We always fight.
The world pushes back upon us constantly. It swings its steel, lets fly its arrows and
casts its stones.
I have seen men and women lay down their weapons and fall to their knees. They say,
“I cannot go on.” They refuse to engage the world any more.
And the world wins. It takes them. Reclaims them. And they are no more.
Never let yourself stop fighting.
You must survive.
The smoke of the funeral incense hung in the air, stinging Brex’s eyes.
He wanted to step outside and take a deep breath, but that would betray a weakness he couldn’t afford to show. Like so many other summer afternoons, the air inside the tent hung over his skin, pulling the sweat out of his verdant orcish skin. But this time, it felt especially oppressive.
He tried to focus on the glyphs he carved into the wood of his enchanting plate. A familiar spell. Something to do with his hands and his mind while he waited.
“You should learn to hunt,” Tiyash said from over his shoulder, watching him work.
“I don’t need to hunt,” Brex said. “We have other hunters. We don’t have other sorcerers.”
Tiyash paused. “Brex, they don’t want sorcer–”
“I know!” Brex snapped, then caught himself. “I’m…I’m sorry. Things are difficult, right now.”
Tiyash nodded. “I just think that, with your rites coming so soon, you’d do well to have those skills.”
“The rites will be delayed. They always are.” Brex bit his lip. “And they have to honor grandfather’s wishes, no matter who gets picked.”
Tiyash sat down next to Brex and put her hand on his knee. He managed to tear his gaze away from the enchanting plate and look over her again.
Tiyash was one of the lighter members of the clan, but she was no less capable. She had to be strong enough to carry her equipment, after all. She wore fragments of her kills as wardrobe, boar hides, lion pelts, and plenty of sharpened weapons made from bones. Brex considered himself fortunate that one of the better hunters in the clan had become his friend, and he always thanked her for letting him test new spells on her equipment.
“He was a good man. A paragon of our kind,” she said, pulling Brex back to the pain of the moment.
Brex’s eyes continued to sting. He blinked away a tear. “Who do you think they’re going to choose?”
“I dunno. Bartok?” He snorted a laugh.
Tiyash tried and failed to hold back a snicker. ”He couldn’t even lace up his boots without help! Can you imagine him trying to lead the clan?”
Brex reached up to his head and pointed his bangs up and to the back to mimic Bartok’s hair, then scowled in an imitation of the absent orc. “I am BARTOK, and I say NO MORE BOOTS FOR WARRIORS.”
They both laughed and leaned back in their chairs. Tiyash wiped sweat from her brow. “All right, what about Xora?”
Brex shrugged. “She’s smart, but she’s not very intimidating at the negotiating table, right?”
“No. But she can talk circles around the other chiefs. Intimidation is overrated.”
“What about Kulük? She’s got the same bag of tricks and the muscle to back it up.”
“She said that she doesn’t want the responsibility. She won’t take the cloak if it’s offered to her, no matter what the others think.“
Brex sighed. He saw it on Tiyash’s face. The question she was about to ask. He knew the answer, but he didn’t want to say it aloud. He didn’t want to have to confront that reality.
“Brex, what if they choose y–”
The thunderous drums from outside the tent carried the rhythm to call them back to the assembly. The two of them glanced at each other, and Brex put away his enchanting plate in his bag before they stepped out of the tent to meet with the rest of the clan. Dozens of orcs gathered around the center of the plateau, all circling the shaman as they waited to hear the news.
The shaman had long ago cast away her name in place of her title, claiming that she could hear the Guardians of the land better than anyone else, and her given name only served to distance her from them. Brex couldn’t refute her claim, if only because the nature of proving or disproving them was impossible, and that left him uncomfortable. Sorcery, while still not entirely explored, was much more tangible to him.
“My fellows, the time for mourning has passed. Chief Grotuk’s soul has taken his place among our ancestors. We find ourselves without a leader. The elders of the clan have debated. They have considered possible candidates, both by blood…” She paused to let her gaze linger on Brex for a second, “and by deed,” she said as she turned around to watch someone Brex couldn’t spot. “And they have reached a conclusion.”
She held out the chief’s cloak and bowed her head. “The elders have chosen Kotak Ushmar as our next chief.”
Brex felt his mouth drop open in shock.
Kotak? Kotak is the new chief?
“Brex, wasn’t he…” Tiyash let the rest of her sentence drop, considering the swarm of the public around them. But Brex nodded.
