Hungry Heart - Book #2 - Ch. 19

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five / Chapter Six / Chapter Seven / Chapter Eight / Chapter Nine / Chapter Ten / Chapter Eleven / Chapter Twelve / Chapter Thirteen / Chapter Fourteen / Chapter Fifteen / Chapter Sixteen / Chapter Seventeen / Chapter Eighteen 

Chapter Nineteen – Black Sun

Duril stood by Sog’s side, listening carefully. Only a few steps from them, Toru was engaged in an argument with Demophios, and their words, while spoken quietly, could still be heard.

“Sog,” Duril said gently, “what are you afraid of? What is the story you know?” He had an inkling that the orcs knew of something very similar to the tale told by Claw, but maybe told through someone else’s eyes and tongue.

“No story,” Sog whined and caught his head between his large paws, swinging it from side to side in despair. “It is the prophecy that one day will come, and it will kill all orcs of Zukh Kalegh and beyond.”

“You know of other orcs besides your brethren?” Duril asked, trying to approach the truth slowly and cautiously so that Sog didn’t lose himself in fear and taint the story with nightmare-like visions of his own.

Sog shook his head again. “We all share the same blood. Once she gives you a kiss, you’re dead, dead, dead,” he whispered, and his eyes grew wide as if he could see that force of destruction unfurling right in front of him.

“She?” Duril asked and regretted his question right away. Without a doubt, Sog could only mean the one he called a goddess.

“Death,” Sog confirmed, speaking the name quietly, his eyes darting sideways as if frightened that whatever that entity was could hear him and strike him where he stood that very moment. “Orcs don’t fear to die,” he continued, “but her kiss is more than that. Orcs can die, but the horde should never.”

Duril stole a glance at his friends. Toru was angered, Demophios was talking about the fate that awaited them, while Claw and Varg were listening, all eyes and ears. “Something worse than death,” he murmured.

“No more orcs, never again,” Sog continued in the same pleading voice.

And no more humans or others, either, Duril concluded for himself. Whatever the goddess Sog was speaking of intended, he understood it to be the wiping out of all life, and that was why Claw called the sandstorm raging around them “the storm of the end of the world”.

“Then we will fight her,” Duril said and patted Sog on the shoulder.

“You cannot,” came the pained reply. “She’s in the sand, rising and getting under your skin.”

“Then we shouldn’t let her do that,” Duril said promptly. He tried to sound courageous, but what could one do against such a powerful, insidious enemy?

He took in their surroundings with growing disquietude. The sand was rising further, making it hard to see. Although it was supposed to still be noon, and the sun should have been bestowing its merciless love upon the desert, around them a twilight of sorts descended, escorted by a chill that made Duril shiver for a moment. The dark blanket surrounding their protective bubble grew ever thicker and it had to be nothing but a matter of time until it would be pitch black.

“Demophios,” Duril asked, “do you know what this is?”

The usually serene voice of the wise snake carried none of its reassuring quality. “I have heard of it, seen of it in the fascinated eyes of witches, but never witnessed it. The worst is yet to come.”

Eyes of storm rose and faded in the swirling sand. Nevertheless, they could hear nothing, and that created a sense of anticipatory dread that was only increased tenfold by Demophios’ ominous words.

“Are we just going to sit here and do nothing?” Toru inquired.

Duril could tell that the young tiger was itching to fight. It was, after all, in his blood, and it was also his way of dealing with everything. But so many times so far, it had been proven by whims of fate or destiny that things were never simple enough to be fought head on. A different kind of evil lurked around them, one that was incapable, for now, of striking them and bringing doom upon their heads. But that didn’t mean they were protected for all eternity, and in his straightforward manner, Toru was right.

“Soon, young tiger, soon. They will come.”

Demophios’ voice seemed to have the uncanny ability to summon the shadows that began to appear around them.

“What are--” Varg stopped mid-sentence, swallowing his words.

They all stared into the new nightmare crafted right outside their unnatural shelter. The shadows rose, became bigger, and suddenly a face plastered itself against the invisible wall that stood between them and the world.

Duril took one step back. Sog began to wail.

“Is that… an orc?” Toru asked, his voice hesitant.

