Half-Orc Redemption Read online

  A pearly, white hand reached out and laid itself gently upon the plainsman’s chest.

  “And yet there is still a yearning upon your heart,” the voice continued. “Take comfort. Your god has heard your cry. By his hand, rise and pursue that which he has laid upon you.”

  The stranger then rose and left him alone.

  II. Rage

  Gash sat silently in the vast field beneath the starlight. His eyes beheld the small dots of light that blinked on and off before him as his ears listened to the chirp and scuttle of crickets in the thick grass. A strange sort of out-of-place peace had settled on his heart and he sat there searching thoughtfully for its meaning. But though he tried to understand it, his mind lay in a fog. He was exhausted. He had been unable to sleep these past three nights that he had traveled. It had left him to keep traveling simply out of boredom. The boredom in itself he would have thought would have been enough to lull him into a deep, peaceful slumber. But something still nagged at his mind. It prodded and poked at him. There was something out of place that continually scratched somewhere deep in his underthought. It had caused him to scratch his head many times in annoyance. He’d always hated being alone with his thoughts. Not that he had ever had anyone he would want to talk to-

  His intelligent eyes shimmered with revelation as the answer finally came to him. He was alone. No more guttural voices slandering him, spitting as they ordered him to a task. No more stinking, putrid, dead animals and orc waste to lie amongst at night. No loud orc noises to sleep through. No more waking up to a foot in his side or a strike from the hard butt of a weapon across his face. He was free. He was alone. He had no task to complete, no job to do. He had nothing but whatever path lay before him; a path that he himself could now choose. To most, such news might bring joy and elation. But all it brought Gash was annoyance and sleeplessness, perhaps even a bit of sorrow.

  The large half-orc closed his eyes in exhaustion. His whole way of life had changed so suddenly. His bonds had been cut and he was now free as any upon this earth to do as he chose. A slave no longer to others, he was now only a slave to himself, to his own mind and body. And at that moment, all he wanted was for the one to shut up so the other could rest. But sleep, as it were, seemed to elude him, even mock him. That just made him angry which drove him further still from restful sleep. He felt as if somewhere, someone was laughing at him. And he hated it.

  He might have gladly taken up his axe and brought its blade to his forehead just to silence the thoughts that were shouting incessantly in his mind, had he not determined for himself long ago that killing one’s self was nothing more than a coward’s way to escape one’s fate. He would not make himself a coward. He would continue on for as long as he needed. Eventually, he would sleep, perhaps not to wake up again, but he would find rest. Of this he was certain, and that, if nothing else, brought him some peace.

  As his thoughts overturned and tumbled in his head, he once again opened his eyes and suddenly took notice of the subtle brightening that had taken to the sky. He looked ahead of him and saw the vague outline of a hilltop in the distance. It spanned the width of his vision and was a welcome change from the flat land of the plains. It was enough to motivate him to begin moving again. Raising his new weapon from the grass, the large half-orc slowly stood. He then rested the lengthy haft of the weapon on his shoulder and began walking.

  Within minutes the hilltop became more visible and Gash halted his pace, his eyes widening at the sight that was still a good distance away. The hilltop lay blanketed in trees; trees unlike those of the Great Plains. Even in the dim light, Gash could tell the shapes of these trees were much more uniform and pointed at the top. He remembered not the word for such trees, but knew them well to be those Gurak’s clan had dragged him through as a youth. To most, it would have simply been a hill covered in pine trees. But to Gash such a sight meant nothing short of freedom.

  Gash was off like a shot. He moved the heavy weapon on his shoulder to a two-handed grip in front of him as he ran at his fastest pace toward the hillside. His charge led him straight towards a herd of antelope, which futilely fled towards the hillside. Gash easily overtook them. He might have turned and tackled one to the ground as he had been forced to so often in his youth to feed his clan, but as hungry as he was, his desire for freedom was greater. He did not so much as give the animals a scarce glance, but ran on towards the hillside with all his might.

  As he drew closer to the hillside, he could see that it was covered with the trees from top to bottom. Though the hill stood a great distance from where he had been resting, the quickened pace by which he ran brought him to the base of the hill within minutes. The incline was steep and the momentum Gash had built up was almost instantly cut down to nothing. The axe weighed him down tremendously and Gash tossed it aside with nary a thought, his mind far too focused on his goal. His freedom was upon him. His hand gripped the dirt. They had tried to stop him, tried with all their force to turn him into a task beast. His other hand gripped a tree trunk and pulled hard.

  Patiently he had waited for this time to come, the time when he would, at last, be free of the Cursed Land and all the pain that flowed from it. His hand moved to a tree root. His foot pushed against the hard ground. The Cursed Land was behind him. He lay on the verge, on the cusp of freedom. The crest of the hill was just ahead of him. He could see it. His large hands gripped at the soil. His feet desperately pushed against the ground with all their might. He was almost there. Almost there!

  Out of breath and legs aching, Gash reached out and gripped another tree trunk. The muscles in his arm complained as he pulled himself up and at last crested the enormous hill. His head hung in exhaustion, sweat dripping from his brow. He had made it. He was free.

