Hungry Heart - Book #2 - Ch. 4

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three 

Chapter Four – Scents in the Wind

Toru and Varg were frolicking happily in the nearby river, while Duril was busy preparing lunch from the last remains of the perishable foods the people of Shroudharbor had sent them away with. Claw approached him with another load of forest fruits and young nuts in his arms. He nodded appreciatively and smiled as the bearshifter carefully laid his harvest on a piece of cloth Duril had placed on the ground for that particular purpose.

“There will be nothing for us but dried meat and little else as we travel through the desert,” Duril stated as soon as Claw had sat by his side.

“The road is long indeed, and we should be careful to ration our supplies,” Claw confirmed.

“We will fill everything we can with water so we can take it with us, but I must confess to you that the thought of ending up without any worries me,” Duril said.

All shifters were incredible, and they could go for days and even weeks without food and water, but Duril had never been forced to go without such necessities for prolonged periods of time, and he felt a bit selfish for bringing it up. Nonetheless, Claw was a master survivor since he had managed to live for hundreds of years on nothing but the small creatures he had found wandering through that labyrinth.

“In any desert, you will find an oasis here and there. And there are creatures we can hunt, even in a place as arid as the one that we will soon have to face.”

“That’s good to know,” Duril murmured as he moved the wooden ladle in the stew. “What was it like when you traveled through the desert all those years ago, Claw?”

“I was with a caravan, not alone. Merchants truly know their business, and they had all the oases mapped out, so we didn’t have to worry about drinkable water and such. Good thing I have a great memory.” Claw smiled slyly as he looked at him.

Duril stopped moving the ladle and returned the look. “I hope you’re not just joking. I’m in charge of keeping everyone fed and happy around here. Having enough water to go around is one of the things high up on my list as we’re approaching the desert.”

Claw patted him on the back. “I’m not joking. Up here,” he tapped his temple, “everything is in its rightful place. It wasn’t like I had much to think about while I was lost in the labyrinth. When one has only memories to live on, they are all he’s got.”

It was Duril’s turn to smile. “Did you just admit to having been lost in there?”

Claw laughed wholeheartedly. “It would be the honest thing to say. For hundreds of years, I’d found no escape from it, until you and puppy came along. You saved me there, so it’s my turn to watch over you while we’re going through the desert. Although, I must warn you. Three hundred years is a long time. Some oases get swallowed by the desert; it happened hundreds of years ago, and it could happen now, too.”

Duril nodded. “Nonetheless, your guidance will be invaluable. Would you mind telling me a bit more about Zukh Kalegh?” He could tell Claw was holding back whenever their conversations moved in that direction. A simple guess was that the bearshifter didn’t appear keen to talk to him about the orcs inhabiting the Great Barren.

Claw shifted in his place and looked away.

“I’ve seen a few,” Duril began, seeing how the other was still hesitating, most probably thinking that he would hurt him by telling him the truth. “Orcs, I mean. It happened during the war against the Vrannes.”

“Oh, they were part of it, too?”

“More in it just for the easy killing and plundering,” Duril explained. “There were only small packs, not an entire horde, so I don’t know much about their motivation. But it could be that the scents carried by the wind had let them know of all the bloodletting that was happening during that time.”

“Not a friendly lot, orcs,” Claw said. “You must have taken the brunt of the hate all humans have toward their kind in your life, my friend.”

Duril had no intention to hide the truth. “Indeed. But it served me as a good motivation to prove my worth again and again. To show everyone that I’m not anything like an orc.”

“And yet, you are one.”

Duril shook his head. “I believe that I may be only in appearance, although Elidias told me something strange.” He stopped for a moment, as he remembered the librarian’s words. “He told me that I’m human, and that I’m orc, too. And that if I ever find myself in need of replying to anyone asking, I should choose the truth and nothing but, and I would never be wrong.”

“Then it means that you’re an orc, too. But one of a kind,” Claw added.

“You’re being courteous.” Duril returned to his stew and threw in some spices. It had to be just about right if he wanted it to turn out exactly the way Varg and Toru liked it. As much as they enjoyed quarreling over all the little things, the two shapeshifters were very much alike in the kinds of food they preferred.

