The Desert Rose

by Hidden Ninja Socks

(Faerun) Follow the upbringing of Ilgil, a half-Orc taken from her birth clan by the Ilmatari to be raised at St. Jasper's, an all-female-monk monastery. She is one of 36 half-Orcs retrieved along with their enslaved human mothers. As she and her brethren grow up, Ilgil and her friends question their pasts and must make choices that will shape their futures - for better or worse.

1. Act I

The Desert Rose

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Author's Comment: This is the background to my current half-orc monk who I play with; it is written in such a way that you need absolutely no knowledge of Dungeons & Dragons - it is written so anyone can pick it up and read. Only the prologue is written in diary format - just thought I'd mention that. I would also like to say the idea of St. Jasper's being located at the Lake of Steam is not cannon - I wanted to locate it near a volcano (since there is at the time of writing no official information on it beyond the fact St. Jasper's exists), and I saw that some forums discussed possible locations for the monastery already. I decided to follow the idea that it is located near Arnrock.

There will be three acts to this story made up of smaller sub chapters (some were so small I decided it would be stupid to upload them all seperately, so I stuck with uploading each act instead). For those very few who may have read my other story on FanFic, you may recognise some of the names... but rest assured, this story is in no way related to The Orks of Tam'urt.

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ACT I

Prologue: Acquisition of the Children

The following extracts are from the Book of Deeds, a log of missions and quests the Sisters of St. Jaspers of the Rocks have endeavoured upon. The incursions described resulted in the release of human and half-elven women who had been abducted and enslaved by four Orc clans. A large majority of the slaves' younger half-Orc offspring were also freed.

It was the largest operation the Sisters had organised since 1332, the year of the Sword and Stars. Aided by other Ilmatari clergy and Paladins, the incursions took place during the Midsummer annual holiday. Such missions are considered particularly necessary by the Sisters of St. Jaspers, who, above even other Ilmatari orders, aimed to reduce the suffering of women.

1355 Year of the Harp

Flamerule, Day 21

Twenty of our Sisters, lead by Sister Narviok, left at dawn to go on what is expected to be a five ten-day absence from the monastery, to complete a mission that has been on the drawing board since early 1354. It is not the first mission of its kind St. Jaspers has embarked upon, and it is unlikely to be the last. The aims of the mission are to release the female breeding prisoners (most of whom are human, but there are reputedly a few half-elves amongst the captured) from several Orc clans that have, of recent years, been stalking small towns and roads.

The four targeted Orc clans live in the Smoking Mountains, the Firesteap Mountains, the Cloud Peaks and the Calim Desert. The Sisters, aided by our brethren from the Companions of the noble heart and the Order of the Golden Cup, will strike each of the Orc camps simultaneously on the 5th day of Midsummer in a precision incursion. Participating clerics will be taking a Plea of Rest over the Midsummer to allow themselves to be free of prayer obligations and other usual demands.

Plans have been laid down to minimise bloodshed and loss of life on both sides. Concoctions that produce a sleep-inducing gas have been created by our clerics, and brethren who are experts in charms and enchantments will utilise their plethora of mind-affecting spells to better calm and disable the Orcs. Stealth will also be employed on this mission to its greatest effect. Brute force will be used only in the most critical of circumstances, should something go awry. Those of us left behind at St. Jaspers will pray to Ilmater for the incursions to go ahead with minimal suffering.

Signed: Sister Jacinta Goldsmith

Witness: Jane Periwinkle

Eleasis, Day 4

Word has arrived by carrier pigeon from the Calim Desert platoon that their mission has been successful, and casualties are reasonably low. Two Paladins from the Companions of the noble Heart, and our own Sister Jeluce perished in the Calim Desert incursion, and numerous others received serious wounds. The wounded from the Calim Desert incursion have been tended to by clerics and are in no further danger. I hope too that the Orcs who were unfortunate enough not to be sedated recover from their wounds, and those who died, may their souls find whatever peace it is that Orcs desire after death.

According to the Calim Desert report, the clan Shaman flaunted the efforts of our Clerics and Sorcerers, managing to neutralise or diminish the mind spells. The sleeping gas worked, though in the open desert, the vapours quickly dispersed and did not have as great an effect as it would have in the confines of a cave or permanent residence. The Calim Desert incursion will be analysed at a later date by the Companions of the noble Heart to help improve future battles and to help avoid repeating the same mistakes.

Jeluce is regrettably ineligible for resurrection due to her age and other criteria. The Paladins, two young noble Heart members, Brother Lanwick and Brother Aubrine, will be raised once their bodies are returned to the monastery here at St. Jaspers, when the freed mothers and their children are brought to Arnrock.

Signed: Sister Jacinta Goldsmith

Witness: Novice Reiwin Tyrial, Novice Bik

Eleasis, Day 5

This evening, the Smoking Mountains platoon carrier pigeon arrived. The report reads that the incursion took place at midday on hot a cloudless day, as Orcs are most inconvenienced by bright light, and resulted in the release of twelve women who had been abducted, and a majority of their younger half-Orc offspring (twenty-three in total). There were no deaths on either side, only minor injuries. Torga, the head of the Smoking Mountains platoon, states in her report that the mothers and children were extracted with almost little resistance due to the highly effective strategy. Fighting only broke out when some of the more resilient Orcs awoke from their induced sleep, when the last of the mothers were being shown out of the depths of the caves.

We thank Ilmater for this good news, and hope that the remaining two reports contain equally pleasing results.

Signed: Novice Bik

Witness: Jane Periwinkle, Percy Periwinkle

Eleasis, Day 16

After retrieving the women and children held up in the Smoking Mountains, we journeyed by horse and wagon to Innarlith, a port on the eastern tip of the Lake of Steam. From there we sailed for six days to Arnrock, our volcanic island home.

We arrived this morning with the first of the women and children; the other platoons are yet to return. It was a long journey for the freed slaves and their offspring - I suspect sailing was a little scary for some – the lake can appear like the open sea in rough weather, and when you are crossing from the eastern shores of Innarlith, you sometimes cannot spot the main land. Our travels went reasonably unhindered, our platoon providing ample security and nothing threatened us that we could not stave off. Once we were sailing, we knew we would be protected further by our water sentinels; some of which I personally trained.

Though the mission is complete for our brethren in other orders, we at St. Jaspers have merely walked the first few steps of what is likely to be a twenty year journey. Narviok and some of the older Sisters have done this marathon before, but it is my first time. Last time, I was among those who had been raised at the monastery – now it is my turn to provide for my kind, though I do not think I have the motherly touch of some. I shall train them to defend themselves, and I will harden their shells, and shield them from those who seek to do them harm.

Signed: Senior Sister Torga

Witness: Senior Sister Gloria Lund, Brother Troy F. Balric (CNH)

Eleint, day 1

From today, no more of the freed mothers will remain at St. Jaspers – they are heading to their true homes, and elsewhere, escorted by the remaining members of the Order of the Golden Cup. Some have decided to become clerics of Ilmater, and will receive training on the mainland after their initiation had been approved. A portion of the children have already left with their natural or adoptive mothers, and more will leave today. Those who remain behind will be taken under our wings and raised at the monastery.

As Ilmatari, we did not expect, nor degrade, any of the ex-slaves who did not wish to bring back with them their known (or unknown) children. Some left with several, others left with none – we are simply glad to have helped to end another cycle of slavery, and do not judge the feelings or motives of these unfortunate women. Now we must focus on the children so that when they grow up they can remember their childhood fondly, instead of being glad it is all over.

Signed: Senior Sister Narviok the Venerable

Witness: Brother Aubrine Raun (CNH) hello ladies, I'm alive and kicking again, nothing keeps me dead for long. You can leave me a message at the Lotus Eater's Tav

Amendment: Anyone found to be leaving inappropriate messages unbefitting of the Book of Deeds will be cleaning the chamber pots every morning for a month, and if said person is departing before then, they shall have the pleasure of being trained for mortal combat by yours truly instead. I need not tell you in person that offenders will not be treated lightly. I may even take a Plea of Rest to ensure you fully get my point and repent for your deliberate stupidity.

Signed: TORGA BLACKARROW

Witness: T.D.

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Three Dozen Half-Orcs

Ilgil, at the age of four (possibly five, it was difficult to judge), was one of thirty-six or so half-Orc children who could neither speak common very well nor read or write – and all of them were virtually feral. This was to be expected, they had after all been born into a very different lifestyle; the Sisters who had been around long enough to have raised half-Orcs before did not bat an eye lid at the rough bunch of children who were bolder than most adults. The Sisters were well prepared for the long task ahead of them. Some of the older Sisters were themselves raised at the monastery.

Arnrock was the ideal crèche; the island was surrounded by deep and perilous waters a minimum distance of 60 miles from the nearest mainland lake shore, ideal for containing the newcomers. There was little risk of the young half-Orcs rampaging through the streets of an unsuspecting fishing village or trading post (at least not until they learnt to swim or build a raft) causing all sorts of mischief and havoc. The natural boundaries also served to keep out unwanted visitors.

Besides the Sisters of St. Jaspers, there were very few occupants on the island of Arnrock: most were farmers who had been enlisted to utilise the fertile soils and a handful of port supervisors. The farmers provided a portion of their crops to the monastery in exchange for otherwise free rental of the land.

Not a day after the last of the women departed, Ilgil was found three stories high chasing carrier pigeons along the roof of the monastery; she had climbed up a rose covered trellis. An adolescent Sister was sent up to retrieve the girl, but she met serious resistance as she tried to climb up over the gutter. The half-Orc girl jabbered away in Orcish something about "feeding the clan", while she swung her small stone-like fists at the Sister. The Sister retreated, and devised a slightly more cunning tactic. Ilgil was eventually coaxed down with an offering of glazed honeyed ham, and then spent the next ten-day's worth of nights scrubbing pots and pans.

The Sisters kept the children busy, slowly building up a routine they hoped the children would one day, in their distant futures, appreciate and follow without complaint. Chaos was a normal part of the half-Orcs' lives, and so naturally, the wild children opposed regimented life and preferred to try and do as they so pleased. No particular age group was easier to deal with; the older ones who could speak common fairly well simply chose to be a nuisance; the younger ones, who were not the easiest to communicate with, were simply oblivious to the concepts of what was acceptable and what was not.

Novices in the order expressed their opinions almost daily that the task of raising so many half-Orcs under one roof was, to quote but one of them, 'quite frankly, nigh impossible'. The harrowed young and inexperienced Sisters felt that the job required some kind of miraculous divine intervention to be successful. Teaching three dozen half-Orcs to bathe without upending the tub every night, for example, was only one of an Elder Scroll's worth of tasks novice Sisters had feared since the children had arrived.

Finding their more youthful Sisters' fretting somewhat humorous, the experienced monks allowed them to sweat it out a bit before eventually assuring them there was nothing to worry about.

"Do you truly believe this old codger would want nearly two-score of feral kids in her presence, if she thought she couldn't stop them tearing down the monastery walls?" The eldest Sister, a grey-haired woman named Narviok, spoke about herself in third-person to her juniors good-naturedly. "Yes, we are followers of Ilmater my dears, and there are certain expectations of our order, but we do not bite off more than we can chew. It benefits all our souls to raise these children; the only thing we suffer from is impatience, which is nothing compared to growing up in a violent, volatile clan which only the luckiest and most talented half-Orcs would survive. Our cherubs deserve all out effort, patience and understanding, and nothing less."

It was soon revealed by the older Sisters that there was, in fact, a very simple solution to the bathing problem and most other problems the young Sisters had been concerned about.

A few days after their initial arrival at the monastery, the children above the age of three (or so) had been taken down to the beach in small groups almost every day, under the pretence of having jolly good old time in the sand. Within ten days nearly all of the half-Orcs were up to their knees in brine; the lake was connected to the Shining Sea, making it quite salty. The lake itself looked more like a large elongated gulf or bay.

Unbeknownst to the children, not only was the salt water helping to clean out scratches and enticing lice and other parasites to vacate their hosts, they were being acquainted with water in a place where numerous and sometimes quite violent tantrums neither smashed windows nor flooded the wooden floors. Another benefit of regular beach trips was the amount of energy expended by the half-Orcs; the children were not as difficult to wrestle into bed at eight o'clock every night after a good run around and swim at the lake shore.

Indeed, just after a two ten-days, fear of the water had subsided and most of the children willingly entered the shallows up to their necks, resulting in their stench being substantially reduced to below eye-watering. By the time the women and some of the children were returning to normal lives or starting new ones far away, the concept of sitting in a wooden tub filled with water was not so foreign to those who had remained at the monastery.

Some of the children, including Ilgil, turned out to quite enjoy a warm bath, and liked the stuff called soap that smelt nice. The only thing that Ilgil did not enjoying was having her hair shampooed, and the tangles brushed out. Ilgil thought the Sister scrubbing her head was trying to rip her hair out at first, and stuck the goat milk soap bar in the offending monk's mouth while saying something quite rude in Orcish.

"You'll let me get these knots out, or I'll have to shave your hair off," Sister Torga, a middle aged half-Orc with long black hair pulled back in a plait, spoke back in Orcish after spitting out the soap. "And you'll watch your tongue or I'll be stuffing the soap down your throat next time."