  His kin had tried to stop him, to suppress him, to break him. But he would not give them their victory. He would not break. His mind traveled back to those early days on the plains. Inwardly, he had fought against their cries of half-blood, half-breed, humun, half-life. All their efforts to break him had failed and so ultimately did their much-bragged, full-blood strength. It had failed them. Their bloodline of strength had only brought them foolish pride. It was that hideous pride that had brought down Gurak, not his physical weakness, nor even the blades of his own axe. His own foolishness had killed him. Gash merely finished what the brute had started himself long before the thought of a half-blood had ever entered his pitched mind.

  And all the years Gash had stood the abuse, he waited. He had learned very young that he was not the same as the others. Even before he knew what the words meant, he knew he was not to enjoy the same freedoms as the other orclings. But he also knew how very wrong this was. Their merit was based on their strength and fierceness. Gash could see this played out regularly as the more ferocious orcs gained higher status than those who were weaker or more timid. Gash did not allow himself to fall into either category. They clearly did not want him around. He was all-too willing to comply. For in his separation, he viewed their foolish pride, their utter reliance upon their own strength for fame and success. And in that Gash saw the wrong. For he saw his strength surpass theirs, even in those very early years. Yet they gave him no merit, no praise. Only mistreatment and hatred were his reward. But none of it came more vehemently than from the one who ruled them through fear and with utter malice. Gurak had thought himself superior to all orcs, half-breed or not. And he proved it with his strength many times. His malice affected not only Gash but others in the clan as well in that he did what he wished, no matter the hurt that it caused, no matter the law it violated. He might have killed Gash on more than one occasion, had his sons not intervened. They had held the laws of their clan more sacred than their father had, though not by much. And it was by means of his offspring that Gurak doled out even more injustice upon his kindred (there was not much more he could do to Gash).

  All of this Gash learned when he was yet still very young. And at the same time, he recognized Gurak as the source of all his pain
and injustice, Gash set his eyes and his will upon him to end his reign. But he could not challenge him then. If he had he would have surely lost. Even when he grew strong enough to defeat him, his challenge might not have been accepted. He, being a half-blood, was often not considered worthy of the same rights as the others. But they could not deny him his right of passage. According to the laws of their tribe, none who lived and breathed among them were denied that right…not even a half-blood. I was a law from ancient days so deeply ingrained in them that none, not even Gurak, dared violate it. The best they could do was to put it off. But if they had denied him of it for too long, they would have had to release him. Such were the laws of their clan. Release was simply not an option. They had become much too comfortable living off the fat of Gash’s slave labor. Gurak eventually was forced to concede and give the nameless orc-man his test.

  And so Gash chose his fate. He would grow in his own strength, both mental and physical. He would challenge Gurak’s weak-willed strength and in his trial defeat him…or die trying. But if he succeeded, he would be sure to do it under the laws of his tribe so that none, not even their god, could question his place. And none could deny his right of a challenge to the monster who was the source of all his pain and torment.

  As it turned out, Gurak gave Gash more of an opportunity than he had expected. The very moment he passed the test, Gash was, in the mind of every orc present, the unquestioned leader of the clan. By attacking Gash without issuing a challenge, and while he was still injured from his test, Gurak violated the laws of his own clan to which he was then totally subject and put himself in a prime position for rightful execution by the new half-blood leader.

  But it was not for Gash to remain leader. “This cursed land…” is what he had come to call it in his own mind; for it was truly a place of curses against his very soul. He no more wished to remain in that land than he had wished to remain leader of a clan of cowards and supremacists. It was part of the reason why he had not taken the plainsman’s offer as a youth. It did not matter that he would have escaped the cruelty of his kin. To him, the bitterness and hardship he had experienced because of his clan had tainted the very air around that place and had seeped into the very soil beneath his feet. The entirety of that land had been polluted by years of torture and pain. He could not stay there, not after all that had happened.

  So he left, cursing the clan that would be his as he went, leaving them broken and leaderless. They would have no excuses now, no longer having the oppression of Gurak to lead them blindly into destruction. They would be consigned to whatever fates they themselves would choose.

  He was glad. He had hated Gurak. But more so he had hated that none in the clan had the courage to challenge him. Even if one had lost, it might have at least inspired others to challenge him. But they were all too afraid. So they all followed him out of fear…all but Gash. The young half-blood had never feared him. His own life was never of any consequence to him in light of what needed to be done. Gurak’s evil had to be stopped. That was all that mattered to him. And now that it was accomplished, he could walk away with a clear conscience, knowing that, even if only for that brief moment, his clan would be forced to make a choice for where their lives would lead them.

  Gash found it strange that he thought upon them with a hopeful heart. He had held so much bitterness against them for their evils. But though he would deny it, deep in his heart, he held a desire to see his kin turn from their lives of wickedness and pride and live lives of honor and righteousness.

  It seemed strange to him that a race of people he had been so fervently set against would gain from his actions. Stranger still was that he felt no wrong in the matter. He was satisfied in that he had been able to rise above the apathy of his kin to destroy an evil that had plagued them and himself for so long.