“No, I’m not just teasing you. Who has ever heard of a healer orc? There must be no one like you all across Eawirith.”

“I suppose,” Duril admitted and hid his blush by pretending to tend to the stew. He could always blame it on the steam rising from the pot. “Now, please, tell me about Zukh Kalegh. What is it like out there? I’ve never traveled through a desert, so it will be a first for me.”

“It is as bad as you imagine, if not a little worse.”

“A little?”

“Now I’m teasing you.” Claw raised his head and smelled the wind. “Hot by day, cold by night, not meant for humans.”

“Then we must be thankful that we’re not entirely human,” Duril pointed out.

“And then, there’s the horde,” Claw said. “You’re a handsome orc, Duril, but those who live out there are much bigger than you. They must be at least a few heads taller. They wear heavy armor made from metal and leather and not much else.”

Duril smiled sheepishly at the praise. “When I saw those orcs in the war, I did notice their armor. How do you think they get it? They appear to be driven by nothing but their bloodlust in all their dealings.”

“Some are master blacksmiths,” Claw replied. “Indeed, they are consumed by dark fury inside them, but they can be clever, too. And just as some are, as you say, driven by their bloodlust, others take to fire and metalworking like no one else in the world.”

“The horde, how large is it? Have you ever seen it?” Duril asked after pondering over Claw’s words for a while. For so long, he hadn’t given any thought to orcs, as much akin to him as they might be. Now, he realized that soon enough, he might have to encounter them, whether he liked it or not.

“And lived to tell the tale?” Claw grinned. “I’ve seen it from a distance. They travel by thousands and thousands. A dust storm rises as they march, that heavy their steps are. And their voices,” he stopped for a moment and shivered, “they roar like thunder.”

“At least, that’s enough warning for any who might not want to stand in their path,” Duril commented. “They simply let their presence be known.”

“More like using it as a weapon of war. Feeble creatures freeze in place when they hear the orcs’ war cry. Believe me, my friend, when I’m telling you that you haven’t heard anything like that in your entire life.”

“Then we should be happy that we’re not feeble creatures. Do they have a leader? How is the horde organized?”

“There are chieftains, and it’s not unusual for them to fight for dominance. As bloody as they are in their dealings with the ones that have the misfortune to become their victims, they behave just the same when they are dealing with their own kind. When there’s a challenge, they fight to the death. Not only the leader of one group falls then, but so do all the others with power who have taken his side.”

Duril didn’t care to ask what that meant, as he could easily imagine what fate befell those who lost the challenge. “We should make sure to stay clear of their path, then.”

Claw let his gaze wander into the distance as if he was attempting to read the future. “If we can, my friend. If we can.”

***

“I thought kitties hated water,” Varg teased him as he caught him and tried to push his head under the water one more time.

Toru would have none of that, though. Deftly, he avoided Varg’s underhanded attack and dodged to one side, only to move fast, sliding around to then land on the wolfshifter’s back. Now it was his turn to force Varg down and have him take a gulp of water just as he had planned for him only a second earlier.

But Varg was strong, and it challenged and pleased Toru to try his hand at pushing him down and overwhelming him. They ended up sinking together, laughing. When they emerged again, Varg was looking at him with new fire lighting his eyes. Toru grinned and grabbed the wolfshifter’s chest hard. That was enough the turn the look in Varg’s eyes into something else, and that was exactly what he needed. He came closer and just as their lips were about to touch, he again suddenly pushed Varg’s head down under the water, laughing.

This time, when the wolf emerged, he could tell he was in deep trouble. Varg lunged at him but, instead of taking his revenge, he pulled him into a hard kiss. He giggled and fought to get free, but only half-heartedly.

“Duril is busy cooking, and we’re fooling around,” Varg chided him affectionately when he finally let go.

“He told us not to bother,” Toru pointed out. “That he’d rather be the only cook. I think he secretly wants to put some cabbage in the stew,” he added in a low voice.

“Oh, the horror,” Varg said with a smirk.