Similar to the way in which the half-Orcs were eased into bathing, so too were they progressively introduced to necessities such as cleaning dishes, gardening , classes and even praying. No one particularly enjoyed washing dishes or making their beds no matter how the Sisters tried to disguise the tasks, and most of the children were bored to tears during prayer sessions. It was during these "days of weening", as the Sisters had coined the first few months of raising new arrivals, that the monastery used its most chipped dishes and worn out bed linen rather than the newer, more well kept ones.

Seed of Doubt

Although the Sisters were doing their best to cater for the children, some of the half-Orcs missed the familiarity of their clans; particularly so the oldest ones, who could remember more of their previous life and were more ingrained in Orcish ways. The youngest did not fully comprehend what had happened to them, and some of the particularly intelligent ones realised they were going to be on the island for a long time.

Their mothers had been more than pleased to be freed from the Orcs, but some of the children felt that they would like to go back thank you very much. Having no mother to take them to some faraway home did not help to alleviate the feeling of longing for what they had known. The half-Orcs left behind at the monastery did not all crave to return to their roots, but it was something all but those too young to form permanent memories thought of from time to time.

Others outside the church raised questions about the morals of removing three dozen young half-Orcs from what little family they had. The Sisters remained adamant that the children had been spared a life of constant bullying, degradation, and violence that the Orcs offered them. Narviok insisted that in time, the children would "have the holes in their hearts filled with the kinship they will come to find with one another, the Sisters, and Ilmater himself".

Narviok spoke at one of several meetings on the main land, instigated by the rich.

"We always spend a considerable amount of time deliberating with members of our own clergy the rights and wrongs of our missions," she said, addressing a small congregation at a dinner party.

Narviok looked like a rag amongst mink in her gray monk's attire, and matching hair, surrounded by nobles wearing the latest fashion.

"I maintain that the children are better off growing up at the monastery. The Orcs purpose bred them in numbers to hand pick only the best for the roles within their clans. Those half-Orcs who do not meet expectations must forge their own future as a sub-Orc within their clan; it is a difficult path, and many die at a young age trying to earn equality. The Orcs' motive behind the breeding is to strengthen their clans; a noble cause that any of us could relate to in some way, but the means itself is not acceptable.

"Many Orcs still choose to remain ignorant to the many other cultures of Faerun, and until they realise there are ramifications for kidnapping young women, we at St. Jaspers will continue to free them and liberate the offspring so that they may have a chance to find the equality they crave."

She waited as the nobles chattered in hushed voices, sipping from their wine glasses around the table. A middle aged man balding man with a neatly cropped moustache, spurned by his wife who kept elbowing him in the ribs subtly, directed a question at the elderly monk.

"Ah, yes, well... ahem. Sister, you speak of these half-breeds as though they have the clarity of thought of one as well educated as yourself. How could anyone so young possibly crave equality? I doubt they even understand such a complex concept. They are hardly better off anywhere else in the world outside their clans – the only people offering them sanctuary are Sisters of St. Jaspers."

It was true that in most parts of Faerun half-Orcs often faced racial prejudice, especially from humans, as they did on Orc societies. Narviok had answered similar questions more times than she could recall. She knew quite a few of the nobles in her midst probably prayed to a less concerned deity than Ilmater, and it was likely that no matter what she said their opinions would never sway, but she played the part of the diplomat none the less. If she didn't, it would simply give them something to complain about and throw in her face later.

"What St. Jaspers of the Rocks offers the children is the chance to earn their equality – by the time they are adults, they will be respectful citizens. Only those intent on causing them hurt will treat them as some lesser creature. And my dear fellow, to feel equal among others means to have the same rights as everyone else; to not be questioned for the colour of your skin, or the length of your ears. When a child asks why they are being bullied is an example of a child who feels they are not equal – even if they do not know the word itself, they experience the craving for equality at an instinctive level."

Narviok stood from her seat to take her leave, bowing to the dinner guests. She had wasted as much time as was obligated of her. "I hope you continue to enjoy the evening. I must go; the ship back to the monastery will be leaving shortly. Your invites to such occasions are always welcome."

As predicted, the push for answers continued to arrive on carrier pigeons and trade ships days after the dinner party.

"Assholes, the lot of 'em," snorted Torga one evening, throwing an elegant scroll with a red wax seal into the kitchen's oven fire. "They're purposefully being pestilent."

Ilgil had snuck out of bed to find something other than apples to eat; she listened behind the closed door, peeking through the key hole, but not daring to enter. 'Asshole' wasn't a word she knew the meaning of.

A female Halfling with light brown hair scolded the half-Orc nearly twice her height, smacking her on the forearm with a tea towel. "Don't burn the letters!"

It was comical to the young girl, seeing a Halfling berating someone so massive; Ilgil snickered quietly.

"I wouldn't put it past them to send us something that isn't just a letter, Gloria." Torga replied with a slight huff, folding her arms behind her back as she watched the flames transform the parchment into black dust.

"Oh don't be daft," Gloria said. "Leave being paranoid to me. Paranoia doesn't suit you, big girl. You're the one they ought to be frightened of, anyway. They'd piss in their bloomers and pantaloons if they knew the half of ye."

The Halfling chuckled at her own comment; Ilgil didn't understand what was so funny, it made little sense. Her mind was stuck on trying to recall if she knew what 'daft' and 'bloomers' meant.

Torga looked over her shoulder, glaring at the keyhole. "They're not the only ones who ought to be scared."

Very nearly soiling her own pants, Ilgil backed away from the door. As fast as she could move without making the boards creak, she headed back to bed. When Ilgil got to her dormitory, she hid under the covers half expecting Torga to arrive any minute. But the Sister never came; Ilgil feel asleep and slept until reveille.

The Sisters discussed how they could use diplomacy to get the nobles off their backs. Torga was all for just ignoring the letters, stating "If you ignore them long enough, they'll get bored and find someone else to complain to."

Reiwin, a scholarly half-Elf Sister, suggested that allowing the nobles to see firsthand how the children were progressing might help to change their opinions. Narviok agreed it might be worthwhile, and although Torga had reservations against letting anyone from off the island meet the children so soon, she grudgingly agreed on the condition that only one person be allowed to visit.

Later that month, a representative of the outspoken, a noble lady from a nearby trading port, arrived for a visit to the monastery. Torga acted as a tour guide, showing the guest around the dormitories and answering any questions the noble posed. Torga was careful not to say too much; she did not have a high opinion of wealthy, spoilt people.

After morning tea, the well-dressed woman was lead outside where she observed the children for several minutes from beneath the canopy of an archway. The noble had dark green eyes and blonde hair piled into some kind of beehive; her nails were painted sapphire blue, and her lips were stained a bruised purple. Her dress, an extravagant affair that was not at home inside a monastery, was made of midnight blue silk and black lace.

"How do you feel, little ones, being torn away from your blood kin and then abandoned by your birth mothers?" She asked suddenly, as the half-Orc children wrestled with one another on the grass in the monastery's quadrangle, running around playing their usual rough games.

Nobody answered her, but some stared.

Ilgil got in another punch while her boxing partner gawped open-mouthed at the stranger, snapping his attention back to the matter at hand. None of the children noticed the anger that flared in Torga's amber coloured eyes. The stranger was very quickly hustled away from the children, and never seen again. Unfortunately, though, a seed had been planted in the minds of some.

Emerging Personalities

The Sisters of St. Jaspers of The Rocks had rescued only half-Orcs no older than about eight for a very good reason: they were quick to learn and still impressionable. After a certain age, it was kinder to leave them with the Orcs than force a new, strange life upon them.

Within a year, all of the children were able to speak Common well enough (some more proficiently than others). It was crucial to learn the common tongue in order to communicate with those who did not understand Orcish; namely the Dwarvern kitchen hands and the numerous clerics of many races that came and went frequently. Ilgil could now even swear in both languages – 'asshole' was one of her favourites - but had suffered twice as much soap down her throat for it (Torga, it turned out, did not make idle threats). Consequently, Ilgil found herself having to become a little more agile and gutsy to escape the middle aged monk; and she only made the mistake of trying to climb up the dining hall flue once.

There were many Sisters at the monastery, but only six of which regularly supervised and mentored the half-Orc children. Since the closure of the cloisters to the general public, many of the Sisters rotated shifts on the main land, providing services for those in need or raising money for the church by serving as mid wives for well-paying nobles alongside the clerics of their order. Raising the half-Orcs was a full-time occupation unto itself and required the monks involved to be removed from main land activities most of the time.

The six mentors were of mixed races: two half-Orcs, Torga and Bik (begrudgingly nicknamed "Biscuit"); a half-Elf, Reiwin; two Humans, Narviok and Jacinta; and Gloria, the neither timid nor delicate Halfling that had been with Torga in the kitchens. The mixed bunch had been chosen so as to expose the children to a variety of races, and because of their well-honed variety of skills.

Out of the best interests of the children the mentors made it a priority have one-on-one time with their small monks-to-be, to build bonds and keep an eye on their wellbeing. Some children found themselves having one-on-one time more than most, while others (usually those who were adapting well) had a little less. Ilgil sat in the middle majority; she was as equally indifferent to her past as she was to her present and was completely uninterested in her future (although, it could hardly be expected for any six year old to give much thought to their future). Most of the time Ilgil seemed more interested in rocks and exploring every square inch of the island than listening to lessons of Faerun history and culture, or learning how to cook beef curry.

Eventually Ilgil's participation in aiding the kitchen hands with anything more than chopping vegetables or tenderising meat was discretely reduced; the kitchen hands kept finding rocks in the stews and curries. Ilgil had innocently misinterpreted "rock salt" as "salty rocks", which she had been more than happy to collect from the shores.

It was around this time that the odd and sometimes quite ghastly sounds of musical instruments could be heard in the evenings after dinner. A few of the students were taking lessons with Jacinta and some of the novice Sisters. There were four known among the children, three girls and a young boy, who openly practiced their music - but there was rumour of a fifth.

Nobody could wheedle information out of the students and tutors about the possible fifth musician, but like all secrets at the monastery the student's anonymity was short lived – one night before bed, Orlen was ambushed in the corridors by three of the older boys. He was found to be in possession of a lute. Orlen was highly embarrassed, and his friends poked fun at him as though he had been caught on a midnight walk with a girl. The teasing was very short lived; it ended when the boy with ginger hair ended up unconscious with a lute stuck on his head.

A Window to the Outside World

Ilgil felt better suited to lessons which required physical application rather than pure theoretical knowledge; she was an enthusiastic student of martial arts, where her true strength –which was, quite literally, strength – was most obvious. She could hold her own against any one of her fellow half-Orc students; though not because she had any sort of martial prowess yet – many of their practice matches started with a few wobbly fancy kicks and awkward punches before melting into a common tussle.

During an afternoon break proceeding one such martial arts class, Ilgil and her friend Hoarshu (a girl of similar age from a different birth clan) had snuck out of the monastery to go down to the shore by themselves. It was against regulation for students under the age of ten to go out of the grounds without a Sister with them, but they hardly cared – it was more exciting to go to the shore when you knew you were breaking the rules. It was a hot afternoon, which made the cool waters even more appealing.

After twenty minutes of swimming about and throwing blobs of wet sand at each other, the pair decided to go beach combing and followed the shoreline around the head. Hoarshu picked up a piece of oddly shaped drift wood and a crab shell, and Ilgil picked up pebbles of varying colours and patterns. Hoarshu had slightly lighter skin than Ilgil, and slate grey eyes. Her hair was just as dark, but she kept it braided while Ilgil often left it out of had it in a pony tail.

The pair was quietly examining their newest finds as they walked around the base of a cliff into another bay. They stopped dead in their tracks. There was another child, about a quarter of a mile away, playing in the pebbly sand.

None of the children at the monastery had ever seen a non half-Orc child, or any other child for that matter besides themselves, since they had arrived at St. Jaspers over a year ago. And this child was most evidently not half-Orc; it had pale, reflective skin and short bowl-cut blonde hair.

Curious, amazed, and apprehensive all at once, the girls had taken shelter behind a large rock. They discussed the other child, wondering whether it lived on the island or had come over on a boat; whether it would attack them if it saw them; what race it belonged to and what gender it was. The pair decided to approach and talk to it. So they brought their finds along with them, Hoarshu suggesting they could offer them as presents to help prevent things going ugly, as apparently that's what adults sometimes did to make friends (Hoarshu paid a bit more attention in history lessons than Ilgil). Ilgil on the other hand silently thought her rocks would make good projectiles should the need arise.

The pale child spotted the two half-Orc girls walking up the beach; it eyed them cautiously, and stood up, no longer piling sand into a giant heap. Hoarshu had called out a greeting in Common, to which she was happy to get a reply, and when the pair was within a few feet of the other child, they could see it was human.

"Told you it was a human boy," Hoarshu whispered, "he hasn't got pointy ears."

This stranger was around nine years of age, though he was barely taller than the sixish-sevenish year olds standing before him.

"You must be from the monastery," He spoke diffidently, his eyes lingering on their unusually muscular arms.

That was the ice breaker; after the "peace offering" of coloured pebbles, a crab shell and a piece of driftwood, the children exchanged polite words. Ilgil left most of the talking to Hoarshu, who spoke Common more fluently and had smaller tusks.

