Feral: Chapter Seven

True to his word, the first thing Richard did when he’d dragged me back to the castle was call the guards to grab the knights in the clearing. Two others took me from him, and he led them to a medic.

Soon, glowing hands were pressed to my skin. The medic, a dwarven woman raised an eyebrow as she took note of the slices cuts in my body. She had pale white eyes, and skin and hair even darker than Father Matthew’s. “What happened to this one?”
she asked Richard.

“Training accident,” he gave me a hard look when I opened my mouth. I shut it again.

“With what pray tell?” she asked. Shaking her head, she turned to a set of shelves. Taking a few bottles down, she mixed a few liquids together as I watched. When she
was done, she handed me a cup full of a dark green liquid. “This is—”

“An antibiotic?” I took the glass, noting the familiar smell. “My master uses something like this. But there’s…” I stopped. Then I stared at her, hard. “An expectorant.”

“A what?“ Richard asked as the dwarven woman dark cheeks started to somehow pale.

“It’s emetic,” he gave me an annoyed glance. “It will make me throw up.”

“…I’ll finish this up.” Under Richard’s stern eyes, she finished healing me. Hesitantly, she put another glass, this one filled with a different colored liquid, on table next to the bed she’d been taking care of me on, then rushed out.

Richard watched her go, then looked at me. “Did you really smell all that?”

I scoffed. “Of course not. I’m still learning how to do that. I just read the labels on the bottles.”

“Hn,” he grunted. “Funny.”

“Her little prank or mine?” I grumbled.

“…A bit of both,” he admitted. He shrugged when I glared at him. “I told you. I don’t like orcs.”

“Then why help me?”

He frowned. “Katya,” when I quirked an eyebrow at him, he explained further. “She likes you. Is starting to trust you.”

“…She’s a good person.”

“Yeah, well…I’m not,” He stared at me, blue eues searching as his craggy face twisted. “Like I said, I don’t like orcs. And I don’t like you. You know too damn much. It’s unnatural, an orc that can recognize the names of medicine with a glance. You beat four trained knights with a big stick.”

“They were trying to kill me,” I growled, rising slightly from the bed.

“I know,” he frowned. “I don’t trust you. You’re unnatural. But… I can respect a man who wins a fight against those kinds of odds.”

I stopped. He shrugged.

“It is what it is. I’ve seen too much orcling, to trust or like you. But the law is the law, and you have followed it. I saw those knights force you to fight from the windows of the castle. You only struck when struck. For that, the law says you deserve protection. So follow it, do right by Katya, and you’ll have my protection, should you need it.”

“…Thank you.”

He grimaced at my gruff gratitude.

“Light, please don’t thank me. Downright unnatural you are.”

I managed a dark chuckle at that. “You might be right about that… you going to tell the Prophesied Child about this?”

He thought about that. “No. She needs to focus on her coming battle in the den of monsters. If she’s worried about you, then she might lose that focus.”

For a moment, I wanted to rebel. Just for the sake of it. But I decided against it, simply nodding. Then, a question that had been burning inside me for a while came out.

“Why are you letting me do this?”
he gave me a level look. “There are other blacksmiths in the city.
You have access to the Jarvin Tower wizards. I guarantee that both
the blacksmiths and the wizards would offer up their right arms for
the chance to help the Prophesied Child. So… why are you letting
me, a half-orc, do this, when you hate me?”

“Because Katya asked," Richard said.

“You’re telling me that because she asked, you agreed?” I shook my head. “Was it really so simple?”

“Yes,” he chuckled. “You have no idea how I argued with her. I was grateful when you brought it to her attention that she had no real armor. I myself assumed it was still being made, only to discover some daft fool didn’t even allow that request through. Then she asked for ‘Char’ to do the work. I fought her on that. Told her of the many experts of the kingdom who would be willing to do the job. As you noted, the commission would have no end of volunteers. Even if they weren’t believers, the Chapel has more than enough coin to pay for the job.”

He snorted. “But no. Char, or nobody…” he looked thoughtful. “The last thing she asked for, really asked for, was Mountain.”

