[Queen of Orcs 02] - Clan Daughter (9 page)

“Atur,” said Duth-tok. “How I miss it!”

Dar’s first leisure in many months had a celebratory air, as if she, too, were nearing home. She repaired her torn blouse, but otherwise spent the time resting or conversing. What Dar relished most was her newfound sense of belonging. She felt bound to her comrades, not just by need and common purpose, but also by mutual affection.

When darkness fell, Dar and the orcs put on their disguises and resumed their journey. Dar’s ankle was tender, but she was able to walk. There was no need for her to seek offerings along the way, so they traveled without interruption. The land grew drier. Scrubland replaced forests. As the holdings they passed became smaller and more isolated, Dar worried less that the orcs would be overwhelmed if they were recognized. When dawn approached, they left the road and slept in a clump of brush.

The following night was similar to the previous one, except the food ran out. The travelers slept through the day until the sun was low. Then Dar went out to approach holdings where she was given food to go away. Often, stones were thrown as she departed. It was dark before she had collected enough scraps for a meager dinner.

As the travelers continued northward, the land rose imperceptibly and grew more arid as it did until it was nearly desert. When the moon rose and cast shadows, Dar discerned the traces of ancient channels on the barren plain. Though weathered to little more than a grid of shallow depressions, they were impressive in scope. Kovok-mah noticed Dar gazing at them. “Long ago, urkzimmuthi dug those to bring water from faraway river.”

“This place was once called Greenplain,” said Zna-yat.

“What happened?” asked Dar.

“Washavokis came,” replied Zna-yat.

The following day, Dar began approaching holdings early. She needed more time to collect food owing to the distance between settlements and because the offerings reflected the peasants’ poverty. By late afternoon, Dar had only a few moldy roots when she approached another holding. It looked deserted except for one hut where smoke issued from the eaves. Dar almost passed it by, but hunger spurred her to seek an offering. Striking her staff smartly on the ground to jangle its bell, she approached the hut, keeping a wary eye for thrown rocks.

Usually, people appeared long before she reached the nearest building, but this time no one came out. Dar continued up the path toward the hut. She was very close before its door opened and a man emerged. He looked ancient, with a long white beard and skin as wrinkled as dried fruit, but he moved vigorously. He bore no food. “I fear not the cursed,” he said.

“It’s more worthy to give from charity than fear,” said Dar.

The man smiled. “You have a fair tongue, so I’ll give you something better than food.” He bounded to where Dar stood and snatched the bandage wrapped about her face. His smile broadened into a grin. “See, I’ve restored your nose. Shall I return your missing fingers next?”

Dar stood silent and red-faced.

“Your toes gave you away,” said the man. “The cursed lose those first.”

Dar began to back toward the road, wondering if she would have to defend herself.

“Don’t go,” said the man. “I’ve been expecting you.”

“What?” said Dar.

“The feathers foretold deception,” replied the man. “It’s your defining trait.”

Dar wondered if the man was crazy.

The old man ignored Dar’s suspicious look. “Sup with me. It can’t be pleasant to brave scorn and stones for scraps.”

“Thank you, but I must go.”

“Back to the others?”

“Others?” said Dar. “There are no others.”

“Aye, that’s the deception again,” said the man, his eyes crinkling with amusement. He looked at Dar’s small, rag-wrapped bundle of roots. “That won’t feed six.”

Dar backed farther away, trying not to look surprised.

“Ther nat suthi na breeth,” said the man.
You are wise to be cautious.

Dar halted.

“Washavokis are cruel and treacherous,” said the man. “Only they would brand a mother. Kramav thwa ma. Ma nat urkzimmuthi.”
Fear me not. I am urkzimmuthi.

“Tha gavat thwa urkzimmuthi,” replied Dar.
You do not seem urkzimmuthi.

The man smiled and parted the hairs of his beard to give Dar a glimpse of black lines tattooed beneath it. “I was born washavoki, but this is my urkzimmuthi clan tattoo. My clan name is Velasa-pah.”

“The first part means ‘one who sees,’” said Dar. “That seems appropriate. The urkzimmuthi call me ‘weasel.’”