Kotak emerged from the crowd, his broad frame swaying as he strode toward the shaman. While neither the strongest, nor the fastest of the clan warriors, Kotak was certainly the shrewdest in battle.
He lowered his head and knelt before the shaman as she wrapped the cloak around him. Whispers flew around Brex, wondering in hushed voices about the morality of the choice. The shaman and Kotak had a relationship that was hardly a secret, even if they refused to confirm it in public. And while the shaman was one of the elders of the clan, would the other three really stand by and agree that this was correct, especially if Chief Grotuk had advised they chose someone else?
Brex ran his thumb over a scar on his hand without thinking, instead remembering the day that Kotak bested him in a duel, despite allowing the smaller orc to use sorcery as his weapon.
The more he thought about Kotak as chief, the more he became convinced that this was nepotism, not wisdom.
“Well,” Tiyash said from beside him. “At least it’s not you, right?”
A bubbling mixture of jealousy and ire sprang forth from within Brex. “Right. At least it’s not me.” He found himself balling his hands into fists.
Kotak began a speech about promising to lead the clan to a new era of prosperity, but Brex found himself immediately disinterested, tuning out the words.
This had already gone so differently than he expected. He’d planned to show his shock at being chosen for chief, then don the cloak in front of everyone before speaking with the elders about how he felt unable to handle the responsibility. They’d appoint a new chief, and Brex could go back to studying sorcery like before. It was going to be difficult, but he was prepared for that.
But Kotak.
He’d never been prepared for Kotak.
Someone tapped him on the shoulder. The shaman, who had blended back with the crowd.
“The new chief wishes to speak with you privately after the ceremony has finished,” she said, glancing in Tiyash’s direction.
Brex slid his finger over the ring on his hand anxiously. “Fine.”
After the speech, everyone but Brex and Kotak departed for their homes.
The new chief nodded at Brex, gesturing for Brex to follow as he walked back toward his tent.
After passing by a guard standing at the entrance to the chief’s residence, Brex found himself alone with Kotak.
Brex crossed his arms and waited for Kotak to begin. The new chief, at his rather immense height, kept the hem of his new cloak off the ground by several inches. If Brex wore it, the thing would be dragging dirt and dust everywhere with him.
“They wanted to choose you, Brexothuruk,” Kotak said, holding his hands behind his back, the posture pushing his chest out. Brex hated hearing his full name, especially from someone with arbitrary authority over him.
“So why didn’t they?” Brex asked.
“Because in the eyes of the clan, you are not an adult. You have not completed your rites, and you cannot hold a position of authority within the clan because of that.”
“Thank you.” Brex looked down at the ground. “May I go now?”
“No,” Kotak’s voice boomed with the single word, paralyzing Brex. “Your rites have been delayed for too long.”
“I need more time to prepare and develop my skills,” Brex interjected. “Sorcery is not as simple to master as wielding a spear or a hammer–“
Kotak furrowed his brow and cut Brex off with his words. “You have seen more than twenty summers, and you’ve had many opportunities to prepare for them. It’s time you joined the clan as an adult.”
A shiver ran up Brex’s spine. “If I do it now, I might die out in the wilds.”
“Then it is better you fall to a noble death than carry the shame of a child who refuses to accept responsibility. You have had more than enough time, and stories of your incompetence have spread to the other clans.”
Brex stood speechless before Kotak, heart pounding so hard he thought it would burst from his chest.
“Your rites begin at the third dawn from today. Bring back the hide of a savannah lion, or you will no longer be welcome among us. Take the time to learn and prepare. I will send some experts to assist you with learning necessary skills.”
“…Necessary…skills?”
“You are dismissed, Brexothuruk,” Kotak said, turning back toward his desk and looking down at the documents laid upon it. Scribbled notes on trade agreements in Grotuk’s handwriting, next to lists of families and occupations for members of the clan. All relevant to the daily life of the clan’s Chief.
Without another word, Brex turned and left the tent, his stomach turning itself over as he thought about what his future held.
It had barely been a few moments when Tiyash jogged toward him from behind another tent.
“What happened? What did he say?” she asked. Brex bit his lip. “My rites start in three days.”
Tiyash brought her hand to her mouth and muttered something unintelligible, eyes widening. “Three days?” she asked, after a moment of shock.
Brex nodded. “If you’re still offering lessons, I’d like learn how to hunt.”
She sighed and glanced out at the savannah. “Well, first rule, always watch out for the bloodmane.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“For good reason,” Tiyash said.
