Kraloch gazed eastward, staring off at the distant hills. He sensed someone approaching and turned to see Latuhl.
“Any sight of him?” asked the old Orc.
“Not yet. I hope nothing went wrong.”
“You worry too much. Today is the day of his return. I doubt anything could keep him away.”
Kraloch noted the half-smile. “You know about Zhura.”
“I do,” said Latuhl.
“But you have not spoken to the elders.”
“No. What happens between two Orcs is not the concern of others.”
“But she is a ghostwalker.”
“She is, but is she not also an Orc?”
“Of course,” said Kraloch.
“Which, then, takes priority?”
“You ask me questions for which I have no answer.”
The master of wolves smiled. “It is the advantage of age. A lesson I hope you and your comrade will learn long before you reach my advanced age. Always question why things are the way they are, Kraloch. Only in this way can true change happen.”
“Change? I always thought elders like you wanted things to stay the same?”
“Wherever did you get that idea? We might be set in our ways, but that is a far cry from disliking change. Without change, we would be a stagnant race.”
“How so?” asked the younger Orc.
“We use metal weapons, do we not? Those are not found in nature.”
“Yet the other races still see us as primitives.”
“Ah, yes, the words of Shular. Has she begun your training already?”
“Not formally, for I must complete my own ordeal first. I wish Urgon would hurry, I cannot wait here all day for him.”
“Why?” asked Latuhl. “Have you somewhere else to be?”
Kraloch turned to him, ready to argue the point, but the old Orc’s eyes were locked to the east.
“It appears your friend has deigned to reward us with his presence,” he said.
The younger Orc followed his gaze to where Urgon appeared from over a hill. After watching for a moment, he noted something strange in the way his friend carried himself. Kraloch struggled to make sense of it, and only as Urgon drew closer did he realize the cause.
“Something has happened,” he called out. “He is injured.”
“Fetch Shular while I go and investigate.”
Urgon saw the village as he topped the rise, giving him a needed boost to his waning energy. He noted the familiar sight of Kraloch and saw him run off, no doubt seeking help. Latuhl drew closer, and then Urgon smiled.
“You have made it,” said the master of wolves.
“Not yet,” replied Urgon. “I must set foot within the village once more to complete my ordeal.” He held up his hand as help was offered. “Do not interfere. While I appreciate the offer, this is something I must do under my own power.”
Latuhl noted the pelt. “Is that a mountain cat?”
“It is, the same one that wounded Urzath. It shall trouble us no more.”
“A remarkable achievement. I sense it was a tough fight?”
Urgon grinned. “My arm is evidence of that.”
“How long ago were you wounded?”
“Half a ten-day.”
“But despite that, you did not return for help?”
“And be forced to repeat my ordeal? No, Latuhl, I would prefer to suffer the pain and become a full-fledged hunter.”
“It appears you are much more than that. What hunter would take on a mountain cat single-handedly? Surely an act of bravery to rival our greatest heroes.”
“No,” insisted Urgon, “not an act of bravery, but foolishness. I never should have attempted such a thing. It almost killed me.”
“Even so, you are here to tell the tale. I sense you have gained much from your ordeal.”
“I have indeed.”
They passed the outer huts, making their way to the great firepit. By tradition, the chieftain would be waiting there, and Urgon knew Shuvog to be a great believer in such things.
As Urgon drew closer, other Orcs followed, not only to welcome him but also to gape at his wounds. By the time the firepit came into view, almost the entire village had gathered.
He halted before the chieftain. “I have returned,” he declared.
“So you have,” said Shuvog. “I proclaim you a full-fledged member of the Black Arrows.” She turned to Tarluk, who held out a bow. This was passed to Urgon, along with a quiver of arrows.
“I give these to you,” she said, “as a symbol that you are a true hunter.” She glanced briefly at her shamaness. “Take him and heal him, Shular. Once that is done, I shall come to visit him. He can then take his place in one of the hunters’ longhouses.”
Urgon’s mother stepped forward, the magic already building within her. Her hands glowed as she placed them on his arm. He felt a strange sensation as his bones knit back together, and then his flesh crawled into place.
“I have healed you,” she announced, “but you will be weak for some time yet. I suggest you rest.”
“Where? I am no longer a youngling, Shular, and am yet to be assigned a hut.”
“You shall rest here,” said Shuvog, eliciting a gasp from the crowd. “You have shown great bravery, Urgon. Such actions are to be celebrated.”
“I thank you.”
“It is us who must thank you for ridding us of a great menace. Take him inside, Tarluk, and see he is taken care of.”
“Of course,” replied the hunter.
