Providing Proof to the Greatmother
The beauty of Nagrand took Joanne's breath away. After bearing witness to a land stripped of nearly all life, Nagrand was teeming with it. Below them as they flew on the wyvern's learned route, the grasslands spread out from the mountain range to the north into the southern horizon. Just as Fentulk described, the trees seemed to arch and extend their thick trunks like dancers frozen in time.
"Better get Moke out," Fentulk said thickly, his voice nearly choking with emotion as he cast his summoning spell. The windroc emerged in the air alongside them, and only faltered a moment before orienting itself and soaring over their heads.
Fentulk smiled and blinked back tears, seeing his pet joyously skimming the treetops and gliding on the currents.
The dusty road that emerged from Zangarmarsh curved westward, and the wyvern followed it. Joanne squinted ahead, trying to get some sense of what Garadar looked like before they reached it, but they were still a few miles off.
"Look down there," Fentulk said, pointing to the ground. Joanne looked and saw a herd of great, brown, hairy beasts. They looked to be the size of a small house!
"What are they?" she asked in an awed whisper.
"Those're clefthoof," he replied. "Them big ones're bulls. You don't wanna mess with'em unless you're with a few others. Little one over there, that's about the size of the calf I took down."
Even the 'little one' seemed taller than a horse from this distance. Joanne laid her hand on his gripping the saddle and whispered, "How strong you are. In so many ways."
"You're strong too," he said. "In yer own way."
Smiling ruefully, she sighed. "I hope I am able to satisfy your folk. I do not want to shame you."
Frowning, he lightly took her chin and urged her to look at him. "Ain't nothin' about you that shames me. All I gotta tell'em is what you done for me. If that ain't enough, I'll remind'em that if a human lady hadn't helped Thrall, the Orcs that went to Azeroth would still be in them camps. Things like honor and... and doin' what's right... they don't belong to one race or another. You saw what they was doin', and you knew it wasn't right, and you did somethin'. Didn't just let it go on. So I got nothin' to be ashamed of. And neither do you."
"I hope they see it that way," she murmured, nestling into his chest. She wondered if indulging such comforts would be denied her when they reached Garadar. Would even holding his hand be considered improper? Even if she were an Orc woman, would such familiarity be disdained? She realized she had no idea what was allowed even among her own people, much less his.
But worries could not live long in the face of such tranquil beauty as Nagrand. The speed of the wyvern, which didn't seem swift enough to suit Fentulk for she could feel his eager straining to see ahead, kept a steady breeze of sweet-smelling air in their faces. As she tipped her head back against his shoulder to breathe in, she blinked. There was a chunk of earth, covered in the same lush green grass as the land below, floating above them. She drew in a sharp breath.
"Amazin', ain't they?" Fentulk remarked softly. "We don't really know where they come from. Ain't found the craters on the ground where they got ripped up. Most folks think they come from the southern edge."
Furrowing her brow, she turned to look at him again. "The edge? What do you mean?"
"We're on the edge here in Nagrand. You go south far enough, you'll get to where the land stops. It just sort of... drops off into the nether. That's what happened to Draenor, you see. Ner'zhul tried to open up more portals to more worlds. More places to conquer. Feedin' the bloodlust and all. Well, he sort of... did somethin' wrong in that. Too many at once or somethin'. Our world was already gettin' torn up by the kind of magic they was usin'. Demon magic and such. The portals sort of tore it up for real. Somethin' like half our world is just... gone."
"How horrible," Joanne said.
"Aye," Fentulk nodded. "It is. Was. You won't find too many warlocks among the Mag'har 'cause of that. It was warlock magic what got us into this mess. Turned our backs on the elements and the ancestors." He shook his head, his mouth set in a grim line. "Ain't nobody gonna trust a warlock no more."
As the wyvern's flight path angled around a tall hill, the air whooshed out of Fentulk's lungs and he stared ahead. "There it is," he breathed. "Ain't it a sight?"