It’s said that the lion has killed a dozen of our finest warriors, simply because they did not understand their own limits when attempting the kill. The lion picks out their weaknesses and exploits them, whether they are flatfooted, have a dull mind, or lack endurance.
The bloodmane never remains in the same territory. We’ve seen it in all kinds of habitats around our plateau, and it always appears to travel alone, with no pack suitable to accompany it.
Even after we count the number of orcs it has killed, there are more it has managed to injure, forcing them to leave the clan and seek healing in one of the cities, living a life like no orc should be forced to.
The lion itself is nearly twice the size of the average beast in the savannah, and you should consider yourself lucky if you spot its red mane before it finds you.
It’ll give you time to run.
As Tiyash finished telling Brex about the lion, she laid out a cloth and placed various tools and blades on it.
“If we’ve only got three days, then we’re using them wisely. I’ll show you how to hunt and track as best I can today, and then you’ve got a pair of the warriors coming in to show you how to defend yourself from any hostile races in the area, if you run into them.”
Brex just looked down at the spread of trinkets before him without responding to her.
Tiyash narrowed her gaze. “You should really listen to them. They’ll explain just what part of the body to hit with an axe, even if you can barely lift it.”
The other orc just continued staring, eyes unfocused.
“And then they’ll show you how to peel an orange and wear it as a hat.” Tiyash frowned. “Brex, pay attention.”
“I am,” Brex said. “I’m just…not optimistic, all right?”
Tiyash reached over and grabbed Brex’s chin, forcing him to look at her. “No, Brex. It’s not ‘all right.’ Going out there with the idea that you’re going to get killed is gonna finish you off faster than any poorly-made trap or bad mating call.”
“I just–”
“I’m not going to let you sit and wallow when we could be giving you a decent chance at finishing your rite. I want to see you come back with that hide.”
Tiyash’s cheeks grew darker, and Brex found himself feeling flushed as well.
She continued. “If you don’t want to pay attention and learn how to track beasts for your own sake, fine, but do it for the memory of your mother and father. Do it for me.”
Brex hesitated, then nodded and offered a weak smile. “Fine. But only for the three of you.”
They spent the rest of the day together, Tiyash showing Brex the basics of hunting, tracking and laying traps, particularly for large predators. When they left the plateau to hunt some game, Brex learned the application of those techniques, though mostly by watching Tiyash catch and release both a hyena and a wild boar.
As much as he wanted to learn and master the techniques he saw, Brex felt it was all too much, and hid behind a veneer of hopefulness whenever Tiyash leveled an optimistic comment at him.
When they reached the plateau again, about to part ways, Tiyash grew solemn.
“Brex, I have seen a few prides while hunting. The lions won’t attack you if you don’t threaten them, but if you provoke one, you could end up facing them all.” She brought her knuckle to her lip. “I…I know that the orcish way is to accept the challenge, but as a hunter and your friend, just find an outcast from the pride and kill it quickly. No one has to know, and I want to see you come back.”
Brex nodded. “I…Thank you, Tiyash. I will remember that.” He gave her an attempt at a hopeful smile, but he couldn’t say for sure whether she believed it.
An idea struck him. “Ti,” he said, glancing around to make sure they were out of earshot. “If this whole thing goes wrong, could you…could you sneak out and help me? We could kill it and skin it together.”
Tiyash bristled, looking down at the ground. “Brex, I…” “Only if I really need it?”
“Brex, the punishment for interfering with someone’s rites is exile. I can’t risk that. Not with Papa in the shape he is.”
Brex fell his stomach drop and heaved a sigh. “Oh. All right.” He bit his lip. “Sorry to bring it up. Have a good night.”
Tiyash nodded, still without looking at him. “You as well.”
They parted ways, and Brex found himself drifting back toward his own tent without thinking. He sat himself down, picking up his quill and ink, writing down everything he could remember about what he had learned that day.
He had only started scribbling his recollection of Tiyash’s lion-hunting advice when Kotak stepped into his tent. Brex instinctively stood up as the new chief entered, and hated himself for it, holding back a wince.
“Brexothuruk,” the chief said, hands behind his back as he took a step forward.
“Please, Kotak, just call me Brex,” he said. “Can I…offer you something to drink?” Customary, and completely out of obligation. He didn’t want a single drop of his mead going to Kotak.
“But Brexothuruk is your name, isn’t it?” Kotak asked, moving past Brex to explore his improvised library. Books on sorcery in various states of disarray stacked on top of each other and tools for practical applications thereof leaned against heavy, solid furniture. At least, what little Brex had, namely a cot and a desk with a chair. “A philosopher, wasn’t he? One of the earliest.”