The apparition could be considered such, but its features were distorted, belonging to a nightmare like no other. The skin had been pulled over the cranium so tightly that it appeared to be one moment away from splitting and revealing all the flesh and bone underneath. The mouth of the apparition opened wide, showing rows of sharp teeth, but while the creature should have inspired nothing but fear and visions of pain in those gazing upon it, instead its entire visage appeared contorted into a scream of pain or a cry for help.

Sog surprised them all by jumping to his feet and hurrying to the transparent wall that kept them protected from the poor souls outside. He stretched out his arms and fanned his fingers as if in an effort to pull that apparition together and make sense of it.

Duril caught him from behind and tried to pull him back, but it was tough to do so with just one arm, and Sog stubbornly opposed, too fascinated by the creature behind the invisible wall to care.

***

They had seen armies of darkness before, Toru thought, as he took in the many faces now sliding around them, some stopping for a few moments, others stopping in place, refusing to go away, all with their mouths open in cries that could be of despair or something even deeper. He could understand the pity Duril felt toward his brethren, and Demophios was helping no one with his words of doom.

It could be, however, nothing more than another deceit, one whose sole aim was to make them lower their guard only so that it could strike them later. The evil they had confronted thus far spared nothing when it came to tangling them in a web of lies, and Toru believed that this desperate horde of orcs was nothing but one of the many deceptions crafted by that unnatural being.

Duril was trying in vain to pull his orc friend away from the barrier, so Toru hurried to the rescue. He grabbed Sog and pushed him back. The orc fell but didn’t show any sign of getting mad at him. Instead, he shook his head, then grabbed it between his paws and turned away from the visions around them.

“Thank you, Toru,” Duril whispered.

“Demophios,” Toru called out to the wise snake again, “now would be a good time for all that wisdom you talk about until my head hurts.”

He could tell that Varg and Claw felt as clueless as he did, but there was no sense of satisfaction in that. What he needed was for the snake to point out the enemy so that he could crush it and save all his friends.

“Your friend has an essential artifact that will help you,” the snake replied.

“What artifact?”

It was so very strange to see all those apparitions marching past but hearing nothing of what had to be their fear and despair. They were taken, molded into something else, and thrown into a battle surely not of their choosing. Toru, as a warrior at heart, could understand the dread that lurked under those crazed eyes, now bloodshot and threatening to burst out of their sockets. A true warrior always fought his own battles, not someone else’s, whether by belief or choice.

“The pearl?” Duril asked and took the precious stone out of his bag.

A small light flickered inside it, but it seemed so bright that it hurt the eyes as the darkness grew thicker and thicker around them.

“Yes,” the wise snake confirmed.

“But I thought it is something to be used after a bond has formed between Claw, Varg, and Duril,” Toru said. “And under a white moon, not a black sun,” he added and pointed above them.

In the sandstorm, the sun seemed a faint dream, somewhere far away, its power gone.

“It is useful in many ways and will serve the purpose,” Demophios said. “And the bond already exists. You’re the best of friends that ever walked the earth. Few friendships are truly tested against the test of death.”

“What do we have to do with the pearl?” Toru asked, knowing the truth of the snake’s words to the deepest crimson folds of his heart.

For a moment, Demophios appeared to hesitate.

“You like to talk so much when no one wants to listen,” Toru exclaimed. “How about you tell us about the pearl and how we should use it?”

“It is a powerful artifact. Its effects will put the greatest fear of all into your soul,” Demophios said quietly.

“Ha! I fear nothing,” Toru replied and crossed his arms. “So save your breath.”

“If you’re so keen to charge ahead…” Demophios replied, and, for a split moment, Toru wondered whether it wouldn’t have been better to listen to the snake for once.

They had no time to spare, so Demophios could keep all his cautions and premonitions to himself. Toru touched the pearl as it sat in Duril’s open palm, its otherworldly flicker growing stronger and stronger. “What do they have to do?” he asked the snake.

“Their blood must touch the pearl. It will combine and become one,” Demophios supplied right away.

“That’s all?”

“That is what is required if their purpose is to make the artifact come alive,” Demophios confirmed. “Yours will start shortly after,” he added.

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Toru declared with determination.

