Of Orcs, Humans & Void Beasts - 4. The Number 8

Extract from: Myths and Legends, Section 1: Foundations: The Number 8

by Wilfried Riverside

(Note from the publisher: this print is unedited since its first edition. In the nearly 100 years since then, some of the written down information might have changed.)

The number 8 is deeply interwoven with orc culture. This begins with the fact that the Old Mother designated eight orc women as her chosen daughters, making them both high priestesses and the matriarchs of the eight clans. It must have been all the more painful, then, when one of the clans remained behind in the swamps during the exodus to the mountains.

Looking at the world in this way, one might wonder why the Old Mother created only six races. In fact, we do not know the whole world. We do not know what lies west of the seas, or beyond the desert to the south, or east of the swamps. As for the latter, however, there are legends among the orcs that speak of dense forests and rocky plains even further to the east, where two races live who know nothing but fighting one another.

This may be nothing more than legend, for where would they find the time to fight one another when they must already withstand the void beasts?

Be that as it may, the number 8 holds an important place in the lives of the orcs, in their culture, their daily lives, but also in ours—that of humans.

Although we humans and orcs have adopted the centaurs’ time system, which is based on the number 6, our calendar is nonetheless a blend of both systems—one that must truly have been devised by mathematical masters—or perhaps the Old Mother had a hand in it before she went to sleep.

The most important element in ordinary life, aside from determining time by the sun, is the week, which consists of eight days; we live according to its rhythm and that of the seasons, even without having to keep a meticulous eye on the calendar. A year consists of forty-eight weeks, spread across twelve months, each of which consists of thirty-two days. Eight years form a cycle. And the lives of the orcs are measured in cycles.

During the first life cycle, a child belongs entirely to its mother. It learns the most basic aspects of life, which—once it reaches a certain level of maturity—include reading, writing, and the basic principles of mathematics.
At the age of eight, the second cycle begins, during which the child is introduced—first through play, and later with due seriousness—to the profession that will later shape its life.
At age sixteen—that is, at the start of the third cycle—the first rite of passage takes place. The young orc is no longer a child, but not yet an adult. He leaves his parents’ home and moves in with his master. This cycle is considered very demanding and has two highlights: admission to (and, hopefully, passing) the final apprenticeship exam, and his twenty-fourth birthday. The latter is usually celebrated with a ceremony to officially mark their entry into the adult world.
The fourth cycle is often referred to as a time of self-discovery. It is here that young warriors in particular must prove themselves and demonstrate that they have earned the honor and responsibility of leading a ruby court and receiving a bride.
An orc who has lived through eight cycles—that is, sixty-four years—is granted the title of Elder. Those who remain without a bride by that point are permanently set aside, but those who have been successful by then gain access to various things that need not be elaborated upon here.

I would like to point out that the third cycle corresponds to the age range (that is, sixteen to twenty-four years) in which we make our girls and women available for the tithe selection. We humans, whose systems are based on the number 10, are responsible for ensuring that the Tithe (a word historically derived from the number ten) is convened every ten years, which, given this age range, completely excludes some of the young women. Why, however, we chose eighteen of all ages as the marker for adulthood can no longer be determined today.

Staying with the topic of tithe brides, there are also many elements in which the number eight is woven in. For example, in preparation for the wedding, a bride is washed by eight pregnant women with eight waters and dressed in eight garments—the unveiling at a later point is, of course, also ritualistic, albeit of a more private nature.
One tradition that is now considered conservative (unjustly so, it seems to me) is the veiling of the newly ordained archmother for the first eight weeks, so that she does not arouse desire among the members of the court until her husband has had sufficient time to sow his seed. While human pregnancies last nine months, orcish or human-orcish pregnancies last only eight months. People often overlook the fact that, in the case of a mixed pregnancy, this is primarily due to biological reasons, but the orcs—and especially their priests—like to cite this as a symbol of their superiority.

Furthermore, having eight children is the sacred goal. A couple achieving this is considered blessed. Contrary to the usual predestination, the eighth child is free to choose his own profession. From then on, many political paths are open to the father of these eight children, and it is difficult to find a chieftain who has fewer than six of his own. I would like to point out that bastards do not count toward this total; on the contrary, they tend to diminish one’s reputation, even if an honorable orc takes care of any misdeeds.

The mother becomes a High Archmother and assumes a leadership role in the widows’ chambers, comparable to the title of elder. Wives of high-ranking clan members are then often invited to meetings as the “Voice of Feminine Wisdom.”

Healers mix their medicines and scented oils, and priests their incense blends, often following the “Principle of Eight”—a concept not explained to outsiders. Observations suggest, however, that it involves more than simply using eight different ingredients.

Incidentally, there are quite a few priests who, out of devotion, cut off one finger from each hand and one toe from each foot.

When an orc dies, the body is washed in eight waters and then laid out for eight days. In the swamps, each palm and sole was (and is) incised eight times, a practice that is no longer followed beneath the mountain. The body is then anointed with eight oils and essences and wrapped in a linen shroud. In the swamps, the body is buried in special bodies of water; beneath the mountain, it is placed in a burial chamber created and sealed by the stone singers.

If his wife is widowed without children and the marriage lasted less than eight years, she is remarried. If the marriage produced children, a cycle of mourning is required; afterward, she may—under certain conditions—remarry if she so desires. In the meantime, however, a mourning period of one cycle is often imposed even on childless women before they are remarried.

The aforementioned rupture in the exodus is particularly noticeable during council meetings. These take place at octagonal tables, where the empty seat at the table is symbolically occupied by a bowl containing either moss or water to represent the swamp and the clan that remained there.

In architecture, the number eight has found its way into only a few places. In the swamps, the huts built on stilts belonging to the chieftains and the Great Assembly Hall were and remain octagonal; beneath the mountain, one finds octagonal water basins or temples in some places; otherwise, only the Hall of the First Chieftain is octagonal in shape.

In contrast, the basic layout of the forts is octagonal, as long as the terrain permits, and the bathing pools there are also octagonal. Both, however, serve more as symbols that the clans fight united against the void beasts. If such a basic layout—for example, in the mountains—is difficult to implement, the central keep is built in an octagonal shape.

Rumor has it that one of the criteria for joining the Night Sentries is mastery of eight different weapons, but since this elite unit is considered as secretive as the stone itself, this is difficult to verify.

An old ballad tells of an orc woman who wanted to know which clan had the best men and so married one from each (at the same time!). Each man won her over in different ways, and she told each one that he was the best, but asked him to keep it a secret so as not to stir up jealousy. During a celebration, a drunken brawl broke out, and they ended up killing each other. In the end, the woman came to realize that we are all unique and by no means better or worse than others.