The Story of a Lifetime

Halfway up the creaking staircase I paused again, catching my breath. "For fuck's sakes," I panted. "What kind of old lady has a hundred bloody stairs outside her house?"

But the greenery around me didn't supply me with an answer, so I started up the stairs again. They were unevenly spaced, some even angled weirdly, and each step was careful work. And hard work, especially when you're packing a bit of extra weight around the middle.

So, it was hardly a surprise that I was so surprised to look up and see the old lady standing not five steps above me.

Maybe old is an unfair term for her. She looked older than me, certainly, but that's not saying a lot. Her brown hair was shot through with silver streaks, and the wrinkles around her eyes were evident even through the grime and dirt on her face. She looked like she would be a bit too old to be my mother, but a bit too young to be my grandmother.

Of course, looks are deceiving. Her curly hair hardly did anything to conceal the length of her ears, and even if they were completely hidden it would still have been obvious that she was an elf. You can never quite put your finger on what sets them apart: the slightly too-large eyes that just aren't shaped quite right, the limbs that are just a bit too long and thin, the way they move with absolute careful grace, the way they seem to always look perfectly in-tune with the world around them no matter where they are. But you can always tell when you see one.

So old is an unfair term for her. Ancient is probably more appropriate. To have greying hair and wrinkles as an elf means she had to have lived four or five centuries if she had lived a year.

Before my first moment of noticing her, she had probably already taken in every detail about me: the slightly pointed ears, the lean build and height, the sharp cheeks, angled eyes, all elvish features. But the naturally red hair and wider bust and waist were all wrong for an elf. She nodded politely, and I knew she'd already pegged me for a half-elf. But she didn't have that quiet look of disgust about her that some elves get when they see a half-breed, so that was a point in her favor.

I smiled and nodded deeply to her. "Are you Mother Oak?" I tried to keep my voice a mixture of respect and confidence, but I was much too sweaty to come off as anything but tired.

"Indeed I am. But you already knew that, so my answer tells you little, though your question tells me much. You're not from around here."

I felt my cheeks warm slightly, then smiled. "Of course you knew that before I spoke, since this coat is made from silk that no one around here would even think to import, and my shoes are all wrong for a forest hike."

She smiled then, like I had passed some small test. "That and the fact that anyone within a hundred miles calls me Granny, and anyone who knows that much knows I'm not in business anymore."

"I'd heard you retired," I told her, nodding. "But I thought I might persuade you to take on one last patient?"

"Well," she said, eyeing my rather swollen belly. "Your case certainly does seem rather dire. And I never send anyone away before they've had a cup of tea. Do come in."

I bowed my head slightly, and followed her up the last few stairs to the short walkway leading to her hut. I call it a hut because she's a witch, but the word really fails to capture the elegance of her home. A cabin with wide windows and a sweeping doorway, all made with care and precision, and covered with beautiful details.

She opened the white wooden door and gestured for me to follow her. Every piece of furniture was simple but elegant, all smooth lines and gentle curves. She swept her arm towards what might be a dining room, and the two cups of steaming tea.

"They should be just about finished steeping," she told me, taking the spot closest to the wall, leaving me to take the seat at the head of the table. That would be a sign of respect, but the fact that my spot is closest to the door felt a bit like a hint that she would prefer me to leave sooner rather than later.

"Thank you very much," I told her, settling into the indicated chair. "I would be impressed that you knew I was coming, except that you probably heard me huffing my way up the stairs and figured you'd have a guest." I took a sip of the tea and paused. "But I am definitely impressed that you made the tea exactly how I would have."

She smiled again, and looked genuinely amused. "That wasn't hard to guess either. You've come a long way, and are obviously very pregnant. It is not too hard to guess that you would enjoy a good heap of honey in your tea."

"Nonetheless, it is wonderful tea," I told her, taking another small sip. "Thank you."

She waved her hand in vague acknowledgement of the compliment. "If you are here to discuss the finer aspects of tea, we may do so. But if you are here to engage my services as a midwife, I am afraid you will be dissatisfied."

"Yes, I'd heard that you retired some years ago, but also that you're the best. That you held the High Queen's hand when she birthed the boy who would later be the father of the High King. And that you attended the incubation of an elder dragon's eggs at her request, and that you even helped in the delivery of a hippogriff's foals."

She nodded. "All true, and not even the most exotic of babies that I've helped to deliver. And it's irrelevant."

