Your fight is different, Brex. You have been taken care of, your whole life. Even when we lost your parents, you were still provided for.
Your fight is not to draw the blood of your enemy, nor to protect those close to you.
You must fight to understand. And to be understood.
Brex’s cheek slammed into the ground as he gave yet another grunt, his borrowed axe slipping from his grip and falling with a thud. He turned over on his back and groaned, splaying his limbs out as he was sure he was dying.
A green-skinned face loomed over him and heaved a sigh.
“Sun’s touching the mesa. We’re done here, squeak.”
The warrior shot out a hand for Brex to grab, but the other orc just waved it off. “I…I’m fine here, thanks,” he said between wheezes.
“Suit yourself.” The warrior took a knee next to Brex’s head. “Listen, I know you’re facing your rites in two days, but trust me on this. Do not get into a brawl with a lion. You’re not gonna last a thirty-count. You got that?”
Brex just nodded, eyes closed.
“You got that hunter friend right?”
“Uh-huh,” Brex grunted.
“Stick with whatever she taught ya. Learn some more if you can.”
“Sure.”
“Sorry fer wastin’ yer time, but the chief wanted me to give you a full day’s training. And I know better than to cross him by cheatin’ you outta that.”
The warrior stood up and Brex opened his eyes, watching as he plucked the axe from the ground as though it were a twig. He turned back to Brex and gave a gruff goodbye.
“Show your strengths in your rites, squeak. Whatever they are.”
Brex just made a noncommittal grunt and sat himself up, looking around the sparring circle that sat in the middle of the camp. He considered himself lucky that he didn’t have to show that ludicrous and embarrassing display of his lack of skill to the rest of the clan. Most of them were out of the settlement for a variety of reasons. Even Kotak was meeting with a diplomat from the neighboring city about trade routes near the clan’s territory.
Brex tried to stand up and immediately fell back on himself, muttering. His legs were sore from the jumping exercises they had started with, meaning that he had the rest of his muscles complaining to look forward to in the evening and the following day.
And so he laid back, his mind awash in anxiety.
How was he going to kill a lion with his complete lack of combat skill? Sure, he could follow Tiyash’s advice and try to catch one, but even she admitted that attacking an outcast of the pride was his best bet.
But attack with what? He was no good with an axe or a blade, as he had the displeasure of finding out earlier. He could try using poison, but without practical knowledge of toxic plants, he could end up with a lion’s hide far too late to return to the clan, if he didn’t manage to kill himself in the process.
He might as well just exile himself now and get it over with.
Brex widened his eyes.
He began to wonder: why was he staying? His grandfather was gone. Kotak was clearly never going to turn around to his way of seeing magic, especially as the new chief. The other orcs in the clan only looked more and more angry with him with each passing week.
So why was he staying?
Tiyash.
She’d stuck with him, especially after his parents were killed. Played surrogate sister to him when Kotak reacted poorly to Brex’s choice to continue studying. And in return she only received the occasional enchanted dagger or jewel to help sharpen her hunting senses.
Reliable as she was, Brex knew she would be fine without him. She’d continue to thrive there. Unlike him.
A plan began to form in his mind. He’d write a letter to Tiyash, explaining his decision, accepting his exile, and he’d journey to the city, where he would start a new life. He would be clanless, but clanless is better than dead.
The orc sat up and listened for eavesdroppers, forgetting that he hadn’t said a word of his plan out loud. Satisfied with his own secrecy, he grunted as he got to his feet and dragged himself back to his tent.
If all went well, he’d be gone before nightfall.
Brex held his bag tight against his side. It was almost impossibly roomy, currently packed with books, but there was no way he would fit his entire library. Just the essentials.
The cold evening air brushed against his verdant skin, and the orc cursed the wind chill as he strode away from the mesa and the encampment. He did find himself thankful for the brightness of the sunset to light his descent toward the nameless city.
He passed through a garden at the edge of the encampment and withdrew a lone metal ring from one of the pockets in his bag, sliding it onto his finger. With a severing spell at his disposal through the ring, Brex gestured toward one of the higher dragonfruit. He felt a slight tug on his senses and the stem sliced itself from the branch, the fruit falling into Brex’s hand.
He nibbled on the dragonfruit as he turned back for one last glance at his former home, starting his descent.
