3. Chapter 3
Chapter three
F or a moment when she woke, Gyrda was confused. She sat up, pushing aside the warm furs she was wrapped in and wiping the sleep from her eyes.
The orc. The village.
She had a home. For now, at least.
Standing quietly, she pulled her tunic down from over the curtain and donned it. She peeked around the edge of the curtain. The hut was illuminated with the soft glow of early morning, the sky above the smoke hole in the center of the roof the pale pink of dawn. The inside of the dwelling was cool but not frigid, comfortable enough without her coat. She built up the fire, breathing life into the coals beneath the ashes.
She could see the top of the orc's head poking out from his bedding, his breath stirring the furs over his face. She moved about the house quietly so as not to disturb his sleep. The floor, even covered in rugs, was cold, so she pulled her boots on. After a hurried trip to the outhouse, her ass nearly going numb on the frosty seat, she skinned the hares he'd left hung up outside the hut and brought them inside.
A search through the baskets and pouches at the side of the hut revealed dried herbs, plants, and mushrooms for cooking. She seasoned the meat and placed it in a pan over the fire. As she waited for the meal to cook, she leaned back against the hide wall of the house, watching him. He shifted from time to time, his messy hair peeking out from the covers, the grey and white streaks bright against the furs.
She propped one of the colorful cushions he'd given her behind her back. It was embroidered with thick dyed thread, the design both cheerful and durable. She still wasn't sure what to make of him. He seemed a gruff sort of person, his smiles few and far between. Yet he'd been kind to her so far, asking nothing in exchange for his hospitality. He was clearly set in his ways, living a bachelor's life devoid of complications. She was a complication, surely. So far, he didn't seem to mind.
She liked him. She liked his serious personality and his quiet generosity. She respected them. He was not unlike her, she suspected. Self-sufficient, hard-working, content with a simple life.
He woke, pushing the blankets away from his face and rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. His nostrils flared and he rolled over, his brows raising at the sight of breakfast cooking over the fire. He nodded to her, scratching his chin, and kicked the bedding away, standing slowly and stretching his back.
Gyrda's eyes widened. He was hard, a frighteningly thick cock pressing against the soft, thin material of his trousers. She sucked in a breath, unable to look away from the sight. Gods above, the stories of orcs and humans marrying must be false! That couldn't possibly fit inside a human.
He must have heard her gasp, his gaze snapping to her. He covered his groin with his hands and she averted her gaze as he shuffled out of the hut in his bare feet.
Gyrda pressed a hand to her racing heart, her body tingling with interest. It appeared that despite his size she was not averse to the idea. What would it be like, to feel something so large? She shook off the thoughts, peering out of the door flap to see where he'd gone.
He was standing beside the hut, rubbing handfuls of snow over his body, bathing despite the cold, or perhaps trying to manage his morning arousal. She closed the door and knelt before the fire, turning the rabbits so they cooked evenly.
After a few minutes, he returned, his body damp and shivering. He rubbed himself down with a blanket and pulled a long tunic over his head, concealing the front of his trousers. He sat beside the fire, far enough from her they could not accidentally touch, his hands folded stiffly in his lap. She looked up at him.
"Thank you for cooking," he said loudly, his face expressionless. It appeared they were going to avoid the topic of what she'd just seen.
"I want to help," she said. "What else can I do?"
He shrugged. "Keep trapping rabbits. I'm fond of them."
She smiled. That was easily done.
He poured water from the waterskin into a small pot and set it beside the fire to heat. He selected a small pouch of herbs from his kitchen supplies and dropped it into the pot. They sat in silence as the food cooked and the tea steeped. He sharpened one of his kitchen knives on a whetstone. When the water boiled, he poured tea into two cups carved from yak horns and passed one to her. She sniffed at the steam, a minty aroma filling her nose, and grinned, blowing on the tea until it was cool enough to drink. They ate the rabbit straight from the pan and the orc nodded in approval at the seasonings she'd used.
"We have to speak to the village," he shouted when they were finished.
She looked up in alarm. "Why?" she asked.
"It is not entirely up to the community if you stay or go, but they deserve a say, and they will want to get to know you."
"How much do they want to know?" Her lips thinned in apprehension.
His gaze was far too perceptive. "As much as you are willing to share."
Gyrda nodded, swallowing around the nervous lump in her throat.