“As to the rest of you, go home. We shall celebrate Urgon’s return once he has fully recovered.”
Urgon followed Tarluk into the great hut, where one end had been closed off for the chieftain’s personal living space. He was led through the inner door into a sizable room full of furs and skins. Here Tarluk showed him a bed.
“Rest,” said the hunter, “and I shall get you some food. Have you had water?”
“Not since this morning. I was in a hurry to return home.”
“Then I shall fetch some. Have you any requests?”
“Requests?”
“Yes, anyone you want to talk to?”
He immediately thought of Zhura but knew that was out of the question. “Kraloch, perhaps?”
“Then I shall summon him.”
Urgon lay on the furs for a moment before sleep claimed him.
He woke to see the face of Kraloch bending over him.
“How are you feeling?” his friend asked.
“I have felt better.”
“You should be thankful we have a shamaness. Without the efforts of Shular, you would be crippled for the rest of your life.”
“Shular is not the only shaman.”
“True, but would your sister aid you if your mother refused?”
“A good question.”
“Of course, you could always travel to one of the other villages of our tribe. They have shamans of their own.”
“Yes,” said Urgon, “but none so skilled as Shular.”
“I would agree, but I fear my opinion of her would be coloured by the fact she has promised to instruct me in the magical arts.”
“A promise well earned. You will do well, my friend, even if you master only a portion of what she has learned.”
“Tell me of your ordeal. My own is only a ten-day away.”
“In the beginning, it was easy. Only the appearance of the mountain cat brought trouble. Now the beast is slain, you have nothing to fear.”
“I do not have fear,” said Kraloch.
“A poor choice of words on my part, and for that, I apologize. Still, it must give you some relief to know it no longer stalks the land.”
“It does, although my own ordeal still weighs heavily upon me.”
“Talk to Urzath. She prepared me. I am sure she can do the same for you.”
“I shall, but I still believe the entire idea silly. I am destined to be a shaman. What need have I for the skills of a hunter?”
“An Orc must always be prepared,” said Urgon. “You never know when such skills might be put to the test.”
“I suppose.”
“Come now, why so glum?”
“You are a full-fledged hunter now. There will be little time to visit with the likes of me.”
“You and I are friends. Nothing can change that. You will stand beside me when I am bonded, just as I will stand by you when the roles are reversed.”
“I am to become a shaman,” said Kraloch. “I may never bond.”
“Nonsense. My mother has bonded twice. If she can find two bondmates in her lifetime, then undoubtedly you can find at least one.”
His companion smiled. “And what of Zhura?”
Urgon’s face darkened. “That is another matter entirely. Hunting parties often travel days in search of game. I shall do my best to keep up my visits, but I fear they will be severely curtailed.”
“Then permit me to visit her in your stead.”
“You?”
“Yes. Once I am a shaman, I shall have free access to the mud hut.”
“That is a long way off yet,” said Urgon, “but I am glad she will have the company.”
Urgon rested for two days in the chieftain’s hut, each day receiving the healing powers of Shular. Urzath finally came to collect him and take him to his new home. He had little to call his own, save for his weapons and the pelt from the slain mountain cat, but such was the lot of new hunters.
Urzath first brought him to the hut that lay to the north of the great firepit, but Urgon claimed it was too close to his mother’s. The village had seven such structures, but to Urgon’s mind, there could be only one that was suitable, the one that sat closest to Zhura’s home.
As luck would have it, there was an empty space at the northern end of that one. This way, he could be as close to Zhura as possible without actually seeing her. Urzath thought his choice strange, for it was the structure with the fewest hunters in residence, but Urgon insisted. When he was introduced to the other residents of the longhouse, they were friendly enough but obviously valued their privacy, for they were spaced out along the length of the hall, such that none could overhear any of the others.
Being summer, they all cooked on one fire, gathering at mealtime to share their food. Once complete, however, they each went their separate ways, something that worked in his favour.
He developed the habit of walking after dark, the better to hide his visits to Zhura. Some nights he would go and sit at the cliff’s edge, while other times in the cave of the Eternal Flame. Each time he would make sure he was seen, establishing patterns that others would soon come to expect.
By the time he visited Zhura again, Kraloch was out on his own ordeal. Urgon fretted that he had waited too long, that she would forget him, but Latuhl reassured him such a thing would not come to pass.
With his usual ally absent, he asked Latuhl to stand watch, and so it was that on a cloudy night as the summer air grew cooler, he again entered the mud hut.
Zhura was quick to welcome him, inviting him to sit. Urgon expected her to bombard him with no end of questions, yet the only thing she asked surprised him.
“How do you feel?”
“Fully recovered,” he replied. “Do you wish to know what befell me?”