Brex furrowed his brow. “Yes. My parents found his ideals inspiring enough to name me after him.” Kotak knew this. He remembered being by Kotak’s side when they both learned it from Brex’s family.
There was something in the way Kotak held himself. He’d always been proud, but this felt more presentation than conversation.
“He was very critical of the arcane methods of sorcery, even for an orc.” Kotak picked up a book on illusions and feigned thumbing through it. “Your parents tolerated your exploration in this field. We all still do. Have you never had second thoughts, Brex?”
Of course he had. Of course he’d spent hours laying in his bed wondering if this was worth it, if the natural talent with studying glyphs and spells was enough to justify learning as much as he could instead of spending his days sparring with warriors or sneaking the plains with the hunters. He’d even considered giving up the arcane and learning the ways of the shaman, like some kind of bastard version of a sorcerer, crying out to Guardians he didn’t believe in.
But Kotak couldn’t know that. “Never.”
“And you continue to piss on the legacy of your family by learning the tools that gave them a dishonorable death.”
Brex kept quiet. Responding to that would only mean springing a trap. He just glared at Kotak, who stood across the tent from him, dropping the tome to the ground and kicking it aside. The cover flew open and Brex drew breath in worry as the pages creased.
“It is not easy to condemn an orc to death,” Kotak said, his face grave. “But I do this because the late Chief Grotuk was too lenient with you and your habits, Brexothuruk.”
The sorcerer tried not to react to the casual reference of his grandfather’s death. It was all still fresh in his mind, sitting by his grandfather’s side and hearing his rambling, but Brex’s expression must have given away his pain, because Kotak continued.
“I have come to console you and explain the need for what you feel are such drastic measures.”
Brex kept still, wishing that he could just hide behind a meaningless expression. So Kotak would leave and let him grieve. He didn’t want to show weakness in front of the orc that would send him to his death.
“You must learn, Brexothuruk, that your grandfather’s coddling has hurt your growth as a true member of our clan. It was foolish to allow you to seek knowledge in spells designed to kill our kind.”
Brex bit his lip. He knew what was coming. “Including your parents,” Kotak said.
“Chief, as a gor-sha, I request solitude,” Brex said, mustering all the power that he could. Grotuk would understand when he used the traditional phrasing for an unproven youth in the clan, and usually acquiesce.
“And as an adult to a child, I deny your request,” Kotak said. “Your mother and father had a grand legacy behind them, and you are their sole offspring, casting aside all of that for whimsy and wonder from books and fools. You don’t seek the wisdom of the Guardians and you ignore the arts of battle. And with late Chief Grotuk’s departure, it falls to me to force you to take your rites. It is a difficult decision, but we cannot have an orc that holds evil ways so close to his heart in our clan. I will not allow it as chief.”
Kotak brushed past Brex. He felt a longing for days gone by, when he wouldn’t have been so easily swept aside.
There was a time when they would spend entire days on the mesa together. Where their skin would press against each other, it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. When they would pick fruit together, hold each other, fall asleep together. When they would kiss in their most private moments. But that felt like long ago.
Before the bodies of his parents were returned.
Before Kotak forced Brex to choose between sorcery and his own affection.
Before Brex made a choice that dissolved whatever romance he’d found.
Before Kotak’s vow to never reconcile for a sorcerer’s disgrace.
“Kotak, don’t do this just because I chose to study instead of–”
The chief spoke over Brex. “Put your juvenile desires aside and learn the ways of the orc. I would rather see you return as an adult than die as a gor- sha, but even that is better than the pittance you are now.”
Kotak left before Brex could respond. He slid his finger over the ring on his other hand and sat back down at his desk, but he found nothing else to record on parchment.
Instead, he pulled a book from one of his shelves and opened it at his desk, reading by candlelight. A Beginner’s Guide To Understanding Sorcery, Vol 1. He flipped open the cover and found the handwritten note on the inside.
For Brex,
May your wit be as sharp as a hunter’s best arrows.
Love, Mama, Papa, and Grandpapa
He read and re-read the note, only realizing that tears were falling from his cheeks when one landed on the page. In a hurry, he closed the book and pushed it away, extinguishing the candle.
Brex laid himself in bed and tried to sleep.
He remembered the family he once had, that could not be brought back.
He dreamed of the Kotak he once knew, before he sentenced Brex to death.
Orcanist 