Gorkil

Gorkil is one of the four children of Krug.

Biography

Gorkil was the second born of Krug’s children with his lifemate Grahla. He quickly grew to be, like all of Krug and Grahla’s kubs, tall and highly muscular. His dark lily pad green skin was marred with both smooth, shiny skin, from old and near faded scars, and the newer and sometimes still open wounds. He was a competent fighter, however he was always to be shown up by his older brother Rax. Rax was capable of beating Gorkil or any of their other siblings ever since they had learned to fight, much to the displeasure of Gorkil, who had to deal with living directly in the shadow of an Uruk whose strength was surpassed only by Krug.

While Rax overshadowed his siblings in strength, Gorkil made up for it with a knack for strategy and management. He was frequently put in charge of overseeing repairs to the fortifications inside Krugmar and occasionally even assisted his father in planning battles. Along with his strategic acumen, Gorkil was renowned for his bravery and his love for his family. While it’s well known Gorkil and Rax did not get along at all, family and honor were the two things closest to Gorkil’s heart, above all else. He was especially close with his sister, Dom. Since the day she was born, Gorkil had sworn to protect her and make sure she would become as great an Uruk as he would.

Gorkil had several notable children. The firstborn, Angbad, was Gorkil’s favored son, inheriting his father’s tactical genius, and he would grow up to found the Gorkil Clan. The second, Azog, the runt of the litter, grew up to be one of the greatest smiths the world has ever seen. Ugluk, the third born son, was renowned for his skill as a warrior. The latter two sons, while not the favored of Gorkil, would go on to be great in their own right and have clans made in honor of them.

TALE OF GORKIL

(It is suggested you read "The Tale of Dom" before reading this sequel.)

Written by: Urara

Gorkil remembered the day of his mother’s death with absolute clarity.

There was a reason only orcs chose to live in the desert. During the summer, the sun beat down so savagely that most pinkies would find themselves dead from heat exhaustion within the first few hours. During the summer months, their water stores often ran dry, leaving entire villages without water until the next rainstorm. Bands of orcs often crossed the searing dunes, hunting not for game but for oases. Occasionally, a weak orc would collapse in the heat and die, most often from dehydration or exhaustion. Those orcs, as punishment for their weakness, were not given proper burials. Instead, their companions left their body to bake and fry in the heat. Sun-bleached bones lay scattered across the high dunes, seared to a dazzling white by the heat.

It was high summer when Grahla died.

The sun scorched the village. High noon felt the worst. Overhead, the sun hung directly at the top of the sky, radiating heat down on every inch of the land. Orcs, when not working or training, sat in the scarce pools of shade and fanned themselves. Two old feorcs bathed their feet in the nearby watering hole. Clouds of dust lingered in the air, making it difficult to breathe. Sweat glistened on every face and every muscle. While the summer days were brutal and punishing even for orcs, they were also the longest. It was difficult to build by torchlight, so the laborers were forced to work even during the hottest parts of the day. Even if the sun was hot, it provided excellent light to work by. Gorkil stood near the gate of the village, watching as his workers pulled carts of stone and rolled logs toward their newest construction project. The walls around the village had fallen into disrepair after a bandit attack – the bandits used explosive powder to blow holes in the defenses – and Gorkil had decided to oversee the reconstruction. The orcs had built a lattice around the fallen parts of the wall. Working swiftly in unison, they packed the stones and logs together to fill in the holes.

The work was mostly silent. Aside from the scrape of stone against the ground and the grunts of the works, silence covered the entire village. The dust and heat in the air made it difficult even to talk. It was as though the entire village had suddenly decided it was easier just to stay quiet. The thump of the worker’s feet created a dull rhythm. Thump. One worker lifted a log onto his back and dragged it toward the lattice. Thump. The worker handed it off to one of his companions, who slid it in place on the wall. Thump.

A sudden cry pierced the air. Everywhere, the laborers paused in their work to look in the direction of the noise. The cry came from the direction of the farms. Gorkil turned, looking over his shoulder for the source of the noise. Dom came sprinting up the path from the farms, her shaman robe billowing out behind her. Clouds of sand and dust followed in her wake. Catching sight of her older brother, she dug her heels into the ground and skidded to a hard stop. Gasping for breath, she seized hold of Gorkil’s arm.

“Dom?” Gorkil asked, gripping his sister’s shoulder. “Dom, wut’s wrong?”

Dom sucked in her breath. “Momo…fainted!” She said between gasps. “We was walkin’ out by de pig farm agh she suddenly fell down! She’s not breathin’, Gorkil!” Without waiting for a reply, Dom pulled on her older brother’s arm. She lead him back down the path toward the pig farms. The boars and sows milled around in their pens, snorting and grunting as they usually dig. Gorkil’s own war boar lay against the barn wall with his sow, lolling in the shade of the awning. Grahla lay prone near the fenced-in pens, her face down in the dirt. Gorkil fell to his knees beside his mother, feeling her exposed neck for a pulse. Nothing. No breath came out of Grahla’s mouth. Sweating and speechless, he and Dom lifted up the body and hurriedly carried it back toward the village. The laborers watched in silence as they took the body inside, only returning to work when Gorkil barked at them to stop staring.

They lay the body down in Dom’s hut. Dom leaned over her mother, delicately touching the old feorc’s face. Although Grahla was aging, she still looked young and fit. Only a few wrinkles and grey hairs marked her advanced age. Dom tilted the head back, opening her mother’s mouth and peering for any signs of obstruction. Failing that, Dom pushed hard against her mother’s chest. “Wayk ub!” Dom demanded, her voice hoarse. “Why lat nub wayk ub?!”

Gorkil gripped Dom’s shoulder, pulling her away from the body. “Wut happened?” He asked, his voice deathly calm.

Dom rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. A thin coat of dust and dirt covered Dom’s face. “I…I dunno! Momo agh me was walkin’ past de farms. She was blah’n dat she had a headache. Agh I said I would gib her a poultice fur id when us god home. But den she fell down agh stopped breathin’ agh…” Dom paused, swallowing hard. She looked over at her big brother, eyes moist. “She’s…she flat, ain’t she?”

“Nub kry,” Gorkil replied. “Momo wuld nub want lat t’ kry.”

His words did nothing to calm Dom down. Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled over, cutting tracks through the dust on her face. Gorkil did not scold her. Instead, he rubbed her back, saying nothing. Dom picked up her mother’s head, cradling it in her arms like a baby. Her chest hitched as she fought to hold back the sobs. Her body trembled with the effort of forcing herself not to cry. The tears kept coming anyway. Gorkil continued rubbing his sister’s back. It took Dom two hours to calm down. She only managed to stop crying when Gorkil suggested they go tell their father the news.

Krug accepted the news with grim silence. He ordered Dom to prepare the body for burial. After her triumph against Murdoch the Bloody, Dom had devoted herself to learning shamanism. She learned the rituals and rites directly from Krug himself. She walked hand in hand with the spirits and, with enough effort, she could even call forth the souls of the dead. As a shamaness intimately familiar with the spirits, it was her duty to preside over the death rites of honorable orcs. Grahla, in life, had been one of the honored elders of the orc nation. Her body and spirit remained strong, even in old age. Everyone expected her to die gloriously in battle or in the arena. She was not the type of orc who would simply faint from heat exhaustion. She had not died because of her own weakness. Whatever killed her was something insidious within her, something no orc could see or expect. Krug understood that. He would not dishonor the body of his lifemate by leaving it out for the buzzards.

The cremation preparations took place over three days. Dom, wearing a ceremonial red robe with a headdress of feathers and skulls, performed rites over the body, making sure that the spirit would find its way safely into the afterlife. She prepared the body for cremation, scrubbing it with scented oils and wrapping it in linen. The stone carvers of the village cut a sandstone coffin for Grahla. Though the bodies were burned, honorable orcs still had tombs. Instead of a body, the tomb would be filled with what the orc loved best. Dom filled the coffin with yellow cactus blossoms, her mother’s favorite flower. When Grahla was laid to rest in the tomb, she was sealed up with hundreds of the fragrant blossoms she used to love, all hand picked by her favorite daughter. Each of Grahla’s children (by the time of her death, she had scores of them) came to pay their respects when the body was burned on a pyre in the center of the village. Grahla had died an old feorc, mother and guide to many. She’d killed hundreds of enemies and brought much glory to the orcs. She was an orc to be honored and admired.

Gorkil had trouble believing she was dead. He’d seen the body – in fact, he was one of the first to see the body – but the whole situation seemed so surreal and dream-like that he almost didn’t believe it was happening. When it came to strength, Grahla could beat almost any orc in the desert. She could outrun a pack of coyotes. As an archer, she could shoot the wings off a fly a mile away. For her to just drop dead was unnatural. He couldn’t wrap his mind around it. His brothers accepted the loss easily. Rax shrugged off the news, saying that Grahla was old and she had to die eventually. Lur, who was withdrawn and stoic at the best of times, reacted with a simple nod and continued with his work. Only Dom seemed to really mourn. Gorkil caught her weeping openly sometimes as she prepared the body for burial. She picked cactus blossoms until her fingers bled, all for Grahla. But, then again, everyone knew that Dom had loved Grahla the most. Gorkil, however, was too shocked to mourn. The sadness would come later, but now he could not quite process what had happened.

