Hungry Heart - Book #2 - Ch. 5 (Patreon)

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Chapter Five – Freedom

The oasis was a sight for sore eyes. Varg allowed Toru to run ahead and let out his enthusiasm through loud shouts raising in the evening air. Already, the weary traveler could feel the gentle shade offered by the tall date palm trees; while the evening was setting fast, the sand beneath their feet was no longer scorching hot, and Varg was more than thankful for having reached the oasis in time for their overnight stay.

In the desert, Claw had explained, the nights can be horrendous, the temperature dropping so fast and low that they would have to huddle together to enjoy some heat. At that, of course, Toru had laughed, and told them that he would hold them all in his arms, but Varg knew that the bearshifter wasn’t joking. While they were all hardy people, and a bit of cold couldn’t scare them, none of the challenges rising in front of them had to be dismissed or overlooked.

They stepped inside the oasis, and Duril let out a small sigh as soon as they heard the small bugs singing their evening song.

“There is even water here,” Toru called for them. “It’s like a small lake!”

Varg grinned at the evident enthusiasm in Toru’s voice. “Make sure not to drown in it!”

“Like I’d do that,” Toru threw at him with a snort. He placed himself on his belly and began scooping water with both hands and bringing it to his lips.

“Look at him, slurping like he hadn’t drunk one drop in days,” Varg teased him.

“Shut up, mutt, I’m thirsty,” Toru replied.

Varg knew that the tiger must not have asked Duril for the water pouch for a while since he had become aware of how they needed to be mindful of their supplies. As much as he liked to talk about eating all the food, Toru was obviously feeling very responsible for not burdening the others with his behavior, and that made him all the more endearing to everyone. Without a doubt, he wasn’t doing it for that, but because, indeed, during their last adventures, Toru had grown a lot and was now more careful than ever to ensure that the others enjoyed his company.

Varg knew he would never talk to Toru about this and embarrass him, but it was enough to know it and enjoy the change he saw in the tigershifter as they journeyed together. He let out a sigh of his own, as he sensed the soft grass beneath his feet. There were a few scattered peach trees, and Claw, being the tallest of them all, took to picking up the fruits from the crown that were the ripest and tastiest.

Toru approached him carefully. “What are these?” he asked as he leaned over to stare at the fruits gathered by Claw.

“These are peaches,” Claw explained. “Try one. I promise you they’re not that bad, and the human part of you will enjoy it, for sure.”

Varg hid a grin as he noticed Toru scrunching his nose in that adorable way of his. Nonetheless, the tigershifter took one peach and bit from it with a satisfying crunch-like noise. “It’s sweet,” he exclaimed.

Varg reached to pick one, too. Claw turned with his open palms toward Duril. It was another reason for Varg to hide his smile, as the bearshifter seemed to be taking quite a liking to the healer. They shared some of that serious nature that made them so alike, and Varg had noticed that they often spent time together, lost in conversation. Toru had the curiosity of youth, while Duril had the curiosity of a scholar. They both had a lot to learn from Claw, so it wasn’t just his brawn and warrior spirit that made the bear such a great addition to their little group. In a world on the brink of change like theirs, someone with old knowledge was needed, just as much as the impetus of young age.

Duril set up a small dinner and they ate their meal from palm leaves while enjoying the sweet air breezing through the tall trees of the oasis. After a short debate, they had decided not to make a fire so that any possible creatures roaming the desert at night, on either four or two legs, shouldn’t be drawn to the place or sniff their presence.

“We’re quite the gathering of people,” Varg began as they lounged around, their bellies full, and now only one short story away from closing their eyes and drifting to the world of dreams.

“Indeed we are,” Claw replied. “A kitty, a puppy, a bear, and --” he stopped and looked at Duril.

Varg observed with increased interest as Duril shifted a little and scratched his head.

“Duril is awesome,” Toru intervened.

“That he is,” Claw agreed with a small laugh. “I think the best way to describe us would be a group of very interesting humans.”

