Stories of Arda - Lord of the Rings Fan-Fiction Archive

1. Depictions of the Orcish culture and their way of life (society, industry, etc.) have been of my original creation as Tolkien did not leave any description of their life in Mordor. In my opinion, the Orcs’ military camps are supposed to be far more brutal than their portrayal in this novel. However, as the main location of the plot is an ordinary village, I hold that daily life would be somewhat less intense than in the military.

2. We know that several Orcs lived long lives (e.g., Azog and Bolf), but Tolkien has not indicated the average life span of an Orc in his writings. Therefore, I have decided that the time of growing up and coming of age would be similar to that of humans.

3. The Return of the King indicates that Sauron’s slaves (Men) have cultivated large areas of land around the Sea of Nurnen, growing food for his army of Orcs. The Southrons (Haradrim) and the Easternlings (Balcoth, Wainriders, etc.) were Sauron’s allies, so I hold they were not the said slaves. It would seem more likely that Sauron’s Orcs captured and brought to Mordor the members of the clans that Sauron had hated — the clans in the direct line of descent from the three houses of Edain. More precisely, those who did not set out on a journey across the Blue Mountains to Beleriand, but remained in the Rhovanion and White Mountains regions — primarily the ancestors of the Rohirrim. I assume this could have been happening during the first half of the Third Age, after Sauron’s gradual recovery from defeat and after restoration of his reign, so that the mentioned slaves are both the descendants of those first captured people as well as the Gondorians and Rohirrim he captured afterwards (later in the Third Age).

4. In my novel Reclaiming Khazad-dum, there are three scenes with Orcs, where their speech is distorted on purpose (just as in The Lord of the Rings, in the chapters with dialogues between Orcs). I believe we all imagine that the Orcs’ speech is grammatically flawed. However, irregular speech throughout the whole novel of this size would be rather tiresome for both reading and writing, so I have decided to use regular, proper language. Here and there, I will include minor irregularities in the dialogues, but it will be more the everyday slang rather than any major language distortions. Anyway, I leave to you the freedom to imagine that the orcish speech is distorted.

It is also understood that all the dialogues in this novel are spoken in the Black Speech, including the dialogues between Orcs and Men, because I believe that the slaves had to learn the Black Speech to communicate with their masters. There are some deviations from this rule, such as some words in the dialogues or contemplations of the main character that originate from the language of Men. These terms (or sentences) are written in the italic script to emphasise that they do not exist in the Black Speech and can be expressed only in terms from human language.

As is commonly used in writing, the italic script is also used for brief flashbacks, direct thoughts of the character, or special emphasis of certain words. I hold it unnecessary to make specific indications in the introduction to each chapter about flashbacks, direct thoughts, emphasis or human language, since all readers will easily identify each use of italics as it appears.

5. In the pronunciation of Orcish names, I have used the following rules (found in some articles about Black Speech): A is pronounced as in Arwen, I as in Lindon, O as in Gondor, and U as in Luthien.

6. The geography and distances are based on the book The Atlas of Tolkien's Middle-earth by Karen Wynn Fonstad. We know that the northern part of Mordor is almost completely barren and empty (a scorched volcanic landscape); however, The Lord of the Rings states that the southern parts of Mordor are green, fertile, and used for food production. Therefore, I take it that the southern part of the Ephel Duath (Mountains of Shadow) is also different from the northern part, i.e. covered in forests.

7. I will not indicate in chapters any disclaimers such as “violent content” or “death of a character” etc., because I hold these to be spoilers of a sort. However, since the novel is set in the orcish society, all of the above, and more, will be included. Even so, none of these elements will be explicitly described, and there will be no imagery of torturing, beating, etc.

Since violence is clearly present in the orcish society, count on occasional dark moments. But there will be plenty of bright moments, I promise! :)

I’ve made maps so that’s easier to follow events. If you have any troubles, please contact me and I’ll send you the links.

https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/x1ftg6ofoyh0qca944hsn/Karta-veca.jpg?rlkey=ygx8jodrxsobvrjowvinwovhm&st=b05lf8je&dl=0

https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/lq7gp2by4c7fn1ymp2o6x/Mapa-2.jpg?rlkey=eo0bkrafarqkbg9g3gp2z11t0&st=r3gpnxef&dl=0

He ran like he had never run before in his seven years of life, trying to escape the next blow. And the next one. His ear and the left side of his head still hurt from a hard punch.

He was breathing rapidly. His head was pounding with pain, and his heart was racing. He hastened. But what is the tiny pace of a seven-year-old compared with that of a grown male?! And his was even shorter than that of an average seven-year-old, because he was rather small for his age. He whimpered as he ran, his lips trembling, on the verge of tears. The male is going to catch him... Oh my, he definitely will. And then...

Then he is finished. He will be a mere punching bag — the scene no different from many similar ones in their neighbourhood, on a daily basis. One tiny spark was enough. One wrong word. One wrong glance. The fists would fly.

And he had just wanted to get some food from his mother. He was hungry. So he approached her, asking for his dinner.

But he asked in the wrong moment. Just a moment ago, a male had entered their hut. He didn’t say anything, he just pointed at the canvas sheet behind which his mother used to sleep. And do things with males that grown-ups usually do. Mother glanced at him briefly, then at the male before her. Running her fingers through her bedraggled hair, she got up and walked towards the dirty curtain.

But he was very hungry, and his stomach growled. He called her again. “Mother...?”

Well, she must have had time to give him some bread and a bit of something else, right?

And so he was forced to run. He bolted out of the hut, not even considering his goal — at least not in terms of space. The only goal was to escape the male’s fist.

One step to the left, one to the right, swerve, zigzag, around one, two, three random males... Colliding occasionally...

They didn’t catch him. His legs might have been short, but he was in full swing. By the time any of the adults managed to turn around after him, he was already a couple of steps away. Of course, they could catch up with him in a second if they wanted to. Be as it may, not one person managed to land a blow on his head or back. Huh, swell! Obviously, no one felt like chasing a tiny fly.

He kept on running, he didn’t stop. Only when all the huts and everyone around were far behind him did it dawn on him: well, obviously the male didn’t feel like running after him anymore. When did he give up? Who knows. He must have found it more important to return to his mother's hut and do... the fucking. Whatever that meant. Yes, he knew the word — the older boys used to talk about it all the time, sniggering as they did. Although he still couldn’t figure out what exactly that looked like. He only knew that the thing involved both males and females simultaneously. And that the females had to obey when the males ask them to do it.

Ah, the grown-ups were really nuts. The noises coming from behind the curtains, either from his mother’s bed or the beds of any of the three females living in their hut were, well, weird. To put it mildly. What was all that groaning? And grunting?! That was unheard of on any other occasion!

One day, he would find out all about it. He must! But not now. Now he couldn’t care less about the fucking. He fell to his knees, breathing heavily. He went all out and couldn’t run any longer. Time out. Rest. That is all he wanted at the moment.

But was he safe? Um... He was still near the edge of the village. There could still be someone nearby — someone bad-tempered who could find it convenient to lash out at the boy who just happened to cross their path. They didn’t even need to be bad-tempered; perhaps they only wanted to have some fun. And whoever might be around, chances were they would be bigger than him. Oh, being a seven-year-old was so hard!

So, he stood up and continued walking. Then he glanced back just to be sure. Nobody was following him, which was a relief. Once more, he turned away from the village and continued eastwards; better to withdraw to a safer distance.

He was slowly catching his breath, his heart slowing down. He looked around. To his left, the river was turning from a grey streak into a black one, and the clouds above his head also darkened. But that did not hinder his progress; he would need a torch only if it were pitch black, and he still had some time left before the night.

All was peaceful and quiet, the ground almost flat and well-trodden. The grass was short, with bare patches here and there. Well, of course! Looking from afar, from the village, he could see cows grazing here; they seemed to have done a good job.

He walked a bit more and then stopped. Uh, wait a moment! He was already far from the village — alone, in the middle of nowhere. He was already halfway between the village and the cage. How did he manage to make it so far?! Well, now he was the farthest from home he’d ever been. What was it that the grown-ups used to say? Oh yes, that there was some seven hundred feet distance from the village to the cage. And he was currently halfway.

He gaped, with his eyes widening. This was really very far from the village! Numbers were a weird thing, and he wasn’t so sure what some of them actually meant, but even he knew that hundreds meant something big. And how about thousands?! That was almost incomprehensible. But he used to hear the adults say: “There are just over two thousand of us in the village.” He shook his head. How much is that? He couldn’t fathom. Anyway... a lot. A whole lot.

On the other hand, his world was small: it comprised only those few huts and alleys in the female’s block where he lived with his mother, younger brother and sister, and those other females and their kids. True, sometimes he went to other parts of the village, but they were nearby too. And he only learnt to count to twenty — and even that required his full concentration. But... He paused, his heart starting to beat faster. Breathless, he fixed his gaze straight ahead.

There ahead to the east, in front of him, stood a high fence. Behind it, small cottages. He couldn’t take his eyes off them.

He observed, and noticed some movement. Hmmm... What is happening over there? What is it like in the cage? Do these humans live in the same kind of dwellings as his people? What are they doing now? How many of them are there?

Yes, he has already seen humans up close, many times. Who in the village hasn’t?! Perhaps only the smallest of children. Every morning, humans brought food they produced under the watchful eye of guards, as well as other things they made; just two days ago, he had seen them deliver a bunch of cloth and some barrels to the main square, in addition to food. The purpose of humans was to make everything his people needed. As simple as that.

Humans. He watched them each time they came, staring intently, observing them. They were totally... weird. Not many had normal, dark brown or black hair, like his people; most were yellow-haired. Once, he saw one who had hair like his — brown-red. And they were somehow awkward: taller than his people, all of them, but thinner. As if they had long sticks instead of hands and legs. And thin necks. How did they even manage to walk, being like that?! But obviously, they managed it somehow. It's not like they kept on tripping or falling flat with every other step.

He gazed towards the cage. What is going on over there? What do humans do at night, when they don’t work in the fields? What are their homes like? What does their offspring do?

He stared straight ahead, a broad smile appearing on his face. Now is the chance to find out! It’s actually a good thing that all of the earlier events happened. Had he not run away from the male who wanted to beat him up, he wouldn’t have gone this far and discovered something new. Who cares for food now, anyway? Who cares about mother and the male and their fucking?! He was going forward! He was going to discover the world ahead!

He stopped several steps before the cage. The fence was made of straight steel bars, perhaps one foot apart, tall... um, how tall would this be? He looked up, tilting his head almost at the right angle to his back. Oh my, this is really tall! From the ground to the top of the fence, when standing on another’s head, there would have to be... um, what are the counting words... one, two, three... Huh, it would require at least six or seven tallest males. A really tall fence! A steel fencing mesh reached the full height of the bars, with openings of some three or four inches. It was also placed over the entire top side of the cage, thus enclosing it from above.

But the fence did not interest him at all — the things behind it were far more interesting. He stood right at the fence, looking inside.

There was a bit of space between the fence and the closest housing units, maybe a couple of feet. The wooden huts, almost black under the darkening clouds, were small. While some had broken windows, others were missing an occasional plank from their roofs or walls. A couple of huts had smoke rising out of the roof openings. The area between the huts was devoid of benches or vegetation, and the ground was well-trodden, just like the ground outside the cage where he was standing.

Light was coming through the windows, and he could hear voices and noises from the nearest huts. Between them, in the third row from him, several human younglings were running; not an adult in sight. But what was that? Human children had... He squinted. They had some round items that, rounded as they were, rolled on the ground. And they threw it to each other. With hands, feet, on the ground and through the air. And they ran back and forth. They also had some other items that he couldn't identify from this distance, let alone know their purpose. He only saw them exchanging these items while running, placing them on the ground, lifting them again and putting them in new positions. Swift, sprightly, synchronised.

His eyes widened. Playing. Judging from their laughter, they were having a great time and felt even better. But what kind of playing was it? What are those playing items?

And... and why didn’t he have such playing items? Why did none of the boys among his people have them?! The only way to play their games was to run around, throw stones at each other and pick a fight.

Growl! Oh, if only he had a bite to eat! He hugged his stomach and continued watching. There, among the children, the laughter had died down. One child fell to the ground, clutched its leg and started crying. The others approached it. Uh, they would surely give it a good beating because it was stupid and clumsy, just like he used to get. And other clumsy kids. That was always the way everywhere and always, right?

The other kids did not beat up the one lying on the ground. They helped it get up, and then some of them... What was that? What kind of gesture? What kind of action? Spreading their arms wide, they wound the other one with them, squeezing it tightly. Nonsense! Whenever he fell during a hustle with other boys, which happened frequently, the only thing he would get were punches and ridicule. He never, absolutely never, got any help. This was... bonkers! Unbelievable.

Then an adult figure came out of the nearest cabin and gently squeezed the kid who fell. They were standing like that for a couple of moments, then the adult said something, and then, one by one, everyone went their separate ways.

By warg’s ass! What was it that he just saw? He was staring at the abandoned space, eyes wide open. That... the... person-arming-hugging, that was the craziest thing he had ever seen.

What did it look like? Like someone wrapped their arms around you and holds you close to themselves?

Growl! Ouch, he was really starved. He must go back. He turned halfway and took a step, but then looked back again. Several items were still lying on the ground where the crowd had been just moments ago.

He stared in fascination. Oh boy, he would love to have a closer look! If only impenetrable steel bars and nets did not separate him from those! What kinds of playing items were there, anyway? What were the ways one could play? What were the human kids like? What other things could he learn from them?

The next evening he revisited the cage. And again on the next day. And the day after. Each time he closely observed, amazed.

Sometimes the human offspring played even without any items — like when one of them stood with eyes closed, and then the others dispersed and hid, and the first one went looking for them. Although, they played with items more often than not. They also had a small wooden cart and wooden objects resembling animals, and the things he saw on the first day — those rag things... hum... rounds, he decided to name them, and other things.

Each time they were playing human children laughed a lot, often person-squeezing each other. That action seemed to make them laugh even more.

Um, if that made them happy, was that, the person-squeezing, was it a good thing? Perhaps it was, but how was he to check? He couldn’t, not really. Who would even want to do that? Um, maybe, only with Uld—

A movement, five or six huts further, to his right. He swiftly turned around. A human kid came and sat on the ground between the hut and the fence. It dropped several objects from a bucket and then arranged them before itself.

He looked once again back at the group playing on a wide clearing among the cabins, further away, and then turned back to the kid next to the fence. Now we’re talking! This kid was close enough. He would finally get to see some of the playing items and find out more about them.

The child was sitting near the wall of the hut, in the spot where the light coming from the window illuminated the surroundings. Its yellow hair was even brighter than that of the adults he had seen so far; in the light from the window, it appeared almost white. He approached the fence, leaving only a couple of steps between them. But the kid did not see him — it was completely absorbed in its play. Its back was bent, the head low, over... over... what? Over that thing it was building out of dirt and mud. Um, there were walls, towers... A fortress! Yes, that was the name. Their Supreme Master lived in one of those, everyone knew that — even he, even kids younger than he. They all listened to the stories told by old Mogra. It was a very tall fortress, the tallest one — worthy of their Master’s majesty.

This fortress, on the other hand, was only about half a foot tall, and the child kept adding more dirt and sand, building a wall between two towers. How interesting! Why had he never thought of doing something like that? Or other children of his people?

Well, maybe he hadn’t so far, but now he would. He nodded. Yes, he would do it in the following days.

But an even more interesting object was lying next to the kid. He observed the wooden item. The playing item — from up close. Finally. And what was that? Four legs, a head, a long tail. Some animal, undoubtedly. It reminded him a little of the cows he had seen in the fields. But this was definitely no cow. This animal was too slender for a cow, and its head and muzzle were too long for it to be a cow. Umm, yes, he had seen it before, it was... that... what’s its name?!

“What is that? The animal, what is it? Where did you get it? Who made it for you? How? And why?” he let it out loud, staring.

The kid flinched and bounced to its feet, then began looking around, searching for the speaker. Now that it was on its feet, he saw that it was almost a head taller than him. The long tunic that reached its knees was far too wide for it, and its shoulders stuck out through the tunic like two sharp protrusions. A twiglet, like all humans.

Although, not that he was particularly full-figured himself; they were about the same in terms of slenderness.

