Ogres and Ogresses

Chapter 32: Thrive

The next day Zyra woke up to the sound of chirping. She could feel the warmth of the sun spill out over her from the hut window. She opened her eyes and watched the circles of crystal-like dust dance on her floor. Dirt, it was nice to see dirt again.

She sat up and stretched, hearing a series of unpleasant pops, and slipped on her huntress boots. Stepping outside she took a deep breath in of the forest air. It was sweeter than her home, but still carried the same earthy essence that had made her so fond of sleeping under the stars. It occurred to her then that she was hungry.

"I have no food."

Her eyes widened at the realization. Of course. Since she'd been here someone had cared for her. Out here it would be her again, she'd have to...

With a large grin she rushed back inside to grab her...oh right, she had no spear. She took her sword, determined to not let the small disappointment cloud the overwhelming sense of freedom. Looking into the sky she saw that it was earlier than Etaceh was expecting. She wondered what animals could be eaten here. Swiftly she looked around and decided to go with her satchel and her sword to the north. Soon she found tiny tracks.

Meat, finally after all this time! The strange food the witches gave her could not compare.

The chase began and she moved swiftly and softly through the trees, past the river, and on the border of the Shashanen tribelands. She saw it then, a peculiar creature that was the size of her bag and had the appearance of a boar. A blue boar. She flattened herself down as it snorted through the grass, searching for something. Zyra could barely contain her excitement.

Calm down. Don't chase it away. Patience.

She crawled on her forearms, her legs flattened against the grass.

Almost there...almost.

It turned to her.

"Yah!"

Jumping up she sliced down, felling the beast in one move. Its blue blood pooled underneath it and she knelt beside it.

"I thank the Maker for your sacrifice, that you might nourish my body as one day I will nourish yours, for the offspring of the earth inherit. Peacetia."

After honoring the beast, she grabbed twine from the satchel and bound it. Humming a happy tune, she carried it back rather easily over her shoulder. Things were really looking up. She could really see herself enjoying certain things of this land. Maybe she could even dry some of this blue meat. Nima would surely get a kick out of—

"

Ah!

What have you done!"

Mourabet's mouth hung open as she and Medean sat in front of her hut, equally mortified.

Zyra frowned. "What?"

"You killed a flower boar! For what reason!"

She raised an eyebrow. "I was hungry." Zyra watched in amusement as Mourabet appeared to swoon and Medean caught her, lowering the green ogress to the ground.

Zyra rolled her eyes. With a grunt she tossed the boar onto the ground in front of her. There was a covered up fire pit in the front of the hut. Kneeling, she began to dig it up.

"Don't tell me your people don't eat meat," Zyra said. "I haven't had any since I got here. I just thought you were fickle eaters."

"Some of us eat meat yes," Medean stated, poking the ogress who insisted on shutting her eyes.

"It's just uncommon, and for some tribes like the Shashanen, it can be seen as barbaric, especially for women."

"Why women?" Zyra snapped angrily. "Don't tell me you starve your women as well as fatten them with children from arranged marriages."

"You wouldn't understand," Mourabet huffed, getting herself together. "You're a heathen. Everyone civilized knows that women are meant to be creatures of kindness and gentleness."

"So you're saying you're a man?"

Medean coughed unconvincingly to hide a chuckle.

"We are creators, not killers," Mourabet said loudly over Zyra's barb, "and so eating death is beneath us. If you eat the lifeblood of a creature, you consume its soul. If you eat its flesh, it becomes one with your flesh. The flower boar is the most detestable of all ground creatures. To eat it..." Mourabet pointed at it with disgust. "To become

one

with it, is to forsake your womanhood."

Zyra scoffed. The firepit hole was wide enough. She stood to wipe the dirt off on her pant legs and looked around for twigs.

"You just say that because you haven't tried it."

"I never will!" Mourabet shrieked.

Medean held his temple for a moment, and then gestured to the two women. "Ladies, please, your customs are clearly different, but—"

"What makes it okay for men to eat meat huh?" Zyra asked.

Mourabet made an irritated sound like she was talking to a small child.

"Men are bigger and stronger, so their bodies can break down such crude elements. They overpower them so to speak."

"And you believe that

shizu

?"

