A Love Forboding

The chipped stone slope caused unbearable footing. I slid, skirting on my heels. I cast my shield, relinquishing my guard to stay upright. Left with my double-edge and a prayer to the maker, I skated toward my objective. The earthly stubble gave way to solid ground. I found myself restored, a trail of dust in my wake.

​ What an ample place to erect a fortress, at the bottom of a millstone quarry. Well-placed treachery was always a staple defense for such quarters, but sloped rocks were a first. Peldura scanned for his horde. Only a few casualties from what I could see, the arrow’s red-tailed cinder wood to be certain, one was enough to take down a brute, no matter where it landed. Like poison to an orc, the purposely selected ammo worked quickly. They had to be extra vigilant.

​ The slotted window in the spire delivered a few more shots. The tower of stone was darker than twice-burnt charcoal. Tiny holes speckled the face of the assembled stones. Brucia granite. Excavated earth bathed repetitively in molten rivers. This made the building material more malleable, ideal for fabrication. But it was also soft enough for my iron claws.

​ I composed indignation, and vengeance, a hateful sorrow that grew after watching my companions being slain. My muscles gorged, rippling towards my hands. Unnatural spikes grew from its fingertips. Four skewers the size of tent stakes protruded from my gnarled hands.

I tossed my double-edged sword to the side and launched towards the tower. Sinking my new armored acquisition in the forgiving brick. I scaled my way bit by bit, one sunken claw at a time. Still composing my bitter resentment.

Quietly, I ambled next to the slit. The bowman was none the wiser; he was distracted by his bloodlust. I sank my hand deep, anchoring myself before freeing the other. In one swift motion, I angled my free claw, summoning my double-edged sword, it misted into existence. The smoke solidified, I grasped the formed handle, thrusting it into the narrow space.

The resistance—a sickening crunch—confirmed I had hit my target.

I left the blade in the skull of my fallen enemy and continued upward.

____________________________________________________

It wasn't long after I made my way through the hatch and immobilized the defenses from the inside. It gave a clear shot for the rest of my battalion. The bloodshed was minimal. The siege concluded in surrender. The humans would rather be prisoners than lose all they had— a weak display, one lacking honor, a gesture I would never understand

The enemy was corralled and boarded up in their own dungeon, along with the generals and the Duke of the stronghold; they weren't granted regal treatment. Everybody was equal in defeat.

​ My lead command took to the great hall for post-battle particulars and a celebratory dinner. Elated with their lazy victory, the commander leaned into the armrest, tearing and slurping the leg of a cooked fowl—a feast prepared by the enslaved staff.

​ “Truly, Peldura, this is why I sent you and your battalion first,” they chewed the gristle, mouth greasy with fat. “You compose to the right emotions, never hindered by fear,”

They swallowed hard.

“The recruits don't have what you have. The fear makes them weak. Their muscles become so gaunt from the emotion. They’re slowed by their own armor,”

They slapped the meat on the table and clapped their slimy hand to my shoulder.

“We need more like you, an orc who knows how to compose their emotions—use their powers properly— just like the ancient ones intended.”

I replied with a familiar smile. The fear they spoke of— the emotion of hindrance— I never would admit lest I be denounced of rank.

But I felt it too.

____________________________________________________

​The winter sun bristled through the stained-glass window, an amalgamation of jagged colors that formed the gods of human worship. The vibrant colors shot across the floor, sparkling like a rainbow at my feet. I sat at the edge of the bed, mesmerized by the dance of the undulating hues.

“What's the matter, Dura?”

I nearly jumped. I hadn't forgotten they were there— that they spent the night in my bed—but still they startled me. I composed myself to ease, deflating my expanding chest.

​ “Oh dear,” they teased. “Have I caught you off guard, Dura— the bravest and battle-famed orc in the western armies? My goodness.”

They snickered, shifting the silk comforter from their naked body, slipping towards my position. Their hands carefully grasping my shoulders, sliding to my biceps, warming them with a tender pulse. Needles of heat pricked my skin from beneath their hide. I hummed, composing comfort.

Their head on my shoulder.

“Are you still worried about getting caught?”

Being granted the second-largest room on the far end of the castle should give me some reprieve, far enough from the rest of the army. But it didn't; besides, that wasn't the only thing that gave me pause.

​ “Please talk to me,” they nagged. Resigning their hold until I gave up the bitter information. I decided to comply.

“I'm concerned, Stellana, about the laws, the way of the book, the scripture of the ancient ones.”

“Oh gosh, not this again.” I granted them my gaze just enough to see their eyes roll.

“Love is forbidden, that's what they said, right? Those of us who would take to such a heinous pursuit would unmake the world; that is what the text says?”

They paused, biting their lip.

“Well, I didn't see you too worried last night.”

They nudged me playfully with their foot. Despite their high-spirited misdirection, I remained discontent.

