“Dash Kar msh awka zak erld fel dush, Ok.” Eobum’s voice was firm and sure. (Stay your hunger for death and speak your long tale, Sister.)
“Aehe erld zak ed Ok?” Her voice was rich and sweet—the sound of shallow creeks where water raced over loose stones and wind made the trees sigh. (Why do you call me Sister?) She made her voice polite and distant—a diplomatic tone that served to make her intriguing rather than icy.
Eobum heard a figure moving up behind him and to his left. He also heard that figure pause mid-step at the woman’s last question. That—much as anything else—confirmed for him that Fenglem had indeed rousted his other brother, Haiga, to join them. It also meant that Fenglem was still seated by the fire. His eldest brother would keep a watch as the visiting wretch of a nobleman still slept.
While Eobum would’ve preferred the slightly older Fenglem’s equilibrium for a meeting such as this, he knew the value of familiarity. When the young man woke up (whether with a start or after some restful sleep didn’t much matter), seeing a familiar face would prevent him from being spooked. Even one he would undoubtedly refer to as “Orcish filth” would go far to stop him from doing something foolish.
“Ng?” Haiga’s voice, behind him and to his right. (Elder?)
Eobum held up a hand in token of peace, then turned it so it ushered the new arrival to sit beside him. For his part, he kept his eyes on the woman sat before him.
He did his best to shake off the fascination that her countenance brought about in him and, with an effort, succeeded.
Now that his eyes had adjusted to the relative dark, the fire some thirty-odd yards behind him, she nearly glowed against the dim backdrop of the forest. Her face, throat, undersides of her forearms, and the entirety of her hands shone a deep, luminous gold. Being so far from the fire and with the night being so cold, there was nothing to give the flesh any form of sheen, so its luster came from an inner glow—an inner fire, a more poetic man might’ve said. The upper portion of her forearms, the sides, and, he had no doubt, the back of her neck, as well as perhaps her scalp in the uppermost portions of her forehead, were a deep blue the color of a midday sky with no clouds to mar it. Her eyes, too, held that midday blue shade. Her hair was long and uncharacteristically flowing for her kind. Its color called to mind the deep blue of dusk over the Sea of Heroes to the west.
“Ed Eobum,” said he. “Ed lg, Lakkrid.” He gestured back toward his left, where the boy lay curled under a cloak and layers of hide beneath the same ash tree the pair had eaten beneath earlier that night. “Lakkrid nak, ol, awka ed vra, Ok.” (I am Eobum. My son, Lakkrid. He is clever, quiet, and my heart, Sister.)
“Erld lg Lakkrid? Gnoerk?” (Your son Lakkrid? An Orc?)
Eobum nodded.
“Ed lg awka Gnoerklg—Suruklg Istjuk.” (My son and an Orcish son—Suruk of Istjuk’s son.)
She turned sharply at that, looking to Eobum’s right where Haiga sat. Eobum did not turn to follow her gaze to the grey-skinned youth but did gesture to him with his right hand as he spoke once more.
“Haiga... ed Nk Istjuk.” (Haiga... my brother from Istjuk.)
“Haiga Nalgish,” said Haiga. “Eobum nainak, awka mak lash el shrash awka ol shrig Istjuk. Ed, Fenglem, Lakkrid, awka Eobum. Istjuklg.” (Haiga of the Dark Beginning. Eobum was very clever, and by the moon’s light, we silently escaped the conquest of Istjuk. I, Fenglem, Lakkrid, and Eobum. Sons of Istjuk.)
“And so, you call me sister in equality … and from a place of respect.” She nodded, having spoken the Trade Tongue for the first time before them. What was more, her mastery of it was clear, suggesting she were not from an isolated area. “I will speak in this tongue out of that same respect.”
Eobum bowed his head for just a moment in deferential gratitude. When he raised it again and met her eyes, his expression was one of cool neutrality. He’d left obvious deference to languish in his lap.
“You have my thanks, Sister.”
“Lashjuk,” said she, a name that meant either Golden Core or Center or Gift of the Center when translated from Grimdash Zaksh into the trader’s tongue.
“Very well,” Eobum said. “You know my name, and the kind speech of my younger brother has told you some of our tale. Is it enough that you’ll tell us yours? The young noble asleep by my fire has offered a meager explanation, but the truth lies somewhere between his tale and yours.”
“So, you would side with your own kind, then.” Her tone suggested disappointment but no surprise.
“That isn’t what I said.”
“It is,” said she. “You look for an excuse to justify siding with your fellow human and look to me to provide it.” She shook her head in disgust. Her tone remained neutral, but her eyes had grown cold. “I’ll be plain so we can race along to the moment you deny my request then, shall I…” Her words conveyed a question that neither her eyes nor her timbre asked.
Eobum felt rather than heard Haiga tense to his right. Beyond awareness of that fact, he paid his brother very little mind. Collecting his thoughts, he first bowed his head, then lifted it to meet her eyes.
“You mistrust me.” This statement held no anger, nor did Eobum sound affronted. “You have every right—every reason—to expect mistreatment to be waiting for you behind each bend in the road. Hai Fel Lok Lo. After centuries of hearing that song? Aye, that’s fair.” Hai Fel Lok Lo was an old Gnoerkish spiritual song. It meant The Far Conqueror’s Hand and was sung by the Gnoerks pressed into military service by the empire’s well-heeled. Such Gnoerks hadn’t been slaves, strictly speaking, but they were treated little better than livestock capable of speech.
