Urgon tossed the meat on the ground. Grimtooth came forward, sniffed it, then grabbed the biggest piece and started chewing on it. The other wolves, who had been waiting, came forward, each taking a share of the food. Urgon watched absently, his mind on other things. Life had become routine after the death of his mentor but also much busier. Time flew by, and before he knew it, the leaves had turned colour once again.
As the weather grew cooler, the village began stocking up on food for the winter. This required the presence of the wolf pack, and that meant even more work for Urgon.
He stood there as the wolves tore into what was left of the meat. He was exhausted. They had just returned from a three-day outing, and he had slept little. And, had it not been for Kraloch’s quick thinking, they would have lost a member of the pack, all because a Human hunter had wandered into their territory.
Urgon remembered the strange steel trap that had caught the young wolf’s paw, mangling the leg so severely the creature almost died. But the village’s newest shaman had been along to keep him company, and his mastery of magic had saved the day.
“Urgon!” The call shattered his thoughts. Standing by the wolf pen was Tarluk, and Urgon knew that could only mean one thing.
“I assume Shuvog wants to see me?”
“She does,” the hunter replied. “Are you finished feeding your wolves?”
“Yes. Allow me to clean up, and I shall join you directly.”
“Of course,” said Tarluk. “Take your time.”
Urgon returned to his home. At the moment, he had three doors. One led outside while the second led to the pens. The third, however, lead to the half-completed hut he hoped would eventually house Zhura.
He wiped his hands, then steeled himself to go and visit the chieftain. Was Shuvog going to ask him about his hut? Somehow he doubted it. Far more likely, she would again bring up his bonding, something he did not look forward to, yet he knew he could no longer avoid the encounter. He stepped outside, then fell in behind Tarluk as they made their way to the chieftain’s hut.
They passed by several villagers who stopped to stare, and suddenly Urgon had the distinct feeling they knew something about what was about to happen.
The sense of foreboding only intensified as they entered the great hut of the chieftain. Inside waited Shuvog, just as he’d expected. What shocked him, however, was the presence of his mother, along with three females, each similar in age to himself.
“What is this?” he demanded.
“Sit,” ordered Shuvog. She waited while he took a seat. The hunter, Tarluk, took up a position by the door, although whether to keep him inside or others from entering was anyone’s guess.
“Some time ago, I made you the master of wolves,” continued the chieftain, “with the understanding that before two winters passed, you would choose a bondmate. That time is now upon you.”
“My apologies,” said Urgon. “With the death of Latuhl, I have been overwhelmed by looking after the wolves.”
“That was last spring. More than enough time to put things in order. Shular has taken it upon herself to find several suitable candidates.” She nodded at her shamaness.
Shular took a step forward. “This,” she said, indicating one of the females, “is Wergu. She has come from the north to get to know you.”
The Orc bowed. “Pleased to meet you, Urgon. It is an honour to be in the presence of a master of wolves.”
Urgon kept his eyes on Shular.
“Or perhaps Galur is more to your liking? She is an accomplished hunter, a valuable asset in a bondmate.”
Galur bowed. “I have heard tell of your ordeal,” she said. “A most inspiring tale.”
“And this,” continued his mother, “is Rular. She joins us from the south and is a shaman in training.”
“In training?” said Urgon. “Surely she is old enough to have learned anything you might teach her?”
“But I am not her teacher,” said Shular. “And I might remind you it takes time to learn the ways of magic.”
“Kraloch has already mastered it.”
“Kraloch is the exception.”
Shuvog looked at the three females. “Choose one,” she said.
“I will not,” said Urgon.
“You must,” begged his mother. “It is our way.”
“No. It is your way, not mine!”
“Why do you not understand the logic in this? You must do your part for the tribe, Urgon. Bonding is a part of life, and these three have all expressed an interest in you. Can you not see fit to show them some interest in return?”
“I do not love them!”
“But, in time, you would come to, I am sure.”
“No!” roared Urgon. “I love another.”
For the first time in his life, he saw a look of surprise on his mother’s face.
“Good,” said Shuvog. “Then out with the name, and you shall be bonded.”
“Yes,” said Shular. “Let us all share in your happiness!”
Urgon felt his life shattering—it was now or never.
“My heart belongs to Zhura,” he declared.
His mother was furious. “Zhura? What do you know of Zhura? Did Kraloch put you up to this, because if he did—”
“It was not Kraloch, Mother. I met Zhura long ago, before my ordeal.”
“How?”
“I became curious about the mud hut, and so I broke in, determined to discover what lay within. Little did I realize I would find the Orc who completes me.”
“Completes you? You should never have set eyes on her, Urgon. It is forbidden!”
“And yet I have! And glad I am of it!”
“But why?” said Shuvog. “Surely you realize the futility of it?”
“Is it futile to seek companionship? Not every bonding produces younglings.”
