***** Author's Note *****

Now Available! Read up to Chapter 76 on my discord! Link in my bio!

71

It was impossible to dismiss the odd silence that filled the forest as both the orc and human made their way back towards the clearing. The air had grown stagnant, so not even the leaves shifted, meaning all scents were a patchwork of pockets that Zathra couldn't detect until he was directly in them, making for difficulty in navigating.

It seemed odd for weather that ought to be turning towards the shift in seasons where cooler breezes should be making their way across the land. But it was entirely still. Not much of anything moved among the trees as if time had stopped or like when animals hid away with the closing of summer; only it was a bit too early for that, which made the hush all the stranger.

The woods weren't entirely devoid of life, but fairly close; the only signs they saw of creatures other than themselves were several bug swarms that seemed to be making a migration of some sort heading in almost the opposite direction that they were going. Alaesia ducked under a cloud of flies swarming over her, only to glance back at Zathra who had paused to look back over his shoulder, seemingly at something she couldn't see.

One of the bugs zipping carelessly along rammed right into the side of his head, making the distracted orc startle indignantly and take a swipe at it, "Agh, stupid blighters! Watch where yer flying!"

"Ah! Zathra...!"

He glanced back at Alaesia, having become lost in thought while peering deeper into the woods after the insect that carried on its merry, unbothered way; the slight alarm in her tone brought his attention back sharply. His knuckles tightened around the iron bolt spear, readying in case of danger, "What's wrong?"

She stammered, pointing her scarred hand in a gesture towards not something nearby, but rather directly at him, "J-Just now... I thought I saw your hand." When he started to look towards his grip on the makeshift spear, she quickly corrected, "I mean t-the other one, made of magic."

Zathra's eyes eagerly snapped to his vacant stump, which he had, without thinking about it, used to wave away the rude bug that had assaulted him, but unfortunately, there wasn't a hint of the ethereal limb. He snorted out a strained breath of irritation, "O' course it 'appens when I weren't lookin'. There has ta be something 'ere affectin' my magic... Nothin' else would make any sense."

He clambered up a small embankment of dirt and tree roots, leveraging his weapon to more easily scale the steep hillock, to reach Alaesia, but she had paused at his words. She had a pensive expression, "What if... th-that's the problem?"

"What're ya gettin' at?" Zathra scanned the area, trying to regain his bearings to confirm the direction back to the warg den. It was already difficult enough finding his way without the stagnant air obscuring the scent trails, let alone the alluring draw he felt from the forest. It beckoned something deep in his chest, something primal, a need he wasn't familiar with. He desperately wanted to follow that sensation, see if it was somehow tied to his magic, but there were more pressing matters for the moment; ensuring they were prepared for survival being among the most important.

"M-Maybe you're thinking too hard trying t-to force your hand to appear?" Alaesia offered, though she felt stupid even as she suggested it. She knew nothing of magic, how it worked, where it came from, what it could or couldn't do. How could she possibly think her advice might have value? She held up her gnarled fingers as a timid example, "I-I mean... I keep using mine without thinking about it. But y-yours showed up just to swat a f-fly?"

"Huh... maybe?" Zathra's brow furrowed in thought. It was his dominant hand that had been ripped off, and of the moments its ghostly visage had appeared he could count at least a few times he had forgotten entirely that he had even lost his hand in the first place. He supposed, briefly, he'd just have to test the woman's theory.

Alaesia had turned away to continue through the undergrowth, only to feel a bump against her shoulder. She looked warily back at Zathra, whose blunt-ended half-arm had poked her, "Wh-What...?"

"Ah sorry, lass," he gave a chagrined snort, wagging the stump in protest of her inevitable irritation at him, though she didn't shy away as he might've expected. "Thought a pat on the back might count as not 'over thinkin' it.' Kind of a hard theory ta test innit?"

She mumbled a half-hearted response before continuing to push through the branches in the direction she thought they had come from. Zathra sighed and followed after her. A number of times they had to stop to regain their bearings, all the while, the desire to turn back in Zathra continued to ebb and grow. As the pair started to see the trees thinning approaching the clearing, Zathra's stride began to lag slower, more methodically until he was a good few paces behind Alaesia. That tugging sensation was growing lighter in his chest, as though the vines and roots growing sparse near the edge of the clearing somehow reflected the strange influence he felt.

