The days turned into months, and in short order, the seasons passed. Urgon visited Zhura as often as possible, though he was lucky to manage two visits every ten-day. In the evenings when he couldn’t visit her, he would talk about her with either Kraloch or Latuhl, sometimes even both of them when they were all gathered around the old Orc’s fire while Rockjaw snoozed at their side.
Urgon proved himself an accomplished hunter while Kraloch, having completed his own ordeal with little fanfare, settled into the life of a shaman’s apprentice. After half a year’s instruction, Kraloch was permitted to meet Zhura in person, though always under the guidance of Shular. It wasn’t until the autumn of 949 that he was finally allowed to visit her unaccompanied.
Both Urgon and Kraloch were kept quite busy, their lives carrying on with little to interfere with their interests, but all that changed in the summer of 950. Urgon was soon to be sixteen, a birthday he considered of no real significance, yet it was the beginning of what was to be the biggest disturbance to his way of life.
It all started innocently enough. Having just thrown some meat onto the fire, he was looking forward to an enjoyable meal when he looked up to see his sister.
“Kurghal?” he said. “What brings you here?”
“I bring word from our mother,” she replied. “Though in this, she acts in her official role as shamaness.”
“Then I shall come at once. Have you any idea what it concerns?”
“No, but I suggest we hurry. You know how much she hates to wait.”
“I do.” He used his knife to remove the meat from the fire, then tossed it aside. “Lead on.”
They exited the longhouse, making their way past the great firepit. Just beyond lay the home of his youngling days, looking exactly the same as it always did. His sister pushed aside the hide and waved him in.
“I shall remain outside,” she said.
Urgon stepped in. Little had changed, but that was to be expected.
“You wanted to see me, Mother?”
“Yes, come,” said Shular. “Sit by the fire.”
Urgon sat, and immediately the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Had she discovered his relationship with Zhura? He shivered at the thought. His mother misinterpreted his actions.
“Move closer,” she urged, “and warm yourself. Can I offer you some refreshment?”
“No, thank you.” He watched her sit. She was fidgeting, obviously trying to build courage for what was to come. He decided to tackle it head-on.
“What is it you wanted to see me about?” he asked.
“It occurs to me you have seen almost sixteen winters.”
“And?”
“It is time you consider taking a bondmate.”
Urgon laughed. “A bondmate? I have plenty of time for that.”
“Do you? Look around you, Urgon. Most of the females your age have already bonded. If you wait too long, there will be none left.”
“Would that be so bad?”
She looked as though he had slapped her. “It is your duty to bond in order to produce younglings. The future of the tribe demands it.”
Urgon sat back. “Does it? What of Kurghal? She has not bonded.”
“She is a shamaness. Bonding is not required of her. You, on the other hand, are a hunter. The risk to you is greater.”
“The risk?”
“Yes, of injury or even death.”
“You are a shamaness, Mother. I hardly think a fatal injury is likely when you are able to heal me with your magic.”
He spotted the look of discomfort on her face. “Still, you could die. Better that you father younglings while you can.”
“While I can? Am I to be prematurely aged?”
“Do not argue with me, Urgon!”
He bowed his head. “I respect you, both as my mother and as shamaness of this village, but whether or not I bond is not up for discussion. I must choose my own way in this.”
“I see,” said Shular. “And when might we expect such a decision?”
“That is for me to decide.” He rose, bowing once more. “Now, unless there is something else, I will take my leave of you.”
“You will leave when I give you permission to do so.” She softened her features. “My only concern is for you, Urgon. I want you to have companionship. I promise not to press you on this, but please at least keep an open mind to the possibility?”
“I shall.”
“And… inform me, should you change your mind?”
“You shall be amongst the first to know. I promise you.”
“That is all I ask,” said Shular.
“May I go now?”
“By all means.”
He stormed out of the hut, only to run into Kraloch.
“What are you doing here?” Urgon grumbled.
“Where else would I go to learn the ways of a shaman? Is something wrong?”
“My mother is pressuring me to bond.”
“That is to be expected.”
“I am only fifteen.”
“Yes,” said Kraloch, “but if you were to have a youngling now, you would be thirty by the time they became an adult. That would make you almost as old as Latuhl. Can you see now why Orcs bond so young?”
“Easy for you to say. Your position gives you immunity from such pressure.”
“Your mother is a harsh taskmaster,” said Kraloch. “You may have it easier than you know. That reminds me, I have something to show you, something I think you’ll appreciate.”
“What is it?”
“Follow me.”
He led Urgon through the village and right up to the door to the mud hut. “See this?” he asked.
“Of course. It is the door to Zhura’s hut, locked by magical runes.”
Kraloch grinned. “No longer.” He parted the hangings.
“How did you do that?”
“I mastered my first spell, and with it, the secret of these runes.”
“You mean I no longer need to crawl under the wall?”
“Unfortunately, the door will not open for you, so I must be present to allow you entry, but yes, that is essentially true.”