Brex would later appreciate that he didn’t slam into the magical barrier face-first, but rather with his shoulder, which absorbed most of the impact. The fruit fell to the side and rolled down the path without him, hopping over a boulder and out of sight. He still got a little bruised up when the momentum ended up pushing his head, chest, and shoulder into the barrier before knocking him down on his ass. Again.
The orc furrowed his brow, confused and aching as he got back to his feet and reached out. His fingers touched what felt like solid metal, but he could only see the vast expanse of the plains and, in the distance, the city.
Now now, a melodious voice danced in his ear, or maybe within his mind, we can’t have you running off just yet.
Just beyond the barrier, a dust cloud whipped itself up into a vaguely humanoid shape, never quite defining itself to be more than a blur of a torso, limbs, and head.
Adrenaline shot through Brex and he found his hand falling to the dagger at his waist. He winced, scolding himself for thinking it would have any effect on this dust devil.
The cloud tilted its head, placing what was probably its chin on its fist. That’s correct, blades and edges won’t have much of an effect on someone like me.
Brex heard a chuckle, and in a swirl of dust and dirt, the figure reappeared on his side of the barrier, its hands held behind its waist. Of course, I’m only here for a little chat. It’s a shame we had to meet like this. I prefer the debate over a spirit’s existence to be a lively one.
The lips came into focus and moved in time with the words that sprang into his mind, though not quite right. Like the figure was speaking a different language that Brex’s mind could interpret and translate subconsciously.
“Spirit? Does that mean…” Brex asked, a shiver sliding down his skin.
“Correct,” the spirit said with a bow. “Guardian of the Mesa and Savannah, and all those unlucky to have been born here.” With a twirl of dust, it dissipated into the ground and reappeared further away, beckoning the orc forward. “Come with me, there is much to discuss.”
“But…I’m leaving.” Brex gestured at the path to the city.
“That remains to be seen. But if you’d like to have an honest shot at it, follow me.”
Brex weighed his options for a moment, and followed.
They walked in silence, the Guardian’s dusty form striding silently over the dirt and rock, until Brex spoke.
“Guardian, what are we doing?”
The Guardian turned back and Brex thought he spied a wry grin. “Walking.”
“Oh,” Brex said. “I mean, uh, can you clarify what you hope to accomplish by speaking with me?”
“I suppose I could.”
Brex waited for a response, receiving none until he said “…Please?”
“I am the guardian of this range of hills and the surrounding plains, as well as their inhabitants.”
“Guardian? So you protect the animals here?”
“Yes, the flora, fauna, and natural order thereof. Self-imposed duty.”
Brex heaved a groan of realization. “Oh no. The shaman was right.”
The Guardian gave a short laugh. “She’s about as correct as you are, Brexothuruk. She misinterprets what little information I give her, and invents the rest. You believe in some manner of intelligent order to nature, and so does she. Different forms, neither entirely correct.”
Brex sighed, having a little difficulty processing all of that. “Why do you even bother communicating with her at all?”
“When a stray dog appears with a stick and won’t leave until you throw it, wouldn’t you oblige it?”
The Guardian appeared to be moving toward an outcropping of rock that overlooked the savannah.
He decided to try a different question.
“How do you know my name?”
“I know the names of all the animals that belong to my land, including the orckin. I have been cultivating you all, which is why I had to intervene with your little plan to leave. You are clever, Brexothuruk. The problem is that you use your cleverness to execute some incredibly foolish decisions.”
“What’s so foolish about leaving?”
“Oh, little orc, if you leave now, you’ll cause so much more harm than you think. You are incredibly, magnificently unprepared for the world outside of your clan. You would meet a poetically meaningless end if I were to let you leave now.” The Guardian’s form bowed again. “But as I mentioned before: I am the protector of the orckin, among others, and I would like to prevent a wasteful death.”
A wasteful death?
They stopped at the edge of the outcropping, watching the twilight fall upon the savannah at the boundaries of the mesa.
“So if I leave tonight, I’ll die?”
“Well, every mortal’s path leads to that end, but your current path will take you there much faster than you’d like, I imagine.”
Brex sighed, staring out at the vista in front of them.
“A deal, perhaps,” the Guardian said.
Brex quirked an eyebrow. “A deal for what?”
“I cannot stop you from leaving the mesa more than once, as a preventative measure. In exchange for a promise to stay with your clan for two more days, I will…point you in the correct direction.”
“The correct direction of…?”
“Your survival.”