“We all are humans, too, yes,” Varg agreed. “And it is something we shouldn’t forget, although it looks that at least the three of us,” he pointed at him, Claw, and Toru, “may be more in touch with our shifter nature than with anything else.”

“I don’t think I’m in touch with my orc side,” Duril said, taking them a bit by surprise. “I know that Elidias told me that I’m an orc, too, just as I’m a human being, but I don’t know what part of me, except for my appearance, that would be.”

Claw patted the healer on the back. “Maybe you haven’t discovered it yet.”

“I’ve been on the face of the earth for so many years,” Duril commented. “I should have discovered it by now, don’t you think?” He was watching Claw with honest curiosity, not because he thought he was absolutely right.

“All our lives, we go through changes,” Claw replied.

As Varg had noticed already, the bearshifter was a fountain of wisdom that would serve them all to quench a different type of thirst.

“And there could be parts of us not yet emerging until there’s a need for them,” Claw added.

“I would like Duril just the same if he turned into a complete orc,” Toru said.

Everyone laughed at that.

Toru bristled. “What? I would,” he protested.

“We all would, kitty,” Varg teased him and caressed his head.

Toru rolled toward him and rested his head on Varg’s chest. It was, as it seemed, a much preferred way of sleeping for the tigershifter. It could be because Varg always ran his fingers through the golden hair slowly, making him purr and fall asleep quickly.

“It looks like we should call it a night,” Claw said and laughed. “The young ones need their sleep.”

Duril came to rest against Varg from the other side, and between his two lovers, he felt sleep coming to him fast.

***

He couldn’t recall the reason why he had suddenly awakened in the middle of the night. Duril moved carefully, not to wake up his companions, and walked toward the edge of the oasis. It was such a strange new sight for him, greenery and the sound of bugs floating on the face of the lake on one side, and the dryness of the desert stretching in front of him for as far as eyes could see. There was so much to the world he didn’t yet know, and his thirst for knowledge was just growing greater with each passing day.

The more he knew, the more he wanted to learn. When he had embarked on this journey with Varg and Toru, it hadn’t been for other reasons that he had finally found something worth living for. He hadn’t stopped to weigh on his feelings too much, and he knew that he loved his companions.

But this journey was starting to become important for him in more ways than one. Yes, he wanted to help Toru on his quest, but along the way, he began uncovering a new side of himself, one he had struggled to quench during his much younger years. Burdened by the others’ reaction to his appearance, he had chosen not to dwell on the feelings of anger they sometimes caused to take root in his soul.

Now, after battling evil side by side with his fellow companions, Duril sensed a new power growing inside him. In a way, he was a bit scared of it. Far from him to become too proud and reckless, too confident of this change, as it could mean that years of building his own self into what he was today would go to waste.

Maybe Elidias was right, and he shouldn’t deny the orc part of him. According to the librarian, it wasn’t a part of him that was orc, but it was intertwined with his entire self, and he would do good not to deny it. Not that he knew what that meant. Humans appreciated his gentle demeanor, how he never talked back or growled or did things only a wild beast would.

Yet, out here, in the desert, a strange call, once risen in his blood, was starting to grow and claim its right to be heard. Duril took a long look at Varg, Toru, and Claw, who slept soundly and didn’t appear to be aware of the conflict overtaking their companion. They couldn’t know, Duril decided. They loved and appreciated him for who he had worked hard to be all his life. What would they think if he suddenly wanted to live like an orc?

He frowned and mulled over that thought. Where did it come from? He didn’t know how orcs lived, let alone if he wanted that, and yet that strange idea had come to him unbound. One step forward and he was out of the oasis, right at its edge still, but wanting, no, needing to take another and follow the call in his blood.

The desert sand was cold under his feet at this hour. Claw was right about the place becoming cold and inhospitable at night, and yet, Duril didn’t find it so. Instead, as he walked, the new power he sensed inside began growing. Without even realizing, he suddenly broke into a sprint and started running. The sand brushed by his ankles, and his lungs filled with the frigid night air.