“True, but at least there is that eventual possibility. A ghostwalker is barren, Urgon. They can never bear young.”
“Do you think I care?”
“This is outrageous,” said Shular. “I thought I raised you better than this.”
“I am following my heart.”
“It matters not,” said Shuvog. “You have, by your own admission, broken the sacred rules of our tribe.”
Shular paled, but Urgon remained defiant. “Then so be it,” he said.
“By our ancient customs, I shall call together the entire tribe. They will determine your fate, Urgon. There is no other way. What have you to say for yourself?”
“I welcome it. For too long, I held in my feelings for Zhura. She is an Orc and deserves a life like any other.”
“She is a ghostwalker,” spat out Shular. “To see her in any other way is a grave mistake.”
“Think carefully on this,” said Shuvog, “for your very life may be forfeited.”
“That is a risk I am willing to take.”
“Tarluk,” said the chieftain, “take Urgon to his hut and keep your eyes on him. We will summon him once the tribe has assembled.”
“The tribe?” said Shular. “Do you not mean the village?”
“Your son has violated one of our most solemn laws, a law meant to protect us all.”
“What nonsense is this?” demanded Urgon. “The shamans have a right to visit Zhura. Why not me?”
Shuvog turned on him with an icy stare. “You will have an opportunity to speak once the tribe gathers. Until then, you must remain within your hut. Do I make myself clear?”
Urgon wanted to lash out, but the pallor of his mother gave him pause. Shular was worried, and not just about his visit to Zhura. With a shock, he suddenly realized his days of visiting the mud hut were over. Sadness welled up inside him as he turned to Tarluk.
“Lead on,” he said, “and I will follow.”
Urgon sat in his hut, staring at the flames. He had let his temper get the better of him, and now he would pay the price. Death held no fear over him, but the thought of no longer seeing the pale Orc with the hair of snow wounded him deeply. Voices outside soon drew his attention.
“Stand aside,” said Kraloch.
“I shall not,” replied Tarluk. “Urgon is forbidden to leave his hut.”
“I mean to go in, not bring him out.”
“He is being held pending his trial.”
“Orcs do not take prisoners,” argued the shaman.
“Nor is Urgon seen as one, but he is sequestered for his own good.”
“That sounds suspiciously like imprisonment. Come now, Tarluk. Surely Shuvog meant only that he should prepare for what is to come?”
“I suppose that would make sense.”
Kraloch’s voice grew more authoritarian. “I am a shaman of this tribe, as you well know. Now stand aside. I must use my magic to judge his ability to stand trial.”
“His ability? What are you suggesting?”
“He has been in the presence of a ghostwalker. It may have affected him.”
The concern in Tarluk’s voice was quite evident. “Are you saying he may be cursed?”
“There is always that possibility, but to determine the truth of it, I must see him.”
Urgon smiled, for it appeared his friend would be granted access, but then Tarluk found his courage.
“Wait a moment,” said the hunter. “You were in the mud hut as well, were you not?”
“I was,” replied Kraloch. “What of it? All shamans visit the ghostwalker at one time or another.”
“In that case, would you not also be cursed?”
“Of course not! Do you believe a shaman could be so easily swayed? Now stand aside, or I shall fetch Shular to teach you a lesson in manners.”
Urgon held his breath, worried a fight might break out, but evidently, his guard backed down, for Kraloch soon parted the skins that formed the door.
“Urgon,” he said. “So glad to see you in such fine spirits.”
“Fine spirits? I am to face trial by the entire tribe. Why would you think me happy?”
Kraloch took a seat opposite him, although his face was anything but cheerful.
“Here now,” said Urgon. “Why the glum look? It is my trial that is forthcoming, not yours.”
“The charge is very serious, Urgon. We have few laws within our tribe, and you broke one of our most sacred.”
“If you felt that way, why did you let it go on for so long? You are as guilty as I am.” He took a breath, letting it out slowly. “I apologize, Kraloch. I got myself into this by my actions. You should not be punished for that. I shall say nothing of your involvement. You have my word.”
“I am not worried for myself. I am concerned the tribe may vote against you.”
“I do not fear death.”
“It is not death you should fear. It is banishment.”
“I can survive on my own.”
“Can you?” said Kraloch. “I might remind you death almost claimed you when you returned from your ordeal.”
“Nonsense. I walked into the village on my own.”
“Yet in another two days, you would have died. You are not alone, Urgon. We shall see this through together.”
“Together? And how would that work? I must defend myself, Kraloch. It is the way of things.”
“Then challenge our traditions.”
“In what way?”
“You bent the rules long enough, my friend. Now comes the time to break them. Convince the tribe you have the right of it. Your power of persuasion is strong.”
“I am no chieftain.”
“And you never will be with an attitude like that. Where is the Urgon I know, the one willing to risk everything to be with Zhura?”
“He is lost.”