They marked their displeasure with a scowl. Rising from the bed, they swaddled themselves with a satin pearl-colored robe. I couldn't help but idolize the fabric— the way it captured their form. They spoke spitefully as they walked towards the door.

“Well, it's been a month since we've been together, and not a single thing has happened. If you ask me, the ancient ones, if they do exist? They've probably turned away from us.”

Their blasphemy took me aback.

“I barely feel them, especially when I compose. The ancient ones are probably sleeping, dying, or not real, I presume.”

I envied their confidence. Their conviction and powerful stride made me want to grab them and sling them back into bed, but my uncertainty held.

“Please be careful when you leave, there might be someone…”

They turned, peering over their shoulder, flashing me with those green and red speckled eyes.

“Oh, hush will you?”

They exited, closing the door behind them like a settled wind in an open cave. The room felt empty. While I agreed with Stellana, the ancient ones didn't seem to be ever-present. But I couldn't help but think their dormancy shouldn't be taken lightly.

__________________________________________________

​ Post-siege operations proceeded as planned. I was to meet Sanvago in the dungeon. They wanted to interrogate the prisoners.

The on-duty guard unlatched the iron gate to the holding cell. The two captives were huddled in the shadows, shrinking from the light as if they wouldn't be seen. We approached. The Duke and Duchess of the castle shivered, swathed in their royal garments, layered velvet, adorned with fur. Dingy and dusted, soot covered the base of their lengthy wears silencing the vibrance; colors faded like that of their spirits.

“Well, it seems you two are doing well,” Sanvago grumbled, their abnormally oversized fangs gnarling their speech. “I kept both of you together so you wouldn't be lonely.”

They roared at his self-appreciating joke, spittle bursting in the scant sunlight.

“I know how you humans covet your love, your sick desire for partnership. Such a weak emotion, I can't even begin to ponder why you need it. It makes you weak,” they spat the words. “Maybe it helps you make more, what do you call them, babies? Children?”

They sauntered around the open prison as they spoke.

”Ya, know, we orcs have no need for such frivolous things. We are made elite, born from the sands of Gadava, no need to, what it is you all do… procreate?”

Mosto, Sangvagos ' assistant, rounded the open door, brandishing a red-hot poker. Sanvago’s brief history lesson of orc kind had a dual purpose: he wanted to flex our superior nature and give Mosto enough time to stoke the brand in the fire basin.

​ “Well, as it goes, my human friends, we need some information.”

They quickened their cadence. Waving Mosto towards the prisoner, they clutched the Duke's arm with his free hand. The Duchess gasped.

“No, no, Mosto not that one.”

Sanvago sounded eerily delighted.

“Her, the female,” they said with a low, prominent growl.

Mosto cheerfully grabbed the squirming Dutchess and dragged her across the dirt towards the shackles. Mosto latched her in, then scooped up the still fiery iron. The Duke cried out and dashed toward his dribbling wife. Sanvago's massive forearm thwarted him. They wrapped the Duke tightly in a rear lock. He was no match for the orc's power; his cries turned to whimpers in the tight grip.

Mosto grabbed the base of her swinging dress and tore the layers with ease, exposing her pale white thigh. They grabbed the glowing brand and, in one fell swoop, pressed it firmly to her leg. The flesh smoked as it sizzled. Her screams so piercing that they ran into silence as the air was rushed from her lungs. I composed disgust, I felt ill, swallowing the churning in my stomach. Panting as they took the stamp away, a crude glyph, a sigil of our clan, remained, gnarled on her skin.

​ Sanvago loosened his grip so the Duke could speak.

“So how far does this operation go? Are humans close, close to the ocean?”

They were enjoying this; it only made the repulsion more prevalent. This was all purposeful; they used their overwhelming principle of love to break them, that's why they imprisoned them together and separated them in torture. I thought of Stellana,

“Please, no!” The Duke stammered.

They didn't give the captor a chance; they synced the hold again. The Duke squirmed in his grasp. Sanvago nodded, giving Mosto the go-ahead to mark the fading ducthess again.

I composed fear, my eyes sank into my wasting face, limbs so feeble I could barely hold my trembling fist.

“Stop, that's enough!”

My voice, going wayward along with my waning body. Sangavo turned, shocked by my outburst. They must have seen my decrepit figure. they knew something was off. They dropped their prey. The Duke landed in a heap, ambling on all fours towards his wounded partner.

​ Sangavo dismissed us both. Told us we’d be back after a long respite. Mosto grinned at the declaration, pleased with my possible undoing, knowing they'd be next in command if I were to fall.

____________________________________________________

That evening, Stellana told me to meet them at the west bank via a note in our room. I was reluctant, of course, we'd never met beyond the confines of my quarters, and as of recent events, I was completely unsettled.

​ I heard them crunching the grass, flattening the blades under their delicate touch, their auburn hair like strands of heated thread tickled by the breeze. They wore a deep-V velvet burgundy dress, the color of aged wine. I couldn't wait to run my hands over it. I love the way they looked in human finery.

