“He is, isn’t he?” she said in a soft, pleasing voice. “His name is Skoll, and he’s two months old. And I’m Stella, of Clan Bautul.”
“And I’m Gwyn,” said the taller woman, with a grin. “Mated to that one” — she jerked her head sideways, toward where Joarr was now hanging from a nearby tree by one hand, an apple in his mouth — “and I’m also our mountain’s resident midwife. If you ever feel like being subjected to a barrage of personal questions about your reproductive health, you know who to ask.”
“Oh, nonsense, Gwyn,” said Stella, though the words were softened by her warm, grateful smile toward Geva. “She’s a wonderful midwife, and you really ought to set up a consultation with her, especially if you’re thinking about having a child of your own.”
She was still stroking her adorable orcling’s downy head, and Geva felt herself swallow, her stomach unaccountably tightening. “I’d like to,” she said, suddenly far too aware of this Joarr still dangling there, listening. “But my mother had a very hard time birthing me, so I’d like to wait a little longer.”
She half-expected some kind of judgement, or hesitation — especially since these women all clearly wanted children — but Gwyn’s easy, reassuring smile hadn’t faltered in the slightest. “Of course,” she replied firmly. “In that case, I’d usually recommend a good course of silphium, but unfortunately, it’s not nearly as efficacious with orcs. But now that you’re here, Efterar is a very gifted healer in these matters, and I know he’d be happy to help you.”
Oh. Efterar again. Kesst’s mate. And Geva couldn’t help her wince, the slight shake of her head. “Um,” she said, “I don’t think that’s the best idea. I’m not sure we’re all… comfortable yet.”
Kesst’s words from the day before were ringing through her thoughts —I am finished with you, forever— but all three women were looking at her oddly, now, and Jule snorted, shaking her head. “Look, no matter what’s going on between Kesst and Rathgarr,” she said, “Efterar wouldneverdeny you care. In fact, why don’t we go consult with him after our tour?”
Geva couldn’t seem to find a compelling reason to refuse, though she found herself desperately wishing, not for the first time, that Rathgarr would suddenly emerge from around some corner, and offer some kind of guidance or reassurance.I shall meet you later,he’d said, but it had already been quite some time, with no sign of him whatsoever. And would he really be comfortable with her going off to visit Kesst’s mate, without him?
That uncertainty seemed to hover over Geva for the rest of the tour, even though she fought to push it away, and focus on what was before her. The rest of the garden was delightful, and so was the rest of the Bautul wing, which included another forge, a trading-post, and a huge sunken fighting-pit. And then, at the lower edge of the Bautul wing, there were two stunning, in-ground pools for swimming and bathing, and then a large, well-appointed kitchen. Where they once again encountered Alma, who apparently worked out of the kitchen as the mountain’s housekeeper. And after yet more introductions, including to the two smiling, silver-haired cooks — an orc named Gegnir, and a human woman named Olga — Alma offered to lead their tour of the Grisk wing.
“The Grisk clan is the largest of the five,” Alma cheerfully explained, as she led them into its broad, well-lit corridors. “And so we have the largest wing as well. You’ll definitely want to visit our storage-room, and you’re welcome to come worship or meditate in our shrine at any time.”
The Grisk shrine turned out to be lovely, with colourful silks lining the walls, and a row of beautiful carvings depicting both humans and orcs. And inside the shrine, Alma introduced a variety of her Grisk friends. Another smiling, scantily clad human woman was named Ella, and she was mated to Nattfarr, a huge, genial-looking orc who was heavily adorned with jewels and piercings. They also had a small son, Rakfi, perhaps six or seven months old, who had been wildly squirming between the other four Grisk orcs in the room — Thrak, Thrain, Dammarr, and Varinn.
“Makes you wan’ your own, doesn’ it?” said the tall, spiky-haired Thrain with a chuckle, as he juggled Rakfi in one hand, while trying to keep from spilling a goblet in the other. “Dozens of ‘em. Most important thing, y’know.”
At that, the orc named Varinn — who was shorter and bulkier than Thrain — loudly scoffed, and then stepped closer, and swiped the goblet out of Thrain’s hand. “This again, Thrain?” he demanded, wrinkling his nose, and firmly setting the goblet aside. “Ach, you kenyouare worse than any orcling, with your ceaseless need for tending!”