Urgon grasped his friend by the biceps. “This is good news indeed!”
“Of course,” continued Kraloch, “you must still wait until dark. It would not be wise to be noticed.”
“And do I need you to exit?”
“No. The magic only works in one direction.”
“How is it the magic of life has such powers?”
Kraloch grinned. “It is not the magic of life, merely the application of magical runes.”
“You speak of things beyond my understanding.”
“Let me try to explain it to you. Magic is sometimes referred to as the universal language. As such, it has its own symbols, shapes that contain power, whether they be uttered, as in a spell, or written, like the stones in the cave of the Eternal Flame. These magical runes”—he pointed at the door—“are a written manifestation of the power of magic. Only those who can interpret these symbols can invoke their power.”
“Are you saying only a shaman can open that door?”
“From the outside, yes.”
“And what of the cave?” asked Urgon. “If what you say is true, a shaman must have created that flame.”
“That had not occurred to me, but yes, I suppose that must be true, although maybe shaman is not the correct term.”
“Who else would use magic?”
“Ah,” said Kraloch. “I see the confusion. Our tribe is limited in magic, having only those who can wield the magic of life. Other tribes have gifted individuals who can wield the power of the elements, such as a master of flame or earth. The Dwarves have another name for such magic.”
“Which is?”
“Earth Magic, or Fire Magic, depending on which element is referenced.”
“And they have no shamans?”
“Their healers are called Life Mages. I believe the Humans use similar terms.”
“Mages,” mused Urgon. “A strange name for a wielder of such power.”
“It is from the term ‘magic’.”
“And only mages can read those symbols?”
“Anyone can recognize them, but it takes someone with the innate ability to use magic to actually harness their power.”
“You have done well in your studies, Kraloch. I am proud to call you my friend.”
“As am I, but I must be off. Shular will not be pleased that I am late.”
Urgon watched him go, then looked at the door once again. He moved closer, scanning the area to make sure no one was within earshot.
“Zhura?” he called out. “Can you hear me?”
“Urgon?” came the muffled reply. “Is that you?”
He couldn’t help but smile even though she was unable to see him. “It is. When I visit you this evening, I will tunnel no more. Instead, I will enter by the door.”
“I look forward to it. Now be off with you before someone spots you talking to a door.”
He chuckled. “Fair enough, but I am anticipating talking at length with you later.”
“As am I.”
He wandered off towards the wolf pen, his mood considerably lightened. That changed dramatically when he entered the hut of the master of wolves. Rockjaw lay on the floor beside the unmoving body of Latuhl. Urgon ran to his side, feeling his forehead. It was warm, thank the Ancestors, although the old Orc was very pale.
Latuhl muttered something, and Urgon lifted his head. “I am here,” he soothed. “Let me call for Shular.”
“No, it will do no good.”
“But she is a healer, one of the greatest our tribe has ever known.”
“She can do little for one of my advanced age.”
“There must be something I can do?”
“Help me sit up,” said Latuhl, “and perhaps get me something to drink?”
Urgon propped him up, stuffing furs and skins behind the old fellow to make him comfortable.
“Are you ill?”
Latuhl looked him in the eyes. “Have you any idea of my age?”
“You are the oldest Orc I know.”
“Yes, but how many winters have I lived through?”
“I had always assumed forty or so,” said Urgon. “Is that not accurate?”
“Forty? I should be so lucky! No, my young friend, only thirty-eight, a rare number for an Orc.”
“Nonsense. They say we live much longer now than when we lived in cities.”
“Perhaps,” said Latuhl, “but that was ages past. My time amongst the living is drawing to its conclusion.”
“But who will take care of the wolves?”
The old Orc clutched his arm. “I hoped you would want to take on that responsibility.”
“Me? I hunt. What do I know of wolves?”
“More than you might think. You help me from time to time, Urgon. You know what is required to look after my pack.”
“It is not my decision. Only the chieftain can name the new master of wolves.”
“True,” said Latuhl, “but as the present master, my recommendation would carry significant influence.”
“And if I were to bond?”
“Then you and your bondmate would live here, in this hut. Would that be so difficult?”
Urgon frowned, an expression not lost on the old Orc. “Ah, I see the problem. You wish to bond with Zhura.”
“It is forbidden.”
“So are your visits, but that has yet to hold you back. Look at it this way, Urgon. If you bond with Zhura, you shall be unable to have younglings of your own. These wolves can fill that emptiness, maybe even provide comfort to Zhura when you are gone.”
“Gone? Where would I go?”
“Why, to visit the other villages, of course. As master of wolves, you need to check in on the other packs.”
Urgon sat back in surprise. “There are other packs?”
“Of course. The tribe is scattered throughout these hills. Did you assume we were the only Orcs in the region?”
“No, of course not.”
“Yet you failed to consider that they, too, might have wolves?”
“It never crossed my mind.”
“Well, now you know.”
“I have never led the pack on a hunt,” said Urgon.