“It doesn’t comfort me that I rate apparently the same as the dog.”

He snorted again. Then he rose up. “Can you walk?”

“I think so.”

“Good. Now get up,” he slapped me on the shoulder. I winced, only to realize my stab wound was gone.

“Huh. Good healer.”

He frowned at the wound, as confused as I was at the disappearance of my wounds, before shrugging it off. “Come on. I assume you have everything you need?”

“Enough to get started,” I rose, straightening my back.

Time to get to work.

------

Hasha came by the next day. I was in the middle of drawing up the schematics for Katya’s armor. She was busy training, so there were no guards or giant dog to bring attention to the little shop. And yet, his first question when he came in after Arthur let him into the workshop was, “What has been happening?”

I turned to look at him. He was dressed in his normal clothes, a simple shirt and trousers, and looking at us with curiosity. Arthur and I shared an awkward glance.

“Well…” Arthur coughed.

“Do you remember the Reveal of the Prophesied Child?” I said.

“Yeeess,” Hasha said slowly. “I went, remember?”

“And how did that go?” I asked.

“It was a mess,” he answered, still looking between us. “She disappeared right in the middle of the ceremony. She came back eventually, but all the higher ups were making a fuss over the whole debacle… Why?”

We quickly explained everything. The only part I left out was the knights that attacked me. Soon enough Hasha was sitting in a chair, contemplating our words.

“The dog was how big?” he finally asked.

“Taller than me,” I raised a hand to demonstrate.

“Hmm. Possible spirit origin maybe? Wait, no!” he shook his head furiously. “Char, you need to get out of this situation! Avoid dealing with the Chapel! Hell, run away like you were planning too!”

I was taken aback at the vehemence in his words. “It isn’t any fun, but I promised Katya—”

“Hang promises, and hang the damn Prophesied Child!” He sliced the air with a hand. “This is not—”

“Hasha!” Arthur barked. The wizard stopped to look at him. Arthur glared, his eyes hard. “Why don’t you explain what has you acting like a witless damn coward? Speak like a rational elf you daft fool!”

At this caustic cry, Hasha seemed to calm. He looked between us, swallowing as though he had a lump in his throat. He tried to speak, only to stop hesitantly. He sighed, and looked down at the ground.

“I need a drink. Do you have anything, Arthur?”

Arthur and I shared a surprised glance. Hasha didn’t drink. He prided himself on keeping complete control of his facilities at all times. For him to give that up…

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I’ve got something,” Arthur rose and head into the house. As his footsteps could be heard going upstairs, I opened my mouth to speak.

“Not yet, Char.”

My mouth clicked shut.

“I-I need the drink,” Hasha rubbed his face. “Old memories. I don’t like alcohol. But it… gives me an excuse, I suppose. Like a mental trigger. Helps me speak.

I didn’t say anything. I just stared at him. This man who had always seemed so much larger-than-life, who could twist the very fabric of the world to follow his commands, hadalways been so strong. And now, sitting there, all I could think about was how small he looked.

Arthur returned with a small flask. He wordlessly tossed it over to Hasha, who caught it without looking. He opened it up and took a sip as Arthur sat down again. He swallowed the drink, his eyes rising up from the floor.

“I was an adventurer once,” Hasha said with a suddenness that surprised me. “I don’t know if I ever told you about it. I’m proud of that time in my life. When other wizards were sequestering themselves in their towers, I was out in the world, studying magic and applying it to the real world. I learned more while deep in dirt and blood, or while digging through ruins, than most wizards learn from decades of texts. That’s the secret to true learning, haven’t I told you? To do the magic, not simply hear about. A dry text on the migration patterns of salmon is nothing compared to watching as flashes of red flow upstream in a tireless mass.”

He took another sip.

“But that life wasn’t all good. My travels required money. And that meant I had to work. Me and others, simple soldiers, old thieves, fellow magic users, we worked together to do whatever jobs needed doing. I spent fifty years that way. And after a while, I’d explored most of Turab. Even the Orc Badlands to the south,” he looked up to smile at the shocked look on my face. “Oh yes. It is a harsh land, full of turmoil, and darkness. And a beautiful land, with great people, and landscapes. True, most of them tried to kill me and my friends. But I rather liked them.”