The child took a step toward the fence, squinting and frowning along the way. It kept on gazing left and right, but the gaze didn’t stop on him. And those eyes... How unusual! They were blue, a very bright blue. His people all had golden-yellow or yellowish-brown eyes. Only the old Mogra had similar eyes — one was bluish and cloudy, and everyone said that she was almost blind in that eye and could only see with the other.

At that moment the kid stopped, its gaze riveted on him. Its eyes widened and its mouth opened.

“An orc!” it squealed. Then it swiftly turned around and ran off, disappearing behind the hut. The space between the hut and the fence was now deserted; the only thing left was the unfinished castle and a wooden animal beside it.

But nothing happened. He was alone. He lowered his head, his shoulders slumping.

Well, if he wasn’t going to learn anything else, there was no point in staying here. It was almost night anyway, and well past his dinner time. He headed back, reluctantly dragging his feet. It was already quite dark, but the torches and illuminated windows of the huts in his village were a landmark he couldn’t miss.

No, there was definitely nothing left for him to do now but return to the village. Oh, but he will return here. Absolutely.

Wooden animals. Rounds. The playing items. Fortresses. The images were swirling in his mind from dawn til dusk. And at night, he started dreaming about them. Oh, how he wanted to have them!

The problem was — he had never had anything like that. It simply had not existed.

He mulled over it for three full days. And then, on the fourth day, he didn’t join the other boys. They were the only ones playing anyway. He... well, not really. Currently, he was sporting new bruises on his face and arms from yesterday’s game.

“Hey Murtash! Today we are playing a game in which you and your stupid little brother will play humans. You will be our slaves!”

The voice belonged to Shozrac, a boy with curly hair bouncing around his head as he shook with laughter. Shozrac was bigger than him, just like all the other boys of his age. Only the younger boys were smaller, and not all of them even then. Sugrod, one of the younger ones — a six-year-old — immediately stepped up beside Shozrac. And even Sugrod was already as tall as him.

Shozrac’s blow followed those words. The next thing he knew, he was on the ground, face pressed into the dirt. The dust made him cough. His eyes filled with grit, and his vision blurred to the shadows around him.

He tried to fight back. He swayed — and missed. As well as the next time. Not that there was enough strength in him to fight anyway. He was too small. Just like Uldut, his younger brother.

Even if he hadn’t been the smallest among the boys of his age, even if he hadn’t been their punching bag... Was there nothing but running and fighting? No. Not any longer — not now that he knew there were many ways to play that were far more interesting. So many other kinds of games! All sorts! With playthings!

He wanted to play. Yes. Therefore, he was going to do something completely different today, and he would not join the boys. He nodded, firmly clenching his fists.

His path first took him past the barracks where females were stitching clothes and crafting leather wares, yet he saw nothing that might serve his purpose. He moved on, soon stumbling upon the smithy; the smith, he had learned, was the one who fashioned things from metal. Knives, swords, axe heads and spear tips. His smithy, nestled in the part of the village where the other workshops stood, was the birthplace of all these wares. It had three walls, while on the fourth side, facing the path, it stood entirely open. Crouching behind one of the side walls, he peeked inside.

Even from a few paces away — and not his short strides, but those of the tallest grown males — the heat of the great fire warmed his cheeks and nose. The air thrummed with the clang of steel. The smith’s broad back and even broader shoulders glistened with sweat as his massive arm raised and lowered the great hammer, muscles moving beneath bare skin.

Countless objects were lying around — both tools and the smith’s unfinished items — most of which he couldn’t even name. Yet one thing was immediately clear to him: nearly all of them were made of metal. Metal, of course, was hard, unyielding; he couldn’t bend or shape it with his hands. No, there was nothing he could do with it. Only the smith could, with his fires and hammers — some of which were as large as himself!

Yes, nearly everything here was metal. But as he lurked behind the wall, his gaze fell upon the fire. A grin split his face, and his eyes gleamed. Yes, fire! For fire to burn, it needed wood! And wood, especially tiny twigs, was soft. That’s right, that was what he needed. The smith must surely keep a store of wood somewhere here. His eyes darted around the interior, scanning each wall and corner. There! There they were!

If he asked — and if the smith was in a foul mood — this might not end well for him. He frowned, but brightened just as quickly. The wood was stacked against the wall behind the smith’s back. If he kept quiet and quickly snatched a few branches, maybe the smith, absorbed in his work, wouldn’t even spot him mid-hammering.

He stepped inside, eyes locked on the smith’s broad back. He moved slowly and silently, his back hunched, to seem even smaller and more invisible. But only halfway to his goal, he spotted another male there. The other one sat across from the smith, watching the master at work, hidden from view until now. And now, the male noticed him too.

“Kizat, you’ve got a visitor,” said the seated male, leaning forward and glaring at him. Male’s curly hair reminded him of Shozrac. In fact, aside from Shozrac, this was the only person in the village with curls he’d ever seen. Everyone else had straight hair — him included.

The male’s face was scarred, and his eyes were darker than usually found among their people — not yellow, but almost red. Dark, and menacing.

The smith slowly turned. His broken nose sat crooked, and up close, his hands looked even more massive. He stepped forward, lowering his other hand to grip the great hammer’s handle, squeezing it tight. His eyes narrowed into mean slits, and a growl rumbled from his throat.

His gut twisted. Oh nooo! Who cared about twigs at a moment like this!!! The only thing that mattered was avoiding a beating — or worse. He spun on his heel and started sprinting as fast as he could in the opposite direction. Run run run!!!

He stopped several barracks away, almost reaching the main square. He was breathing hard and was still trembling all over. Well, at least he hadn’t actually pissed himself. And he hadn’t gotten beaten. But the problem remained — he was no closer to his goal. Tears welled up, but he wiped them away quickly, stifling the next wave. He wasn’t some little girl crying over nothing.

Lingering at the square’s edge, he scanned the scene. Evening was falling, and the main square buzzed with males of all ages — boys just old enough to start sword drills, as well as elders with weathered faces. Loud voices and shouting filled the air. Everyone was moving in the same direction: toward the other square, the one bordering the females’ part of the village, where there were kitchens and where everyone had their meals. Suppertime was nearing and the males were heading to claim the meals the females had prepared all afternoon.

The kitchens! There’d be fire there. Surely there was, for cooking. Which also meant wood. Yes, maybe his luck would turn there.

He spun, taking a longer route and weaving through side alleys to avoid the crowd. His step was quick and light. Almost there!

Indeed, he quickly found what he was looking for and jumped up with delight. The females were too busy finishing dinner and hauling pots and platters to the long tables where they served the food. None of them noticed the tiny shadow slipping behind them and darting toward their stock of wood. Oh, an advantage of being small for once! He picked out a few twigs and stuffed them into the pockets of his baggy trousers.

Slipping out of the kitchens, he found himself back in the food-square. Though, he felt more like being in a big hall than in an open space, as most of the benches and tables were sheltered — so that they were protected from the rain in the days with bad weather. And now that he was here, the smell of supper hit him like a wall. The smell of roasted meat was great and his stomach growled loud enough to rival... hmmm... a troll’s appetite! He giggled. Not that he’d ever seen a troll. He had no idea what they looked like. But he had heard the stories several times, stories told by the grown-ups. “Twice our size!” some claimed. “Twice, y’ say? Three times, if you ask me!!!”

Even twice an adult’s size was enough to make his eyes pop. And three times?! These trolls must’ve been monstrous. And right now he was hungry enough to eat like the largest of trolls, he concluded with a watering mouth. True, he’d get his evening meal later at his mother’s hut, but maybe he could try to sneak a bite now...

He walked towards the nearest line. Ahead of him everyone shouted and shoved, and then one of the boys at the end of the line turned and pushed him hard. He flew backwards and landed flat on his back.

Another boy from the group stepped forward and kicked him. “What are you doing here, runt?”

“This supper is only for adults! Real ones!” jeered the third boy. This one also attempted to strike him but missed because he was already on his feet and backing away.

It was evident these boys were scarcely a year his senior. Yet that mere year meant they had started their sword training — they were becoming adults while he was still just a child. And they were bigger than him.

He ran without looking back. The row of huts where he lived was not far. After reaching it and shutting the door behind him, he finally relaxed; it felt peaceful here. Sort of. If you ignored the screaming of his two-year-old sister, who was just wrestling with three other kids from their hut. They were rolling around on the rag-covered floor where they usually slept.

But, well, at least these little ones weren’t any danger to him. Yes, it was peaceful.

One might add that it was also peaceful when mother hadn’t had too much of that strong drink the grown-ups called booze, made by humans for their masters — for his people. She’d kick anything nearby when she drank, so you learnt to stay out of her way. What was in that drink anyway? Nearly all the adults drank it — some more than the others. And when they drank too much, they couldn’t properly walk or talk. After that, can anyone expect him to believe the grown-ups aren’t crazy?

Would he be like that if he drank it? But he hadn’t had the chance to do it, for mother kept her flasks well hidden.

It was also peaceful during the day, when males weren’t coming to see Ugda and the other three females — which they did every evening. But sometimes they did come even during the day. When males were around, you had to curl up in your corner and not move until they left. Better yet, make yourself disappear for a while. Otherwise, getting in their way... it never ended well.

He scratched his head. Actually, when he thought about it, peace was hard to come by.

He kept the twigs in one pocket, while the other pocket held the small knife he had found in his hut and several thin strips of leather and cloth. The latter he managed to get from a female at the sewing shop by asking nicely. Yes! Now he had everything.

Next step — he needed a quiet spot. A place where no one would push him about, or worse, ruin his precious possessions. For example, break the twigs or tear the strips. Just for fun. A place like that could only be found outside the village.

He’d go up towards the hills, to the side the grown-ups called north. He nodded to himself. Yes, that was the best choice. In fact, the only choice. The only spot where he might find proper cover without being seen. Any other direction — the meadows and fields — was no good for this purpose.

North... It was significant for his people; he’d been hearing that since he could remember. Far up north, so far he could not even repeat the numbers the adults said, let alone understand the distance — might as well be another world for all he knew — that’s where their Supreme Master lived. In that huge fortress of his. What was it called... ah, yes, Lugburz. Yes, that’s what the adults called it.

But never mind that; right now, the only north that mattered was this one within reach. There were gentle slopes rising above the village with their scattered trees and shrubs; here, they were sparse and scrubby, and the proper forest grew in the distance. But even here near the village, there was enough vegetation to provide some shelter and peace.

Reaching the first bushes, he stopped dead. Oh, warg’s ass! He smacked his forehead. Murtash, you idiot! Instead of scrabbling about the village for twigs, he could have just picked them here all along.

He looked around. Some bushes and trees bore dark green, nearly black leaves, while others stood bare. The branches were knotted, twisting at odd angles, and some of them reaching downward. They bent and swayed as if they wanted to grab anyone passing by — snatch up little boys and stuff them into maws hidden among the leaves.

One brushed against him, and he yelped. His heart pounded wildly. Then a few leaves on the ground skittered and one flew at him, and he laughed. Wind! It was only the wind! The wind was the one moving the branch.

Shozrac would laugh himself sick if he knew how scared he had been, as all the boys would... They would call him a little girl. A piece of shit. A coward. He could almost hear their taunting voices.

Settling on the ground by the bush, a good ten paces from the nearest tree — better safe than sorry, in case of those hidden hungry mouths in the canopies — he got to work.

He was connecting the twigs, bending them, tying, then untying them when unsatisfied and starting afresh. He was holding his breath, he wasn’t blinking. More than once, everything came loose and fell apart. Aarrrghhh!!! So he’d gather the scattered twigs and begin again. Only for it to collapse once more. Nooo!!! Shit!!!

Alright, truth be told, his creation bore little resemblance to what he’d seen the human offspring in the cage had. That object was made from a single piece of wood — smooth and symmetrical — with a clearly recognisable head, body, tail, and four identical legs.

His animal was a jumble of knotted twigs, crooked and bumpy. It sported extra tails — having the actual tail-twig plus the binding strips he had used. In addition, the leg-twigs were tied at odd angles — he hadn’t managed to make two alike, let alone three or all four — and they were all different in length. So his creature stood lopsided. Like those adults who had drunk too much booze and couldn’t stand straight, much less walk in a straight line. And the head was made of a few more twigs bound together, just shorter than those forming the body — who had ever seen a head bigger than the body?!?! — and despite all his efforts, he did not manage to bind in a straight position, but it stubbornly listed leftwards.

The wooden cow from the human child might have been scrawny, but it was a proper one. This thing he had made resembled no cow or pig he had ever seen, and surely no real animal stood this crooked. But... but it was his. He made it, with his own two hands.

He grinned, and his whole belly fluttered with excitement. He clapped for himself, bouncing on the spot. He did it!!!

He stood before the door. Now that the moment had come, he felt a knot in his stomach.

True enough, he had. That first time, several days ago, had been a pure chance: he’d been running from a beating and simply happened to turn eastwards. Finding himself already halfway to the cage, he had carried on. Who could resist discovering something new?

His subsequent visits had not been accidental. He wanted to watch them play and went there to do just that.

Tonight was no different. He was going just to see some more of their playthings.

Except it was different. This time he wanted more than looking. He wanted to ask. To talk. Now that he thought about it... He frowned. No, the adults wouldn’t approve spending time with humans. Humans were slaves, bound to labour for his people, obeying commands. Lesser beings, really. Not that he had ever bothered much to figure it out, but he roughly understood that things worked that way. Now, the fact that he wanted to chat about playing items, rather than the things the grown-ups held important... well, the grown-ups might not understand. Then again, they hardly understood anything.

Mid-day had been at least two hours ago. Or maybe three. Or even four. He wasn’t exactly skilled at tracking time. Regardless, evening was slowly approaching, so if he meant to go, it had to be now. Delay, and he would have to wait until tomorrow — and he didn’t want that. He wanted to compare the playing items immediately!

He bared his teeth and growled. He had no time for a hindrance in the shape of a four-year-old kid who was still toddling rather than walking. And even Uldut’s fastest walking pace was barely half of his own.

Uldut’s lips trembled, his little head drooping forward. The little one sniffled, and a shiny streak appeared on his muddy cheek. And then another.

Yet he remained rooted to the spot. Why couldn’t he bear to see this? Why this sudden urge to see his brother smile? He had no a clue.

How to cheer him up? Well, taking him along would work, but that was out of the question. Perhaps some other way...

The kid sniffed once more and slowly lifted his head. In the dim light, Uldut’s eyes looked almost dark brown. And so sad.

The motion came easily; the memory was vivid in his mind. He spread his arms. “Come here.”

Uldut eyed him with wary confusion, but took one wobbly step. Then another — until he stood flush against him. And then he folded his arms around the tiny frame.

He didn’t squeeze tight; the twig-creature tucked under his tunic already pressed uncomfortably into his ribs, and even this light squeezing pushed it deeper into his skin. But... it didn’t matter now. He blinked, exhaling sharply. Oh! This warmth of his brother’s body was somehow... nice. Also nice was some sudden and inexplicable fluttering sensation in his chest. A different kind of warmth. Oh... this felt cosy.

Uldut’s whimpers ceased. First it turned into giggles, then delighted laughter. And then small arms spread wide in response, squeezing him back.

But... Oh, no, ouch! Ah well, thank goodness four-year-olds aren’t terribly strong. He eased back slightly, relieving the pressure of knotted twigs digging into his belly. But he remained close, and kept one hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“You can’t come with me now. But we will do something else together. Tomorrow. Maybe... maybe...” He startled, eyes widening. “I’ll give you something to use for playing! Something new!”

The mention of play, and especially the mention of something new, worked instantly. Uldut’s head bobbed with frantic nods. And before the little one could demand details, he spun away and dashed outside, and immediately looked at the sky. It was still daylight, but the clouds were deepening their colour towards dusk. Perfect timing for his plan. The wind was blowing, but it wasn’t so cold.

He looked around. Several females were heading to the kitchens, and there were no males in sight. Taking a deep breath, he moved towards the end of the village. Once in open space, he feigned going north toward the stream. Sensible camouflage; if any grown-ups spotted him marching towards the humans’ cage, it would be hard to find a proper excuse. Playing. Nothing odd with that, right? But the grown-ups wouldn’t understand. And this way, even if someone saw him going towards the stream, it wouldn’t raise any suspicion. Both adults and children went there sometimes, for different reasons.

Luckily, there was no one in sight. He came near the stream, and then pivoted east. His pace quickened, and he was chuckling to himself.

