
“Get on with it,” Gusak says, not even looking up at me as he leafs through white tiger pelts. One of the pelts vanishes in his hand as he flips it, then reappears when he sets it down again.
“I found another lead.” I try not to make myself smaller when Gusak glances up at me. “I was going to pursue it.”
“Another one? After the last one was bunk?” Now I’ve gotten his attention.
Suddenly, the world goes topsy-turvy. I lean against the doorframe to keep from falling over, and Gusak is watching me with even more suspicion in his eyes.
I right myself, unsure of what just came over me, and shrug. “I just... have a good feeling about this one.”
Gusak barks out a laugh. “Well, if it were anyone else, I’d say you were a fool. But you’ve always been a fool, Graz, and that’s what I like about you. So go on your little adventure, and then come back and tell me what you’ve found.”
And like that, I’m a free orc. But I have a feeling if I come back empty-handed again, I might not receive quite so much grace.
* * *
The next day, I’ve packed up my belongings again and said a teary-eyed goodbye to my cot in the corner. Then I’m off, leaving Jaks behind to get on a ship northward. From there I’ll take the train, and it won’t be more than four days’ journey to get where I’m going.
But that morning, I start to feel... strange. Not quite like an illness, but my thoughts are slower than usual and I’m off-balance. I don’t know what to make of it.
After boarding the boat heading north, I settle into my cabin to read. Even as I sleep, my vision glows purple at the edges.
Whatever is wrong with me follows me into the next day. I’m sluggish, and yet my skin feels too tight, my nerves frayed and on high alert. I hide out in my cabin except to get meals for the entire journey. When we finally reach dry land, though, I wonder if maybe I was just seasick.
Then I’m boarding the train heading inland. While the Stoneteeth are historically contested territory between humans and trollkin, there are a number of orc towns in the southern part, and that’s my first destination. If the human wants to reach the map marker, she’ll have to travel lightly and without being seen from the north end to the south. That gives me a good chance of beating her there.
We may be in times of peace, but that doesn’t mean she’ll be safe in contested territory. I’m surprised by the twist of my belly at the thought that trollkin might find her and do something awful to her. As much as I don’t want her to beat me there, I don’t want her to die on the way, either. She has a curious mind, and such a strange, appealing body. The thought of her caught and strung up for mockery fills me with dread.
I’m still feeling unwell as the train stops at my station. I stay overnight at an inn, trying to get my feet under me. My dreams are strange and disturbing, and my sleep is restless.
The next morning, I’ve managed to shake off some of my fatigue, so I decide to trek off into the mountains. It’s slow going with no horse and a big pack, but soon the fresh scent of the mountain air and pine trees calms my rapidly-beating heart.
The first day, I make good progress despite the steep ascent, hiking around massive boulders and following the light trail many others have left behind. This area is ripe for prospecting, and I’m not surprised to find the telltale signs of other travelers. But on the second day, the path diverges. I’m left to make my own way through the dense woods, using the compass to make sure I stay headed the right direction. I plot my progress on the map, using the taller peaks to track how far I’ve gone and how far I have left to go.
On the third day, my fatigue grows worse. My movement is slow with the persistent fog in my head. Am I more ill than I thought? Should I have stayed behind until I felt better? Will I die out here, and no one will know?
Instead of four days, it takes me five to reach the point on my map where I should find my clue. I’m dragging by now, my pack infinitely heavier than when I left and weighing me down into the dirt. The weather has held despite threats of rain, for which I’m deeply grateful.
After walking uphill all day, at last, I emerge from the trees. I find myself standing on the edge of a cliff that overlooks the hills below, with no way forward.
Damn it. Really? This is where the map led me?
I curse and stomp one foot, nearly hurling my map off the cliffside. Another dead-end. But the sudden motion has knocked me off-balance, and I stumble back into a sitting position on the ground so I don’t tip and fall off the sheer rock face.
That’s when I see it. Far down below, on the opposite cliffside, is a square recess in the rock that is far too perfect and straight to be natural. From what I can make out at this distance, stairs have been carved into the stone leading up from the ground.
That’s it. It has to be. Now I’ve just got to haul myself down there.
Grumbling, I turn around and head back the way I came to search instead for a way off this mountain. I just have to hope that with how tired I am, I don’t fall to my death.
