Broken Hate, Broken Heart - 2. Chapter 2

But the overzealous novice of the second priest in the traveling party knew no mercy: “Time to rise! Time to rise and shine! To shine brightly like our Mother’s flaming sword!” He said more, in an artificially high-pitched sing-song that hurt Thokk’s ears, but Thokk already knew the sermon.

Tired and grumpy, he groaned, burying his face in his arms.

“Come on, Thokk, there are still more potential archmothers to be chosen."

At the mention of his name, Thokk grunted dismissively before rolling onto his back and squinting up at the tent roof. “Let me guess, you find the sight of women very inspiring."

After what he’d heard yesterday, Thokk tried to look at the women a little less critically, but the slight revulsion and the thought of larvae remained. One of the women had very long hair, which the gentle breeze kept blowing into her face, and Thokk seriously wondered what the point of it was. Why did women wear their hair so impractically long in the first place?

When Gash motioned for him to examine the women, Thokk stepped forward and did what he had to do. The smell of perfume and fear and herbs was sickeningly strong and made his nose burn. The racing hearts pounded in his ears, even without him leaning down toward them.

Well, one woman had a calm, strong heart, but she smelled just as much of fear and herbs as the others did.

“Tell me, Thokk,” Gash finally said as Thokk stepped back, “is there anyone here you would choose?”

Gash nodded with a faint smile and made a inviting gesture toward Khartikk.

Thokk suppressed a sigh, but his brow furrowed nonetheless. When Khartikk chose the woman whose vision was obstructed by her hair, Thokk rolled his eyes, but when the woman with the calm heart received the symbol of preselection on her forehead, he thought he saw a not-entirely-sincere triumph flash in her eyes.

His nose twitched. Could people have a calm heartbeat and reek of fear at the same time? Or was something not quite right here?

But he certainly didn’t need to ask that question here and now, so he preferred to focus on the important things.

The prophecy in question. Gash’s concern.

Just as he had during the sleepless night, Thokk tossed his thoughts back and forth, paying little attention to where they were headed as he walked beside the cart in which Khartikk had taken a seat, leaving the city. Consequently, he nearly stumbled into Gash when the latter stopped unexpectedly.

“Those are fine knives you’re forging there.”

Thokk glanced to the side, puzzled.

“That’s certainly true…” Gash agreed.

Thokk couldn’t believe it. Was Gash holding up the whole group just because he was interested in a cheap knife? A man-made one, at that? He struggled to suppress any reaction. Instead, he studied the two men again. They were tall and broad-shouldered, almost like a young orc still growing.

The young man had soot caked on his face, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple, and his eyes—as bright blue as the sky—stared at Gash with almost childlike fascination as he examined a few knives.

The color seemed to glow strangely at Thokk, and he found in it a purity which took him by surprise. This human man—both of them, in fact—were somehow different. Not pale larvae. There was strength in them, a certain substance. And now it was he who stared in fascination.

At least until Gash patted him on the shoulder and he tore his gaze away from the young blacksmith to follow Gash, who was happily tucking his new acquisition into his belt.

“The spirits have bestowed a blessing upon us,” said the blacksmith behind Thokk, “we must thank them tonight, do you hear, Henry?”

“Yes, father.”

Humans with strength. With substance.

“You’re pulling a face like a rockslide again,” Gash remarked suddenly from the side, and Thokk flinched. When he raised his gaze, Gash was holding out a bowl of stew to him.

“Th-thank you, Master,” he stammered, taken aback. It would be more his job to bring Gash food. He took the bowl and only realized upon seeing it that he was actually hungry.

Meanwhile, Gash sat down next to him and leaned forward, relaxed. He had traded his shaman’s robes for a simple tunic and pants. “What’s on your mind, Thokk? Women again?” he asked, dipping his spoon into the stew.

“No.” Thokk stared morosely at the food, which tasted so different from home. Then he realized his mistake. “Well, not exactly.”

Gash let out a questioning sound.

“The woman with the calm heart…” Thokk searched for words. “Her heart was calm, yes, but she smelled of fear. When Khartikk chose her, she seemed… there was something strange in her gaze.”

“That’s right.” Gash nodded, his spoon scraping against the bowl.

Only now did Thokk take his first bite.

“Humans have developed some interesting drugs, but we can smell most of them. And before you ask, your nose will notice if a human’s scent is really off.”

Now it was Thokk who let out a small sound as he chewed on a tough piece of meat.