A bird cried, its voice piercing the languid laziness of the afternoon. Toru followed it with his eyes. It was a bird with dark feathers, but he wasn’t too knowledgeable about such creatures to know what it was. “Was that a crow?” he asked.

“A raven, even,” Varg replied. “It must have sensed some carrion somewhere.”

Toru shivered despite the river waters not being that cold. “A dead animal?” It happened all the time in the forest, and it was just the cycle of life. Yet there was something unsettling about the cry of that raven that was making him think, irrationally so, that it wasn’t just the carcass of a decaying dead creature of the forest calling for that bird to dine on it.

Varg seemed to share some of his dark thoughts. “It could be anything. We’re getting closer and closer to the Great Barren. Do you see how the river turns?” He pointed ahead, and Toru could clearly see the water bending to the right, as if it couldn’t pour itself into a natural course. “Soon enough, we’ll have to say goodbye to fooling around like this. So, I also believe Duril will forgive us for not helping him with the food.”

Toru was thankful for Varg’s arm around his shoulders. Having someone strong like that nearby was like balm to a soul that had been alone for far too long.

“Varg! Toru!” Claw called for them from a distance. “Duril is waiting with the stew!”

They waved at the bearshifter. Toru threw a long look around as he and Varg got out of the water, and then took a deep breath. He had been in many places, but he had never crossed a desert. His heart was slowly filling with growing excitement, accompanied by just as much dread. He held his head high. No adventure was too great for him, and if he were to face the entire horde of Zukh Kalegh, he would do just as he had done with everything else so far.

***

“Can you smell it?” Claw asked as he lifted his nose high and inhaled.

Varg followed his example. During the last few days, the landscape around them had changed a lot. The forests were gone, replaced first by shrubbery, and even that was growing scrubby and scarce while the desert claimed its land. Their feet sank in the sand, but they were marching on. “There’s a slight scent of ash,” he agreed.

Toru scrunched up his face. “Why can’t I smell it? Is my nose broken?”

Claw squeezed his shoulder. “No, it’s not, but puppy here and I just happen to have been cursed with a sharp sense of smell. It helps a lot when you’re chasing food.”

Varg could only agree to that. “Or staying away from trouble.”

“Is there any trouble we should be aware of then?” Duril asked.

Varg wished he could put everyone’s minds at ease, but he had never been one to hide the truth, no matter how dangerous. He began walking again and talking at the same time. “We should get as far away from the source of that smell as we can.”

“Isn’t that the surest way to get lost in a desert?” the healer questioned. “Claw said just earlier that we should keep to a straight path.”

“Not when it leads us directly into the face of danger,” Claw replied. “Ash means smoke, and smoke means fire.”

“Is it the horde?” Toru joined the conversation. There was something like the excitement of a child in the way he spoke.

Varg took him by the shoulders and squeezed him one time, hard. “Do you want to face the horde, kitty? They might ruffle your fur in a way that you won’t like.”

“Like they could catch me. I bet they’re all fat and cannot run.”

Claw laughed at that. “They might not be as nimble on their feet as you are, but can you run faster than a boomerang?”

Varg threw Claw a pointed look. “A boomerang? As far as I know, they prefer their short, curved blades.”

“Not all of them,” Claw explained. “I’m glad for you that you haven’t seen a lot of orcs in your lives. They live for warfare, and only heavens know what weapons they might have invented during these hundreds of years.”

“But isn’t there a possibility that they’re no longer around?” Varg asked, mostly to himself. “The people in Shroudharbor didn’t appear to be aware of the horde and its depredations.”

“Elidias knew of Zukh Kalegh,” Duril replied. “He asked me if I was from there.”

“He might have meant it as a joke,” Claw said. “Librarians are a strange bunch.”

“He’s some sort of wizard,” Toru interjected. “He’s weird just like Agatha, and she’s an old witch.”

