2. Chapter 2
Chapter two
G yrda was used to being woken by sounds. Her mornings had once been filled with the clop of horses' hooves on the cobblestones outside the tavern, the slam of doors, the calls of vendors in the marketplace. The absence of them now woke her with the same regularity. There should be noise where there was none. It was still disorienting, even after months.
She awoke with a start, morning light flooding the cave. It was warmer than she'd expected it to be, though still frigid, and she rubbed feeling back into her cold nose for a moment. Her stomach rumbled and she stretched the stiffness from her joints and sat up.
There was an orc eating her breakfast.
He was enormous, his head bumping the ceiling of the cave even though he was seated. His skin was as grey as the stone around them, his black hair greying too. It was tied atop his head in a messy knot, the shorter strands at the back falling about his neck. One of his tusks was slightly chipped and he had a heavy frown line across his forehead as if he was unused to smiling. She flinched away out of instinct, her heart pounding as she backed towards her weapons.
He looked up from his meal and raised an eyebrow at her. He popped another piece of rabbit into his mouth and said something as he chewed. She couldn't make out the words. He scraped a leg bone between his teeth to remove the meat, then licked his fingers.
"That's my rabbit," she said.
He cocked his head at her, his brow furrowing. He spoke again, but with his tusks, his lips moved in an unfamiliar manner. She stared at them intently but could only make out the word rabbit, and even that she was unsure of.
He moved towards her, his big body seeming to take up all the space in the cave as he approached. She shrank back against the opposite wall and his brows furrowed further as he squatted in front of her. He held out the flat stone with the remains of the hare on it, speaking again.
"I can't hear you," she said.
He frowned, his head cocking again. He motioned for her to take the rabbit and she did, eating the cold meat as she watched him. "I can't hear you unless you shout," she said.
His eyes widened in understanding. "I thought some rabbit was a fair trade for the fire fuel," he boomed, gesturing to the embers. His voice was deep and rumbling and she nodded in understanding. It was easier to hear deeper pitches than higher ones.
The birdsong outside her window every morning was one of the first sounds she'd noticed missing. She'd mourned it for months.
"This is your cave?" she asked. "I was going to offer repayment when I found the orc village."
He sat back on his heels with a slight frown. "Hunting cave," he shouted. "Where are you headed?"
She smiled uncertainly at him. "Wherever you are?"
"Trade?"
Gyrda shook her head, finishing the rabbit and setting it aside. She was still hungry. She licked her fingers and the orc's gaze focused on her lips, inscrutable.
He wasn't just the same color as the stone. It was as if he was carved from it, his face frowning and stoic.
"I have nothing to trade," she said. "But I have many skills. I work hard." She swallowed. He watched her, nearly unblinking. She looked to the mouth of the cave to avoid his stare. "Where I'm from, women tell stories of orcs. That you take in women who... Women whose husbands are unkind to them. That you used to come to human settlements and carry women away who were ill-treated by human men."
There was silence for a long time. Or, perhaps there was. If he'd forgotten to shout, he could be speaking and she'd not hear. She looked back up at him. He was studying her intently.
"I'm strong," she said. "I can hunt and trap and carry heavy loads. I cook well. I know midwifery." It was on the tip of her tongue to beg, but she had a feeling he wasn't the sort of man who would be swayed by begging. She bit her tongue.
The stories were told and laughed over so often when she was a girl. If your husband treated you ill, go to the orcs. They had a taste for human women, and they didn't beat their wives. The older women would tell the stories and chuckle that if you were willing to work a bit on your back, it was as good a life as any in the city, and you'd not be smacked around.
No one ever went, though, not that she'd known. She'd heard tales of some women wandering into the mountains when their husbands strayed or roughed them up, but they were just stories. She didn't know of any firsthand. Perhaps they were just the old women's version of fairy tales: don't like your husband? There's another option, though it might not be a better one.
Perhaps she was a fool, and if so, she was a fool stuck in the mountains with no money to her name, nothing with which to start a new life elsewhere.
After a long moment, the orc nodded stiffly. "Come," he barked, brushing the remainder of the fire out into the snow and leaving the cave.
She breathed a sigh of relief, gathering her things and quickly following him.
He stood, squinting in the sunlight as he stretched his back. Gyrda lashed the legs of her remaining snowshoe hares to her pack and slung it over her back with her bow and quiver. He gestured for her to follow and climbed up the embankment above the cave.
He had a sled wedged against a rock above the cave, laden with mountain sheep. He must be a hunter. He pulled the sled up to the top of the ridge, leaving deep footprints in the snow for her to walk in easily. She followed him up.
"Let me help," she said.
He stopped and turned to her with a bemused look on his face. She slid her walking stick beneath the rope on the sled that held his kills and stepped up beside him, taking part of the rope. He raised an eyebrow. "You do not need to," he said slowly, forming the words precisely with his lips.