Brex felt another shiver slide down his body upon hearing the echoed words of his grandfather.
Out in the savannah, a lone tree stood defiant among the tall grass.
“All right. I’ll stay for a little longer.”
It grinned toothlessly. “Excellent.”
“Strange as you are, it’s nice to know I have something as powerful as you on my side.”
The Guardian chuckled. “Oh, little orc. Why would you think that, after just these few words, I’m on your ‘side’?”
The Guardian gestured out to the horizon. Brex followed its gaze and arm out to the tree. Just barely, the orc could see a lone, four-legged figure looking back up at him.
A lion with a blood-red mane that glimmered in the twilight.
The orc jumped at the discovery, turning to look back at the Guardian, who had disappeared. He scanned the area, but there was no sign of it. He waved his hand around, looking for some invisible body, but he found nothing.
“Hello?” Brex called out, then sighed. He started to wonder if he’d imagined everything. He waited another moment, as though the Guardian would appear and laugh at him for doubting, just another trick on his mind.
But nothing came.
Maybe I really am losing it.
He looked back toward the savannah in the twilight. The bloodmane was gone.
He considered running again. Just leaving. But the Guardian’s words still lingered with him. With unknown danger beyond the mesa and a ferocious lion ready to eviscerate him during his rites, Brex started piecing together another plan to save his own hide as he strode back toward the encampment.
And as his mind assembled the pieces, he recalled the warrior’s words: “Show your strengths…Whatever they are.”
Just as Brex was settling himself back into his tent after his twilit walk, the shaman strode into his tent without announcement. Uninvited visitors were starting to get tiresome.
“Brexothuruk, the Chiefs of the Range are meeting here tonight,” she said.
Brex tried not to look at her, instead pulling out one of the books he packed from his bag and putting it on the shelf. “So?” he muttered. “I’m not an adult, I can’t attend. It doesn’t matter to me anyway. I have more important things to do.”
The shaman crossed her arms. “I come here not in the interest of either of us, sorcerer.” She spat the words at him. “But for our chief’s.”
He’s not my chief, Brex thought.
“You do not understand the burden that he bears. You may not be allowed to attend, but it’s necessary that you make yourself aware of what is spoken there today.”
Brex tried to pay attention to shelving a tome on natural growth spells instead of the shaman, but couldn’t pry his ears away from her words.
“What you learn may be valuable to your rites,” she said, her usual mystique absent from her tone.
“What could they have to say that would help me?” Brex asked, his fingers slipping around the ring on his hand, anxiously spinning it.
“I believe the Guardians have aligned the events in this particular manner for a reason. You are not a normal gor-sha. Your rites are not typical. The Chiefs do not meet frequently.”
Brex silently cursed his inability to evict her. He swore that if he lived past his rites, he’d toss out his guests as often as he could, just for all the moments like this.
She turned away and stepped to the tent’s exit. “Do not miss this opportunity, Brexothuruk. But do not attempt to interfere with Kotak’s business. I say this not as the shaman, but as his partner: If you are anything but kind to Kotak, I will make sure to punish you for your trespasses personally.”
The tent flap dangled in her absence, leaving Brex alone to grumble about her visit.
He pondered her words again, wondering if this was what the Guardian meant by pointing him in the “correct direction”. Maybe it appeared to her in a vision? It didn’t surprise him that there was a measure of ambiguity to her call to action.
Ultimately, it was probably nothing. It was the shaman seeing something out of the ordinary and mistaking it for divine inspiration, Brex reasoned.
He should have stayed and studied. He should have spent that evening afternoon reviewing everything he needed for the rites. He should have checked that he had all the necessary equipment.
But instead he put on a cloak and left the tent, to see what the Guardian and the chiefs had to say.
Brex did his best to hide among the crowd of orcs watching the chiefs parade through the encampment to Kotak’s new, luxurious chieftan’s tent, where he’d been told about his rites just the day before. There were seven or eight chiefs, by Brex’s guess, men and women in a variety of ages, though it was clear that Kotak was the youngest of all of them. That didn’t stop him from putting up his best appearance, and if they all got in a brawl, Brex would bet on Kotak emerging victorious.
Still, he couldn’t help but feel like he stuck out. No matter where Brex stood, people would turn their head and sneer or glare at him. He never saw Kotak make eye contact with him, though, and took it as a good sign.