Ilgil had a chance to shine later, saving the boy from a potentially nasty wasp bite by clapping her hands over the insect as it flew around his head, consequently having it sting her palm instead.

Terrance Periwinkle, as the boy was named, was most thankful and seemed quite impressed that the girl was so keen to follow the doctrine of Ilmater (as Narviok continually told them, "The most devout followers of Ilmater take on the suffering of others"). Ilgil had not intended to hurt herself, she had simply not thought about the consequences of squashing a wasp with her bare hands. But she bit back tears and nodded sagely, pretending that had been her intentions anyway, not wanting to look stupid.

Knowing that they would probably not be allowed to play with Terrance, Ilgil and Hoarshu kept him a secret from their peers and the Sisters. Terrance promised not to mention them to his parents who were farmers on the island. Over several weeks the girls got into a routine of sneaking out of grounds to play with Terrance; he did not stay a secret for long. Some of the girls' half-Orc brethren had caught them, and soon Terrance was introduced to more and more half-Orcs until he was part of a very large circle of friends and acquaintances.

As more half-Orcs joined in on the secret expeditions to the beach, the lower hills or other sites out of view from the monastery, Terrance became more exposed to their personalities; though they were quite rough with one another, the children were always careful not to involve Terrance in their friendly play fights. Ilgil had taken personal responsibility for Terrance's health when he was with them, and gave anyone who got a little too excited a reminder-punch to not be rough with their pure Human friend.

Paltry Competition

It was a little hard for anyone not to notice half the students missing from the monastery grounds of an evening or during midday break. Gloria, the Halfling, had for sometime been spying on the half-Orcs, keeping Narviok and the other mentors informed of the developments. The Sisters had decided to allow their students to continue meeting Terrance, whose parents they knew personally, as it would make the day the children went to the main land – which was drawing ever nearer – a little easier. It was also an excellent way to polish the children's Common tongue, as the Sisters knew Terrance only spoke in Common and didn't understand an ounce of Orcish.

Torga and Biscuit had continued teaching the children Orcish after their arrival, it was handy to have two languages, but to speak Common was most necessary for getting along in wide world of Faerun; particularly when dealing with snobbish, highly judgmental, racist nobles or similar ilk (as Torga had said).

Come winter, when the days were shorter and colder, the mentors had given permission for Terrance to come and meet his friends in St. Jaspers. All the students were bewildered and stunned that they had not been punished for sneaking off for so long; but in the words of Gloria, "There be nothin' you can keep from me fer long. An' if we'd wanted to, we would have stopped you. But don't go thinkin' that means yer can go breakin' rules all the time an' get away with it scott-free!"

Twice a week Terrance rode a horse to the monastery from his modest homestead and stayed overnight; this was very thrilling for the half-Orc students, who had never in their short lives thus far done something quite exciting as a sleepover.

For the first couple of weeks, until some of the excitement had worn off, Terrance's presence invoked a sort of frenzy in the children. Even Torga, the most formidable of their mentors, could barely keep them under control. Her threats of cancelling future sleepovers were replied to with cocky confidence rather than the usual fear and respect ("We'll just sneak out – you or Gloria won't catch us again. Not if we all run in different directions!").

Thanks to Terrance, by the time summer rolled around marking the second year since the Children had been brought to St. Jaspers, even Ilgil was speaking clearer Common. She could now recite several short poems and play word games such as Dip Dip Dog Shit. The library was now open without the need of a supervisor to all except those under five; the mentors trusted them enough to not eat the leather bound texts or to use the parchment for toilet paper.

Books with pictures were most preferred by everyone, particularly volumes depicting gore or animals. Biscuit nearly caved in the heads of a few of the older boys who had been looking at breasts in a large book ("How dare you abuse you library privileges! That maternity tome is for educating our clerics, not for ogling at!"). Indeed, by the time she had finished with them they needed books on medicine.

The library was not the only place now free for exploring. Students were being taken further from the monastery, now expected to help out on some of the nearer farms including the one Terrance worked at, and were allowed to roam beyond the monastery grounds in their free time during daylight hours. Ilgil, Hoarshu and a handful of their fellows travelled by foot to Periwinkle Farm with Jacinta three times a week; they were taught how to milk cows, shovel hey (and less appealing messes), groom horses, use tills and a do variety of other farm tasks.

Ilgil was fairly good at most farm jobs, and liked the animals. She was quite fond of the pigs, and offered to feed them whenever the chance arose. To her surprise the most challenging task was not ploughing fields – she met her match in the chicken coop.

The young half-Orc had heard plenty of anecdotal stories describing the flightless birds as cowardly and stupid. She expected the hens to be friendly or at least timid; she'd never seen a live chicken before (only dead ones at dinner time). This image was not entirely false - when the squat birds weren't sitting on their nests, they matched the profile well. But heavens forbid you had to shove your hand under their feathery bellies to pull an egg out of the nest box; the clucky hens were vicious, constantly stabbing their beaks at intruding hands (or noses and eyes) so violently and with such speed, it vaguely reminded Ilgil of a striking snake.

And as if that wasn't bad enough, there were a dozen aggressive roosters to contend with. They didn't need an excuse to be vicious; the simply seemed to exist in a constant state of mild psychosis.

Her first time collecting the eggs and cleaning out nest boxes, Ilgil had been warned about the roosters by Terrance's mother.

"Don't let 'em intimidate you, or they'll just pick on you more. And keep an eye on 'em; the boys've got nasty spurs on their legs."

From the description, Ilgil expected the roosters to run up and kick her in the shins or something to that effect; but it was not to be the case. Instead, they used the coop's corridor as a runway and threw themselves at her, legs raised like scimitars, kamikaze bird style.

Surprised by the attack, Ilgil ended up with two gashes on her chest and was knocked over backwards. She would never forget what happened next; the experience would remain with her forever. Lesson number one of the chicken coop: Never fall down. Don't even bend over to tie up your boot laces (if you have any).

The instant her back hit the ground Ilgil became a living chicken magnet; birds from every corner of the coop swooped down and started stabbing her with their beaks, relentlessly pecking at her entire body. She flailed her arms and legs wildly trying to shoo them like flies, but they were surprisingly agile and persistent. Close to panic, Ilgil rolled over to protect her face and managed to regain her feet using one of the A-frames that held the nest boxes; as if a spell had been lifted, the birds casually walked away again. All bar the biggest, meanest rooster of them all... He stood there, chest puffed out, glaring at her challengingly. His beady eyes rather menacing for a stereotypically dopey species. The rooster had a large, dark maroon comb that was bigger than Ilgil's hand. This bird would become her first mortal enemy.

Ilgil couldn't believe she had been bested by the beast; the feathery lump had felt like a flying boulder when it had collided into her. Chest bleeding, she kicked out angrily at the bird – and missed – before retreating to the doors, walking backwards to keep both eyes on the triumphant looking cock.

Ilgil felt extremely frustrated and embarrassed by her overwhelming loss. She was used to being a top contender in tussles. She'd never live it down if anyone found out she'd been chased out of the coop by next winter's dinner. When Jacinta, upon seeing Ilgil's battered condition, asked if she wanted to milk the cows next week instead, Ilgil refused, volunteering her time at the farm every week entirely to working in the chicken coop. It was almost a full-day task, collecting the eggs three times a day, feeding and watering them, and cleaning poo out of the nests every morning and clearing out rotting - sometimes green or blue, depending on how long they had been undiscovered for- hen carcasses time to time.

"Chickens got you a good one did they?" Terrance teased her jokingly when he heard the story off Hoarshu. Ilgil just grunted in displeasure; she didn't want reminding.

Several weeks passed, with Ilgil constantly looking over her shoulder whenever she worked in the coop. The roosters were a stealthy and cunning lot, far more intelligent that most people had given them credit for – and none of them had gotten any friendlier. But she was smarter than they were (she assured herself), and she knew what game they were playing at. Every time she turned her back, the roosters stalking her would charge, the thudding of their feet audible above the ambient clucking. Whenever she turned around, they would halt and start pecking innocently at the ground as though minding their own business. If they managed to get close enough, they'd throw stealth to the winds and toss themselves at her, barrelling into her with their surprisingly hard chests and sometimes their barbs.

The hens were a bother as well; smaller but more numerous they tended to flock around her legs, curiously pecking at her clothing, pinching her skin or prodding her with rather pointy beaks. She ended up with a ring of bruises around her knees (the average height of the hens) because of them.

Chickens only occupied a portion of Ilgil's time. She continued to study (that was unfortunately mandatory). The students had been learning more about Ilmater, and the history of the religion and its renowned monasteries and church buildings. From what Ilgil could understand Ilmater was a kind natured and somewhat powerful, well known deity who aimed to ease suffering of all. Ilmater's dogma had earned him several arch enemies amongst the other deities worshipped throughout Faerun. Ilgil couldn't recall their names, but she remembered Gloria describing Ilmater's polar opposite: a goddess that relished in the pain and suffering of others, whose followers made a career of being nasty, conniving, dealers of emotional and physical torment – or in layman's terms, a cult of torturers.

In other classes, they learned about etiquettes, nobles and other tediously dull things – well, they were supposed to, but there were only a handful of students who actually paid any attention; Reiwin, their tutor for most of the boring subjects, had given up trying to get everyone to "absorb the knowledge". As Orlen had pointed out during the hot, sweaty afternoons listening to Reiwin waffle on, the only thing that did any absorbing of any form was the vestment on his back.

One of the more enjoyable skills Ilgil had learned through the summer was how to ride a horse; the monastery had many of their own mounts, and Terrance was invited to assist Jacinta and Torga teach the half-Orcs the basics of riding.

Riding was not without its incidents; one time Ilgil was trying to mount the steed, she accidently pulled on its mane. The horse reared and knocked her off, and pranced away over the top of her – leaving a red hoof shaped indent on her buttocks. She was a little butt-hurt in both senses of the phrase, but otherwise unharmed.

All the students progressed well in riding, the worst injury a broken arm; nothing that a cleric could not mend. Ilgil made an effort to improve her riding, for the skill did lend itself quite well to exploring Arnrock...

Budding Geologist

Another three years passed at the monastery, the usual routine of work, play, study and night time escapades continuing as they always had. The children were well versed in Common now, and Torga had declared that stupidity would no longer be accepted as an excuse for making one's bed without proper hospital corners. Ilgil was now nineish-tenish, and had grown taller, stronger, and developed an interest in rocks.

What had started out as a mild fascination bloomed into an obsession. Ilgil loved rocks and gems, even the dull ones. The island's volcano was another great attraction; none of the children were permitted to climb its slopes or go anywhere near its cone, but Ilgil was dying to see what the crater looked like up close. Unable to satisfy the urge to explore the mountain, Ilgil often flipped through the pages of tomes containing pictures of volcanoes and lava, and read articles about particularly devastating eruptions where many people died horrible deaths – these kind of revelations only deepened her intense curiosity of the mysterious, fire-spewing peaks.

Everywhere she went Ilgil kept an eye out for stones, sometimes chipping a chunk off an outcrop. It didn't matter if it was dull and grey or pale with stripes, all rocks had a story of their own to tell. She kept her rocks in a potato sack under her bed, and pulled it out on rainy days to sort the rocks into piles.

Trying to encourage Ilgil to take interest in some form of study, the mentors came up with a way to bribe her.

"If you want more rocks," Torga had lectured her, "you have to answer a question correctly for each one you put into your sack from now on. I'll be counting them, so don't think you can slip a few in without being noticed."

The questions started out fairly simple and often required Ilgil to consult a book. There weren't many rules for the task except she wasn't allowed to ask anyone for an answer. Some of her questions included such things as "what is a rock?", "what is a mineral?" and "how do you spell sedimentary?"

Upon filling her first sack, Torga presented Ilgil with a most interesting rock; at first, she thought it was a frozen steak because it was an opaque reddish pink with a few marble-like white stripes, and did not have an obvious grain or crystal habit.

"Don't be dumb," Torga chided, "why would I give you a steak? It is a special rock. If you wish to start a second sack of rocks for your collection, you must write me an essay about this one, including what it is, how it formed, and at least one culturally significant fact about it."

"And a what?" Ilgil asked confused. She had no idea what a "culturally significant" fact was.

Torga sighed. "Just tell me something about the rock that isn't related to geology."

Ilgil glared accusingly at her mentor.

"It won't be hard to answer once you find the right tome."

It took almost a month, but Ilgil completed the essay – after two failed attempts of trying to identify the rock. Her third essay was successful; upon identifying it, the cultural significance was quite obvious – the stone was Jasper, a form of Chalcedony, whose impurities gave it its reddish pink colour. Ilgil was quite astounded to find out the Jasper she had been tasked to identify could have formed by the alteration of igneous rock.

"...the Sisters of St. Jaspers get their name from the rock which can be found on the island that the monastery was founded on. But don't ask me why, I don't know, you said I only needed one fact, and that's it."

Ilgil rolled up the parchment her essay was written on and handed it to Torga.

"Very good, Ilgil. Your reward, as promised, is permission to stuff another potato sack with rocks of your choice. Previous arrangements are still in place; but you can keep that red Jasper as the first rock for your next sack." Torga tucked the scroll away into a belt pouch. She inclined her head slightly and flared her nostrils in what Ilgil recognised to be her mentor's characteristic way of showing approval.

