Captured By The Orc Ch 25

Chapter 25: Home Again

"... wh... Sam... ake..."

Someone was calling for him. Someone very far away.

Where am I?

Samson tried to open his eyes, but his body was frozen.

Am I dead?

"He needs... him more..."

Whose voice is that? It sounds familiar.

Memories flooded through Samson's mind.

The village on fire... Dalthu covered in arrows... Hazel holding a knife... her body jerking and falling to the floor... my brother, Kane, standing behind her...

"Then why isn't he waking up?!"

Kane's voice was high-pitched. Whoever he was speaking to replied, but it was too soft for Samson to make out.

"Forget it," his brother said. "I'm giving him more."

After a short scuffling sound, someone propped up Samson's head and pressed something to his lips. Cool liquid trickled over his mouth. Most of it dribbled down his chin, but some made it down his throat. Warmth spread throughout his body and he felt lighter.

"Can you hear me? C'mon, Sammy. Open your eyes."

Samson focused on the darkness, trying to remember the muscles needed to open his eyelids. A crack of light appeared.

"Samson?"

Samson tried to answer but only managed "khh." It was enough.

Kane breathed out in excited relief. "Yes, yes, it's me, Sammy. I'm here."

The thin line of light grew as Samson willed his eyes to open. Everything hurt and everything was blurry, but at least it was progress. Above him, his brother Kane's worried eyes slid in and out of focus.

"You scared me, Sammy," Kane's voice trembled, but he held on to a pained smile. "I was afraid you wouldn't ever wake up."

"How... how long--"

"Four days."

Samson's eyes widened. He tried to sit up, but an explosion of pain sent him right back down to the ground. He craned his neck to look down at his throbbing arm. It was freshly wrapped, but crumpled up next to it was an old bandage crusted with brownish blood and green pus.

"Your wound got infected," Kane explained. "Then you got a fever. It--it was real bad, Sammy."

"How--" Samson swallowed. He wanted to ask "How am I alive?" but his throat felt like sandpaper.

"Me."

Samson squinted over Kane's shoulder at the speaker. It was a man. His face was pock-marked and he had a deep widow's peak.

A muscle twitched in Kane's jaw. "Yes, sorry Sammy, this is Breman. He gave us the potion that saved your life."

Samson nodded at the man. "Thank... thank you."

Breman didn't respond. Kane sighed. "Anyway, now that you're up, you should take the rest of the potion."

"I told you," Breman said, finally speaking, "he doesn't need more."

"He only woke up when he had more," Kane snapped. When Breman didn't reply, he turned back to Samson and helped him sit up. "Here," he said, pushing a bottle up to Samson's lips. The potion tasted minty and fizzed on his tongue before going down.

"Feel better?"

Samson nodded and Kane tilted his head back toward Breman with a silent I told you so.

Samson tried to lift his arm, wanting to test out his body, but the cloth of his tunic was damp with sweat and clung uncomfortably against his skin. He tugged at the hem irritably.

"Oh, here, let me help," Kane said, lifting Samson's shirt up.

"W--wait--"

"Why, why, what's wrong, did it hurt?!"

Samson's eyes flicked over to where Breman still stood. "No," he rasped. "I... just--"

Kane stared at him expectantly.

"... privacy..."

"What?" Kane glanced over to the doorway. "It's just us here."

Samson pressed his lips together. He couldn't tell his brother the reason why he didn't feel comfortable being naked in front of another man. It would raise too many other questions. Questions he was not ready to answer. So, with cheeks burning, Samson raised his arms up as much as he could and Kane peeled the tunic off his body.

"What is that?" Kane asked.

Samson followed Kane's eyes and realized it was the mark from the mating ceremony. His eyes narrowed. It had changed. Before it had resembled a sun, but now...

It's oval. Like an egg. Just like Cece's mark when she was... oh. Oh no.

Samson controlled his expression. "It's a tattoo," he said, quickly covering it with his hands.

Kane's jaw clenched. "Those orc bastards. Don't worry, Sammy. We made those monsters pay. Right, Breman?"

Breman grunted a reply, then turned and walked out of the hut. Kane didn't seem disturbed by his companion's behavior. Rather, his attention was completely on Samson. Kane dipped a rag into a basin of water and began wiping down Samson's body.

"So, where did you find him?" Samson nodded toward where Breman had stood, trying to keep attention away from his stomach.

"Breman? I met him in the mercenary group. Saved his life from a troll."

"A troll?! Wait, how did you even become a mercenary? The only thing I've ever seen you fight are gophers."

"Well, I--"

"And the gophers usually won."

"Hey!"

"I mean, did Father even give you permission?"

"Not exactly."

"Kane--"

"Fine, fine. I'll tell you everything."

And he did. Kane told him, after the orc attack, he had run off and joined the mercenaries to look for Samson. Then, one night, their leader announced he'd received information about an orc stronghold nearby.

"He'd said there was someone on the inside and that they would let us in. At first, everything went to plan, but then the orcs began to push back. And when I heard your screams..." Kane trailed off, lost in the memory of that day.