She didn’t respond even visually. No nod of the head, no further glare or scowl rose to the surface at his words.
“It’s gone on for so long that Gnoerkish anger has become the norm. Gnoerkish anger often becomes the first thing Venzene children see when they meet someone of black blood.” His tone was flat and simple.
“And so our mistrust and anger do what? Do they deepen the divide? Is that it?”
“Aye, they do.”
She nodded. The once-music of her voice had now moved from the neutral-and-diplomatic. Now it called to mind a mouthful of sour fruit. As she spoke, her lips drew together around her lower tusks. This forced her words out of a space too tight to admit the polite song of easy conversation, adding to the sense of bitterness.
“Well, master, forgive my ignorance, and thank you for taking the time to teach me the truth of my mistakes. Perhaps I should lay myself down and give of my body to you, or give my sons over… Perhaps that would make amends for our unwarranted anger and frustration, our mistrust, and the ill placed blame for our misfortune.”
“You mistake me.”
“And now you dance away from the spot you put yourself on.”
“Not at all. You asked if your anger and mistrust deepened the divide. I answered honestly. They do. That makes them no less justified.”
She made her face flat, drawing it long. Her eyes bore a look of incredulity that was impossible to misread.
“Humans are unique among the peoples of the world,” said Eobum. “We’ve never met a creature we don’t seek to conquer. We enslave ourselves almost as often as we enslave others, but that isn’t just cold comfort. It’s no comfort at all.” He paused, fighting the urge to stand up and walk away—anything to avoid making a speech.
Leading men on the field or in some task—that he could do … and with ease. But this? This was too much like the horrors of court. He’d seen small versions of it in the command tents and camp courtyards of those who’d hired him over the years. There’s always too much talking—too much blather. Too much self-important lecturing and outright lies. The whole affair tended to turn his stomach.
Lashjuk continued to look at him, adopting body language that made her look like a cat sizing up a bird or mouse before pouncing. Under her penetrating, predatory gaze, he spoke again in spite of himself.
“Gnoerks have been belittled, enslaved, prized, and pushed to be as warlike and brutal as their would-be masters are pleased to imagine. You cannot trust every person you meet, no matter their heritage, of course, but no matter my past, I’m human. You have every reason to mistrust me, and every other man you meet, or woman for that matter, if their blood’s anything other than black.”
“But?” Her voice had turned wary now.
“But nothing.”
“But nothing…” Now she’d grown distant, full of obvious disbelief.
“When you walk behind or near a horse, and the horse kicks at you, you might become wary of that particular horse. When every, or nearly every, horse you come across tries to kick you, you face injury or death, or you learn not to go near horses. After centuries of enslavement, either bought and sold on blocks or accounted free so long as you please your lord or lady… most Gnoerks can spot a horse, even by moonlight.”
She kept a wary silence, nodding.
“I won’t waste my time telling you whether to trust me. Nothing I say—nothing anyone says is enough on its own to justify trust. Words are just that.”
He paused for a moment to see whether she would speak. When she didn’t appear ready to, he offered one final word on the matter. “You may go, you may stay, you may tell us your tale, or you may keep your silence. I have no quarrel with you, nor do any of mine. The young nobleman is not one of mine. He came staggering, wounded and afraid, into my camp. We fed him, and now he sleeps. You would’ve received the same treatment had you come to us, but I understand why you didn’t.”
She held his gaze, letting the silence ring out before speaking, as if against her better judgment.
“And if I get up and leave your company right now…?”
“I’ll ask you if you need or want any supplies before you go, but otherwise, I’ll bid you a good night and wish you well.”
“And you claim that you will not pursue us.”
“Behind Haiga, to his right, there is a smallish, square tent. Inside, we have prisoners. Raiders that we caught two days a’gone.”
“And what color is their blood, brother?” She emphasized this last word, stopping just shy of sarcasm or insult.
“Red?” He shrugged, then added, “Fenglem was tending to one when you met him. The others are the same.” He paused for a beat, then finished, “You’re welcome to go see if you like.”
“The only black bloods you have in your encampment, then, are your brothers and your boy?”
He nodded, raising his right hand in a half-shrug and half-gesture toward Haiga.
Lashjuk turned her head toward the younger gnoerk, holding him in her gaze for some time. She must’ve seen what she wanted there, or at the least something that satisfied her, for, after a long moment of silence, she nodded once, then spoke anew.
“I will do two things, Eobum of Istjuk.” She paused for a moment, as if considering, then seemed to draw herself up a bit before concluding, “I will tell you my tale, and then I will be on my way. You will do what you think is best, but you will not do it to me.” She held up a hand, not in Eobum’s, but in Haiga’s direction. “Peace, young Haiga, I speak plainly, not out of disrespect.”
Eobum lifted his right hand from his leg in a gesture that made it clear he’d taken no offense. Haiga would mark it, he had no doubt. Looking at the woman, he drank in the magic of her skin and eyes one final time, then closed his own, nodding. “Tell me your tale and then do as you will so long as it doesn’t involve harming me or mine. As I say, if you need food or supplies, we haven’t much, but what we have is yours.”
After a moment of silence, Lashjuk voyaged on her tale. It didn’t take long, but when it was done, Eobum found he was pleased to have heard it. It put several things into perspective for him, giving him much to think about.
