After seventeen days, the largest gathering of tribe members in recent history had overtaken Ord-Dugath. With so many from the other villages in attendance, the trial had to be held outdoors, for they could not fit into the chieftain's hut. Even the great firepit had to be enlarged, along with adding several smaller fires to keep those on the periphery warm as the autumn winds turned cold, threatening an early winter.
Urgon sat some distance from Shuvog, who had gathered the other village elders around her. Even now, she was chatting with them, no doubt convincing them of his guilt. On the other hand, he sat alone, for no Orc wanted to be openly associated with his crime. His eyes scanned the crowd, seeking Kraloch, but his oldest friend was nowhere to be seen.
Shuvog passed the milk of life around to the other elders while the rest of the tribe talked in low voices, glancing his way. Urgon kept his composure by focusing on the flames before him, going over what he would say in his defence. He turned when someone sat beside him, expecting Kraloch, but instead he looked into the face of Urzath.
“Are you sure you want to be seen with me?” he asked.
“Have faith in your friends, Urgon,” she replied. “Not everyone wants you exiled.”
“Where is Kraloch?”
“I wish I knew. He told me he would be late but said little of the details. In the meantime, I am here to offer you my support.”
“I appreciate it, Urzath, but the offer may draw unwanted attention to yourself.”
“I have nothing to hide. And in any case, I am one of our greatest hunters. They could scarcely get rid of me.”
“Have you spoken to Shular of late?”
“I have. She is worried for you, Urgon. She fears for your life. Are you not worried yourself?”
“Death no longer scares me. If I am to die, then it would be best to get it over with quickly.”
Urzath nodded. “A good way to look at things, but maybe a bit maudlin. Have you already given up?”
“No. I know in my heart what I did was right. The difficulty is in convincing others.”
“I wish you luck.”
“Thank you,” said Urgon, “but it is not luck that will get me out of this mess. I must somehow make them see reason.”
“Reason? From this crowd? I think you have your work cut out for you. Shuvog has been talking the ears off those elders all morning.”
“My sentence is not determined by the elders but by the entire tribe.”
“True,” said Urzath, “but the elders have great influence.”
Urgon nodded, a lump forming in his throat. “I hear your words, but I must see this through to the end.”
Urzath placed her hand on his forearm. “I understand. Know that I am with you, Urgon, son of Urdar, even in banishment.”
“What are you saying?”
She leaned in close, talking in a whisper. “There are some amongst us who feel Shuvog has overstayed her welcome as chieftain. Should she choose to banish you, others will follow.”
“That would split the tribe.”
“So it would, but it is not the first time something like that has happened. The entire history of our people is full of such stories. It is how the other tribes came about. Come to think of it, it is how OUR tribe came about.”
“Do not be hasty,” warned Urgon. “The trial has yet to begin.” He lapsed into silence, his eyes lost in the flames before him.
Shular rose, raising her staff on high and bringing the entire tribe to silence.
“Members of the Black Arrows,” she began, “we have come here this day on a matter of great import. One amongst us has broken one of our sacred laws, and we must sit in judgement.” She paused, and Urgon noticed her struggling with her duty. “Urgon, son of Urdar, has violated the sanctity of the mud hut.”
The villagers sat in stunned silence. They all knew what this was about, for there had been talk of little else, but to hear it brought out in the open was still a shock.
“Not only that,” Shular continued, “but he is accused of speaking with a ghostwalker, despite not being a shaman.” She waited for the outrage to die down. “Today, you will hear both sides of the story, as is our custom. Only then will you be asked to decide what is to be done. Shuvog, chieftain of our clan, will present the argument for punishment, while Urgon will defend his actions.” Her eyes roamed the crowd. “Does anyone object to this?”
Only silence met her gaze.
“Then let us commence.” She turned to her leader. “Shuvog, you may begin the argument.”
Shular sat, allowing her chieftain to stand as was the custom.