Freedom, he thought. This was what freedom felt like, new life in his veins, sweet, sweet air in his lungs, and everywhere the eyes could see…

His land. His home. The true one, the one he had never known before. Duril didn’t look back for a moment, as his feet carried him farther and farther into the Great Barren.

***

Toru shifted in his sleep and brushed his cheek against Varg’s chest. He wiped the drool from his mouth and tried to get closer to the wolfshifter. Even inside the oasis, one could feel the coldness of the night and he wanted more of that body heat so that he could sleep comfortably.

“Kitty,” Varg growled quietly. “Stop it.”

“I’m cold,” Toru whispered.

Varg put an arm around him and pulled him closer. “Is that it? Or you can’t sleep for other reasons?”

Toru held Varg tightly. “We shouldn’t wake up the others,” he said cautiously.

“Then just hop on me and I’ll take good care of you,” Varg said.

Toru hesitated for a moment. What if Duril wanted in? He never wanted to be selfish.

“Let the others sleep. After all, I want you a bit for myself,” Varg whispered, and Toru’s decision was taken.

He slowly straddled Varg and united his lips with his. They kissed slowly, although it wasn’t hard to tell that their desire was growing. His ears perked up at the slightest sound, as he didn’t want to make too much noise.

He let out a small gasp when Varg moved his mouth along his jawline and suddenly caught his ear. The wolfshifter knew very well that his ears were sensitive, and still, he never let it go, finding every occasion and taking advantage of it to torture them.

“Cut it out, mutt,” he mumbled. “We’re going to wake them up.”

Varg let go of his ear and returned to kissing him gently. “So,” he teased in a playful voice, “now you want my knot?”

Toru scoffed. “It’s not like that.”

“Then how is it?” Varg teased him some more.

“It’s, um, I just like you, is all,” Toru said quickly.

Just as they were about to get more serious, Varg surprised him by pushing him gently away.

“What?” he asked as he tried to get another kiss.

“Duril’s not here.”

Toru moved his head and began looking around, too. “You’re right. Do you think he cannot sleep either? I didn’t hear him at all.”

“Then maybe we should go look for him a little and see if he’s up for some fun,” Varg suggested.

“Yeah, let’s do that,” Toru whispered, “but be careful not to wake up the bear. What if he wants it, too?”

That earned him another quick ear bite from Varg. “You mutt,” he growled under his breath.

“You like Claw, huh?” Varg said with a small chuckle.

“Not like I like you or Duril.”

“I’m sure of it. Well, then maybe you should ask Claw if he likes you back.”

“No way. He’s too…” He let his words hang, as he didn’t know how to express what he felt toward the bearshifter just yet.

“Impressive? Big?” Varg offered to help him.

“Something like that,” Toru said quickly. “Hey, didn’t you want us to go search for Duril? Let’s go already.”

They stood quietly and began moving about, searching through the trees and tall grass for their companion.

“You go that way, and I go this way,” Varg suggested. “This oasis is not that big. Maybe he just fell asleep under one of these big trees.”

Toru nodded and went to the right side, while Varg went to the left. After a while, they found themselves face to face. All of a sudden, his senses prickled with apprehension. “Varg, where is Duril?” he asked hesitantly.

Even in the dark, he could tell that Varg’s face was all a frown, and his first sensation of wariness turned into full-fledged anxiety.

***

Duril had never known that he could run so fast. His feet had wings, and it appeared that he could conquer vast spaces in the blink of an eye. He stopped for a moment on top of a dune, tilted his head back, and let out a victorious growl. His blood ran hot, and not even the cold night air could do anything to stop it from boiling over.

He needed something, even though he had no idea what it was. But it had to be there, within reach, over the dunes, far into the heart of the desert.

His ears perked up when he heard a sound in the distance. Was that a horn? It sounded like it. Without hesitating for a moment, he rushed toward the source of the sound. The horn blasted through the air, louder and louder, calling for him to follow.