After the cremation, Gorkil found Dom kneeling in the catacombs beside the tomb, her forehead pressed against the cool stone. Her shamaness headdress lay abandoned on the steps of the tomb. The hem of her red robe pooled around her feet. Dom breathed heavily, her eyes squeezed shut to prevent from crying again. Kneeling next to her, Gorkil touched her back. “Dom,” He called softly. His sister turned to look at him. “Lat should go home.”

“Gib me a tik,” She said, rubbing her eyes. She picked up her headdress and sat down on the stairs of the tomb. The tombs lay far below the village in a series of natural catacombs. Soft torchlight illuminated the corridors, all filled with the bodies of orcs long past. Dom leaned back against the tomb, staring up at the lightless ceiling above her head. Gorkil kept a firm grip on her shoulder. Sniffling, Dom turned her head to look at him. “I…dun want her t’ be flat, Gorkil. Why’d she hafta go flat lyk dat? Id nub mayk sense.”

“Lat been blah’n t’ de spirits o’ d flat since lat was young, Dom,” Gorkil answered. “Lat should gruk id am natural fur orcs t’ go flat.”

“But,” Dom paused, taking a deep breath, “de orcs me blah to have been flat fur a long tik. Agh dey all flatted in battul or in de ‘rena. Nubash evah jus’ drop dead. Orcs live too long fur dat. Nub many orcs akshually flat ov old age!”

“Id might nub mayk sense,” Gorkil answered, “But us hafta accept id.”

Dom looked at Gorkil for a long moment. Of all Krug’s children, she looked the most like her mother. While she had Krug’s piercing red eyes and his great height, she had her mother’s face. With her long, dark red hair and short tusks, she could have easily passed for a younger Grahla. All her brothers took after Krug in appearances. Perhaps that was why Dom and Grahla had loved each other so much. Even ignoring the eerie resemblance between them, Dom and Grahla were kindred spirits with much in common. It was no secret that Dom was Grahla’s favorite cub. The four cubs often fought for the attention of their parents, but when it came to Grahla, Dom always won.

“Wut should I do?” Dom asked, her voice quiet. “Me nub gruk wut t’ do wifowt Momo.”

“Do wut lat was doin’ before.” Gorkil gave his sister an encouraging smile. “Lat shuld nub worry. Lat am powerful shamaness agh lat hab a strong klan t’ support lat. Me am here fur lat too. Besides…lat kan blah t’ spirits, yub? Id shuld nub be hard t’ blah t’ Momo iv lat need her advice.”

Dom paused, blinking slowly. “Yub. Yub, me kan do dat,” She replied, her voice still soft. “Dat’s a hosh idea.”

Gorkil reached over and brushed a strand of hair out of his sister’s face. Scars criss-crossed her face, the faded remnants of her childhood battle with her rival, Vanni. “Me miss Momo tuu. Us both hab t’ be strong.”

Dom bowed her head. “Iv lat blah so.”

---

The pace of orcish life rolled on. A section of the village’s wall collapsed during reconstruction, opening up a new chunk Gorkil would be forced to repair. The goblins examining the walls informed him that the explosive powder had destroyed more than just certain portions of the wall. The blast had knocked loose some of the key support stones, making the structure weaker as a whole. His face grim with the prospect of more work in the heat, the head engineer goblin told Gorkil that they would likely have to tear down the entire wall and rebuild it from scratch. Gorkil sweat just as the thought of continuing to build in the heat. The hottest part of the summer loomed ahead and his workers, orcs and goblins alike, were stretched nearly to their breaking point. Just two days after his mother’s funeral, three orcs fainted on the job and nearly caused another collapse in the wall. Gorkil had the three of them beaten for their weakness and negligence, but secretly, he could understand why they’d fallen. The searing heat, combined with the hours of heavy lifting they had to do, would wear down even the strongest orc.

Occupied by the reconstruction of the wall, Gorkil barely had time to visit Dom. She kept quiet after the funeral, staying in her hut and performing her duties as a shamaness from there. The fact that she wasn’t up and outside made Gorkil worry. Dom, friendly and energetic, usually patrolled all around during the day. She kept busy with multiple apprentices and children, as well as her job as a clan leader and shamaness. Dom preferred the company of other orcs and rarely secluded herself. Dom used her hut for only two things – to store her possessions and to sleep in. Otherwise, she was out talking or hunting or fighting or teaching. For her to stay alone in her hut was unusual.

However, with the weakened wall, the village had precious few defenses against attack. No matter how his sister felt, Gorkil had to see the wall rebuilt and fortified.

“Watch where lat puttin’ dem logs!” Gorkil shouted to two workers high on the lattice around the wall. They saluted him and shifted their weight, carefully rolling the log into place on the wall. The wall remained sturdy. The head goblin breathed a sigh of relief. At the very least, this section of the wall seemed sturdy. The last thing they needed was another collapse. Gorkil growled in his mind. Once the wall was complete, he’d hunt down the remaining bandits himself. It was because of them that his workers were being taxed to the breaking point. Yes, he’d hunt them down and hang their bodies from the wall for everyone to see.

Gorkil wiped his brow with a bit of linen, letting out a sigh. If things went well, they may finish the wall by the end of the month, barring any unfortunate circumstances. If those bandits and their explosives returned before then, the village wall might not be able to take it.

All of a sudden, a strange smell hit his nose. Gorkil opened his eyes, looking around. The smell of roasting pork wafted through the air. A few of the laborers paused and sniffed the air. Some of the dimmer orcs began to drool. Blinking, Gorkil turned toward the farms. A high column of black smoke rose up from the pig farm. “Ghaash!” One of the laborers shouted. “De buub farm am on ghaash!” Immediately, Gorkil took off running. The farms lay just slightly south of the main village, a fifteen minute walk if you were slow, but only five minutes sprinting. Gorkil skidded to a halt near the pig pens, searching for the source of the smoke. The smoke rose from an open window near the barn. The pigs milled about like normal, snuffling the dirt and grunting. Gorkil vaulted over the fence and tore the barn doors open.

Inside, in the dark, stuffy barn, two young orcs sat by the brick furnace the cow farmers used to heat their branding irons. The bodies of two plump sows lay on the straw floor, leaking blood. The two young orcs turned cuts of pork over the fire. Fat dripped into the flames as the pork cooked. The smell of food was overwhelming. Gorkil stared down at the two orcs. One of them glanced over his shoulder and let out a gasp of fright when he saw Gorkil. The other jumped, dropping his pork into the fire. “Wut de skah latz dub doin’?” Gorkil demanded, storming over to the young orcs and hoisting them up by their shoulders. “Lats nub buub farmers! Lats nub cooks either!” The young orcs wriggled uncomfortably in Gorkil’s grip. Their robes marked them as shaman apprentices. Both orcs had the symbol of Dom’s clan tattooed behind their ears. Gorkil shoved them both down on the ground.

“We was…we was just…” the first apprentice stammered, scooting away from Gorkil.

“We hab hosh reasons!” The other apprentice finished. Gorkil turned away from them, looking at the bodies of the slaughtered sows. He hissed in anger.

“Dese are da biggest sows on the farm!” Gorkil growled. “Who told lats lat could slaughter our biggest sows?”

“Nubash, but…” The first apprentice replied. He didn’t finish. Gorkil gave him a swift kick to the gut. The first apprentice crumpled in agony.

“If Dom heard lats dub were flatting our sows, she’d flat both of lats!” Gorkil yelled. The second apprentice whimpered in fear, covering his head to ward off any incoming blows. Gorkil grabbed the collar of his robe and lifted him into the air. The second apprentice wriggled helplessly in Gorkil’s grip.

“We was doin’ dis for Dom!” The second apprentice gasped. Gorkil let go of the young orc’s collar. The young orc dropped back down on the floor, panting for breath.

“Wut?” Gorkil asked, narrowing his eyes at the apprentice. The young orc swallowed.

“Dom’s our teacher,” The apprentice explained. “She…ain’t been eatin’ dese last few muuns. She’s nub peepin’ so hosh. So…us thought that us might cook her somethin’ tasty. Den she would eat agh be happy again.”

Gorkil stared at the two young apprentices. “Dom’s nub eatin’?” He repeated. The two apprentices nodded. “Why?”

“Nub gruk.” The second apprentice replied.

Gorkil paused for a moment, thinking. Dom never forgot meals. Even when she grew busy with her work, she always remembered to pause and eat something. He couldn’t imagine her willfully not eating. Gorkil’s nostrils flared. He pointed to the two slaughtered sows. “Clean ub lats mess,” He ordered the two apprentices. The two young orcs scrambled to their feet and got to work, gathering up the bloodied straw the covered the floor. Gorkil watched them for a moment. “Aftah lats finish, blah de buub farmahs to cook de rest of dis. It should nub go t’ waste.” The orc apprentices nodded obediently. Turning, Gorkil left the barn and began his walk back to the village.