Joanne had to confess that, though she hadn't much experience, Garadar was like nothing she'd ever seen. It was a walled village, the timbers encircling the perimeter like jagged teeth. Towering over the wall were what looked to be guard posts of some kind; stripped trees with a small domed hut at the top and a wood-planked walkway spiraling down to the ground. The greenery of the land flowed right into the village, broken by dusty pathways. A broad, flat hill rose in the center of the part she could see, and atop that hill was a huge round building with red cloths draped around the upper gallery.
Even as far away as they still were, Joanne could make out guards posted at the gate where the road below them entered the village. There were wolf riders galloping along the paths within. Squinting, she could see young children playing, men and women going about their daily tasks, cookfires sending tendrils of smoke lazily into the sky.
It seemed so... peaceful. And so like Fentulk's nature that she sighed contentedly.
Almost too soon, the wyvern swooped down low over the protective walls and landed near the flightmaster and the wyvern perches next to the round building. The Mag'har woman took hold of the wyvern's reins and, noting Joanne, frowned at Fentulk.
"Who might you be?" she asked, her dark eyes flicking between them.
"Fentulk, son of Tagdish," he replied, nodding his head in greeting as he helped Joanne dismount. "Been gone awhile."
Snorting, she nodded. "Gursha. You had better speak with the greatmother, before you go a step further."
"Aye," he nodded again. "Headed there now. She, uh... she well?"
The flightmaster shrugged. "She's old. Better not tell her that."
Grinning, Fentulk said, "Ain't changed a bit, then."
Gursha finally smiled and shook her head. "Nothing ever does here. Welcome home, Fentulk."
Taking Joanne's hand, he murmured the words exchanged as he led her into the great building on the top of the hill. It served many purposes for the Mag'har, but in these troubled times the council hall housed the injured and ill. The building was open on the inside, like one huge room. Mag'har Orcs came and went out the doorways, pallets lined the walls where the sick and wounded were tended by shaman, and in the center stood a hearth built of stone. Close to the warmth of the hearth sat Greatmother Geyah, spiritual leader of the Mag'har and grandmother to Thrall himself.
Fentulk always felt awed in her presence, and dropped to one knee before her, his head bowed.
The elderly shaman tilted her head curiously, then smiled. "Fentulk. You return." Her gaze rose to the nervous woman standing behind him, unsure what to do, and arched her brow. "And not alone, I see. Explain."
Swallowing, he sat in front of Geyah and gestured for the woman to sit beside him as he introduced her. Geyah watched the woman carefully and frowned; this human seemed torn between fleeing for her life and nestling up against Fentulk, seeking his protection. In fact, the urge to do the latter was strong in her face.
As Fentulk whispered the words spoken by the elder shaman to Joanne, Geyah raised her hand and shook her head. "Do not trouble yourself," she said impatiently in Common, "or we will be at it all day. I have learned the human tongue. You may speak freely."
"Sorry," Fentulk muttered, ducking his head. "Didn't know you, uh..."
"You have been many years gone, young one," Geyah said. "Much has changed." Smiling, she added, "And much remains the same. You are as quiet as ever, Fentulk. You take after your father."
Cheeks darkening, he couldn't suppress a smile. "Ma says as much."
The elder shaman regarded him thoughtfully. "Yet you differ in one thing." Her gaze shifted to Joanne, sitting anxiously next to Fentulk. "Who is this?"
"She's, uh... well, she's...," Fentulk stammered, unsure. 'More than a friend' was a difficult thing to quantify, yet he hesitated to bluntly call her 'mate.' There had been no discussion on the matter, no understanding reached. Glancing desperately at Joanne, he silently begged her for help. She seemed just as flummoxed.
Geyah arched her brow. "Fentulk, leave us."
Startled, he shot a look of surprise at the elder shaman. "What?"
"I will deal with you later," she replied, waving her hand dismissively. "You bring a woman to us who is not of the Mag'har, not an Orc, and not easily explained. I will learn what I wish from her, then trouble you for the rest." Eying him pointedly, she added, "That should give you sufficient time to think of something."