Honestly she was confused with Mourabet's logic. Despite her distaste for her she appeared to be a dependable and strong woman. Why such an inferior view?

"I came to see if you wanted morning meal," Mourabet said crossing her arms. "I won't be dining with you in the future, but I knew you were ill-stocked. I never expected to see you covered in blood and humming." Mourabet mumbled under her breath, "Honestly, what did Kail ever see in you?" and Zyra caught it.

"Probably the opposite of his weak life-mate," Zyra snapped.

"What did you say?"

"You heard me."

"My liege, lady Mourabet—"

"Pipe down broom rider! The women are talking."

"Don't you talk to him that way, you boar!"

Medean sighed, irritated by the ogress's slur and walked into the hut.

The women closed in on one another, Mourabet's arms crossed, and Zyra's hand on her hip.

"Say it one more time nonwoman. I dare you."

"Or what? You'll knock yourself out on a branch? There are Rovian children who could hold their own better than you."

Mourabet walked up until she was nose to nose with her and Zyra bend down condescendingly to accommodate her.

"I have been many things flesh bag, but I have never been weak," Mourabet declared. "I might not slit the throats of my enemies, or fight or carry other women around like a centaur, but I am not weak. I take care of my own, and I don't give a damn what anyone thinks about me. Not even the keromedio."

Zyra looked over the ogress who stood her ground and came up to her chin. As heavy and sturdy as a boulder, as emotionally delicate as a leaf.

"Well, I'm not dirty. And eating meat doesn't make me less of a woman. It was cruel of you to say so."

"Then I apologize. I merely wished to stop you before you made a mistake, but clearly that was my mistake."

Zyra's eyes widened. She'd apologized?

She took a step back and cleared her throat.

"Well, I apologize for calling you weak...but," she pointed to the boar, "I like meat and that shall never change." Zyra smiled at the memory of all the Rovian cooking she went without. How sweet and succulent...

"My love of meat is something you cannot understand. It is in the soul. When I cut meat thin enough to place on a stone on the fire and it sizzles in its own fat and oil...when the skin crisps up and I can feel it crunch beneath my teeth as the full flavor of the beast engulfs me, nothing can compare."

She leaned into Mourabet's ear and the ogress gasped. "What are you—"

"I love meat even more now because you think it's forbidden. I love it so much that I'm going to find herbs and spices to rub on it and soak it for my dinner in a cool stream trap all day, so when I cook it tonight the meat will be so soft I can pull it apart with my fingertips. Can you look me in the eye and tell me you aren't enticed by such a vision?"

She gave Mourabet a wicked smile. "Perhaps you'll join me for my first dinner. You must not eat enough. You're looking awfully green."

The ogress's red hair twitched like flames as she clucked in indignation. "I-I...how dare you s-suggest...y-you ignorant-t...mmy Maker gave me this color to—"

"Think about it," Zyra said, scooping up her prize. She felt the blood coat her arms and wondered how much this little monster had left to bleed.

"Prove to me you're as good as any man, because if you want to prove you're not weak to me, you'll have to be better than what you are now."

Mourabet stared at the strange human female as she strung up the beast with seasoned ease and began to make the brutal cuts she required to drain it. Mourabet shielded her eyes, the smell of the kill making her ill enough.

"I will make no such promise."

"Why? I'm making sweet meats. I'll even save the fat for candles."

"Zyra you know how to cook?"

They turned to see the witch observing them in the doorway.

Zyra laughed. "Yes. All women in my tribe take turns providing for the village in any way they can. So yes I can handle a cook fire."

You'd know that if you weren't so overbearing.

"Well, even so, I think that the proper balance of nutrients to maintain your potential growth needs to be carefully monitored."

"So you're saying I need more meat."

"I'm saying you need vegetables."

Medean clapped his hands together and flipped his palms over twice. When he opened them, seeds were in his hand.

"Plant these. By tomorrow you should have a sustainable garden."

"Neat! Let me see."

She opened his palm and saw five black seeds, and one white one.

"Why is this one different?"

Medean winced and picked out the white one and tossed it aside. "That one's a mistake."

"No! I like it," she said running after it. She rescued the white seed and held it between her fingers. "I think it'll liven up whatever dull plans you have for me. Don't you?"

His face darkened. "No. Not in the slightest. It doesn't belong."