He swept past the construction site, heading into the heart of the village. Dom’s hut stood toward the center of the town. Every orc in the village knew it. The sweet smell of incense wafted from Dom’s doorway. She’d painted the symbol of her clan in bright red on her doorway. As Gorkil approached the door of her hut, he paused. The faint sound of whispers could be heard just beyond the door. Gorkil gripped the handle of the door, listening.

“Me miss lat too, Dom.”

The voice was soft, but unmistakable. Dom whispered something in reply, but Gorkil didn’t quite catch it. He shoved his weight against the door. The door swung open, revealing the interior of the hut. Dom knelt down in front of a small altar in the back of her hut. Sticks of incense burned a top the altar, filling the hurt with a heady fragrance that made Gorkil feel slightly dizzy. Dom glanced over her shoulder at the door, her eyes wide with surprise. “Gorkil?” She asked, rising to her feet. Her shamaness robes hung loosely on her shoulders. Gorkil could immediately tell she hadn’t been eating. Every part of her looked thinner.

“Who was lat blah’n to?” Gorkil asked, closing the door behind him. Shadow swallowed the inside of the hut. Aside from the glowing tips of Dom’s incense, barely any light spilled into the hut. On the small altar sat Dom’s personal totem, the skull of Murdoch the Bloody. Dom had won it as a trophy after killing the elf bandit. Later, when she became a shaman, Krug had shown her how to channel spirits through it.

“Nubash. It was jus’ a small spirit.” Dom replied with a smile. Gorkil stared. He hadn’t seen Dom smile since their mother died.

“Lat seem…cheerful.” He crossed the floor to meet her. Dom grinned up at him, nodding.

“Me feel much hosh’r now,” She replied.

“Dat so?” Gorkil asked. He looke Dom up and down. Her robes hung much looser than they had been. Dom, like their mother, had a strong yet motherly figure. Seeing her so much thinner disturbed him. “Listen, me found dub of lats apprentices dis muun. Dey slaughtered dub sows agh were cookin’ de meat.”

Dom frowned, shaking her head. “Sorry. Dem dub ain’t de brightest orcs. Why was dey slaughterin’ sows?”

Gorkil rubbed the back of his neck, glancing down at the floor. “Dey…” He paused uncertainly, looking for the correct words, “Dey said lat wasn’t eatin’. Agh dey wanted to make somethin’ tasty fur lat so lat would eat again.”

Dom blinked, gazing at the floor while she fiddled with a strand of her long hair. She let out a deep sigh. “Like me blah’d, dem dub ain’t smart. Me told dem me was fastin’ fur a ritual, but dey nub listen. Me hab an important ritual me want t’ do agh it requires me body to be cleansed inside agh out. So me am nub eatin’. Lat gruk?”

Gorkil said nothing for a moment. “Yub, me gruk,” He replied at last. Again, he fell silent. Neither of them spoke for a while. Finally, Gorkil began again. “Dom…is dis about Momo?”

Dom’s eyes widened. “Of course nub!”

“Dom, if lat am missin’ Momo, id am ukee,” Gorkil continued. “Lat should nub hurt latself. Momo would nub want dat. She would want lat t’ be happy.”

“Me am happy,” Dom replied, her voice firm. “Nub lecture me. Me nub miss Momo dat much. Me found a solution fur dat.”

Gorkil examined his sister. “Lat sure?”

“Me am sure.” She stared up at him, her eyes sharp. “Lat should leave. Lat interruptin’ me ritual. Jus’ punish me dumhead apprentices however lat want.”

“Dom.” Gorkil touched his sister’s shoulder. “Blah t’ me if lat nub feelin’ hosh, ukee?”

Dom’s face scrunched up in an expression of frustration. “Me nub am cub anymore, Gorkil. Nub treat me like ash.”

“Lat am me sister. When lat was born, Momo blah’d me t’ peep out fur lat. Me gonna honor Momo’s wishes,” Gorkil replied, letting go of Dom’s shoulder. “Me will let lat continue lats ritual.” Giving Dom one last look, he turned and exited the hut.

---

Gorkil pulled the bow string taut and let the arrow fly. It whistled through the air and struck one of the cracked pots he'd lines up on the nearby fence. The pot exploded in shards, falling to pieces on the other side of the fence. Gorkil reached back and notched another arrow, aiming again. When one of the village cooks cracked a dish, they often handed the pieces off to the archers. The dishes and pots were all good for shooting practice -- each was about the same size as an enemy's head. Gorkil aimed for the cracked plate that had been sitting next to the pot. He could hear the bow string straining as he pulled it. The bow trembled with the force of unreleased energy. It felt alive in his hands, like a war hound pulling at its leash.

"Ug, Gorkil!"

The sudden noise made Gorkil jump. He let go of the bow string and the arrow sailed off high over the fence. Gorkil turned, snarling. Rax, his brother, stood a few feet behind him, laughing uproariously. "Bubhosh shot, bruddah!" Rax sneered. "De arrow only missed by Hash feet!"

"Lat distracted me!" Gorkil dropped the bow on the sand and threw a punch at his older brother's jaw. Rax reacted quickly, intercepting the punch and twisting Gorkil's wrist hard. Gorkil jerked his hand free of his brother's grip and drove his knee into Rax's gut. Rax stumbled backward, clutching his stomach and letting out a sound halfway between a laugh and a groan. Gorkil rubbed his wrist, then stooped to pick up his bow. "Skah head..." Gorkil muttered. Rax snorted.

"Nub insult lats superiors, Gorkil," Rax replied. He glanced over at the dishes lined up on the fence. "me jus' tryin' t' help lat. Imagine if us was in battle. If lat got distracted agh missed like dat, lat would be flat by now."

"Shut de skah up, Rax," Gorkil replied. "Me nub need lessons from lat."

"Of course lat do. Lat so easily distracted, id am wonder dat lat even survived dis long." Rax pulled a bow off his back and mimed shooting at Gorkil. "Twang! Lat flat. Even a tiny pinkie girl could flat lat."

Gorkil glared daggers at his brother. "Why lat botherin' me?"

Rax lowered his bow, stroking his chin in thought. "Got messages fer lat. Juani wants t' blah t' lat. Her was peepin' fur lat at de wall," Rax began. Gorkil stared at the plates on the fence. Juani was one of his mates. She was a foul tempered feorc with a jealous streak like no other. Talking to her was a pain. She always demanded to know exactly who Gorkil had mated with and when. She wouldn't mate with him until he gave her every name. If he told her, though, she often used the information to harass his other mates. Gorkil should have beaten her for it the first time it happened, but he didn't. Rax teased him for it endlessly. "Oh, agh Dom am sick."

Gorkil perked up. "Dom am sick?" he repeated. Rax raised an eyebrow.

"So lat worry more 'bout Dom den lats mate, huh?" He asked. "Bet jealous Juani would love t' hear dat." Gorkil snorted.

"Juani nub as important as Dom".

Rax walked over and bonked his brother on the head. "Get lats priorities straight. Mayts ashst, den sistahs. Lat can nub make cubs wif sistahs. Dom nub even in yer clan."

Gorkil threw another punch at his brother. "Nub mattah. Family am family," he replied. "Blah me wut's wrong wif Dom."

Rax shrugged. "Nub blame me if Juani gets pissed at lat, den," he replied. "Dom's been fastin' dese last dub weeks, lat gruk. Heard she lost a lotta weight. Heard she fainted earlier while doin' her shamaness tings."

"She fainted? Am she all right?" Gorkil asked. Rax shrugged again.

"Dom nub important t' me. She nub me mayt agh she nub in me clan, so why should me care?"

"She's yer skah'n sistah!"

"Us hab lots o' sistahs, Gorkil," Rax replied. He pulled an arrow from the quiver on his back and notched it on his bow. Pulling the string back, he released the arrow and hit the plate Gorkil was aiming for before Rax distracted him. Gorkil snorted. Rax smirked. "Me gruk lat agh Dom am real close, doh. So me did lat a favor. Lat should be happy me even blah'd lat about it."

"Shut de skah up, Rax!" Gorkil shouted. A few desert birds, brown-feathered hawks, took flight from a nearby roof. Gorkil let out a sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Dom could be hurt. Lat want t' lose more family? Especially dis soon aftah Momo flatt'd?"

"Bah, who skah'n cares if Momo flatt'd. Popo got a hundred uddah mayts."

Gorkil stared at his brother. "Me gruk lat felt sad when Momo flatt'd. Nub stand dere agh pretend like lat didn't."

Rax snorted. "Bein' sad will nub bring Momo back t' life, so why waste tiks?" He notched another arrow and shot it at a tin pan sitting on the fence. The arrow struck the pan with a hollow echo. "Go run t' lats precious sistah's side, Gorkil. Me swear to Krug, lat treat her like a skah'n cubbie."

Gorkil glared at him. "Oh? Agh lat treat her hosh'r?"

Rax glanced at his brother sidelong. "At least me treat her like wut she is. A full grown feorc wif a different clan. Agh let me blah lat, peepin' lat get all soft hearted over a Dom clan feorc am really skah'n weird."

