Chapter 8: A New Chief

Aran stared up at the timber beams above the bed where he lay. They looked like spokes on a wagon wheel, all pointing to the centre of the circular house’s ceiling. There was a hole in the dense thatch there, where the beams met, to let out the smoke from the fire pit directly beneath. When rain came, the hole could be covered by a canvas flap attached to a nearby dangling rope. Simple, but effective. It was early morning, judging by the ring of sky visible through the hole.

Fingers laced across his chest, Aran wondered if he would be spending yet another day in bed. If Evoni and Masha had anything to say about it, he likely would. Not that he had not found ways to enjoy himself, even injured as he was. Evoni was always happy to make sure of that, and there was a slim, pretty Orc - she often came to tidy the hut - that had ended up in the bed with he and Evoni on more than one occasion.

Still, he should have been up and about by now. Why his hurts taken in the visions had not healed as they should, he did not know. When asked, Masha simply said that things worked differently under the effects of gar’ji.

Frustratingly, these lingering effects had also prevented him from accessing amathani, which meant he had no clue what was happening elsewhere in the world, nor how his friends were faring. Elaina. Whatever was suppressing his vala was also hindering his ability to sense his meldin, with the exception of Evoni; he could still feel her presence inside him. It was a little lonely, with only melda in his head, as if there was a vacuum of empty space.

Sighing, he sat up with only minor difficulty - a marked improvement over recent days - and swung his feet off the bed, planting them on the floor. He flexed his toes on the woven mat there while slowly working his left shoulder. It was still stiff, but looser today than it had been. With luck, he would regain full movement soon.

At that moment, the cloth flap hanging across the hut’s only entrance was pushed aside, and Evoni strode in. She smiled at him first, but then her expression darkened. “You should not be sitting up!” she chided in her thick, Oron’noroth accent. A foot taller than he and strikingly beautiful, with shimmering cobalt hair and skin of creamy granite that sparkled in sunlight - not that it felt like granite to touch; more like the softest silk - she folded her arms beneath a resplendent pair of breasts and frowned at him.

“I’m just restless,” he assured her as he kept working his shoulder. “I wasn’t going to leave, I swear.” Evoni made a noise that could have meant anything. Aran nodded to the patterns painted on her bare skin. They hadn’t been there, yesterday. “I see the Orcs have embraced you. I am glad.” It was true; he was glad for her. She’d been fascinated by the Orcs, wanting to know everything about them almost from the moment they’d arrived in Sen’dara. For them to adorn her with their paints meant she was one of them, now. And if him bringing it up meant the subject digressed from him trying to get out of bed, well, all the better.

It worked. Evoni was suddenly beaming with excitement. “Most of them have accepted me, finally. And Masha says I can become a healer!” She sat on the bed next to him. “She says I have the gift, whatever that means.”

Aran smiled back at her, genuinely glad. “That is wonderful, my love. I am happy for you.” He put a hand on her knee and squeezed gently. “So, then what is worrying you?” Beneath her happiness, he could sense there was more.

“I do not think we will be here long enough for me to learn Masha’s ways,” Evoni said, her brightness diminishing somewhat. “As soon as you are well, we will be leaving, will we not?”

Aran nodded, sharing her regret. “Yes, but do not despair just yet.”

She met his gaze for a long moment, her eyes large, deep and enchanting, like two mountain pools, shimmering blue-black. “Of what do you speak?” she asked him softly. Then her brow drew down slightly, crinkling the skin between her eyes. “What are you planning, Aran Sunblade?”

“I’m not sure yet,” he told her truthfully. “But spending another day in bed will not help me to find out. Will you help me? I need some air.” As much as it grated at him, he did not trust his legs to carry him around yet.

“I will,” she said at once, taking his right arm and putting it over her shoulders. She rose easily, as if his weight was nothing at all. It was probably true; Oron’noroth were the strongest of all the Giants. She held him upright while he pulled on his breeches and boots. He didn’t bother with a shirt; the weather was warm, and Orcs were not concerned with coverings, unless it was for battle or ritual, and even then, they were minimalistic.

Evoni asked him again what he was planning, but truthfully, he had no answer for her, yet. All the bed rest had given him much time to think, however. Time is the problem, he thought grimly as she helped him from the hut and out into the morning sun. The hard-packed dirt streets of Sen’dar were not precisely bustling, but there were some Orcs in sight, going about their business.

