Trade Sister for Honor - 3. Chapter 3

That night, Karl slept even worse than the night before, but when he got up, Mathilda was already sitting at the table, brushing her hair.

They barely spoke a word, barely managed to eat a bite, and when it was time to set off, Karl felt sick.

Promising light-gray clouds hung in the sky, but Karl didn’t want to get his hopes up that they might bring rain, even though the air was colder than it had been the days before. The dust from the road covered their shoes, crept up their legs and cloaks, soiling them as if they hadn’t cleaned and brushed them all morning. Actually, Karl thought to himself, they should still be annoyed by mud at this time of year.

But that was a distant thought barely penetrating the nasty feeling in his stomach. He still had no idea what he was supposed to do once the orcs had made a decision.

He glanced back over his shoulder at the village, at their house standing there on the edge, slowly falling into ruin because he had neither the money nor the skill to repair it. The spirits had abandoned them; their parents, their ancestors, were surely looking back at them and wringing their hands.

The orcs’ camp might be makeshift, but it seemed extremely organized. Heavy tents, tarps stretched like roofs, sacred symbols everywhere, nothing was in the way. The smell of food hung in the air, but also something sweeter, which scratched strangely at his throat.

An orc warrior led them past the first tents to a clearing in the center of the camp and growled at them they would have to wait until everyone was gathered, for women were arriving from the other surrounding villages.

Mathilda slipped her cold hand into Karl’s. Her eyes had grown wide, her gaze darting about. Half of the other women looked the same, while the other half seemed very self-assured.

Karl couldn’t say how long they had to wait, but it seemed like no time at all before a group of shamans approached them. In addition to their striking four-colored robes, they now wore bone masks, the kind Karl had heard about.

Soft drumming came from somewhere.

“Karl,” Mathilda squeezed his hand so tightly it hurt, “Karl, I—I don’t know if I can do this.” Her voice was a whisper, but clearly audible over the drumming. “They’re so different from us.”

Karl’s jaw clenched, and opening his mouth to speak caused an unpleasant cracking. “You’d have a good life under the mountain. You’d be safe.” As convinced as he was of this, his voice sounded hollow.

“Safe from the void beasts, certainly, but not safe from them. It is their warriors who are allowed to choose a bride, Karl, and do you remember the warriors who were here in the summer?”

Of course he remembered, but he also remembered how one of the void beasts had dragged their screaming brother away, or the horrific sight of their father’s remains.

“They are made of battle and stone, Karl; they live far from the sun, far from the wind.”

“Mathilda, they—”

“How am I supposed to bed one of them and give him children?”

“Mathilda,” he began again, “think of the other side. A life in this dying village. We have nothing; we live on handouts. Handouts from the orcs, from our neighbors.” He hadn’t meant for his words to ring hollow first, nor for his tone to be so harsh now. But if she were to be rejected, the uncertainty of the past weeks and months would turn to despair. “Here you will starve, whether with me or at the side of a husband. Here, every night there is the possibility the void beasts will come and take us.”

A sound uncomfortably close to a sob escaped her throat. “I could learn to love a human man, but not one of them.”

He grimaced. Of course he understood her point, and if they’d lived in a city, with a family intact and at least some prospects, he would have agreed with her, but the situation was simply dire. “Love is a luxury we can’t afford,” he replied. “You heard the shaman. The land is dying. Our farm is already dead, and so is our family. If they don’t choose you, what then? Then my love for Fred is worth nothing, because I’m worth nothing.”

There was no time for further words, for the drums fell silent abruptly, leaving behind a strangely vibrating stillness. The old priest and a younger colleague had joined the shamans, and the younger one now raised his hand.

“The Old Mother watches over us in her dreams, and the spirits stand by our side. Thank you for accepting our invitation.”

To be honest, nothing else would ever have occurred to Karl, and he didn’t know anyone who would have refused the offer of the orcs. Sure, there were those like Fred who feared them, or those who despised them, but no one would have willingly hidden an eligible daughter. Or was there a punishment for such a thing that Karl simply didn’t know about?

“Please, daughters of the humans, come with us.” The priest gestured toward a tent in front of which two warriors stood, invitingly opening the flaps.

The women began to move, but Mathilda hesitated, even as Karl very clearly withdrew his hand.

“Go,” he whispered, but she wavered.

“Come,” growled a shaman, stepping toward her, even reaching out his hand to her. Dirty yellow eyes stared at them; on his outstretched hand sat a chunky silver ring with a stone in a pale green only slightly darker than his skin. “Come, girl,” he growled again as Mathilda still didn’t move, “you were summoned for examination, so let’s see how loud your blood really sings.”

Mathilda flinched as the shaman took her by the wrist, but she stumbled a step more out of her own fault than because he was actually pulling her along.

Karl caught the glance she cast over her shoulder at him, and the helplessness in it felt like a slap in the face. His shoulders slumped. What good was love to him if he had nothing else?

And yet… bringing up the subject stirred something within him. He longed for a simple life by Fred’s side.

“Sit down.” The voice of a human servant cut sharply through Karl’s thoughts. “We don’t have much on a journey like this, but you will be given refreshments.”

A soft murmur rose, for there was nothing to sit on. Some folded their cloaks, others, like Karl, simply sat down on the ground. Two human servants brought trays with earthenware cups out of a tent, and Karl accepted one. The drink looked like beer, but smelled spicier.

It tasted strange, like beer, yes, but also like herbs, and sweeter at the same time. After the third sip, Karl almost liked it.

“I really don’t know what we’re going to do if she isn’t elected.”