Something swished through the air, taking him by surprise. In the split of a second, a burning sensation cut his temple, and Duril brought his hand up and winced as he felt the blood. What could that have been? He stopped and looked around. When he heard the roaring of a hurried march, it was too late. Two creatures on two legs were hurrying to him, and his instincts ordered him to turn on his heels and run. He couldn’t just stand and watch them come for him, as his bad intentions were evident in how they darted toward him with their arms raised with what looked like some sort of weapons attached to them.

He barely managed a few steps when something hit him hard from behind. As he fell face first in the sand, the two pursuers reached him and he was forced into the ground with a knee against his back.

“We got him, Winglog,” a raspy, somewhat high-pitched voice said enthusiastically.

A growl followed and something that sounded like a slap. Duril had expected to feel more afraid, but he was quite calm given the circumstances.

“Let’s see him,” the one named Winglog growled.

Duril was lifted from the ground by the back of his shirt like he was a feather, and he was brought eye level with a monstrous face on which a pair of large tusks lay. They were orcs!

“What is he? Can we eat him?” the other asked excitedly.

“Does he look like he’s any good to eat?” Winglog moved Duril so that he practically dangled in front of the other.

Duril then saw the other orc. This one was considerably smaller than Winglog, and there was something servile in his attitude and the way he kept his arms gathered in front and twisted inward. He also had a hunched back, and one of his tusks was missing, but his eyes shone with devilish intelligence.

“Ew, what kind of orc is he?”

“You’re stupid, Sog,” Winglog said and gave the other a shove with his foot. “How can he be an orc? His tusks are too small.”

Sog didn’t seem too much bothered by being kicked. “But he has them. He’s a very ugly orc.”

Winglog turned Duril toward him to examine him some more. Then he suddenly grabbed Duril by the hair on top of his head. “And he has hair!”

“And he doesn’t have an arm. Disgusting,” Sog confirmed and began bouncing up and down. “Are you sure we cannot eat him, Winglog? We’ll skin him anyway.”

“Are you usually eating your own kin?” Duril asked, as the initial shock began to wear out.

Sog jumped back, executing a funny somersault through the air. “He speaks!”

“Yes, I do,” Duril said. “You speak, too. How is that a surprise?”

Winglog shook him a bit and watched him with a curious look on his face. Then he finally asked, “What are you?”

Duril now understood the meaning of Elidias’s words. He was in danger, these two orcs could kill him in the blink of an eye, and yet, he was still not afraid. “I’m an orc,” he replied calmly.

“You’re not from Zukh Kalegh,” Winglog said.

“No, I’m not. I traveled here from a place called Whitekeep.”

Winglog scrunched up his face, making it appear even scarier than before. “It doesn’t sound like an orc place.”

“It’s not. It’s a human settlement.”

“Did you raise humans there to eat them?” Sog inquired.

That earned him another smack over his head from Winglog. “We’ll take you to Yarag. He’ll know what to do with you.” And then he talked to Sog. “Tie him up.”

Duril debated whether he should resist. The fire in his blood had calmed down a bit, but now he was curious to learn more about his brethren. He blinked for a moment. Behind him, somewhere, there were his companions, but why did they feel like a faraway dream? All his senses commanded him to move forward, but there was still something at the back of his mind demanding attention.

He shook his head, and then the memories came back to him like a piercing knife through his soul. When Sog approached him, he pushed the orc away and tried to dash, but Winglog was fast.

“Stupid Sog! Can’t you do one thing without my help?” Winglog pushed Duril down and forced a thick rope around his neck and shoulders, and then downward to his waist.

In no time, he could only move his legs. Winglog forced him to his feet.

“A spy, aren’t you? You must be, with all this ugly hair.”

“I’m not a spy.” Duril tried to move away from Winglog who continued to run his large paw through his hair. “I was just passing by.”

One thing he hadn’t learned all these years was how to lie, and now it was clear that he wasn’t doing a good job, either, because the two orc began laughing.

Sog produced a small dagger from his belt and began pushing it against Duril’s back. “Walk, you ugly spy. Yarag will surely want to cook you.”

Winglog slapped Sog upside the head. “He’s not to eat. He looks too much like an orc.”