This part of Sen’dara seemed to be for living, with clusters of smaller dwellings similar to his own accommodations everywhere he looked. Orc children dashed about, laughing and playing in the street. They seemed to favour rough games with lots of tackling and wrestling and rolling in the dust. He smiled as he watched them play. They don’t know what’s coming. They don’t need to, either. Not yet. Hopefully there is still some time.

His legs firmed up some as Evoni half-carried him along, and he was even able to take most of his own weight after a few minutes. “There, you see?” He said to her as they left the house huts and moved onto a broader avenue. “All I needed was some fresh air and a walk.”

Evoni eyed him sideways, but her lips quirked. “You are ever the optimist, my love. I am glad you feel better.”

“I could fight a whole band of Trolls,” Aran told her. “With my bare hands.”

“I believe you could,” she replied far too smoothly.

“Well, maybe not a whole band,” Aran confessed, trying to get a reaction out of her. “But two or three, no doubt.”

Evoni didn’t appear to hear his attempt to make her laugh. She was looking at something up ahead, concern painting her features. She stopped, forcing him to do the same. “Aran, look.”

His eyes followed her gaze up the avenue, to where a large collection of Orcs was approaching, a mix of males and females who carried themselves like warriors, hung about with instruments of death. Axes, hammers and spears and more. Hard faces above huge, tough bodies, scarred from years of fighting.

“I wonder what they want,” he mused as the group closed in. All other Orcs on the avenue parted around the warriors, pressing themselves to the sides of the street or finding somewhere else to be entirely.

“Masha said this might happen,” Evoni whispered.

Aran turned to her. “What might?”

“Reikar. He’s the one in the middle.”

Aran noted the biggest of the oncoming Orcs leading the pack, a hulking brute a foot taller than Evoni, forest-green skin painted in sharp, angular runes of a shade that resembled dried blood. Going by his grim face, it might very well be blood. His black hair was long and banded in two thick cords that hung down over his massive chest, almost to his waist. There was a huge hammer strapped to his back, the hilt sticking up over his shoulder, the flat head and the spike visible on either side of his torso. Aran thought it might weigh as much as himself.

“He’s claimed leadership over Sen’dar,” Evoni went on hurriedly. “Against Masha’s guidance.”

That was interesting; Aran had learned much of the Ash’goth while bedridden, and the Orcs here seemed to pride themselves on the fact they needed no leader. Even Masha was really only a guide, or seer. They all respected her, but she did not give orders. The Ash’goth worked together to achieve common goals for the good of their people. From what he’d heard, the system had worked well, at least until now.

“He doesn’t want us here, but hasn’t openly done anything about it yet,” Evoni continued. Reikar and his retinue were only thirty paces away, now.

So, this was why I felt so compelled to get out of bed today. At least my vala is working that much. Gently removing Evoni’s hand from his waist, Aran unhooked his arm from around her shoulder and stood on his own to face them. When Evoni protested, he hushed her gently. “It’s alright. I can manage.” Nervousness spiked in her, slashed with fear. He gave her hand a squeeze for reassurance, but the flitting, tremulous sense remained.

Instinctively, he tried to access his vala, but found nothing beyond a whisper of a sense that it was there at all. Strangely, this did not scare him as it once would have. Instead of fear there was merely ... nothing, a peaceful emptiness. The outcome of this meeting would be what it was, and that’s all there was to it.

Reikar stopped ten paces away. “You,” he boomed in a voice like crumbling rocks as he pointed at Aran and then Evoni. “Have been in Sen’dar long enough. Leave, or you will be removed.”

Aran blinked at the Orc’s abruptness. Once, such a thing would have frustrated him, even angered him, but now... “Forgive me,” he said politely. “I was unconscious for many days and under the Masha’s care. I am Aran Sunblade.” He bowed respectfully.

Some of the Orcs behind Reikar scoffed, others grunted. Reikar sneered. “You bring ill times with you, Human, as well as her.” His head jerked in Evoni’s direction, though he didn’t look at her directly. “The runes on her skin are for Orcs only. She is an affront to any who are true Ash’goth! The only reason you are not dead is because of Masha’s insistence you both be spared.”