"Stop blah'n skah," Gorkil huffed, setting his bow and quiver down near the fence. "Me am jus' sorry lat nub gruk how important family am." with that, Gorkil walked away from the shooting range. The news of Dom fainting pressed against his mind. It made sense, though. Orcs lost weight quickly if they didn't eat. It took plenty of fat to run their well muscled bodies. Two weeks of fasting would leave Dom much weaker than she had been. This was getting dangerous. It was time to put a stop to it.

---

Dom’s two apprentices sat near the watering hole at the heart of the village. With their feet soaking at the edge of the water, they passed a ceramic pipe – shaped tastefully like two orcs mid coitus – back and forth between them. A watery, smoky smell swam in the air around their heads. Gorkil recognized the smell – cactus green. He approached the two young orcs from behind. The first apprentice, the older of the two, took a long drag on the pipe and, pursing his lips, breathed out a ring of smoke. The second apprentice glared at his companion, reaching impatiently for the pipe. Gorkil’s shadow fell across the two young orcs. Simultaneously, the two looked up. The ceramic pipe fell from the older’s apprentice’s hand and hit the mud with a soft ‘plop’.

Gorkil stared down at the two apprentices. “Where’s Dom?” He asked. The second apprentice picked up the pipe, wiping the mud off and checking the bowl to see if it was still lit. Gorkil grabbed the pipe from the young orc’s hands and, with a hard swing of his arm, threw it into the watering hole. The second apprentice let out a little cry of despair, lurching forward and nearly diving into the water. The older apprentice grabbed hold of his companion’s collar. The young apprentice looked up at Gorkil with an expression of absolute despair, his eyes wide and quivering. Gorkil glared at them both. “Where’s Dom?” He repeated, his voice a little more threatening than before.

“Aftah she fainted, we took ‘er to ‘er hut. So she could ged some sleep,” The second apprentice explained, sighing as he turned to look at the watering hole. Little ripples expanded out from the spot where Gorkil threw the pipe. He could make out the blurry shape of the pipe lying at the bottom of the pool. The older apprentice let out a grunt of frustration. “Why lat throw our pipe away? Cactus greens am hard t’ get!”

“Lats should be takin’ care of lats teacher, nub smoking dat skah,” Gorkil replied. “Lat hab ash of de best shamans in de whole uzg teachin’ lats, so straighten de skah up!” Gorkil lifted his foot and kicked both of the shaman apprentices into the water. They landed face first in the shallows, splashing and spewing water like a pair of dying fish. Gorkil chuckled to himself as the two apprentices struggled out of the water. Turning, he walked toward Dom’s hut.

Gorkil didn’t bother to knock this time. Instead, he ducked inside the house and looked around. Dom usually didn’t mind walk-ins. Villagers were in and out of her hut all the time. Dom could heal as well as speak to the spirits, so she often mixed potions that the villagers would trade for. Potion ingredients cluttered the shelves in Dom’s hut. She kept jars of eyes, bulbs of garlic, satchels of roots, flowers, and leaves. A dead termite queen, bulbous and white, lay curled in a wooden bowl on one of her shelves. ‘Everythin’ has power,’ Dom told him once. ‘Mixin’ tings togeddah enhances it.’ Gorkil poked the termite queen experimentally. It made a squishy sound and a foul odor rose into the air. Gorkil wrinkled his nose.

‘Lat doin’ hosh, Dom. Just wait a lil’ while longer.’

Gorkil perked up his ears. A voice, soft and familiar, came from Dom’s bedroom. He knew that voice. It was the same voice that had whispered him lullabies as a tiny cub. “Momo?” Gorkil stared at the beaded curtain separating the front room from Dom’s bedroom. “Momo, am dat lat?” Krug had taught Dom to summon up the spirits of the dead – Gorkil knew that. Dom channeled the spirits through her skull totem. While the spirit inhabited the skull, it could talk like a living orc. Gorkil flashed back to the moment he saw Dom sitting outside their mother’s tomb. Was she really channeling his mother’s spirit? Gorkil hurried to the curtain and pulled it aside.

Dom sat cross legged on her cot. Across from her, her skull totem floated at eye level, infused with a glowing, golden power. The skull’s jaw moved as it spoke. ‘It might hurt now, but…’ All of a sudden, the golden light vanished and the skull dropped back down onto the cot. Gorkil stared. Dom stared back, her eyes wide like an animal caught in a trap.

“Dom, wut am lat doin’?” Gorkil asked, stepping into the bedroom. Dom quickly looked away.

A dark green blush spread over Dom’s face. “I was,” she picked up her skull, running her fingers over the cracks in the bone, “I was…blah’n t’ Momo.”

“Lat summoned her?”

Dom nodded. “Yub…” She whipped around to face Gorkil. “Nub blah Popo! He’d be mad at me!”

“Why?”

“We’re supposed t’ let de dead rest agh…agh me nub lettin’ Momo rest at all,” Dom replied, eyes downcast. “Me nub want Momo t’ rest. Me nub want her t’ be flat, Gorkil. Me nub gruk wut t’ do wifowt Momo!”

Gorkil walked over to the edge of the bed and knelt down, touching Dom’s shoulder. “Dom,” He began, voice soft, “is dis why lat have been fastin’? Does it have somethin’ t’ do wif summonin’ Momo?”

Dom gazed at her older brother. Her bottom lip quivered as she nodded. “Gorkil, if me blah lat a secret, lat promise nub t’ be mad?”

“Blah me.”

Dom gripped her skull hard, digging her fingernails into the bone. “Me am…plannin’ t’ go join Momo in de Spirit Uzg. Dat why me am fastin’. If me can weaken me body, it will be easier fer me spirit t’ slip out. It hurts, but…but de body am just a shell, aftah all. Agh Momo keeps blah’n how hosh id am in de Spirit Uzg.” Dom turned once again to face her brother. She traced the eye sockets of her skull with her thumbs, waiting on his reply. Finally, she said, “Lat gruk, yub?”

Gorkil tried to find a response, but no words came to mind. He stared dumbly at his sister for what felt like hours. “Dom, dat’s…” He began, trying to find the right response, “Dat sounds like suicide. It sounds like lat am gonna flat latself.”

“Id am nub suicide,” Dom responded. “Shamans go spirit-walkin’ all de time. Id am just like takin’ a nap. De body goes unconscious while de spirit walks around in de Spirit Uzg. Id am harmless.”

“But…lat blah like lat nub gonna come back.”

“Me nub gruk if me will come back or nub.” Dom let out a high pitched, nervous laugh. She smiled sheepishly at her brother. “Me never gone spirit-walkin’ fer more’n a few tiks at a time.”

“Lat miss Momo dat much? Dat lat would go into de Spirit Uzg agh maybe never come back?” Gorkil shot to his feet. He grabbed hold of Dom. “Am lat tuupid? Lat have clan agh cubs agh family! Momo may be flat, but me am still here! Rax agh Lur agh Krug am all still here!”

Dom let out a sigh, gently prying her brother’s hands off her. “Momo blah’d lat would nub understand.”

“Dom, how lat even gruk dat spirit am truly Momo? Wut if it’s some evil thing pretendin’ to be her?”

Dom glared at her brother. “Lat tink me tuupid? Me gruk de difference between hosh spirit agh nubhosh spirit. Agh me definitely gruk me own skah’n Momo!”

“Dom…” Gorkil gazed at his sister, “Dom, stop agh tink for ash skah’n tik. Your family, your clan…we’re all still alive. Tink wut would happen if lat left all of us.”

Dom snorted. “As if Rax agh Lur would even notice. Agh me clan am fine wifout me. Dey am strong.”

“Dom, me am nub gonna let lat flat latself for a skah’n dumbhead spirit pretendin’ t’ be our Momo!”

Dom leapt to her feet. Her hands curled into fists. “Dat spirit AM Momo!” She shouted, her voice jumping an octave in pitch. Her whole body shook with anger. “Me am nub tuupid! Me nub gonna flat meself! Me jus’ want t’ peep Momo again! Id am nub wrong! Me just want t’ peep her agh blah t’ her again!”

“Dom, lat have t’ let go. Momo am flat agh nubting will change dat. Nub be a glob.”

Dom shrieked. “Shut de skah up! Lat nub gruk anythin’!” She pulled her fist back and punched Gorkil hard in the face. Gorkil stumbled back, clutching his nose. A stream of blood trickled from his nostrils. Gorkil wiped the blood away. For an orc who hadn’t eaten anything in two weeks, Dom still had one of the hardest punches Gorkil had ever felt. He gazed at Dom. She stood before her, her teeth clenched and shoulders shaking. Her face flushed dark green with rage. Gorkil held up his hands in surrender, taking a step back.

“Me am nub gonna klomp me sistah.” Gorkil said softly. Dom’s shoulders slumped. She frowned at him. “But…me tink lat am actin’ like a glob. Agh me am gonna blah Popo wut lat am doin’. Me gruk dat Momo would never blah lat t’ hurt latself. Lat agh me both gruk id.”

“If lat blah Popo, me will never forgive lat!” Dom cried out. Gorkil shook his head.

“Even if lat hate me forever, me have t’ protect lat. Us am family.” Gorkil replied. Slowly, he backed away. Dom let out another cry of rage, rushing him like an angry bull. She stopped short barely a foot away from him. Gorkil pulled the beaded curtain aside and stepped into the front room of her hut. Dom stared at him through the beaded curtain, still shaking violently. Giving Dom one last look, Gorkil turned and exited her hut.