Feeling quite chastened, Fentulk rose and slumped out of the building. He could not maintain any discomfort or muster any anger, though; he was home. Standing at the front entrance to the council hall, he drew in great gulps of the air and gazed happily over the rolling hills. His eyes, of their own accord, rose to the floating islands above Garadar, and his thoughts became wistful.
"Now then," Geyah began, shifting to a more comfortable position, "you are called Joanne and you come from Azeroth."
"Yes, ma'am," Joanne replied meekly. Her hands clasped in her lap, she wished she had something to hold, like a kerchief. Or something she could shred in her nervousness.
"What is Fentulk to you?" Watching the young woman's reaction – both the surprise at such a blunt question, as well as the blush that stained her cheeks – Greatmother Geyah narrowed her eyes.
"I do not know... quite how to answer you," Joanne said. "He is... my rescuer. My champion. My... my friend."
"From what did he rescue you?" Geyah probed.
"My... history is fraught with shame," Joanne whispered, her head hanging low. "Had he not taken me, my mother's shame would likely have been mine as well. Sooner or later."
"What shame is this?" the elder shaman asked gently.
It seemed more difficult to speak of her mother and the tower here, when the filth had spewed so readily at the Alliance outpost. She realized she'd been in an accusatory position then; now, she stood as an outsider desperately wanting in. She was not certain she would be granted such a boon.
Taking a deep breath, Joanne told Greatmother Geyah of her mother and the sordid circumstances of her birth. Her voice shook in the telling, as if each word were a hardship to reveal. When her tale was finished, Geyah nodded.
"Fentulk rescued you from this terrible place, then," she said. "How did he learn you were there?"
"He was imprisoned there himself," Joanne explained, and Geyah's eyebrows rose with surprise. The younger woman smiled a little. "He will likely tell you it was I who rescued him. But had he not come when he did, and had he not been so... so grievously tortured..." Joanne faltered, covering her mouth with her hand and closing her eyes against fresh tears. It took a moment to compose herself and continue.
"Had they not abused him so, I might not have been so moved to help him escape, and so not escaped myself," Joanne said. "He was innocent of what they accused him, yet they did not listen. He suffered so terribly, and still does. He thinks I cannot see, but it is in his face, how weary and pained he is. We have not had a proper rest for over a week."
"Your... 'employers' tortured him?" Geyah asked, her jaw clenching angrily. "Of what was he accused? What wrong did they think he'd committed?"
"No wrong, ma'am," Joanne hastened to say. "They suspected him of being a spy for the Warchief. Because they are both Mag'har. He did nothing to provoke them. Nothing at all."
Relaxing somewhat, Geyah eyed Joanne curiously. "Why did you free him?"
Swallowing uncomfortably, Joanne bowed her head to hide her more intimate thoughts. "He was... different. I do not think I could define it or... describe it to satisfy you. Suffice to say... I could not let another day pass without doing something. Perhaps... perhaps because I was made to watch them do him harm... I do not know." Shrugging helplessly, she added, "How could I not aid him?"
That is not the only reason, Geyah thought.
"What did they do to him?" the elder shaman asked softly, watching every twitch of Joanne's face, and marveling at how much pain was caused by reliving the suffering of Fentulk. As the woman slowly dissolved into tears, relating the burning, whipping, and beating received by the Orc, Geyah felt two things. One was the enormous pride in the strength Fentulk possessed, to endure such harsh treatment. The other was the unexpected satisfaction in seeing a woman, regardless of race, so deeply in love with a man as Joanne clearly was with Fentulk.
"How often did you see him?" Geyah asked.
"I was allowed to bring him food and water twice in as many weeks," Joanne said brokenly. "After that, I saw him... many times. But not to feed him. To watch what they did. And... to be used against him."
Frowning, the elder shaman said, "What do you mean, 'used against him'?"
