“What are you doing? You’ll never warm up before the guards put us to work.”
My shoulders turn inward and my spine arches as my limbs suddenly seek heat from my core. I’ve lived my entire life in these caves—worked deep in the ice caves since I was five years old. Being cold is a constant. True warmth is a luxury that happens only when the threads of sunlight from above grow strong and hot for a few weeks each year. We live to huddle beneath them whenever the guards allow us to quit working before the sun sets and the older humans tell the younger ones about things on their planet Earth, like grass that tickles your feet when you walk bare, and trees with giant arms that reach to the sky. And the sun—a god-like orb that warms the entire planet.
The only other warmth I’ve ever known is that from Tor’s hand on mine when he holds it through the bars. He is my sun.
“Turn away so I can get out.”
“Come on. I have a blanket ready. Hurry.”
He’s heated the blanket by the weak fire, and it wraps around me like a hug. So warm, seeping into my twisting muscles and bones. Taking off his jacket, my father wraps that around me, too, and arranges me in front of the blaze before adding small pieces of wood from our last little stash. I feel bad that he’s wasting more of it on me.
My legs wobble and I nearly fall, but my father catches me and holds me close to his chest. Despair spills off him and coats me. Is this how he felt when he realized my mother was dying?
“Let’s get you some broth.”
“I can’t,” I protest weakly. “I’m too tired.”
“You have to try. If you don’t work today; they’ll kill you.”
“Let them.”
“Alta! Don’t talk like that. You’re all that I have.”
The others begin to stir on their mats. My father helps me dress and leads me to our place in the encampment, sits me on my mat and hands me cold broth. We haven’t been able to cook properly in days thanks to the meager supply of firewood, and my stomach can’t handle the thought of another cup of congealed bone broth.
Lifting the crude mug to my lips, I pretend to take a sip. My father smiles, so I do it again.
The main gate creaks open and the guards burst inside, swords and clubs at the ready, as if we have any way to defend ourselves or fight back against them. They’re laughing this morning, jovially instead of cruelly, and I hear a few words about a celebration.
The orcs are huge beasts composed of long, thick muscles, massive bare chests that don’t mind the cold, thick heads of hair, and deadly tusks protruding from their lower jaws. Their language is all I’ve ever known, and I learned the series of grunts, sharp vowels, and stunted words as my own. My father and many of the others speak human, so I know that, too, and it’s much more pleasant to my ears. A few more rough words about a feast and making sure the gates are locked.
Their laughter dies as they step into the encampment and find many of the humans still on their mats. My breath hitches in anticipation. The orcs will begin dragging people from their beds and beating them with fists and clubs.
“Sit straight,” my father whispers in orc so he’s not punished for speaking human.
I’m too late. A guard sees me, and he strides toward me before I can comply. He’s on me before I can take a breath.
The mug flies into the air, broth spilling everywhere as I’m lifted by the back of the neck and hoisted to my feet.
“The sick one,” the guard spits. “She smells already dead. Take her to the pits.”
He flings me to the guard beside him. I’m grabbed by the shoulders and held at arm’s length. My father shouts, his anguished voice silenced with a resounding thud. Suddenly, I’m on the ground being dragged by one arm down the death tunnel. The cold, rocky ground rakes at my hip and legs and rubs the fabric of my clothing into my skin. Too weak to fight, I sob and shout for my life, but my voice is wilted and dying.
Just like me.
Oh, Tor.
Encased in darkness now, the orc walks with his perfect night vision, huffing and mumbling as he drags me along. He stops. The clank of metal and the turn of a lock. Then a loud jingle, as if the keys were dropped and hit the floor. A surprised intake of breath and then… a sickening crack.
A deep, painful grunt and the orc suddenly releases me. Panting in the absolute darkness, I blink rapidly as dizziness attacks my awareness and my limbs get weak. Someone is close by; I can feel it, but I can’t move. Fatigue lays over me and spreads out, urging me to just lie down for a minute. Just rest…
Metal creaks as if a gate is being opened and an unfamiliar voice whispers in my ear.
“Run.”
# # #
She doesn’t run.
