Her expression shuttered, raising a wall between us, stone by heavy stone. For some inexplicable reason, the shift filled me with a quiet sadness. Her gaze weighted on me like a sentence with no chance of appeal.
“You work here, for the Ruk’hai,” she stated flatly. “Cleaning, cooking, and bathing.”
“You mean like a servant?” My voice jumped an octave before I could catch it. Serve that brute? That savage? Not in this lifetime!
Kalisha let out a sound that was half snort, half confirmation.
"The Ruk’hai has no servants. He doesn’t like them," she explained quickly, which only served to confuse me further.
"Then why do I have to be his servant?"
"Because there’s no other work," she said, shaking her hands in exasperation. "Do you think you know more than I do? Kor’kam orok[4]."
A spark of rage flared at her insult, but I forced myself to smother it before it could consume me, and I did something foolish. I drew in a deep breath, my mother’s words echoing in my mind:
Don’t draw attention to yourself.
"I’m sorry. I’m just... exhausted," I replied, hunching my shoulders to appear smaller and defenseless. It seemed to work, since Kalisha sighed heavily.
"Serving the Ruk’hai is a great honor." She curled her hand into a fist and struck her puffed-out chest, her gaze steady and piercing. "He’s a good leader."
I nodded, though every fiber of my being screamed that this went against everything I had been taught since birth.
For the first time since I met her, Kalisha looked satisfied, granting me a fleeting sense of relief.
After showing me where the brushes and cloths I would use to clean the brute’s home were, Kalisha led me back outside. She pointed to a hut several yards away. It was small and compact, but the only one adorned with colorful beads and flowers on the windowsills.
"Mok orkrai," she said, gesturing between the two of us and the small cabin.
She didn't translate, but through the gesture and the context alone, I understood—our hut.
I repeated the phrase, feeling the weight of the syllables on a tongue unaccustomed to such harsh sounds. Her sudden wince was telling—my accent left much to be desired. Still, a flicker of pride stirred within me for having understood her at all.
"Kur," she said, mimicking the motion of holding a bowl and eating something invisible.
"Eat," I repeated the word.
She gestured again, pointing toward the sky where scattered clouds drifted lazily. Judging by the angle of the sun, it had to be around one in the afternoon.
"Kuran’k."
Kalisha continued her brief lesson, explaining the words for dinner and breakfast—kurark and kuruno, respectively. Afterward, she pointed to an open area that resembled a village square, which I now realized had a massive bonfire at the center. From what I could gather, that was where the clan got together to eat their meals.
"All right," I said with a nod, feeling a fraction more prepared than I had moments ago. "I understand. Makar’i.[5]"
Kalisha let out a low grunt of satisfaction at my attempt to use the Okshakai tongue. Then, without another word or a backward glance, she turned and walked away, likely heading back to the heat and chaos of the communal kitchen.
I wanted to call her back, to stop her from leaving me stranded and alone in the middle of this foreign place, but the words died in my throat.
I had to fend for myself. I couldn't afford to depend on anyone. That was the first phase of my mission: to make myself into an Okshai orc, to master their customs and their language as swiftly as possible. It was the only way I would survive long enough for my parents to break this curse.
???
I scanned Malek’s hut, mentally mapping a path through the space. For an orc, he kept his space surprisingly orderly, utilitarian, and sparse, yet cared for. A fine dusting of ash clung to the packed-earth floor near the hearth, while his leather armchair bore a dark, weathered stain along the armrest. The heavy wooden table was marked with shallow knife nicks and the faint residue of animal fat. Aside from a heap of discarded leathers and furs piled in one corner, releasing a heady scent of old sweat and mud, the cabin was organized.
I gripped the wooden bucket Kalisha had pointed out and stepped into the biting air. With no water source in sight, I followed the heavy-footed path of other orcs carrying similar buckets. The trail led to a well, a rough structure of jagged stone fitted with a weathered pulley, a few feet away from the bonfire. A crowd of orcs was around it, their deep voices rolling through the air like distant thunder as they chatted.
I filled my bucket, but instead of retreating to the safety of the cabin, I lingered, letting their harsh, guttural speech wash over me. I understood close to nothing, yet that didn’t discourage me. There was no better way to learn a language than to immerse yourself in it.