The crowd dispersed as all the chiefs dipped into Kotak’s tent, leaving Brex mostly alone, except for a well-built bodyguard at the front of the tent. He gestured his head toward the rest of the encampment, indicating that it was time for Brex to leave too.
And Brex did.
He left to the other side of the encampment, circled around the hastily-built-long-ago wooden fence all the way to the other side. He waited for an opportunity, watching the bodyguard scan his surroundings, and skittered along the inside of the fence until he was out of the larger orc’s sight. It only took a few more careful steps to get within earshot of the meeting.
“Chief Kotak,” a wizened, female voice said, “Thank you for hosting us today.”
“It is my pleasure,” Kotak said, his voice low and smooth against the others.
“The first order of discussion is Chief Taralok’s concerns over the city of Haramsasch being so close to his encampment’s border. Chief Taralok, you mentioned that they were building militia, I believe.”
“It’s true!” one of the older, male chiefs said. “Jaxa, they’ve been firing cannons into the lake! We need to do something to defend ourselves against them. I need at least three squads of warriors to defend my encampment.”
“We can’t provide you with that many warriors based on unsubstantiated claims, Taralok.”
They continued debating for what felt like hours. Brex spent most of his energy on restraining himself from groaning, even looking to pass the time by counting the pebbles around him.
Just as they began discussing the fifth agenda item, a voice popped up in his mind.
This could have been you.
He winced.
If your parents had lived. If you had finished your rites already. It would be you in there, talking with the other chiefs, deciding how many of your people to send to help some old buffoon feel safer at night.
Brex wondered how many decisions put him on his present path. Whether studying sorcery closed as many doors as people told him, or if it was just the lack of an adult heir to the chieftan’s cloak that made people dismiss his prospects. Would they have appreciated him if his mother and father were around to lead the clan?
“Our final matter concerns you, Chief Kotak,” the older woman said. “As I understand it, you have a gor-sha of more than twenty summers in your clan who has yet to complete his rites?”
“Yes, that’s correct,” Kotak said, impersonally.
“I’ve been told that you have a history with this gor-sha.”
“He is not…” Kotak began, searching for the right word. “…Young. We are the same age, but his relation to the previous chief has allowed him to delay his rites indefinitely. We are no longer involved. It has been many seasons since that time.”
“Still, I hope that you will not allow it to cloud your judgement.”
Kotak hesitated. “I would like to seek a special exemption for him.”
“An exemption?” the other chief, Jaxa, said.
“Yes, I do not believe he is fit to complete his rites,” Kotak said.
Brex felt his stomach drop.
“What makes you say that, Kotak?”
“He has chosen to pursue a life dedicated to sorcery, despite its dangers. Perhaps in spite of them. Sorcery took the lives of his family, and still he seeks it out. At best, I believe he is misguided, at worst I believe he is too developmentally challenged to complete his rites.”
“And of the two,” Chief Taralok interrupted, “which do you think is more likely?”
Kotak sighed. “I think he lacks proper judgement, but has no faults within the faculties of his mind.”
“Then he grew up in a clan knowing his rites were coming, and should have learned the skills necessary,” Chief Jaxa said. “We cannot grant an exemption in this case. He must follow the rites of his ancestors.”
“If we send him out to fulfill his rites, then he will die. I’m sure of it,” Kotak said.
“Then he will die an honorable death, rather than carry the shame of an undisciplined child,” Chief Taralok said.
“Chief Kotak, if this gor-sha has not attempted his rites by our next meeting, we may have to consider removing the Ironheart Clan from this union.” Chief Jaxa spoke with hushed insistence. “If we cannot trust you to uphold tradition, then we will not be able to share our resources.”
A pause.
“Understood,” Kotak said. “Thank you for your guidance. Wisdom of the ancestors be with you.”
Brex sat up. The issue was dropped and the chiefs moved to leave, offering pleasantries and well-wishes. Kotak stayed in the tent, though, waiting until they all left and the shaman returned to comfort him.
Brex left when they started to get intimate, unable to bury his jealousy.
That night, he laid in his cot and ruminated over what he had heard.
All I need is for Kotak to think I’ve fulfilled my rites, he thought. If I can just make that happen, the rest of the clan will accept his word and I can stay.
He concocted a plan that evening, and resolved to set into motion by the next twilight. It would take a little bit of luck and a lot of studying, but that was at least something he was familiar with.
After this, I can stay.
Orcanist 