---

“Dom’s crazy.”

Gorkil glared at his older brother. He, Rax, and their father stood on a high plateau overlooking the village. A hot wind swept over the dusty plateau. A few dust devils whipped across the flat land, stirring up sand clouds in their wake. “She’s nub crazy. She’s jus’ mournin’ Momo,” Gorkil answered. Their father sat on the edge of the cliff, his legs crossed and his eyes closed as he listened to the two brothers. Their father liked to meditate on this high cliff, way above the noise of the village, feeling the beat of the wind and sand. Perched on the edge of the cliff, he didn’t seem to notice the two brothers quibbling. He didn’t react to the last of the sand against his skin, so why would the voices of two fighting siblings bother him.

“Listen t’ latself, Gorkil,” Rax scolded his brother. “Lat heard latself wut Dom blah’d. She wunts t’ go t’ de Spirit Uzg t’ be wif flat Momo. Who blahs tings lyk dat? It sounds lyk hur gonna go flat hurself. Her goin’ crazy. Dere am nubthin’ lat can do.”

“Rax, us hab t’ do somethin’!” Gorkil insisted. “Dom’ll hurt herself if we nub stob hur!”

“Id am nub up t’ lat t’ save Dom from hur mistakes.” Rax replied. Before he could say anything else, though, their father got to his feet. Gorkil did not quite know what brought Rax up to the plateau that day. Probably some mundane matter. Trouble with one of his mates or a dip in supplies. The children did not normally go to their father with problems like that – normally, they went to Grahla for advice on day to day matters. Rax went to Grahla for advice more often than any of the three brothers combined. Without his mother to tell him how to handle temperamental feorcs or unruly children, Rax had to turn to his father. Still, the children had a hard time speaking directly to their father. They all knew that their father, god like as he was, could squash all four of them in an instant if he wanted. That kind of power was intimidating.

Krug rolled his shoulders and turned to look at his two sons. Gorkil and Rax both swallowed. Their father’s eyes shone a piercing red, like cinders. He had a way of looking that made whoever he looked at feel tiny and weak. “Dom am nub crazy,” Krug said. Rax stared up at his father, who stood a head taller than even him. Besides Krug, Rax and his brothers were the tallest orcs in the village. Cowed by his father’s proclamation, Rax simply nodded. “But she am in trouble.”

“Trouble?” Gorkil repeated softly. The wind roared over his words, but Krug still seemed to hear them.

“Me taught Dom meself. She gruks all dat me gruk. Dat mayks hur a powerful shamaness,” Krug continued. The two brothers listened in reverential silence. “But Dom am young. Dom as nub experienced wif speerats as me am. Agh id am possibul dat hur wuz tricked.” Gorkil frowned as he listened to his father. He didn’t know much about how the spirits worked. He knew there were good spirits and bad spirits, powerful spirits and weak spirits. Those were all things that Dom told him. Not all spirits were dead orcs, either. Some represented the forces of nature, like wind and water, and others represented feelings, like anger and love. What kind of spirit would be powerful enough and wicked enough to fool his sister? His sister, who’d been trained by Krug himself?

“Wut if it am Momo, doh?” Rax asked. Gorkil turned to look at his older brother. Rax wore a curious expression on his face, a strange, unreadable look that Gorkil had never seen on his brother’s face before. Rax’s eyes glazed as if he were staring off into space, yet he was looking directly at their father.

“Momo would nub blah Dom t’ flat herself.” Gorkil replied. Krug nodded.

“Grahla loved Dom dearly,” Krug added. “Grahla would narkuu blah Dom t’ hurt herself, evah. Any speerat who blahs wicked words like dat am nub me lyfmayt.”

As if called on cue, a shout rose up near the base of the cliff. All three orcs simultaneously turned to look down at the noise. A small figure was making it way up the path to the top of the cliff, something heavy draped over its back. The figure stumbled midway up and nearly fell. At that moment, Gorkil realized just what he was looking at. One of Dom’s apprentices, the younger, thinner one of the two, was struggling up the path to see them. The thing on his back was not a satchel or a backpack, but another orc. Gorkil hurried down the path toward the young orc. As he drew closer, he caught sight of the dark red hair and shamaness headdress on the unconscious orc. “Dom?!” Gorkil cried out, rushing to the apprentice’s side. He pulled the unconscious Dom off the apprentice’s back. The apprentice gasped, doubling over as he panted for air. Dom hung limp in Gorkil’s arms, her limbs dangling like a corpse’s. He turned sharply, rushing back up the path toward his father and brother.

Gorkil knelt down, laying his sister at his father’s feet. Krug knelt as well, his brow furrowed as he gazed at Dom. The wind stirred her long hair, blowing a few strands across her face. She didn’t react to it, though. Dom lay perfectly still. No muscles twitched in her face. Her eyes didn’t move behind her eyelids. Krug reached down and brushed the stray hairs behind Dom’s ear. He touched her face gently. Gorkil gazed at his father. The stern look of concentration on Krug’s face did not quite match the gentleness of his gestures. He ran his thumb over her forehead and eyelids, as if feeling for some anomaly that would tell him what was wrong. Finally, he looked up at Gorkil. “Speerat walkin’.” He said. Gorkil’s face fell.

“She’s gone? Already? But me only blah’d t’ hur ash moment ago.”

“Lat forced hur paw, Gorkil,” Rax replied, though his voice lacked its usual sarcastic bite. Gorkil looked up at his brother. Rax gazed down at Dom with the same unusually soft expression he’d worn when asking about their mother. “Lat threatened t’ blah t’ Popo, so she went ahead agh did it.”

Gorkil glanced down at his unconscious sister. He could see her chest rising and falling as she breathed, but nothing else about her suggesting she was even alive. “If she stay lyk dis, how long will she last?” He asked. Krug shook his head.

“It am fine fer shamans t’ speerat walk fur a liddul while. Ash hour, maybe dub. But if wut lat blah am true, Dom intends t’ stay in de Speerat Uzg. If she nub return t’ hur body, id will decay agh go flat. A body wifout a speerat am nub more dan a shell,” He answered.

“Skah!” Gorkil slammed his fist against the ground. He gazed up at his father. “Lat kan bring hur back, yub? Lat kan go in de Speerat Uzg aftah hur?”

“Me could,” Krug replied, gazing down at his daughter’s face. “But forcin’ her t’ come back would damage hur soul. Dom would nub return willingly.”

“Why nub?”

“Because her nub wunt t’ leave Momo!” Rax interjected. “She been doin’ all dis kuz she missed Momo! If hur am wif Momo now, den why would her wunt t’ kom back? Even if id am a fake Momo.”

Krug nodded. “Rax am right. Dom would nub listen. Nub even t’ me.”

Gorkil lurched forward. “How us save Dom, den? If hur nub kom back t’ her body, hur will go flat!”

“If sumash dat she loved jus’ as much as Grahla called t’ hur, maybe she would kom t’ her senses,” Krug suggested. Two pairs of eyes turned to look at Gorkil. Gorkil blinked, looking down at Dom. He felt his face growing warmer. Gorkil loved his sister – there was no doubt of that. He remembered carrying her on his back when she was a child. He remembered introducing her to her first mate and holding her hand when she gave birth to her first cub. Not even her mate was there when she gave birth to her first cub.

“How,” Gorkil paused, trying to process the words, “How me call out t’ hur?”

“Kom ‘ere,” Krug ordered. Gorkil shifted, leaning a little closer to his father. “Nub be afraid. Find Dom. Blah t’ hur. She’ll listen t’ lat.” Gorkil opened his mouth to ask what his father was doing, but it was too late by then. Krug reached over and wrapped his fingers around Gorkil’s forehead. A surge of electric power flowed up from Krug’s fingers into Gorkil’s skull, radiating through the bone. The surge crept into his brain, digging between the layers of tissue. It rode through his blood vessels and out into the outermost reaches of his body. Gorkil’s body jerked painfully, shaking with the force of the power. He felt his eyes rolling back into his head and, suddenly, everything went dark.

---

When Gorkil woke up, he was no longer on top of the burning, windswept plateau. A cool breeze, fragrant with the smell of ripe fruit and flowers, tickled his nose. Blinking slowly, he opened his eyes. An alien sky hung over his head, bright with strange colors he could not name – pink mixed with lilac mixed with orange mixed with gold. Delicate wisps of cloud rolled across the painted sky. Grunting, Gorkil sat up. He sat in a lush, pale green field that seemed to stretch onward in all directions. Soft, undulating hills rippled across the landscape. Pale mountains loomed in the distance, silhouettes against the multicolored sky. He glanced down at the grass. He closed his fingers around one of the blades, picking it and rubbing it between his fingers. In the desert, all grasses grew prickly and harsh. They grew nettles and spines – they had to, if they wanted to defend from the animals that wanted to eat them. Yet the grass he sat on felt as soft as feather down. Beads of dew shone on each individual blade, yet the grass didn’t feel damp at all. It felt like his bed back at his hut, but a million times more inviting. He could almost lay down and go to sleep right here.