“It is easy enough to do. Simply open the gate to the pen, and they shall return when the hunting is complete. The only one you need to watch is Grimtooth. He is the pack leader.”
“Not Rockjaw?”
Latuhl chuckled. “No, Rockjaw is far too friendly to lead the others. He is my companion. Oh, he had his fair share of adventures in his youth, but like me, he has withered with age.”
“And how do I control Grimtooth?”
“You do not control him, merely keep an eye on him. Where he goes, the others will follow.”
Urgon passed him a waterskin, and the elder Orc drank deeply.
“I am much better, thank you. Now help me to my feet. We must go and talk to Shuvog if we are to see you named the new master of wolves.”
The custom of Orcs was to select their chieftain by a count of stones, a process in which every adult member of the tribe could take part. There had been a large gathering ten winters ago, during which Shuvog had been selected to take that role.
In the time since, she had generally been seen as a great leader, overseeing the most significant population growth anyone could remember. That result had been achieved by encouraging Orcs to bond quickly after becoming adults, something Urgon knew would come up as they entered the chieftain’s hut.
Shuvog, sitting by the fire sharpening her knife, looked up as they entered. If she was surprised by their arrival, she gave no indication of it.
“What brings you two to my hut?” she asked.
“May we sit?” asked Latuhl. “There are things we need to discuss.”
“By all means.”
Urgon noted the gaze of the chieftain and felt distinctly uncomfortable as they sat by the fire.
“For many winters have I been master of wolves,” said Latuhl.
“And you have excelled in that role,” said Shuvog.
“I am, however, growing old. Soon I shall be unable to continue my duties.”
She glanced at Urgon once more. “Am I to presume you would name Urgon as your successor?”
The old Orc smiled. “I would. He still has much to learn but has shown great promise.”
“I will consider it. What of you, Urgon?”
“Me?”
“Yes,” said Shuvog. “Is this something you desire?”
“It is.”
“Then I shall consider it.”
“Is that all?” asked Urgon. “Have you another who desires the position?”
“No, but there is much to think on. You are young, Urgon, and have yet to… settle down.”
“Settle down?”
“Positions like this are typically reserved for those who are already bonded.”
Urgon screwed up his face. “But Latuhl is not bonded.”
“He was, once.”
He turned in surprise to the old Orc. “Is this true?”
“It is,” said Latuhl, “but she died many winters ago.”
“I had no idea.”
“The death of a bondmate is not something generally discussed with others,” said Shuvog. “In any event, I would be pleased to award you this position should you pick someone with whom to bond. I am aware of several females who are of a similar age.”
“I know them all,” said Urgon. “I could scarcely grow up here and not.”
“Do you find none of them appealing?”
“There is nothing wrong with them. They are simply not right for me.”
“You are being too particular.”
“I need someone who can challenge me.”
Shuvog smiled, and Urgon found the sight slightly unsettling. “Then maybe a visit to the other villages might allow you to discover one more suitable?”
A lump formed in Urgon’s throat. He wanted to blurt out Zhura was the only one he desired, yet he knew it would do him no good. He tried to think up an excuse, but it proved unnecessary, for Shuvog herself gave him a temporary reprieve.
“I shall approve you as the new master of wolves, subject to training from Master Latuhl, of course. However, I only do so with the understanding you shall be bonded within the next two winters. Is that understood?”
“It is,” said Urgon. “Thank you, Shuvog.”
“You should be thanking Latuhl, not I. He seems to feel you have a lot of potential, Urgon. Were it up to me, you would remain a hunter for the rest of your days.”
“You think so little of me?”
“No, quite the reverse. I have heard of your hunting skills, and you will be sorely missed.”
Urgon was experiencing a whirlwind of emotions. He was to become master of wolves, a most prestigious position. Yet, at the same time, his chance of bonding with Zhura grew slimmer with the passing of the seasons. He must find some way to make it possible! His inner turmoil was noted by Shuvog.
“Have you a question?” she asked.
“No. My pardon, Chieftain. I was merely overwhelmed by your generosity.”
“You must gather your things, few as they may be.”
“To what end?”
“As of now, you are in training to be the new master of wolves, a position that requires you to live within the wolf hut.”
“You mean Latuhl’s hut?”
“I do.”
“I have very few belongings.”
“Then retrieving them will take but a moment. Now, off with you both. There are important things I need to attend to this day.”
They left the chieftain’s hut, Latuhl with a spring in his step, Urgon decidedly less so.
“Come now,” urged the older Orc. “You should be celebrating.”
“Celebrating? I feel as though my doom is approaching.”
“Has this something to do with Shuvog’s ultimatum?”
“Yes. It weighs heavily on my mind.”
“And yet she gave you two winters before you must make a choice.” He turned to Urgon with a grin. “Two winters in which you can come up with a plan to bond with Zhura.”
“Two winters or ten, I fear it makes little difference. I can see no way to win over the village, let alone the entire tribe.”
“You are a clever individual,” said Latuhl. “I have every confidence you will find a way.”