"Says who?"

"Says me!" Medean shouted.

Zyra and Mourabet stared at him. He immediately put on his emotionless mask and gestured to her hut.

"If you intend to be self-sufficient I think it best you have a garden. You may not always have a successful hunt, nor should you hunt to excess. I will create a meal plan for you and provide a variety of options, keeping your cooking in mind. Today I will personally see that your abode is made livable to my standards, while you are at lesson."

"Medean—"

"I am not going to convince you to come back to the Marble Tree, but I will not allow my duties to your well-being to be hampered by your sudden urge for independence."

"It isn't sudden Medean," Zyra said, narrowing her eyes.

"And this hut is not unlivable!" Mourabet shouted. "This home has weathered all storms and trouble for a number of years and sufficed for many a great generation!"

"And you are

not

the ruler of me." Zyra shoved past him to the place he had gestured to and with her thumb dug a hole for the seed. The ground was soft and she stuck it in with ease, spat on it, then covered it back up. She did this for the others, then took her water skin and poured it over the seeds. She stood up and grabbed her boar that now was spit on a stick, slinging it over her shoulder.

"Lots of good things grow from the unexpected Medean. You can't control everything. It's not the order of things. Make your peace with it...I have."

She waved them off, walking into the forest.

"Going to the river."

"You're going the wrong way!" Mourabet growled.

"I saw it this way."

"Yes! Perhaps in a dream stupid human!"

"It was between two trees!"

"Of course, tell the native where the river is!"

She ran after her and began arguing about the path. Their bickering voices diminished until Medean was left standing with the Rovian girl's unsettling advice. Did she know how right she was? His hands shook as he relived his dire mistake. White magic. His Baba would stumble into his grave after hearing that such a thing had occurred. He closed his eyes and willed it out of him. Maybe the incident was out of his control but he had to control the effect. He could not allow the white magic to thrive within him, or he would suffer the ultimate loss. His dark magic would be gone. One who practice the dark arts could never hope to see white magic. That would leave him an untouchable's fate, a gray witch's fate. He would be a mediocre mindless underling of little value and limited magic whose only strength lay in numbers. He'd be ruined.

"Let Zyra have her meat," he huffed under his breath. He chuckled at the sight of her, dirty and blood covered, and smiling from ear to ear. He really didn't know her at all. He didn't know many things. Perhaps it was time to learn.

--

Ginger was warm...and wet. Literally.

She felt like she was underwater, which was impossible because she knew she was breathing.

The village girl moaned, her body coming back to consciousness. She had been running through the forest. She had fallen...then what? She'd...she'd...

Ugh. Where am I?

You are home.

Ginger's eyes snapped open. She was lying on a platform in the center of a grand blue room. It was larger than any dwelling she had ever seen, and hundreds of blue creatures perched all around. Bubbles floated in the air, and shiny white crystals lined the wall as tall and wide as tree trunks, and the floor was covered in pebbles and sand. Lights danced in the air and creatures played on green vine swings, gliding through the air.

"Wha—"

She choked on a mouth full of water when she tried to speak. The air in front of her rippled. No, not air.

'I'm underwater!'

She scrambled up and began to panic, holding her breath and looking for an exit. There was none, she was trapped.

Grasping her throat, she pleaded with the blue creatures, pointing to neck.

'Please!'

Breathe normally pale one. Do not fear. You are in the Nymph Mother Tree.

Ginger's eyes began to water. She was running out of air. Suddenly she was pat roughly on the back and she sucked in a breath. To her surprise she inhaled air. How was that possible?

She opened her mouth to speak and again the water rushed her.

You cannot speak like a human, sister. You must speak like a nymph.

A pale blue naked woman approached her out of the sea of faces. She had thin long green hair and a smile on her face. She reached out and took Ginger's hand.

Relax sister. We are all connected. We can hear what you think. Speak to us in your mind.

Ginger gasped. Her hand...her own hand was light blue!

'I want to see myself.'

The nymph in front of her cupped her hands and rounded them into a circle. She held them up and Ginger gazed at the reflective surface. She was a pale light blue! And her curly hair...

I've never seen vines that curve so, but they fit you. Tell us. What is your name?

Ginger pressed her face and her eyes widened. That was her. It was really her.

'My name is Ginger.'