  Yet he had to question, ‘Why had they allowed such horrid things to go on? Even fear should not have stopped them from doing what was right.’ Yet even when the fear was not present, they still showed contempt for him.

  “Why?” he whispered aloud as he searched for an answer.

  His hand still lay against a tree. His sweat had dried, but he still felt the tiredness of his muscles that had resulted from the fervent climb. And though he searched his soul, he could not find an answer to his question.

  Then, from seemingly nowhere, a familiar voice entered his mind.

  ‘Because they did not care in the first place,’ it answered him. ‘There was no good in their hearts. You are a half-breed. Your life meant nothing. The strong are worthy of honor. The weak are worthy of death. And the un-orc are worthy of nothing.’

  Gash found himself frozen and breathless. The voice was familiar, thin and crackly. He knew it as one that had plagued him during his years upon the Plains. It had told him countless times that the hideous lies spat by his clan were true. At the same time, it had built up in his heart a deep bitterness towards them that he had kept hidden to that very day. He thought he had silenced that voice forever along with Gurak. But the voice had always seemed to feed upon the doubt in the half-orc’s heart. Now, with plenty of fodder, it sprang to life once again and resumed its assault upon Gash’s soul.

  Gash stood there, staring at the dirt, his vision pulsing with his pounding heartbeat, his hand gripping the tree trunk beside him. His scowl deepened. He let out a snort through his nostrils in frustration. He hated the voice. His anger burned white hot against it. Yet he could not deny the words. He knew they were true and that just made him all the more angry. He had saved a people who hated him for his very existence. It wasn’t the oppression of Gurak that held their actions to evil, it was them.

  The thought was frustrating, to say the least. It was enough that it tore at him. His muscles tensed. The breath in his nostrils was long and heavy. The wood of the tree creaked under the force of his grip. His anger burned inside of him as his thoughts followed the dark line of logic the voice had led him down.

  No matter what he had done for them, they would not have turned from their ways. They would have continued in wickedness. No deed of honor, no act of bravery or strength could have changed their evil hearts. No amount of saving grace could ever hope to save him from the horrid fate of being a half-orc.

  And in that moment of weakness, the voice struck another cord deep in his soul.

  ‘What had it all been for?’ it questioned him.

  He could not answer. He searched frantically within himself. He could not answer. He felt his mind begin to slip. He thought he heard someone laughing. He searched within himself ever more frantically for an answer to the question as his eyes began to moisten and his anger continued to build.

  He could feel the laughing voice creeping up on him once again, preparing to speak.

  ‘No,’ he thought.

  He did not want to hear it answer. He could feel its evil in his heart. It infected him like some leprous plague. He fought against it as hard as he could, denying its answer. But it was like holding back the night. And ultimately, the voice overwhelmed him and spoke its insidious words.

  ‘It had all been for nothing.’

  The thought hit him like a second blow from Gurak’s blade. Gash gave a great shout as his hand ripped timber from timber. His tortured scream echoed out before him for miles as years of pent-up anger, sorrow, and rage poured from his powerful lungs. He felt as one who had spent his life climbing a sheer rock face and now only inches from the summit began to slip backwards into the madness and pain from whence he had come. Gash screamed his anger at the world in bitter indignation. His heart screamed as loudly as his half-orc throat. He didn’t feel it when his tensed muscles began to cramp. He didn’t feel the piece of trunk cutting into his hand. He didn’t feel the wood begin to compact into splinters beneath the force of his massive grip. His senses were blind. All he knew was the terrible rage that flowed like a demon through his veins. It crippled him, sinking him to his knees as his painful scream melted into a horror-ridden sob. He knew the rage
was wrong, that it didn’t belong there. He despised it. He hated it. He fought against it with all that was in him. But still it came; still, it overwhelmed and possessed him. His mind replayed the voice’s insidious words again and again.

  He could feel nothing around him but utter darkness. He cried continually in sorrow and indignation. His mind replayed his tortured days on the Great Plains. He saw the cruelty that had befallen him. He saw Gurak ordering his food taken away while the brute sat fat and content on his throne. He saw those tortured nights when he called to God, any god for help and received no answer. He saw the tears that fell from his eyes as he cried himself to sleep night after night. He remembered the pain in his heart and how there seemed to be no release or escape save for the hope of one day ending Gurak’s reign forever. His tears flowed ever more strongly, unbidden and unhindered from his eyes.

  He hated his life. He did not understand it in the least. He hated the pain. He hated the rage. He hated Gurak and his clan for their evils. He hated whatever god had cursed his birth. He hated himself for his inability to control the rage that flowed through him. He hated all that he was; Half-man, half-orc.

  He wanted to escape its evils and its weakness. He wanted to stop his tears and rip himself asunder, a purging of his abominate nature.

  But he couldn’t. No matter how badly he wished it, he could not cease his tears from falling. He could not stop the rage within his blood. He could not change what he was.

  Half-orc. Half-breed. Half-blood. Un-orc.

  The words echoed again and again in his mind. They stabbed at his soul more deeply than they ever had.

  He was only half a soul, half a being, untrue in nature. He was incomplete, half-alive, useless, worthless.

  His heart lay in pieces on the ground before him. His hope had melted completely from his soul.