"And your speculations are correct; that piece was collected from a formation on this island. I collected it myself. Clerics associated with St. Jaspers often use it to make holy symbols."

"Where did you find it?" Ilgil asked eagerly. "I want to see the Jasper formation! It must look like a giant wall of steak."

Torga arched an eyebrow in amusement. "I will leave the pleasure of discovering that to you."

Ilgil did not push Torga for answers; experience told her she wouldn't get any. The Sisters had a terrible habit of being vague and mysterious.

Over the course of the year, Ilgil filled up her second sack with all kinds of rocks (some simply extra specimens of types she particularly liked) and was on to her third. But she had to give a great deal more time and effort to find the answers; on average, she was only getting one new rock a week; this extra study was done in her own time, between class and work.

The Arrogant Boy

Autumn of the following year was a season of change of the three dozen half-Orcs. It was the Year of the Maidens; Ilgil was age tenish-elevenish. St. Jaspers was to be host to a pregnant noble woman, who had paid to come and stay at the monastery for the final six Ten-Days of her term. The monastery had not offered this in-house service since the arrival of the half-Orcs six years previously, and their increased presence on the main land resulted in a reduced attendance of senior members on Arnrock. But now, with the children settled in and somewhat grown, it was time start opening the doors again. Providing in-house services to the wealthy was one of the fundamental ways in which the monastery raised funds to better serve those who could not afford treatment, food and shelter. It also meant some of the Sisters could return to the island, instead of being stationed at nobles' homes or temples for short stints.

The lady would be bringing along her three young children; two boys and a girl, leaving her husband on the main land. Also to accompany her was her private bodyguard. Ilgil had questioned why anyone would need bodyguards when paying to live at the monastery, and Biscuit's reply was a hushed "because some people have more gold than brains".

All the half-Orc students were very excited to hear this news, imagining another three Terrance's joining their ranks for sixty days. Torga had made it very clear that they were all to behave themselves, and to not go near the three human children unless they approached the students first. Indeed, despite the shortening of days and increasing cold, upon the arrival of the nobles the half-Orcs suddenly found themselves so preoccupied with outdoor activities by their mentors that they hardly glimpsed the visitors at all. Their hopes of seeing the nobles at dinner time were not to be; it turned out the family had their meals taken to them in their private suite, far from curious half-Orc eyes.

A Ten-Day into the newcomers' stay and the noble children had only been glimpsed from afar or heard through a wall. While picking weeds from the garden beds beside their classroom one morning, Ilgil, Hoarshu and Orlen had snuck a peek through the window; they saw the backs of three young nobles, being tutored by Reiwin. Orlen believed the eldest looked to be about twelve, though Ilgil couldn't see them very well.

Hoarshu frowned, complaining that it was no wonder their lessons had been halved with the half-Elf tutor. Ilgil and Orlen didn't share this opinion; they quite liked the break from boring subjects.

"You're ripping up the thyme," Hoarshu whispered at her cohorts, notably irritable. "And that's wolf's bane. Don't you listen to anything our mentors tell us..."

"Not if I can help it," Orlen smirked.

Then, one night later in the second Ten-Day of the lady's stay, Ilgil was sneaking to the kitchens for a midnight snack – someone else had decided to raid the kitchens as well. She followed the noise to the larder, hanging back behind the door frame, cautiously sticking her head out to look inside. Thanks to her Orc blood she could see quite clearly in the dark; albeit in monochrome. She observed - with increasing disgust - a boy who, though not fat, didn't seem to have muscle tone, just soft curves, and neatly cropped dark, shoulder-length hair.

Ilgil was confused as to who this could possibly be; the vigour with which the boy was hoeing into the pot of honey (with very little dignity) suggested he was hungry and not very well mannered. Yet the only human children at the monastery were the nobles, and surely they would be well fed enough not to warrant stealing from the larders, and well mannered enough to at least use a spoon instead of a hand? Ilgil considered the possibilities; it had to be thief. A very ballsy thief, at that, to be sneaking into a monastery full of veteran fighting monks. Or perhaps it was a very stupid thief. Either way...

Stepping into the door frame, Ilgil announced her presence. "Put that pot down," she said firmly, glaring disapprovingly at the boy.

Fingers in his mouth, the boy froze; but he did not look frightened - Ilgil saw him glaring back at her, as he licked the honey off his hand. She waited for a reply.

"Oh? And what you gonna do about it?" He said snobbishly, raising an eyebrow, dipping his hand back into the pot. Ilgil made a mental note not to eat anything with honey in it until they got fresh supplies.

"Jam that pot on your head," she replied pointedly; the boy's haughty tone rubbed her hair the wrong way. Her upper lip lifted in a slight snarl.

The boy's sudden laughter startled her; it echoed loudly in the otherwise quiet kitchen. "Love to see you try! You'll get a proper flogging if you try that."

Thinking he was challenging her, Ilgil swiftly stepped forward, snatched the large ceramic jar out of his weak grip, upended it and rammed it onto the boy's head so that the lip of the jar was level with his mouth. She felt some satisfaction in stuffing his head into the remnants of the honey.

He gave an almighty scream. The boy began making a huge fuss, clutching the pot on his head and stumbling around like a drunk, tripping over sacks of potatoes and flour. Ilgil backed out of the larder and shut the door, locking it. She heard a door slam somewhere on the second floor followed by shouting; evidently some of the Sisters had been woken by the noise. At least Ilgil wouldn't have to go and find them; she could stay and make sure the thief didn't escape.

It was only when the boy in the larder began calling out for his mother did Ilgil feel that something was amiss. She heard rapid footsteps descending the staircase at the end of the hall. It didn't sound like the footsteps of any of the Sisters – the monks always had a certain composure about their movements, no matter the situation. These were far too hurried, loud and clumsy. Some instinct told Ilgil to get out of the kitchens before those hurrying feet reached the doorway.

Taking the advice of her instincts, she darted up onto the kitchen bench and unlatched the window. She slid it up, just as an angry, shrieking woman appeared at the kitchen door. Ilgil jumped through and landed in a bed of herbs. She scrambled to her feet and flew like a bat from hell across the quadrangle, headed for the archway that led to the outer grounds. She was halfway across the lawn when she heard the same shrieking now quite clearly - the woman was trying to peer through the window; unbeknownst to Ilgil, who dared not look back, a very round belly was getting in the woman's way, preventing her from sticking her head out the window to get a better look at Ilgil.

Heart pounding and adrenaline surging through her veins, Ilgil's legs carried her well beyond the grounds. She didn't know what to do - she feared going back, knowing she was undoubtedly in some kind of trouble. If it had been a Sister shrieking at her she probably would have stayed to cop the flak; but the presence of the strangers unsettled her.

After a few minutes she slowed her sprint down to a jog and strained to listen for signs of pursuit. She paused for a second behind a bush, hearing nothing but insects and the call of a bird and the blood pulsing in her ears. She continued jogging for another twenty minutes until she came to the bridge that crossed the stream; this was the route to Terrance's homestead. She decided to go there - at least she knew now where she was headed, rather than some random vector. Out of breath but still fearful, Ilgil pushed herself to walk briskly. Once across the bridge, she walked slightly off the path but followed it all the way to Terrance's.

Terrance woke to tapping at his window; he was extremely surprised to see Ilgil on the other side of the glass, looking quite anxious. He lifted the window and they had a chat; Ilgil explained what had happened, while Terrance listened intently. When she was finished, he looked quite ashen-faced.

"Didn't it cross your mind that boy might have been one of the nobles staying at the monastery?" He asked sounding very concerned. "And that woman was probably his mother, the pregnant woman."

Only silence followed; Ilgil slowly sank below the window sill as though in quicksand, her hands still gripping it tightly. She ended up on her knees and her forehead resting on the wooden wall.

Clearly, Terrance thought privately, it hadn't crossed her mind. This wasn't entirely true; she had considered the fact the only human children inside the monastery were the three nobles, but she had erroneously judged the boy she saw to be a thief. Now it seemed so obvious to her that Ilgil wondered why she hadn't realised the truth in the first place. She felt so stupid, Ilgil would have liked nothing better than to bury her head in the dirt and wait for the impending doom to blow over.

Reassuring her that it was not the end of the world (but discreetly suggesting it might be wise to hang low for a while) Terrance invited Ilgil inside his room, where she slept on the floor with a rug thrown over her as a blanket; there she fell into a troubled sleep filled with dreams of being chased and sentenced to death.

Marathon Run

Come morning, Ilgil's nerves had half recovered. She was currently trying to recover the other half. Who gives a flying leap if that kid's a noble? She thought bitterly as she lay curled up on the floor, that honey's flamin' expensive stuff. He should buy his own; he can afford it, instead of filling his bottomless stomach with hard-earned food from our larder. Greedy, rude, prick of a boy. Like to teach him a few lessons in half-Orc etiquette... Her confidence continued to return with every new insult she came up with.

When Terrance awoke, having farm work to attend to, he asked her what she was going to do. Not getting much of a reply (she hadn't given much thought on the subject), he suggested that perhaps, given the circumstances, she should stay and help on his parent's farm today and not go back to the monastery just yet.

So that Terrance's parents would not know she had stayed the night, Ilgil jumped back out the bedroom window and ran around to the front door, and knocked. When Terrance's mother answered and asked the young half-Orc what she was doing up so early, Ilgil lied through her teeth and said it was her day off, and that she had been permitted to help out on the farm.

"They want us out of the monastery; nobles visiting, and all that..." It wasn't an entirely false story.

Not one to turn down free slave labour, Terrance's mother welcomed her in. After Terrance ate his breakfast the pair went to work (Terrance slipped her an apple and a piece of bread so she wouldn't be too hungry) ploughing a field to prepare it for a crop of parsnips. Come lunchtime, Ilgil's stomach was chewing her spine. The ham, cheese and bread she had been given for lunch seemed only to make her hungrier, and vanished in the blink of the eye.

The pair were sitting at the simple wooden dining table when there was a loud rapping on the front door. Judging by the slight metallic clunking, Ilgil guessed the person bashing at the door was wearing gauntlets.

"Coming!" They heard Terrance's mother call out from the master bedroom where she was folding washing.

Ilgil and Terrance looked at each other; an image of the lady's bodyguard popped into her head... she wondered if he would execute her on the spot – she'd heard that nobles were very severe in their punishments, and upending a honey pot on the noble woman's young son wasn't exactly easy to explain. Without a word, Ilgil ran for the backdoor. She didn't want to hang around to find out who that gauntlet belonged to. And she certainly didn't want Terrance to get involved.

For the second time in twenty-four hours, Ilgil found herself fleeing. This time, though, she had a pursuer. As she jumped over the stone wall into the paddock, the backdoor burst open. She fanged it across the half-ploughed field, dirt and pebbles flying in her wake. She had a head start of a hundred feet, but she wished it were a mile. Ilgil heard the person, a male, calling out after her; she couldn't make out what they were saying from the wind rushing in her ears and the thudding of her feet, and she had no intentions of stopping to ask.

Over the boundary wall and towards the forest she ran; she had explored this land before – the forest was a bit misleading, for it was not an expanse of trees that went on forever, but a thin, long strip. On the other side of the strip was an organ-pipe rock face. If she could not find somewhere to hide amongst the trees, she would attempt to climb the rock face – if the man pursuing her was wearing armour, Ilgil was sure he wouldn't have a hope in hell of following her.

The trees and bushes were rustling around her as she entered the forest, stirred by a stiff breeze. She couldn't hear well, but, she was relieved because it meant her pursuer would not be able to hear her well, either. Ilgil had gotten her hopes up; there didn't seem to be any good hiding spots – the fallen logs were neither hollow nor big enough to lie beside; the only bushes capable of concealing someone were covered in copious amounts of thorns, and there wasn't a badger hole in sight or a rocky outcrop that she could use as cover.

Starting to tire, Ilgil tripped on a tree root and landed clumsily on a rounded, mossy rock half-covered with leaf litter. It knocked the breath out of her. She rolled over, winded, struggling to force her lungs to suck in air. The ten seconds it took to be able to draw breath again had felt like an age; her momentary panic from suffocating over, Ilgil quickly inspected her abdomen which was throbbing with pain. The skin was grazed and a bruise was developing. The bleeding was superficial; it did sting, though. That was really going to hurt in the morning... sit-ups were going to be killer.

Her hunter crashing through the bushes was now clear; Ilgil scrambled to her feet again and ran, a little slower thanks to her protesting abdominal muscles, for the edge of the forest – it wasn't far now. She still had some hope of escaping.

Ilgil broke out of the forest onto rocky ground pocketed with tufts of grass. She headed up the slight slope to the base of the organ-pipe cliff face, and began to climb; under other circumstances, she would have liked to have stood back and admired the parallel hexagonal rock columns. For a cliff face, the climb was considerably easier than she'd expected; there were plenty of good hand and foot holds where broken-off columns provided a large flat surface. Woody vines growing down from the plateau above aided her greatly. If not for her now throbbing abdomen and the strong winds, she would have been able to scale the cliff faster. Ilgil was about thirty feet up when she heard someone holler up at her, their voice just audible over the winds.

"Oi! Cock 'ead!"

