[Queen of Orcs 02] - Clan Daughter (14 page)

As soon as the mother uttered those words, Zna-yat, Kovok-mah, and the others drew their swords. “Stop!” Dar yelled. Her protectors froze. They were just an instant from launching their attack. “Muth la does not want urkzimmuthi to slay one another.”

The mother looked aghast at the scene before her. Her spouse’s sword was still halfway in its scabbard, while Zna-yat’s blade pressed against his neck. “Why do these sons obey you?” she asked.

“I am mother,” said Dar.

“Muth la guides her,” said Zna-yat. “We heed her wisdom.”

“No one fight,” said the mother. “I’ll return.” Then she reentered the hall.

As Dar waited anxiously, she tried to recall everything she knew about orcish courtesy and regretted that she hadn’t paid more attention to the subject. What little she had learned would soon be vital. Dar wondered how much would be applicable.

Before the mother returned, Dar noticed a small stone structure standing apart in the shadows. One side was open to display its contents—neatly stacked human skulls. The topmost layer was higher than Dar’s head, and she guessed there were hundreds, maybe thousands, of them. While Dar gazed at the gruesome repository, the mother emerged from the building. “Only washavoki will come inside,” she said.

Dar entered the building. Beyond the door were steps descending to a short hallway. She followed the mother into a circular room that was mostly underground. It was a hanmuthi—
hearth of mother
—like the one in the house at Tarathank, though its dimensions were more modest. A fire burned in a central hearth, illuminating stone walls pierced by low, arched doorways that led to small chambers. There was no metal chimney, only a smoke hole in the sooty ceiling. The doorways framed the faces of children and a few adult sons. Only mothers sat in the hanmuthi’s central room. Over two dozen were seated on the stone floor. One sat on a wooden stool. Her breasts were withered, her hair was white, and her face was wrinkled, but she looked vigorous and strong. Her pale yellow eyes gazed at Dar with authority.

Dar assumed the seated mother was the clan’s matriarch. She bowed her head and made the sign of the Tree.

The matriarch said nothing.

“Are not guests greeted here?” asked Dar.

“When mice come to take my pashi, I don’t greet them,” said the matriarch. “I kill them.”

“I’m not here to take anything.”

“You’re here to kill my children. That’s what washavokis do.”

“Twice, I’ve prevented their deaths,” said Dar. “You know this. I’m here seeking wisdom. It’s proper to greet me.”

The matriarch made a show of considering Dar’s response. At length she spoke. “I am Muth-pah.”

Dar knew that all clan matriarchs took the name “Muth.” The important thing was to be greeted. It was a vital first step, and Dar relaxed a bit once Muth-pah gave her name. She bowed again. “I am Dargu.”

“So weasel, not mouse, comes to my hall. Why?”

“I followed my chest.”

“Then you have little sense.”

“Velasa-pah told me to do thus,” said Dar, hoping the name would give her some advantage. “He said it would be hard.”

Muth-pah shot Dar a startled look. “Velasa-pah?”

“Hai.”

“Speak of him.”

“I met him near Tarathank,” said Dar. “He lived alone and was very old. He said he was born washavoki, but had Pah clan tattoo. Then he made magic using feathers. After we spoke, I never saw him again. If he had not given me food, I would have said he was vision.”

“You have visions?” asked Muth-pah.

“Hai.”

Muth-pah silently studied Dar a while before declining her head. “Sit, Mother,” she said. “Are you hungry?”

Then Dar knew she would live.

Dar awoke to the hushed sounds of the household rising. Sitting in Kovok-mah’s lap and enveloped by his arms, Dar feigned sleep. She wanted to sort out her impressions of the previous night before facing so many strangers.

Most of what had happened after Muth-pah called her “Mother” had been dictated by customs Dar only partly understood. First, Dar’s companions had been brought into the hall for a lengthy round of introductions. Dar’s empty stomach had grumbled while every adult member of the household addressed every guest and was addressed in return according to complicated rules of precedence. Dar tried to recall all the faces and names, but it was difficult. All the mothers’ names had ended with “pah,” which was their clan. A few of the sons had been members of the Pah clan also, but most of the males had possessed different clan names, indicating they were wedded to Pah clan mothers. The son who had threatened Dar at the campsite had been named Thak-goth.