Samson was grateful that Kane's description of the attack was brief. He did not want to put faces on those his brother had killed.

"Breman helped me drag you out," Kane continued with a sigh. "We borrowed some mounts and ran like hell. Finally managed to convince him to give me his damn precious potion after you were at death's door."

"That was good of him."

"Good?" Kane scoffed. "Hardly. Who knows what he'll ask for in return."

"What do you--"

"Arms up," Kane said, holding out a fresh tunic. Samson obeyed and lifted his arms up, noticing that Kane's eyes darted immediately to the exposed mark. His brother's face pinched together with worry. "Don't worry," Kane gave Samson a thin smile. "Everything will be fine when we get home."

As Samson lay back down, he placed a hand over his stomach and hoped. He hoped his brother was right. He hoped everything would be fine. And, deep down, he hoped that his golden-eyed captor was alive.

***

"Shhh, look, there he is, isn't he just, you know--

"Oh, I know."

"It's just unbelievable, how he just, walking around like, you know--"

"Oh, I know."

"And did you hear? They say he was, well, you know--"

"Oh, I know."

Samson kept his head down, ignoring the pointed whispers. He had volunteered to repair a fence that had been damaged by snowfall and had only been outside a few minutes when a group of villagers circled around a nearby firepit and started to gossip.

You'd think they'd have work to do.

Samson lifted a fence post and winced. The stab wound from Hazel still twinged.

It had been three months. Three months since the attack on the orc village. Three months since he'd returned home, and in that time, the autumn leaves had fallen to usher in winter. During the solstice, the village would light bonfires and candles to welcome the return of light. However, the only thing that welcomed Samson's return were whispers.

At first, everyone was shocked. No one had ever escaped the orcs. When Samson was taken, everyone assumed that he would be devoured and that was that. They'd gone on with their lives, grateful to have been spared. However, Samson's return brought questions, and soon shock turned to suspicion.

He was a ghost. One of the undead. A changeling. There were many theories. Someone even suggested that Samson had passed through the bowels of the orc and had been shat out whole like a kernel of corn.

Samson sighed, trying to focus on his task as the whispers grew louder.

"Perhaps, you know, he was enthralled--"

"Oh, oh no, you don't mean--"

"Yes, now I think of it, that's probably what, you know, they did and probably, you know, seduced by dark mag--"

A snowball whizzed past Samson's head and hit the gossiping housewife's skirt with a satisfying thwap. The huddled group cried out as if they had all been hit. Samson didn't even have time to turn around before his brother, Kane, went charging past him red-faced.

"Go on, get out of here," he shouted, scooping up more handfuls of snow. The group scattered like cockroaches, and Kane continued to throw snowballs until they were all out of sight. Kane trotted back to Samson with a self-satisfied smile.

"Kane..."

"What?" Kane put on an expression of angelic innocence, but then waved his hand dismissively. "They deserve worse. Stupid old hags. Next time, I'll put rocks in the snowballs."

Samson shook his head, hiding a small smile.

"Need a hand?" Kane picked up a post without waiting for an answer. After working a few moments in silence, his brother cleared his throat. "How are you feeling?"

Kane had caught him throwing up that morning. Samson had, of course, made up an excuse about the food not agreeing with him. This wasn't hard to sell since Samson had been requesting strange meals. Ever since his return, in fact. On his very first evening home, after the tears and hugs and kisses, his mother asked what he would like to eat.

"Anything you want," she said, wiping tears from her eyes with her apron. "Just name it."

"Lamprey pie."

Samson's reply was so quick it stunned the room to silence. His mother was the first to recover. "Lamprey pie?"

"With hot sauce," Samson nodded.

His mother burst out laughing. "Oh my, you sound just like me when I was pregnant with Kane. Remember, dear?"

"I remember getting up at dawn to go down to the river and set traps," his father grinned. "You wouldn't let me back in the house lest I had a full bucket."

"Very well, it shall be lamprey pie with hot sauce for my babies tonight."

The morning sickness started a month later. Since then he'd requested roasted turnips (which he'd always hated), pickled herring, and raw cabbage. He'd almost cried once when he'd craved cherries, but they were out of season.

It was now obvious. He was pregnant. The mark, the cravings, the morning sickness... his body was changing. Thankfully the cold weather allowed him to cover his growing belly and chest. Hiding his pregnancy was one thing; coming to terms with it mentally was another. He had life growing inside him. Sure, he had considered having children one day, but never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined giving birth himself! He was getting dizzy just thinking about it.

Samson leaned against the fence post, trying to catch his breath and keep the world from spinning when the first villager ran by. Then another one. Then another, until groups of them hustled along, chattering excitedly to each other.

Oh gods, what now?

"Hey! What's happened?" Kane shouted at one of their neighbors passing by.

"That soldier fella! He's caught an orc!"

Kane jerked back in surprise, then spun toward Samson. "Sammy, you should--wait, Samson!"

But Samson had already fallen in step with the crowd. He followed them to the western gate of the village and pushed his way to the front of the throng. There, Breman was dragging something bound in chains. It was an orc. An orc with yellow eyes.

To be continued...