What is your true name?

A deep voice bellowed from beyond the crystalline chamber. Two crystals parted and Ginger saw the abode was even larger than it appeared. A tall dark blue man who appeared older than the others was covered in a robe of leaves. His eyes were clear and sharp, and he looked at her, eliciting feelings of familiarity she knew could never be possible.

'My name is Azmaria.'

He strode up to her and bent to her level. Gently he grasped her face and pressed his forehead to hers.

Azmaria..

Her mind was suddenly filled with visions. A young woman with her curly brown hair but her mother's smile running and laughing through a forest. That young woman seemingly alone until a light blue nymph jumped out at her and lifted her in the sky. The young woman under the stars lying on his chest. Image after image of this woman in love with this nymph, spinning in the water and dancing in the rain. Then she saw something else. The nymph and the human producing a child, and the fear of discovery driving a wedge between them that their love could not overcome. She could feel his agony, his pain, and tears ran down her cheeks. Then she saw him enter this thing, this Mother Tree as Talia has said, and stayed there, never straying from his home or entering the forest where he had met and lost the love of his life. She would see him take occasional trips to a pool where another creature lived, uglier than the nymphs who would make herself beautiful upon his arrival and eagerly gesture to the pool. He would cut off those moments abruptly so Ginger could only imagine what he did for the creature in exchange, but then he would start the vision and she would see herself, awkward and gangly bossing Zyra around.

She saw that time she had tried to start a lamp without permission and had added so much oil that the flame had popped and singed one of her eyebrows and Zyra had drawn it on with kohl so that Kyzyra didn't notice right away. She saw herself running with a boy she didn't remember into the woods. She saw her life.

Ginger took a step back and looked at the nymph in awe.

It was forbidden you see. Humans and magical folk were never meant to mingle, it was against the rules, against the coven. But they did not know that your mother was pregnant, and I could not tell them for fear of what they would do to a half-breed child, a physical reminder of their failure to contain us. I was right to do this. I saw what was done to the half-witch boy. And I knew...

He reached over, his hand trembling. He caressed her face, his eyes watering.

I knew that one day you would find me daughter. I have waited for you your entire life. I would have waited forever.

With a sob Ginger clutched the man whom she knew in her heart to be her father.

'She left me. She left me alone, father.'

You were never alone. I saw this everyday. The humans treated you as one of their own. And I was watching you were never alone.

She pulled him closer. He smelled of watercress and lilies.

'I don't even know your name.'

He smiled at her through his own tears.

Please. Just call me Father.

--

"Do you remember what exactly Caligula taught you?"

Zyra tried to find a response that wasn't vague, but she could barely remember anything other than being tortured.

"He relied heavily on my fight or flight responses," Zyra said. Currently she and Etaceh were standing in a field. It was odd to see the dark witch behind the sunset. The grass glistened with dew and the air was crisp with chill. Or maybe that was because she was still wet from putting that boar down. She smiled just thinking about it. Sweet meat, succulent and aromatic, soon to be—

"Eh hem!"

She turned back. "I learned how to project shields when attacked, how to land when thrust into the air, and how to use my sword to cut through his magic using fire energy. I'm also good at harnessing earth energy."

"But only when attacked?"

Etaceh circled her, a frown on her face. "Bring up your shield Zyra."

Zyra nodded and took her stance. She calmed her mind and with a roar pushed it forward. Or so, she thought. She tried again. Nothing. Again! She stared at her arm in disbelief.

"This...this has never happened before. I swear I..."

She looked up to see a black ball of fire headed for her face. Lifting her arm up she grunted as her purple shield erupted from her.

"Just as I thought," Etaceh said frowning. "Your magic is entirely defensive. Caligula clearly cut corners. He was too busy trying to show how much better he was at speeding up your progress than instilling the fundamentals."

Sighing Etaceh reached down on the ground and picked up a seed. A flash of black magic went through it and she handed it to her.

"This is a dead seed. I want you to revive and then make it grow."

"I've done this before—"

"With help," Etaceh snapped. "You need to learn to draw upon your magic regardless of the circumstance. You need to find out where your magic comes from, what drives it, and be able to access that place and those emotions when you need them most. Survival is not enough. You might harness enough magic to survive but without discipline you will never thrive."