“In this case, however, only two types are of interest to humans and us,” Gash continued. “A brew they call ‘Heart’s Desire’ is one of them. It calms, suppresses emotions, leaving only a pleasant numbness. The recipe is strictly kept secret by the healers and is apparently not very easy to make, but it’s also not exactly cheap, so it’s rather rare. Those who drink it have a sweetish body odor, but that can easily be attributed to scented oils or perfumes, so it’s hard for us to detect. The second is a powder made mainly from a specific type of seaweed. It has a similar calming effect, is much more widespread, but harder to dose. Too little, and it doesn’t work; too much, and you smell like fish.”

Thokk grunted with amusement. “Then we’d have to notice, wouldn’t we?”

Gash shook his head with a smile. “Quite so, but it’s extremely rude to ask why someone smells like fish. Fish is healthy—even humans know that.” He winked at Thokk.

But Thokk’s amusement had vanished. “So it could happen that we invite someone down the mountain who doesn’t belong with us at all? Who lied to us right from the very first encounter?”

“That’s right, yes.” Gash nodded in agreement.

“But… but what happens if it’s noticed?”

“That depends on when it’s noticed, and who it is,” Gash replied, giving Thokk a shrug. “And, well, it depends on how that person comes across to us without drugs, but also on who’s responsible. When I was your age, on my first tithe selection too, my master and the priest in charge simply left one of the women behind. In some village, three days’ journey from her home, with no money, with nothing.”

“Serves her right,” Thokk grumbled. He couldn’t muster any sympathy for someone who deceived orcs with drugs.

Khartikk’s voice made Thokk turn his head. Gash replied. Apparently, the two of them had reached the same spot again as they had yesterday outside the tent.

“I saw what you mean,” Khartikk said then, in a way Thokk could understand better. “He looked at them like kitchen scraps.” A note of concern seemed to resonate in his voice.

Gash sighed, and there was definitely worry in it, which gave Thokk goosebumps. “It’s more than that.”

“In what way?”

Thokk shuddered; his mouth went dry.

“He barely gives the women a second glance, but that young blacksmith—”

“The one you absolutely had to buy a knife from?” Khartikk’s interjection was amused and mocking, Thokk noted casually.

“Yes, him.” Gash’s reply, too, was unusual in tone, inappropriate either way. “Thokk stared at him as if he were a revelation.”

Thokk felt his cheeks grow hot—had he really stared so obviously? And his master had noticed?—but confusion joined the mix as Khartikk chuckled quietly.

“You were the one who brought up the prophecy.”

Khartikk chuckled again. “I know.” He cleared his throat and continued more seriously: “Who he chooses to share a bed with shouldn’t matter to us.”

“I’d like to think so,” Gash agreed. “But my concern is: what if his preference and his revulsion go hand in hand? What if it blinds him to the resonance of women? A shaman who finds all women repulsive because he craves pricks is a dead end.”

“A preference for men isn’t necessarily a flaw,” Khartikk replied in a lecturing tone, while Thokk silently shook his head, with the words “I’m not interested in pricks” hammering in his mind.

“Oh, shut up, Tikky, you’re not taking any of this seriously enough!” At Gash’s offended, even sulky tone, Thokk frowned in confusion—the nickname aside—but Khartikk didn’t answer—or at least not in any way Thokk could perceive—and then their footsteps sounded again and faded away.

And in a camp like this, waiting was unpleasant.

So he pitched in. He tidied up, swept the tent floors, and polished the silver drop-resin amulets that would be given as gifts to the bride’s families.

During the ceremony itself, he stayed in the background, trying hard to ignore the smells, and watched closely what the shamans and priests were paying attention to. He wasn’t sure if he’d found a pattern yet, but it was a start.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Thokk.” Gash shook his head over his mug. “Leaving the mountain is a shock for many young orcs. So many humans is a shock. I should have prepared you better, perhaps with a short trip beforehand.”

Somehow that made it easier, and Thokk nodded. “I’d still like to apologize. Comparing humans to larvae was inappropriate. I wasn’t aware of how different the people out here are compared to those under the mountain. My idea of a perfect archmother has—”

“Thokk.” Gently, Gash placed a hand on Thokk’s shoulder. “Your realization is an important step, but still: don’t be too hard on yourself. You studied diligently for many years to get here. Your judgment was harsh, but like almost everything with sharp edges, opinions become a little smoother over time.”

Thokk nodded. Gash would have smelled a clear lie, therefore he’d phrased his words so that they weren’t exactly a lie, but were still what Gash presumably wanted to hear. Back home, he’d either have to learn how to pretend he could find suitable women, or develop in a different shamanic direction.