“We have few sacred rituals amongst our people. Thus it pains me to bring this charge against one of our own. Our master of wolves, Urgon, has defied not only tradition but has knowingly put our tribe at risk.”
Urgon felt his heart quicken. “At risk?” he called out. “Explain yourself!”
The eyes of the tribe turned on him in distaste, but none spoke. Moments later, their gaze shifted back to their chieftain.
“As many of you are aware, Urgon somehow gained entry to the mud hut and consorted with a ghostwalker. This reckless action risks angering the Ancestors, without whom we would have no guidance. Not only that, but his distractions severely limit the ghostwalker's connection with them.”
Urgon stood, unable to hold his temper in check. “Zhura,” he yelled. “Her name is Zhura. If you are to speak of her, then use her name.”
“A name you should not even know,” replied Shuvog. “Do you deny the charge?”
“That I spent time with Zhura? No, I admit it freely. I gave her friendship when all you did was imprison her.”
A murmur went through the tribe members, and Urgon took advantage of the opportunity. “She is an Orc and a member of this tribe, yet you took away her freedom.”
Shuvog smiled. “She is not a member of the tribe, a fact you should be well aware of. Even the label of Orc is misleading, for she is afflicted with the curse of all ghostwalkers.”
Urgon was caught off guard, something Shuvog quickly seized on.
“Urgon, did you pass your ordeal?”
“Of course, but you know that already.”
“Then tell everyone here what happens when you return.”
Urgon felt the snare tightening.
“It looks like he has lost his tongue,” she said. “And so, for the sake of expediency, let me answer the question for him. When a youngling passes the ordeal, they become a full-fledged member of the tribe. The ghostwalker has never passed such a test, and that means she is NOT a member of this tribe.”
“Then what of the younglings?” said Urgon, grasping at straws. “Are they not allowed the protection of the tribe?”
“Younglings are cared for by their guardians,” replied Shuvog, “and are typically kept under close supervision, for their own protection, of course.” She turned her attention once more to the assembled crowd. “Urgon would have you believing we enslaved the ghostwalker, but it is far from the truth. Such a person is kept isolated for their own protection. They live a life in two worlds, you see—the land of the living and of the dead. Such a thing is a heavy burden, requiring the utmost concentration to delay the onset of madness. The actions of this Orc”—she pointed at Urgon—“endanger both it and us.”
“Her,” he corrected. “She is not an ‘it’, and her name is Zhura.”
“It is clear you gave little thought to the well-being of your tribemates. Would you place your own happiness above theirs?”
“It is not my happiness I seek, but that of Zhura's. If you see fit to exile me, then so be it, but you must not blame her for my actions.”
Shuvog smiled. “I have no intention of doing so. Ghostwalkers are precious to us, Urgon, not playthings to be defiled.”
“I did nothing other than befriend her!”
“But you want to,” she accused. “Go ahead, deny it. I dare you.”
Urgon’s pleas grew more desperate. “She is an Orc. Can you not see that? True, she has been afflicted by this curse, but, inside, her blood is as black as any of us.”
Shuvog’s temper rose. “You want to bond with her. Admit it!”
His blood boiled. He felt trapped, unable to breathe, his heart ready to explode. All eyes were on him, and then Shular spoke, sadness in her words.
“Is this true, Urgon?”
He swallowed, then opened his mouth but struggled to find the right words. Instead, he simply nodded, surrendering to the inevitability of his defeat.
“Say it aloud,” ordered Shuvog.
“I love her,” he proclaimed. “And I would have her as my bondmate, should she desire.”
“There! He is condemned by his own words.” The chieftain gloated at his admission. “There can be only one punishment for such a crime. I call on the tribe to render the sentence of death.”
“No!” called out a frail voice. Everyone turned at the sound and then moved aside as Kraloch led Zhura by the arm. She struggled to maintain her concentration, stumbling as she moved, but she would not be deterred.
