Stella nodded, and soon she was trailing behind Gwyn through the garden’s meandering paths, listening to her rambling commentary with shy attentiveness. Even asking a few questions here and there, and then exclaiming with genuine-seeming delight at the sight of the little clearing, and the moss-covered stone beneath the wizened tree.
“Oh, another altar!” she said, her face more animated than Gwyn had ever yet seen it. “I didn’t realize the Bautul had one of these out here. Howwonderful.”
It seemed like she truly meant that, her dark head lowering as one of her hands reached to touch the mossy stone. While her other hand clenched to a tight fist, and pressed close against her heart.
Gwyn watched her for a jolting instant, her face flushing, her thoughts darting with alarming vividness toward her own recent experiences on this altar. And when Stella finally raised her head, Gwyn swallowed hard, and heard herself ask a question that she’d never before imagined coming from her own mouth.
“Could you tell me more about your — our — goddess?” her voice said. “The Goddess of Bautul?”
She half-expected Stella to refuse, or point out that surely this was Joarr’s responsibility — but instead she nodded, and flashed Gwyn an earnest, dazzling smile. “Of course,” she replied. “Well, as I mentioned, the goddess is most often found in the moon, but she’s actually the goddess of the earthandthe sky. She speaks to us through the wind, the trees, the fire, the rain.”
Oh. Gwyn’s face burned even hotter, her thoughts again firmly caught on the night before, the sky opening over them as Joarr pounded into her. “And the altars?” she asked. “They’re part of this?”
“Yes, very much so,” Stella said, stroking the altar before them with a careful hand. “The goddess longs to see see her Bautul sons and daughters sharing their joy upon them, and creating more sons for her beloved clan.”
More sons. Gwyn’s unhelpful brain was now flicking toward her multiple extra-strong doses of silphium, and to Joarr’s original horrible plans for her — but thankfully Stella didn’t seem to notice. “And as you’ve seen, there are also rituals to follow, especially around important times in the orcs’ lives — births, coming of age, gaining a mate. But wise Bautul will often seek the goddess beyond these times as well — and in return, she will reward them with manifold strength, valour, vigour, and forbearance.”
She spoke the words with palpable reverence, as though she’d memorized them, or perhaps even cherished them — and Gwyn made herself nod. “And is the, er,joy-sharingprimarily how you seek the goddess?” she asked. “Or are there other ways, also?”
Stella shot Gwyn another knowing smile, and again brought her fist to her heart. “We often do this,” she said, touching her other hand to the altar, and bowing her head toward the tree. “You can speak if you wish, or just be still and listen. But you can see how the tree is meant to represent her, right? How she’s watching over you, and wanting the best for you?”
Right. Gwyn nodded again, her thoughts still oddly stilted, almostappreciative, somehow — and she took a breath, and searched for something, anything, to say. “It’s unfortunate that the tree isn’t doing so well, though,” she managed, walking over to look up through its wizened branches. “But I’ve been wondering if we might still be able to salvage it. Try some heavy fertilizing, maybe cut back some limbs?”
Stella glanced up with unmistakable curiosity, and soon Gwyn was thankfully back on familiar ground, explaining the most successful tree-resuscitation practices, and talking through possible options. And before long, she and Stella were pitching the idea to a bemused-looking Joarr at his compost-pile, while Joarr’s brows rose higher and higher on his forehead.
“You ken, woman,” he said once she’d finished, his voice clipped, “that I am very busy orc, ach? I no need to spend free garden-time on tree that is alreadydead.”
Gwyn winced, casting an uneasy look toward Stella, who was looking distinctly crestfallen — but then Stella’s eyes lit up again, searching Joarr’s face. “Then perhaps we could ask Kalfr to help?” she asked brightly. “I know he’s been wanting to learn more about gardens, and the old Bautul ways.”