Gorkil shook his head. With a groan, he pulled himself to his feet. A breeze whispered across the hills, rustling the tall grass. Gorkil began walking. The breeze seemed to push him forward. The direction of the wind seemed to shift when he did, always urging him in a specific direction. He followed it against his better judgment. Everything about this place seemed far too pleasant. The air felt cool, but not cold, and the breeze wasn’t strong enough to bother him. Even the sugary smell in the air seemed a little too sweet. Gorkil crested the top of the hill and paused. There, at the bottom of the next hill, stood an orcish hut – complete with clay walls and a thatched roof.

The hut rested in the gap between two hills, looking as though it had always been there. Gorkil hurried down the hill. A warm light glowed in the window of the hut. Gorkil hesitated outside the door. He could hear the sound of laughter – familiar laughter – just inside the house. Clearing his throat, Gorkil rapped his knuckles against the wooden door.

“Kom in!” A cheerful, familiar voice called from inside. Gorkil gripped the door inward. Inside was an exact replica of his mother’s hut from the village. From her shelves to her weapons rack to the wool cot in the corner, everything was the same. Even the smell of his mother’s cottage – the smell of warm straw and sand – was the same. Gorkil stared, taking in all the details of the cottage. The weapons on the rack were the same too. His mother’s trusty iron axe, with its sturdy hardwood handle, sat in the rack next to a pair of steel broadswords. Gorkil was so caught up in gazing at the details of the cottage that he barely noticed the two feorcs sitting in the corner.

They stayed quiet, waiting for him to notice them. When his eyes finally landed on the two feorcs, they smiled. Dom and his mother sat together on a set of cushions in the corner. Seeing his stunned expression, they both laughed. Grinning, Dom rose to her feet and crossed the floor to meet her brother. “Gorkil! Welkom home.” She said, her voice oddly soft and serene. She touched her brother’s shoulders lightly, pulling him toward the cushions in the corner. Gorkil did not move. He stared at the second feorc in the corner, the feorc who looked exactly like his mother. She appeared exactly as she had the day of her death – tall and sturdy with only a few wrinkles and a touch of grey hair denoting her age. The spirit had even matched the exact dark red color of Grahla’s hair. Only one thing was different. This Grahla seemed to glow, radiating golden light as if from deep within her. It seemed to shine through her skin, like light filtering through a paper lantern. The spirit Grahla noticed Gorkil staring and smiled.

“Throm’ka, son,” She said. The words felt like a punch to the stomach. She sounded exactly like his mother. Her words echoed strangely, but the voice was unmistakable. It was the same voice that sung Gorkil to sleep when he was a tiny cub.

“…Throm’ka,” Gorkil replied after a long pause. He continued staring at the spirit. She looked like his mother, sounded like her. The house they stood in looked exactly like his mother’s house. Aside from the strange, pulsating gold light that spilled off Grahla’s skin, she was an exact replica. He wanted to follow Dom back to the cushions and sit down with them. This was a situation he’d been in before – knocking on his mother’s door during the afternoon, finding her and Dom talking quietly inside. He knew the exact, cottony texture of those cushions. He knew that, if he walked over and joined the two feorcs, the cushions would have the same texture he’d always known.

“Kom on, Gorkil. Kom sit wif us,” Dom laughed, waving her hand in front of her brother’s face. Gorkil blinked hard. He realized he’d been staring at the spirit Grahla for several minutes now. Turning, Gorkil gripped Dom’s shoulders.

“Dom. Me need t’ blah wif lat,” He insisted. Dom blinked at him curiously.

“Sure. Us can blah. Kom sit down.” Dom pointed to the cushions where Grahla sat. Gorkil shook his head.

“Outside. Ukee?” He nodded to the door.’

Dom frowned. Her brows knitted together. “…Ukee,” She replied. Face relaxing, she looked over at Grahla. “Us be back in a tik, Momo.” The glowing spirit nodded gracefully, gesturing toward the door. Her movements were slow and elegant, as if choreographed. She gestured like a queen dismissing her subjects. Gorkil took Dom’s hand and lead her back toward the door. Outside, a breeze stirred a ceramic wind chime hanging from the lip of Grahla’s roof. The chime tinkled prettily, creating a natural music that swam in the air. Once outside, Dom turned toward her older brother. “Nub be rude t’ Momo. Lat gruk how happy hur am t’ peep lat?”

“Dom, dat am nub Momo,” Gorkil replied. Dom narrowed her eyes at him. “Me tellin’ de truuf.”

“How lat gruk?” Dom asked. Gorkil opened his mouth to reply, then shut it. The woman sitting inside the hut looked and sounded exactly like his mother. Sure, she glowed now, but perhaps that was common for spirits. Besides, how would a spirit be able to so perfectly replicate his mother’s old hut? It had every detail down pat – the scratches on his mother’s favorite weapons, his mother’s collection of bones, the rumpled blue blanket on her cot. Who but his mother would be able to remember, much less duplicate, everything about her old hut?

Dom could.

Gorkil swallowed hard. His throat had suddenly gone dry. Dom had spent nearly as much time in their mother’s hut as Grahla had herself. If there was anyone who could remember every single detail about their mother’s hut, it was Dom.

“Krug blah’d id so,” Gorkil said finally. “He sent me here t’ find lat. Lat hab t’ kom back t’ yer body, Dom.”

Dom paused for a moment, thinking. “Nub,” She replied. “Popo’s wrong.”

Gorkil stared at his sister. “Popo nub wrong! How lat blah dat?”

Dom pointed at the hut door. “Gorkil, go in dere agh blah t’ me dat dat am nub momo,” Dom said. “Lat nub remembah wut lats own momo peep like?”

“It peep like hur, Dom, agh sound like hur, but me swear it am nub hur!” Gorkil seized hold of his sister. “Lat hab t’ lizzen. Lat am bein’ tricked. Krug blah’d so.”

“Den Popo can kom ‘ere agh peep fur ‘imself dat me really found Momo,” Dom snorted. Gorkil could hear the poison in her voice. Gorkil tried to find something to say, but couldn’t. It wasn’t like Dom to speak so poorly of their father. If Krug could hear her right now, Gorkil had no doubt that he’d backhand her across the face. Gorkil almost wanted to slap her himself. He tilted his head back, gazing up at the multicolored sky. The colors seemed to shift and change ever so subtly. The orange streaks faded slowly to gold and the gold turned quietly crimson. Not even the desert sunsets blazed as brilliantly as the sky overhead. Wildflowers dotted the nearby hillside, creating beds of color in the earth. Everything was too bright, too clear. Gorkil found himself wishing for the familiar, sandy brown of the desert. Even the woman in the hut, the ‘not-Grahla’, was far too perfect.

“Dom, lats body will go flat if lat stay ‘ere,” Gorkil begged. He gazed at his sister pleadingly, “Please…jus’ lissen fer ash skah’n tik.”

“She nub hafta lissen if she nub want to.” Both Dom and Gorkil turned to look at the door. Not-Grahla stood in the doorway, shedding golden light. Suddenly, it hurt to look at her. The brilliance she emitted was too bright – it stung his eyes. He felt as if he were looking directly at the sun. Dom didn’t seem to have the problem, though. She gazed at Not-Grahla steadily, unaffected by the glowing. Not-Grahla did not look at her, though. Instead, she stared steadily at Gorkil. Something dark seemed to flicker behind her eyes, just barely masked by her glowing light. “Lat blat lat am her brother? Lat nub lissen t’ what she wants. In fact, lats accusations can hold true fer lat as well. How us gruk lat nub an evil speerat in disguise?”

Dom twisted her head around, staring wide eyed at Gorkil. Gorkil blinked, glancing over at his sister and then at the golden apparition. “Me…me am nub evil speerat!” Gorkil stuttered. Dom and Not-Grahla exchanged glances. Gorkil felt his face growing hot again. “Me am nub evil speerat! Me would nub lie!”

“He’s tryin’ t’ trick lat,” Not-Grahla whispered to Dom. “If he lures lat away, he’ll devour lat whole.”

“Nub!” Gorkil shouted, but his words had no effect. Dom backed away from him. Her footsteps crunched in the soft grass. Gorkil reached out for Dom, but she pulled away from him. Not-Grahla lifted a hand and offered it to Dom, who took it. “Dom!” The two feorcs shared a glance, and then turned toward Gorkil. Their harsh gazes felt like a branding iron against his skin.

“Flat him, Dom.”

“Wut?” Gorkil barely had time to utter that one word. In the split second after the apparition spoke, a gnarled staff appeared in Dom’s hand. A bolt of lightning struck from the multicolored sky. All around him, the grass burst into flame. The flames leapt high into the air, reaching higher than any brush fire Gorkil had seen before. He stumbled back, frantically looking left and right. It seemed as though the entire field had erupted into flame, all born from Dom’s single strike. Dom brandished her staff. An electric pulse sparked up the length of the staff. The light from the fires played across Dom’s face, highlighting the counters of her cheeks and the ridge of her nose. Her dark red hair seemed to flicker just as brightly as the fires surrounding her. “Dom! Wut de skah lat doin’?”