Far south on the horizon something flickered. He stopped and turned his head. For a few moments nothing happened, and then there was another flash in the nearly black clouds. And another. He shuddered. A storm. That thing when evil gods want to claim their land and kill them, and the Supreme Master protects their people from them. Their battle raged, somewhere distant and high above. And when the gods clashed, the world roared with the sound and terrible lightning struck. Luckily, the Master is strong. He can defeat anyone.

The Supreme Master. He mused, and tilted his head. How grand it would be to see him once, at least from afar. His gaze drifted northward, wistful. And then the twig-creature shifted under his tunic and scratched his belly.

Playing. Yes. Meeting the Master — perhaps one day. Now — playtime. He continued walking, faster than before.

He came near the cage, and everything seemed as usual. The huts, smoke rising, squeals and children darting about. But his focus was on something much closer to him, by the fence. Under the iron-grey sky, amid dun barracks and dark steel fence, there was a bright spot. The bright-yellow hair of that human child.

Getting closer now, he slowed down. The human whelp sat scratching lines in dirt with a stick, and its lips were moving; obviously, it was still unaware of his presence. As he got to the fence, he heard the words spoken by the child, but he didn’t understand anything. What kind of language was that?!

Beside the child, there lay a wooden figure. It was definitely not an animal this time, but a human-shaped figure with arms and legs. And that was not all! It had a piece of cloth over the upper body and another one over the lower part, mimicking the baggy clothes the females wore, which they called skirts.

The human child, who’d been crouching over something until that moment, suddenly straightened up and lifted its head. When he slightly shifted, child’s gaze stopped at him.

“Don’t leave.” He paused. “We can play.”

The child jumped to its feet, but didn’t run away this time. It took one step forward and stopped. Then took another step, then stopped again. Tilting its head, it squinted at him. Its hair nearly reached its elbows, and up close, he could see that its face was rather narrow. But it didn’t approach the fence where he stood, halting three or four paces short. It folded its arms over its belly, which made it appear even slimmer.

He reached under his tunic and pulled out his creature. “I brought this. To play.” He extended his arm toward the human child, but the wire fixed to the bars blocked his attempt. What now? However, when he looked closer, he saw the weave wasn’t entirely even. While some gaps were too small even for a seven-year-old’s hand, some were larger. Big enough to squeeze through his twig-creation.

“I won’t play with you. You’re an orc.” The child’s voice was calm and firm, and it didn’t step closer or glance at his plaything.

He didn’t understand this last thing, but the child itself fascinated him more than the word. He cocked his head, studying it. This human youngling had a delicate narrow face, and its voice had a higher pitch than even that of the girls of his kind.

“You’re a girl!”

“Yes, I am!” The child jutted its chin out, crossing its arms over its chest instead.

He’d never played with a girl before. Never really talked to one either; they weren’t interesting, and you couldn’t play with them. Heck, he hardly even met them. But the things this girl had... well, those were interesting indeed. He’d talk to this one. Besides, that’s why he had come here in the first place — to learn more about playthings.

However, what had she been doing just a moment before? His gaze dropped to the ground where she had sat. All he could see were some dots and lines. He saw no sense to it.

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing.

She turned back, and then towards him again.

“Drawing”, she said, rolling her eyes and letting out an exaggerated sigh. “How can you not see that?”

But he couldn’t see, and he couldn’t understand it — not even the word itself. He had never heard it before.

“D-druwing?”

“Yes. I take a stick and draw. A picture is a likeness of an object or a person, orc. I make pictures of houses. And children. And animals. And stars.” As she spoke, she straightened her back and squared her shoulders, and lifted her chin she was looking down at him now.

He blinked. Damn, must everyone be taller than him? But no matter, he would disregard it for now, because far more interesting things were happening. Drawing, she called it. She was making... what was it... ah, yes, pictures, she had said. Creating images of different things, she explained. Was that really possible? To make pictures of all the things she mentioned? Of objects? Animals?

Drawing. That word meant that action?

He looked at her, then at the shapes on the ground. Drawing. Absolutely... incredible.

He had to try it!

“I want to do it too!”

The girl studied him for a moment, as if weighing him up, and then stepped back to retrieve her stick from the ground. Returning to the fence, she stopped just a step away this time. Her eyes locked onto the creature he held and she reached out as if to take and look at it, while simultaneously placing her stick into his other hand.

It was just an ordinary wooden stick, a foot long — like a straight twig. But... clearly, it could create something new. Something unusual. Something special.

He kicked a few pebbles aside and smoothed the dirt flat, then raised the stick. And stopped. What should he make? Hmm... well, maybe... yes! He grinned and set to work. A few straight lines here and there, a couple of more, then a circular motion, a short stroke, two lines sideways, another longer downward, and two more angled out. Then, another shape like that, a little smaller, and finally the third — the smallest of the three.

Pictures.

It was really possible. He made pictures. Pic... pic—

“I pictured it.”

“Who is that?”

He lifted his head. The girl stopped examining his twig-animal and studied his pictures instead.

He pointed. “This is our hut. The biggest figure is me.” His finger moved to the slightly smaller figure. “Brother.” Then to the smallest. “Sister.”

The girl observed them. “How old are you?”

“Seven.”

She kept studying the drawings on the ground. “And them? I see you drew them smaller than you.”

“Uldut four. Mazoga two. And you?”

“Eight.” Then she shrugged. “I don’t have brothers or sisters.”

He gestured to the markings behind her.

“And what did you... uh... dr... drawed?” He’d learned to recognise the word by now, but saying it — well, that was a bit trickier.

Another eye-roll. “Drew. You say drew.” An exaggerated nod. “Stars.”

Now, this was really too much!

“You say very strange words.”

Her chin lifted higher.

“They’re words from my language. Not my problem if you don’t understand.” She turned back to her earlier drawing. “I often draw stars.”

By warg’s arse, too many words and information. How to remember it all?

“Uhm. And what are these... stavs?” He repeated the word as best as he could. He wouldn’t show any weakness in front of a human youngling, right? A girl, what’s more.

She stepped closer to the fence again.

“Stars are shiny dots of light in the sky,” she said with absolute certainty.

He looked at her. She may have had playthings — several, even, she may have known how to draw, but clearly she wasn’t very clever.

“There are clouds in the sky,” he declared, gesturing upwards. With both hands. Overhead — of course — were clouds. Dark, steel-grey and thick, without a single shiny dot. Same as every day. Same as always. Ha! What will you say now, kid?

“But above the clouds is an enoooormous expanse and that's the real sky and that’s where the sun is by day, and the moon and the stars by night. They are light.” She said this with the same confidence as a moment ago.

Oh, she was properly daft. “That can’t be. Those are clouds. Everyone knows that.”

“But if the clouds cleared right now, we’d see the stars. The Valar made the lights, and Eru made them. He created the whole world and the sky.” She nodded several times.

Nonsense! He began to laugh at the obvious stupidity. “I don’t know who all these guys you’re talking about are, but our Maker created the world. Everyone knows that!”

Even little Uldut knew that much. The adults mentioned it sometimes, and he had heard the most from old Mogra, who often told stories; all the children had listened to them countless times. They had all learnt about their Maker, mighty and glorious. He had made the world, and he was their father — he had made their entire people. It was long ago, so very long ago... So much time had passed that no one could even imagine such ancient history anymore. As he heard it from Mogra, their Maker had been gone for ages — destroyed by enemies, evil gods, but his people would never forget him. Because, without him, they wouldn’t exist. And now he’d explain all this to the silly girl.

“Our stories are true,” the girl said calmly, before he could even speak.

“You don’t know—”

“Melyth! Supper!”

A female voice came from inside the hut; the window was cracked open and the call carried clearly. The girl startled. She stood frozen for a moment, then dropped his twig-creature and sprinted away. In an instant she crossed the distance to the dwelling and vanished around the corner.

He stared after her for a while, then shook his head. Well, obviously, the only thing he could do now was go back home. He shoved his arm through a wider gap in the net, stretching to his limit and scraping his skin raw in the process, until his fingertips finally reached the animal and he could take it back. And then he slowly trudged back toward the village.

He shook his head. Oh, so many new things! Who knew humans had their own language and stories? Dead wrong ones, obviously. Clueless, the lot of them.

Alright, maybe they don’t know a thing about the world, but you’ve got to admit their kids have brilliant playthings. Who would ever say slaves coming up with that?! In any case, he must show all this to his brother! And the picturemaking, too.

And he’d absolutely go back to the cage tomorrow. Because the girl was wrong. She needed to setting straight. Why couldn’t it be tomorrow evening already? He’d march right back and burst into the girl’s hut, if only he could. He’ have to tell her the true stories.

He stopped for a moment and closed his eyes.

“You’d be well to remember everything I tell you about our Maker, children! And about his son, too — our Supreme Master! You must never forget that, never! Our Supreme Master cares for us all. He’s been doing that for hundreds of years, children. Longer even, thousands of years. He watches over us. Old Mogra had heard it from her elders, and they from their elders. And you will tell this story to the young ones someday. The Supreme Master shields us from the evil elves and humans and anyone wishing us harm.”

Of course he remembered. He’d be back and teach the girl the real truth.

That night, he dreamt of the light in the sky. Bright light. So bright, he thought it would scorch him and that he’d burn. When he woke up, he was shaking and crying.

Master, please. Master, don’t ever let it happen. I’ll be good. Master, keep us safe from the evil enemies. And keep the light away.

-x-x-x-

“Muwty Muwty Muwty! You said that we will play and that you have something new for me!!!”

Uldut came to him at the hut right after they had eaten some bread and ham for breakfast. The little one wobbled on his short bandy legs, grinning from ear to ear. Little pest. But no matter. He was still better company than the other boys.

The other females’ children hadn’t yet scattered to find their day’s entertainment and were still milling about the hut, and he didn’t want them to see what he had. His hand immediately flew to the pocket that contained his treasure, shielding it from view. The bulge wasn’t all that obvious, but still — best if they all cleared out. Best if it’s just the two of them.

“Maybe later—”

“Now now now!!!”

He glanced at the gaggle of children; it didn’t seem as if they’d be leaving anytime soon. He let out a sigh. “Alright, let’s do it now. Let’s go—”

“Yeeeesss!!!”

The kid started bouncing, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“Come on then.”

He led his brother to the edge of the woods, near where he had made the plaything; they were well hidden from prying eyes here. He motioned to the kid to sit, and then took the animal out of his pocket.

Even from the start, it had been all knobbly and uneven and lopsided, and being constantly crumpled in his pocket definitely hadn’t helped it. The twigs of one leg had slightly cracked, and the body stood even more crooked now. It managed to stand on all fours when he placed it on the ground, but... if so much as a fly sneezed, it would be enough to send his twig-animal toppling nose-first!

Uldut’s eyes went as round as... well, he didn’t know like what, but they looked at least half the size of his entire little head. The little one gaped, transfixed by the wooden animal before him.

“So... What do you think?”

Silence, no response. The kid kept staring, motionless and spellbound.

Had he even heard the question?

“Uldy?”

Only then did the boy start and look up. “What is that, Muwty?”

“That is... a wooden animal. A playing thing.”

“Oh.” The kid gazed back at the animal. “A playing thing. Oh! But how...?”

“Well...” He took the creature in his hand and began to move it. A bit of hopping, a bit of running, then a bit of hiding... “We can pretend it’s running. And talk to it. And—”

“Talk to it? Like it’s a new mate for our game?” The little face was utterly baffled. But the eyes were beginning to glimmer with something quite different, with something that didn’t match the shocked look on his face: excitement, just starting to show.

“Er, yeah. And we can—!”

“Yesssss!!! I will play!” Uldut’s eyes gleamed even brighter now. “Is it for me, Muwty? It’s for me, right? Right?”

Uhm. That was not quite how he’d imagined it, but... all right. Why not? He could always make another playing item, and then they’d both have them.

Besides, why not right now? They were in the perfect spot — wood all around, more than he could ever need, and he just had to stretch out his hand and snap off a few twigs.

“Yes, Uldy. For you.”

“Yippeeee!!!”

Grinning widely, Uldut jumped to his feet and spreaded his arms. For a moment the little one looked as if he didn’t know what to do, but then, with the next bounce, the kid was right up close to him and clasped his arms around him. Giving him a body-squeeze. And he kept on giggling, all cheerful.

There it was again — the same warmth he felt yesterday. Even stronger on the inside than outside. He squeezed Uldut back and shivered. How unusual! And so, um...

But he couldn’t just let himself get swept up in it, not yet; first, he had to say something to his brother. Something very important. He pushed him back just a little.

“Uldy, we’ll make more playthings, but we mustn’t tell anyone about this. The other boys would surely take them from us. They’re all bigger and stronger, we couldn’t keep them if they wanted ‘em. We’ll leave them here, hidden, and come back to play in this spot. We’re not taking them to the village.”

Uldut’s face turned deadly serious as he nodded, nodding so hard that his whole upper body rocked back and forth.

“Yes Muwty!” And then he gave him another body-squeeze.

It felt so strange, and so... good.

-x-x-x-

Finally! The clouds were changing colour. Evening-tide! He’d been waiting for it all day. Slipping out of the village, he made sure no one saw him and dashed off.

All afternoon his thoughts had been busy, trying to gather every scrap he had ever heard from Mogra. About the beginning of the world, about the Maker. Hopefully he wouldn’t forget anything important. The girl would hear the real truth tonight.

He ran for most of the way; he couldn’t wait to get there and tell her how things really were. Yet, as he reached the cage, he stopped short as though someone had slapped him.

Nothing. All for nothing. No telling the tale, no explaining. The girl wasn’t outside tonight.

He stared at the empty patch between the hut and the fence, still as a tree stump. It hadn’t even crossed his mind that she might not come. But... why? Where had she gone? What was he supposed to do now? How was he to tell her if she wasn’t here? And he had built the whole story in his head.

He waited until night, but she didn’t come.

On the way back, his head hung low and his eagerness was just like of a dead rat.

Then, rain followed for several days. He looked through the window, disappointed; he really didn't feel like going out. Most of the time he stayed in the hut with his brother and the other boys, sons of other females, who were about their age. Two-year-old Mazoga and the other girls would sometimes run about, but most of the time their mothers took them away to the kitchens or other workshops. His own mother wasn’t around much, even when she was inside; she kept behind the curtain on her cot, drinking from her flask.

Hm, and where could he find that flask now? Well, as he wouldn’t go out — one glance at the rain-soaked window made that plain — perhaps it was time to look for the flask. He hadn’t seen it since that day three or four weeks ago. A shiver passed through him. That had been a bad day. A proper thrashing he got then...

Before leaving the hut, mother had left the flask on the shelf that he could easily reach if he climbed the stool. He kept on looking at it. What was so special about the booze? Yes, it made grown-ups act strangely, but maybe it tasted good? He had to try it! No more looking, time for action! He climbed up onto the stool, opened the flask and was just about to sniff it, when his mother came back into the hut.

“Don’t touch that! It’s mine! You can’t have it!”

She lunged at him, snatching the flask from his hands, and started slapping him. Once, twice, thrice... He fell from the stool, and she kicked him twice. She would have landed a third one too, but he dodged it by running outside.

She had been hiding the flask ever since. He had peeked into the cupboards and searched the shelves he could reach, but found nothing. Either she had hidden it well, or she carried it with her. Truth be told, there weren’t many hiding places in the hut at all. In the part of the hut where the front door opened, stood a wooden table and a few chairs, some shelves and two cupboards against the walls; on one side lay a straw-bed where he, his brother and sister and other children all slept, crammed up together, and on the other side there was the hearth. Still, even without proper hiding spots, his search has failed. But he had to find it! He had to try it!

Well, since it was clear he wasn’t going anywhere this rainy afternoon or evening, maybe today was the day to try again. His mother was out with the other females, preparing supper for the males, and he knew she wouldn’t be back for quite a while. Still, best to be on the safe side.

“Uldy, go and stand by the door, keep an eye on the street. If mother is returning, come quick and warn me.”

“Yes, Muwty. And then we’ll play after?”

“We will, Uldy.”

He normally didn’t go into the back part of the hut, the one behind the curtain, where the females slept. Why would he go there at all and what would he do? Absolutely nothing. He had peeked in once or twice at his mother’s spot and the other females’, but hadn’t seen anything interesting; just straw-beds and tattered, muddy blankets. So he had stayed away since. But now... yes, he’d go into the mother’s space. That was the only place left in the hut where the flask might be hidden. Which meant — it was time for action!