“I am Zhura,” she declared, “ghostwalker of the Black Arrows, and I would have Urgon as my bondmate.”
The entire tribe sat in stunned silence.
“Impossible,” declared Shuvog. “This is not allowed.”
“Not true,” said Kraloch. “There is no such decree. A ghostwalker is free to choose her own destiny. Ask the Ancestors if you like. They will confirm it.” He led her to her beloved, placing her hand in his.
Urgon felt her trembling, saw the fight happening within her to shut out all the spirits she must surely be hearing. He tightened his grip.
“You are safe,” he soothed. “I shall not leave you.” She gained strength from his touch.
“Yes, I am a ghostwalker,” she said. “I have pale skin and white hair, and my eyes dislike the sun, but like all Orcs, I have a heart, a heart that beats for Urgon’s embrace.”
“You have no say in the matter,” said Shuvog.
“On the contrary,” said Shular. “Her words carry the wisdom of the Ancestors. Would you so callously disregard them?”
“I am the chieftain!”
“And I, the eldest shaman. If you wish to remain in charge of this tribe, I advise you to heed my words.”
“Are you threatening me?”
Shular appeared to relax, her voice taking on a soothing tone. “There are limits to what a chieftain may do, Shuvog. You, of all people, should know that. As a shaman, I can dismiss this gathering or change its purpose to reconsider your own position as chieftain.” The shamaness turned her attention to Urgon and Zhura. “I am saddened by the events that led to this day, but it is unthinkable to speak against a ghostwalker.”
“My name is Zhura.”
Shular bowed. “My apologies… Zhura.”
“And the bonding?” said Urgon.
“That presents a problem,” said Shuvog. “It is only allowed by full members of the tribe.”
Kraloch stepped forward, raising his hands to get attention. “Perhaps I might offer a solution?”
“Speak,” commanded Shular.
“It is, I believe, within our customs to grant an Orc status as a member of the tribe by vote. Is this not so?”
Shular smiled. “You have learned your lessons well, Kraloch.”
“That law,” said Shuvog, “was designed to permit outsiders to join our tribe.”
“Zhura is, by the very definition of the term, an outsider,” said Kraloch. “So much so, that very few have ever laid eyes on her.” He moved to stand before Zhura. “How many Orcs have you spoken with before today?”
“Four,” she replied. “Only the shamans, Shular, Kurghal, and yourself until Urgon came along.”
Kraloch turned his attention once more to address the tribe. “There, you have it from her own lips. She has been confined to her hut since birth. Her only interaction with those of her race is controlled by others. It is clearly an example of imprisonment, and that”—he pointed at Shuvog—“is a far more serious charge than the one that faces Urgon.”
All eyes turned towards the chieftain. A gentle breeze drifted past while all remained silent.
Shular was the one who broke the silence. “Shuvog, you and I have much to discuss. Let us adjourn to your hut along with Zhura and Urgon. I believe we can come to an arrangement that might prove beneficial to all.”
“And Kraloch,” added Urgon.
“That is acceptable,” said his mother. “Now come, we must talk of this in private.”
The small group headed into the hut, leaving the tribe sitting outside, waiting. Urgon kept a tight hold of Zhura’s arm, worry flooding through him.
“It will be over soon,” he soothed.
In answer, she halted, looking up at him. “It is difficult to concentrate,” she said quietly. “The noise is overwhelming.”
“Sit,” ordered Shular, “and we shall talk of this situation we find ourselves in. And just to be clear, when I say we shall talk, I mean I shall talk, and you will all listen. Is that understood?”
Cowed by the shaman, they all nodded their agreement and took up places around the indoor firepit. Shular remained standing, gazing down at Zhura. Urgon recognized the concern in her eyes.
“I know this is difficult for you, Zhura, so I shall be as brief as I can. We find ourselves in uncharted territory here. Ghostwalkers are rare, so rare, in fact, no other tribe has a living Orc who remembers one such as you.” She looked at each person present, gauging their response. “I might also remind you we are in communication with many other tribes through the use of spirit magic.”