Varg scouted the horizon to their right with worried eyes. That was where the scent was coming from, a warning ominously rolling through the air. They needed, indeed, to put as much distance as they could between them and whatever was the source of that scent. It could be the horde or not, but it wasn’t, by any means, a wise idea to stick around and see what it was. Claw was right about maintaining a straight path to avoid losing themselves in the desert, but to be walking blindly into the arms of danger was not an alternative to consider even for a moment.

“Isn’t it soon for us to be noticing their presence?” Duril asked after a while. “We’ve barely left the forests behind.”

They all turned then and looked over their shoulders. Varg didn’t let any of his surprise show as he saw no trace of the lush forests behind them, not even a good distance away. There wasn’t even a sign of the scarce shrubbery that had accompanied them for a while. All the eye could see was nothing but the desert. Even their footprints in the sand were soon erased by a low blowing wind.

They had been thankful for the slight breeze. After all, the sun was up, a disc of pure heat, and Claw had warned them not to look directly at it and also not to walk with their heads down as the sand reflected the light and could hurt their eyes. But Varg had risked looking up once, and although he couldn’t tell what was different, he knew that wasn’t the same sun that shone kindly over Whitekeep throughout the gentle summers. It wasn’t even the same sun they had left behind in Shroudharbor, a harbinger of summer.

Everything around them was hostile. They were all hardy people, even Duril who hadn’t been as honed in the forge of battle as he had been, or Toru who still had the light of youth in his beautiful eyes. Claw was walking in front, acting as their guide, and Varg was secretly grateful for having him with them. Toru liked to tease him over how Claw was bigger and stronger than he was, but Varg didn’t mind having such an ally. If need be, he would be someone to depend on, as he had proven during the sea battle at Shroudharbor. They needed people like that with them, as Varg had known all his life. Their pack was getting stronger, and that mattered a great deal.

The wind began to pick up. It was hard to predict the changes of weather in the desert. The naked sky above them began to darken, and Varg looked around them. There was no cloud in sight, so why was the light becoming dimmer?

Claw turned back toward them. “We need to hurry. There’s an oasis I know of to the left, and it would be best for us to get there as fast as we can.”

“How far to the left?” Duril inquired.

Claw just made a vague gesture, like that was a detail he couldn’t tell precisely. Varg understood that much, and he knew that the others were well aware of the same thing. They needed to take shelter.

“If there are no clouds,” Toru began, “how come it’s getting darker?”

“There’s a sandstorm approaching,” Claw replied. “Less talking and more walking, kitty.”

Varg smiled. Toru didn’t mind at all being called that by the powerful bearshifter, and he liked that. It meant that at least some of the banter he engaged in with Toru would remain his and his alone. Nonetheless, he couldn’t indulge in such pleasant thoughts at the moment. Whatever caused the sandstorm could be of natural origins, but the smell of ash not so much, which meant that they were facing two dangers, not one. They just had to decide which was the less dangerous.

They walked in single file after Claw, Varg making sure to tighten the line so that he could keep an eye on the entire group. Duril looked back at him now and then, to make sure that he was still there, and despite the light protests he kept on making, he was secretly pleased that someone was looking after him, too.

***

They had walked for the entire day, and while they were all used to traveling in less than favorable conditions, fatigue was obviously appearing on the faces of his companions. Duril stole surreptitious looks at them, to see if any of them showed signs that they couldn’t go on or needed a break. As far as he was concerned, he was more than surprised at his own ability to walk through the scorching desert that burned the soles of their feet. The dry air filled his lungs and gave him new strength, and while he could tell that his body was getting tired, and his feet heavier, it felt like nothing would stop him from marching like that for as long as it was needed.

“Someone looks like he’s not as exhausted as the rest of us,” Claw teased him.

“I’m as surprised as you are,” Duril replied. He must be looking quite peppy compared to the rest of them if it was so easy for Claw to notice.

“It must be your orc blood,” the bearshifter said. “That means that our passing through the Great Barren may not be as hard on you as you might have worried before.”

Duril looked at Toru and Varg who were walking at the end of the line. They kept their heads low and they marched on stolidly, but they would soon need to take a break. “Then that’s something I should be thankful for. If you all want to take a break, it is fine with me.”

“We should reach an oasis soon if my memory still serves.”