He didn’t need to tell his friends to gather round. Varg and Claw drew closer and watched as Duril placed the pearl on the ground carefully. “We need something small and sharp.”

Sog hurried to them then and handed Duril his dagger. Toru watched as the healer held his palm open for Varg to cut a thin line across. From the superficial wound, a few droplets fell on the pearl and the fire within dimmed for a moment only then to blaze brighter. Varg followed and did the same, and Claw went last.

Dark waters swirled inside the pearl now, and the blood on it turned into a thread made of three crimson strands. It rose into the air and suddenly shot, splitting itself in three, at the chests of Duril, Varg, and Claw.

Toru shouted as his friends fell to the ground, motionless. “What happened? What’s this?” He took Duril in his arms and shook him, but his head just lolled back, his eyes closed. “Demophios!” he bellowed, prey to a new kind of despair.

“Young tiger, you don’t have the luxury of time.”

“Are you mad? Duril… Varg… Claw…”

“They’re orcs!” Sog suddenly shouted. He kept pointing a gnarly finger, and Toru stared, not wanting to believe.

Duril’s skin was turning greenish, and so did Varg’s and Claw’s.

“You perfidious snake!” he yelled. He grabbed the pendant from his shirt and squeezed it in his fist, trying to crush it into dust, but the metal held.

“Toru, stop!” Demophios ordered.

Something in the old snake’s voice made him do as he was told.

“They’re not dead yet, and you will save them. Now look,” Demophios added.

Toru’s eyes fell on the pearl on the ground. The thread of blood was pulling its tendrils back and the pearl was now slowly transforming into something resembling a sword. Its blade shone so bright that Toru had to shield his eyes, he who had never been afraid of the sun.

“Quickly,” Demophios said hurriedly. “Grab it!”

Toru didn’t hesitate for one moment. His skin burned when it touched the hilt of the sword, and it felt as if it was trying to make itself one with Toru’s hand, but still, he didn’t dally. For what it was worth, Demophios had proven to be on their side, and a weapon meant that he would get to fight, which was the thing he knew how to do best.

As much as his heart tugged at him to stay back and watch over his friends, his determination stood resolute. The sword began to pull itself up and Toru with it as well.

“Now,” Demophios continued, “put me inside that small nook in the hilt.”

“What nook?”

Above them, the bubble that had protected them was growing thin because Toru could feel the wind in his hair and the fetor of putrefying bodies.

“Look,” Demophios said, but his voice was growing faint.

Toru felt someone climbing up his back and before he could protest, Sog snatched the snake pendant from his shirt and pushed it inside a tiny hole that his quick eyes must have seen. The blade jerked and pulled him up harder, all while Sog hung on Toru’s back.

“Get off me, orc,” Toru shouted, trying to shake off his passenger.

“No. Sog saves the horde, too,” the orc replied and only dug his fingers and nails deeper into Toru’s shoulders.

Toru ground his teeth, but there was no more time to fight the silly orc because they were up in the air. He felt the tiny sand grains cutting through his skin and groaned in pain. At first, they only seemed to be prickling his face, but they did hurt, more and more as time passed. Sog threw one large paw over Toru's eyes. “Up, up, tiger,” he said, “Sog will be your sight!”

If those grains of sand got into his eyes, he would be blinded. Toru tightened his hold on the hilt, Demophios was quiet now that he had been made part of the sword. He could only sense through his fingers how the blade continued to slash through the air, reaching higher and higher, as there was no sight he could use.

Sog removed his hand, and then Toru realized that they were so high that the desert was far below. He spared only one look at the earth beneath them and then set his eyes back in the direction the blade was guiding them. A single thread of sand was moving ahead them, turning into a hand that covered the sun.

Toru no longer needed Demophios to tell him what had to be done. His grip on the sword assured him that the weapon was one with him.

“There, tiger, there,” Sog said and pointed high above them.

He followed the orc’s outstretched arm and noticed what he meant. The hand of black sand blocking the sun and trying to engulf it whole seemed to break at a point along its unnaturally formed wrist. Toru willed himself higher, as it was only the power of the blade that appeared to move them. Like magic, the blade changed its direction slightly. “I’m your master!” Toru shouted victoriously.

“You’re not my master,” Sog protested right away.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Toru replied.