He sighed.

“But that is a story for later.”

I almost interrupted. I was burning with curiosity when it came to Orc Badlands. All the texts would speak of were stories of how horrible it was. And all this time, Hasha had been there? What was the culture like? The landscape? The people? How did they eat?

Was I anything like them?

I’d noticed so many similarities between myself and humans. Would I find the same with orcs? Would those similarities cross species?

I swallowed my tongue. However burning my curiosity, Hasha was already having a hard time speaking about this. I’d have to ask at a later time.

Hasha took a large swig from the flask, swallowing the alcohol.

“When I’d finished with Turab, I looked out to the East. We’d started trading in earnest with our Eastern brethren, and I was curious about the stories I’d heard
about them. About the different animals and people that populated it, all the different colonies that had reached it. So, I joined a fishing vessel, and headed out. It was good work, fishing. Honest labor can be good for the soul, and this was,” he smiled fondly. “When we reached the continent, I did my usual thing. Read a few
books, spoke to villagers, and simply immersed myself into the life. Once I learned the language, I began to enjoy life there. The Eastern continent was nice. And one day, a messenger came from a village further inland. He was desperate. Claimed the people of a strange religion had come into the village, and started killing people.”

I didn’t speak, but I felt a deep unease in my soul.

“Well, how could one hesitate? Me and some others, travelling fighters like me, gathered together. One was even an old friend… she makes me graphite writing tools now. Good woman. Anyways,” He rubbed his cheek. “We uh, we left for the
village. It was about uh, about three days journey, but we managed to make it in two thanks to some knowledgeable… Well, they don’t call them knight on the Eastern Continent, but that’s our closest equivalent, and there were two of them with us. But, we were too late.”

He went to drink, but the flask was empty. He tossed it to Arthur. Arthur took it, and smoothly pulled a different one out, tossing it to Hasha, who gratefully took a swig. He sat silently. I almost thought he wouldn’t speak again.

“They’d killed them with purpose first,” he said suddenly. “’Only four year olds, and no others. Four years old…They worked with efficiency. House by house, killing the babes as their parents fought and wept. They claimed they were trying to be kind, to make it an easy process. What kind of man claims to be kind when he slaughters children? What does it matter if the people you kill are four, fourteen, or even forty year old men? They have done…How can you justify killing an innocent?”

His next swallow sent him into a coughing fit. I moved to pat him on the back, but he waved me off. Once he was done clearing his throat, he continued.

“They uh, they’d heard stories. You see, they, the Chapel of Valor of course, had set up their first foothold on the Eastern Continent almost immediately. They’re very proactive that way. I suspect that is why they choose Jarvin as their base for the Prophesied Child. With its status as a trade hub, word could be sent with the merchants and travelers…But that isn’t important.”

He put down the flask. “They set up a town on the coast, and their priests started spreading word of their religion. Then, they must have heard something from one of the villagers. A story about a child, born four years before their arrival. A demonic child,” he scowled, his elvish good looks becoming something horrific. “The damn fools didn’t question it. They went to the village and started slaughtering children in the name of finding this child. And when they ran out of four year olds, they kept going. The village wasn’t very large, but they tried to resist. But against the full might of the Chapel’s paladins and priests…”

I thought briefly of Katya, of the sheer speed and ferocity she’d fought with. Then of the knight’s I’d fought, and how close they’d come to killing me despite my orcish advantages. That sort of terror, inflicted on a normal populace? I shuddered at the thought.

“We fought them back. Sixteen adventures against hundreds of Chapel warriors. Only five survived. But we had the element of surprise. We didn’t rally the villagers, we didn’t come up with clever tactics. All we could do was rush in and kill as quickly as we could,” he spoke with an odd satisfaction. “To this day, I have never seen as much blood, or seen as many innocents, monsters, and friends die in the span of a single hour. In the midst of the chaos, I found the child. The true child, hidden away with his family in a basement.”

He laughed bitterly.

