Forgiveness is a Two-Headed Axe

Chapter 1 – The Pastor and the Orc

The Quite Reverent Mightily-Praiseworthy-Are-Ye-Who-Exalteth-Om Oats wondered, not for the first time, if he had done the right thing. The small, dark grey being opposite him across the campfire was watching him intently, as he had for the last few days and nights – he seemed to require very little in the way of sleep. When Pastor Oats had found him, a while ago now, he had been chained to an anvil, with very little freedom. Oats had taken his two-headed axe, which he had named Forgiveness, and cut through the chain. The little grey being had seemed confused at first, as though unsure of what this actually meant. But he had soon seemed to understand Pastor Oat's gestures, and, with more than a little confusion, had followed him.

Pastor Oats had wanted to find out why he had been chained to the anvil. Uberwald was a place full of dangers, he knew that much, and knew also that it was wise to find out as much as possible before judging people's actions – but, surely, there must have been better options, rather than chaining his poor wretch to an anvil? Regardless, Pastor Oats had enquired at various inns to try and find out more about him. After a while – and with drink flowing freely - those that frequented the taverns had agreed to talk to him about the Loko Region, and about expeditions into Far Uberwald. It seemed that these expeditions had discovered a nest of orcs, and so had…and here the voices had become very quiet, very hushed…eliminated such an evil force.

Pastor Oats stared across the fire, his mind returning to the present. The little grey fellow was an orc, apparently. The orcs had been made by the Igors, out of goblins or out of men – the information had been rather confusing at this point – but they were apparently servants of the Evil Empire, used by the sorcerer of that Empire, in a time that was now more myth than history.

So, Pastor Oats asked himself again, had he done the right thing? He had freed the little grey fellow – the orc – from his captivity, released him from being chained to the anvil – but had that really been the right thing to do? Apparently, some peasants had chained him to the anvil because they were too scared to actually kill him. But, he seemed young, and, huddled there across the fire opposite him, incredibly harmless – however, Pastor Oats knew for a fact that appearances could be deceptive.

Ha, that thought reminded him of the witches, back in Lancre, especially of Esmerelda Weatherwax, known as Granny Weatherwax to those who knew her well. Pastor Oats had heard many tales of evil witches, while he had been training for his profession – but, at least from his admittedly limited experience of witches, they seemed to be, at the very least, no more evil than anyone else. Indeed, they seemed to be the sort of people that the Prophet Brutha would have approved of – old ladies who went around helping to heal people where they could, helping out the people in the villages that they visited with advice and sometimes with potions – although the potions were usually just a concoction of herbs and water, and it was psychology (the witches tended to call this 'headology') which did most of the actual healing. Indeed, as a general rule, witches tended to avoid using magic if there were other methods that they could employ. And, when they did use magic, this was mostly just for practical purposes, such as to take the pain away from those who were injured. But, while most witches were certainly not evil, many of them were also far from nice – they had a tendency to tell people what to do for their own good. That earned them respect – but they were rarely actually liked.

And not all witches were old, Pastor Oats reminded himself, as he continued to stare at the orc. The little fellow had started to nibble some nuts that Pastor Oats had gathered for him earlier that day – he seemed to like nuts, and so Pastor Oats sometimes called him Nutt when he wanted to get his attention. He shook his head slightly, and returned to thinking about the witches. They could start learning magic when they were children, and, as far as he was aware, Agnus Nitt (and her alter-ego, Perdita X Dream, apparently) was somewhere in her late teens. Queen Magrat of Lancre was not much older, although she had decided to spend less time doing witchcraft, concentrating for the moment more on her royal duties, and especially on her newborn daughter, Esmerelda Margaret Note-Spelling of Lancre.

Note-Spelling – Oats cringed at the memory. That was his fault. He had been asked to officiate at the naming ceremony of the newborn princess – an honour that he had been glad to receive. But, after the name Margaret, Magrat had written 'note spelling', to ensure that her little daughter would not have her name mispronounced, that she would not, as it were, follow in her parent's footsteps, as apparently Magrat herself would have been Margaret, had the person conducting her own naming ceremony not mispronounced her name, leading to her being Magrat all of her days. But, Pastor Oats, in his nervousness, had read out 'Note-Spelling', rather than, well, simply noting the spelling preceding it. That meant that Princess Esmerelda Margaret would now also always have the name of Note-Spelling. It could not be undone. Another witch, Mrs Gytha Ogg, commonly known as Nanny Ogg, had assured everyone that once the naming ceremony had been conducted, the name could not be changed. So, that meant that the names of the inhabitants of Lancre could be…well, kind of idiosyncratic. There was a Total Biscuit, for example, and King Oh-Dear-He's-Heavy the First (surely that meant that there had been at least one more king named Oh-Dear-He's-Heavy?). So, perhaps the young princess had got off relatively lightly, having Note-Spelling as her third name. Still, Pastor Oats would not be surprised if, when she was older and understood what had happened, she would hunt him down and take her revenge. If she was to be anything like her mother, then she would be quite mild and even rather soppy until aroused – and then as dangerous and determined as Queen Ynci of Lancre when she needed to be.