She looked over her shoulder to leer at the offender, angered by the brazen greeting. Loose strands of long black hair blew across her vision, but she saw someone through them that she had not expected – it was Ongrat, one of her fellow students. He had thick, dark, ginger hair pulled back into a short ponytail, greenish-brown skin and amber eyes. He had undoubtedly inherited those from his Orc father, though Ilgil was certain he must have his mother's hair.

Not a stranger to feeling confused, she stared down wordlessly at him. Her peer took the opportunity to shout up to her again.

"Get down here; we're supposed to be working at the farm today!"

"We... we are?" Ilgil shouted back bewildered.

"Gloria said you was stayin' overnight at Terrance's to get an early start. She sent me to help, said you was expectin' someone."

Ilgil was expecting someone alright, but she hadn't dreamed it would be someone friendly. She began to climb back down. When she was twelve feet above the ground there was an odd sort of noise; she paused to listen. The sound had a slow, deep rhythm. Ilgil could also hear the faint swishing of trees in the distance.

Looking over her shoulder, she saw that Ongrat was frozen still. His torso was twisted to the side as he stared intently to his left, along the barren corridor that gently sloped and meandered towards the beach between the forest and the cliff. His alertness was unsettling to Ilgil - Ongrat was a couple of years older than she – he was almost thirteen - and was known for his guts. There wasn't much that made him flinch.

He turned to face Ilgil, a look of apprehension on his face. He seemed to make a decision of some sort in his mind, and ran to the base of the cliff. "Quick, get down, now! Jump!"

"What is it?" Ilgil asked, hesitant to leave the safety on the cliff.

"Just do it, or there won't be enough time to get inside the barrier," he growled in frustration.

The thumping was getting louder; in the distance, Ilgil could now see the tops of the trees quivering against the wind. Images from the books at the library flashed in her mind.

"Wow!" She exclaimed, "Is that a giant sloth maybe? They're supposed to be huge!"

Ongrat swore profusely, clenching and unclenching his fists, before replying. "It's a bloody great meat eatin' dinosaur! Not a tree-huggin' cuddly sloth!"

Realising by the look on Ilgil's face that she was now utterly petrified, he explained, "the barrier, it's an enchantment at the edge of the forest on the other side – it stops big creatures goin' near the farms and monastery."

Those were the magic words.

Ilgil jumped off the cliff, tumbling in a haphazard manner but leaving herself relatively unscathed besides a few extra scrapes. Ongrat helped pull her to her feet and the pair ran like hares back towards the forest. Ilgil's previous injury was being a bother; she found herself falling short of the older half-Orc who was unharmed. Ongrat grabbed her by the wrist and pulled Ilgil along as fast as her legs could manage without tripping.

No longer a dull thud, the footfalls of the dinosaur were more like mini earthquakes; whatever it was they were running from was no longer going for a Sunday stroll - it had very obviously began to run through the trees, as was evident by the sound of wildly rustling leaves and the groaning of tree trunks growing ever louder.

Terror and adrenaline drove them onwards, trying to outrun the unseen juggernaut. The trees were beginning to thin again as they crossed the thin forest strip. The dinosaur released a reverberating bellow as it crashed through the bushes about four hundred and fifty feet behind them and to their right. Ongrat glanced over his shoulder; he could see the erratic movement of shrubs and trees, and the briefest glimpse of a pair of muscular, greeny-grey scaly legs and underbelly.

Ilgil didn't notice much apart from the forest flashing past her face and what she guessed was a deer fleeing for its life; she was concentrating hard on remaining on her feet. If she tripped now, she'd be the ideal snack for the monstrous carnivore.

The pair were almost to the edge of the forest when they heard the dinosaur screech in rage or perhaps pain (or both), and the sound of splintering wood; the creature was stumbling, as though it had tripped on a log or boulder. The timing was almost perfect -the half-Orcs were both beginning to flag, their pace slowing and their throats feeling quite raw from breathing fast. Finally, they broke through the last of the trees and ran across a grassy expanse towards the farm. Upon reaching the stone wall which lined the partially tilled paddock, they inelegantly threw themselves over it and lay where they fell, panting for breath and feeling considerably safer.

When Ilgil and Ongrat heard the predator advancing again, they got up on their knees and peeked over the wall. For the first time, both of them got a proper look at the dinosaur; it was limping slightly as it walked out of the forest and came to a halt in the grass. Ilgil could hardly believe her eyes at the enormity of the creature. It was bipedal, standing almost as high as the trees themselves, and had a long crocodilian snout filled with mean looking fangs. It had quite sturdy looking forearms, large muscular hind legs, and a long, sweeping tail. The most unusual feature was the large mustard yellow sail on its back.

Not wanting to be seen, Ilgil and Ongrat sat down and pressed themselves against the rock wall, keeping their heads low.

"Spinosaurus," Ongrat whispered. "Seen somethin' about them in a book at the library."

"How do you know the barrier works?" Ilgil asked, hardly daring to imagine what the creature's massive jaws would do to them.

"Terrance and his family have lived here for years, haven't they?" he replied.

Ilgil relaxed slightly. "Point taken."

The spinosaurus stopped and sniffed the air; it walked forward another couple of paces, and as though deciding it had better things to do, turned around and tromped away down the length of the forest. Ilgil and Ongrat looked over the wall again when they heard it retreating.

"Another danger of wandering too far," Ongrat spoke; though Ilgil had a hunch he was speaking more to himself than to her.

Narviok's Morality

In the days following, Ilgil had been taken on a walk with Narviok in the nearby orchards. Ilgil half expected some kind of corporal punishment, despite never having been hit in some manner very often. The only reason she expected such punishment now was because she had heard what the noble woman was demanding of the monks: to "flay the hide of the insolent child whom assaulted my son". Never mind he was blatantly thieving from the larder or an unpleasant prat.

Instead, Ilgil was given a very thorough talking to. She had never had such an in-depth and philosophical discussion with anyone, but Narviok had explained some very fundamental aspects of their faith that Ilgil had no choice but to patiently listen to.

"Ilmatari do not harm children, no matter whom they might be. Neither do we harm young animals." Narviok spoke in a level voice, explaining why the Sisters would not comply with the noble woman's request. "A child's upbringing should not be full of misery."

Ilgil recalled several times when Torga had hit her; usually no more than a clip over the ear or, in extreme cases, a wallop on the bottom.

"Is Torga not Ilmatari, then?" she asked, not out of disrespect for her half-Orc mentor but out of confusion. Torga's actions seemed to contradict the expectations of an Ilmatari.

"Well," Narviok had smiled, "Some of us interpret the doctrines in different ways. Torga is not cruel at heart – she cares deeply for you all. Mark my words; you will be able to identify malicious physical inflictions when you are one day exposed to such violence. Such a day is inevitable in this world, unfortunately – and that is why we Ilmatari exist. To reduce the suffering of those who are unfortunate enough to experience malevolence.

"There are children, Ilgil, who grow up knowing nothing but continual pain and emotional distress – emotional suffering is, in my opinion, more prolific and much harder to ease than physical pain. There are not many potions or spells which can mend the mind and heart as easily as they can a broken leg. That is why, for instance, so many of you were left without mothers. Many of them will even now still be suffering deep within... they will quite likely be affected for the rest of their lives... I regret we can't undo their mental turmoil, we could only ease it. But I am glad we gave them their rightful freedom."

Leaves crunched beneath their feet as the pair walked among the fruit trees. Ilgil did not reply; she didn't know what to say. Eventually Narviok continued her monologue.

"Ilgil, please do not think those women did not care for you and your peers; they chose what path they felt was best for you all. The monastery was, and still is, a lifeline to those mothers who would otherwise have been unable to feed their children and keep you safe until your adulthood. By leaving you and the others here, they gave you what they decided was the best start in life. Unfortunately, some mothers were unsure who their children even were. It was hard on everyone, but the brutal cycle of slavery had to be stopped. Another thing you should keep in mind, Ilgil: we are not pacifists. Members of our faith will retaliate to threats in a severe manner should means to a peaceful outcome fail. There are, if you recall your history lessons very well, a group within the church who actively seek out those who are cruel and punish them accordingly. Even Ilmatari will fight fire with fire. "

It was deep stuff for a tenish-elevish year old. Ilgil contemplated Narviok's speech; it was the first time in a very long time any of the mentors had spoken so directly about the mothers of the children. Narviok had spoken in Orcish, which Ilgil assumed was so that she understood Narviok as best as possible. Ilgil trusted her mentors and did not question Narviok's justification; it sounded like a noble cause. And it sounded truthful.

A much truer meaning of the word "noble", Ilgil thought. And I have been happy here. Or at least I'm not sad. I think that's the same thing.

Assured she would not have her back whipped raw or her bottom caned to the point she wouldn't be able to sit down for a month, Ilgil was unfazed about being assigned more chores for a week – this was, Narviok explained, a form of punishment to "enrich the soul". To her relief, the Sisters denied knowing the identity of the child who had upended the honey pot on the noble's son, sheltering Ilgil from being targeted. This protection did not stop her feeling a little resentful for being punished for teaching that git of a boy a lesson – he deserved every bit of what she gave him.

Ilgil went to Serpentine Farm everyday for a Ten-Day (Narviok said going to Periwinkle Farm, run by Terrance's family, was not a punishment) and worked from dawn til dusk. Ilgil was tired out by the end of each day, sporting new bruises and scratches courtesy of the chickens; and by the end of it all, she was quite exhausted.

Ilgil's Honour

In the fourth Ten-Day of the lady's stay, Narviok had announced that the time had come for the half-Orcs to begin visiting the mainland. They were to go in small groups as crew aboard the monastery's cargo ship, the Free Winds, to take out goods to be sold and bring back fresh supplies. Each trip would take about nine days. Ilgil was a bit sulky – Hoarshu was on the first crew out and Ilgil hadn't yet been informed which trip she would be on. Ilgil didn't look forward to visiting the mainland as much knowing she wouldn't have her best friend with her.

Hoarshu had boarded the boat the previous day; Ilgil had waved her off, trying to appear happy in an attempt not to spoil the experience for her friend. Without Hoarshu to hang around with as usual, Ilgil was left to her own devices. It had stormed the night before (Ilgil had been assured that her friends on the Free Winds were perfectly safe), so she decided to go beach combing in the afternoon; it was too cold and windy to go swimming.

On her way down the dirt road which led to the shoreline, Ilgil heard a familiar cocky voice echoing from somewhere ahead. As the beach came into view, so did three human children.

It's them nobles, Ilgil thought irritably, why do they have to be here? They've practically got the entire monastery to themselves. Stupid gits should be in the library ruining our books or something.

Ilgil wasn't very fond of the visitors.

She was curious nonetheless about what she witnessed while studying the noble children from afar; it sounded like one of them was being rather rude. The taller of the two boys pushed the other over, while their sister stood to the side looking as shocked as Ilgil felt, but too timid to interrupt. Ilgil could tell just by looking that this was not play fighting – which made it all the more strange. Weren't they brothers? She didn't expect brothers to fight like this.

She continued to stand afar until the taller boy – who, now Ilgil realised, was the same boy from the larder that night a twenty days or so previously – picked up a piece of drift wood. She didn't need to see the sister's adverse reaction to know what the boy intended to do with the lump of wood.

Forgetting any bias she had towards the nobles, Ilgil ran down the beach to aid the shorter boy. She'd never forgive herself if she stood by and watched someone get beaten up. The sister, a girl with long blonde hair pulled back in a loose plait, was trying to wrestle the wood from her older brother's hands, but with no success; she was far too feeble. The youngest boy got to his feet again, but his brother pushed him back down after fobbing off the girl. Ilgil arrived on the scene and put herself between the two brothers; she was nose-to-nose with the eldest, who scowled at her.

"Get out of the way," he ordered. "Or I'll flog you, too!"

"Love to see you try," Ilgil said boldly, feeling it was too good a chance to miss quoting the boy's own words back to him. She couldn't help but grin a little.

He didn't seem to register the familiarity of the phrase, but he did understand the gravity of the words coming from a monastery raised half-Orc. He stepped back a couple of paces to look her up and down.

"You might be strong, but I bet you're stupid. Mother says all half-Orcs are thick. Couldn't tie their own bootlaces if their lives depended on it. Must be why they give you those silly looking shoes to wear."

Ilgil knew the boy was saying those things to deliberately anger her, but it didn't stop her from feeling any less offended. She would have loved to have punched him on his perfect little nose and give it a nice, permanent kink. These are monk shoes I'm wearing – Ilgil thought to herself -not fancy getups to prance around a mansion in. Of course they didn't have shoe laces; that's not practical.

"I'm strong and smart." Ilgil replied defiantly. It was a bit of a lie... she had a feeling the noble children were indeed more intelligent than herself – they had personal tutors, and probably paid more attention to them, too. But there was no way on god's green earth she'd give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

The boy laughed in the same haughty manner as in the larder all those nights ago. "As if! Prove it, then. We'll do a challenge – to see who's got more brains."

Challenges were appealing to Ilgil, although most of the challenges she'd participated in were tests of strength or dares. She accepted anyway. "Alright, then."

"Good – if you lose, I get to flog Bryanth without you sticking your fat green nose in." The boy had his own nose stuck into the air as he declared the conditions. "And if you win, I'll give you my pocket watch."

