Of Orcs, Humans & Void Beasts - 5. Letters

Letters between the sisters Elisabeth and Catherine; unrightfully copied by a courier.

Dearest Sister,

There are only a few months left until the tithe, and I’m so excited! Mother bought me a new dress, it’s a very pale yellow, and we’re currently embroidering the hem with little green clay beads; it’s turning into a beautiful vine pattern. I wish you could see it. Aunt Agatha has braided one of those leather strands with colorful beads in it. Actually, there are two: one for my neck and one to tie my hair back. I hope it doesn’t get too windy or rain on the tithing day, because I want to show myself off in all my beauty!

Do you think the orcs will like the beautiful clothes and jewelry we have to offer out here? Or are they used to nothing but the true luxury of nettle silk, cotton, and gemstones? Do they look down on a simple village girl? Mother could sell her good cape and use the money to get me better shoes. I’ll ask her.

Oh, dearest Cat, I can hardly contain my excitement!

Can you believe it, Theodore, Friedrich’s son, proposed to me! Now, so close to the tithe. Of course I turned him down, because what’s a human wedding worth in the eyes of the orcs? Certainly not the money spent on it. And why should I tie myself to Theodore now, when I have the chance to live as an archmother? You know, it’s not about the silk and jewelry and all that, it’s the feeling! What man around here, in a village like this, would ever carry a woman in the palm of his hand? My happiness would be perfect surrounded by a bunch of kids, safe from those wretched beasts, beneath the mountain. We can hear them screaming at night, and I’m scared. No one here sleeps well.

But enough of that, I don’t want to burden you with my fears.

The harvest was good enough to get us through the winter without worry. The kale is still out, and the onions for spring have been planted. We just didn’t cure as much as usual, salt has gotten more expensive, and the oil has a stronger flavor this year, so it’s not great for preserving vegetables and doesn’t trade well. I’ve heard fantastic things about the food under the mountain, though, how much of it is true?

I wish I could already be with you, enjoying a bath in your company. Please write back soon.

Elisabeth

*

Dearest little Elisabeth,

Do not be sad if winter seems long to you, for spring and the tithe will surely come. Here, those who will soon take one of you as their consort are already being chosen. The chambers are being cleaned and prepared, and the courts are being filled with warriors and servants. The elder archmothers are swarming about like bees, working to adequately furnish the widow’s chambers so they can transform a tithe bride into a true bride. The baths there are already fragrant with the new soaps, oils, and essences that some of the archmothers wish to test.

My lady is confident that nothing will stand in the way of the ceremonies, for nothing ever does.

Believe me, Ellie, the men here are certainly excited, too. A bride is a great honor, and it’s not given to just anyone. Most of them have worked hard for it, spending years in the forts to protect everyone out there from the beasts.

And why would the shamans reject you? You’re beautiful and smart, and your heart is so pure that it must sing in the sacred resonance! To reject you would be a mistake, and only the ancestors know what must be wrong in the shamans’ minds for that to happen.

Poor Theodore probably hoped to tie you down as quickly as possible with a child, but even so, don’t dwell on it, he can’t hold it against you if you head for the mountains.

I’m sending you a little box made of high-quality mushroom wood. It’s light and water-resistant, yet the air inside doesn’t go bad. Take a good look at it, Ellie, because you’ll find many such treasures here. Aunt Agatha could keep her beads in it.

Your loving sister, Catherine

 *

(Letter found hidden inside a mushroom wood box.)

My dear ones at home, think carefully! Life beneath the mountain is by no means as wonderful as you imagine!

It’s constantly dark, because the light from glowing mosses and lichens is barely enough to see your own feet. It’s stuffy as soon as you move ten meters away from a ventilation shaft.

Everything and everyone here is constantly scrubbed until the skin becomes raw and stings from the soap. Nothing is allowed to have a smell, except for the lords who go to various meetings. Everything must be constantly silent, because their ears are sensitive; no one here sings or laughs or dances.

The food is by no means as fantastic as you imagine. Mushrooms and seaweed and water beans, meat from animals I’ve never seen, but which tastes awful. Bitter leaves, even more mushrooms, and bitter seed porridge. Fruit here is only available dried or pickled, mostly in strong alcohol. They hardly ever bake anything here. I force most of it down because I have to eat something, after all.