Velasa-pah nodded. “I think ‘Dargu’ is a fitting name for you.”

“You talk as if you know me,” said Dar, feeling both mystified and wary. “I’ve no idea who you are.”

“I’m a relic,” said Velasa-pah. “When I was young, this land was green and the urkzimmuthi lived in peace.”

Dar stared at the old man in disbelief. “That was many ages ago!”

“Muth la has preserved my life. Come inside. We’ll consult the feathers.”

Velasa-pah turned and walked toward the hut, clearly expecting Dar to follow. She hesitated and watched him. He didn’t look dangerous. Indeed, Dar wondered why he had seemed vigorous before, for his gait faltered. Velasa-pah paused at the entrance to his hut. “Come,” he said, “I’ve been waiting a long time.”

Dar felt compelled to obey. She entered the hut. A kettle bubbled over a small fire, filling the air with a savory aroma. “That’s muthtufa,” said Velasa-pah, gesturing at the pot. “Good urkzimmuthi stew. Your friends will enjoy it.” He pointed to a large sack nearby. “There’s enough brak and pashi in there to get you to Blath Urkmuthi.” He smiled at Dar’s puzzled look. “As I said—you were expected.”

Dar glanced about the hut. Though its exterior walls had been square, its interior ones were circular. A row of stones was set into the ground at the hut’s entrance to complete the circle formed by the walls. “We’re within the Embrace of Muth la,” she said.

“Aye,” replied Velasa-pah. “All urkzimmuthi dwellings contain one.”

Dar noted that pegs were set into the walls and a wide variety of herbs hung from them along with numerous sacks and pouches. “Do you do magic?”

“I have some skill,” said Velasa-pah. He hobbled over to the wall and removed a sack. It looked antique, and the designs embroidered upon its worn cloth had faded until they were nearly invisible. Moving slowly, as if the effort pained him, Velasa-pah lowered himself to the earthen floor. “Come, Dargu. Sit beside me. Let’s see what guidance the feathers have for you.”

Dar sat down, and the old man opened the sack with palsied fingers. Feathers of different colors fluttered to the floor. Once they settled, Velasa-pah leaned over and blew upon them. The feathers moved, but it seemed to Dar that it wasn’t Velasa-pah’s wheezing breath that had rearranged their pattern. After they settled for a second time, the old man silently studied them. A long time passed before he spoke. “Visit Tarathank.”

“Where’s that?” asked Dar.

“It’s the urkzimmuthi ruin that lies close to this road. Washavokis avoid it.”

Dar recalled the tales she had heard at Garlsholding of a haunted goblin city. “I’ve heard of that place,” she said, “but I don’t know where it lies.”

“The road splits north of here. You must look carefully, for the western fork is never used and hard to spot. Follow it to the city.”

“Is that all I need do?” asked Dar.

Velasa-pah peered at the feathers longer and his expression grew sad. “Follow your chest.”

“What?” said Dar.

“Your chest understands what your mind cannot. Heed its wisdom. It won’t always be easy.”

“All right,” said Dar, thinking this advice was vague at best.

“There is a man who listens to bones,” said Velasa-pah. “He is your enemy, but the bones are a greater enemy.” Velasa-pah gazed at the feathers a while longer, then shook his head. “Perhaps you should blow upon them,” he said. “Blow gently.”

Dar leaned over and blew. The feathers crumbed into dust.

“So it ends,” said Velasa-pah. “I’m going to rest now, so you must wait for supper. Get your friends. This food is Muth la’s gift. It should be served by a mother.” Velasa-pah lay down and closed his eyes. “Vata, Dargu,” he murmured.
Good-bye, Dargu.

Dar rose. She looked outside and was surprised to see that it was dark. She glanced at Velasa-pah. He was already asleep. “Vata, Velasa-pah,” she whispered, then hurried into the night.

When Dar returned with the orcs, the fire beneath the kettle had died to embers and she could see little by its faint light. The kettle and the sack of food were where Dar had last seen them, but the hut was empty otherwise. There was no sign of Velasa-pah and the walls were bare. Kovok-mah looked about. “Dargu, if I did not see this food, I would think you had another vision. This place has been empty long time.”