“Half-elf! The Eastern Continent doesn’t have elves! The girl’s mother fell in love with a human when she went there, and villagers were simply confused at the sight
of their ears,” he tapped his own. “The Eastern Continent has a different view of such things. So they simply called them demons, like they call many spirits demons. And the damn Chapel of Valor didn’t ask for details. They split children in twain, tortured them to admit their demonic heritage, forced grandmothers to strangle their grandchildren as penance for imagined sins…”

He spat to the side. “That, is the Chapel of Valor that I know. Overenthusiastic in their pursuit of justice, ignorant to the point of lunacy, and proud of it. Maybe not
all of them. There are good men and women every religious sect, as there are devils. But there is a sickness in the heart of the Chapel of Valor. Something rotten, corrupting good men. Your king,” he said this to Arthur, whose face, though still, had slowly paled as time went on, “supports the Chapel in all things, and he will not hear blasphemy against them. For good reason. If the Chapel of Valor, the strongest human religious institution on Turab, was to face accusations of heresy, it would fall apart. There are already lines of division in the Chapel. Groups believing in one truth over another, and willing to die to prove it. Only it’s current leadership prevents the Chapel from falling apart. But if that massacre is but one of many…” Hasha shook his head. “There would be little to stop that chaos.”

I thought about that. The Chapel was the most important religious group in Turab. Everyone followed it because…

“What about her?” Hasha looked at me. “Katya. She’s supposed to represent the Chapel soon, and she isn’t anything like what you described.” I ignored the memory of a giggling girl smashing down men like chess pieces getting knocked over. “She’s a good person. And if she represents the Chapel…” I trailed off, leaving Hasha to build the trail from there.

“Hmm,” he stroked his chin. “Yes, I suppose that, if a figure such as her was leading the charge, such things could be investigated with more ease. Then, rather than a religious sect falling apart, we would have a famed religious leader simply cleaning up a mess.”

“What, you two are planning on a revolution?” Arthur said with a scoff.

The pair of us magic users, supposed intelligent minds, froze. Then we smiled sheepishly at him.

“Heh. Yeah, I suppose I got a bit carried away.” I admitted.

“Indeed,” Hasha sighed. “Still, the idea was a fun one. While I do not follow the Chapel, seeing whatever corruption caused that massacre be swept away would be,” he swallowed away some ball of emotion in his throat. “Would be quite interesting.”

“…Well, for now I have to finish this armor,” I grumbled. With this most recent revelation, I wanted to return to the familiarity of the equations, alchemy, and smithing that was my life.

“Let me help,” Hasha rose up.

“Are you sure you’re good to work?” Arthur gazed over Hasha closely. “You drank two flasks of the strongest damn whiskey I have.”

“I didn’t tell you?” Hasha asked, startled. “I long since created runes on my clothes to protect mefrom poisons, so that I can work on my alchemy without fear,” he grabbed at his shirt, showing where a small symbol glowed. “Wouldn’t be much of an alchemist if I was killed by own potions after all.”

“…What a waste of damn fine whiskey,” Arthur said sadly.

“Eh, it was a bit bland.”

“Damnit elf!”

“Gentlemen,” The tall elf and skinny human turned to look at me. “I have work to do. You can help, or you can leave,” I said with a small smile.

“Well, well, the little one has become a smart arse,” Arthur teased gently.

“And to think, it seems like yesterday you were only this high,” Hasha waved his hand at a point just below his chin, and therefore taller than most men.

I felt a burst of gladness that the bad mood had been dispelled. While I was certain these revelations would have some sort of consequence, for now I had my family.

The thought of Jennifer barely crossed my mind.

“Now,” I turned to the schematic I’d hung on the wall. “I’ve decided that if I want to do this right, then I’ll need to make sure that Katya never has to go to another armourer again. She’s going to be saving the continent, correct? Then we need to make sure she has every tool she might ever need, while still boosting her abilities. So what my plan…”

We worked into the night. It felt like old times. Us three, working on a secret in between quick bites of cheap food, agreeing, arguing, and coming to new conclusions. By the time I went to sleep, I felt more content than I had in days.