“Nub lissen t’ a word dat skaher blahs,” Not-Grahla whispered. Dom’s fingers tightened around her staff. Gorkil’s hand flew to his hip. His fingers searched for the handle of his sword, but it hadn’t come with him into the spirit world. Sweat prickled on his forehead. Dom’s staff had appeared from nothing, as if she’d simply willed it into existence. Of course she did – this was the Spirit World, the place where shamans could fully unleash their powers, unhindered by fleshy bodies.

If she killed him here, they would both die.

Gorkil threw himself at Dom, but she slipped out of his grasp, vanishing into thin air. A split second later, she reappeared behind him. She lifted her staff and struck him before he had time to react. The tip of her staff cracked down on the back of his skull. Gorkil stumbled, clutching his head. Warm blood – real blood – trickled down the back of his neck. His vision faded in and out as he struggled to stay conscious. Gasping, Gorkil fell to his knees. The glowing, golden spirit stood just a few feet ahead of him. Gritting his teeth, Gorkil looked up at her. She no longer looked like his mother. She grinned far too widely, her mouth filled with too many teeth. Darkness simmered in her eyes. He wanted to point, to shout for Dom to look, but Dom was too far under the spirit’s spell to believe him.

Dom approached Gorkil from behind. She placed a foot on his back and shoved him face down into the ground. The soft grass from before had vanished, leaving only hard bristles behind. Gorkil turned his head. His sister loomed over him, her face a mask of indifference as he lifted her staff to strike him. Gorkil twisted his arm back, making a grab for her staff. To his surprise, the staff didn’t slip out of his fingers. He seized hold of the staff, jerking it straight out of Dom’s hands. The staff hit the ground and exploded into ash. Dom’s eyes widened as she grasped the air where her staff used to be. “Gorkil…” Her voice was soft, almost inaudible over the crackling of the flames.

“Flat him, Dom!” The spirit screeched. Its voice no longer sounded anything like their mother’s. It sounded like the howl of wind during a sandstorm, like the cracking of rocks. Dom and Gorkil both looked at the spirit. Her face twisted and distorted – no longer an exact replica, but a poor parody of their mother’s face. Dom jerked away from the spirit. With Dom’s foot no longer planted on his back, Gorkil struggled to his feet.

“Lat…lat nub me Momo…” Dom whispered. She grabbed hold of Gorkil’s arm and jerked him away from the spirit. Though Dom no longer held her staff, the flames around them flared higher and brighter than ever. Heat pressed against them from all sides. The spirit’s skin bubbled as though it were boiling from the inside. The golden light flowing from its body turned orange and deepened to red. The spirit gnashed its teeth.

“KILL HIM!” The spirit bellowed, though Gorkil didn’t think it was talking to Dom any longer. It let out an inhuman roar, deep and fiery like the growl of a furnace. Dom dug her fingers into Gorkil’s arm. The back of his head throbbed. Every noise seemed to echo around inside his head, amplified a thousand times over. The spirit ruptured out of its false skin, exploding upward into the air. Fierce storm clouds thundered overhead, blocking out the beautiful colors from before. Gorkil and Dom clutched each other close as the spirit took on a new form.

Flesh and muscle bubbled out from the false skin, solidifying into a new body. Slime glistened on the spirit’s new, yellowed skin. Its head split open down the center, revealing a second set of jaws within. The new body, long and worm-like, had no eyes, only the mouths lined with more teeth than could possibly fit. It roared, flexing both sets of jaws, and lunged for the two orcs. Dom leapt backward, but she couldn’t move quickly enough. The worm’s jaws came crashing down around them.

Gorkil squeezed his eyes shut. He waited. He didn’t know what would happen to him if he died in the spirit world. Would his body feel it in real life? Would he just stop breathing? He didn’t have to wonder for long, though. The teeth never came. Opening his eyes, Gorkil saw he and Dom were protected by strange golden light, not unlike the light that covered the worm before its transformation. The silhouette of a woman, bathed in illumination, stood between them and the jaws of the worm. Dom clutched him so tightly that he could almost hear her heart beating. The silhouette lifted its hand and, with a simple gesture, it parted the walls of flame that surrounded them. A winding path opened up just behind where Dom and Gorkil stood.

The second spirit spoke. Perhaps “spoke” was not the right word for it. Gorkil didn’t hear the word, exactly. It was as though the spirit had placed the word directly in his mind.

Go.

“M—mo…” Dom muttered, “Momo…”

GO!

Dom didn’t hesitate again. She threw Gorkil’s arm around her shoulder and began dragging him toward the newly opened path. With a blast of golden light, the second spirit began pushing the worm back into the flames. Dom glanced over her shoulder at the golden spirit. Her bottom lip trembled lightly, as though she wanted to say something but couldn’t. Gorkil elbowed her in the side. Dom twisted back around and kept walking.

---

Gorkil.

"Gorkil!"

Gorkil's eyelids snapped open. Her jerked up, looking around. He and Dom sat huddled against a rusted steel wall. Overhead, the sky roiled black and red with violent storm clouds and fire. They sat on a metal grate suspended high above what appeared to be a lake of lava. Gorkil stared down at the fire bubbling below. He gripped Dom's arm. "Where am us?" He asked. Tall, jagged steel walls seemed to surround them on every side. Sweat rolled down the sides of his sister's face. Heat gnawed at them from every side.

"Still in de Speerat uzg..." Dom muttered, dabbing her forehead with the sleeve of her robe. She leaned in a little closer to Gorkil, examining the wound she'd left on the back of his head. Gorkil's skull throbbed painfully. Streams of blood rolled down the back of his neck. Dom frowned, lowering her head. Gorkil touched her shoulder.

"Id ukee," He said. Dom glanced up. "Me had much more nubhosh injuries."

"Id am nub dat," Dom replied. "Me almost flatted lat, Gorkil. Injuries in de Spirit Uzg go away when lat wake ub, bud..."

"If lat go flat 'ere, lats body go flat tuu. Me gruk," Gorkil replied. Dom nodded. Gorkil touched the back of his head. His fingertips came away red and shiny with blood. The pain felt real. He could feel the wound throbbing in time with his heartbeat. When he touched the wound, the blood felt hot and wet against his fingers. Yet his body back in the real world was just laying there, feeling nothing, just existing. Gorkil grinned weakly. "Feels real."

"Yub, but only 'cause lat believe it will. If lat expect somethin' will hurt 'ere, it will." Dom closed her eyes. A dagger with a carved bone handle materialized in her hand. Gorkil knew the dagger -- it was a ceremonial tool Dom often used in her rituals. Dom gripped the dagger and dug the blade into the meat of her palm. Gorkil lurched forward to stop her, but when Dom removed the blade, there was no blood or mark left behind. Dom smiled ruefully, tossing the blade aside. It vanished before it hit the ground. "Lat nub a shaman, so lat can nub jus' ignore injuries like me do. It takes trainin' t' be able t' forget lat can be hurt."

Gorkil glanced around. In the distance, he could hear a low roaring. The grate they sat on seemed to rumble beneath them. Dom shivered. "Dat worm. De spirit pretendin' t' be Momo," he began, "it's still 'ere?"

"It's nub jus' a worm," Dom replied. "It was a grief speerat, me tink. A powerful ash. Had me fooled fer muuns. De worm am jus' ash o' its many forms."

"Dat uddah spirit nub flat it?"

"Nub. Id jus' hold it off long enough fer us t' escape," Dom answered. She glanced around at her surroundings. Perhaps it was the confusion brought on by his head injury, but it seemed the walls had shifted. A jagged edged metal sheet that, a few moments ago, was meters away now seemed to be bearing down on them. A rusted gate with torn iron bars likewise seemed to have shifted meters away. Whenever Gorkil blinked, things seemed to move. He leaned his weight against the wall, struggling to stand. The grate beneath them seared his bare feet, but it was nothing he couldn't endure.

"Us need t' go, den," Gorkil said, holding his hand out to Dom. "Us nub want dat spirit worm t' catch us."

Dom gripped his hand, pulling herself up. She glanced down again, a frown tugging at her lips. "Me..." she paused, shuffling her feet, "me nub gruk de way out."

"Wat?"

Dom pointed to the broken gate, which seemed to have transported even further away. "De spirit's trying' t' trap us. It turned dis realm int' a maze. Agh nub jus' any maze. It can move tings around, includin' de exit."

"So...us stuck 'ere."

"Nub!" Dom replied, whipping around to face her brother. "Dere am always way out! Me jus' nub gruk where id am..."

"Skah..." Gorkil muttered. Another roar, this one as loud as a rockslide, shook the landscape. Gorkil and Dom gripped each other, leaning against the wall for support. A flash of gold light, like a crack of lightning, flashed across the sky. Seconds later, the grief spirit, now a worm like tangle of claws and slime and teeth, charged through the clouds after it. Dom pressed her body against the steel wall, crouching in the shadows. Gorkil held his breath. When the sound of roaring faded, he breathed again. "Wut do us do, Dom?" He glanced at his younger sister. The grief spirit was larger and more fearsome than any beast Gorkil had ever laid eyes on. Its size dwarfed mountains and its hundred gnashing mouths could put any wolf pack to shame. The thought of that thing, hunting them through a hellish landscape of its own design, sent shivers up Gorkil's spine.