Karl didn’t want to eavesdrop, but the two women sitting near him were a better distraction than his endlessly circling thoughts.

“My sister has staked everything on this, everything. Her son’s wedding, an early engagement for her younger daughter…”

“I know what you mean,” the other woman replied. “My mother was just the same. All her plans went down the drain when neither my sister nor I were chosen. She still acts as if it were our fault.”

“Our neighbor’s like that too, my goodness, but her daughter trembled the moment the orcs so much as looked at her. They want strong sons—where are they supposed to come from with a mother like that?”

Karl sighed into his cup. The orcs weren’t just stone and steel, not just shamans and priests and warriors. Humans were more than just fertile ground for orcish seed. They needed each other. But just as with breeding animals, a single bad parent could ruin the entire bloodline. And weak orcs would fall to the void beasts, were susceptible to the void fever…

A shiver ran down Karl’s spine, and he tried to focus entirely on his drink, though he didn’t quite succeed. Nevertheless, he had finished it by the time the flaps of the tent where the women had disappeared were thrown back.

The orc who stepped out was one of the shamans. “The mountain has spoken,” he announced with a rumble that was hard to understand. “The chosen tithe brides are of pure minds and strong flesh.” He stepped aside. “Return home with your daughters who were not chosen.”

The unchosen ones stepped out of the tent, and their reactions spoke for themselves: disappointment, relief, disbelief, anger.

But Mathilda was not among them.

Karl, who had remained calm until just a moment ago, began to shake; his heart was racing. His sister had been chosen as a tithe bride. He swallowed with difficulty, rubbing his face with trembling fingers. Somewhere beside him, an old man whispered, “Oh, not my little girl, no.”

Once the situation on the small square had calmed down, a significantly younger orc stepped out of the tent. His tunic had the typical two-piece style of the shamans, but his pants were simply brown—a student, presumably. He carried a scroll and cleared his throat before he began to read out the names of the chosen women. When Mathilda’s name was called, Karl shuddered again, but this spoken, definitive certainty was reassuring.

And yet…

The land was dying. Should he really stay? Even with Fred by his side? Should they leave? If so, where to?

“–as thanks for your daughters, the bride price will be paid,” the young orc continued reading. “A protective amulet made of silver drop resin. Three bushels of seed of your choice. A swamp sow in pig.”

Karl’s head was spinning as the shaman’s apprentice continued speaking. In a drought, neither the seeds would be of great value nor would one be able to feed such a sow and her piglets, but the amulet was precious—there were only five of them in the entire village. And the amount of gold exceeded his wildest imagination of wealth.

He was now a wealthy man. A man of honor. His blood was considered blessed. He could claim a place in the family from Fred’s parents; he could leave with Fred for more fertile lands. With the amulet, he would never have to fear the night again.

When a servant came and handed him the amulet, next to which hung another pendant, “as a sign that the bride price still has to be paid to you,” Karl began to cry and laugh. Nausea churned in his stomach, a chill crept through his chest, but he felt infinitely light.

His fit only ended when a heavy hand rested on his shoulder. “Are you all right, lad?”

One of the shamans looked down at Karl searchingly, almost with concern, and he straightened his shoulders. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I am… I have no idea.”

The shaman nodded and squeezed his shoulder before withdrawing his hand. “Go home. Bring the news to your family.”

A choke of laughter escaped Karl’s throat, and tears stung his eyes once more. “My sister is all I have left.” To his surprise, the orc before him seemed to slump slightly.

“Are you satisfied with the outcome?” he asked.

Karl nodded. “She has a future now. A warm, safe place without hunger or void beasts.”

“And you? Do you have such a place?”

At first Karl wanted to say no, but then he paused. If he said no, would the shaman offer him a place beneath the mountain? As a servant in his sister’s court? And what would Karl answer to that?

The shaman waited patiently for a reply, while Karl’s pensive gaze lingered on the orc’s heavy amulet and his hand drifted to his own new protective one. The dried resin was smoothed and polished, irregular yet soothing beneath his fingers.

Finally, he looked up and nodded.

The shaman nodded back. “Good. Then go home. Before the harvest is due, the bride price will be surrendered."

“Can I see her one more time? Say goodbye?”

Pity flashed across the gray-green face. “She is one of us now. A lady beneath the mountain.”

Before Karl could ask if he would ever see her again, if he might perhaps be able to visit her, the shaman had already turned away and was striding off. After one last glance at the tent where Mathilda was, Karl turned away as well. Wordlessly, he followed the warrior who escorted him out of the camp, then stared toward the village.

A man of honor. A man with money. But a crumbling, empty home in a village plagued by drought.

Slowly, he began to walk. The sky above him had cleared, and the sun warmed his face. He would have preferred rain.

Could he stay here, with Fred, now that Mathilda was gone? Should he persuade Fred to take the bride price and start over somewhere else? What if Fred wanted to stay?

For a while, he just kept walking, letting his thoughts flow, building castles in the air and worst-case scenarios alike. Then, however, the realization struck him that, no matter what decision he or Fred made, new questions like these would keep cropping up. How was he supposed to live his life if serious decisions were constantly weighing on his shoulders?

The question paralyzed him, and he stopped in the middle of the street.

How did others do it? How had his parents done it? Or did asking himself this question mean that, despite being twenty years old, he was really still a child? Too immature to understand life?

His eyes burned again. He wanted to turn around, look back at the orc camp, convince himself that Mathilda was looking at him from there, but he stood his ground, swallowing back tears and a sob.

He now had money and honor, and that meant he could afford the little luxury called love. He would go to Fred. Together with Fred, he would find answers.