Sog mumbled something that Duril couldn’t quite catch, but it had something to do with a special marinade that the orc must have known how to make.

“I’m not a spy,” Duril insisted. “I’m just crossing the desert.”

“By yourself?” Winglog pulled at the end of the rope and forced him to walk. At the same time, Sog was digging the sharp tip on his dagger into his back, enough to make him walk faster. The smaller orc was mumbling incoherently, and Duril could only make words here and there, all having to do with food preparation.

“Yes, by myself. I need to get to the other side,” he said. “I suppose your leader has better things to do than deal with someone insignificant like me.”

“You talk like a spy,” Winglog decided. “No more talking.”

***

“Where is he?” Toru asked in an anxious voice. “Should we start calling for him?”

Varg couldn’t deny that he shared Toru’s worry. It couldn’t be that Duril had just upped and gone for a stroll in the desert, as he knew as well as them how dangerous that could be. That left open another alternative, and that was worse. Could it be that someone had snuck into the oasis and kidnapped Duril? But how could they sleep through that? No, a reasonable explanation had to exist.

“Let’s look around some more. Maybe he just needed to stretch his legs a little,” he told Toru.

“Stretch his legs? We walked for days,” Toru pointed out.

“He must be close,” Varg insisted. “We’ll go in circles. There are dunes around, and he could just be behind one.”

“Varg, do you think that maybe he ran away from us?” Toru asked.

“Why would he do that?”

Toru shook his head and looked down. “The people he belongs to are here. What if he wanted to go see them?”

Varg tousled Toru’s hair. “The only people, as you call them, here are orcs. They are bloodthirsty creatures that Duril has nothing in common with, as he told us just yesterday. Why would he want to see them?”

“What’s with all the noise? How come you’re not tired enough to sleep?” A baritone voice chided them from the copse of trees behind them.

“We cannot find Duril,” Toru said in an agitated voice. “We woke up, and he’s nowhere.”

“He may be around,” Varg insisted. “We’ve barely started searching for him, but we didn’t want to start shouting his name so that we don’t wake you up.”

“I’m up,” Claw said matter-of-factly. “Let’s start searching for your healer.”

Toru started calling for Duril right away. He was so agitated that he began running around, shouting from the top of his lungs.

“What do you make of this?” Varg asked Claw, as Toru’s loud calls remained unanswered.

Claw’s face seemed all a frown. “His bag is here.”

“So he mustn’t have walked out on his own accord,” Varg added, following the explanation Claw seemed to look for.

“That’s not necessarily true,” Claw said, much to his surprise. “We’re in their lands.”

Varg didn’t need anything else to understand what Claw was saying. All the while, Toru was making rounds, going farther and farther.

“Stop the kitty from wasting his breath. We need to think this one through,” Claw recommended.

“Toru,” Varg called for the tigershifter right away. “Let’s group up and have a talk with Claw.”

Toru hurried to them, albeit reluctantly. “It’s like he disappeared,” he said. “And there are no traces in the sand, no steps or anything. And my nose,” he said as he raised his head and sniffed the air, “doesn’t tell me anything.”

Claw surprised them by shifting suddenly into his bear. Then he began sniffing the air. “My bear nose is not lying. The horde is nearer than we thought.”

“The horde? Did they take Duril from us?” Toru asked. “But why?”

Claw shook his head. “We couldn’t have slept through an entire horde going through our little improvised camp. And I don’t think they would have just left us live. So something else is at work here.”

“What aren’t you saying, Claw?” Varg insisted, seeing how the bearshifter appeared to keep something to himself.

“His conversation with Elidias,” Claw finally said. “About him being an orc. You know that’s true, right?”

“Duril is not an orc,” Toru protested. “He’s nothing like those ugly, bloodthirsty monsters.”

Claw shook his head. “Sorry to be the one to break it to you, kitty, but Duril is an orc, too, just as he is human. He may not be a shifter like us, but he belongs to two kins, not one, and that’s in his blood and he cannot deny it.”