And that brought Pastor Oats' mind back to the present, and to the orc that was now watching him intently. Orcs had, apparently, been vicious warriors, under the Evil Empire – but that was the nature of war, wasn't it? The whole point of war was to win, and that meant thinking of the enemy as vicious and evil and lacking in compassion – that made it so much easier to hunt them down and kill them without regret or guilt. And it wasn't as if humanity had never done something similar – Pastor Oats had read about the members of his own Church, how, in the olden days, they had set fire to virtually everyone who disagreed with them, had made out that witches were evil, deserving destruction.

And what about the other races? Pastor Oats pondered, as he himself nibbled a few nuts and continued to stare across the fire at the orc. Trolls were once thought of as monstrous stone people who ate humans – now they were thought of as, well, people who just happened to be made out of stone. The emphasis had shifted – now they were people first, and what they were made out of was largely just a minor detail. Dwarves were generally accepted, although they used to be thought of as greedy little people who would cut you off at the knees – now they were just little people who could drive a hard bargain, and who were excellent at business. As for werewolves – there were apparently lots of werewolves in Uberwald – well, they could rip a person to shreds with their jaws, but there was apparently at least one werewolf working in the Watch in Ankh-Morpork, and their abilities had made them a valuable member in Sam Vimes' Watch. Indeed, it seemed as if all races were now joining the Watch, where they were welcomed and able to work and live their lives, generally just being a part of society, and causing no trouble. That was true for golems, too – immensely strong beings made of clay, given life – or some semblance thereof – via the words in their heads. Pastor Oats had even heard that there was going to be a Medusa in the Watch, although she would need to wear sunglasses in order to avoid turning people into stone (at least when doing so was not convenient). So, perhaps orcs could, in time, become just another race, accepted as these other races had been, become just another piece in the melting pot of life.

Pastor Oats looked down at his axe for a moment. It had been used to cut the head off of a vampire. Pastor Oats would never have imagined, a year ago, that he would have been able to cut the head off of a vampire. But then, a year ago, he would never have imagined himself travelling this far up the mountains in Uberwald, an orc as his companion. Forgiveness was responsible for giving the orc freedom, and for killing – if that was indeed the right term – a vampire. There was a moral there, he thought to himself, although he was unsure exactly what that was.

But now, apparently, even vampires were being rehabilitated, getting jobs in Ankh-Morpork and elsewhere, just being part of society. Pastor Oats had to admit that he was more than a little wary of the vampires' motivation – they could be very charming when they wanted to be, and they tended to be obsessive. But, apparently, there was this process of transferring that obsessiveness to something else, rather than it being for control or for a desire for blood. Coffee, iconography, politics…what the obsession was transferred to seemed to be less important than the fact that the vampire could become obsessive about something that was largely harmless, that other people would not mind, that was nothing to be scared of.

That reminded Pastor Oats of Lady Margolotta of Uberwald. She was a vampire, and was a powerful force of control within Uberwald. She had started the Black Ribboners, an organisation of vampires who were committed to not drinking one drop of human blood, and they wore the Black Ribbon as a symbol of their membership of this organisation. They would carry a card explaining this, so that, if they were to crumble to dust, then others would be willing to provide them with aid and assistance. It was working well, apparently, and now some of the Black Ribboners even carried small vials of animal blood, which could smash were they to be turned into dust, returning them to being alive…unalive…undead…well, to being able to carry on with their existence, regardless of the correct terminology.

So, surely there was no reason why orcs could not be rehabilitated in much the same manner? Granted, their role in the Evil Empire had been huge, the history books were full of stories of orcs committing countless crimes – but that again was the nature of war, wasn't it? People had little choice but to take morally questionable decisions, if they were to survive in times of war. Besides, history was written by the victors, who were, understandably, keen to present themselves in the most positive of lights – meaning that their enemies tended to be vilified. So, it was no wonder that it was said that orcs were fundamentally evil.

But, were they, really? Surely, Pastor Oats reasoned, it was what someone did, rather than what they were, which determined whether or not they were evil. And the little fellow watching him from across the fire had clearly never done anything evil – all moral issues aside, he would not have had the opportunity, having been chained to the anvil for nearly all of his life.