He couldn't help but wonder if there was something about the forest itself that was creating the feeling. The orc had never really been on the receiving end of his own magical mental influence; he didn't even know what it felt like, if it were a tangible sensation in the first place, for all he knew it could be auditory to those experiencing it like was so common when the Dark Lord spoke to his servants. Up until the point that Zathra had gotten the scars covering the left side of his face and torso, he'd never known it could seemingly act as though it had a will of its own. It had only been when he awoke from Barbaurak's disastrous blunder at the forgeworks, that he realized his magic could do things without his intent to guide it. Perhaps, he mused to himself, it was his magic, eagerly urging him to seek out whatever had already increased its power.

Alaesia didn't realize Zathra had stopped until she broke through the underbrush and made it halfway across the clearing towards the familiar sight of Ar-Tashk's unmoving form. It was the fact she couldn't hear the orc's steps crackling on the loose slate behind her that caused the woman to notice anything was amiss. She turned, glancing back and scanning the vacant area along the trees, while nervously calling out, "Z-Zathra?"

"I'm over here..." The orc's voice was faint, muffled by the plant life. He lifted his hand above the bushes to signal his position. For such lush, overgrown wilderness, he was growing increasingly perturbed by just how quiet it was. Everything about it made him irresistibly curious. That drive was building in his chest, making him want to slip back into the vegetation, to root out whatever mysteries this forest held. If his speculations were right, he figured, perhaps he could just take a small jaunt. The human woman would be fine on her own for an hour or so, right? The temptation was growing stronger inside him.

"Zathra!" Alaesia's voice rang out clear in the distance further than he thought it ought to be, a fringe of panic building in her tone.

The orc shook himself, snapped from the stupor that had rolled into his head like a fog. He hadn't even realized it, but his feet had started carrying him back into the woods, to the point he couldn't see the edge of the clearing anymore and the woman's voice was lost in the stale air. An unnerving hollow feeling settled in his stomach at the revelation; never had his mind become clouded in that way before, not without being able to detect something causing it, such as the Voice of the Dark Lord. No. This was something else; something powerful, something hidden.

Hesitance held him briefly in place, questioning once more if it was his magic playing tricks on him. But it was a scream of terror, from back in the clearing, that finally made him rush to return.

"No-no!" Alaesia's cried out, but she couldn't do anything to stop her assailant as Ar-Tashk had dragged himself towards her and grabbed her by her ankle. She had been so distracted scanning the tree line, trying to spy where Zathra had disappeared to, she hadn't noticed her master had begun to stir. The mighty brute's body was still heavy as a corpse and so difficult to move, but somehow, he sought her out and captured her in his grasp.

Two thick arms coiled around Alaesia, knocking her off her feet as she screamed and resisted, but it was like trying to fight off a mountain. No matter how hard she pressed, her hands couldn't shift the olog's mass at all, but a shutter passed through his limbs, causing him to slump, nearly crushing her under the weight of his jaw resting atop her, while his hands trapped her in place.

Ar-Tashk's hot, coarse breath flooded over Alaesia's throat, as he pressed his face close to her neck and uttered, "Isla-iz... Lat kultul... Lat shakropuz..."

"A-Ar-Tashk... stop..." Alaesia whimpered in quiet, breathless pain; his grip upon her was like iron, threatening to shatter her rib cage or snap her back like a twig, "P-please! Let go…"

If the olog heard her, he didn't respond. For all the world around him, Ar-Tashk's mind was a delirium, consumed with only one fact: his Isla was here, she was alive, he had her, and couldn't bear the thought of letting her go. His murmured words were slurred, nearly incoherent, and could only beg with his Isla to not disappear once again. His ears were filled with the thrumming of her hummingbird heart, having grown so loud it felt like it was the only thing he could hear, bringing to mind the first time he recognized how beautiful that sound was.

"Znugat... znugat... Az narkramp fulak lat..." The olog's arms pulled her in closer until she was almost entirely engulfed in his embrace, pressed against his chest as it rumbled quietly, "Hasat... Stay..."

The more Alaesia tried to resist the tighter his grip became around her. Her head swam with dizziness, threatening to overwhelm her. All air had been pressed from her lungs. She couldn't summon enough breath to protest anymore.