"I want to help," she insisted.
He shrugged and started up the ridge line. She had to walk briskly to keep up with his pace so they could pull the sled together. He looked down at her from time to time and she smiled determinedly up at him. She would prove she was strong, capable.
After a few hours, however, her strength began to fade. They were hiking continuously uphill. Her legs burned from fighting against the snow and her shoulder ached from dragging the sled. She gritted her teeth. He must have noticed her pace was slowing, because he stopped and retrieved her walking stick from the sled, pressing it into her hands. She reached for the rope again and he shook his head. He passed the rope over his chest to haul the sled more easily and started back up the slope, gesturing for her to follow him.
She walked in his footsteps again as the blinding white of the snow-capped mountains stretched out before them. There were a hundred questions she wanted to ask him, but he would have to stop and turn to her to answer them and she didn't want to frustrate him, so she stayed silent as they hiked. He did not seem to mind it, trudging through the snow steadily as if he enjoyed the silence. Perhaps he did. He didn't seem particularly talkative. That, or he found it frustrating to shout at her and preferred not to speak at all.
They took a brief rest at midday. Neither of them had any food that wasn't raw, so they shared the water in her water skin as they sat in the snow, staring silently out over the icy landscape. He turned to her, tapping her shoulder gently to gain her attention. Once she was looking at him, her gaze trained on his lips, he spoke.
"You wish to live amongst us?"
She nodded. "I do. And I will be useful. I will help however I can."
"We have not had an outsider amongst us for many years. The villagers may not all be friendly," he said loudly, most of his voice lost in the wind on the slopes. She repeated his words back to him to make sure she'd understood, and he nodded.
"How do I convince them?" she asked.
He shrugged.
She bit her lip. "Will they refuse to let me stay?"
He shrugged again. "Not up to them."
After a few minutes, he stood and started off again and she followed. She mulled over his words as they hiked. She was not surprised the orcs might not all be friendly. Humans often did not treat them well, and she would not blame them for being hesitant to have a human in their midst. But did that mean that the stories the old women told were all a fabrication?
She raced to catch up to him, walking backwards in front of him. "Do human women not seek sanctuary with your clans?" she asked.
His eyes lit up, his grin slightly crooked, laugh lines forming at the corners of his eyes. "There were times past when a few of my people stole away human women who were dissatisfied with their husbands. I haven't seen it in my lifetime."
"Oh." She worried her lip between her teeth.
"Don't worry, woman," he shouted. She watched his chest shake as he chuckled. "You will be safe."
"I'm Gyrda," she said. She could see his lips forming the word, repeating her name to himself quietly.
"Sahginoth," he replied loudly.
They walked on for another hour before they crested a peak and headed down towards a plateau between the mountains. A village stretched out across the open space. There were dozens of round huts with smoke billowing from holes in the center, a few paddocks with shaggy haired yaks, and a longhouse at the center. People milled about, too distant to see distinctly, but Gyrda thought they all looked grey like her guide.
When they grew closer, a few villagers waved, then paused in their work. A handful of young orcs approached, looking Gyrda over in curiosity. Sahginoth said something to them, waving them away impatiently as he hauled the sled through the village. Gyrda smiled, nodding to the other orcs as she passed, but he had not introduced her as far as she could tell, and she was hesitant to introduce herself.
He stopped in the center of the village and a few young men helped him unload the mountain sheep from his sled. The frozen bodies were packed into a cellar carved into the hard icy ground. Gyrda stood awkwardly as they worked, unsure if she should offer to help. When the men finished, one pointed to her with a frown on his face and Sahginoth said something she could not understand, his back to her as he spoke. The orc seemed chastened, bowing his head slightly. Sahginoth turned abruptly, putting a hand on her shoulder and steering her away as he dragged the empty sled behind him. They crossed back to the outside of the village, where a humble house sat slightly apart from the others, overlooking the glittering white mountainside below the plateau.
He propped the sled up against the side of the house which was packed with snow to provide insulation from the cold. Unstrapping his spear from the side of the sled and standing it upright in the snow, he motioned for her to turn, untying the rabbits from her pack and hanging them on the side of the house where they would stay frozen and preserved. Then he held out his hand towards the door, gesturing for her to enter.
Gyrda stooped to enter the thick yak-hide flap that comprised the home's door. From the inside, she could see that the home itself was made of hides stretched across long curved poles, a patchwork of sturdy leather. At the top of the sloping dome was a hole that allowed smoke to escape, a stone fire pit underneath it.