They sauntered closer. I couldn't help but latch my hand on their hips. I shivered as I felt the fabric over their curves. They locked their hands around my neck. Before I lost myself, I slithered away, thinking about our conversation that morning and the discomfort of Noon's interrogation. I composed unease; my limbs shook with uncertainty.

“Oh, of course, you're still skittish, huh?” they said, smirking with a purpose. “That's exactly why I brought you here,”

intrigued I listened intently.

“Do you remember the story of Fativ?”

Of course, a cautionary tale told to the younglings to abade them from the destruction of partnership and romance with another orc. I nodded to the rhetoric.

“Fativ courted a young orc from their village. Their profession was made public in the hope of changing the tides of their hard-pressed religion; it obviously didn't work. They were banished in hopes of thwarting the rage of the ancient ones. They ran to the farthest reaches, hoping to escape the sight of the intolerant. They reached the edge of the known world, Barestor cliffs, the precipice from which you can gaze onto the boundless ocean. Under the stars next to an iridescent tree, they kissed, sealing their union in one bounding gesture. In their binding clasp, the ground began to rumble and split open, forming a jagged fissure. The cliffs rolled into the ocean, a burning from the depths of the planet roared out, scorching the tender meadow. Nothing was left, not even the lovers, swallowed whole by the dissatisfaction of the ancient ones. That's when and why the Barestor cliff became the deserts of Sawway,”

They let out a meager sigh. “All because of a kiss, can you believe it?” they said through a warm smile.

I couldn't respond; my quivering had ceased, and I was content in the momentary comfort.

​ They looked at me unapologetically. I just stared back; they captivated me in every way. A feeling of unprecedented relief sank into my bones every time they were near. Ever since that day, they treated me in the infirmary, seeing me through the deep infection from an afflicted blade. Sitting bedside, aiding me with overbearing kindness as I fought through my despair. That same feeling that overtook me then; struck me now. They were my anecdote, my undoing, my link to paradise.

“Does this spot look familiar, Dura?” the soft twinkling in the fading sky. The spotted glow crawling across the hanging peat of the viny tree. “It's not the same Dura, but it's close. Now kiss me and prove the story wrong,”

​ I was taught to their pull. I thought of nothing else but embracing them. I pulled them close, firmly clutching their body against mine, we kissed, out in the open, for the world to see. The embrace didn't shake the foundation; the world would not crack, but a stillness would reside, a stillness that would suspend time. In that moment, not only did we untangle the tangibility of a fable, we sanctified our love once and for all.

____________________________________________________

​ The next day, I scrambled. Fetching my belongings, exhaustingly going over the escape plan in my mind. Everything was set; we would run, if we couldn't live safely amongst an obstinate kind, we wouldn't live here at all.

I dashed, snatching my satchel, making my way to our room, hoping Stellana was ready. I burst through the door. Elated with our near departure.

I gasped at the sight.

The elation shattered, and I roared loud enough to shake the dust from the beams. Stellana was splayed on our bed, silken sheets saturated in crimson. they bled out onto the floor, several cinder wood spears protruding from their lifeless body, their healing beauty faded from this world.

“Had to be sure,” a snivelling voice echoed from behind me. “Us orcs are a strong type, figure the cinder wood would do the trick, had to use a dozen just in case.”

Sangavo laughed; they actually laughed.

I spun, casting my unblinking gaze toward my lead command. I snarled, heaving heavy breaths from my nose.

“What? You didn't think I'd find out, especially after your outburst in the dungeon. I had Mosto spy on you, they caught the healer coming out of your room practically naked, had to take care of it myself, we don't need any distraction, ‘specially from our best. And we definitely." They strung out the word. “Dont need the ancient ones on our bad side. You'll understand in due time, it's for the best.”

Sangavo clapped me on the shoulder, that assumption of a friendly embrace finally broke me

​ I composed to an unsightly anger, an emotion that can only be described by my beastly form. My muscles grew, swelling to the size of tree trunks. My claws popped like spring-loaded daggers. I lashed at the orc, tearing through their chest with one swing, a gash so deep that it nicked their pumping heart.

I wasn't fit with just the one strike; I had to inflict the pain I now felt. I swiped and clawed like an orc possessed. I dug at their flesh until there was nothing but scraps.

​ Blood splattered and dripping in gore, I couldn't rationalize the hurt; I had to cast it somewhere. Mosto was next.

Before I could even scurry for their position, the ground began to tremble. A slight quiver turned into a violent bang. Cracks formed, a spiky, thin aperture ran toward the ceiling. A rumbling like thunder ascended upon the fort. The rocks were sliding into the quarry, boulders rolling into the sinking stronghold.

A crevice opened beneath my feet, springing forth a fire that could melt steel.

I knew, in that moment, what was happening; the ancient ones were awake, and they weren't happy. We seemed to have got it all wrong.

​ The world wouldn't be unmade by love; it would be torn apart in its absence.