The introductions had been followed by an even more lengthy discussion of kinship. The apparent objective had been to discover some tie between the household and the guests. This task had been especially difficult due to the clan’s isolation. Dar had thought she would die of hunger before Varz-hak established some tenuous connection to Duth-smat, the husband of one of Muth-pah’s granddaughters. Duth-smat was related to the entire household by marriage and Varz-hak had easily established his kinship to Kovok-mah, Zna-yat, and the two Tok brothers. Thus, everyone—except Dar—had been proven to be related.

Once the matter of kinship had been settled, food was brought out at last. Muth-pah served it in a formal meal where the guests ate while everyone else watched. Their attention had been focused on Dar, making her extremely self-conscious. During the meal, a sleeping chamber had been prepared. Like those in Tarathank, it connected directly to the hanmuthi. When her guests had eaten, Muth-pah rose to address them. “Share our hall as you have shared our food. Rest from your journey.”

That had been the signal for the household to retire. As sons had cleared away the meal, everyone else went to their sleeping chambers. The room for Dar and her companions was small, and if the orcs hadn’t slept upright, it would have been too cramped to accommodate them. Dar had climbed onto Kovok-mah’s lap. Knowing she was being watched, she had guided his hand to her breast to demonstrate her status as a mother.

While Dar recalled those events, the hall grew quieter as it emptied. After a while, she began to hear excited whispers that sounded very close. Dar cracked one eyelid and saw that the doorway was filled with children. One tiny mother wasn’t fooled by Dar’s squinting. “Washavoki is awake!” she said in a loud voice.

Dar opened her eyes and curled her lips into a smile. The children, who looked very young, shrank back while continuing to stare at her with a mixture of fright and fascination. They closely resembled human young, reminding Dar of the carvings of the playing children in Tarathank. Like those children, they were unclothed, despite the chilly air.

A mother shouted “Lanut Muth Dargui!”—
Let Weasel Mother be!
—and the children scampered from the room. Then the same mother disregarded her own directive and knelt before the low doorway. “Day’s greeting, Dargu,” she said. The accent of her Orcish sounded musical to Dar’s ears but made it difficult to understand.

“Tava,” replied Dar.

The mother smiled. “I’m Mi-pah. Our Mother says I’m your sapaha.”

“I don’t know that word,” said Dar.

“I will answer questions and show you what you wish to see.”

My guide
, thought Dar, and regarded the mother more closely. She was as tall as Dar, yet lacked a chin tattoo and breasts.
She’s only a girl!
Dar wondered why Muth-pah had chosen her. She could think of several reasons but was uncertain which was the most likely. “Are you sapaha for these sons, also?”

“Only you,” said Mi-pah. “Come.”

Though disconcerted to receive direction from someone Twea’s age, Dar felt she should obey. Besides, Mi-pah didn’t seem like a child. She displayed the confidence of an adult. In fact, she seemed more confident than any woman Dar had known.

Dar rose from Kovok-mah’s lap. He had remained silent and still throughout Dar’s conversation with Mi-pah. Dar found that puzzling, for she was certain he was awake. As she followed Mi-pah out of the hall, Dar glanced back and saw that Kovok-mah was already on his feet.
He’s been acting differently ever since we got here. So have the others.
Dar guessed the change reflected a deference to the Pah clan mothers—deference that apparently extended to one as young as Mi-pah.
They’re real urkzimmuthi mothers. I’m only a washavoki woman.

When Dar exited the hall, she saw the stone structure filled with skulls and felt compelled to take a closer look. Mi-pah followed. Most of the skulls appeared ancient. The bottom ones had crumbled into shards. Only the upper layers were intact. Three skulls in the uppermost layer still had flakes of dried flesh and patches of hair.

“I was six winters old when we put those there,” said Mi-pah. “One had long hair like yours.”

A woman!
Dar shuddered.

“You’re first live washavoki I’ve seen.”

“So what do you think?” asked Dar, trying to sound casual.

“You look like ugly youngling,” said Mi-pah. “You smell strange, too.”

“Bad?”

“Thwa, just strange,” said Mi-pah. “Come.”

Mi-pah led Dar along a well-worn pathway that followed a stream and ended where a low stone dam created a pool in a sunny spot. “This is summer bathing place,” said Mi-pah. She unwrapped her skirt and entered the water. “Come.”

As Dar undressed, Mi-pah exhibited a frank interest in her body. She was particularly surprised when Dar removed her loose blouse. “You’re blooded!” she exclaimed, gazing at Dar’s breasts.