They pulled on their warm clothes and he led her out towards the center of the plateau. He spoke to the orcs he passed, and they hurried away, bringing others back with them as they all headed towards the large longhouse in the middle of the collection of huts. Gyrda tried to ignore the suspicious stares, the confused stares, the intrigued stares. A few small orclings bundled in furs watched her as they passed, their eyes wide as if they'd never seen a human before.
Perhaps they never had.
The interior of the longhouse was dark, lit by three fires in the center of the building. Seats lined the outer walls and orcs crowded into them, hundreds of bodies packing into the space as more and more came to gawk at the newcomer. The village was larger than she'd thought, and she sat stiffly where Sahginoth gestured for her to sit, grey bodies crowding her on every side.
He stood in the center of the room and waited as the last villagers crowded into the longhouse, shooing the orclings out into the snow as the adults filled the room.
"This is Gyrda," he shouted. "She has come to ask for sanctuary and a home." An orc stood, speaking, but she could not hear. Sahginoth cut him off. "She is deaf," he explained loudly. "You must shout for her to hear."
She watched the whispers wind their way around the room and she refused to lower her gaze as the orcs examined her.
The orc who had stood faced her, speaking loudly over the crowd. "Why do you not live among your own kind?" he asked.
She balled her hands into fists on her knees, sighing. She had never been a talkative person, never one to tell her private life to strangers. "My own kind have not treated me well," she answered.
That seemed to satisfy them, orcs nodding as chatter spread amongst them again.
"I have already offered her a place to stay in my home until there is somewhere else she would like to go," Sahginoth said. "I will not cast her out." A few of the orcs still eyed her suspiciously, though many nodded at his pronouncement. "If anyone has anything to say, voice your opinions now," he demanded.
"How did you earn your living amongst the humans?" one asked.
She had spent the last few years working in her husband's tavern, but there was no call for those skills here, and she didn't wish to speak of him in front of the company. "My father taught me to hunt and trap," she said. "I have hunted in the mountains since I was a girl. I trained as a midwife for a time, and I know some medicine."
That answer seemed satisfactory too. Gyrda breathed a sigh of relief at the orcs' approval.
Sahginoth waited for a moment, then nodded when no other questions were forthcoming. "It is done, then," he announced. "Gyrda is one of us, now."
Her heart leapt at the pronouncement, her hands trembling. Could it really be so simple? A week ago she'd had nowhere to call home, to lay her head. She'd had to leave almost everything she owned behind, unable to carry more than the bare necessities into the mountains. She'd set off in the vain hope of a legend she'd been told as a child, more eager to believe in such a story than she was to remain in her home a day longer. And now she was part of this village.
Things this good did not happen to her. She had decades of experience to prove otherwise.
The orcs filed out of the longhouse. She still received many curious looks, but no one stopped to question her as Sahginoth led her out into the winter morning.
One of the orclings rushed up to her and asked her something, but she could neither hear nor understand the child's meaning, the little girl's fingers stuffed into her mouth. Sahginoth knelt by the child and spoke something to her, and she looked up at Gyrda with wide eyes, nodding as she sucked on her fingers.
"Arobi wants to know if all human women are so pretty," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a smile.
Gyrda gasped, looking down at the little orcling. "Much prettier," she said with a laugh. "I am not a great beauty amongst humans."
The girl's eyes widened, her mouth dropping open in disbelief. She chattered something else, tugging at the hem of Sahginoth's coat then running away, casting Gyrda awed glances over her shoulder. Gyrda looked up at Sahginoth.
"She thinks it is naughty that you are lying," he said. He raised an eyebrow.
Gyrda blushed. "Surely you know I'm not lying."
His gaze traveled over her and he shrugged, an inscrutable look on his face.
"What does it mean to be one of you?" she asked.
He frowned slightly. "A part of the clan," he said.
"But what do I do? What is expected of me?"
He gazed down at her for a long moment. "You are very concerned with being useful," he said. A few orcs passing them looked over and Gyrda blushed again at his assessment.
"People don't give you something for nothing," she said. "It's wise to make yourself useful."
He smiled again. "I don't know how you humans have ever managed to build societies," he said. "Help others as you wish, where you wish. Help others because you feel called to care for them. But don't offer your help because you fear what they will do if you do not."
She thought over that for a long moment as they strolled through the huts. Then, to make sure she'd understood, she repeated it back to him. He nodded seriously.
They came to a stop before his hut and he waited for her to look up at him. "I have duties to tend to," he said. "Will you be well on your own for a few hours?" She nodded. She could explore the mountainsides around them, looking for snowshoe hare tracks, perhaps trap herself some more rabbits. "Use whatever you need of my things," he said before he turned and quickly walked away.