“Who were you talking to?”

Toru didn’t waste time replying to the silly orc and raised the blade, his entire body tensing. The air was stiller here, and it appeared as if the sandstorm was conserving its power, focused on maintaining its assault on the sun in the shape of that deformed hand with fingers sharpened into claws.

“Now, tiger, now,” Sog shouted, more and more agitated.

Toru didn’t need an orc to tell him what to do. As they moved past the weak point Sog had pointed out, he dropped the blade one time, hard and fast. The sand thread jerked violently, the unnatural life inside it seemingly surprised by the attack. A bellow came from below, cavernous and wailing, as the fingers stretched over the sun loosened their hold and began coming apart.

“We did it!” Sog cried out. “Zugh Kalegh lives!”

Toru wanted to smack the orc upside the head so badly, but he was too happy to see how the thread below them was unfurling, and the sun was shining bright and unhindered once more. For a moment, he wanted to smile in triumph, but the warmth on his face turned into a burning nightmare, and despite himself, he let out a cry of pain.

In a split second, his face was covered again, but this time, it appeared that Sog was shielding him with his entire body, having changed positions swiftly when the sandstorm lost its grip on the sun.

“Sog protects silly, big-mouthed tiger,” the orc said with self-importance.

“Just because you have tougher skin,” Toru protested, his words muffled as his face was forced against Sog’s caved-in chest. “You stink.”

Sog’s laughter was nothing short of the neighing of a horse. Toru didn’t have time to reprimand the orc further, as they appeared to be dropping fast. When they landed on the ground, he groaned, his back crashing against it and making his entire body jerk.

Nonetheless, he was alive, and the sandstorm appeared to have lost its power considerably. He pushed Sog away, grunting and protesting. “Ha!” he shouted victoriously as he jumped to his feet. “Take that, storm of the end of the world! You’re no match for me!”

His happiness, however, was short-lived. His eyes fell on his comrades, and they looked as if they were in the same deep sleep as before. Toru hurried to them, touching their chests, leaning over to feel their breath. They weren’t dead, but they were so deep in sleep that they were as good as that.

“Demophios,” he shouted in despair, “why aren’t they waking up? I defeated that ugly storm!”

No reply came. Toru reached for the blade that he had dropped while traveling back to the ground, and on the hilt was the nook where the snake pendant had been places, but no sign of the metal snake could be seen. “Demophios?” he called. “Where are you? You’re not dead, are you? You can’t be dead. You’re immortal, remember?”

Nothing but silence answered him. Toru frantically searched the shifting sands but no sign of the ancient snake could be found. Toru’s eyes filled with moisture as his heart filled with despair. He had only one ally left, and he seemed to be lost, if not worse.

Toru wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and squeezed the hilt of the sword, not wanting to shout in despair again.

“Tiger,” Sog said and pulled at his elbow.

“Let me be, orc,” Toru spat. “Can’t you see everyone’s as good as dead? Don’t come near me unless you know how to wake them up.”

“Sog knows.”

Toru dropped the sword back into the sand and turned toward the orc. “You do?”

Sog nodded eagerly. “Mud cakes.”

Toru felt his face contorting in disgust without willing it to do so in any way. “Mud cakes?”

Sog continued to move his head up and down with enthusiasm. “Orcs are made of mud. If you want to wake them up, they need mud cakes.”

“You’re just a silly orc,” Toru said with irritation. “Nobody eats mud cakes.”

Sog didn’t appear deterred in the slightest by being contradicted. Instead, he grabbed Toru by the wrist and began pulling him. “Must find water. Water and sand make mud cakes.”

Toru threw another look at his friends. They all appeared to be dead to the world. At this point, he had not the slightest idea what to do, and Demophios was lost. Toru couldn’t believe that the wise reptile was destroyed. Immortal snakes living in the desert couldn’t die, could they?

He stopped Sog. “Wait, we have water here.” As far as he knew, Duril always carried a skin of water with him, in his bag, and as cautious as he was, he must have filled it at the oasis the last time they stopped. Toru searched through the bag and showed Sog the water pouch.

Sog grabbed it, sniffed it, and then opened it. “Too little water. Not enough for all the orcs.”