He pulled aside the curtain and stepped in. A wooden wall, windowless, blocked the far end. On both left and right side curtains hung from the ceiling to the floor, just like the one he’d slipped through. There wasn’t much room; he crossed the longer side in just four steps. Some light crept in from the front room, filtering through the cloth.

The only thing in here was her straw-bed, and just enough space beside it to squeeze through. On top of the bed lay a crumpled bundle; turned out to be a stained blanket and a tunic. Nothing else to find.

And he still hadn’t discovered what he was looking for. Where could the flask be? Well, the only place left was under the mattress. He lifted it a little. Nothing. A bit more, and still nothing. Then he lifted it all the way — lo and behold! In the farthest corner, where the wall met the curtain, a flat dark shape lay tucked beneath the straw-bed. The flask. And judging by the slosh inside — it wasn’t empty.

He grinned. He’d finally find out! He carefully unscrewed the cap and sniffed. Hmmm... In fact, he didn’t really like the smell. He frowned. But maybe the taste is better than the smell? He raised it to his lips and—

Fire! Flames! Burning!

Fire! Burning him inside! His tongue, the roof of the mouth, his cheeks and throat were all blazing. Oouuccch, this was just like the time he had stuck his hands in the fire to see what it felt like! Only now it was burning from the inside out! Aaaah!!! He coughed and clutched his throat. It burned! Then he spat, but his mouth and throat still sizzled. He shoved the flask closed and stuffed it back where he’d found it, then dashed out coughing. He ran past Uldut and bolted out onto the street. Still shaking, he kept on spitting around.

Blegh, blegh, blegh!

These grown-ups were completely mad in the head. How could anyone enjoy that? Mother can keep the whole thing; he surely wasn’t going anywhere near it again.

Waaateeer!!!

He sprinted towards the kitchens. They weren’t far, and there were always barrels or buckets of water there. He had to put out the fire that was still blazing in his mouth and throat! With big urgent strides he charged ahead and reached the kitchens in no time, bursting inside. Two cups of water went down in a blink; it had never tasted so good before. He took a deep breath. Ah, he felt better. Yes, he could go back now.

He stepped outside and made his way towards the hut. Oh look, it no longer rained! While running over here, he didn’t even notice that the rain had stopped in the meantime. He slowly skirted the kitchens and came round to the front, then slipped into the passage that led from the food-square to the huts. The square was already crowded, so it was best to run along.

“Aaah! Aaaaaahhh—” The scream ended in a choking rasp.

He spun around.

Males were pushing and shouting at the food tables where the females were handing out meals, right in front of the kitchens, and one of them, on the very edge of the square, had both hands clamped around a female’s neck, shaking her like a piece of cloth. He lifted her so high that her feet dangled in the air, and her head hung at a strange angle. Then he threw her to the ground and gave her one last kick.

“That’s right!”

“Kill heeer!”

“I did, ha ha ha!!!”

“She deserved it!”

The yelling and laughter grew even louder.

A figure with long black hair at the nearest table stood up and looked over toward the commotion; when he rose, he stood nearly a head taller than anyone else nearby. Oh no, it was Vurbag himself! A shiver passed through him, and he retreated one step into the space between the huts. That grim stare, those broad shoulders and the chieftain’s towering height always made him want to run and get as far away as possible. Vurbag was nearly as tall as those massive dark fellows who had come to the village last month. What were they called again... ah, yes, the Master’s Guard.

This was the closest he had ever been to the chieftain. No more than ten or fifteen paces separated them now, and from here, he saw the chieftain’s famous necklace better than ever before. He shuddered. No, it wasn’t just the chieftain’s size and strength that chilled his blood. Oh, if only he never came closer than this to the chief and if only Vurbag never got angry at him and if only his ears never ended up on that necklace! Rumour had it that most of it was made of human ears — cut by Vurbag from disobedient slaves, but some said that there were ears on it from their own kind — those who had been unlucky enough to get on his bad side.

He’d better get going. A small potato like him had better not get in the way of angry males. But... He stared at the crowd ahead. What had just happened? What was going to happen next? And why did that male kill the female?

“Hahaha, sorting things out, are you, Durug?” As usual, the chieftain’s voice roared like thunder, drowning out all other voices.

The male who had killed the female grinned. “Problem solved. One disobedient female less.”

“Hahahaha!”

“Well done Durug!”

“So the other females see and remember!”

“And you know what, Vurbag? This idiot was not only disobedient, she was useless too!” That came from the male standing next to that Durug who had killed the female. “She was already nineteen, and nothing. We’ve been fucking her for six years, and she never gave birth once. Barren, obviously. Just a parasite, eating our food and giving nothing back.”

Vurbag growled. “You dealt well with it! The females had better take her body to the wargs later!” With a flick of his hand, the chieftain slowly turned back to his table, and as he moved his glance brushed over the crowd and landed on him.

Oh, no, the chieftain was looking at him!

Vurbag’s mouth grinned, and he pointed a finger straight at him. Oh, was he going to beat him for something? He shivered all over.

“Kid! Remember! Everyone must do their part for the Master!!! The females must give birth to new warriors!!!” Vurbag lowered the pointing hand, but the grin and the look in his eyes grew grimmer. “Are you doing anything useful for the Master, or are you just useless?!"

Oh boyyyyy! He turned and ran as fast as his legs could carry him.

“Hahahaha!”

He kept running like crazy and didn’t stop until he reached his hut. But instead of going in he ducked behind the corner and, gasping for air, peered down the alley he’d come from. Oh, good, none of the grown-ups had followed. His heart pounded like mad, and his legs didn't want to move anymore. He slid down to the ground and leaned back against the hut’s wall.

Seven years old — and had he ever done anything that counted as doing his part? Done anything for the Master? No, he hadn’t. So, would someone twist his neck too, like they did to that female? Oh dear! A whimper escaped him. He wanted to live!

Klang!!!

He jumped, and his heart starting to beat faster again. Eyes darting, he looked around in every direction. Surely one of the grown-ups had followed him and now they would say that he was useless.

But the rustling came from the opposite side, and a chubby figure that waddled from the gap between the huts had four legs and was only half a foot long.

Damned rat!

Leaning back against the wall again, he took a deep breath. He’d have to be very careful and make sure the grown-ups never noticed he was useless. And most of all, he’d have to make sure he never caught Vurbag’s attention again.

Hands were squeezing his neck. Everything went black. His mouth was opening and closing, but it was no use — he couldn’t breathe. He heard a threatening growl. “Useless...”

He opened his eyes and sprang up with a cry. It was dark and he couldn’t see a thing at first. Quickly, he touched his neck. All was fine — no hands gripping him. And then he discerned the shapes of the table, the hearth, Uldut and Mazoga, and the other kids sleeping around him. It was night, he was in his hut, and everything was fine.

But a dream that stayed with him. He lay again, yet every time he shut his eyes, the weight pressed down on his throat again, and he found it difficult to breathe. Sweat broke out on his forehead. He was trembling.

He would be careful. Or at least, he’d try to make sure no one ever noticed he was useless. Maybe he’d manage to survive that way.

Shivers went down his spine again. Don’t think about the dream, Murtash. He forced his thoughts toward his wooden animals. Now he and Uldut had three of those, and he’d make more. And there was one other important thing he had yet to do — explain the real truth to that girl; he still hadn’t had the chance to do that. He’d have to go to the cage as soon as possible.

At last! After days of her absence, there she was: a pale, yellow-white speck in the grey murk of the cage, visible even from afar. Immediately, he quickened his pace.

The girl jumped and lifted her head. “You again. Hm.” She stood there, frowning slightly. “You’re really weird.”

Weird? Nonsense! He wasn’t weird. He was just a normal little boy. But who cared what she called him when she had such interesting things? This time, she had two wooden cows in front of her, not just one like the first time — those same skinny cows, with those strange long tails. Beside them stood three figures shaped like humans.

“How come you’ve got so many playthings? Where did you get them? Who made them for you?”

The girl picked them up from the ground and, holding them in her hands, stepped closer to the iron fence. He looked up, meeting her eyes. How strange her eyes were, such a light blue colour. The colour was... well, nice. The rest of her — not at all. Pale, scrawny, flat, ugly.

“They’re called toys,” the girl said calmly. “And, umm, a man who works with wood made them. He makes them for all children.”

“Carpenter,” he said, not looking at her but at her playthings. “We... I... we don’t have... that.”

How come the human children — slaves — had things that his people’s children didn’t have? It was supposed to be the other way around, since they were the masters. Shouldn’t they have more things, and better?

“Can I see?” he asked, eyes fixed on the wooden objects in her hands, and slipped his hands through the gaps in the mesh. He opened his palms. “I’d like to play!”

“I shouldn’t give them to you,” the girl said, but even as she spoke, she was already reaching out with her thin pale hands.

Luckily, all the items were small enough — just a bit bigger than his palms — so he didn’t have too much trouble getting them through the mesh. Oh! They were beautiful. The surface was smooth, and the wooden humans looked just like real ones. What he had made looked pathetic in comparison. What was that they said, that humans were lesser beings? Well, at least when it came to making playthings — they weren’t!

Sure, the cows looked even weirder up close; besides being too skinny, their necks were far too long, and the muzzles too. But no matter. You could play with them. You could make up stories.

He sat on the ground cross-legged, barely a foot from the fence, facing her. A moment later the girl sat too, in the same pose and facing him. Then she reached out her hand in a gesture clearly showing she wanted her playthings back. He would have liked to keep looking at them and play a bit longer, but... alright then, let her have them. He handed them back; she set them down beside her and leaned one of the human figures against one of the cows.

“This one is Brego, and that one is Arod,” she said pointing first at the animals, and then at the wooden man. “And this is Hama.”

He stared at her in disbelief. “You can give names to wooden cows? To something that isn't alive?”

Horses! Of course! He had seen them once; the Master’s Guards had them. Right, he wouldn’t forget the name of the animal again. And he’d definitely come up with names for his own wooden animals. They won’t be nameless and less worthy than hers!

“Maybe yours and mine could race,” she suggested. For the first time ever her lips curled slightly, and the small sound that escaped her mouth almost sounded like a giggle.

He began moving his animal back and forth in front of him, and she did the same with hers. A few times her movements were faster, and other times, his. The giggle grew louder — both his and hers. He felt so... at ease. Not a care in this world. He didn’t have to keep glancing over his shoulder to see if someone was about to hit him in passing or throw something at him. He could simply enjoy the playtime. Oh, it felt so good!

There was one thing, though, that wasn’t quite right. It would have been easier to play if the fence weren’t there.

At one point, during a short break, the girl looked at him closely. “You really don’t have any toys?” she asked, eyes wide in disbelief.

“Toys. This.” She pointed at the objects between them. “We call the things we play with toys.” She nodded a couple of times.

“What kind of word is that? And the ones from the last time too. You said some strange words then as well. What is that?” He leaned forward a little.

“We men have our own language. You can’t take that away from us,” she replied, lifting her chin and pursing her lips with pride. “We have our own stories too. We’ve kept them all in our memories.”

“All kinds. About Eru, who made the whole world, about how we men awoke and set out on our journey. About the far sea, heroes, kings, the Valar, and the stars in the sky. About the sun and the moon.”

Of course! What was the real reason he had come here? To teach her. Until this moment he was distracted by the game, but this was the right moment for explaining.

“They’re not wrong at all. You can check for yourself.” She looked at him with triumph.

He stared at her in disbelief. And stared some more. No, that couldn’t be. No. No way. It couldn’t, right? Old Mogra had told them many things about the Maker and the Supreme Master, but she had never mentioned any kind of glowing ball making the light. Did she ever explain why it was a little brighter during the day? Come on Murtash, remember quickly!

Hmmm... “Our Master makes the clouds a little brighter during the day.” He couldn’t remember ever hearing that exact thing, but hopefully it was a good answer. It had to be true, it had to! Their Master was all-powerful!

“Is that what they tell you? That’s really pathetic.” Then she tilted her head. “And have you ever watched the clouds at night? Ever noticed how every four weeks or so, they look brighter than usual? That’s because the moon periodically appears in the sky. It’s white and gives off weaker light than the sun, so there’s still darkness down here at night. And every four weeks it shines its brightest, and then the nights and the clouds are a little lighter than on ordinary nights.”

He leapt to his feet. “No! You’re wrong! And we’re not pathetic! You’re the pathetic ones, you and your lies!”

She remained sitting, calm and still. “Watch the sky at night,” was all she said.

No! He would not watch the sky. He would not doubt his stories. He would not doubt the Maker or the Supreme Master. And he certainly wouldn’t come to play with this troublemaking girl again. He turned and marched toward the village in big strides.

Her words echoed in his mind for a long time. Even much later that evening, when he lay down to sleep.

Beside him, Uldut had been fast asleep for some time. Mazoga too, and the other kids as well. But his eyes stayed wide open. What was it like out there? How dark were the night clouds?

No, he would not go out. He wouldn’t check. They were surely just as black as always. Black. Black is black.

Then he rolled onto his side. Then onto his back. Then his belly. His eyes wide open.

Blast it, this was the second wooden animal in two days that he broke during play. Oh well, he’d make new ones. This very afternoon, in fact.

He headed to the same place as last time to fetch some tying strips, to the clothing workshop. But this time dark scowling faces greeted him.

One of the females dropped the hide she was working on, snatched a rod from the table beside her and stepped toward him. He fled at once.

But he lingered just outside the workshop. He really needed those stripes — how could he tie the twigs together without them? He peered back in through the doorway. There was a heap of scraps tossed by the far wall, some thin strips among them. He observed them, eyeing the distance. Hm, at least ten paces. Could he dash in and get back out before the rod came lashing down on his back? Unlikely.

Just then, he heard footsteps and voices behind him. A group of girls was heading toward the workshop, carrying bundles of hide and fabric. He stepped aside to let them pass. The last in the line was also the smallest, and she walked with a strange gait. Almost like Mogra — limping to the left side, and even though she was clearly trying to bounce along to keep up, she still lagged.

The little girl paused, then stood on the tiptoe of one leg to make herself straight; the leg was a little shorter than the other one. She looked up at him over the bundle in her arms, lifting her head.

Ah, how good it felt to be taller than the one you were talking to! He even stretched himself up as tall as he could.

“See those strips over there?” He pointed through the open door, then turned back to her. “Can you bring me a few?”

She looked at him for a moment with her big dark-yellow eyes that stood out against her chubby face framed by her black hair, then nodded without words. Then she stepped inside.

He heard voices, rustling and footsteps, all mixed up. And after a moment, a shout.

A sharp whistle, then a dull thud — the sound of something hitting something else.

A moment later, the little girl burst through the doorway. In one hand she held a bunch of thin strips. On her other arm, across the forearm, stretched a long red line. Her eyes were brimming with tears.

Oh. The beatings hurt, he knew that so well. Poor kid. He didn’t mean for that to happen to her.

“Birta!!! Get back here!!! No one else’s going to do your work for you!!!”

She shoved the strips into his hand and ran off, and he stood watching after her for a moment longer.

“Um... I didn’t...” he mumbled, not even sure what he wanted to say. But she was already inside anyway, and could not hear him now.

The next evening, four new playthings stood in front of him: two horses and two riders. Granted, his weren’t made of a single smooth piece like the human girl’s; his were made of twigs — bent, joined and tied together. He also had a couple of fresh scratches on his fingers, for the knife would sometimes slip in the wrong direction. But in truth, it didn’t matter that his items were not perfectly shaped. They were still going to be brilliant for him and Uldut to play.

He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be doubting. Shouldn’t be checking.

But... the night before, when he had stepped outside, the outlines of the huts had been just a little clearer than they usually were at night. And the clouds, they had been... just a little, ever so slightly, almost indistinctly... but still, brighter than normal.

You imagined it, Murtash. Be a good boy. Clouds are black, and our Master is the one who makes them lighter in the day so we can see what we need to do.

But it was like he was burning inside, like his whole body itched. He clenched his fists. And... he went out.

Were the clouds above him black? And how was he even to describe black? Well...burnt wood is black. The hair of the little girl who had helped him was also black. Those big cooking cauldrons were black, too. But this above his head... wasn’t. This was... dark grey.