* * *
Vienne
It feels like I've been hiking these damned peaks for weeks. I've been taking care with my rations, which means I'm hungry—always hungry. I pick nuts when I stumble upon them, but it's getting late in the year, and usually I find nothing but husks when I come across a berry bush. I do manage to shoot a mountain quail one night, and nearly burn myself trying to cook it.
As deep as I am within contested territory, I’ve tried to move quietly and keep out of sight. My gun stays ready at my hip in case I need it at a moment's notice. I've only encountered two others on my trip so far, and both times, managed to slip off the main path before the big, heavy trollkin coming the other way could stumble across me. I hid until they were gone, then continued on my way, my pack growing lighter with every passing day.
I can smell that I'm close, though. Even though my legs grow tired quickly each day, and my vision is becoming blurry at long distances, I know that I'm going to find what I'm looking for. I keep this at the forefront of my mind as I calculate where I am based on the closest peak, searching for any hint or clue about where an ancient civilization might have built their home.
The next day, I finally make a breakthrough. Deep within the cliffs, along an otherwise innocuous rock face, I spot the shadow of what appear to be stairs.
Rallying what strength I have left, I head down the hillside, picking my way through house-sized boulders and uneven terrain. Usually, I have no trouble scaling a mountainside, but right now my feet might just give out underneath me.
Still, I truck on, because this is what I’m after. This is what I came all this way for.
When I arrive at the foot at the steps, though, a familiar green-skinned orc sits against the cliff wall. He’s unmoving, his eyes fixed on some point far in the distance.
I stop a hundred feet away, worried I’ll surprise him when he finally notices me. But the closer I get, the less likely it seems. He doesn’t react at all as I approach, and now that I’m closer, I can see it: there’s a strange purplish glow around the outside of his eyes.
This is... wrong. Whatever has happened to him, it isn’t good.
“Hello?” I lean down closer, waving a hand in front of his face. The orc doesn’t react—but he isn’t dead, either, as his breathing still comes short and shallow. His belongings are scattered all around him, and have apparently been picked through by animals, as if he sat down right here many days ago and hasn’t moved since. “Are you alright?”
When there’s still no response, my uneasiness grows. He’s sick in some way, and I hope it’s not contagious.
I probably should leave him here. This could be exactly what I need to keep him out of the way while I do what I came here to do. But he was so excited in that ruin in the swamp, and here he is, merely steps away from his goal and something has stopped him in his tracks.
It would be wrong not to try to help him.
“I need you to get up,” I say brusquely. Once more, he doesn’t answer. So I reach out and grab his huge, four-fingered hand in mine. Wake up! I finally shout with my thoughts. Get those cobwebs out of your ears!
It’s as if I’ve cast a magic spell. The foggy sheen across his eyes fades, and the purple hue around the edges dissipates. The orc blinks rapidly, and after a moment, he registers me standing in front of him.
Abruptly, he leaps to his feet, and I stumble back. He mutters something in Trollkin, something I can’t understand—but at least he’s up and moving again. And he’s alive.
I’m filled with immense relief, though I don’t know why.
His hair is even wilder than before, his goggles askew. Again he says something in Trollkin, a question, but I have no answers for him.
"Sorry,” I say, waving my hands. “I can't understand you.”
The orc pauses, then reaches into the collar of his shirt and pulls something out. It's glowing that familiar purple, but the stuff appears to be contained inside of a glass pendant. He holds it out to me, and remembering when we met in the ruin, I reach across the space between us and touch it.
Can you understand me now? a familiar voice asks.
A-ha, there he is. Yes, I can.
The orc tucks the necklace away again, and blinking a few times as if to clear away sleep, he scans the area. His brow furrows into a deep crease when he sees his backpack’s contents strewn about.
What happened? he asks, perplexed.
I don't know how to explain that he looked like a marionette with the strings cut off, gazing out at nothing. A statue of flesh and blood.
You were just sitting there. I peer closer. Your eyes. They aren't glowing purple anymore.
He gapes at me. Huh? You must be seeing things.
Whatever it was, it seems like it's gone now.
The orc stretches out his body, testing the movement of his arms and legs.
I was sick, he says at last, surveying his hands. I think I passed out here.
I look him up and down. You don't seem sick anymore.
I feel... mostly fine. Then he raises his eyes to mine and cocks his head. You made it.
I grin as I answer, I did.