“Blooded?”

“You receive Muth la’s Gift each moon,” said Mi-pah, sounding uncertain as to whether she was making a statement or asking a question.

“Hai. I receive Gift.”

Mi-pah pointed to Dar’s brand. “Is that your clan mark?”

“Thwa, I have no clan.”

“No clan?” said Mi-pah, who seemed to have difficulty grasping the idea. “But you would be all alone.”

“I am.”

As Dar entered the water, which was warmer than she expected, Mi-pah scooped something that resembled grease from a pot by the edge of the pool. When she spread it on her skin, it made tiny bubbles that the water washed away. “What’s that?” asked Dar.

“Depyata,” replied Mi-pah. She spread some on Dar’s arm. It felt slippery. “It’s for cleaning skin.”

“It’s better than sand,” said Dar.

“Hai,” said Mi-pah, who moved so she was behind Dar. “I’ll wash your back.”

Dar didn’t know how to respond, but Mi-pah’s firm yet gentle touch felt good. Dar soon relaxed as the orc worked silently. After a while, Mi-pah asked, “Are you fully grown?”

“Hai.”

“Is Kovok-mah your husband?”

Dar, certain that every mother in the hall would soon learn her answer, responded carefully. “We’re not blessed.”

“Will your muthuri speak with his?” asked Mi-pah.

“I don’t know your customs.”

“Yet sons obey you,” replied Mi-pah. “Why?”

“Sons respect mothers.”

Mi-pah finished rinsing Dar’s back and moved so they were face-to-face. “But you’re washavoki.”

“Muth-pah called me mother.”

“But why do sons obey you?”

“They believe Muth la guides me,” said Dar. “I have visions.”

“What kind of visions?”

“I don’t know if I should speak of them.”

“I’m mother,” replied Mi-pah. “It’s fitting.”

As Dar bathed, she described her visions—Twea’s spirit on the Dark Path, the battle in the Vale of Pines, the orc mother by the hedge, and the reoccurring visions of the burning urkzimmuthi. She spoke of being saved from drowning by a tree and how she came to be called “Muth Velavash.” Dar gave only the facts of those events without venturing to interpret them. Mi-pah listened with rapt attention until Dar began to describe her encounter with Velasa-pah. “Don’t speak of him!” Mi-pah cried out. “That matter is for Muth-pah.”

“Is he reason why Muth-pah spared me?”

“I think so,” said Mi-pah. Afterward, she fell silent.

Dar was relieved that Mi-pah didn’t question her further, for she couldn’t imagine describing her life in the highlands or the army without appearing degraded in the young mother’s eyes. She rinsed the last of the depyata from her skin and left the pool to dry in the sun. Mi-pah joined her. “Were you told to ask those questions?” asked Dar.

“Hai.”

“Are you finished?”

“Hai, but I have my own question.”

“What is it?” asked Dar.

“May I touch your claws?”

Dar smiled. “Of course.”

Mi-pah’s fascination with Dar’s fingernails and toe-nails was the first hint that she was still a child. Her examination of Dar’s toes was so intense, it made Dar giggle. The sound startled Mi-pah, which caused her to hiss with laughter.

When Dar was dry, she dressed. She donned her undergarment and skirt but not her blouse. Using the laces from its front, she hung it about her shoulders so it resembled the capes that the blooded mothers wore. Though it was chilly to go bare-breasted, Dar felt it wise to emphasize her femininity. Thus attired, she asked Mi-pah to show her around.

The clan had dwelt within the folds of a southern-facing ridge for generations, and over the long course of years, they had made many painstaking improvements. The bathing pool was only one of them. Mi-pah showed Dar terraced fields upon the ridges that were invisible to anyone below. Storehouses and animal pens were similarly hidden. Care had been taken to screen pathways from view.

Dar was surprised that mothers and children worked in the terraced fields, for Zna-yat had said males did the farming. “Where are sons?” she asked.

“They watch western pass and guard against washavokis.”

“For what purpose?” asked Dar. “Washavokis live far away. I have traveled through land near Bath Urkmuthi. It is empty.”

“It’s our clan’s fate to do this,” replied Mi-pah.

“Why?”

“Only blooded mothers know.”

So that’s it
, thought Dar.
Mi-pah’s my sapaha because she’s old enough to ask Muth-pah’s questions, but not old enough to answer mine.

Sixteen