Evoni shifted uneasily and covered herself with her arms. Aran’s calm wavered a little at seeing her this way. His desire to protect her was strong. He racked his brain for a solution to Reikar; he needed the Orcs - preferably all of them - but in his current state, he could not overpower even one of them, if it came to blows. Taking a deep breath, he relaxed. Trust yourself, a small voice said inside him.

“We do not abide weakness,” Reikar went on to approving mutters from his band of followers. “And you reek of it, Human, as does the Norothi. The Ash’goth must be strong and whole.” The noises of approval got louder. Orcs were beginning to gather in a ring around the confrontation, though none got too close.

Evoni looked at Aran, fear and uncertainty in her eyes. “I was brought here,” Aran told Reikar calmly, “By your warriors, great Chief. I am sorry if I have offended.”

“Your apologies mean nothing,” Reikar retorted, flexing thick fingers at his sides. “If I must, I will revoke my agreement with Masha and kill you. The choice is yours.” The look in his eyes said he wanted nothing more.

“I was asleep for nine days,” Aran explained. “In the gar’ji dreams, else I would have paid my respects, Chief, and my recovery has taken yet more time.”

A few of the Orcs behind the chief glanced at one another, eyebrows raised. Just for a second, but he noticed it.

“That is of no consequence,” the Chief said firmly. Had that been a flicker of doubt in his eyes?

“Is there no way to handle this peacefully?” Aran asked, already knowing the answer. “I have seen enough death for ten lifetimes, Chief. A respite would be nice before the war begins.” If Reikar really had seized power, then he didn’t deserve the title, but Aran used it in the hope of appeasing him.

“War?” Reikar sneered. “What do you know of war, Human?”

“I know it comes,” he replied. “You have seen the storms, felt the tremors. Soon it will be upon us.” More Orcs around Reikar exchanged looks. Aran would give a great deal to know what they were thinking.

“You tell me nothing I do not already know, Human.” Grinning darkly, he reached up to grasp the hilt of his hammer. “I see in your eyes you have made your choice. Very well.” Before he could draw the weapon free, the female next to him put a hand on his shoulder and whispered something in his ear. Whatever she said made him bark a mirthless laugh. “Ha! Yes, that will suffice, Hegra. You wish to stay among us, Paladin? You will perform the Rite!”

Murmurs rippled through the onlookers. Evoni’s hand tightened at his waist, but Aran ignored it. “And what rite must I perform?”

“Rite of combat!” Reikar declared. Some of his warriors grinned eagerly, while others did not look so sure, for some reason.

“Gerrik! Step forward!” An Orc on the Chief’s left took a step. The second biggest after Reikar, he had a mean glare and a massive double-bladed axe on his back.

“Survive two minutes against Gerrik,” the Chief went on. “Or defeat him!” That got a laugh from some of his retinue. “And you will have permission to stay in Sen’dar as long as you want.”

Evoni took a deep breath and looked fearfully at Aran. Meeting her gaze, he smiled and shook his head, telling her not to worry. Gently pulling her hand away from his waist, he unhooked his arm from around her shoulders and stood on his own. No more tests. I have had enough of bloody tests.

Summoning every inch of strength he had, he stepped forward. It was more a shuffle, really, but forward was forward. Gerrik watched him as he approached, much the way a bear would watch a wounded mouse wandering into its den. Aros, I need the vala. I know you have not taken it from me. Show me to it. Gerrik raised a thick eyebrow when Aran made to pass right by him.

“Stop,” he rumbled, putting a hand out to block Aran’s path. “What do you think you’re doing, Human?”

“I have endured enough pain, Orc,” he said softly, turning his gaze up to Gerrik’s face. “I will not suffer you. Step back.” He was quiet calm on the outside. Inside, he was a mountain, looming tall and quiet, but ready to collapse on any who kept him from what needed to be done, vala or no.

No time, but I need them. Yes, he needed the Orcs, but they would need to come on his terms. He would not meet theirs. No time. Nine days wasted.

The big Orc looked down at him for a moment, then nodded and removed his hand before stepping back. A light of respect entered his dark eyes.

“Gerrik!” the chief roared in anger, but Gerrik held his place as Aran came on.

Stopping before the chief, Aran spoke. “I refuse.” Offering nothing more, he held the Chief’s glare until the Orc dropped his eyes. In the streets of Sen’dar, you could have heard a pin drop. “We must talk, Chief,” Aran finally said, making sure to keep respect in his voice. There was no need to undermine the man.