Still, Pastor Oats was unsure about what he should do with the orc now. He could accompany him for a while, but, surely, sooner or later, he would have to make a more permanent choice about him, about where he should go, what he should do. He wondered if the orc understood anything about him – some people claimed that orcs had no understanding, that they were essentially animals – well, if that were true, then they could not be held responsible for their actions. A cuckoo, newly hatched, might turf the eggs out of a nest – but could not be thought of as evil for doing so, since it was merely following its instincts. The same could be said for other creatures that had ways of being that seemed immoral by human standards. And if the orc did have some level of understanding – which was what Pastor Oats suspected – then it could not be inherently evil in and of itself. It might be harder for vampires to be good than it was for other races to be so, because of their nature and what they were – but Lady Margolotta had proved that it was not impossible. The same might be true of orcs. At least when they were as young as the little orc opposite, who was even now staring intently at him across from the fire. But there was still the issue of what should happen to him now.

He thought about Lady Margolotta once more – people tended to speak very highly of her, and her Black Ribboners controlled much of the land now. They hunted down other vampires, those that were unwilling to join their cause. And being hunted by fast, strong, powerful beings who knew exactly how you thought was enough to convince all but the most fool hardy of vampires to at least consider joining the Black Ribboners. Could there perhaps be an equivalent organisation for orcs? Pastor Oats wondered if such an organisation would be possible, as the little orc continued to stare across the fire at him.

Or perhaps they were inherently evil. Pastor Oats felt vaguely guilty for thinking that, but he was unable to stop himself. Perhaps it was like cuckoos – it was not their fault, just part of their nature. Perhaps orcs could not in fact be good, perhaps it was just in their natures to pull people's arms and legs off. If it was true that the Igors had made them – and Pastor Oats had no reason to doubt this – then they could have put something inside them, a sense of rage and a love of violence, perhaps – something which made them excellent at fighting and killing, but of little use for anything else. That reminded Pastor Oats of a story, a fable that he had once heard, before he had started his training to become a Priest of Om. There was a scorpion, he seemed to remember, and a frog – or maybe a toad, it had been a long time since he had heard the tale, so was unsure, now, about the details. Regardless, they had both wanted to cross a lake, or possibly a river – a body of water, anyway. The frog (or toad) had wanted to ride on the scorpion's back, so that they could both cross together. The scorpion had agreed to this, although his companion had been wary of trusting him. The scorpion had asked what he would gain by stinging him while they were in the water – it would mean, after all, that they would both drown. Yet, when they were around half-way across, the scorpion did indeed sting him, and, before both drowned, had told his companion that that was just his nature, that he could not help it, and, in some versions of the story, the scorpion had expressed regret at his action.

There was clearly a moral to that tale, although there were various interpretations of what that moral might actually be. The one that made the most sense to Pastor Oats was that animals could not help obeying their instincts, and would do so, even if it meant their own destruction. It went back to cuckoos again – they could not be blamed for what they were, for obeying their instincts, and humanity just had to accept this.

But, there was a far darker interpretation – not to do with animals, but with people (and all sentient beings now came under that category of 'people') – that it was in the nature of a particular group of people to be violent and aggressive, selfish and vindictive, even against their own self-interest. Such an attitude had led to countless wars throughout the Disc, and, even now such an attitude was not uncommon in Uberwald – that was, surely, one of the reasons why the young orc had been chained to the anvil.

Pastor Oats stared at him across the fire. I'm sure that he's not inherently evil, he told himself – he's just watching me, not even trying to attack me (of course, I still have an axe, so it would be a foolish thing for him to do – but that means that he has at least some limited reasoning capabilities). He poked the fire with a stick in an absent-minded sort of way. The little orc watched as sparks flew skywards. Pastor Oats continued to stare at him, and rubbed his chin with his other hand, "What am I going to do about you?" he asked.

The orc turned his attention away from the fire for a moment, and back towards Pastor Oats. He looked confused for a moment, and Pastor Oats was fairly sure that he understood that he was talking about him, thinking about his future. And Uberwald is dangerous, he reminded himself – although I'm less sure if it's more dangerous for him or for the people that he might encounter here. No, I need to be able to talk to someone who understands more about this sort of thing than I do.

He stared at the fire for a moment longer, then turned his attention back to his two-headed axe – the axe that had cut off the head of a vampire – but, perhaps a vampire could help him with his questions. Lady Margolotta surely understood more about what had happened during the Evil Empire than he did. Perhaps she knew something about orcs and their nature? Well, it was worth a try, anyway. Besides, he could not think of anything else to do, anyone else he could trust with this – the only other people who might possibly be able to help him were the witches back in Lancre – but that was a very long way away now, far too far to travel at the moment.

He smiled a small smile to himself, thinking of Lady Margolotta. Perhaps, in a way, vampires were also a kind of two-headed axe themselves – vicious, power hungry and cruel at worse – but also great and powerful allies if they were able to control their appetites, if they were able to displace their obsessive natures onto something harmless, as the Black Ribboners had been able to do. Well, it was worth a try. He indicated to the orc that he should follow him, then put out the fire, and made his way to where he knew Lady Margolotta's castle was located, the orc trailing him like a young chick following its mother.