“I already know.”
“How?”
“Your mother could speak of little else.”
Urgon frowned. “I suppose I should have expected that.”
“She is proud of you, and why not? You are a full-fledged hunter now. What else could she wish for?”
“That I was a shaman?”
“You think her disappointed you lack the capacity for such training?”
“It has always been her dream. Look how proud she is of my half-sister.”
“I believe you fail to see how much she cares for you,” said Zhura.
“She has seldom shown much concern for my well-being.”
“Nevertheless, here she was, talking endlessly of your accomplishments.”
He chuckled. “I wonder how she might react if she knew I was here?”
“Badly, I would think. She dislikes those who break the rules. In any case, you are free of her now. How do you like the life of a hunter?”
He shrugged. “I have done little so far. Our first hunt will not be for another ten-day. Skulnug suggests we go west, down onto the plains. He says the hunting is good down there.”
“Then why not go?”
“It would take me away from you, likely for some time.”
She smiled. “I have survived without you for many winters, Urgon. I am quite capable of making do in your absence.”
Now it was his turn to smile, something he found himself doing a lot lately. “I thought of you,” he said at last. “Your words brought me comfort when I thought I might die.”
He noticed tears brimming in her eyes.
“I worried about you too.” Her voice trembled. “I asked the Ancestors to keep watch over you.”
Urgon took her hand. “Then I have you to thank for my survival.”
“It did little good. They are spirits, unable to affect things in the physical world, nor were they willing to even try. Your fate was yours to decide, or so they told me.”
“Well, I survived without their help apparently.” He looked into her eyes. “I would like to give you a gift?”
“A gift?”
“Yes, I have the pelt of the mountain cat. I should like you to have it.”
“That would be inadvisable. You have made a name for yourself, Urgon. Were you to give it to me, how would you explain its absence?”
“That, I hadn’t considered. I shall keep it with me, but only until such time as I can give it to you openly.”
“You know that day will never come.”
He leaned forward until he felt her breath on his face. “I know no such thing. I swear to you, Zhura, I WILL find a way for you to escape this life of isolation.”
“Even if you could,” she continued, “I shall never be considered a true member of this tribe.”
“What utter nonsense!”
“Is it? I am isolated here. How, then, would I complete my own ordeal? And if I am unable to do so, how could I be considered a full member of this tribe? You know as well as I that I am ill-equipped to survive out there.”
“And it should not be required of you. You serve the tribe in your own way, Zhura, and that should be enough. Were I the chieftain, I would allow you the freedoms all Orcs receive.”
She laughed. “You have just become a hunter. Are you now to challenge Shuvog for the leadership of the tribe?”
“No, of course not, but I shall not be young forever. One day I will keep my promise, although I cannot say when.”
“I hope you can, but I fear I shall not be around to see it.”
“Why?” said Urgon. “Are you sick?”
“No, but ghostwalkers live brief lives. The Ancestors tell me we seldom see our twentieth winter. That leaves me with little time.”
“Then we shall have to make the best of the time we have.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“Come with me, outside this hut. Let me show you the stars in the night sky.”
“No,” said Zhura, squeezing his hand. “Much as I appreciate the offer, I would be overwhelmed by the spirits that inhabit this place. I am content to stay here, providing you promise to visit when you can.”
Urgon nodded. “Agreed. I will, however, bring you back something from the hunt. How about a new fur for your collection?” He looked around the hut. “It would scarcely be noticed amongst those you have now.”
“I like that. And when I wrap myself in it, I shall remember it comes from you.”
He felt the blood surge to his face as he blushed. “I have missed you this last ten-day,” he said. “The true ordeal was staying away from you.”
“This from the Orc who was almost killed by a mountain cat?”
He grinned at the remark, then quickly sobered as a lump formed in his throat. “I… want to say something to you.”
“You need not say it,” said Zhura. “It is clear how you feel.” She paused a moment, then added, “I feel the same.”
Urgon’s heart soared. “I understand we can never be together,” he said, “but know there will never be another to take your place.”
“I should hope not. Ghostwalkers are rare. For two such individuals to be born amongst our tribe would be unthinkable. There is only one of me, Urgon, just as there is only one of you. Make sure you take care of yourself, for without you, I am incomplete.”
“I promise. And you”—he pointed a finger at her—”must promise me you will do all you can not to go mad!”
“I will heed your words, although I know not how it is to be accomplished.”
“Then ask the Ancestors. Let us hope they can be helpful for a change, instead of standing around and watching what goes on around them.”
“They hardly just stand around.”
“What else is there for them to do?”
He saw her smile and knew she would be all right.