The baths are wonderful and the fabrics are soft, but the orcs are hardly what you dream of, Ellie. Almost only warriors get a bride, and what do warriors do? They kill the beasts. They brag about how many they’ve slain, show off their bulging scars, and all too often they yearn to head out again.

They revere the chosen brides, their archmothers, but hardly anyone interacts with them outside the bedchamber. They’re beautifully furnished cages, full of splendor and luxury, but still a prison. The widows’ chambers are a refuge where one can forget the loneliness for a moment, but the world down here is small and full of inner coldness. Love does not seem to me to be a concept the orcs are familiar with.

And anyone who is not a chosen bride must endure the attention of all those men who have no bride. Orcs and humans alike lust after us maids, and my lord is no exception. He is a hot-tempered man who raises his voice against his consort and his hand against his men. I have chosen the only man in his court whom he respects as my lover and enjoy his protection, but his love is as rough as his hands. I drink the women’s tea and pray every month that I will bleed, for I do not know if my lord would take in a ward, even if my lady were to speak on my behalf.

Please, believe me when I say that the world down here hardly matches what you hear out there. Ellie should think twice, for she would only be unhappy.

Letters from soldier Haddrog to his parents; unrightfully copied by a courier.

My dearest Mother,

I know I don’t write often enough, but there isn’t much to write about. The rift’s activity is subsiding, and so is ours. I’ve only sustained a single scratch in the last three months, and it didn’t even get really inflamed. The wolves are getting restless, but a long ride through the countryside is refreshing for both sides. They’ll probably be ordered to another fort soon.

The rations are terrible as always; the spring and summer harvests so far haven’t been good, it rains too much.

Lately, the people in town have been suffering frequently from a skin disease they call lichen. Fitting, since it shimmers white and greenish. It’s said to be painful and itchy, but even our healer doesn’t know what to do. Our shaman is more

I don’t know what else to tell you. How are my brothers doing, especially the youngest ones? Is Father still arguing with the council?

Now I’m sitting here, ready to send this letter, but something just occurred to me. How is it that the women here have absolutely nothing in common with you? In two years, the tithe is due, and the young women who will then be up for selection are acting as if they’ve already been chosen. Some even get rude to us because we aren’t chosen mates.

No woman here, neither the young ones nor the mothers, has any of the delicate grace that seems to be inherent in you, the archmothers. Is there really a spark of the Old Mother within you, one that is awakened by the bonding ritual? Or is it the work?

Here is a master carpenter, actually, a female mistress carpenter, who doesn’t even come up to my chest, but who can bellow orders so loudly that it makes you lose your senses. If she didn’t need helping hands, I’d make a beeline for the door the moment I saw her. The way she swings her hammer, a warhammer would suit her well in the face of the void beasts. She was arguing with the commander earlier, but I think we all know how that ends. And I’m not talking about crushed fingers.

I don’t know if I really want a bride of my own given such prospects. I’d probably compare her to you all the time, and then she’d surely come up short. That doesn’t seem fair to me. Life here at the fort may be less comfortable than in a court, but on an emotional level, it’s much more relaxed.

With love, Haddrog

 *

Honored Father,

Life at the fort goes on as usual. Activity at the rift is subsiding, and so is ours. The first ones are getting restless and waiting for the signal from the shaman, who stares intently at the rift and measures its energy. I think the man is just bored.

The armorer constantly complains about a lack of resources, and the quartermaster whines just as loudly. As for the kennel master, I’m not sure what he’s complaining about, but either way, he actually expects an order every day to take the wolves to other forts.

The commander regularly brings in human craftsmen; apparently, it’s easier to pay them for labor and materials than to wait for our own supplies.

I don’t know how other forts deal with close-to-dormant rifts, and it may be disrespectful of me, but I can’t help but wonder if your anger toward me is turning into a collective punishment. I won’t beg for forgiveness. Life here is hard, but in a way that’s unpretentious, something a court can’t offer. The camaraderie here is genuine, without constraints.

I also don’t know if I want to lead a court. Or if I could lead one, if I were given one. After what I’ve seen here, I lack the understanding of how I should treat a bride. The women here are different from Mother and the other archmothers, in a daunting way.

Life out here, however, has shown me something else as well: feelings for someone. So far, they’re unrequited, but I wouldn’t want to miss this experience for anything. Yet it shows me that I don’t really want to enter into a relationship with a woman purely for reasons of purpose, honor, or merit.