There was a thick pile of furs, blankets, and cushions arranged on one side of the dwelling, and Gyrda bit back a smile at the vibrant colors of the pillows. She would not have pictured the solemn orc as having such decorations. There were woven rugs on the dirt floor and baskets and chests stacked against the sides of the hut. It was cozy, but not small. She could stand up easily in the space, and it seemed large enough to hold a family, though it was clear only one person lived here. There was one bed, one set of dishes beside the fire.
The orc entered after her, propping his spear beside the door flap. He pointed to a blanket on the floor and mimed that she should remove her pack. As she set her belongings against the wall, he stacked dried yak dung in the fire pit and lit it. The cold interior of the hut gradually warmed and Gyrda removed her mittens, warming her fingers over the fire.
"This is your home?" she asked.
He nodded, leaving for a moment and returning with a metal pot that had clearly been buried in the snow outside. He lifted the lid, prodding at the frozen substance with a finger and hanging the pot on the iron pole that ran over the fire. He pulled down a water skin from where it hung from one of the tent poles and laid it beside the fire to warm.
She crouched by the fire silently, watching him as he bustled about the space, producing another set of dishes from one of the chests. She wondered if he was sharing the space because there was nowhere else for her to go, or if he expected something of her. Perhaps he'd assumed when she spoke of human women running away with orcs that she intended to do the same with him.
He pulled off his coat, folding it beside his bed. He was bare-chested beneath it, his grey skin covered in swirling black tattoos. His body was thick with muscle that bunched as he moved, his forearms heavily veined. His size had been obvious even when he'd worn his coat, but it was inescapable now. He was like one of the mountains in which he lived, solid and massive.
She liked the look of him, she admitted to herself as she watched him from the corner of her eye. It wouldn't be so bad to lie with him, provided he wasn't a selfish lover. It had been months since her husband had touched her, and even when he had, he'd frequently been a disappointment. She'd thought she'd become immune to men. There were none that attracted her anymore. But this orc would not be a burden, at least until she could build a hut of her own. If he expected payment for sharing his space it would not be an onerous duty.
He was not young, and neither was she. Neither of them were green, calf-eyed fools. They could scratch an itch together.
She pulled off her coat as the hut heated from the fire, tossing it beside her pack. She hung her long woolen vest on one of the pegs in the tent poles and stretched her back, groaning at the soreness of her muscles after days of trekking across the mountains.
Her tunic pulled tight across her chest even though she'd bound her breasts underneath, and her leggings were slightly too small, the old worn leather molded to her hips and thighs. She'd taken the clothes from her husband, preferring to climb the mountains in pants rather than one of her dresses, and while he was a large man, his clothes were still too tight on her. She looked down to see the orc crouched by the fire, his gaze intent on her body, on the places where her clothing clung to her like a second skin. He blinked and looked away quickly, stirring the pot over the fire with a wooden ladle.
A flush crept up Gyrda's neck and she sat across from him, inhaling the rich meaty scent of the stew as it melted and began to steam over the fire. Her stomach growled and the orc looked up at her sharply, his lips curving up in a smile before she could be embarrassed.
"Sorry it's not much," he said loudly.
"I'm sorry to make you share," she answered.
Sahginoth shrugged off the apology, ladling hot stew into two wooden bowls and passing one to her. He settled down cross-legged, brushing a tangled lock of hair out of his face as he passed her a spoon. They ate in silence. When the woman finished, she set down her bowl reluctantly, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. He took it and re-filled it, pressing it back into her hands.
"Thank you," she murmured.
He nodded. He respected a woman with a healthy appetite, and she'd certainly built up one crossing the mountains. He smiled to himself as he thought of her helping him with his sled. He hardly needed the help; he was not quite an old man yet, and his strength had not deserted him, but she'd been so determined to make herself useful that he hadn't had the heart to refuse her.
She was a curious creature, solemn and serious. Her quiet nature was probably due to her difficulty hearing, but then again perhaps it was simply her nature. It was his, and he didn't mind her silences.
They finished the rest of the stew and he gestured for her to rest as he went outside to wash the dishes in the fresh snow. Even without his coat, he didn't mind the cold evening for a minute or two. His skin was thick, his body running warm, as all the Delakki orcs did. She must be cold, though. He lifted the leather that covered his stack of the dried yak dung used to make fires, gathering an armload. He deposited it by the fire and looked down at her. She was not shivering, but the air in the hut was still chilly enough it was probably uncomfortable for humans. He stoked the fire and knelt beside her.
"Are you cold?" he shouted. She smiled, shaking her head. "How well can you read my lips?" he said more quietly, speaking slowly.
She frowned for a moment as she watched his mouth. "Well enough to guess at your meaning," she said. She had a rich voice, lovely and soothing. He enjoyed listening to her speak. Perhaps if she grew comfortable with him she would speak more. "It is hard to tell some words with your tusks," she continued. She reached up towards his mouth then snatched her hand away before she touched him. "Your lips move differently than I am used to."