No! Maybe... maybe it was only a coincidence. Maybe this only happened now — some anomaly, who knows why — and it would never happen again. Yes, that must be it. Surely from now on, forever, the night sky would be black. Just the way it’s supposed to be.

Fine. He’d watch for it. The sky was going to be just as usual. And then he’d go back to tell her that she was wrong and that she had no clue.

Oh shit. If you’re the shortest in the group, that means you’ve got the shortest legs too. They’d smash him.

He didn’t attempt to flee. If he had come in last, there wasn’t much point in trying to get away now, was there? Maybe he could fight back. Maybe.

There were eight of them. Fight back, yeah, right. At best, he might manage to land one blow.

They all leapt at him at once, and in a single moment he was down — before he could even swing his fist.

He couldn’t see Sugrod — too many arms and legs than he could count held him down flat to the ground — but he knew that voice. That six-year-old had been in the race too, and even he had outrun him.

Shozrac growled. “Oh no you can’t. I suggested this. And I’m also practising for when I beat the slaves one day! I’ll beat him up!”

Night, four weeks later. Then another night, another four weeks later. And yet another, the same amount of time later. Just to be completely sure he’d seen it right. To be sure the thing really repeated.

Every four weeks, the clouds at night were just a bit brighter. Exactly like the human girl said they would be.

Never had he noticed it before. He hadn’t paid attention at all. On those rare occasions when he had been outside at night, he had never looked up. And why would he? But from now on? Now he’d always look. And wonder. What was it that lit up the clouds? What kind of white light? That... moun? What was it? What was it doing in the sky? Who had put it there? And why? When? How?

The search didn’t take long; it was enough to make just a few rounds through the female’s part of the village and around the kitchens. There she was! Mogra was carrying firewood. Her pace was slow, limping with every step on her left leg; each time her foot touched the ground her face tightened with pain, deepening the lines already etched there. The white hair on top of her head had thinned so much that he could see her scalp.

She would know, right? She was the one who told stories to the children. She was the one who might solve this mystery.

Should he turn and leave? That would be for the best. The explanation was surely simple and logical. Surely it was all the work of their Supreme Master who, for some reason, used his powers to light the clouds at night. And he was being a bad boy, listening to the slaves’ nonsense. Maybe the Master could even see him now, and he would punish him for doubting? Oh my... he quickly turned left and right, then behind him, and up at the sky. A shiver ran down his spine.

The old female turned. She stretched her neck and head toward him, her narrow eyes peering down along the slope of her hooked nose.

She didn’t answer right away, just stared at him. Her eyes squinted so tightly they appeared as narrow slits, and the wrinkles around them turned into deep furrows.

“An’ why d’ya ask, kid?” she mumbled. She now had even fewer of her black rotten teeth than the last time he had listened to her stories.

Now he didn’t answer right away. Ugh, what was he supposed to tell her? How to explain why he was asking? What if she told someone about it? Vurbag, for instance? What he was about to ask — it surely wasn’t allowed. If Vurbag found out about it, what would he do to a useless little boy?

“My mistake. I must have heard something wrong,” he said softly and lowered his head. Maybe he wouldn’t sleep because the not-knowing would keep gnawing at him.... but better not to ask Mogra anything else, because Vurbag must never find out. Nor any of the grown-ups. His heart started pounding. Yes, not knowing was better if it meant he wouldn’t get a beating. Or worse. Oh yes, he indeed wanted to keep both his ears. He shivered and turned to walk away.

He turned back to her. She was still watching him, and then stepped closer, until she was but half a pace away. Shifting the bundle in her arms and gripping it more tightly, she leaned slightly onto her good leg.

“Mogra’s never seen it, Mogra’s never been anywhere else. Only here in the village. But she heard stories from some men, the ones who went far and came back. Heard a few wowds, now and then.” Her eyes drifted into the distance, then slowly turned back to him. One of her eyes was bluish-grey and sightless. But the other one was bright like live coal, and fixed on him. Suddenly, he felt as if she could read every single thought in his head. He flinched and stepped back. "They say... the world is big. And far away, beyond our land, everyfing’s different. Mountains. Colours. Everyfing. No clouds. In the sky there’s a bright yellow ball during the day and a white one at night. They shine bright, especially the yellow one.”

She shook her head. “They say that all these stories come from our bitter enemies. You are too young for such thingf. They aren’t meant for small children. That’s why I... simplified it a bit. Later, when you’re older and ftart your twaining, then you can hear the real truth about the world.”

“No, no! I didn’t lie, juft didn’t say everyfing! Old Mogra meant well. Everyfing else I told you was true—”

He turned and ran, and didn’t stop until the huts were far behind him. Then he dropped to his knees, bowing his head. His body was trembling, and tears poured from his eyes.

He waited another four weeks, just to be sure, but deep down he already knew. The clouds would be brighter.

Well, that was that, then. The grown-ups had been fibbing, while up in the sky there really were glowing orbs lighting up the clouds from above. What were they and why were they there? If only he could find out more about them! What was it that Mogra had said, that they’d be told more about the world once they were old enough for training? But that wouldn’t be for another whole year! How was he supposed to wait that long?! He wanted to know now!

Maybe he could ask the girl... but he would have to be careful. He wouldn’t admit she was right. He’d pretend it was just some kind of general curiosity for their human stories. Perhaps he could say he simply liked listening to tales.

Just like some of the other times he had gone there, in the half-light of dusk he spotted her pale hair from afar at the usual spot, and other children playing among the distant huts. They were running, laughing, hiding, tossing those round things, holding other strange objects and swapping them.

He stopped to watch them — just as he had many times before. And just like each time he had been here, the thought came on its own: this kind of play was great. After this kind of play there were no bruises or bleeding.

At last, he moved toward the girl. She sat bathed in the glow of light pouring through the window of the little hut. She had a stick in her hand and was dragging lines in the dirt.

“Why aren’t you playing with the others?” He waved his hand vaguely toward the inner part of the large cage.

“Orc! What a surprise! It’s been ages and I thought you weren’t coming back!” she exclaimed, then stood up and walked to the fence. “You’re all black, I didn’t see you in the dark until you spoke.”

Black? His skin was light brown, his hair red-brown — meaning, lighter than most of his kind, and his clothes were grey and dark brown. Black? Nonsense! Aside from being a bit clumsy, these humans seemed to be neither good with colours.

“I am not black. And... what was that word you said? That’s not my name. My name is Murtash.”

“Orc. That’s the word for your kind, in our language. And my name is Melyth,” the girl said, holding her chin up high.

“I was, until a little while ago. But I like to draw, which I can’t do over there. They are all running around and I need a flat ground for drawing, where no one will trample over what I draw. So I usually spend some time with them and after that I come here.” She pointed to her drawings as she explained, then stepped right up to the fence. Mere two feet separated them — and a whole lot of steel. “How come you came back?”

“I... well... I wanted to see if you had new playthings. We could play again.” He pulled out two wooden animals from his pockets.

The girl watched him with a tilted head and raised eyebrows. “Really? Just for that? Only for that?” She paused, then spoke again. “You looked at the clouds, didn’t you?”

He lowered his head. If only he hadn’t! Back before he knew, the world had been much simpler. But now... He nodded, keeping his eyes down.

He sat down on the ground, and she did the same. For a little while, he just stared at the dirt before him, then at the steel mesh between them. At last, he raised his head and looked at her.

He nodded. The corners of her lips curled only slightly, and then she began to speak. About Eru and the making of the world. About the Valar and Morgoth. About some trees and a monstrous evil spider. The birth of the sun and the moon. By the time she fell silent, the clouds above had already turned dark, and his stomach was growling.

Oh... so many new things. Everything she told him sounded both mad and impossible, and it couldn’t be true. And yet... if she’d been right about one thing, maybe she could have been right about something else. And if... if the grown-ups had hidden one thing, was it possible they were hiding other things too?

He sighed. Something started pounding in his head. Shit. Oh yes, for the first time in his short little life, he understood what grown-ups meant when they complained of having a headache. But then he shook his head firmly. Maybe the grown-ups had lied about some things, but surely not about their Maker. This story he had just heard was far to crazy to be true. Now he’d explain her wha—

His head snapped up, and she swiftly turned around. In the window, backlit by the yellow glow from the hut, stood a female with her arms folded across her chest, watching them. A grown-up version of Melyth, it seemed: a similar narrow face and hair of the same shade, maybe just a touch darker. And almost the same... He squinted to see better. Yes, nearly the same blue eyes.

The woman looked at them both for a few moments longer, shifting her gaze from him to the girl, and back again. Then her eyes settled on Melyth, and she gave the faintest of nods. After that, she turned away, disappearing from the window without a word.

She nodded. For a few moments more she remained frozen and her eyes anxious. Then she took a deep breath, relaxing her shoulders slightly.

“Oh. Good.” She gave a sigh of relief, and then smiled and lifted her chin. “My mother is our leader.”

The girl bristled. “And why not? My mother is clever and capable, and everyone listens to her. My father often seeks her advice, and so does everyone else.”

He shook her head. How would he know? Moreover, he’d never seen a single male in the village with red-brown hair like his, and the village wasn’t all that big; he had probably seen all the grown males at least once. Then he shrugged; who cared, anyway?

“We live together in our hut,” Melyth went on. “Mother, father, and I, and... um, yes. But how come you don’t know? Doesn’t your father live with your family?”

He stared at her. This was getting weirder by the minute. A female chieftain, knowing who your father was, all living together... He shook his head. Unbelievable!

“What is this thing with you humans? How do you live? Why do males and females live together?”

Then she told another tale — this time one about families. About how males and females love each other, and how those who love each other live together, in their shared huts. There were no separate quarters for males and females in the cage.

“I see...” He kept staring a little longer, shaking his head and frowning. They love each other. Crazy. And yet, somehow oddly interesting. “Those old legends — did you hear them from your mother? Who did she hear them from? How old are they? How many are there? Where did they come from? You can’t ju—”

“So many questions! You’re a very strange little orc! None of the others are like you. None of your kind’s children have ever come close to us, let alone asked questions.”

Strange? Hm... no, he wasn’t. What was so strange about a boy trying to uncover secrets?

A sudden rustle. This time on his right, and coming from somewhere outside the cage. He quickly turned his head, and caught a movement in the dark. Oh no! Bared teeth, fur, a hulking shape. A warg! It was approaching along the fence.

What would it do to him? Was it hungry, so it would tear him to pieces and eat him? He sprang to his feet and quickly glanced around. Running surely wouldn’t save him. But he could climb the fence! It would be easy to slip his hands and feet into the gaps in the metal mesh, and the warg had no hands to climb so it wouldn’t be able to follow him up there. The beast was still at least twenty paces away. Far enough for him to scramble all the way to the top.

But only a moment later two overseers emerged from the shadows behind the beast.

A shiver ran down his spine. Oh no, what was going to happen to him now? He was in trouble. Big trouble. The worst kind. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Not even close. And surely, neither was Melyth.

That one time, some months ago, the limping stammering girl in the village got beaten because of him — because she had helped him. Poor kid. He wasn’t happy about that. And now someone else might get hurt because of him again. And no, someone else’s misfortune wouldn’t bring him any joy, even if it was some ordinary little human slave girl.

If only this was a dream. If only he could wake up. If only he could be anywhere else.

Melyth vanished in an instant, and he was left standing alone. The animal and the two overseers were drawing closer. Slowly. There was no need for them to rush; it wasn’t as if he could escape. And they knew it.

The beast’s jaws were open, teeth bared. The faces of the two males looked much the same. Their fangs might not have been as long as the warg’s, but their grins were no less terrifying. Even more, in fact. At least, with the warg, the worst that might happen was a swift death. The overseers could come up with plenty of things to do to someone. Fun things. Fun for them.

The warg circled round and came up behind him, so close that its wet snout pressed against his neck. Something sharp scraped his skin... Oh, teeth! He shuddered once more. The guards loomed above him, so he was forced to tilt his head far back to look them in the eyes. But he quickly dropped his gaze.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” The voice was soft. But that softness promised nothing good.

“Looks like a little pile o’ shit to me, it does,” said the other one, taller and broader of the two, rubbing his hands together. Male’s fists were massive; he could probably snap his neck single-handedly. He couldn’t stop staring at them. He swallowed, but the gulp caught halfway down. His heart was pounding.

“Well, little shit, what are you doing here?!” The shout cracked the air, and a blow smacked his head. He flew backwards. Aaaagh!!! It hurts!!!

The taller one observed the human settlement for a few moments. “I think I saw something else move when we were coming up. But I ain’t sure.”

“Nah. Even if there was someone there, they’re long gone. And by the time we got inside and searched, even more time would pass. We’d never find them.” The tall one leaned over him again, and he curled right up. His head still throbbed from the blow. Tears welled in his eyes, and he folded his arms over his head. And waited, trembling.

“I’m taking this little turd to Vurbag. He’ll give him a good lesson,” said the tall one.

“Yeah, Vurbag will have such fun with him,” cackled the first male. “But not before I do!”

The male’s boot struck his belly and he folded in half, gasping. And then he was yanked up roughly and slung across the warg’s back to sit in front of the tall slaves’ overseer. They took off racing toward the village.

Oh no! No!!! Vurbag. The chieftain. The one everyone feared. He’ll be brought to him. He shook all over, and tears poured down his face.

If only he fell off the running warg and snapped his neck in the fall. Yes, that would be the best! Quick and the least painful end! He tried to shift sideways to make it happen. But the iron grip holding him in place gave him no chance of escape.

If only he passed out... but that would only delay the inevitable, not prevent it.

The journey to the village was short, and the search for the chieftain even shorter; Vurbag was relaxing in the food square after the supper, surrounded by a loud crowd of males. They were sitting on benches and shouting, drinking some kind of booze. They hadn’t gone off to the females’ quarters yet.

The tall overseer threw him down like a sack at Vurbag’s feet. “We found this runt near the cage fence. No idea what he was doing there,” he reported.

He remained down where he fell, curled tight, and peeked through his narrowed eyelids.

There were many black boots in a circle around him. And everyone was laughing so loudly.

And then a pair of boots stepped forward, stopping just a couple of inches from his face. His mouth was dry as ash, and his heart thudded like it might burst. A massive hand closed around his neck like a noose and lifted him, and he came face to face with the chieftain. Vurbag held him in one hand as if not feeling his weight at all. Up close like this, he appeared even bigger.

He coughed and gasped for air. His body jerked. But the chieftain’s thick hand firmly held him pinned in place.

“What were you doing there, runt?” Vurbag asked slowly, almost lazily. One corner of his mouth twisted upward into a grin, revealing sharp teeth. The firelight from the surrounding torches gleamed in his yellow eyes. “Why’d you even go there, you useless little flea?”

Nooo!!! They will kill him!!! His heart exploded into wild panic, his cough turned into whimpers, and a stream of warm liquid ran down his leg.

“Hahahahaha!!!” Vurbag’s booming laughter drowned out his whine. He pointed at him with his free hand, extending his finger to show everyone. “Look! The little runt is so scared that—”

In that movement, the chieftain’s hand brushed his stomach — and not just the stomach, but also what was tucked against it. Vurbag stopped mid-sentence. His eyes narrowed to slits, and the grin vanished.

A moment later Vurbag yanked the playthings tucked into his belt beneath his tunic.

Tears blurred his vision, but he could still make out the chieftain’s eyes flicking between him to wooden animals, back and forth, back and forth.

“This is much more than just watching! You’ve been spending time with them! You’re acting like them! And you’ve got the same things they use!!!”

The noose of fingers around his neck tightened, and he couldn’t see any more. The world around him was turning black. He couldn’t breathe, the grip was too tight. His mouth opened, but in vain. And then he flew through the air, as if kicked out from a bow. He landed hard on his side and cried out.

A pair of heavy boots stopped once more next to his nose. And the scrape of steel told him that a knife had been drawn from its sheath.

Vurbag’s foot slammed into his gut, and the pain exploded through his whole body. “I’ll gut you whelp!”

“Or maybe I won’t! Maybe I have a better idea!” Vurbag grabbed him by the neck again lifting him off the ground, and his arms and legs were flailing in the air. “You will be spared for now but only because you’re a male! So you’ll serve the Master in war one day! But since you like the slaves so much you’ll work with them! You’ll be a slave! Until I decide otherwise!!!”

All around him was darkness, except for a narrow grey rectangle a little further away. He blinked. Oh, hut’s open door. A strong male hand clamped around his upper arm and dragged him out into the grey dawn.