Of course, that’s just my own thought, because I don’t know if you’ll ever call me back. If I ever set foot beneath the mountain again, know that I’m no longer the boisterous boy you sent away in fury.

Haddrog

Letter from Shaman Durnokk to his nephew; unrightfully copied by a courier.

My dear boy,

Your father told me that you’ve been recommended for a bride. Congratulations on that. However, he told me even more, including that you consider court and bride to be a reward.

And here I must correct you. Your real work begins as soon as you slip on the ruby ring.

What you’re receiving isn’t just chambers and a woman for your bed, you’re receiving a fiefdom that you must oversee. The lands it encompasses must be governed, along with their inhabitants; there are taxes to collect, security measures to implement, and inspections to conduct. If a storm destroys the harvest, you’ll have to deal with the affected farmers. If there’s a fort on the lands, you’ll have to work with the commander and the warlord to supply it.

Your chambers are your home and must be furnished. Not just with furniture and men, but also with clothing, food, and all the little necessities. If the salt or soap runs out, morale drops. And if you don’t make sure the ventilation and bathhouse are maintained, you might end up with a much bigger problem. Though anyone can tell you that low morale can also become a deadly problem.

While we’re on the subject, here’s another piece of advice. As much as you may enjoy having your friends around, you should keep in mind that friendship and differences in rank don’t mix well. You’d surely forgive a friend for a little carelessness, but you can’t forgive a subordinate when it comes to your most precious possessions.

Then there’s envy. It may not be spoken of among friends, but it’s there. Envy poisons every friendship and can put your entire court in danger. Choose your men based on conscientiousness, diligence, and loyalty. Choose advisors and administrators based on their knowledge and experience. Friendship can grow out of trust and good cooperation.

You’re probably thinking right now that I’m just trying to lecture you like your father, but no. Your success is close to my heart. But you’ll stand in your own way if you charge ahead blindly and don’t use your head. I’ve seen enough ruby lords teetering on the brink of failure. Enough fiefdoms left to neglect. Enough courts torn apart from within.

You’ve done your part when it comes to military service. You’ve defended the world with your blood. Now comes the time when you’ll have your weapon at the ready, but a quill in your hand. Responsibility instead of a drive to act. That’s a big difference.

Do you believe me when I tell you your father gives you these kinds of lectures because he’s afraid for you? Probably not. You probably don’t believe, either, that he says all this because he himself made such mistakes. His brothers-in-arms, his dearest friends, stole from him and betrayed him; one of them nearly molested the blessed bride who is your mother.

Of course, you can disregard my advice, after all, your uncle has no bride, no court, no fief. But I was never satisfied with the paths laid out for me either. Assessing potential brides without ever having a real chance of having one myself? Staring at rifts and measuring energies for years on end? Bowing to a ruby lord? No. So I travel about, offering my knowledge and my help, keeping in touch by letter with others back home to supplement their knowledge. But that’s how I’ve seen things, my boy, in all their variations, the good and the bad. Leading a fief and a court is hard work that can either reward you or bring you down.

But leading a court also means leading your home. At the heart of it all stands your bride and she is a human. You’ve met humans out there, and you should have noticed that they’re different from the humans who live beneath the mountain. The Green Mountains are our home; humans are strangers there. They adapt to us. Your bride will need time to get used to her new surroundings: the lack of light, the lack of wind, the different food. Many are intimidated by the orcs’ physical superiority. Many lack the manners and behaviors we expect, the ones we grew up with.

Your bride is not your mother. The elegant calm and composure characteristic of many archmothers takes time to develop, and perhaps it will never come. Humans are accustomed to hard work and deprivation, not the boredom and

And yet I must tell you that, by comparison, they are fragile. Even more fragile than a human man, and I’m in a position to say so, for I’ve lain with all three options. Be careful with her; be tender and gentle. She is not there for your pleasure, but to bear children for you and our people.

But be certain of this: love is something entirely different from tenderness between the sheets. Some humans view things pragmatically, but many young women have romantic ideals whose fulfillment often lies beyond reach.

Talk to her. Silence is like an invisible barrier that can grow into a massive wall, and that wall is harder than any diamond. Talk to her and make her your friend, your ally. She can help you manage the court and the fief, and make life more pleasant for everyone in the court. At the same time, she won’t waste away from boredom or so-called mothers’ melancholy. Friendship is not love, but appreciation is nourishment for the heart.

In hope to visit you again soon beneath the mountain, your uncle Durnokk