Dom gripped Gorkil's hand. She walked uncertainly toward the broken gate. The grate creaked beneath her feet. After a few uncertain steps, she broke into a sprint. The gate seemed to stretch further and further away the faster she ran, but Dom wouldn't slow down. Finally, she hit the gate. She glanced at Gorkil, nodding toward the bars. He wrapped his hands around the rusted bars and pulled. The bars snapped and fell inward. Dom sucked through the gate, motioning for Gorkil to follow her. Neither said a word. Before them stretched a new portion of the maze, this one lined with spikes and gaps in the floor. Dom wove deftly through the traps, dodging pits and spikes. Gorkil followed her. All the while, Dom watched her surroundings like a hunter, eyeing the walls for the slightest change. They found a second gate, this one slightly less rusted, and, with Gorkil's help, they broke through it.

The gate lead nowhere, though. Just to a new section of the maze. The third gate and the fourth gate also lead nowhere. The fifth gate they reached lead simply into a lava pit. Dom kicked the fifth gate in frustration, letting out a low growl. "Skah'n flat ends!"

Gorkil held Dom's shoulder. "Stay calm," he warned. Dom took a deep breath. Sweat colored the back of her robes dark. She pushed her hair back with her hand. Her forehead glistened with perspiration. Gorkil had nearly forgotten about the spirit roaring in the distance. If the roaring got too loud or too close, he and Dom would just duck down and wait for it to pass. All of a sudden, the roaring grew louder than it had ever been. Gorkil looked up. The spirit circled high overhead like a vulture, it's great mass pulsing and writhing with movement. The golden light it'd been chasing zipped past it, just narrowly missing the monster's jaws. A crack of yellow lightning exploded from the golden light, striking the spirit full on in the face. The spirit dropped from the sky like a dead bird. Gorkil dug his fingers into Dom's shoulder and ran.

The spirit hit the maze floor, causing the entire grate to buck and tremble. Dom slipped, falling flat against the grate and pulling Gorkil down with her. The spirit's massive body slipped off the grate and dropped heavily into the lava lake below. Dom let out a gasp. Lava washed over the spirit's body, swallowing it entirely. Dom stated. "Am...am id flat?"

Just as Dom spoke, the spirit erupted up from the lake of lava, sending sprays of magma everywhere. It rose up through the pit in the grating, looming miles over them. Dom seized hold of her brother, squeezing his arm tightly. The spirit let out a deafening roar and dove for them, its hundreds of mouths yawning open like an abyss full of teeth. Gorkil leapt to his feet, seizing Dom and dashing away. They barely dodged the spirit's jaws. When the spirit's jaws struck the grating, its hundreds of teeth stuck to the floor. It wriggled for a moment, trying to jerk its jaws free. Gorkil whirled around to face Dom. "Dom! A zult! Me need a zult!"

Dom stared stupidly at her brother for a moment. Then realization dawned on her face. She closed her eyes and a heavy bastard sword materialized in her hand. She shoved the sword at Gorkil and pointed to the spirit. Its teeth remained stuck in the grating. The steel grate began to creak around the spirit's teeth, crackling and breaking. Gorkil charged for the spirit, leaping up onto its head and dodging its hungry mouths. He plunged his sword into the soft meat between its mouths, stabbing it over and over.

Black blood spurted from the spirit's flesh in steaming jets. It covered the maze like tar, dark and sticky. The spirit let out a loud, shrieking moan, its tail thrashing in the lava below. Gorkil kept stabbing, plunging his blade as deep as it would go. The spirit's tar like blood burnt his skin, but Gorkil hardly noticed the pain. Finally, the spirit's tail stopped thrashing and its hundreds of mouths fell silent. Gorkil yanked the blade free and delivered a swift kick to the spirit's head. Its teeth slipped free from the grate and the body slid back down into the lava.

Gorkil stumbled back to his sister's side. Reaching out, he pulled Dom to her feet. Around them, the spirit world began to shift. The lake of lava dried up, taking the spirit with it, and the metal grating they stood on turned back into soft grass. The tar like blood evaporated from Gorkil's skin and the storm clouds covering the sky quickly parted. Dom let out a sob, throwing her arms around Gorkil's neck.

"It's gone!" She gasped, squeezing her brother tightly. "Lat defeated id!"

Gorkil shook his head. "Me nub did it alone." The golden spirit they'd seen battling the worm hovered just a few meters away, washing the newly restored field in soft, yellow light. Dom pulled away from her brother. At the sight of the golden spirit, tears filled her eyes.

"Momo..." She murmured.

The golden spirit seemed to nod. It floated closer to Dom, enveloping her in its warm light. Dom sobbed, reaching out as if to try to catch hold of the light.

Dom...

With that, the light began to fade. Dom let out a shriek. "Nub, Momo!" she begged. "Nub leave!"

Me luv lat. Lat agh Gorkil bof.

"Nub!" The light faded. Its words lingered in the air like a distant echo. Dom broke down into sobs. She began sinking down onto her knees, but Gorkil caught hold of her. He pulled Dom's arm around his shoulder.

"Us should go home, Dom," he whispered. Dom let out a whimper, shaking her head.

"Me nub want t' leave Momo!" she cried out. Gorkil reached over, gently wiping the tears from her face.

"Momo nub left us, Dom," he murmured. "She was peepin' over lat, protectin' lat dis whole tik."

Dom gazed up at her brother, tears in her eyes. "She was?"

"Dat's wut our ancestors do, Dom. Peep out fer us." Gorkil brushed a few strands of hair away from his sister's face. He smiled. "Lat should gruk that. Lat am de shaman, nub me."

Dom blinked away her tears, nodding. "Y-Yub..." she muttered. A small, uncertain smile touched her lips. "Yub, dat's right."

Gorkil smiled. "Let's go home, Dom."

---

"Dey're wakin' ub."

At first the voices seemed far away, like whispers at the end of a long tunnel. Light began to seep through Gorkil's eyelids. His eyelids flicked open, revealing the red desert sky and the faces of his father and brother. Gorkil grunted, rubbing the sand from his eyes. Rax reached down and pulled Gorkil to his feet.

Dom lay still on the sand. Gorkil could see flickers of movement beneath her eyelids. Slowly, she opened her eyes and gazed at her surroundings. She sat up, shaking the sand out of her hair. All three orcs turned to look at her. Dom said nothing for a long time, merely sitting and staring at her callused feet. Gorkil knelt down beside her. "Dom?"

When Dom turned her head to look at him, her eyes glowed gold. The light came spilling out of her head like a lantern. She rose to her feet, her movements stiff as if she hadn't used a fleshy body in a long time. "Throm'ka.." The voice that came out of Dom's mouth was not Dom's, but that of his mother's. Gorkil glanced at his father and brother. They both stated at the golden-eyed Dom with equal parts apprehension and astonishment.

"Grahla..." Krug muttered. Gorkil looked up at his father. He spoke his dead lifemate's name softly, almost tenderly. Gorkil never heard his father speak like that before. The spirit possessing Dom nodded. Again, it struck Gorkil how much Dom looked like his mother. What was it like, to see your dead lifemate's face whenever you looked at your daughter? And now, to hear her voice coming from your daughter's lips?

"Me can nub stay long. Dom will need hur body back soon," Grahla said. She turned to look at Gorkil. She bowed her head to him. "Gorkil, me cub...rulg lat. if lat had nub broken de spell de spirit had over Dom, me could nub have helped her. De spirit would have devoured 'er."

Rax glanced at the spirit, then at Gorkil. "Wut happened in there?"

The spirit turned to Rax. Rax blanched and gazed down at his feet. "An evil spirit o' grief pretended t' be me. It fooled Dom wif ids powerful mojo, but peepin' Gorkil broke de spell. As long as de' spirit had Dom undah its control, me could nub help hur. But Gorkil allowed me t' break through an' in de end, he struck de final blow."

Krug looked at his son. "Am dat true?" Gorkil and the spirit both nodded. "Lat saved lats sistah from a spirit dat would flat her. Id am because o' lats luv fer hur dat she am still 'ere."

The spirit padded softly across the sand toward Gorkil. She placed her hands lightly on his shoulders. "When Dom was born," she began, "Lat swore lat would peep out fer hur. Me can rest easy gruk'n lat nub forgot dat promise." The spirit wrapped her arms around Gorkil's neck, giving him a light squeeze. The golden light faded from her eyes and Dom collapsed in Gorkil's arms. He caught her, helping his bleary eyed sister back to her feet.

"Lat ukee, Dom?" He asked. Dom turned her head toward him, blinking like she'd just woken from a very deep sleep. Her stomach gave a sudden, forceful growl. Dom glanced down, putting a hand on her belly.

"Me nub had a hosh meal in dub skah'n muun cyculs..." Dom mumbled, rubbing her eyes. "Me could eat a whole skah'n buub!"

"Den us ged lat a whole skah'n buub." Gorkil punched his sister affectionately. She punched back. Exchanging smiles, the two of them headed back down the path toward the village.