I'm in grave danger.
I suppose I have only myself to blame. I'd known the risks beforehand, and I have to say, I don't have any regrets. I was following my heart -- and my carnal instincts, I suppose -- when I met the blacksmith for a midnight tryst behind the schoolhouse three nights ago. And just like that, I went from being the village priest's innocent youngest daughter to a whorish adulterer forever stained with sin.
And now I'm banished from our village, never allowed to return again. I have to say, winter is a very inconvenient time of the year to be banished. I've spent nearly eight hours trekking through the frozen wilderness east of our village in search of somewhere to make camp for the night, and I'm beginning to think that I'm not going to make it. My wool coat makes for a poor barrier against the bitter cold seeping into my bones. The sun is going down, and I have to be quiet like my life depends on it, for there are creatures in these parts that would take great pleasure in feasting on my flesh and blood and then use my bones to pick their teeth clean.
The snap of a twig catches my attention, and when I look up, I realize I've not been nearly as sneaky as I previously thought.
They've got me surrounded.
Orcs. At least a dozen of them. Swords pointed directly at me.
My grandmother used to tell me stories about the orcs, largely painting them as hideous, ten-foot-tall beastly things with an unquenchable taste for human flesh. I always assumed she was just trying to scare me into eating my vegetables. Looking at them now for the first time, snarling at me like they're going to make me a meal, I can see that she wasn't exaggerating in the slightest.
Though orcs are vaguely human in shape, that's where our similarities end. Their ugly green faces are concealed by cloth coverings, presumably to protect against the frigid cold, but I know what lies beneath -- a mouthful of sharp, yellowed teeth capable of tearing through flesh with the ease of a knife through butter.
I don't see a way out of this. I might be able to outsmart one of them, but twelve? I'm already dead. I gently lower my knife to the ground, along with my pack, to show that I'm surrendering. Twelve pairs of black, soulless eyes follow my every move.
One of them finally speaks. He lets loose a string of unfamiliar words in a deep, guttural voice, none of which I'm able to understand, but he clearly expects some kind of response from me. I simply stare at them, paralyzed with fear.
Another one approaches me, and I fall to the ground and cover my face, wondering if they're going to eat me raw or cook me first, unsure which would be the more painful way to go. But the beast picks me up like a sack of potatoes and throws me over his shoulder. "Let me go!" I scream, clawing against his back, but I could be clawing against a wall of stone for all the good it's doing me.
We walk for a while, and eventually, the forest parts to reveal a small, bustling camp crawling with orcs. They move hugely amongst a sea of tents pitched against the muddy ground, seemingly busy with everyday tasks such as cooking and cleaning. There are multiple fires set up throughout the encampment, sending gray smoke towards the sky in thick puffs. The smell of cooked meat assaults my nostrils, and I'm reminded that it's been a while since my last meal.
The orc drops me on a log right next to a fire but doesn't untie my wrists. It's clear by the warning in his eyes that any attempts to escape will be thwarted quickly and brutally. He takes a seat on the log across from me and begins sharpening his sword while the rest of our travelling party disperse amongst the camp. I lean into the heat of the flames, hoping this isn't the very fire that I'll be roasting over later.
After about an hour of sitting alone, someone approaches, and it's not at all a face I was expecting to see. He's human -- an elderly, white-bearded man with wrinkled skin and wise eyes.
His gnarled hands are raised to signal peaceful intentions, though I don't entirely buy that. "Don't be alarmed, I'm not going to hurt you. My name is Merlin. What can I call you?"
"Ingrid," I answer, scanning the strange man from head to toe. He seems relatively harmless. He takes a heavy seat beside me. "You're human," I point out.
"I am."
"What are you doing in an orc encampment? Are you a prisoner too?" If it's me and the old man against a horde of bloodthirsty orcs, then escape might be more challenging than I anticipated.
He chuckles. "I am not. For all intents and purposes, I'm a member of the clan."
At my confused expression, he elaborates, "The clan was moving through the Moaning Mountains when they found me about two decades ago. My village had just been raided by a pack of hyenas. I'd been bitten and on the verge of death. The orcs took me in and nursed me back to health. I've been traveling with them ever since in order to pay back my debt. I serve as their healer and translator when the situation calls for it."
It takes me a moment to digest this man's unlikely story. "And you're here by your own free will?"
"I've got nowhere else to go," says Merlin with a shrug. "They've been good to me. I've grown to think of them as companions."
"They're a bunch of savage beasts," I point out. It's probably unwise to be insulting the people that control my fate, but I can't help it.
Merlin doesn't deny it. "They certainly can be, yes. But they're also skilled hunters and very protective of their own. And the most resourceful people I've ever witnessed."
I'm growing rather tired of Merlin's praise of the orcs, so I ask him bluntly, "Can I leave?"
Merlin sighs. "I'm afraid not, Ingrid."
I didn't think it would be that easy. My voice lowers to a whisper as I ask, "What are they going to do to me? Are they going to eat me?"
Merlin answers my question with another question, which is more than a little annoying. "What do you notice about this camp?"
I glance around the encampment, sniffing the air. "It's smells like a swamp?"
He sighs, clearly disappointed with my observational skills. "There are no females."
I take another look around, closer this time. Hmm. I suppose he's right. "Well, where are they?"
"At present, there are three females residing in this camp -- all elderly, and all incapable of childbearing. We were attacked by a rival clan about two years ago, and they specifically targeted the already small number of females among our ranks, with the intent of ending bloodlines. It was a dark, dark day." He looks somewhere beyond me, remembering the horrors of this event. "Even before that, the only infants born to this camp over the past ten years were three males and a stillborn female. If things keep going as they have been, this clan will be extinct in a generation."
It's a sad story, but one that doesn't pertain to me. I don't have it in me to feel sorry for the brutes who captured me. "I don't understand why you're telling me this."
He raises one thick eyebrow, as if the answer should be obvious. "The council has come to an agreement. In return for your life, you will live here and bear children to as many orc males as you can over the course of your lifespan."
Merlin's words are a slap across the face. What he's suggesting is so horrible, so unimaginable -- "I can't do that," I sputter, feeling a dozen emotions at once, anger most prominent among them. "My body is not meant for such a thing--."
"Orc infants are the same size as human infants, so I don't think you'll struggle with birth any more than you would if you were carrying a human, if that's what you're worried about."
As if childbirth is that simple. "No! Absolutely not!"
He throws his hands in the air rather dramatically for and old man. "Do you want to die, stupid girl? Because that's the alternative. They'll roast you over the fire and feast on your meat. You have to prove your worth, and your options are limited. The only thing you have to offer is your womb."
I can't believe this is happening. He's basically suggesting that I become a sex slave to this clan of beasts. My brain conjures images of ropes and chains and dirty floors, being kept like a dog on a leash in some freezing hut. Terror slices through my chest. "What will happen if I say yes? What will my accommodations be here?"
"To put it in words that you'll understand, you'd be treated like royalty among the orcs. Childbearing will be your only responsibility. You would not be required to contribute to any chores or daily tasks. Should you successfully conceive a child, your only focus will be to stay healthy and safe. And you will gain the protection of every able-bodied male in this entire camp -- they would give their lives to ensure the survival of any potential offspring."
Merlin's assurance that I will be protected calms me ever so slightly. I'm trying to imagine it -- to be fed, housed, and safe with no responsibilities other than to sit on my ass all day? Of course, there's the whole process of conception, which rather terrifies me, but at the moment I'm more concerned with not being eaten alive.
I suppose the answer is obvious. I can't believe that I'm about to agree to this. Should I ever decide that I want to leave, I suppose I can always plan my escape at a later time...