If this silly orc thought he would start making mud cakes for the entire horde, he had to be out of his mind. But Toru didn’t want to contradict him further. “Let’s just make some for Duril, Varg, and Claw. Then there will be more of us to make mud cakes for your horde.”

Sog mustn’t have missed the disdain in his words, so he stared at him curiously. He pointed at the still sleeping Duril. “Not-Orc is the horde, too.”

“No, he’s not,” Toru countered right away.

“Yes, he is,” Sog insisted, putting his chin up and looking like he was itching for a fight.

“Make those mud cakes already,” Toru replied and raised his voice.

That seemed to be enough to spur the orc into action. He crouched and began making a small hole in the ground, digging with his hands. “Mud is blood, and blood is life,” he began singing, as he splashed water inside.

His gnarly fingers worked quickly. Toru felt like gagging when Sog spat into the strange dough he was making. He decided that he didn’t need to know about making mud cakes, so he turned his back and went to check on Duril again. He took the limp hand into his and began talking to him. “I know that you can hear me. I defeated that ugly storm.”

“It was Death, Death, Death, we vanquished Death,” Sog chanted as he went about his making mud cakes.

“I vanquished Death,” Toru said. “Stop putting silly ideas in Duril’s head.”

Sog snickered, and his hands continued to move fast. Aligned in rows around him now stood about a dozen mud cakes. “Not-Orc knows Sog is a brave orc.”

Toru mumbled something under his breath, but he had no time to argue with Sog. “Did you make those disgusting mud cakes?”

“I did, I did,” Sog confirmed, grabbed one and hurried with it to Toru. “Open his mouth and stuff it in.”

Toru threw Sog a worried look. “Are you sure? He might choke.”

Sog shook his head. “He’s an orc. Any orc likes mud cakes.”

Toru shrugged. Duril was still deep asleep, and the others showed no signs that they would wake up soon. So he took the mud cake from Sog’s hand. He tore off a small piece and pushed it gently between Duril’s lips.

“More, more,” Sog insisted and took the entire cake.

Toru didn’t have time to intervene, and Sog pushed the whole thing into Duril’s mouth, stuffing it with it. Annoyed with the orc’s strange ways of waking up those sleeping, Toru smacked him one time hard over the head. Sog squealed and jumped away, turning away from him.

He was about to scold him some more, when his eyes fell on the angry red marks on Sog’s back. His entire skin there was an open wound, but Sog didn’t seem to be bothered by it.

“What is that?” he asked, but he knew what it was just as the words left his mouth.

Duril was right about Sog. The orc must have endured all the strength of the sun while protecting his face, taken the brunt of it without complaining or asking for his actions to be recognized in any way.

Sog faced him and grinned. “Sun is wicked. He gave Sog blessing marks.”

Toru sighed and smiled at him. “Thank you for not letting the sun give me those. You’re still a silly orc, though. How long are these mud cakes supposed to be taking?”

“As long as needed,” Sog replied with self-importance.

“Why are you two fighting?” Duril’s groggy voice made them stop.

Toru paid Sog no more attention and hurried back to Duril. He quickly wiped away the remains of the mud cake around Duril’s mouth. “You’re awake!” he exclaimed and pulled the healer into a tight hug.

Sog appeared by their side right away. “We vanquished Death, and Sog made mud cakes!”

***

Duril looked confusedly at Toru, then at Sog, and then shook his head. His mind was so foggy. He grabbed his head between his hands and pressed his fingers against his temples. The last thing he remembered was…

“What happened?” he asked as he noticed Varg and Claw on the ground, seemingly lifeless.

He struggled to his feet, and Toru hurried to help him. “You three spread your blood on the pearl, and then you all fell to the ground, turning into orcs, and then a sword appeared, and I grabbed it, and then I vanquished--”

“We vanquished,” Sog piped in.

“We vanquished,” Toru relented, “the storm that was Death.”

Duril blinked a few times. “Turning into orcs?” At a closer look, Varg and Claw appeared to have a greenish tint to their skin that hadn’t been there before. “And you two,” he whispered, as his eyes finally cleared and noticed that there was no more storm raging around them, “you saved us?”