“And if the place is still there,” Duril said quietly. Oases, as Claw had explained to him while traveling, were wonders of the desert, rare flowers blossoming in the harshest of circumstances. But any oasis could be swallowed by the sand now and then, and he shared Claw’s opinion that they should keep their expectations and hopes low.

“It is,” Claw replied and patted his own nose. “I can sense the scent of summer fruits, and my nose rarely fails me when it’s about food.”

“Fruits?” Toru scrunched up his nose, making a displeased face.

“The kind of tree that grows meat is yet to be discovered,” Varg teased him. “Trees mean shade, and they also mean that we will be able to drink some fresh water. Are the oases in the Great Barren inhabited?” he asked Claw.

“Caravans come and go, or at least they used to, but, as you may expect, they’re rare. Not many merchants venture out into this harsh waste, not when the chances of meeting the great orc horde of Zukh Kalegh are so great.”

“What lies beyond The Quiet Woods? Where do all the merchants come from?” Duril asked. His nose was nothing like Claw’s formidable one, but he could sense a small change in the evening breeze. Soon, they would find water, and that was a soothing thought.

“There are human settlements and even large cities if you travel south of The Quiet Woods,” Claw explained. “If you’re seeking more knowledge about your quest, once we reach my home and we part ways, you will surely find plenty of places to travel to.”

“What lies up north?” This time it was Varg asking. “We never ventured beyond Knaeus, the home of the Vrannes, and many talked of it as being the end of the world.”

Claw seemed pleased to be the one offering them information on parts of the world they had never visited before. As his steps guided them toward the oasis, he continued talking. “Knaeus must be like a slice through the northern part of Eawirith, then. North of The Quiet Woods there’s nothing but snowy mountains. It could be because almost no one lives there, humans, I mean, that not much is said about them.”

“How are they named?” Duril asked, more and more curious and excited about all the places he had never traveled to before. He would have never pegged himself as someone suffering from wanderlust like Toru, but now, as Claw spoke of all those things, he felt a new hunger was growing inside him. Just like the new life that appeared to infuse his bones as he walked on the never-ending sand, this excitement was equally fresh and surprising.

“The Scarlet Peaks,” Claw replied.

“That’s quite a strange name for a range of snowy mountains, isn’t it?” Varg said.

Duril had to admit that he was just as intrigued as the wolfshifter.

“It is the view they offer when the sun rises over them,” Claw explained. “I had to see it with my own eyes to admit that the name is well-earned. The few people who have ventured up to their peaks couldn’t explain what causes that effect, but when the sun appears above them, their crowns glitter like they’re made of ruby.”

“But isn’t there snow up there?” Duril asked, voicing the same thing all of them must be thinking.

“At any other moment of the day, it looks like it,” Claw confirmed. “Some say that the crown of the Scarlet Peaks is home to some fantastic tribe that built their homes from precious gemstones. Nonetheless, the few travelers who have been there couldn’t bring back any proof of such people. So they must be nothing but stories.”

“A tribe? And they would never come down from there?” Toru asked. “Don’t they like to travel or something?”

Duril could understand Toru’s hunger for traveling much better now and was in accord with his question.

Claw shrugged. “As I told you, I don’t think there’s any truth in that tale. And it’s not the only incredible story people tell about the peaks of those snowy mountains.”

“What other stories do they tell?” Duril asked.

“Each one more incredible than the other.”

“Is there one you believe?” Duril continued his inquiry. Claw was so calm all the time that he was inclined to only have trust in the stories the bearshifter agreed with.

“Let’s say that there is, but I can wager that you will all start to make fun of me once I admit to it.”

“Go ahead,” Duril encouraged him.

As the bearshifter had predicted, Varg and Toru began snickering. “I bet it’s something to do with fairies,” Varg began. “Tiny little fairies that get inside your ears and make you growl like a bear awakened from his sleep.”

“Or there’s a big pot of honey,” Toru said, “with fried meat in it! And the pot is made from ruby!”