“Yes,” said Shuvog. “Something Urgon put at risk by his actions.”
“His actions had no effect on the spirit world,” announced Zhura, “but they gave me comfort.”
Shular grabbed at the statement. “Yes,” she said. “I think I understand now.”
“Then please explain yourself,” said the chieftain.
“By all accounts, ghostwalkers do not live long, rarely surpassing twenty winters, but Urgon may have inadvertently changed that.”
“I did?” said Urgon.
“People like Zhura go mad,” continued Shular. “I believe the constant presence of the spirits has a debilitating effect on them. Urgon, however, has provided a distraction of sorts, something for her to focus on, to keep her mind from losing its grip on the material world.”
“Are you saying he was right to do so?” asked Shuvog.
“Though I hate to admit it, I suppose I do. I also blame myself for not seeing it sooner. We put you in a terrible position, Zhura. We never should have isolated you the way we did. In our defence, we thought it the right thing to do, but now I see our mistake.”
“So you are not opposed to our bonding?” said Urgon.
“Allowing you to see her is not the same thing as approving of your bonding. She is barren, Urgon. There is no future in that union.”
“How do you know?” asked Kraloch.
The shamaness turned to him in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”
“How do you know she is barren?”
“It is the curse of her condition.”
“According to who?”
Shular was at a loss for words.
“It seems to me,” Kraloch continued, “that she is, physically, the same as any other Orc, save for the strange colouring and, of course, her ability to see the spirits. Does it not make sense she might bear a youngling at some point?”
“That does not bear consideration,” said the shamaness.
“That is not your decision,” said Urgon. “That is for Zhura to decide. And even if she WAS barren, I would still have her as my bondmate.”
“As I would have you,” said Zhura.
“There, you see?” said Kraloch. “The matter is settled.”
“It is far from settled,” said Shular.
“I would disagree. Urgon and Zhura are both mature Orcs. The choice is theirs and theirs alone.”
“Not while I am the shaman. I refuse to bond them.”
“You may do as you like,” said Kraloch, “but I am more than capable of carrying out the ceremony.”
“Do that, and I will no longer be your mentor.”
“I have learned all I can from you, Shular. It is an empty threat.”
“There is still the matter of Zhura not having undergone her ordeal,” said Shuvog.
“A matter easily solved,” noted Urgon. “We shall ask the tribe to permit her admission. Who would refuse a ghostwalker?”
“He has you there,” said Kraloch.
“I will not permit this,” said the chieftain.
“Yes, you will,” said Shular, “or I will recommend your dismissal as chief of our tribe.”
“But why?” hissed Shuvog. “You desire this union no more than I?”
“It is clear to me that this is what Zhura wants. Who am I to refuse such a request?” She looked at Urgon. “Understand, I still do not agree with this, but neither will I stand in your way.”
“Thank you, Mother.”
“Do not thank me, my son. I believe you may yet live to regret your choice.”
“Never. I am strong in my convictions. Zhura has my heart as I have hers.”
“Then come,” said Kraloch. “We must return to the tribe and vote to welcome Zhura as a full-fledged member of the Black Arrows.”
Urgon turned to Zhura first. “Are you up to this?”
She nodded, then let out a gasp.
“What is it?”
She held up her hand, then took a deep breath. “The spirits,” she said. “My head can barely contain them. It feels as though my skull will erupt like a ripe melon.”
Urgon turned to Kraloch. “Is there anything you can do for her?”
“I have no magic that will help. What of you, Shular? Any suggestions?”
“Returning her to the mud hut might help, but there is nothing else I can suggest.”
“Then I shall take her there right now,” said Urgon.
“No,” said Zhura through gritted teeth. “Let us bring this matter to the tribe while the opportunity exists.”
“Are you sure?” asked Kraloch.
Again, she nodded.
“Then let us proceed.”