Gyrda frowned to herself. She was in a new place for her first full day, with nothing to do but what she wished to do. She had not had such time to herself in years. Perhaps forever. As she stood there, the door flap of the nearest hut snapped open. An old woman looked out at her, deep wrinkles lining her stone-grey face. Her hair was braided back tightly, and she was missing one tusk. By the way she sucked her lips in, Gyrda guessed she was missing more teeth than that. Gyrda smiled uncertainly, lifting her hand in greeting. The old woman squinted at her, then ducked back inside her hut, pulling the flap closed.
With a shrug, Gyrda gathered her trapping supplies and set off down the mountain slope that led away from the village. There were a few patches of the shrubs snowshoe hares liked to nibble on further down the mountainside, and she explored, following hare tracks to burrows dug into the snow. She set a few snares that she could check the next day and hiked a bit further.
Over the next rise, a valley spread below her. It was wooded with short evergreens, the south-facing slopes on one side flooded with warm sunlight. The snow was melted in most areas, greenery growing from amongst the boulders. There was a sparkling stream flowing through the hollow. She climbed down the rocky hillside to the bottom and cupped her hands in the cool water, drinking.
The stream was frigid, but she was sweaty from days of hiking through the mountains. She stripped, leaving her clothes to warm on a rock, and splashed water over herself, bathing quickly as her teeth chattered from the cold. She nearly slipped on the rocks in the stream as her toes turned numb, but she felt refreshed. She climbed out of the water, shaking herself off and drying her body with the length of cloth she used to bind her breasts. She dressed quickly, her skin still prickling with cold, and rolled the wet cloth into a ball to dry back in the hut. Her breasts ached as she clambered over the boulders and jogged back up the mountainside towards the plateau. She'd always been too curvaceous to manage exertion without discomfort, but she wasn't foolish enough to don a wet garment in a cold climate.
Afternoon was beginning to pass into evening as she returned to the village. A few orcs nodded to her as she passed amongst the huts. A swarm of orclings descended on her as she approached the center of the village where families cooked at the outdoor fires. The little girl she'd spoken with earlier pushed through the crowd of wide-eyed children.
"Are you hungry?" she screeched in a high-pitched voice Gyrda struggled to make out. She stood on tiptoe and poked at Gyrda's ample stomach. The orclings looked at her expectantly.
"Always," she said with a smile.
The children herded her towards a long smooth rock brushed clear of snow and demanded she sit down. The adults around the fires smiled at the little ones encouragingly as they brought her a bowl of thick yak's milk porridge. It was creamy and sweet, dried berries sprinkled on top. The little girl grinned up at her as she ate. She was missing more than one tooth in her wide smile.
One of the grown orcs brought her a wedge of hard cheese when she was finished with her porridge, and she thanked them all. The little one shrieked something as she sucked on her thumb, and Gyrda leaned close, frowning. She did not miss the stillness that fell over the rest of the orcs, the quick looks they shared with each other.
"What was that?" she asked.
The orcling tugged on an adult's coat. "She wants to know if you will marry the chief," the woman explained loudly. The rest of the orcs looked away, though she could tell they were still listening intently.
Gyrda cocked her head, unsure if she'd heard correctly. "Why?" Was this an expected thing for a newcomer?
The woman shrugged. "He brought you in. You are living with him."
Gyrda sat dumbfounded for a moment. That quiet, humble man who'd let her into his home was their leader? That wasn't possible. "Sahginoth?" she asked, to be sure she understood. The orcs nodded, not bothering to hide their curiosity. "No," she stammered. "He doesn't want to marry me. He took pity on me."
The adults exchanged a few skeptical looks. Gyrda quickly excused herself and hurried back to the hut.
Smoke billowed from the hole in the roof as she approached. She ducked through the doorway, stamping the snow from her boots. Sahginoth was stringing a collection of herbs from the tent poles above their heads to dry, another pot of stew bubbling over the fire.
"You're the chief?" she asked.
He turned to her, a surprised look on his usually impassive face. He nodded.
She huffed. "Why didn't you tell me?"
He shrugged, combing a hand through his messy hair. "I'm no different from anyone else."
"But you are," she insisted.
"I have been chief for a long time. I won the challenge as a young orc. It is just a part of who I am, now."
"The challenge?"
"It is a tournament," he explained. "When a village leader passes or is ready to retire, the village elders create a set of challenges of cleverness, strength, perseverance. All are able to compete. The village chooses the one whose work and determination impresses them the most, even if they are not the strongest or smartest or fastest."