"Amul... lat fulaknar... amul..." his voice was cracked as he pleaded, just trying to convince her of his words. But her heartbeat wasn't slowing the way it has when he held her at the seaside. Why, he wondered hazily, why wasn't it calming down? Why could he only smell fear?

Zathra burst from the undergrowth, searching wildly for Alaesia, only to notice the olog had moved from where they had left him, now curled on his side, closer to the fringe of the clearing.

"Shrakh!" The orc spat, wondering if the olog had overcome his magic influence by sheer willpower. He rushed forward, skirting around the olog's massive body until he spotted his ward, or at least a limb here or there poking out from Ar-Tashk's embrace that had her nearly disappearing into his chest and arms. Zathra let fly several other curses in Black Speech and Westron, some at himself for assuming his magic would hold the olog indefinitely, some at Alaesia for blundering into his grasp, but most at the olog himself. He was a giant, insufferable nuisance, but a dangerous one at that, especially in his half-conscious state.

The orc didn't have much time to act; he could feel Alaesia's mind slipping into darkness, while the olog's was forming bizarre images torn between coddling the tiny human he now held like a bit of smoke on the wind, and horrific thoughts of envisioning her broken and shattered. Over all the conflicted clamor in the olog's mind, Zathra could make out one critical emotion that stood out among the rest of the chaos in Ar-Tashk's head; a profound desire, like a vein of coal in a mine lit eternally ablaze, to prevent any harm from befalling the one whose title his mind kept repeating in a desperate plea, Isla, Isla-izub. But even if his mind want to protect her, his body hadn't seemed to get the message, clinging so tightly to her that she was at the very real risk of being crushed or suffocated.

Zathra threw down his makeshift spear, lunging forward to slam both hands onto Ar-Tashk's arms, and sending a massive pulse of magic directly into them. The orc didn't have time to appreciate the wraith-like limb that had appeared to do his bidding, all his focus was on forcing the olog to unlock his grip upon the human before he could damage her any further.

"Release her!" Zathra's voice and mind commanded as one, as he threw his own weight back, in an effort to pry the olog's arms open, and to his relief the thick limbs uncoiled, allowing Alaesia to tumble to the ground. The moment she was free of Ar-Tashk's grasp, Zathra reinstated his command to sleep upon the hulking troll, and quickly dragged Alaesia out from under Ar-Tashk before he slipped back into leaden unconsciousness.

Alaesia gasped for air, sucking in great mouthfuls until her vision cleared. She looked up Zathra from where she had landed on his lap in his frantic scramble to move clear of the olog before either of them could get pinned down by his dead weight. The orc sat amongst the slate on the ground, catching his own breath and staring at the ghostly blue limb that was starting to dissipate into nothing. He twisted and turned the wrist and fingers, holding them up to the light of the sun that had broken through the smog clouds above. He examined them carefully until they had once again faded from view, leaving the orc with a disappointed frown.

When he noticed Alaesia had regained her senses, he nodded tiredly at her, "Ya alright there, lass?"

Alaesia didn't quite know how to respond. Her tongue felt tied, still stuck in the moment of nearly being crushed to death. It had happened so fast, she'd barely had a moment to process it all. Finally, after another moment to recoup, she shoved herself off Zathra's chest and managed to whisper in a hoarse voice, "Th-this was a m-mistake..."

"What mistake?" Zathra's frown grew longer, more severe, as he sat up to look at her face to face. He could have pretended he wasn't scanning her mind, if only for the sake of checking for lingering damage, but he didn't, "Ya want 'im dead now? First sign of danger an' suddenly yer changing yer mind about helpin' 'im? That ain't you, Alaesia. That's juss yer fear talkin'."

"No... M-Maybe...?" Alaesia moved to a comfortable distance back from the orc; she loathed the way he read her as easily as one might read the clouds. She knew he could see the storm brewing in her, waiting to unleash its torrent of rain, while trying to mitigate the inevitable flood. A part of her wanted to let the storm loose, if only to relieve the tension it brought with it from her chest, "I am afraid, Zathra. I'm s-so tired of the pain... I'm not a warrior. I'm not b-brave."