“What do you mean?” Toru demanded to know.

Varg knew well what Claw was pointed at. He didn’t want to believe that to be the truth, but the alternatives were so horrible that he couldn’t deny that it was preferable.

“Duril must have felt the call of the desert,” Claw said simply. “Didn’t you all notice how he was the least tired of us ever since we entered the Great Barren? And there was something new growing in his eyes as we walked deeper and deeper into the desert.”

“You mean that he left us for the orc horde?” Toru asked, more and more disquieted.

Varg put a hand on his shoulder. “He didn’t leave us. It must have been a strong call for him to heed it and walk away in the middle of the night, like this.”

“But he told us that he doesn’t feel like an orc at all,” Toru complained some more. “Was he lying?”

Claw rested a comforting hand on Toru’s other shoulder. “No. Your friend is an exceptional person. But all his life, he kept on denying the orc in him, and that means that he couldn’t have been prepared for the call of his tribe at all.”

“And you thought of all these before?” Toru said and curled his hands into fists. “And said nothing?”

Varg squeezed Toru’s shoulder in sympathy, but also in warning. “Claw couldn’t have foreseen something like this.”

“I didn’t. I was much inclined to believe your friend as he told us that he was no orc. I’m never one to deny the truth when it lies in front of my eyes. And right now, the truth, my friends, is that we need to find a way to get Duril back from the horde, and that without losing our hides.”

“Can we be sure he is with them?” Varg asked. He hated to think of Duril wandering through the desert until his feet could no longer keep him, in search of something that he must have been wished for all this life.

“It is our best bet,” Claw said. “I’ll carry his bag so that you two are not encumbered with more. We should get going.”

“How do we know where to?” Toru asked.

“I’ll travel in my bear shape,” Claw said. “This nose doesn’t lie. And I can already feel them. We’ll keep on their tail and think of a way to get inside and convince Duril to come back to us.”

“Why should we convince him? Doesn’t he love us?” Toru asked.

“That’s not the point, kitty,” Claw said firmly. “We all yearn for the place and people we belong to, whether we want to admit it or not. I long for The Quiet Woods and have been longing for them for a long time.”

“And I, for my pack,” Varg confirmed. “I found my pack in you, that’s true, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not thinking of my brothers and sisters every day.”

“But I don’t,” Toru said with resolution and his fists turned tighter. “I don’t care for my kin. They abandoned me. Why would Duril care for those flesh-eating abominations?”

Varg exchanged a glance with Claw. The tigershifter needed to be handled carefully. His fear of abandonment was rearing its ugly head, now that Duril was gone. They had no time for heartfelt talks and easing him gently into understanding that nothing like that had happened.

“Duril cares about us,” he began.

“Then why did he leave?” Toru asked.

“It’s like when you felt that scent, Toru,” Claw intervened. “Duril didn’t have more of a choice than you when the call of his tribe must have reached him.”

Varg was thankful for Claw’s help. He knew very well that much more would be needed to allay Toru’s worries and fears, but, for now, that had to do, and they needed to be on the move. At least, at night, they didn’t have to worry about the scorching sun.

***

“You don’t have to push me, I’m walking,” Duril told Sog who seemed to take great delights in using his dagger to force him all the time.

“Not fast enough,” Sog mumbled.

“He walks fast enough,” Winglog said. “You keep your dagger away, Sog, you stupid orc.”

“Why do you call him stupid all the time?” Duril asked.

Winglog growled. “You’re clearly not an orc. Orcs don’t like to talk so much.”

“Maybe you could be nicer to him,” Duril insisted.

Winglog stopped abruptly and forced the entire line to cut its advance short. Sog bumped into Duril. “There’s no such thing as a nice orc, spy. And I call him like he is. Stupid. Should I call him One-tusk?” Winglog leaned toward him so that they could be at eye level.

Duril looked over his shoulder, at Sog, who was self-consciously touching the left side of his mouth where there was no tusk. “No,” he said quietly.

Winglog straightened up. “No more talking,” he ordered and began pulling at the rope again.

TBC

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