Ilgil stared at him. What the abyss was a pocket watch?

Her unspoken question was answered when the boy drew out a small, flat, round, silver trinket attached to a chain from his coat. "It's not the most valuable thing I have," he said arrogantly, "But I imagine it's worth more than anything you'll ever own."

"I don't care about that thing," Ilgil snapped, her patience worn precariously thin. "I just want to prove you wrong. Half-Orcs aren't stupid – my friend is going to be a Cleric," she was referring to Hoarshu, who recently expressed interest in becoming a member of the clergy. The mentors had praised her friend, saying Hoarshu was a particularly bright student who had potential to learn the fine art of magic.

After half an hour, neither child agreed upon a suitable challenge. Ilgil refused the boy's ideas, even she was intelligent enough to realise they were all to his advantage. And Ilgil's ideas were all fair, meaning actual effort would have been required to win, so the boy rejected them. The two siblings edged away to let the two argue in peace.

I just wish I could teach this brat a lesson! Maybe losing his pocket-watsit would pull his head out of his butt. Ilgil seethed at the idea of losing – the reputation of her fellow students was on the line. And the younger boy would get hurt if she lost – she didn't like the idea of going back on an agreement, but she really did not want Bryanth getting beaten with a piece of drift wood.

She had the suspicion the eldest boy was unlikely to give her the shiny silver thing if she won, anyway. To him, she concluded it was just a contest to try and deface her brethren; Ilgil doubted it had anything to do with honour for the boy.

"Just agree to something!" The boy snapped impatiently, interrupting Ilgil's contemplation. "You're just chicken, that's what it is. Because you know you really are too dumb to be able to beat me at anything."

A memory from several years ago came to her mind; yes... it could almost work... no, it was bound to work. The boy would think she was so stupid he'd accept the challenge, thinking there was no way she could win. It was perfect.

"How about we make a bet instead?" she spoke, trying not to sound over confident.

"And what bet might that be, then half-Orc?"

"I bet you I can make a boat out of stone that floats without using magic. If I win, you give that silver thing to your brother to keep, and you have to swear you'll never lay a finger on him, or your sister, ever again."

She had made a correct assumption. The boy laughed so hard tears were leaking from the corners of his eyes. He agreed.

"I'll give you ten days," he replied after regaining composure.

"No, I need two Ten-Days – I work, unlike you. That'll bring it to the end of your stay."

The boy narrowed his eyes, unsure if this was a trick. After thinking about it for a few seconds he relented. "Fine; and when you lose, I'll flog Bryanth in the quadrangle for all your stupid friends to see."

Orcish Roots

The next day Ongrat sat beside Ilgil at lunch; she tried not to look guilty. If any of the mentors got wind of her bet she doubted they'd be very happy.

"Saw you talkin' to that noble boy at the beach yesterday," he said in a low casual voice so no one could over hear him. Then, stifling a laugh he asked, "what's that I heard about you making a stone boat huh?"

"Shut your gob," Ilgil hissed quietly, stuffing a piece of roasted potato in her mouth. "Stones can float. An' what were you doing spying on me? Nice of you to back me up, instead of eaves dropping." She glared at him accusingly out of the corner of her eye.

Ongrat looked a little shifty. He muttered something about being busy. Ilgil decided to fill him in on the bet, in hopes he might be able to help her. She also explained about the floating rocks.

"...three years ago, I found this weird rock – it felt so light, I thought I must have grown really strong –shut up, I was sevenish – and I carried the pumpkin sized boulder to Torga, to show her how much I'd improved. She told me I had not grown epically strong, but that in fact, the rock was very light. She proved it by putting the small boulder in the bath water, where it floated like a cork."

Ongrat looked sceptically at her.

"I kept a piece if you don't believe me." Ilgil added defensively. "It's called pumice – it's an igneous rock, a product of the very volcano that overshadows this monastery."

Ilgil expected Ongrat to torment her; instead he seemed quite interested in seeing the specimen. "Come on, if we hurry up, I can show you before we go back to class."

They shovelled the rest of their meals down and hurried to the girl's dormitory. Ilgil dragged out the three sacks of rocks, and sifted through the contents. Eventually she found what she was looking for; a fist-sized pale grey foam-textured rock. She handed it to Ongrat, who looked at in amazement.

"That really could float; it is as light as wood," he said astonished. He studied the pumice before handing it back. "Is there more of it?" Ongrat asked thoughtfully.

"Yes, I believe so. Though... it may require... a certain amount of covertness to acquire."

"Can you elaborate on that, perhaps?" Ongrat asked, lowering his voice to a whisper and glancing furtively at the door and windows to make sure they were not being observed.

"Hang back at the library with me after class," Ilgil replied. "It's easier to show you."

That afternoon in class, Ilgil sat with Ongrat and his small cohort, consisting of two of the eldest boys in the three dozen students. Today it seemed they were finally to be making up for their lack of lessons with Reiwin; the half-Orcs had been in the library all day, and currently their mentor was talking about the different factions within the Ilmatari church. It was more interesting than learning the history of some particularly well renowned noble families, but with the anticipation of their secretive business, time was passing painfully slow; Ilgil wished lessons would hurry up and end for the day. Ongrat appeared to feel the same; he sighed impatiently from time to time, and shifted restlessly on the bench seat as if he had piles.

Finally, at four o'clock, Reiwin clapped the book she was holding closed. "You are free agents until dinner time, my dears," She said, dismissing them.

Ilgil headed for the book shelves and pulled down a brown leather-bound volume. She stopped at the end of the book shelf when she saw Ongrat was standing behind the desks with the two older boys, chatting. She waited quietly, feeling a little awkward. It didn't sound like the kind of conversation you'd merrily stroll up and join in on.

"Are they ever going to mention the Orcish pantheon?" Sardu, a very muscular stocky boy with long black hair spoke irritably. "All we ever hear about are Human gods, and Elven gods – why the smoking-hell-cat would we want to hear about Elven gods?"

"You'd think," Ongrat replied sounding rather cynical, "That they don't want us to know own heritage."

Uurgrin, the third boy, looked more Orcish than either of his chums; He was bald, having kept his head shaved, and his tusks were enormous. Ilgil knew to respect him, for he was one of the few half-Orcs who could beat her at an arm wrestle. Sometimes Ilgil wondered if he wasn't actually full Orc, mistakenly taken with the others. She wasn't surprised to hear his opinion.

"No," he spoke deeply, "I tell you this: they want to erase our heritage. Make pretend like we are full Human. They don't know what I remember of my Clan. My people."

Ilgil nearly died of fright when Uurgrin's amber eyes suddenly shifted onto her. He lifted a hand and gestured for her to come forward. "Come here, sister," he said.

Ongrat started to protest about something, but Uurgrin silenced him. "No, she needs to know. She ought to know. Every one of us has a right to know."

Feeling more like she was gravitationally attracted to the bookshelves, she found it difficult to walk out of their shelter towards the three boys.

"Eaves dropping, were we?" Ongrat said to her, with a distinct tone of frostiness. "Guess that makes us even."

"No, it doesn't," Ilgil replied tartly. "You were speaking so loud, even the dead could hear you. I didn't have to make an effort to hear what was said." She eye-balled Ongrat daring him to say otherwise. She knew he'd know she was talking about yesterday at the beach.

Uurgrin diverted Ilgil's attention. "See," he said to his two friends, "It's like I say all the time. We reflect our Orc heritage, even in our daily lives. Ilgil here is stronger than any Human girl of the same age. And she has the face of her father."

Ilgil didn't know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult. She glared at Uurgrin, making eye contact and maintaining it.

"Another point proven," Uurgrin continued; was that sympathy she saw in his eyes? "Sister Ilgil has been taught to believe her strength is weird, and her face is ugly. That is a Human and Elven perspective. In Orc clans, strength is beauty, and beauty has nothing to do with faces. Beauty has very different meaning to Orcs than to other races."

Ilgil's cheeks darkened; she was blushing profusely. She made a mental note to do more push-ups every morning.

Ongrat cleared his throat rather loudly. "If you don't mind, Uurgrin..."

Sardu and Uurgrin said farewell and left to go outside to practice combat training. Ongrat turned to Ilgil, suddenly facing a venomous glare.

"Speak to me in that tone again," she hissed like an angry lizard, "And you'll learn all about Orcish beauty." She slammed the tome on the desk making Ongrat flinch involuntarily.

Ilgil sat down and Ongrat silently joined her. He could almost feel the cold aura sweeping off her like winds blowing down from snowy peaks.

"I think," he spoke gingerly, breaking the heavy silence, "you are forgetting, it is I helping you. I don't have to be here."

"Then go away," Ilgil replied curtly, flipping through the pages now. She didn't bother to look up. "I can do this by myself. I climbed onto the monastery roof before I could speak common properly, I'm sure I can manage acquiring a few slabs of pumice. And Gloria's on the Free Winds, so I won't have to worry about being found out as easily."

Ongrat didn't reply; but neither did he leave. He just stretched out across the desk, putting his cheek on the lacquered wood, and sighed. For ten minutes they sat without talking; the occasional page turning over sounded very loud.

"Are you... going to show this thing you wanted to show me?" Ongrat asked tentatively.

"Yes," Ilgil replied more civilly. "Just give me a few more minutes. I'm reading something. I've only ever skimmed this part of the book before."

Five minutes later, Ilgil tapped Ongrat on the shoulder. He straightened up, and she slid the tome sideways so it was between them. There was a map of the island that took up two pages; Ilgil pointed to the eastern half. "This, if I am not mistaken, is where the larger deposits of pumice can be found. It is the more barren half of Arnrock, covered in some of the more recent lava flows. There should still be pumice that is yet to be washed away."

"Excellent," Ongrat nodded, apparently very pleased with this piece of information.

As though having been waiting for some kind of signal, he immediately began divulging a pre-conspired plan.

"Now, I've thought about this before – it'll probably take a good eight hours on horse-back to get to the east shore. I'm glad it's the south-east and not the north-east, or we'd be looking at about sixteen hours one way – there aren't many roads to the north-east shores. Anyway... the south-east shore it is, so, that means we need a minimum of an entire day to get there and back. And that's assuming we find what we need right away."

"If you decide to continue helping me with this," Ilgil looked at Ongrat worriedly, no longer cold towards him, "you put your heart and soul into it for our fellows. It was a bit dumb of me, I know, to take on this bet, but I feel it is mandatory to win, for the sake of our friends and family. That boy will be taught that half-Orcs are not inherently stupid; and, hopefully, it will be a start to forging a better name for others of our kind."

"You sound like one of the mentors," he joked. He held out his hand. "But okay. I pumice I'll do my best to help you."

Ilgil shook his hand, grinning at the corny joke. "Thanks."

Camp Out

With less than seven days before Gloria's return, Ilgil and Ongrat set about planning the expedition with haste. Ilgil had spoken to Terrance, who would accompany them, and provide an alibi. The plan was to leave from Periwinkle farm after work, under the pretence of spending the night, the next day and the next night camping with Terrance on the beach. Terrance's parents had already given their approval to the request, and Ilgil and Ongrat had persuaded their mentors to give them permission to spend two nights away from the monastery.

Over the days preceding the journey, Ongrat and Ilgil smuggled out tools they thought they might need; Ilgil had very reluctantly let Ongrat decimate her pumice lump.

"We don't know what is best to use on pumice," he'd argued, "how do we know what tools to use unless we test 'em? We'd be up shit creek without a paddle if our saws blunted after two strokes, and we needed to cut a boulder of pumice up for the wagon or somethin'."

The pair had also spent some time in the library, sifting through local maps and anything they could find out about the enchantments. Ongrat plotted a course that would keep them out of dinosaur territory, and drew a map. He had assured Ilgil that he could lead them to the other side of the island; Ilgil hoped he wasn't fluffing his own feathers, because she wasn't very good at following maps, and if they got lost it would be needless to say things would go pear shaped very quickly.

On the morning of the expedition, Ilgil and Ongrat rode their monastery horses to Periwinkle farm; Ongrat was going to work with Ilgil for the day in the chicken barn. She had warned him about the roosters, but Ongrat didn't heed her. By the end of the day the ginger haired half-Orc was thoroughly battered; Ilgil, on the other hand, only had a few scratches.

"I've learnt to dodge them," she said, smiling with pride. "And I slapped the boss rooster so hard one day, his head bounced off the ground. Never had much trouble from him since."

At dusk, they met Terrance; their human friend had brought along a strong looking horse with cloven hooves pulling a small hooded wagon. Together the three rode to the hidden cache of borrowed tools - a rocky overhang covered by a curtain of vines.

After loading the wagon, they were on their way; Ongrat took the lead, and Ilgil rode beside Terrance who sat on the wagon handling the reins. The three ate as they rode, having packed enough food for two days.

Everyone was quite excited at first, chatting and joking as they followed a well used dirt road eastward. After four hours of riding, now in total darkness, they were tired and hardly spoke a word to one another. Bladders requiring emptying, they stopped for a break on the side of the road (which was looking less well kempt) taking turns to water the bushes. Once relieved they ate dinner (ham, cheese and bread) by the light of Terrance's oil lamp. Slightly rejuvenated, they gave the horses a drink from a natural spring and were on their way once again.