“Yes,” Reikar said slowly. “I think that is wise. Come.”

At that, he turned and led his retinue away, not waiting for Aran, whose legs chose that very moment to give out. If not for Evoni appearing at his side right then, he would have fallen into the dirt. Not the best appearance for a man who just stared down the chief of the Ash’goth.

Evoni helped him along as they followed, leaving behind a cluster of whispering Orcs in the avenue. “You must be mad,” she hissed as she all but carried him. “Any one of them could have knocked you down with a finger! Did that smoke addle your brain?”

Aran grinned. “Probably. It worked though, didn’t it?”

“That remains to be seen,” she replied, keeping her voice low. “We may not survive the day, yet.”

“I think we’ll be alright,” he assured her. “Orcs generally don’t kill you after they’ve invited you in for tea.”

“They might just make an exception for you,” she muttered, though she sounded somewhat mollified.

“I’ve figured him out,” he added after a moment. “Reikar. He just wants what’s good for his people.”

Evoni shot him a strange look. “And how can you know that? Are your powers coming back?”

Aran shook his head. “No, but I just know.”

A half-hour later saw them approaching a large, domed house that had to belong to Reikar. Somewhat bigger than the others around it, the low, spiked structure lay at the end of a street like a huge, spiny turtle. Reikar and his retinue entered, leaving two burly Orcs on either side of the doorway, weapons slanted across chests. The guards let Aran and Evoni through into a large, single room much like the one Aran had been staying in, but ten times the size.

Reikar and the others were off on the right side of the room, unlimbering weapons and hanging them on a stout rack there, or leaving them on the floor nearby. They disrobed, too, baring themselves completely now they were at ease, and then took places on the furs around the fire pit, sitting in a circle. They left a space for Aran and Evoni, directly across the fire from Reikar, who sat cross-legged and gestured with a broad hand for them to sit.

Aran managed to shimmy out of his breeches before sitting down - though he had to lean heavily on Evoni to do it - and Evoni removed her skirt reluctantly before joining the circle with him.

The fire had been lit some time ago, the small pile of thick logs burning low but hot. Reikar’s hard face regarded Aran through the smoke and shimmering haze of heat between them, his features seeming to warp and ripple.

“Forgive me,” the chief said as soon as Aran was settled. “I have deceived you, Anarion. And you, shara.” That last he directed at Evoni.

Aran tensed, and Evoni stared around wildly, looking for the ambush, but Reikar quickly held out a placating hand. “Be at ease, you will not be harmed. I speak of our meeting on the street. I deceived you; I am not claiming the title of Chief of the Ash’goth. Nor will I ever.”

“You needed to see who I was,” Aran said slowly as it all fell together in his mind. “Else you could not trust.”

Reikar nodded. “A warrior is only as true as his actions when he is at his weakest, surrounded by stronger foes. I am glad you understand, Anarion. As for you, shara,” he added for Evoni, “I have a debt to you.” The hard planes of his face looked remorseful, perhaps more so for her than for Aran. She met his gaze for a long moment. Inside, she was a tangle of fear and anger, but hope and relief shone, too. Aran didn’t know which would win out.

“There is no debt,” she said finally. “You only mean to protect your people. I would have done the same.”

Respectful nods came from the others in the circle as they heard Evoni’s words. “My thanks, shara,” Reikar said gratefully. “You display honour worthy of the Ash’goth. Our clan is stronger for having you.” More nods from the other Orcs. After a moment, Reikar returned his attention to Aran. “There is much we must discuss, Anarion, if you will.” When Aran nodded, eager to move things along, Reikar asked the Orc next to him to pour something called ‘vash.’ The statuesque female rose immediately, and Aran couldn’t help but notice her firm, strong body, fit yet well-curved in the right places.

He thanked her when she returned a few moments later and put a large clay mug in his hand. Made for an Orc, the mug was far too large for him to hold comfortably, so he took a sip and rested it on the floor in front of him. The drink appeared to be some sort of spirit, strong yet flavoured with spices and herbs. Heat slid down his throat and into his belly, where it began to radiate outward pleasantly. Next to him, Evoni appeared to enjoy hers too; she met his eyes and smiled.