Thrain’s grin faltered, his gaze dropping — but then he laughed again, the sound even more jovial than before. “Just givin’ you practice, Varinn,” he said, clapping him on the shoulder. “F’r when you’recrawlin’ with ‘em. You’ll be the best father, ach?”
Varinn’s brow creased, but Thrain was already glancing away, and giving a purposeful jerk of his head toward the shrine’s door. Toward where a shadowy figure had been hovering — a shorter orc, perhaps? — and Varinn turned to look, his expression softening, his hand giving an easy wave.
“Come along, Timo,” he said. “I am sure our new sister wishes to meet you.”
The Timo orc tentatively stepped inside, and Geva reflexively smiled, because he, too, was a younger orc. Perhaps about thirteen or fourteen, with smooth grey skin, long gangly limbs, and nervous but curious eyes.
“Geva, this is our little brother Timo,” said Varinn, slinging his bulky arm around Timo’s shoulders. “And Timo, this is Geva, our newest Ash-Kai. Can you scent aught more about her?”
The nervousness in Timo’s eyes had slightly faded, and Geva could see him inhaling, his gaze gone distant. “Ach, a little,” he replied shyly. “She has just come to our mountain yesterday, and she scents very strong of Ash-Kai. Much like Kesst, I ken, but” — his nose twitched, his head tilting — “it is not Kesst, is it?”
“Very good, little brother,” Varinn said approvingly, ruffling Timo’s hair with his claws. “She is mated to Kesst’s elder brother Rathgarr, who has only just come home. And we wish her to be most welcome here with us, ach?”
At that mention of Rathgarr, something clenched in Geva’s chest, but Timo was still smiling toward her, and she made herself draw in a deep breath, and give a genuine smile back. “It’s so lovely to meet you, Timo,” she said. “You clearly have a very impressive sense of smell.”
Timo’s cheeks and ears visibly flushed, his head ducking, while Varinn gave Geva a broad, grateful smile. “Ach, he does,” he said firmly. “With more training, our Timo may well become one of the best noses — and the best fighters — among us.”
That seemed like high praise, and Geva willingly told Timo so, earning another shy smile, along with an approving, appreciative nod from Varinn. And then Varinn glanced down toward Bjorn, who had been standing quietly beside them, watching all this with carefully unaffected attention.
“I will be good fighter also,” Bjorn’s little voice interjected, his shoulder shrugging, as he drew a circle on the stone floor with his foot. “And mayhap even good nose. With more training.”
“Ach, you shall, Bjorn,” said Varinn. “Mayhap you might now wish to come practice scenting with Timo and me? We could” — he glanced over toward Ella, who had a look of resigned fondness in her eyes as she watched a happily screeching Rakfi crawl after Tengil around the room — “play at hunting the orclings about the mountain, if their mothers should spare them for a spell?”
“Yes,please,” Jule instantly replied, exchanging a grateful glance with Ella. “Blessyou, Varinn. Now, Geva, how about the rest of that tour? We only have the Ka-esh wing left, and I promise, it’s usuallyveryquiet.”
Geva chuckled and nodded, and after a round of farewells, she followed Jule out to where the corridor was tilting more sharply downwards, the lights dimming with every step. It felt very far away from the Ash-Kai wing, suddenly, and Geva’s stomach twisted at the thought of Rathgarr, gone gods knew where, doing gods knew what.
“You know, the children — the orclings — really seem very lovely, though,” she made herself say, her voice a little thick. “I’m ashamed to say that I would have perhaps expected something quite — different. But really, compared to my last set of pupils” — she winced at the thought — “they seem very empathetic, and well-adjusted. Well-loved.”
Jule’s smile was swift and genuine, but there was a twinge of sadness in it, too. “I’m so glad to hear that,” she said. “We’ve really been trying to do our best for them — it’s been a lifelong goal of Grimarr’s, and one of the reasons he fought so hard against his vile father. But we’ve really only begun, and there’s just so much left to do. So many ways we could be better supporting those orclings, if only we had the guidance and resources. And even more importantly, the leadership.”
Geva could well appreciate that, and she felt herself considering it, her head tilting. “Do you have any kind of schooling set up currently?” she asked. “Or training, apprenticeships, that kind of thing?”