“You, at least,” Toru said and looked down. But then his handsome face lit up again. “But Sog knows how to make these very disgusting mud cakes, and we fed you one, so we only need to give Varg and Claw some, too.”

Sog looked very happy when Duril’s eyes fell on him. “Sog and Not-Orc and tiger then make mud cakes for the horde,” he said with conviction.

Toru made a face that told Duril everything he needed to know about the young tigershifter’s supposed involvement in that particular operation.

“It looks like I missed a lot,” Duril said. “Did Demophios tell you about the mud cakes?”

Toru looked away and bit his bottom lip, a sign of worry that Duril had come to recognize over the time they had spent together on the road. “Demophios might be lost. Or maybe he’s sulking somewhere nearby. I think he’s just upset that we don’t call him ‘Your Majesty’ or something like that,” he said quickly.

Duril didn’t want to investigate this further right now. There had to be a solid reason why the wise snake was silent and couldn’t be found, and he would discover what it was later. Now, waking Varg and Claw from the same slumber he had been engulfed by only until moments earlier was of the utmost importance.

“I make mud cakes,” Sog said again.

“Great,” Duril praised him. “Would you please hand me one so that we can wake up Varg? And you two are the best friends anyone can have on the face of the earth.” He kissed Toru’s forehead and gave him a hug.

Then he pulled Sog into an embrace as well. The orc protested and squealed for a moment, but eventually went limp and relaxed into the hug and said nothing else.

Duril dared to look around only for a moment. Varg and Claw didn’t seem to be the only ones asleep. He feared the most for the horde. The smell that came from the fallen bodies around them didn’t indicate that they were still alive.

He took a mud cake from Sog and walked over to Varg. Duril felt unease as he lifted the wolfshifter’s head and rested it against his knee. The same smell of death seemed to come from him, too, but he had to be wrong because that scent was so strong and overpowering all around them that he could be mistaken.

“Come on, Varg. You might hate me for it, but I really need to feed you this mud cake,” he said gently.

“This disgusting mud cake,” Toru insisted.

Duril hid a smile. With someone like that by his side, how could he lose hope? Only moments ago, he must have been as good as dead, just like Varg and Claw, and yet, here he was, kicking and breathing, proof that their friends were only deeply asleep.

Toru and Sog gathered close, anxious as he was to see the wolfshifter opening his eyes. Varg growled something in his sleep, appeared to chew for a while, but then he spit it out and returned to his state from before.

“Why is the mud cake not working?” Toru asked. “Did you put something different in this one?” he questioned Sog. “Like more spit?”

Duril felt his stomach lurching for a moment but willed it to settle. Whatever Sog had put in his special mud cakes, it had definitely worked in his case but wasn’t working for Varg. “Can you bring me another one? Varg is so big, maybe he needs more than me.”

“And you must shove it all in his mouth in one go,” Toru added.

Sog hurried to obey right away and came back with another mud cake. Duril took it and tried to put it all inside Varg’s mouth, but his teeth were clenched now and no sign of life save for his steady breathing could be detected.

He exchanged worried looks with Toru and Sog. “Where is Demophios?” he asked, hoping his voice wasn’t shaking much.

“I told you,” Toru said, “he’s lost and he isn’t saying anything.”

Toru then pointed at something on the ground, going to grab it. It was a sword of exquisite craftsmanship, unlike anything else he had ever seen. Its sharp blade was as white as snow, but translucent at a closer look. However, the intricate design of the hilt grabbed all attention. Toru pointed at a small hole.

“That’s where I put the snake pendant. But he must have fallen out when we fell from the sky.”

Duril didn’t know what to say for a moment, but then decided that he wasn’t there to wallow in despair. “We must find another remedy, it seems,” he said. “And Demophios said that I would save the horde, right?”

“Yes,” Toru said and nodded eagerly. “You will. Varg and Claw, too, because they’re orcs now.”

“Starting with them.” Duril placed Varg’s head gently back on the ground and reached for his leather bag. “Demophios might not be with us for the moment,” he said, careful to protect Toru’s feelings, “but we have some wisdom with us, as well.”

The tome had special powers, as he recalled the story shown to him by Elidias, the one in which the legends came alive. He could only hope that some answers were in there as well.

TBC

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