The guy threw him to the ground, and the pain seared through his whole body. Whimpering, he glanced around. The world was blurry and twisted. He could only see with his left eye, because the right one was swollen shut; that whole side of his head throbbed with pain from yesterday’s beating. Oh, how was he supposed to survive this? Tears filled his one good eye.

“Ready to work, slave?” The overseer cackled, then kicked him hard. He doubled over, gasping for air. “This is your everyday routine from now on. We come for you at dawn, and you’ll work till dark!”

He spent the entire day working in the fields, with only one short break. Humans were around him — adults and children. The overseers rode their wargs and supervised them. And used their whips to quicken anyone they thought didn’t work hard enough or fast enough.

Vurbag’s whip frequently landed on his back. Oh, how it burned! It hurt! Not just where the whip struck, but his whole back.

Actually, not quite the same. This day was even worse. Each and every muscle in his body screamed after the previous day of labouring. Every movement was an agony. Oh, he’ll certainly die today, no way he could survive this...

He flinched. A few steps to his right there was Melyth. He saw her from afar, both yesterday and earlier this morning, but didn’t notice when she got close to him. She kept on working with her hoe while watching him. He quickly looked around. No overseers nearby. Good, they wouldn’t catch them talking.

So, he looked awful? Well, he certainly felt awful. As if... as if a band of trolls had trampled him.

“What they did to you...” She paused and motioned toward his head. “And making you work with us... that’s a punishment? Because you played with me?”

She went quiet for a moment, working steadily and watching him. Her expression was grave.

"Melyth!" The angry exclamation came from the nearest human male, followed by a string of sharp words directed at her. Those closest to them, grown-ups and children, were glancing in their direction.

The girl raised her head high and simply waved her hand dismissively. Then, still not looking the least bit frightened, she turned and looked at everyone nearby.

The man said a couple of more words to her — the voice sounded like a warg’s growl to him — and resumed working.

“Uh, umm... I didn’t understand. What did you mean, that first thing you said to me?”

“Sorry. That?” When he nodded, she pursed her lips. “Right. You don’t even have that, do you? You orcs don’t care for anything or anyone. But you...” She fixed those bright blue eyes on him. “You might understand it. Yes. After all, you did warn me that day.” She paused, as if searching for the right words. “When you’re sorry about something, it means you are sad that it happened. That you wish it hadn’t. That you’d want to change things.”

He took a deep breath. So, that’s what it was. Sorry. How... unusual. The girl was sorry they’d done this to him? Meaning, she was sad about it? Huh!

No one had ever been sorry for anything that happened to him. Quite the opposite. The boys in the village enjoyed torturing him, especially Shozrac.

Strange... and interesting. If they had caught the girl the other day, back when they caught him... yes, he would be sorry. Her being in trouble would not have made him happy in the slightest.

And that little lame girl in the village, a couple of months ago... she helped him and got beaten for it. Back then, he hadn’t had the words to express what he felt. But this was it. He was sorry.

“Why are we doing this? Why are we digging and making these holes and turning the earth over?”

They’d been doing it for days now, and it didn’t seem to have any clear purpose to him. Some other tasks did make sense — like picking fruit and vegetables, or slaughtering animals. Every two or three days, carts full of meat, vegetables, and potatoes were sent to the village, just like they always had as far back as he could remember; the only difference was that he used to be there in the village and see the carts arriving, and now he stood here with humans and watched them leave. But this digging of empty fields...?

“The soil must be prepared to sow wheat. That’s what we’re doing now,” answered Melyth.

A few children and grown-ups standing nearby gave him quick glances, but then just looked away and continued to work. The only one who kept looking at him was Melyth’s mother.

“Well, well, interesting,” she murmured so quietly he barely heard. Her face looked thoughtful. “A curious little orc.” She studied him for a while, then started explaining how soil had to be prepared, why it was necessary, and how wheat was eventually sown. They kept working the whole time she spoke; had they stopped even briefly, the whips would have come down on them. When the overseers approached once, she went quiet, and resumed only when they moved away.

So, that’s how it was. It wasn’t all the same, but it had to be done in a certain way. Interesting. And then, at the end of the whole process, there would be wheat.

In his old life, yes. But now he knew just how much work went into getting that food.

The females of his people did some things with food — they had to cook or roast it. But that was all they did; they didn’t produce it. And judging by what he had heard and seen day in day out, producing food was... well, pretty complicated.

And not just complicated, it was a lot of work! “Wait a moment — we have to dig up all that?!?!” He stretched his arm out toward the south and gaped. Sure, he had always known that there were wheat fields south of the village and the cage; which kid didn’t? Maybe just the smallest ones who didn’t know anything yet. But that the fields are this vast?! They stretched out before him as far south as the eye could see.

“Not all of it. Some of that’s grazing land for the livestock. But yes, most of it needs to be dug up.”

Some of the work was done by oxen pulling strange contraptions with metal and wooden bits jutting out in every direction, and the rest was done by them — the slaves. One step, one swing of the hoe. Step, swing. On and on for hours.

A crack of the whip, and just a heartbeat later an explosion of pain across his back.

And yet, as hard as it was, maybe there was one good thing about all this. He was working. He was contributing. Hopefully no one would call him useless now. Hopefully no one would want to kill him now.

“Muwty! Why were you away for days? I want us to go play at our place in the woods!”

He sighed. He’d just returned to the hut; every evening, he followed the overseers and dragged himself back to the village, and then he just collapsed on the blanket and remained there. He had no strength to move even a finger. Not even to eat dinner. And the little one was kneeling beside him with a grin on his face and shook him by the shoulders.

He sat up halfway and leaned his back against the wooden wall, taking a half-sitting position. The hut wasn’t empty; other kids were running around the table, and two of them were chewing on their dinner bread. Too many ears around. But he really didn’t feel like going outside.

“Uldy, what I’m about to tell you, none of them can hear it, and you must remember it well,” he whispered, motioning toward the other kids.

Uldut’s face turned serious. The little one stared at him with wide eyes. “Yes, Muwty.”

“You must never, ne-ver, tell anyone about our playthings. It’s not just that the other boys would take them from us. The grown-ups get really angry about it. Really, really angry. They found the playthings on me, and I was punished. Now I have to work with the humans like a slave. That’s why I’m not around during the day, and I won’t be for a while. And if they ever found our playthings again, they’d surely kill us.”

Uldut opened his mouth, but didn’t say anything, just closed it again. And then again. Then he shook his head a little and frowned.

Good question. Even if the things they used for playing looked like the ones the humans did — what was so bad about playing? They were just kids!

Oh, how different it was in the human world. Human grown-ups didn’t beat or kill their children for playing. Such a... such a good world. Maybe... He looked his brother in the eyes. “Uldy, when we grow up, we won’t punish kids for wanting to play like they punished us, deal?”

“But no one will see us in the woods. We can play there, right? We go? We go now?”

He whined. “Tomorrow, Uldy.” Hopefully he’d find the strength tomorrow. He’d try. “I’m just so tired. There’s so much work.”

“Oh.” Uldut’s sigh was full of disappointment. Then he looked at him with curiosity. “So what do you do there?”

He sat back up and gave a brief recap about the fields, the barns, and working with animals — taking them to pasture, cleaning the stables, and so on. Uldut listened and nodded, occasionally asking more questions.

He grinned and looked at his little brother proudly. This he knew! Time to look smart in front of someone.

“When a female’s belly grows, it means there’s a new baby inside. So she’ll give birth in a while.”

Uldut gaped. “So that’s it! I hope it’s a bwother and not a sister!” he burst out. “Then when he grows a little we’ll show him our pla—”

“Uldut!” He grabbed the little one by the shoulders and covered his mouth with one hand. Quickly, he glanced around at the other kids. Whew! They were still running around the table, paying no attention to the two of them, so they surely hadn’t heard anything. “They must not know, remember?”

“Oh yes, Muwty.” The little one lowered his head and eyes. “I won’t anymore. I’ll be careful.” He sat like that for a while, staring into space. And then a squealing blur crashed into him.

One of the girls running around must have slipped, and her impulse carried her straight into Uldut. The impact sent him slamming into the wall, while the girl tumbled off in the opposite direction.

Uldut jumped to his feet. “Stupid little thing! I’ll give her a good beating!”

Bumps, accidents, clumsiness. How many times had he seen those things happening when human children were playing, all those times he watched them? Plenty. And he’d also witnessed what came after. A hand offered. A shrug. Play continued.

But in their village? It never went without punches. Without blood. Punches... they hurt. They weren’t the best thing that could happen to you.

Well... one could certainly live without them. And he wouldn’t have known that if not for what he’d seen from the humans.

Crazy, right? Humans — the lesser ones. The slaves. And yet, some things he’d seen from them were alright.

“Uldut.” He pulled his younger brother’s arm just as he was already stepping with fists clenched toward the girl crying on the ground a few steps ahead, holding her knee. “Leave her.”

“It was an accident, she fell. She wasn’t mean to you.” He sighed. “Don’t go beating those weaker than you.”

He burst into laughter. “Haha, that’s not a good idea either, for obvious reasons!” Then he grew serious again. “How do you feel when someone beats you up?”

“Me neither.” He lifted his tunic and showed his brother all the bruises on his front, and then his back.

He nodded. “If we know how bad it feels when something hurts us, then we won’t make someone else feel that way. Not if they weren’t mean and it was just an accident. We’ll do what’s good, you and me together.”

Now Uldut’s face turned serious, too. “But how will I know what’s good?”

Hm, could he explain that properly? And after all, could he himself define that? He wasn’t sure... but after everything he had seen, the answer sort of came to him spontaneously. He took a big breath and scratched his head. “If what you do makes someone else hurt, then it’s not good. If you do something that makes them smile, then it’s good.”

Uldut brightened at those words, eyes wide. “Okay Muwty. You are my big bwother and you know everything. And you can make those— umm, play, and you know lots of stuff. I’ll listen to you.” The kid grinned and gave him a body-squeeze.

They spent another ten days digging through the southern fields, and then finally reached the edge of a grassy plain that was clearly untouched. He grinned cheerfully. Finally, the digging was over!

Except it wasn’t. They also had to keep digging north of the river; some grain fields were on that side.

“The cultivated area up there is a bit smaller, and part of it has already been handled,” Melyth’s mother told him in passing. “We’ll be done in two or three days.”

Did that mean his work would finally be over? Would he be allowed to go back to the village? Well, he’d find out soon enough. Until then — work.

He resumed working. And while he was digging, at some point he happened to glance north, into the distance. Hm, what was that? Right at the edge of the horizon were some black specks. A lot of them.

Several nearby humans followed his gaze after he spoke, but none of them answered. They just lowered their heads and resumed working. One female shrugged at his question and shook her head.

“I don’t see anything,” said a girl standing close by, then returned to her digging.

He glanced around. Melyth and her mother weren’t far, but when he moved closer to them and asked them about it, it turned out they couldn’t see anything either.

But he wasn’t imagining it; something was there. Even the overseers were now pointing north. Interesting! So, humans see worse than his kind?

After a while the specks resolved into carts and figures on wargs and horses — broad-shouldered figures with massive arms, long black hair, and significantly taller than any male in the village. They all wore black, with a burning eye painted across the front of their leather armour. The swords hanging from their belts were probably longer than he was high.

The Master’s Guards! Those who served in the special units of the Master’s army, those who were the Master’s hand and voice and command across their land. The ones lucky enough to be in direct contact with him.

Now that he thought about it... yes, they arrived around this time last year, too. Though, back then he didn’t pay them much attention and only saw them from afar. Did they come in the years before that? Possibly, but those older memories were too hazy.

Oh, how enormous and grim they looked up closely! He shivered. All the humans pulled back and started digging farther away from the newcomers, and he hurried after them. But, interestingly, not even the overseers approached the towering figures. Vurbag was the only one who stepped forward — and even he walked slower and more reluctantly than usual.

A hand was gripping his neck, and the massive knife was coming down toward his ears. Vurbag’s grinning face hovered over him, while the sinister necklace swayed around his neck. “I need more trophies! I want it even longer and bigger!” The crowd around them roared. “Slay that useless little parasite, Vurbag!” The chieftain laughed even louder. “Hahaha, I’ll take a trophy!” Then Vurbag’s face turned serious and he leaned closer, so close that the chieftain’s head filled his entire field of vision. And then it flickered and started to change, and the whole Vurbag’s head morphed into a single, blazing eye. “Useless parasites have no right to live!!!” The voice was deep and booming, and it shook him to his bones. No! He wanted to live! But the blade touched his skin and cut—

He jolted upright on his bunk, gasping for air. He was surrounded by darkness; it was night. Tears were streaming down his face and his whole body was shaking. It wasn’t the first time he had had this dream, and during these first moments upon waking while the experience was still fresh and real in his head, each time — just like now — his hands would instinctively fly to his ears, to check if everything was alright with them.

“Too small ears, a lousy trophy,” Vurbag had finally said that night a month ago. Well, at least for once being small was an advantage. But he hadn’t gotten off without punishment, because Vurbag had thought of something else. He touched the scar on his forehead, where Vurbag carved the mark “slave” with his knife; he’d carry it forever, and forever would be mocked for it.

He lay back down. The heartbeat slowly returned to normal. He sighed and closed his eyes. Hopefully, the dream wouldn’t come back tonight.

From early morning the slaves were loading the wagons brought by the Master’s Guards — with grain, dried meat, fruits and potatoes. There were dozens of large carts, yet no matter how much they loaded, the mountains of food waiting to be moved didn’t seem to shrink.

Around midday it was time for a break. Holding a small bowl, he slowly walked with the humans towards the spot where the overseers were handing out meagre meal portions.

“Oh no you won’t! You haven’t done no work. I saw you! No food for you today!”

He jumped back just in time to dodge another lash; one thing he had learned quickly was how to read an overseer’s posture. So this time he avoided getting beaten, but he was still hungry, and the thirst was even worse. He moved away from the overseer, sat on the ground and looked around. There was nothing. No puddle, no juicy piece of fruit that might have rolled to the ground by accident, and no bucket — not even one filled with muddy water for animals.

A group of humans was sitting a few feet away, eating; mostly grown-ups, and only a couple of older kids. Melyth’s mother was among them, and a few others he’d come to know these past few weeks. She sat tall and straight, back unbent and head held high, watching him. Then she stood up and, carrying a mug in one hand and something else in the other, walked in his direction. She stopped only two or three paces beyond the circle of humans and looked at him. She didn’t say anything, just gave him a long, solemn look, and silently placed the items on the ground. She nodded at him gesturing toward the items on the ground, and walked back to her spot.

His heart leapt. Could it be...? Is it possible...? Oh, if only it was... He stood and stepped toward it, his stomach growling louder.

“Elwyn! What do you think you’re doing?” The shout came from somewhere within the group. A male jumped on his feet and waved an arm toward Melyth’s mother as she returned to her place.

She shrugged. “Isn’t it obvious? The overseers didn’t give the child any food or water, so I did. Just like I always do when any of us is denied a meal.”

He slowly continued forward, toward the bowls she had left on the ground. What are they saying? Hopefully they won’t shout any louder. It wouldn’t be wise to draw the attention of the overseers, because now that the Guards were here, they were even more irritable than usually and beat them even harder. He glanced over his shoulder. Two or three of the overseers had looked over toward the humans, but they turned away and resumed their own conversation; hopefully they were far enough not to notice anything unusual.

“Have you lost your mind?! He is one of them! An orc! That’s not a child but a monster! One who’ll be whipping our children one day just like his kind whips us now!”

“Maybe. Or maybe he’ll grow up to be a leader who remembers what was done to him and chooses to act differently from their current leaders. But what matters far more is this: if I ignore someone in need, then I’m no better than them. The worst kind of filth. And that will never happen. Never, ever. One day, when I stand before Eru, my conscience will be clear.”

Her words sounded strange and foreign to him; he couldn’t even tell where one ended and another began. But some things made perfect sense. The male’s face was almost as red as his hair, while her voice was calm and her face composed. She made a simple gesture, and the man sat. He kept on muttering to himself, but didn’t say another word to her. The others went back to their meals.

How insane and amazing at the same time! A female chieftain! Just like Melyth told him. A leader who is obeyed. Although... although she didn’t yell or strike anyone like Vurbag did.