Once everyone had a mug and the Orc woman had settled back down, Reikar spoke. “The Masha has spoken of your arrival for some time, Anarion. We anticipated it, for we knew the End was coming.”

Aran nodded. “The Masha is a powerful being. Her spirit glows.” He remembered seeing her through his vala for the first time. In many ways, she resembled an arohim, though she had not the vala.

“Yes,” the Orc to Evoni’s right agreed. Earlier, Aran had heard Reikar call her Hegra. She was pretty, with big, morning-grey eyes and long black hair in dozens of thin braids that fell loosely over her shoulders. Except for the myriad scars criss-crossing her pale green skin, she reminded Aran of Sorla. “She is very old, and very wise. She guides us and teaches us.” His eyes found hers for a moment and her lips curved briefly before his attention was brought away.

“In less urgent times,” Reikar said, “We would feast you, Anarion, and share tales of glorious victories and bitter defeats, but we sense that your time here is short.”

“Thank you, Reikar,” Aran returned. “Your hospitality sounds enticing, indeed, but you are right; I must be moving on as soon as I am able, and so must your people.” He braced himself for protest from the Orcs, but none came. In fact, every one of them merely nodded soberly. Aran could hardly believe it; a people that would come to him freely, without needing to be convinced, conquered or cajoled? He almost wanted to laugh with joy! He kept his face smooth, though; the Orcs were going to be leaving their home to fight in a battle that might see them all dead. That thought put paid to his momentary jubilation.

“Yes,” Reikar said with a tone of finality. “What must be done, must be done. The Sun cannot be stopped with axe or bow or sling. It rises and falls, caring not for the whims of those who walk in its glow.” He stared at Aran for long moments before continuing. “There is a prophecy among my people. It says that the Ash’goth will be led from Sen’dara not by an Orc, but by a man who carries the Blade of the Sun. The Masha has seen your sword, Anarion. She showed it to me while you slept. She says in your hands, it glows like the dawn of a hundred suns.”

“He will come from the West,” Hegra whispered suddenly. “And for eight nights he will dream. On the ninth, he will awake bearing the marks of the chief, and he will lead them from Sen’dara.”

Every eye turned to Aran as Hegra fell silent. He was stunned. They wanted him to be their chief? Surely, Reikar was more suited to that role, and Aran had much more to do on his own, yet. There simply wasn’t time to lead a clan of Orcs as well. “I ... am honoured,” he said finally. “But with respect, I think your prophecy may be misinterpreted, friends. I do not bear these marks of your clan. Perhaps another is meant to be your chief.”

Around the fire, heads swung. “This,” Hegra said as she reached across Evoni to point at his chest. There was a scar, there, the skin still pink and puckered. He had taken the wound in the gar’ji dreams, fighting off a horde of Heralds if he remembered correctly. The scar was two slanting, parallel lines just below his left collarbone, with a third line crossing through them. “Is gar’morna. One who has died.”

“And this,” the big male on Aran’s left rumbled as he pointed to Aran’s left arm where he’d taken a roughly circular burn just above the elbow, “Is gar’infa’tarn. One who remembers.”

Aran looked down at his own body, for the first time really seeing the scars he’d taken in the dream. The pink, still-healing patterns on his chest, legs, arms and midriff stared back at him, badges of his painstaking journey to reclaim his meldin. There were more on his back, too.

One by one, Orcs pointed and explained what the scars meant, until finally they fell silent, watching him gravely. Nine scars, nine different patterns. Some of the Orcs had identical designs painted on their skin. Reikar had no fewer than four, more than any of the others.

As if reading his thoughts, the big Orc spoke. “We have no chief, unlike other clans,” he explained. “Some think that foolish, that it makes us weak, but that is not the truth. We are circular, but we must have direction.” He pointed to a rune on his chest, where a circle was pierced by a thin, straight line. Aran had the matching scar on his own chest. “That is your purpose, your obligation to us, Anarion. You are the spear that will guide us forward.”

“Yes,” a new voice said as Masha strode in from outside. All eyes turned to the almost impossibly lush Orc as she moved to stand behind Reikar, directly opposite Aran. As bare as everyone else in the room, she regarded Aran for a moment before saying more. “All that is left is the ritual of the gift.”