"Seems I ain't the only one overthinking here. Yer a lot braver than ya think, lass. It's what's gotten ya through this far. Don't lose sight o' that." He gestured pointedly with his stump towards her, but as expected, no sign of the ghostly limb reappeared when it would have aided his intent; still concentrating too much to properly test if he could summon it unintentionally, "That belt yer wearin' ain't just for function, it's a symbol, a reminder of what ye've accomplished. Ya stepped up when it mattered most, in spite of yer fear, ta save yer brute's life. That's real bravery. Don't let overthinking yer decision make ya change yer mind from what's right."

"B-but I'm not an orc..." She protested; the orcish concept of taking trophies as a badge of bravery was so beyond her. The belt he had given her didn't remind her of her purported bravery in his eyes. It felt foolish to conflate such greedy theft with qualities she more often than not attributed to Gondorian Soldiers, whom the belt ought to belong to, like her father who fearlessly put himself in harm's way to keep his family safe. He was, in her eyes, the embodiment of bravery; orcs, on the other hand, she couldn't help but question how their mindless warmongering held any semblance to the word.

"So what? Ya think orcs don't feel fear or pain? Can't overcome it?" Zathra retorted; she was so full of contradictions, it frustrated him. One moment she was insistent that she was a monster just like how she perceived orcs, and the next offended at the mere thought of being associated with orcish customs. A part of him wanted to shake some sense into her, bring her mind back from making such extreme judgements upon everything, but knew that wouldn't do any good at the moment. He sighed, "Lass, we ain't machines with steel hearts. We're just like any living creature. It takes guts ta get keep yer fears at bay, just as much fer orcs as it does lil sharlobs."

"What do you f-fear, Zathra?" There seemed to be a hint of genuine disbelief behind her tongue as she questioned him. It was just so much easier to think of orcs as if they were cold, unfeeling forces of nature, not living, breathing beings with minds all their own; or at least as much their own as they could oppose the will of the Dark Lord. Zathra's confirmation of the Dark Lord's power over his kind had truly unsettled her, which made Zathra's reply to her inquiry all the more disappointing.

"I... I don't know..." It wasn't often Zathra was at a loss for words. Once again this damned human was digging into his mind as much as he was digging into hers. He had never had to really look inside and question himself that way. More often than not he had always just been content to go along with whatever whims struck those he was following at the time, with little regard for his own thoughts. He grumbled uncomfortably, "Just... try ta trust me? I warned ya this was going ta be dangerous, but that doesn't mean ye've made a mistake. I promised ye'll be alright. Don't let yer fears make ya do something ye'll regret, and I'll make sure yer olog doesn't either."

"Wh-what fears could he possibly have?" Alaesia's brow furrowed as she glanced warily towards Ar-Tashk. A huge sigh escaped the sleeping olog's chest, sounding like a low growl. She could still feel the heat from his breath on her skin and it made her shiver.

"Lass, he's terrified of hurting you," Zathra offered. He had heard the olog's mourning, wistful thoughts while he had clutched his human slave tight, as if fearing she would disappear at any second. Even now in sleep, his mind was once again swamped with visions forced upon him by that all too familiar power of their shared ruler. Zathra could feel the olog fighting the Dark Lord's visions with every ounce of his willpower, but Ar-Tashk was still too paralyzed to stop the violent imagery from exploiting his deepest desires and twisting them beyond recognition.

The woman's eyes grew wide in disbelief, "Wh... Y-you can't be serious..."

But the orc couldn't tell Alaesia what he saw in the olog's mind, at least not in detail. Without the unadulterated insight that Zathra's magic gave him into the recesses of the olog's psyche, she'd never believe that her master didn't want to commit the vicious atrocities the visions portrayed. It would break her. By the Eye, he didn't even know whether or not the thick-headed brute would be able to resist the Dark Lord's influence when he did finally wake. Perhaps it was more critical now than the orc had supposed, to find the source that had empowered his magic, if only for the hopes it could help him cast the Dark Lord's authority from the troll's head, enough for him to think clearly at the very least.

***** Translations *****

Isla-iz... Lat kultul... Lat shakropuz... - My lifemaker... you are here... you stayed...

Znugat... znugat... Az narkramp fulak lat. - I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I won't harm you...

Hasat - Please (or I beg)

Amul... lat fulaknar... amul... - Be calm... you're safe... be calm...

Shrakh! - Shit!

Sharlobs - Women (human)