Kraloch leaned forward, shaking Urgon by the shoulders. “Then find him. Too much is at stake! This trial will determine not only your fate but that of Zhura as well. Would you see her deprived of your friendship? I see the way she looks at you. Do not abandon her!”
Urgon felt a fire building within him. Only a flicker, yet he knew if he tended it, it could explode into a rage of fury. He locked eyes with Kraloch, the hint of a smile curling his lips.
“You are right, my friend. I must do all I can to fight this.”
“That’s the Urgon I know. Now, what can I do to help?”
“Go and see Zhura; tell her all that has transpired. See if the Ancestors can give you some advice that would prove useful.”
“I shall do so this very day.”
“How long before the trial begins?”
“A difficult thing to predict. Word has gone out to the other villages, but the gathering will take some time to arrange. I would say at least a ten-day, possibly even two.”
Urgon shook his head. “Too much time.”
“Too much?”
“Yes. I know myself, Kraloch. I must tend the fire that burns within me. If I let it go out, I shall lose all hope.”
“Then keep yourself busy.”
“How? I am confined to my hut.”
Kraloch looked around. “Your hut is only half complete. You have an entire expansion to finish.”
“And how am I to do that when I am confined?”
“You are restricted to your hut, not incapable of working.”
“But I will need sticks, leaves, even skins to complete what I started.”
“All things I can see to. Put your mind to the task at hand, even while your hands build this home.” He smiled. “Zhura would wish it.”
Urgon stood. “Thank you, my friend. I shall.”
That evening the wolves howled incessantly. It soon came to the attention of Shuvog, who showed up to look into the problem herself. Urgon, who sat sewing hides together, let his eyes drift up to her as she entered.
“What brings the chieftain of the Black Arrows to my humble abode?”
“You know full well, Master of Wolves. Why does the pack act so?”
Urgon was blunt, but inside he smiled. “I did not feed them.”
“What?”
“I am confined to my hut. How, then, am I to give them their food?”
“You are the master of wolves. It is your duty.”
“You are the one who ordered me here,” said Urgon, his voice quite calm. “Are you now saying I am free to leave the confines of my home?”
“Only to feed the pack.”
He bowed his head solemnly, an action that appeared only to infuriate Shuvog. “I shall do as you command.”
“Do not play games with me, Urgon. It will only make things worse for you.”
“You are the one who is playing games, my chieftain. Your confinement of me is contrary to the ways of our people.”
“Do not lecture me on our ways. You broke the rules.”
“And that gives you the right to do the same? Careful, Shuvog, it is a slippery slope.”
He saw the look of confusion. She was furious with him but, at the same time, fearful. Did he hold that much power over her?
“I want only what is best for the tribe,” he continued. “I welcome the trial, for it will allow me to air my grievances. Are you prepared for that?”
She visibly paled, and he worried he had gone too far.
“I bear you no malice,” he quickly added, “but change is coming, and you must learn to accept it.”
“See to your charges,” she barked out, then turned and abruptly left.
Urgon felt his legs begin to shake, and so he sat. It had been a gamble facing down Shuvog, but she would be the one speaking against him. Unsettling her could only work to his advantage. Grimtooth let out another howl, and he smiled.
“Time to get back to work,” he mused aloud. The next howl was much more insistent. “I hear you,” he called out. “Give me a moment to prepare it!”
Once he stepped outside, he pulled the meat from the drying rack and dropped it into a bowl. Tarluk watched him closely but said nothing. The wolves swarmed around him as he entered into the pen, their eyes on the food. Urgon tossed the meat, his mind elsewhere.
“I have news,” came Kraloch’s voice.
Urgon dumped the rest of the bowl, then wandered over to the fence that penned in the wolves. “It is good to see you.”
Kraloch smiled. “And you,” he replied, lowering his voice. “I spoke with Zhura. She promises to speak with the Ancestors. I also had a few discreet words with several members of the village.”
“Oh?” said Urgon. “To what end?”
“I spoke of how, with you isolated in this manner, the wolves would be unable to help in the hunt. It caused quite a lot of concern, I can tell you.”
“You are devious, my friend. Are you sure you are suited to be a shaman?”
“Whatever do you mean by that?”
“Only that shamans are supposed to be neutral in disputes such as the one I find myself in.”
“We are all Orcs,” said Kraloch. “Are we then to have no feelings?”
Urgon’s face lit up. “You hit the spear on its tip,” he said.
“I have?”
“Yes. Now I know how I must defend myself. Thank you, Kraloch. You have given me clarity.”
“Have I? I wish you would explain it to me.”
“My mind is racing, and I need to think more on the matter while it is still fresh. But I assure you, you will be the first to know once I reason things out.”
“What can I do to help?”
“If I thought it would do any good, I would say pray, but the Ancestors do not heed such requests.”
“They are spirits,” said Kraloch, “not gods. They have no control over the world of the living.”
“You are wrong, my friend. They lead us by the example of their own lives.”