But who cared any more if humans were weird for having a woman in charge! He stepped up to the bowls. Oh! One had water in it, the other bread and cheese. Not much of any. But it was there. For him?

He looked up. Melyth’s mother sat about twenty paces away. Her head held high again, hands folded in her lap, face serene. She looked to the sky for a moment and her lips moved in some silent words, and then turned her gaze back to him. Her lips curled into a soft smile, and she nodded.

They disappeared in the blink of an eye; it was only a couple of gulps and bits after all. But — several gulps and bits more than his own kind had given him.

He licked his lips, searching for stray crumbs, and looked her again. She was also watching him. Serious and thoughtful. Should he go to her and say something about what she’d given him? Yes, definitely. But what? How to tell her what he felt? He was... happy? Sure, but it wasn’t the right word. Satisfied? The same thing. He couldn’t express himself.

He jumped up and rushed to join the group of children, and resumed digging. But he couldn’t stop thinking about her glance, her smile, and how she left the food and water for him.

He got help when he needed it. Just like that. For no reason. Just like his people handed out punches. And the help came from a human female. Hmmm... Well, if he had to say whether anyone had ever done anything kind for him... yes. One of the humans had.

“My mother always does what’s right,” said a familiar voice. Melyth was digging just five or six steps away. She was watching her mother, who was working a bit farther away with other grown-ups, with clear admiration in her eyes.

Her expression changed instantly. She looked at him, frowning. “Come on, orc, you’re not that stupid, I don’t have to explain it to you.”

“Uh, right, um... you don’t.” He shook his head, thinking. What she’d just said gave him an idea for another question — a chance to check if he’d expressed himself right a couple of days ago. “How...?” He hesitated, looking at her. “How do you know what’s right?”

“You idiot, don’t just stand there but work, they’ll beat us both if you don’t!” she hissed, and he quickly started moving. She looked straight ahead, but continued speaking. “It’s simple, orc! If you do something that makes someone else feel bad and suffer, that’s wrong. If you do something that makes someone else feel happy and good, that’s right! But you already know that, don’t you?” She turned her head to face him. Her hands kept on working, but eyes locked onto his. “You know, I told my mother that you had warned me that day. You didn’t want the overseers to see me and you warned me. You did something good for me. You did what was right.”

Well, yes, he had done something right, and explained it well to Uldut. He slowly nodded. It felt good to hear the confirmation. And yes, it certainly felt good, for example, to do something nice for his brother — to make the kid feel good. That kind of thing always made him feel good, too. And the other thing? Hurting someone, just for the fun of it? Hmm... there was nothing special about it. Though, if he could hurt Shozrac, or any of the boys who used to beat him, or Vurbag, for revenge — well, that would be a different thing. It would be great and it would make him feel excellent. He grinned at the very thought of it. But as he was still a scrawny little kid, that wasn’t going to happen. He sighed. Perhaps one day.

“Your mother... She helped me back there. Tell her I’m... I’m...” He paused. The feeling was there, inside him, but what was it called? What was the word for it? There wasn’t any. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Opened, closed.

“The feeling when someone does something good for you, and you feel nice and you feel warmth and liking for that person?”

“The word for that feeling is thanks. You say ‘thank you’ to that person.”

“I will.” She was quiet for a few seconds, and then spoke again after a few of swings with her hoe. “Murtash?”

Doing something for someone. Giving someone something. Just like that. For no reason. What did it look like?

About five months ago, that girl, what was her name... ah, yes, Birta. She brought him some of those ribbons when he asked. And she got beaten for it. So maybe he could do something for her. To show that he was... hm... thankly for what she did.

When he returned to the village that evening, he didn’t go straight to his hut. First he headed towards the storehouses next to the kitchens. The females would surely be busy preparing supper, and he’d be quick; by the time they notice him — if they even do — he’d be on his way. Besides, his shorts were loose and had deep enough pockets, and he was skinny. There’d be no bulge. And no one would notice that three small apples were missing.

One for him. Surely, he wasn’t going to skip himself? Another for Uldut; he really liked the kid. And the third apple — for Birta.

Uldut gave him a body-squeeze and a wide grin that didn’t leave his face even long after the fruit was gone and the sticky juice on his lips had dried.

Then he left their hut. Yes, he was half-asleep on his feet and just wanted to flop down on his pallet. Should he look for Birta tomorrow? But he’d feel just as crushed tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. So he went.

He passed several circles between the huts in the females’ part of the village, then around the kitchens and the workshops. And luck was on his side. Several grown up females and girls came out of one workshop, each going their own way. One black-haired girl was limping on her left leg.

The girl stopped and eyed him warily, side-on. One of the grown-up females also glanced back, but after telling the girl to hurry home, she walked away. He looked around himself; no one else was paying them any attention. Then he reached into his pocket.

She lowered her head and shrank, looking even smaller. She didn’t reply anything, and a moment later she started crying.

Oh. He didn’t mean anything bad by it, he was just curious why she talked like that. But it seemed he wasn’t going to find out.

She stood there for another moment watching with uncertainty, and then finally took the apple. Straight away she bit into it, and a few moments and bites later, her hand was empty.

“It was g-good.” Then she looked over her shoulder towards where that female had disappeared. “Mother w-will b-beat me if...”

The last glance she cast over her shoulder as she walked away was a bright one after all, and her eyes seemed to glint. And he caught a shy little smile, even as she was already turning her head away.

So then... Doing something for someone. Giving someone something. Just like that. For no reason. What did it feel like?

Two days later all the carts were loaded; they stood lined up on the clearing between the village and the cage, ready to set off. He thought they looked as if they’d burst under the weight, so many sacks were piled one on top of another, spilling out on the sides. The horses, harnessed to the wagons, snorted and stamped their hooves. Most of the Guards were already seated atop the carts, slowly guiding them towards the river crossings north of the cage, where the water was shallowest; only a handful still wandered about, checking if everything was in order. Some of the overseers stood around observing the caravan as it prepared to depart, and he stood just a little further away, next to the warg enclosure.

So much food! So many barrels! Yes, he had overheard that many more of his people lived far to the north, but...

“Where is all this going? Where exactly is that north? How far is it? Why is all this being sent away?”

Oh! How careless — he’d asked the questions aloud, unnecessarily drawing attention to himself...

The overseer stepped towards him. “Think you can slack off, kid?! Go find something useful to do before I get my hands on you!”

He turned and fled. But the overseer gave up after only a few paces — clearly not in the mood to waste energy on running. So he stopped, then peered out from behind the edge of the warg enclosure, and continued to watch from there.

“I heard you asking. Don’t you know? Our land stretches for hundreds of miles. In every direction. And the Master lives in his massive fortress more than a hundred miles to the north.”

He jumped, his heart thudding. That was another overseer who appeared beside him, and he hadn’t even heard him! Still, though this one growled as well, at least he didn’t immediately swing his fist unlike the previous one.

Which didn't mean that the overseer wouldn’t think of it only a moment later. He backed away a few steps, just to be at a safe distance. “The Master needs... all this?”

“By warg’s balls, kid you’re so stupid! It’s not all for the Master! You don’t think he’ll eat all of this himself, do you?!” The overseer leaned a bit towards him, a fleck of spit flying from his crooked teeth as he shouted. “Our army needs it! Our warriors up north and west are fighting the humans! This feeds them so they can keep fighting the enemy! Just the way you gonna do one day!” The overseer leaned a bit closer and started to walk toward him. And for every male’s step, he took one back. “Humans are evil. They want to wipe us out and take the whole world for themselves. And they want to kill our Master! So we have to kill them first! They’re all so, so wicked!” The overseer stopped and pointed towards the stables; his other arm moved instantly, landing a whip blow over his shoulder. “Now get to work! Be useful! Go clean the stables!!!”

He bolted for the nearest one, fleeing from more strikes. Yes, yes, he’d make sure not to be useless! But once inside, he didn’t get straight to work. He paused and started thinking. What the overseer had said... hm, it wasn’t exactly—

“Barely acceptable. A bare minimum. I expect an improvement next year,” said a deep, powerful voice.

He froze mid-step, then quietly turned and crept back towards the stable door. Holding his breath, he peered out. To the right, the way he’d just come from — nothing. To the left, near the cage fence, stood one of the Guards, and Vurbag next to him. Only one other overseer stood nearby, perhaps ten paces behind the chieftain, and apart from those three, no one else was in sight. The big one towered over Vurbag by nearly a full head.

“I don’t care! I gave the orders and they must be fulfilled!” The voice echoed, and Vurbag took a step back.

He absolutely shouldn’t be here, listening to this conversation. If Vurbag found out... a knot formed in his gut. What would he do to him? He’d kill him, without a doubt.

“In the end of winter you’ll send one hundred human males to Lugburz. The Master needs them to build new roads.”

“One hundred?! But that’s the tenth of all the males! How are we supposed to produce—”

The Guard’s massive hand moved in a second and landed a heavy, dull thud to Vurbag’s chin; it sounded like a full sack slamming to the ground. Vurbag staggered. Somehow he managed to stay on his feet, but didn’t strike back.

“Complaints and insubordination not permitted! Figure it out!” the Guard growled. “You’ll get them back in half a year.” A low, guttural chuckle filled the air. “What’s left of them. Hahahaha...”

The Guard then turned and left, while Vurbag slowly pulled himself up, clutching his chin and stomach. Oh, he definitely, definitely, definitely wasn’t supposed to see this. For witnessing such humiliation, Vurbag would surely slice off his ears first, then every finger and toe, then his arms and legs. And probably make a stew out of his bits in the end. He shuddered. His body remained frozen in the same position, but now he just tilted his head perhaps an inch back. If Vurbag looked this way, he’d no longer see his head poking out.

"Aarrghhh!!!" A furious roar, followed by heavy blows. First, second, third... tenth. What was happening? He peered again.

The other overseer, the one who’d been nearby from the start, now lay crumpled on the ground, Vurbag raining fists and kicks all over him. Then the chieftain finally stopped.

“If you ever tell anyone he hit me, I’ll kill you on the spot!!! You understand?!?!”

"And one more thing! Round up fifty humans tonight! Young, old, males, females, I don’t care! Bring them to the village! And get the whips ready! Someone has to pay! I wanna have some fun!”

Then he turned and marched off, disappearing from his view, and the battered overseer eventually got to his feet and limped away. But he still stood there pressed against the stable wall in his attempt to blend into it and be invisible — long after both of them were gone.

It was such a relief to know he wouldn’t be the one chosen for Vurbag’s fun. And it was even better to see him humiliated.

But... wait. He remembered what he’d overheard just then. What he’d learned, what he’d heard... It wasn’t quite true, was it? It wasn’t right. “Humans are evil,” the overseer had said. But... were they really? Maybe. If the grown-ups said so, then surely it must be true, right?

Except he had seen otherwise. Experienced otherwise. He was hungry and thirsty, that day. His people left him without food. His own people. And who gave him food and drink? One of the humans.

First Mogra, and now this male. The grown-ups... they said strange things. Things that... He frowned. Oh, how complicated it all was!

Winter, he decided, wasn’t entirely bad after all. He’d grumbled in the past because the light lasted for fewer hours in winter, so there was less time for running about and playing. But now the shorter daylight meant fewer hours of hard labour, and more of resting in the hut with his brother.

How much longer would this go on? There wasn’t the faintest sign of his punishment ending any time soon — not a single word. “You will be a slave until I decide otherwise”, Vurbag said that day. Nearly four months had passed. How much longer? Another month? Two? Five? But he dared not approach the chieftain and ask. If he drew attention to himself, who knew what fresh amusement Vurbag might fancy at that moment?

It was cold, and almost everything was in a state of dormancy. Yet the wheat was slowly growing. He stared at the small, tiny shoots. How? How would grains form inside them? By what magic? How?! How?!?!

“How does this plant grow?”, “How does that plant grow?”, “How do you grow potatoes?”, “How do you dry meat?”, “How do you store fruit?”, “How do you make beer and booze?”, “Why do you throw cow dung around plants?”, “How do you turn those plants with the big fluffy balls into clothes?”, “How do you turn sheep’s hair into clothes?”...

“How about waiting for me to finish answering a question before you ask another?” Elwyn would often say to him, laughing.

And sometimes... sometimes even other people, not just Elwyn and Melyth, answered his questions.

The other boys certainly didn’t doubt it. The other boys were... good boys, and the Master would be pleased with them.

But the other boys didn’t experience what he experienced every day. They didn't see. They didn’t know.

Oh, why did he doubt? He ought to try to become good somehow, so that the all-powerful Master wouldn’t discover his thoughts and punish him even worse than Vurbag could. But the world was so contradictory! A bunch of things he’d been told clashed with an even greater bunch of stuff he’d experienced.

Adult humans sometimes did it to their children, he noticed; the females rather more often, but the males as well. And males and females did it to each other, too. But not just any males and females, but only those who lived together. As a family.

“Ahem... Melyth. Er... what’s that thing when people touch each other with their mouths?”

Mouths were for eating, right? And for speaking, of course. And that should have been it. Done.

“Of course. You orcs don’t do that. I wouldn’t expect you to. You see, it is a kiss,” Melyth said and lifted her head high. “When you give a kiss, it means you love someone. It’s showing love. That’s what family members and friends do, yes.” She nodded several times, then puckered her lips and made a loud smack into the air before her. “There, that’s how it’s done.”

He blinked and froze, forgetting the hoe in his hands and the soil before him, and stood still for several moments. What?! If you loved someone, you wanted to touch them with your mouth? Nonsense!

What dragged him back to reality was a movement — a figure with a whip had clearly noticed his pause and was striding towards him. But the overseer was fortunately still far enough, and he jerked back to work just in time and started working faster than before. The overseer then evidently abandoned the idea of punishment, for he stopped and turned his attention elsewhere.

Well, alright, he certainly liked Uldut. But to go and... kiss him, like the humans did... not a chance!

He wasn’t entirely sure about the passing of time and hours, but it felt as though the days were becoming a little longer. Yes, it was still cold, yet he had the sense he was working slightly longer than a month ago, and that he was returning to the hut a touch later.

As soon as he stepped inside that evening, Uldut broke away from the other children and dashed towards him.

“Murty! There’s no new brother! We’re not going to give him— um, that, you know, our...”

He blinked. What...? How...? Ugda’s belly had grown so much these past weeks that only yesterday he thought it would burst. So how come there’s nothing now...?

“Mother started squealing this morning just after you left. She was there on her straw and the females from the hut went over to her. The squealing went on almost until lunch. It was impossible to stay inside because of the noise, we went out. You could also hear it outside. And then she stopped and then when it was all over one of the females came out. I asked if we got a brother, and she said no. That the baby was defective, those were her exact words, and that it dropped dead quickly after it was born.”

Oh, so that’s why. He shrugged. Ah well, there’s nothing to be done. No new brother to play with. No matter. They had been fine until now, surely they’d go on being fine. They used every scrap of his free time to play together, and they’d go on doing that and—

Hum, he had heard some overseers use that word for some seeds once and then they threw it away. So, the word could obviously be used for other things as well, not just for seeds.

Uldut stared at the floor for a while, eyes fixed on one spot, utterly still. Then he lifted his head toward him again.

He gawked at his brother. “Of course not! Where did you even get that idea?”

“Well, I, um... I don’t want to be dead. Like that baby. I wanna play with you lots more. And if I’m defective maybe I’ll drop dead tonight too.” Uldut’s voice trembled at the end, and he lowered his head. He looked as if he was about to cry.

“Come on, don’t worry! You got two normal arms and legs and a head and all. You’re fine, kid!”

The small face lit up at once. “Really? And you’ll keep me from dropping dead? I’ll always be good, you’ll see, just keep me safe!”

He smiled. Of course, he’d look after the little brat. He was quite likeable. And good, yes.

“Yay!” The kid bounced and gave him a body-squeeze. “My big brother, the best. I... to you ...um...” Uldut started stammering and fumbling.

“The word you’re looking for is thank. When someone does something nice for you, you say ‘thank you’.”

He watched human families every day, over there — inside and around the cage. And he saw the strength of those family bonds especially clearly on that stormy evening a few days earlier...

The storm with rain and strong winds had come suddenly, just before it was time to go back to the village. When the first heavy raindrops fell on him, he was at the entrance to the human cage because he had been helping to carry firewood inside. He looked about. One cottage had a little protruding overhang, and he quickly moved next to its wall.