Aran’s eyebrows rose. “Ritual?” These Orcs had more rituals than the Emerin Forest had trees! Still, he kept his silence; this was an important time for the Ash’goth. A thousand years they had waited for him; he would honour their rituals. “What gift do you require, Masha?”

“You must give our clan a child. Your child.” It was not a request. Masha looked down at him imperiously where she stood. It was all Aran could do to maintain his composure. Evoni looked as surprised as he felt inside, her cobalt eyes wide and her mouth open.

“It is the way of old,” Masha continued as she walked slowly around the circle until she was standing behind him. She settled to her knees and placed her hands on his shoulders. “Upon being raised, the chief must always provide at least one child to the clan, to keep our blood strong.”

“We have not had a chief for long years,” Reikar added. “And you have the strongest blood of all, Anarion. Hegra has volunteered as the mother.” Aran met Hegra’s eyes, soft, open, even eager. “She is a strong warrior, and as loving as she is fierce. An excellent choice. The Ash’goth stand behind her.”

He took a deep breath. How will Sorla feel if I give a child to another Ash’goth woman? He had hoped to one day have a child with her, if that’s what she wanted. As he did with all his meldin. Induin and Liaren carried his babes, and thinking of them always swelled his heart with pride and joy. He wanted the same for the others, too.

“I sense conflict in you, Anarion,” Masha said softly, putting her face close to his. Her soft hair fell down over his back and across his chest, sending tingles across his skin. Her earthy, feminine scent filled his nostrils. “What troubles you?”

“There is another Ash’goth whom I love, far from here. Her name is Sorla Kargen. I had hoped for her to be the one.” Next to him, Evoni smiled sympathetically and touched his knee. Hegra cast her eyes down, looking disappointed. Aran wanted to apologise, but didn’t even know where to begin. Some memories of how to handle the Ash’goth and their sense of ceremony would not go amiss, Aros, he thought with a tinge of irritation. The last thing he wanted was to offend them, but Sorla...

“Ah,” Masha said knowingly. “Your fears are unfounded, I believe. I do not remember the name, but if she is true Ash’goth, she will accept - perhaps even encourage - this union of chief and clan.”

“Truly?” Aran asked.

Heads nodded all around in confirmation. Aran was either going to have to refuse outright or trust them. I need them. The world needs them. Hoping he was making the right choice, he nodded. “Then I accept.”

Hegra’s face brightened, her eyes shining in the light of the flames. “Then we will begin,” Masha said at once. Standing, she invited Aran to do the same. When he was on his feet - wobbling only slightly - she turned him to face her. He looked up into her eyes, into the infinite depths of wisdom he saw there. “This is for honour,” she told him as she cupped his face in her hands and bent to press her mouth to his. Her lips were soft, lush, yet firm and insistent. Her lush body was warm, her skin like silk, her titanic breasts enveloping his chest. The kiss took some time, and when she released him, another female Orc turned him to his right.

“This is for blood,” she said firmly as she seized him much more directly than Masha had, pressing herself against him and planting her mouth over his. Her tongue demanded his lips part, and he allowed it, kissing her back with the same ferocity.

A flicker of warmth started in his belly, making him want to smile. The vala was coming to life! No sooner had the kiss finished than another was turning him. This time it was Evoni, her beautiful face alight with desire, hope and passion. “This is for love,” she announced tremulously before surging forward. He met her hot embrace eagerly, their skin slapping together as their bodies clashed. Again, his vala flickered, but this time it settled into a steady pulse, growing stronger by the second. The Orcs watched silently, unmoving.

Once Evoni reluctantly relinquished her hold on him, another stepped in, and then two more after that, until he was standing before Hegra. With his vala back in his control, he opened it enough to feel into her. She had the spirit of a warrior and the heart of a mother. He found himself smiling as he aligned with her. She gasped as the vala enveloped her. Recognition dawned on her face as the sense of knowing Aran took over, as if they’d been close for years.

Next, he surrounded them all, the entire room. Sharp breaths echoed simultaneously as the souls of the Orcs were laid bare to him, and his to them. This was a strong a union as he could make without melding them.

“This is for hope,” Hegra whispered before gently stepping forward. He folded her into his arms and tilted his face up to hers. She moaned softly as their lips met, as if she were kissing a lover she had long yearned for, but been apart from. In truth, that was exactly how it felt for Aran, too. Such was the gift of aligning.