She frowned, kneeling by the fire to warm her hands. How could he speak about it so calmly, as if it were nothing? She had not thought humans and orcs were so different, but any human man she'd ever known would not have treated such a position of power as if it were nothing of note. "What do you do?" she asked, looking back up at him.
He sat close beside her so he would not have to speak too loudly. "I resolve disputes, ensure elders in the community who can no longer care for themselves are looked after, perform marriages, keep the alliance strong with the other villages. The council of village leaders elected me Chief of all the Delakki tribes a few winters ago. Sometimes I travel to other villages for my duties."
So, he was not only the leader of his village, but of all the orcs? Gyrda laughed slightly. He was like a king, and he still sat there beside her in a homely animal-hide hut where he cooked for himself and hunted and strung up herbs like a kitchen maid as if it were nothing.
"You are bothered?" he asked.
"I was surprised."
"Who told you?"
"Some of the orcs in the village center. They fed me. Arobi asked if I was going to marry the chief." His eyes went wide and she glanced away. "I told them that wasn't why you had brought me here."
They sat without speaking for a while. He leaned forward and stirred the pot. She stood and took off her coat, hanging it by the door and throwing her damp binder over the curtain to dry. His silence ate away at her, where it usually comforted.
She unlaced her boots and set them by the fire to dry. Her toes curled into the cold rug on the floor. "Was it?" she asked quietly.
He stood, his mouth open, though he didn't speak. His gaze lowered from her face, catching where the cloth of her tunic pulled tight across her unbound breasts. His hand twitched by his side and she sucked in a breath, the sudden awareness of his size, his heat, the nearness of his body, washing over her. She would have turned away, but she needed to know what he was going to say, so she stayed, her eyes on his lips as he closed his mouth, swallowing, then opened it again. He spoke too quietly for her to hear, but she could see the word clearly.
"No."
She looked up into his eyes and he tore his gaze from her body, stepping back as he looked into the fire. She didn't know what to make of his expression, but she could see he'd not spoken the full truth. She didn't press him. The night before, she'd been ready to lie with him, but that was when she thought him a simple hunter, like her. But now...
She knew what men were like when they'd had a little taste of power.
But perhaps that was unfair. She was a good judge of character, and he'd given her no cause to doubt him. He'd given her every cause to trust him.
He gestured for her to sit back down beside him. "When were you going to tell me?" she asked.
He shrugged. "It would have come up eventually." He spoke loudly and slowly, and she sighed in frustration. She wanted to have a simple conversation with him, to learn more about his duties, his people, but every conversation was a struggle. He had to shout. He had to say things twice when his lips made an unfamiliar shape and she didn't understand. She hadn't minded the lack of conversation the last few months. There had been nothing she'd wished to hear from her husband. Not having to hear him was a blessing. But this was irksome.
Sahginoth didn't seem to notice her frustration, his brow furrowing. "I don't like to be treated as if I am something special," he said, an edge of frustration in his voice. "I have seen how you humans are when you know who I am." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "But I am me. I like things to be simple."
She nodded slowly. "So do I," she said.
He smiled at her, the corners of his eyes wrinkling, and she couldn't help but smile back at the way his face lit up in happiness. "Then let things be simple," he said. "How did you spend your day?"
She told him of the snares she'd set and how she'd hiked to the valley with the creek. He nodded, smiling slightly as he ladled himself a bowl of stew. "Far," he said. She didn't mind that he spoke short answers when he could, but she was still bothered by the necessity of them in a way she had not been in the city, when people were reluctant to speak to her at all, avoiding her as if her difference was contagious.
"It was," she agreed. "But I told you I like to be useful. I like to hunt."
He offered her a bowl of stew and she declined. "The villagers fed me."
He pressed the food into her hands anyways. "You walked far." She had, and the stew smelled delicious. He was an excellent cook, even if he did lean towards stews. She ate, the rich buttery flavors of root vegetables and heavy cream bursting on her palate. She groaned in appreciation and his gaze flicked to her before he looked away, shoveling his own food into his mouth. When he finished, he excused himself and left her alone.
Gyrda washed their dishes in the snow and then sat for a long time beside the fire, staring into the flames, imagining their crackle, the pop of sparks. She thought of the way he'd looked at her, the heat she felt when he could barely tear his gaze from her breasts. She was almost embarrassed at the longing that washed over her.
He did not wish to be with her, though. He'd said as much. Hadn't he?