Duril made an effort not to laugh at them. As much as he liked to indulge the two troublemakers in their shenanigans, he was more interested in finding out what Claw thought to be the true legend behind the name of the Scarlet Peaks.

“As I thought. These two are only fit to travel with the circus,” Claw said and shook his head, but Duril could tell that he was barely keeping in a laugh, too. “I don’t think there’s an entire tribe out there, or fairies, or pots of honey.”

“What do you think is there, then?” Toru asked, his eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“If there is someone living there,” Claw said, “it must be a hermit. A sage who finally found a place that provides the quiet he needs so that he can listen to all the thoughts inside his mind.”

“A sage? Like a wizard?” Toru questioned again.

“Wizards can make new things from what they know. A sage is more like someone who can give you advice drawn from all the knowledge that lives inside their head.”

“That sounds like someone we should seek,” Duril said. “In Shroudharbor, I read as much as I could in Elidias’s books, but I can’t say that what I learned is more than a grain of sand when compared to all of the knowledge that exists in our world. A sage would definitely be someone I’d gladly meet.”

“Provided that he would be willing to part with his knowledge in any shape or form,” Claw said. “That’s why I’m saying that it must be a hermit, and hermits don’t take well to visitors.”

“If he knows anything about our quest, we’ll make him talk,” Toru said with determination and slammed one fist into his other palm.

That gave Varg the perfect opportunity to twist Toru’s ear playfully. “Not everything gets solved by brawling, kitty.”

“It’s worth a try, especially if he’s the kind who doesn’t like to talk,” Toru retorted, poking the wolfshifter in the side in return.

“Or maybe you should let the cleverest of you do the talking,” Claw said, pointing at Duril.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Duril protested.

“It’s true,” Varg and Toru agreed almost simultaneously.

“See?” Claw smiled at him. “There’s no arguing with that.” Duril turned pink at the unexpected praise.

“But why would a sage exist if he doesn’t share his knowledge?” Varg asked, and Duril was interested to hear the answer to that, too.

“He might be waiting for the right person to ask him the right questions,” Claw replied. “But, as I told you, all of these might be nothing but stories, even this one which I deem as the only one worthy of being considered. If nothing else, at least I managed to make you forget about your tired bones for a while. Look there.”

They all stopped and looked in the direction indicated by Claw’s extended arm. Varg and Toru cheered happily at the sight of the copse of trees in the distance. Duril sighed in relief, too. He had been worried for his friends. Tonight, they would sleep well, and tomorrow, they would be ready for another hike through the merciless sun.

Only for him, he pondered, as he looked up, it wasn’t so merciless. The sun was now setting over the dunes, and no one could have guessed from its soothing orange flickers that only a little while ago it had been up above them, bringing the sand beneath the feet of travelers to scorching temperatures.

“Have you ever talked to someone who had scaled the peaks of those mountains?” Varg asked Claw.

The bearshifter replied with a shrug, “There was one person, yes. But he appeared to be so out of his mind that no one cared to listen.”

“But you did,” Duril pointed out. “Who was he?”

“A hunter,” Claw offered. “One who’d seen his fair share of winters. He was from The Quiet Woods, and lived among the creatures of the forest as if they were closer to him than his own humankind.”

Duril’s curiosity was piqued again. Little time was left before they would reach the oasis, and then, they would be too busy with making their nightly arrangements to indulge in exploring stories. “What did he tell you?”

“An incredible tale,” Claw replied. “He told people, not just me, of this sage living at the top of one of the peaks. He never gained entrance to his hut, but he could see that the place was inhabited.”

“How did he know there was a sage there, and not someone else?” Duril asked.

“He said he had just followed the trail described by other stories he had heard. But let me tell you all about it another time. Tonight we’ll dine on dates and peaches.”

Duril laughed. “Make sure Toru doesn’t hear you.”

“I heard!” Toru replied right away. “I’ll leave them all to you, and I’ll just take the meat!”

“You’ll eat what Duril lets you have, kitty,” Varg taunted the tiger with affection.

Duril turned and looked at the desert. While the oasis was calling for them to rest, he could feel a strange pull toward the sands rising and dancing in the distance.

TBC

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