The humans also poured into the cage, all at once, so even if he tried, he couldn’t have forced his way out through the mass surging inside. Around him echoed voices, pounding of many feet, shouting of overseers, loud bark of wargs who were driving the humans in, drumming of heavy rain, thunder and wind. Then, as the clamour began to ease, before he could even move, a loud “clang” came from the gate.

No! That meant his own kind were leaving! He bolted for the gate, bumping into humans who had come in last.

But a new thunderclap swallowed his cry, and the overseers were already vanishing into the lanes between the stables.

He stood staring ahead; all was empty now, no one in sight. Warg’s dung! What now? Plainly, none of the overseers had even thought of him in their hurry. He went back under the awning, though it was pointless now because he was already soaked to the skin after standing next to the gate. His clothes clung to him, his hair to his scalp, brow and neck. His teeth began to chatter, and he was shaking. Oh, how icy it was! He wrapped his arms around himself, but it didn’t help much.

Would he have to stay like this all night? Yes, for his folks would not return. And who knew when the rain would stop. Surely he’d freeze. He whimpered. If only he could curl up by a fire, dry off and get warm... But the hearth was in the village — as unreachable as if it was hundreds of those big miles away, not just feet. The only huts around him were those in which the humans lived.

And yet... He had already experienced their kindness. Received help. Uhm... Could it happen again?

He stood there thinking. Could it? Or not? He shivered again. Murtash, if you don’t move, you’ll only get worse.

Though he had only ever looked at Melyth’s cottage from outside the cage, it wasn’t hard to find his bearings. As he ran between the huts the downpour soaked him still more — if such a thing was even possible. But it was. By the time he reached his target, he felt as though he’d been dunked whole into their stream.

He opened the door and burst in, and slammed it behind him. Then he turned to the inside of the small cottage.

They all stared at him as though seeing an apparition — eyes and mouths wide, stunned.

The male whose name he couldn’t exactly recall, though he knew him by sight as Melyth’s father.

And there was also... also... an old female who... who had never been mentioned, who had never been in the field, of whom he had never heard! Where did she come from?! Now he was staring just as shocked as they were.

But he wasn’t paying attention to her, and his gaze was fixed on the old woman. Whaaat?! “Who are you? Where did you come from? How did you get here? Why have I never seen you? Where are you and what do you do all this time?”

Elwyn was the first whose fear faded. She narrowed her eyes at him, and studied him for a few moments. He shifted and stepped backwards, so his back touched the wall.

“We’ll come to that a little later,” she said slowly. “For starters, where in the world did you come from?”

“I was carrying wood into the cage when the rain started and then I took shelter under a roof and then all the humans ran inside and my lot shut the gate and forgot me. And I’m wet and cold and I wanted to get warm and dry so I came to you. And now... now I want to know who that is.” He pointed at the old female, then looked at her more closely. Her hair was grey, face deeply lined, and the shape of it...hum, actually, quite like the male’s, Melyth’s father. Yes, especially the cheekbones and square jaw. She must be his mother!

The old female still looked at him in fear, as did Melyth. The male’s face had taken on a stern expression. He straightened to his full height, brushing the cottage ceiling with his head, and his arms moved slightly away from his sides. The arm muscles bunched, and fists clenched.

“Renweard,” Elwyn called out to him in a calm, low voice. The male turned to her.

“If the kid speaks of this, we’re dead. Both my mother and us, because we hid her, and it won’t be a quick death. It is very likely that the orcs would then figure our they should search all the huts, and they’ll find our other elderly too.” The male’s voice was very low-toned, his throat bump bobbing as he spoke those strange, incomprehensible words.

“True. However... my heart tells me this kid is different. I’ll talk to him.”

“I know your instincts are rarely wrong. But this time the stakes are too high.” The male started waving his arms as he spoke.

“Just remember how he warned Melyth, and that was even before he had had a chance to learn things from us. I believe he’s even better now at judging what’s right.”

The only thing he caught was Melyth’s name. Still, it wasn’t hard to guess; the male was upset, and hostile towards him, while Elwyn was calming him. Yet after her last words — whatever she’d told him — the male lowered his arms and backed off a little. He was still frowning, but at least no longer looked so openly threatening.

Elwyn came over and knelt before him, so that their eyes were level. She looked at him in silence for a long time, head slightly tilted, never taking her gaze off him. He began squirming again. Why was it so hard to bear the glance of those blue eyes?

“You’ve surprised me once already,” she said slowly, and one corner of her mouth lifted slightly. “Will you do so again?”

What?! Well, these grown-ups were really crazy! His grown-ups, human grown-ups — no difference. All of them spoke incomprehensible nonsense! Instead of telling him what he wanted to know, she was adding new riddles.

“Actually, I think you will,” she went on. “And so, you’ll get your answers. But first, I must... plead with you.”

Oh splendid, now came another odd word — when humans used phrases from their own language. He rolled his eyes.

“You don’t know, do you? To plead means to request something especially politely, because it is deeply important or necessary to you.”

Uhm... whatever. Not that he really saw the point of that way of asking. He shrugged. “Alright then, just ask away.”

“I’ll plead with you never, ever to tell anyone what you’ve seen so far, and what else you’ll see and hear tonight.”

As if anyone wanted to hear about what happened to him! Ah, all right, Uldut did. But the others? No. Still, regardless of that, he will say yes. It was clearly important to Elwyn that he keep quiet. Elwyn — the one who had helped him more than once when he was hungry. Well, that was enough for him. Yes, he will do what she asked.

Now a genuine smile appeared on her face. “I thought as much. Very well, you’ll hear what you’re curious about. But first...” She stood up, still smiling. “Let’s dry you off before you flood our cottage.”

Oh! He’d forgotten entirely how soaked he was. Well, who would think of that after this unexpected discovery?! But now he looked down. A little puddle formed around his feet; the clay floor couldn’t absorb the water streaming off him quickly enough. He stepped towards the fire burning in the centre of the cottage — there was no proper hearth like in their huts — and came right up to it. Oh, it was so lovely and warm next to it. He could stay there all evening.

He looked about more closely. The cottage was tiny. There were straw mats along two walls, two shelves and a small side table against one wall, a few scraps of food on one shelf and some clothes piled on the floor by the remaining wall. And that was all. A small pot hung above the fire. He couldn’t see what was in it, but his stomach growled and his mouth filled with saliva.

There weren’t any big table or chairs; they ate sitting on the floor. But he was warm, slowly drying, and though he wasn’t quite full — there were just a few small potatoes and even less meat — at least his belly wasn’t empty.

He licked his fingers, then looked at the old female and back at Elwyn. “Who is she and where does she usually stay and tell me everything!”

Elwyn shook her head and smiled. “Curious as ever.” Then she grew serious. Melyth sat by her mother, watching her keenly, while the male and the old female sat a little further off, each on a separate straw mat. But they, too, were watching him and Elwyn intently.

Elwyn looked at him gravely. “Theodwen is the mother of my... ahem... my man. My partner. Due to her age and the issue with her right shoulder, she can’t work in the fields anymore. So she lives here and never goes out, and shares with us whatever we have. Your people are unaware of her. They think she died several years ago.”

Somehow, he expected a long story, but that was all she said. The explanation was short, yet packed with information and plenty for him to think about. He scratched his head, then shook it, and finally frowned. The old female was... well, plainly useless. If any of his own people knew about her, they’d throw her to the wargs — just as they always did with slaves when they grew too old or for some other reason unfit to work. And Melyth’s family fed her and sheltered her. Hmmmm...

Melyth’s father growled. But Elwyn’s expression remained calm. “Your people would certainly put it that way, yes. She doesn’t.”

“And you... For her to survive, you have to share with her what you have, and then you’ve less to eat yourselves?”

“But... why? If someone is, um, useless...” He stumbled on the word, saying it with difficulty, and quickly glanced to both sides over his shoulders and then behind him. “... why care for them and protect them?”

“Elwyn!” The male’s voice roared and rang in the small cottage with such force that he jumped where he sat. “Do you need more arguments and proof?”

Elwyn’s face was still calm. She exchanged a long glance with Melyth, then turned back to him. “Tell me, Murtash, is there a person — anyone at all — you’d like always beside you? To talk with? Be with? Even if that person did nothing else at all, only stayed with you? Someone you... love?”

He sat up straight and lifted his head high. “Uldut! My brother!” he exclaimed.

Elwyn didn’t reply, only leaned forward towards him, and looked at him with her eyebrows raised.

Uldut. That little nuisance. His baby brother, playmate, his shadow. Yes. He’d want the boy always there, even if somehow one day Uldut became useless to the village and to the Master. He would want his brother — his only friend — beside him. And yes, he’d share everything with him.

To share everything with someone dear, even if they were useless... Well, looking at things that way — no, it wasn’t strange anymore. Not in the least. Precisely because that person was dear to you. Because you... loved them.

“Er...” He drew breath, and looked at them all in turn. “I... I didn’t think of it myself. But yes... I understand.”

How many times had his whole world turned upside down since he’d come into deeper contact with the humans?

“You understand? And you won’t speak of what you’ve found out tonight?” The question came from Melyth’s father. The male watched him tensely.

He shook his head. “I won’t.” Why would he? The old female was obviously dear to them, just like Uldut was to him. Let things go on as before.

They were good to him, so he’d be good to them. What was the thing they told him? “If you do something that makes someone else feel bad and suffer, that’s not right. If you do something that makes someone else feel happy and well, that is right.” Yes, pretty simple. Besides, their misfortune wouldn’t make him happy in any way. Unlike, say, Shorzac’s misfortune.

“Thank you,” Elwyn said softly, and she and the others exchanged glances. They looked at one another and smiled, without words. Suddenly, it seemed to him as though they didn’t even notice him, as though he wasn’t at the cottage at all, as though they were in a world of their own.

And now that he thought about it… hadn’t he sometimes seen similar looks and smiles between other humans?

Yes, he had. They loved one another, and their shared affection brought them happiness.

A family, consisting of a mother and father, and other additional members. A very, very strange thing indeed. What would it be like to grow up that way? Who could tell. Still, Melyth had turned out all right — you could talk and play with her. And the other human children seemed all right, too.

He started, and then shook his head. What...? Ah, yes, he’d been explaining family to the little one. He looked at the boy and smiled. “Still, Mazoga is our sister. We’re a family. You feel okay with me?”

Uldut frowned a little, lips pursed as if thinking, and then broke into a broad smile.

“Okay, Murty. As you say. Right. You know everything and I’ll listen to you.”

The rags of Ugda’s space swayed and their mother emerged, holding a flask in one hand. He looked at her. Her hair was even more dishevelled than usual, sticking out like spikes. The big belly was gone.

She tottered a few steps towards the shelves on the far side, took a piece of bread, and started back. Halfway across, her gaze fell on the two of them.

On the next step she stumbled, and saved herself from falling by grabbing the table. Then she went on towards her pallet, chewing the mouthful of bread and washing it down with the content of the flask. The smell of it made it plain that there wasn’t water inside.

“Don’t pester me!” Ugda swung her leg and kicked her daughter; in doing so she lost her balance again, and this time didn’t save herself but crashed to the floor. Then she crawled on all fours into her space — still clutching the flask tight.

“Aaay!” Clutching her belly, Mazoga whimpered and sniffed, tears slipping from her eyes.

“It’s alright. Come here.” He held out a hand and nodded to her. Then she moved, but even when she reached them, she didn’t come very close. She watched him from the corner of her eye.

And then she finally took that last step and sat down beside the two of them. He patted her shoulder.

Pain burst in his belly. He was instantly awake. He jerked upright and tried to dodge the second blow. Not quite successfully; the overseer’s boot still caught him.

Clutching his stomach, he half-staggered, half-crawled a few steps. Several heads turned his way; the shouting drew the attention of humans who were slowly getting up to resume working.

The midday meal had been — like always — meagre. Yet even so, it had the effect meals often had: it had made him fall asleep. His head had drooped, and the guards had noticed.

Another overseer waddled over on his short, crooked legs. “The little stinking slave’s eaten too much and don’t want to work, eh?” bellowed the bow-legged one and cracked his whip.

Aah!!! He failed to dodge, and the lash bit into his arm and shoulder. He quickly lifted his hands to protect his head at least.

“Hah! No food for him next two days. Let’s see then if he feels like sleeping!” The overseer’s lips stretched from ear to ear, showing black rotten teeth. “And no bringin’ him to the village for the night so he can’t eat nothin’ at home either. We’ll lock him up here in the coop for the night.”

“Good idea, but you know what? Not in the coup, he could pinch himself some eggs in the mornin’. Better shut him in one of the tool sheds, no food there,” said the bowlegs and nodded several times; his expression showed he was very pleased with himself.

“Aaaye, that’s even better,” replied the first one, then turned back to him. “Now get back to work, little turd. We’ll put you away tonight.” A lash of the whip accompanied the words.

Oh no! Two days with no food. The words echoed in his head, and tears spilled as he worked. Two days! He had never been without food that long. Half a day — at most. How would he survive?

He laboured with blurred sight, unable to think of anything else. Two days. His stomach was already growling. What would happen to him after two days? Perhaps he’d even die.

If only he could find something and store it for later! But there was nothing nearby to serve as food; even the nearest fruit trees were too far off. And even if they weren’t, there was nothing he could do. The overseer was close and keeping an eye on him, and he would spot him wandering at once.

The afternoon dragged on, and in the evening they locked him up. He didn’t struggle, didn’t shout. It wouldn’t have helped even if he did. Just the opposite — it would only have earned him another beating.

The door clicked shut. He was in the half-dark, alone, hungry and thirsty. Tears welled in his eyes again.

There was hardly any space to move. Outside, it would have taken about ten of his small steps to cross each side of the square shed. But the shack was crammed with farm tools, coils of rope and baskets, and in the inside he only had a little space in the middle. He curled up, resting his head on a bundle of canvas bags, and stared ahead.

The evening passed quickly. The light coming through one tiny window soon faded. Darkness fell. And silence.

And not just that. Yes, he was alone. But... the timber around him was creaking. The walls, the shelves, the planks. Very softly, but still audibly.

Were they talking to each other? What about? Maybe about collapsing on him and burying him? So that no one ever found him.

Something began crawling up his leg and heading for his knee. He screamed and jumped, hitting his head on something above while at the same time slapping at his leg to kill the creature — a spider, cockroach, centipede, whatever.

When the sobs eased, he wiped his eyes and snotty nose on his tunic and rolled onto his other side. He lay with eyes open, though it made no difference from the moments he would close them. It was the dead of night and the blackness around him was impenetrable. The ground was stiff and cold.

Oh, to be on the soft straw pallet in the village, under a warm blanket by the fire! To be next to Uldut and listen to his cheerful giggle! Even Mazoga — noisy and screechy like all small children — would bee welcome company now.

Oh, how cold it was! He shivered all over. He pulled his knees closer to his chin and wrapped his arms around them. It helped — but only for a short while. Soon he was shaking again, and his teeth chattered.

And he wanted so much to keep playing with Uldut, to discover new stuff, and see many more days... but he wouldn’t. New tears streamed, and this time he wiped them on the sack under his head instead of his tunic.

He leapt up, bumping once more into unseen things in the dark and setting off a cascade of hoes onto himself. Yeah, there’d be new bruises tomorrow. He pushed the hoes aside to make some space and then, slowly touching around, unrolled the sacks. Four, excellent. One he spread on the floor. One he folded several times — that would be his pillow. And two would serve as blankets.

Oh, how wonderful to be wrapped up like that! The shivering finally stopped, and warmth slowly spread to the tips of the frozen, numbed fingers. It was... well, not as good as at home, but at least not as wretched as a few moments ago.

He dozed. Kept on waking. Rolled from side to side. The wood around him still creaked. Talked.

Was it plotting to kill him? Did wooden huts eat little boys who strayed into them at night, so no one ever saw them again? He didn’t know.

Vurbag loomed over him, pressing cold steel to his ears. He screamed. Then, panting, lay back. Just a dream; he sighed with relief. But he wept all the same. Alone. Scared. Hungry. Thirsty.

And maybe... maybe this punishment was the Master’s doing. Because the Master, being all-powerful, had seen into his mind and seen his doubts. And was punishing him for being a bad boy.

Perhaps it really would be best if he died tonight. He wasn’t worthy of the Master’s service anyway.

For a Better World by Ellynn