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“Who are you?” I ask, perplexed at her touch, her voice. This girl... I think I’ve dreamed of her. Or someone like her, which probably makes more sense because she’s not familiar. Not to look at.
But she’s beautiful. She has pointed ears and green hair. She’s sleek and muscular, kohl lining her eyes, but on the other hand, dainty and feminine too.
“Hisa,” she says simply, her eyes filling with tears.
And... a calming feeling hits me. I don’t mind this one. Not at all. When I kill my father, I’ll definitely make sure she’s away and doesn’t suffer.
“I’m Jogug,” I tell her. And then quickly, in the spur of the moment, before she can think of any lies she’s been given, I ask, “Do you know the story of my mother and father?”
She blinks, surprised. “Your mom? The greatest love story ever told.”
Huh. Isn’t that what Bakog told me of his family? It makes me frown. Surely, they don’t all give the same lies? “She’s still alive?” I scan the faces in the crowd, but there’s more than one human.
“Shal—Jogug,” she says slowly. “Of course, she is! I call her mum while I call mine mom. You do the opposite. You call mine mum, and call yours mom. We’ve been in and out of each other’s houses our whole lives. Bakog”—she glances in his direction— “is my brother. He took care of both of us. Do you want to meet her?”
Sweat is pouring off me and my head spins. My mother is alive? Was it really a lie? Or will they try to trick me with another human woman? This is too much—this journey, these people, this place.
“No,” I snarl. “I don’t want to meet her. I don’t want to know her. I’m not Shalia. Not anymore. I’m Jogug and my mother’s dead.”
I clench my fists, trying to hold back the lump of tears in my throat.
The crowd gets quiet and Bakog sweeps me up into his arms. “Shh, sweet. Let’s get you a bath and some food, eh? You don’t need to think about anything else right now.”
I’m ashamed to say my sobs are loud and... pathetic. There’s something about the build-up of tension in coming to this village, supposedly from whence I came. I bury my face in his neck to hide from the prying eyes as he carries me to a row of tents, not small ones like the one he had strapped to Tobias. These are as large as homes. He enters one and sits down on a bed, rubbing my back as he presses kisses to the top of my head.
“Shh, baby. Shh. It’ll be all right,” he murmurs until my sobs abate, with only hiccups left.
I’m furious with Stug for leading me to believe my mother was dead. But I’m more furious that this could be an elaborate West Mountain prank and that she really is. Not sure what they would gain by making me think she’s alive, but what would Stug have gained by saying she’s dead?
Okay, what I’m mostly angry about is that... what if she’s real? What if she exists and she loves me and then she gets taken away? What if the orc king, my biernak father, decides to punish me for leaving their clan? What if he gets me used to her and kills her in front of me?
Because surely, Stug is right somewhere in his tales.
“I don’t want to be here. I don’t like it. This village. These people.”
“I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. We’ll unpack my tent tomorrow and set it up in the woods if you wish.”
“I do, Bak,” I hiccup. “I do! Let’s go, just you and me.”
“Of course,” he says. “Tomorrow, aye? Let’s bathe and rest and tomorrow we’ll make our plans.”
There’s a rattling sound at the door, a type of knocker I must have missed. He holds me to his chest as he calls out a greeting, and I hear footsteps as others come inside. There’s the sound of metal scraping, and the sloshing of water. Then, silently, the tent flap is closed.
“It’s just us now. Will you let me bathe you, sweet?”
Oh, Goddess. I think he avoids calling me by my name. He didn’t used to, not before that scene out there. He told me I was Shalia, of course. But he continued to call me Jogug as I requested.
I pull away from him long enough to nod, afraid that things are already changing.
His fingers move to my leather band, unfastening the stays under the side of my arm. He works my skirt over my hips, unfastens my sandals, removes my arm bands. My wrist guards. Lifts the pendant over my head. When I’m naked, he slowly lowers me into the steaming tub.
I’m emotionally drained as he washes me, running the washcloth across my shoulder blades. My neck. My arms.
For a West Mountain orc, this one’s not so bad.
“I just need you to let me love you, Jogug. That’s all,” he murmurs. “I don’t expect anything back. I just need to keep you safe, anyasa.”
I CAN’T STAND TO SEE this much pain in her eyes. I feel like the biggest biernak in the village, more so than the ones who stole her.