Joarr’s expression had gone suspiciously blank again, but he gave a convincing enough shrug that Stella eagerly agreed to mention it to Kalfr later that day. And before things could devolve any further, Gwyn lurched to stand between them, putting a hand to Joarr’s chest. “Hey, did you ever hear back from your captain?” she asked. “Does he still want that numbing salve for his son’s teething?”
Joarr jerked a curt nod, and then waved at where Gwyn could indeed see some chamomile, growing just beneath a large willow. And then he strode off again without another word, leaving Gwyn to smile sheepishly at Stella as she steered her toward the chamomile, and launched into an impromptu lesson about its care and harvesting.
Stella again listened with genuine-seeming interest, and soon they were working side by side in the garden’s hut. First crushing the flowers they’d harvested, and then mixing them with some lard Gwyn had found in one of the jars, and then slowly heating the concoction over the little burner. And by the time they were finished, they were easily talking and laughing together, and Stella had shyly asked if she might be able to return again tomorrow.
Gwyn angled a glance toward Joarr at that — he’d occasionally popped in and out of the hut as they worked, mostly swapping out tools — and his shrug looked slightly less pained this time, which was likely as much agreement as could be expected. So Gwyn willingly endorsed this plan, while also fighting to ignore the nagging realization that she’d just committed to spending yet another day here at this mountain, with this infuriating orc.
But once Stella had gone, taking the chamomile paste with her — she’d promised to deliver it safely on her way past — Gwyn found herself searching for Joarr, and again finding him knee-deep in his compost-pile, shovelling dirt into a barrel. His back was gleaming with sweat, his muscles shifting with every movement, his grip on the steel shovel strong and easy and familiar.
And as Gwyn watched, she felt an odd, twisting tightness around her chest, knotting beneath her ribs. And when Joarr glanced over his shoulder toward her, she found herself coughing over the hoarseness in her throat, and giving him a slow, true smile.
“Thank you,” she said. “I realize that wasn’t easy for you. It must be” — she cleared her throat again — “deeply unpleasant, to have other people suddenly coming into a place you’ve always considered your own, and even making claims on it. Especially when the place is as lovely as this — and when you’re not sure how you feel about those people to begin with.”
Joarr gave his familiar casual shrug, but didn’t meet her eyes. “Ach, I ken I have no true grounds to refuse this,” he replied, with a too-dismissive coolness. “And I ken this help Stella today, also.”
Gwyn definitely couldn’t argue that point — Stella had certainly seemed in good spirits, and hadn’t once complained of fatigue or pain. And it occurred to Gwyn, abruptly, that she’d actually enjoyed the morning, too. That in it, she and Stella had indeed almost felt like — friends.
“It was still good of you,” Gwyn said to Joarr’s back, quieter. “Toward me, too. Thank you.”
Joarr kept shovelling for a long, dangling minute, not looking, not speaking — but then finally stabbed his shovel into the dirt, and strode toward her. “Ach, you shall no thank me,” he said lightly, “when next I take you to the Ka-esh library, and they prattle at you until you weep.”
Gwyn laughed, waving it away — but it soon turned out that this was precisely what he meant to do. Leading her back into the dark mountain, deep down into the very bowels of it, to where Rosa was indeed reading in an actual, astonishinglibrary. One with a lovely arched ceiling, multiple tables scattered about, and rows and rows of books lining the circular walls.
“You came!” Rosa exclaimed, leaping up from her table, clasping her hands to her chest. “You couldn’t stay away from the orcling book, I’m sure! I have it memorized, of course, so perhaps we can discuss each section together as you go?”
Gwyn blinked, casting a quick glance up toward Joarr — who, despite having his mask firmly in place, still looked as though he might break into laughter at any moment. “Ach, I am sure you shall wish for this, woman,” he said, his voice very even, as he gave her rear a decisive pat. “Mayhap I shall leave you here for a spell, whilst I go meet with some kin?”
Gwyn bit back the urge to make a face at the wily bastard — he was truly going toleaveher here? — but made herself nod, and attempt a smile. “Right,” she said. “Of course. See you then.”