Zna-yat skirted a pile of dust to examine the kettle. “I can’t believe some washavoki made muthtufa.”

“He claimed he was urkzimmuthi,” said Dar. “Said his name was Velasa-pah.”

Zna-yat looked amused. “Velasa-pah? Well, that washavoki knew some tales.”

“Who is Velasa-pah?” asked Dar.

“Great wizard who died long ago,” said Zna-yat. “His clan is lost, victims of washavokis.”

Ten

Dar and the orcs traveled two nights to reach Tarathank. As they neared the mountains, the land turned green again, but few people tilled its soil. Holdings became solitary huts, surrounded by a sea of tall grass. On the last night of their journey, the travelers passed no dwellings at all. By then, the ancient road was so overgrown that it seemed little different from the surrounding prairie. Only the orcs’ keen vision allowed them to follow it at night.

As far as Dar’s companions knew, no orc had visited the city for generations. Yet it loomed large in orcish tales. It was the queen’s city, home to the Pah clan, from which a long line of monarchs arose. Other clans lived there too, so Tarathank was called the City of Matriarchs. It had been the center of orcish civilization, a place of marvels. As Kovok-mah and the others spoke of it, their voices reflected awe and excitement.

The orcs could see the ruins long before they reached them, but Dar got her first glimpse of Tarathank only when dawn lit the plain. The city was distant, but prominent, for it sprawled over the only hilltop. Every town Dar had ever seen possessed a defensive wall, but the crumbled structure that encircled the city could not have served a military function. It was a negligible barrier, dwarfed by the ruins it enclosed. A roadway zigzagged up the hillside to its entrance. Surveying the landscape, Dar said, “There’s no one to see us. Let’s go on.”

The immense ruin seemed closer than it actually was, and the travelers didn’t reach Tarathank until midmorning. Its entrance had been a delicate, gateless archway. Though broken, it still looked elegant. Beyond the ruined arch, Dar saw a city ravaged by war. Its defenselessness made its destruction seem all the more wanton. Most of the buildings near the low wall were burned and reduced to rubble. Only farther in was the demolition less complete.

The travelers entered Tarathank and walked its silent streets, where they found time and nature had continued the destruction wrought by war. Weeds and trees pushed up between paving stones and filled the interiors of roofless buildings. Vines shrouded most of the structures. The vegetation didn’t seem wholly out of place, for the city’s builders preferred natural forms. The ruined structures favored curves and arches over right angles. Even the stones within the walls were not rectangular, but varied in shape and size. Doorways, window frames, and pillars were carved with flowing botanic lines. Thus, even buildings several stories high seemed to have grown from the earth.

Tarathank was the first city Dar had ever entered, and even in decay it awed her. The orcs were similarly impressed. Everyone walked quietly, feeling that the city’s grandeur and tragedy required it. When Dar finally spoke, she thought her voice sounded unnaturally loud. “We should find place to rest.”

After wandering the winding streets, they encountered a vine-covered building that still had its roof. It was modestly sized compared with its neighbors, but it seemed grand to Dar. Like the other structures on the street, it was a home.

From her conversations, Dar knew orc dwellings housed extended families, and the size of the house reflected that. All the females who once had lived there would have been blood relations—mothers and daughters, spanning several generations. When sons married, they left to join their wives, but daughters always remained under the same roof. As Dar passed the numerous rooms in the abandoned house, she gained a sense of the collective power of mothers. Husbands would come as outsiders to live among females united by blood and a lifetime of association. Dar thought,
No wonder they treat mothers with respect
.

Though the house was structurally intact, it had been looted and vandalized. Most of the rooms were bare except for dried leaves that had drifted in through smashed windows. Occasionally, they encountered bits of moldy cloth or pieces of splintered furniture, but little remained that spoke of the lives spent within the rooms. Dar spied pieces of sand ice lying on the leaf-littered floor beneath a window. She picked up a shard to examine it. It did seem like warm ice. Dar gazed through the pale green fragment, trying to imagine it filling the window.