Two hours passed; the rugged dirt path they had been following was now non-existent. They found themselves travelling through a grassy corridor that carved its way through the forest. Weary, they stopped in the middle of the corridor, removed the harness from Terrance's horse and then tethered all three of their steeds to the wagon with a length of rope. They chocked the wagon's wheels with rocks and wood, and made space inside the wagon for sleeping. It was a bit uncomfortable, but with their blankets they did not go cold.

A Magnificent Specimen

The three had a cold breakfast and let the horses graze before setting off the next morning. Ilgil sniffed her armpits; she badly wanted a bath – she hated smelling of body odour and farm animals.

"If we have time, after collecting the load, we're going for a swim at one of the beaches." She declared.

"It's a bit cold, don't you think, to be swimming?" Ongrat replied.

"I'll cope."

By mid morning, they had exited the forest and were travelling across grassy plains. The slopes of the volcano rose up on their left, and the shores were on their right. Ongrat consulted the map.

"We should be close, just another few miles," he said, folding the parchment up and tucking into his pant pocket.

The further they travelled, the more dead the landscape looked. Even the grass was struggling to grow. Around midday, they spotted an expanse of black, knobbly looking rock.

"A cooled lava flow," Ilgil explained, getting off her horse and taking a closer inspection. She tried not to look excited.

Grabbing a pickaxe, she chipped a few pieces off. "Don't ever walk across this kind of rock without thick soled boots on. This lava was very felsic –" she saw the blank expression on Ongrat's face "-that means this lava was thick, not runny – and it's crumbled texture is extremely sharp. You'll cut your feet open on this. You wouldn't want to trip over on it, either... it's be like falling on oysters."

"I know you like rocks, but we don't have all day." Ongrat tried to be as polite as possible. "You can go nuts after we get the pommel."

"Pumice," Ilgil corrected. She packed her samples into the saddlebag. "I know, I know. Now then. To find the pumice, let's go up the slope. I'm hoping that we'll find larger blobs closer to the old crater."

Deciding it might slow them down considerably during their search, they agreed to leave the wagon behind, and come back for it once they'd found a suitably sized pumice deposit. After disengaging the wagon, Terrance saddled up his horse while Ilgil and Ongrat gathered the large crow bar and few other tools they could carry on the horses. Everything prepared, the three were on their way, Ilgil now in the lead. She followed the old lava flow uphill.

The hillside was eerie. It was devoid of animals – they couldn't even see any birds in the sky, or hear insect chatter. It was essentially a wasteland; even the sparse grass looked like it had seen better seasons.

Every now and then, Ongrat and Terrance would stop while Ilgil explored the countryside more thoroughly; she never went out of sight for long, and always was in earshot. On her fourth scout out, she came back with a melon-sized lump of pumice. She declared that after lunch, they ought to head away from the lava flow. "I hope we find something bigger soon..."

Ongrat's sceptical glare flicked from the plain-looking, coarse, grey rock lump she was holding to Ilgil herself.

"Sure that's the best way to find what we're looking for?" He asked sounding doubtful. "We haven't got all week..."

"I didn't see you spending hours scouring through geology books," Ilgil replied defensively, "I'm going by what the books said." She resisted the urge to throw her lovely new pumice football at his face.

I suppose he's as worried as I am about the bet, she thought, now feeling guilty for even considering caving in his face. He understands this bet is a stand against discrimination. He worked hard to get us this far, in his own way.

At around one o'clock, the wind had grown from a breeze to a buffeting wind. A sulphurous smell wafted on the currents from the north-east, making for an unpleasant journey. Ilgil suppressed a shudder – their mentors had said sulphur was a smell often associated with demons, and to beware anyone or anything that had the lingering scent about them. Naturally occurring volcanic activity was also a source of sulphurous gas, though Ilgil wasn't sure if this was also linked with the presence of demons. She hoped not. She hadn't read much on the subject.

Ongrat and Terrance had been left alone again while Ilgil went off on another scout for pumice. She returned with very good news. Less than a quarter mile away, was a large sheet of grey stone, the same as her pumice sample.

She led them to the place, cautioning them to be very wary of the crack in the ground. Very slight amounts of steam issued from it.

"I dunno much about fissures," she said, "but I think they can erupt. Just be careful; we don't want to find ourselves turned into steamed dumplings."

Staying well away from the steaming crack, they sized up the pumice. It was edged with tufts of grass, indicative of having been there for several years. It covered an area about the size of a small house, and was surrounded by smaller (but still quite large) blobs. Ilgil guessed it was approximately two to three feet thick in the centre, and one foot at the edge.

Terrance rode off to get the wagon, while Ilgil and Ongrat stayed to collect some of the smaller pieces, and cleared around the main piece with pickaxes. After nearly an hour, they had finished the preparations. They took ten minutes to have a break before starting the cutting.

Ongrat threw fist-sized pumice chunks into the vent, clearly very bored; he knew Ilgil wasn't tired, she'd just insisted on the short break to give herself a chance to investigate the pumice more closely. She was all over the grey block like a bad rash, examining it and muttering to herself about the "magnificent specimen".

"If you love it so much, you should take it to the monastery and wed it," Ongrat teased her, throwing another lump at the vent.

"Oh yes, it'd be the perfect husband," Ilgil replied with mock innocence, "it doesn't make a huge mess, it won't tell me what clothes I should wear and it won't demand to be fed three square meals a day."

Ongrat looked over his shoulder at Ilgil. "I think most plates are round."

She sat up and rolled her eyes. "Don't be a dumbass."

Reluctantly, Ilgil climbed back down from the rock, and the pair got to work breaking up the pumice for transport.

Ongrat took it upon himself to explain what they were going to do.

"We'll use the long crow bar to lever it off the ground. We'll cut a mark along the middle with the chisels, so hopefully we can force it to break along there. Then, we'll repeat the process and get it into quarters. After that, Terrance should be here, so we can use the logging saws that are on the wagon to cut the pieces down so they fit. We can load any smaller pieces on afterwards."

Ilgil hunted out a suitable hard stone to use as the fulcrum for the crow bar. Lifting the pumice slab off the ground proved more difficult than anticipated; they had to work their way around the edge, shoving the crow bar underneath and giving in a couple of rough jolts to loosen it every couple of feet, before finally being able to lever it off the dirt properly. Ilgil held the bar firmly, while Ongrat applied liberal amounts of mallet along the mark they'd cut in the pumice. Ilgil winced every time the rock was struck; she envisaged it being pulverised into pixie dust.

Eventually, she heard it crack and felt the mass shift as it split in two. The surface was quite battered, but it was not a pile of debris as Ilgil had feared.

"It only gets easier from here," Ongrat said proudly, puffing his chest up slightly, dripping with sweat from the exertion. Ilgil made a mental note to remind him to take a bath as soon as physically possible.

Halfway through splitting the next piece, Terrance arrived with the wagon. With his help, they had very quickly broken the pumice into quarters. By the time the three had cut up and loaded all the pumice the wagon could carry, the sun was setting. They sat and ate a well earned meal and rested, relieved the hard yards were over. They discussed the return journey.

"I was thinking," Ilgil spoke thoughtfully, sipping from her water skin. "That wagon's not gonna move terribly fast loaded, is it?"

Terrance nodded, but he didn't look worried. "Yeah; but we can still get home by early morning. We could tether your two horses to the back of the wagon, and while one person takes the reins the other two sleep in the back with the pumice. If we rotate drivers, we don't need to stop."

Finishing supper, the half-Orcs mounted the steeds and escorted Terrance as he nursed the wagon gingerly down the barren hillside. Ilgil was happy to arrive back on the plains; there had been a couple of hair-raising instances when she though the wagon was going to tip over.

"I'll continue to drive 'til we get into the forest," Terrance told them at the bottom, while he refilled his oil lantern. He was the most experienced with driving wagons and wanted to make sure they were on a path of some description before anyone else took the reins. "You two get some sleep for the last leg. It's the only sleep we'll get tonight."

Ilgil and Ongrat tethered their horses to the rear of the wagon and unrolled their bedrolls on top of the pumice. Under the curved canvas canopy, it was like being in a mobile tent. Ilgil was relieved to be wrapped up in warm furs; she was in a rather cosy pozzie between the wall and an angled piece of pumice. Ongrat was a couple of feet away, hidden on the other side of the rock.

Dreams

Within minutes of uttering a weary goodnight to one another, Ilgil fell asleep. Her surface thoughts of the day's activities and interactions warped into a surreal scene of a re-enactment of their mountain trek, only things were a little different. It was night time, and the black solidified lava flow glowed like hot coals, and the now mobile river of molten rock flowed slowly down the mountain in continuous, steady stream.

As she had done during the day, Ilgil followed the river of rock uphill; she was fascinated, yet very wary, of the incredibly hot material. The mountainside was strewn with ash and rock, though she could see nothing but blackness above her – not even a star, nor the silhouette of an ash cloud could be seen. It was like looking into an abyss.

The mountain rumbled ominously, sounding like pained moans, sending tremors through the ground. Her horse bucked in fright, causing her to tumble off; Ilgil landed on her back in the thick blanket of ash. Coughing, she got to her feet; her steed had galloped into the darkness, leaving her all alone. Despite the circumstances she was not afraid, even as the ground reverberated again beneath her feet and she heard the mountain moan in pain again.

Ilgil trudged across the mountainside, not entirely sure what she was searching for, though she had the sense that she was seeking out something. Her eyes scoured the landscape but it was all much the same now: ash strewn and dead looking – the lava flow was well behind her and out of sight. Without realising it until she was almost upon it, she came upon a familiar landmark; the steam fissure. Only, the fissure was not steaming. Curious, she walked up to it to take a closer look. It was a dozen feet long and about three feet wide in the middle. The rocky edges were puckered like a deep cut of the flesh, and inside was darkness.

The ground trembled so violently Ilgil fell onto her bottom; she saw a dazzling carpet of orange arching through the abyss above, splitting into smaller particles as it fell towards the ground, molten rock about to rain down upon her. No other cover available she rolled forward and let herself fall into the fissure. She didn't feel rock walls scraping her; on the contrary she rotated in the air as she fell through what felt like completely open space. Ilgil landed on her hands and toes, her limbs buckling beneath her so she was sprawled on a cold, solid surface. She did not feel as though she had broken anything, but she found herself unable to move.

Cave Mother

As Ilgil lay still in the darkness, a husky female voice spoke, echoing through the cavern.

"Six years ago, my children cried out to me – for they had been plundered." The female voice started slowly, as if reading a story from a book. "But it was not gold these plunderers took... but the fruits of their tribes. A very special crop it was, nourished and watered by the sweat and blood of my children. The crop was not yet ready for harvest; the fruits were picked while still green. They were not fully developed when the pillagers stripped the trees."

Ilgil had never heard such a story before; and the Sisters had told her many as she grew up. Interested, she continued to listen in silence to the woman she could not see.

"They took these green fruits far away from my children and painted them new colours, covering up the green. They made pears look like apples, and apples look like oranges. Fed on lies, the fruits continued to grow away from their trees – only vaguely aware of their true origins."

A second person spoke, conversing with the first; Ilgil would have jumped out of her skin in surprise if she wasn't mysteriously paralysed. The deep, growling male spoke respectfully, but with an inquisitive tone.

"I clearly recall de events you speak of, Cave Mother... fergive my ignorance, but I don't see how they c'n help now. I'm lost, and they're gone. Only you c'n help me now... you are the only one who has not abandoned me."

Suddenly very short of patience, the husky woman spat and snarled at her company. "Shut up and listen, then! I do not waste words, Loglurn." Her words echoed off the cavern walls ominously. "And don't forget it is you who must help the clan! I do not offer my assistance because I pity you. I offer my assistance so you can prune the dead branches, and salvage the clan before it dies."

The male rapidly uttered apologies in a fearful quivering voice, until the woman spoke again, and he fell silent. Ilgil couldn't hear what was being said; the husky voice was barely above a whisper. She heard the intake of breath and a grateful sigh from the man, and then quite suddenly, Ilgil could hear the woman's voice very close behind her, as though the woman was standing behind her.

"I am the Cave Mother, mother of all the tribes – and if you seek to destroy these families, you will suffer my wrath. On the other hand... if you aid my children, I will not forget your roots."

"Who are your children?" Ilgil automatically asked. "I've never been off this island; I don't know many people..."

"Of course you have!" The woman snapped back.

"Oi! Getup, we got rocks to move. Ouch! Whatcha punch me for?"

Ilgil's eyes snapped open as someone slapped her cheek none too gently. She cursed aloud, now startled awake.

Ongrat was glaring at her, his torso halfway in the wagon from the driver's seat.

"Its dawn," he huffed, rubbing his brow. "And that was for punching me." He exited, ending the conversation.

Ilgil forced herself to move; they had to hide the pumice and then pretend to be sleeping in their tents on the beach. She didn't know how it was possible, but she felt more tired now than she did before falling asleep in the first place. She clumsily packed her bedroll away and squirmed out of the wagon; the tools had already been removed.

"Terrance and I unloaded the tools back at the hiding spot," Ongrat spoke as he came around to the back of the wagon which was on the far end of the beach she was most familiar with. "He's going to setup our camp and go to sleep while we unload."

Ilgil groaned. An entire wagon of pumice was still a huge load to lift – she may as well have been unloading logs.