Bowing her head in shame, her voice barely above a whisper, Joanne replied, "They blindfolded him and... created the illusion that... that they were... raping me. In the cell. To torment him." Heaving a shuddering breath to keep from breaking down anew, she continued, "He had, perhaps foolishly, demanded that I be left alone. He begged them to... to punish him instead. It was him with whom they had a quarrel, not me." She shuddered at the memory of their hands holding her, covering her mouth, urging her silence... "He strove to protect me, though he was chained and could do nothing."
While this news infuriated the elder shaman, on both their behalfs, Geyah was also filled with pride in Fentulk's honorable conduct. Yes, she thought fiercely, one of ours would be that brave in spite of all.
"How, then, did he free you?" Geyah asked. Remembering Joanne's words, she amended with a wry smile, "Or was it you who freed him?"
"Yes, I suppose you could say that," Joanne replied demurely. "I used a recipe of my mother's, and put everyone in the tower to sleep. They took their meal, then they fell. We were able to leave."
"He left them alive?" the elder shaman asked, arching her eyebrows.
Recalling Fentulk's discomfort when challenged by Gorkan, as he told her of it later, Joanne urgently pleaded, "We simply wished to get away as quickly as possible. Please do not condemn him for it. It is not his way to do harm, no matter how deserving."
While there were many among the Orcish race whose reaction to such torture would have been to murder all of the tower residents in their drugged sleep as soon as the chains were off, Geyah had always known this was not Fentulk's way and would never be his way. It pleased her greatly, and spoke even more to his strength, that in spite of all he'd endured, he remained true to himself.
"I am pleased, Joanne," Geyah assured her. "He has not changed in that, at least. I wonder that these people who enslaved you – though you do not use the word, your tale speaks strongly of it – and tortured a son of the Mag'har, would simply let you both escape without even an attempt to recapture him, at least."
Joanne stared blankly at Geyah for a moment, then her brow furrowed and she looked away. After several moments of thought, she finally looked at the elder shaman and shook her head slowly. "I do not know. We... we ran, of course. But we never noticed... I do not think either of us even considered..." Stricken, Joanne went on, "We were intent upon meeting with Fentulk's friend. She had promised to aid us; provide passage to the Portal. If any followed... we just don't know. I do not know." Raising a hand to her mouth, eyes wide with horror, Joanne whispered, "What if they have followed us all along? What if they are still in pursuit? We have led them here!"
Geyah watched the mounting distress in the woman and felt inexplicably pleased. She is selfless, the elder shaman mused. Thinks of others and their concerns. This is good.
"We did not intend to bring trouble with us," Joanne pleaded. "I am so sorry."
Raising a placating hand, Geyah said reassuringly, "Our warriors are strong. Our defenses are without equal. You have come to the Mag'har with Fentulk; you are one with us now. You shall have our protection." Suppressing a smile at the hopeful expression on the woman's face, Geyah asked, "Do you wish to stay with Fentulk?"
The question was not unexpected, and Joanne had prepared herself to answer it, no matter who asked. In truth, she felt she had answered it many times already. Taking a deep breath, she held herself straight and nodded. "I do. I... I love him."
A smile spread across the elderly Orc woman's face. "Indeed you do. Have you told him?"
Deflating somewhat, Joanne shook her head. "No. Though he has never spoken a harsh word to me, I have to him. Relations between us are better now. I understand him better, at any rate."
"You have come to love him," Geyah said gently.
"He is a good man," Joanne replied fondly. "He has given me so much. I... I can never give him enough."
"I think your love will be plenty," Geyah smiled. Catching the eye of a nearby attendant, she gestured for Fentulk to be fetched.
Relieved to be called back, Fentulk prepared himself to sit before the elder shaman once more, but she stopped him with a casual wave of the hand.
"I am satisfied," she said. "You have my support. Get you to your family now, Fentulk. I do not think your mother would be pleased that you have waited so long to greet her."
Grinning as he helped Joanne to her feet, Fentulk replied, "All I gotta say is I came to see you first. That'll smooth them feathers."
"Flatterer," Geyah teased, her cheeks darkening somewhat. "Also from your father."
Fentulk smiled more broadly and winked, then left the council hall holding Joanne's hand.