"Is it better if I shout?" he asked.
She shook her head. "The rest of the village might not enjoy that," she said with a small chuckle. "As long as you get my attention first I can understand well enough. I will ask if I don't understand your meaning. And it is easier to hear in a small space like this even when you don't shout. Out on the mountain I could hear very little." She shifted in her seat, looking away for a moment. "Where do you use the bathroom?" she asked quietly.
He stood, gesturing for her to put on her coat, and led her outside. He showed her the outhouse that was shared with the other homes nearby, lighting the small oil lamp inside for her and showing her the pads of moss and scrap leather used for cleaning. He left her to herself and headed back towards his hut.
The door flap of the closest house twitched open and he raised a hand in greeting to Zarhu, his nearest neighbor. She was an old woman, wrinkled and surlier even than him, and she shot him a squinting frown before snapping the flap of her hut closed. She would want to know all the gossip tomorrow. She would demand he come into her hut for a cup of talki herb tea and tell her everything about the strange human he'd brought to the village. He smiled as he stooped to enter his own home. She was a pain in his arse, but she had been a good friend of his grandmother and he was fond of her despite her nosiness.
The sun was beginning to set and the interior of the hut had darkened, the glow of the fire illuminating the small space. Sahginoth frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. He had so little. He didn't require much, after all. He liked the simplicity of living alone, of only having to manage one person's space and belongings, but it left him ill-equipped to house a guest. He pulled some extra blankets and furs from one of the chests beside the wall and laid them out on the rug the woman had left her belongings on. He added a few of the bright embroidered cushions from his own bed.
When Gyrda did not return quickly, he went out to the back of his hut where he was hidden from the village and pissed into the snow, then rushed back inside. He tested the water in the water skin he'd laid by the fire, but it was still partly frozen. He tossed a few more dung chips onto the fire and pulled off his boots, leaving them beside the small blaze to melt and warm. He quickly changed the thick fur-lined pants he wore hunting for a thinner pair, the fabric worn soft from years of use. It was his habit to sleep naked, but he doubted the human would appreciate that. He'd have to put up with pants during the night until she found somewhere else to go.
Perhaps Zarhu would like a companion. The old woman loved to chatter and didn't care who listened, and Gyrda couldn't hear well enough to be bothered by the old biddy's sharp tongue. He chuckled. It might be a perfect match.
He wouldn't cast Gyrda out, though. The villagers were instantly suspicious of her. He had no doubt they would warm to her, but it would take time, and he'd offer her shelter until she was comfortable with the rest of them. She would be more inconvenienced than he was by it. He'd been told he snored loud enough to wake the dead (told by Zarhu, of course, whose hut was nearest his and who relished chastising him for keeping her up at night). He paused in tying the waist of his pants. Perhaps his snoring wouldn't be an issue after all.
He took a soft bolt of cloth from another chest, its rich red hue dark as blood in the firelight, and hung it from the pegs in the tent poles, blocking off part of Gyrda's sleeping area to provide her with privacy. She ducked back under the low door and raised her brows in surprise when she saw the bed he'd made for her. Hanging her coat up beside the door, she stood on tiptoe and helped him hang the rest of the curtain. Her arm brushed his, his body tightening at the warmth of her skin, her nearness. He frowned. He felt oddly on edge, being near her. Was it something about her humanness? He'd rarely felt that way with anyone before, male or female.
He heard her breath catch and she turned her back, untying her boots and leaving them to warm beside his. Had she thought she would be sleeping with him? Was she relieved? Disappointed?
"Thank you," she said softly.
He grunted an acknowledgement, shrugging. He wasn't the most hospitable orc, he knew, but it was his duty to help someone in need. His grandmother would have demanded it. She would have demanded he do better than leftover food, a small pile of bedding, and a curtain for privacy, but she wasn't here now to pamper the human. His small hospitality would have to do. He sat and slipped into his own bed.
Across the hut, he could hear her moving behind the curtain, the soft sounds of fabric slipping against skin. She tossed her tunic up over the top of the curtain, her disembodied hands spreading the worn tan cloth until it was unwrinkled. She breathed softly, sighing from time to time as she moved about.
He wanted to say something. He felt he should say something. But it seemed wrong to shout in the sleepy silence of the hut, and he couldn't invade the privacy he'd made for her when she was half-dressed just so she could read his lips. What would he even say, if he did?
Pulling the furs up to his chin, Sahginoth stared into the fire as it crackled. The world outside the hut darkened, wind whistling across the plateau in high plaintive tones. He loved the sound, the eerie lullaby of the mountains.
The woman's sounds as she moved about her space slowed and ceased. Her breathing evened in the cadence of sleep. Sahginoth closed his eyes and let himself follow her.