"It was your idea," Ongrat reminded her.

She just grunted in reply, and began shifting the smallest pieces.

The pair struggled with the unwieldy slabs, carting them to a nearby shrubby dell up and over the dunes, on the side of a large rock outcrop.

"There's a sea cave nearby we can relocate these to later," Ongrat explained, "I've been to it before. It'll be perfect for making the boat in. The mentors don't go there."

Again, Ilgil simply grunted in reply. Right now she wouldn't care if her superiors walked over and caught them red handed – she couldn't care less as long as they let her sleep after yelling at her.

Finally, after nearly crushing herself beneath a particularly large and awkward slab, they had finished hiding the pumice. They took the wagon back and slumped down beside a snoring Terrance, as the sun rose slowly to the east. Within less than a minute, both of them were in a deep dreamless sleep.

Sometime later that day - it was difficult to tell the time as the sky was now shrouded in a mass of thick clouds - the three were rudely awoken but a sheet of ice-cold rain. In a startled panic they threw their gear on the horses and together headed back towards the monastery. When they reached the top of the dirt road, Terrance bid them a bleary farewell and departed for his farm, leaving the two half-Orcs to continue up to St. Jaspers together.

The pair didn't converse much; if Ilgil weren't so tired she'd have thought it was almost an awkward silence. When they reached the stables to put away their horses, she simply nodded when Ongrat told her that the reason they were tired was because they'd been up all night fishing and not because they'd traversed across the island beyond the enchanted barriers.

Unsure whether they would be in trouble for arriving back in the state they were in, at an unknown time, they cautiously made their way to the storage, dumped their back packs, and headed straight for the dining hall – with any luck, it would be meal time, and they could merge inconspicuously in with the crowd and fill their empty, complaining stomachs. Luck was on their side – their mouths watered at the smell of freshly baked bread and they heard the chatter of thirty half-Orcs well before they reached the hall.

Everything went exceptionally well; they had joined their peers for lunch and made it through the rest of the day without so much as being asked "how was your trip?" by any of the mentors. They did get a few questions from their friends, but they answered them only vaguely and did their best to end such conversations by going onto random tangents that derailed most talk of the camping trip. Uurgrin, Ilgil noticed, grinned every time he heard her change the topic – he was one of two who knew the truth, and was fully aware she was fabricating utter lies. Ongrat noticed this too, and mumbled something less than polite in the bald half-Orc's ear. He barely managed to dodge Uurgrin's boulder-sized fist.

Child of Arnrock

The rest of the Ten-Day was almost as tiring; six nights in a row, they snuck down to the beach to work on the rock boat. Ongrat's sea cave was quite useful; it kept them dry in bad weather and allowed them to keep the tools dry as well.

Ongrat's enthusiasm to do a proper job of the boat was a little frustrating; Ilgil only needed the blasted thing to float and look boaty, but Ongrat insisted they seal the hull, make it stable and at least big enough to hold two persons.

"That kid might try an' pull a swifty," Ongrat had argued. "I'd bet my gauntlet's he'd say it's not a boat unless it's the size of a small dinghy. And we ought to seal it, you said yourself this stuff's like a sponge – look, just from that one night in the rain, it's much heavier. We gotta dry it out and stop water gettin' in again. You won't win the bet if the damn thing sinks before he sees it."

And so, the first two nights were spent drying the pumice in the cave next to a camp fire. The next day, they refined the slabs and started gluing and tying them together – Ongrat had provided copious amounts of glue and rope that Ilgil decided she'd best not ask from where. The night after that they finished piecing the simple flat-bottomed hull together, and sanded it smooth. With more questionable supplies the fifth night was spent lacquering the whole boat to stop it absorbing moisture, and on the sixth night they mostly admired their handiwork, trying not to collapse from exhaustion.

Together, they lifted the boat and put it into the shallow waters near the mouth of the sea cave and gingerly climbed aboard. It was a little cramped, but they could both sit with their arms around their knees.

"It's actually floating!" Ilgil gasped amazed, still half expecting the thing to fall apart or capsize.

A devious grin spread across Ongrat's face. "We oughta name it the Sea Slug."

"Ew," Ilgil grimaced at the thought. She knew exactly what kind of 'sea slug' her friend was talking about – it was the nickname the students had given to floating poops (usually left behind by the very youngest ones -or one of the cheekier boys- during swimming).

"Over my dead body we're naming this boat after that! How atrocious," she chided.

"Says the girl who regurgitates spaghetti as a party trick."

"You cannot compare that to a sea slug."

They both snorted a few laughs at the mention of the phrase; then they discussed names again.

"How abut we name it after the mother from whence it came," Ilgil said earnestly. "Let's call it Child of Arnrock."

Nodding, Ongrat agreed. "Alright, then."

On the morning of the seventh day since returning, Ilgil met someone she had not expected to see quite so soon. Having been sent back to bed due to "illness" (Ilgil had chucked a sickie in Reiwin's class to catch up on sleep), she was surprised to see the blonde haired noble girl in the student dormitories – Ilgil's immediate thought was that the noble was up to no good. But when the girl, standing beside Ilgil's own bed, turned to face her, Ilgil felt guilty for even thinking such a thing. The young noble looked about ready to start crying.

Ilgil had no idea what to do; she wasn't very good at speaking about anything heartfelt, but she knew she couldn't just turn around and walk back out the door (even if part of her really wanted to). She decided to walk over and at least ask the girl what was the matter.

Seeing Ilgil approaching, the visitor sat down on Ilgil's bed, wringing the hem of her frilly frock with her white-knuckled hands.

"I've been meaning to speak with you," she spoke, looking down at her knees.

Ilgil hovered at the end of her bed, indecisive whether to sit or stand. "Oh... why? Not that I mind."

"It's about the bet you made... I can't help but think, as admirable as your intentions were... that perhaps..."

"...I see." Ilgil smiled, her tusks showing all the more.

Looking up, the girl appeared surprised. "You have good news, then?" She breathed hopefully.

"I have one floating rock boat as promised." Ilgil replied, no longer hesitant. "It's almost ready; just a few final touches are being done to it."

Later that night Ilgil filled Ongrat in on her encounter in the dormitory.

"Her brother's in for a surprise," he grinned, bent over the hull coating it with yet more lacquer.

"Yeah... can't wait to see his face."

At the end of the fifth and final night of work, the pair stood back to admire their handy work one last time. Ilgil felt indebted to her friend, he had gone above and beyond all her expectations. She would have been pleased if they managed to create a haphazardly strewn together pumice raft, but instead their creation truly resembled the form of a dinghy. Ongrat had added oars (also of questionable origins), a seat, storage, and although not visible per-se, he had also went to great lengths to ensure it was water tight. If not for Ongrat's persistence, the boat would be nowhere near as grand.

"He can't say that's not a boat," he nodded at the pumice dinghy, puffed up with pride. "Pretty good, even if I do say so myself."

"I owe you big time. Thanks Ongrat!" Callously she added, "I can't wait to wipe that smug look off his stupid face."

"Anything for..." Ongrat paused and scratched his nose distractedly.

Ilgil's stomach flipped; she wasn't sure why.

"...my friends."

Birth

Several nights later thoughts weaved in and out of Ilgil's mind as she tottered on the verge of sleep.

...Remember... don't slip up and say it's 'cause we travelled across the island beyond the enchanted barriers...

Although hardly even aware of her own thoughts, Ilgil's mind seemed to pause and jab her back to wakefulness. She pondered on Ongrat's words.

He told me before we left we'd not be crossing the magical barriers...

She thought some more on the meaning of this contradiction, and eventually concluded Ongrat had been very tired when he spoke with her at the stables after the journey and probably confused his words. The other possibility had many more implications.

What if he was lying...

Yelling from the upper floors interrupted her pondering; it was quickly followed by hurried footsteps. A moan of pain was audible, alerting Ilgil. She was about to get up out of bed when she heard the muffled voice of Biscuit on the next floor.

"The baby is coming, fetch the clerics."

Ilgil settled back down; the noble woman was going into labour, there was nothing to worry about.

That night proved to be a sleepless one for many of the students; the agonised screams and moans of the birthing mother were frequent enough to stop mostly everyone getting a decent night's sleep. The breakfast chatter was more sullen the next morning, but the Sisters were sympathetic and let the students have a day free of lessons.

Unfortunately, they were still required to do work – Ilgil spent the afternoon at the farm collecting eggs, and returned to St. Jaspers feeling both physically and mentally worn out. Hoarshu sat with her at dinner time, telling her friend about the visit to the mainland. She had returned two days prior, but had not had much of a chance to speak in great length with Ilgil.

Hoarshu was currently the polar opposite of her friend; she was energetic and enthusiastic, still left feeling quite exhilarated by her journey, and eager to tell all her experiences to her friend every chance she got. Ilgil felt a little resentful and jealous, but she lay those feelings aside and allowed Hoarshu to enjoy herself, letting Hoarshu share her stories with her.

Not wanting to steal her friend's thunder, Ilgil hadn't mentioned her own small adventure; she planned to wait until Hoarshu calmed down a little, and wait for some kind of prompt before sharing her own news. Unfortunately, when the news was shared, it was not in the way Ilgil had planned.

Ongrat came rushing over, and leaned over Ilgil's shoulder, acknowledging Hoarshu with a friendly nod.

"We've got to show them the boat tomorrow morning," he spoke in a hushed voice, "the nobles are leaving at lunchtime tomorrow."

"Oh," Hoarshu looked at the pair, "are you doing to work on the private ship that's in dock?" She asked.

"No, it's a different boat..." Ilgil replied tentatively. "And shut up Ongrat, Hoarshu was in the middle of talking to me! "

Hoarshu, however, seemed quite interested in hearing more. Ongrat squeezed himself between the pair and sat down, merrily explaining about the boat he and Ilgil made. Hoarshu interrupted when he began to tell about the journey to get the pumice. She leaned forward to look around Ongrat and straight at Ilgil. There was a very uncharacteristic stony look about Hoarshu's face.

"You went camping with Terrance?"

Ilgil was taken aback by the tone of her friend's voice; she sounded affronted.

"It wasn't really a camping trip," Ilgil explained, "and it wasn't entertaining. I'm still tired."

Hoarshu began eating her vegetables again, keeping her gaze focussed solely on her plate.

"Thanks for telling me." She replied with a hint of iciness.

She continued to eat in silence, leaving Ongrat to discuss arrangements for the boat with Ilgil, who was quite aware that something was bothering her best friend. She was hardly listening to Ongrat, and when Hoarshu excused herself from the table without so much as a 'see you later', Ilgil glared angrily at Ongrat.

Justice Is Served

The next morning at dawn, Ilgil, Ongrat and the three noble children met just beyond the main entrance to the grounds. Ongrat had informed them the boat was ready, and to meet them. The noble girl, whose name neither half-Orc yet knew, turned out to be a keeper of the peace, for which Ilgil was very grateful for.

Underneath the delicate looks of the blonde haired girl were the makings of a stern, tough woman. When her eldest brother began to argue the previous night with Ongrat and Ilgil, she stepped in and quelled the boy. Ilgil noted the stark contrast to how the girl acted on the beach, and took this as a sign she had toughened up a little.

No girl should grow up without learning to stick up for herself. Looks like she no longer lets her brother push her around, which is good to see.

Ongrat lead everyone inside the sea cave, where the Child of Arnrock was sitting in a mound of sand. The nobles were allowed to examine the boat, touch it and so on to confirm its rocky origins. At first the eldest noble laughed, mocking their creation, until the half-Orcs put it into the tidal rock pool, where it gaily bobbed on the disturbed water's surface. The boy's jaw gapped open, and he looked positively outraged.

"You cheated!" He screamed, rounding on the pair, his baby-like features twisted into an ungracious scowl. "There's no way that's possible without using magic! Lying half-breeds!"

With the elegance of a queen, the girl stepped forward. "Give Bryanth your pocket watch, Erig." She demanded calmly.

Erig looked across the cave at his younger brother, who would not make eye contact. Ilgil suspected Bryanth was trying very hard not to smile. Erig put a slightly quivering hand into his jacket pocket, and produced the flat silver object Ilgil had seen only once before.

"Be civil, now," the girl warned sternly.

Breathing in deeply, Erig seemed to be labouring to muster every ounce of self control he had, and did his best to appear composed. He held the shiny silver object up, dangling it by its matching chain.

To Bryanth he said, "I'm not walking over there. You'll come and get it, if you wish to have it."

Without a word, the younger brother made his way across the cave, and stood in front of his elder sibling. He swallowed, reaching up hesitantly for the pocket watch, throwing Erig nervous glances. When finally he took the watch, Erig simply looked at the floor in resign. Ilgil inwardly praised the noble for showing at least some sign of being a respectful person. She had been expecting him to throw the silver thing at the last moment.

It was Bryanth who startled her – upon receiving the prize he paced over to Ilgil and held out the object. Erig looked as astonished as Ilgil did.

"You have this," Bryanth said, looking still quite flighty. "It's the least I can do, for having helped me."

Very quietly he added, "Erig might try to take it back later..."

Well, he may not keep his word, but Erig won't be keeping his silver thingy, Ilgil thought. I'll make him keep part of his promise, at least.

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