"I heard that you were the best, and I had hoped that I could convince you to take on one last patient. You're the best suited for my... particular situation."

She looked me up and down again, a frown starting to crease her forehead. "And I suppose you brought wondrous and exotic treasures to exchange for my labor?"

I shook my head. "I have little of any value. I have the clothes and supplies that fit in that bag," I said, tilting my head towards the backpack I'd left in the corner, "and a handful of coins that probably couldn't buy your simplest potion."

"So, you've come to someone who has turned down magisters and titans, with no money to barter with," she said, her frown deepening. "What were you planning on offering?"

"Well," I said, meeting her eyes and trying to convey the depth of my need. "All I have to offer you is a story."

"A story?" She seemed genuinely shocked, and at least a little intrigued.

"It's a hell of a story," I promised.

She frowned in concentration, and looked me over. "How far along are you?"

"Ten to twelve months," I told her with a shrug.

She nodded, still frowning. "It can be hard to tell with mixed lineages. No offense intended." She got up and paced around the table, still watching me. "When did you miss your first period?"

I shook my head. "It's hard to say. My periods can be anywhere between every two to four months. Caught between two different reproductive cycles."

"Humans have their time once a month, while elves bleed once a year and are at peak fertility for a week or two at a time." She stopped for a moment, looking directly at my stomach. "Still, you look fit to burst. Were you full elf, I'd say you were a year-and-a-half in, and were you human I'd say you were only a week or two before your due date. It would be easier to gauge where you are in your term if I knew more about the father."

"I'm not sure who he is," I told her frankly.

"Indeed," she asked as she began pacing anew. I felt some tension leave my shoulders at the lack of judgment in her tone, even if her constant moving made me feel like a prey animal. "In any case, it is more important to know what he is."

"Well," I said, fidgeting a bit. "That's where the story comes in."

She stopped short, staring at me. "You're not sure what species the father is?"

"Like I said, it's a hell of a story. You might want to put on another pot of tea. We're going to be here a bit. You see, about a year ago I had just come out of a bad relationship..."

***************

The easiest way to travel is to take a horse, which is perfectly reasonable. But buying a horse is expensive, and travelling alone can be a risky move, especially for a young woman. The next best way to travel would be a carriage, which is much safer but even more expensive.

So I went to a large tavern, the kind where people of moderate means would gather for a quick drink or a bed, and kept an eye out for a merchant. The third best way to travel is to find someone going in the same direction as you, and simply join them.

I found a merchant going East towards Windport, which is pretty close to where I was heading. After a couple of drinks he agreed that for a few silver pieces I could ride with him. He had a large cart and an armed guard, so I would be relatively safe. And the price was cheap enough to make it worth my while.

Especially since I was hoping to leave town as soon as possible, and the man was planning on going at first light. I figured it would be soon enough that I could be sure my ex-boyfriend wouldn't track me down.

I winced at the thought of him. He was a passionate man, and fairly skilled in the bedroom. But he was also a possessive piece of shit, hence my sudden departure. Not so sudden that I hadn't had time to enjoy one more roll in the sack with him that morning. He'd fallen asleep and I'd taken only a moment to clean myself before sneaking out with the bag I had packed the night before. I had a moment of worry again. I hadn't asked him to pull out, as I usually did. But I figured the relatively low fertility I had inherited from my elvish half would keep me out of trouble, as it always had.

I snapped out of my reverie and found the merchant staring at me, clearly waiting. "Oh," I stuttered. "Yes, perfect. Two silver on departure, we leave at first light. Got it, Ray."

He blinked like he thought I was stupid, but said nothing impolite. Funny how a man becomes much more patient when you have a pretty face and offer him some coins for his trouble. "First light," he reaffirmed, probably figuring I'd be ditzy enough to forget if he didn't remind me a few times. "And it's Roy."

I bartered with the innkeeper for a cheaper room, and ended up in the communal sleeping area in a small bunk. It was a distinct step down from where I'd been sleeping up until this morning, but as I watched an orc who was well over seven feet tall try and fold himself into a bunk that would have been a tight fit even for me, I decided that some people had it even worse.

I woke up to the smell of bacon and sweat, and the sound of a dozen people moving about. I folded my sleeping roll away and replaced the dirty sheets that had previously been on the uncomfortable bed, and met with my new friend in the main area. He was just finishing up what looked like a plate of bacon, and I cringed slightly at the sight of the greasy plate.

But there was freshly baked bread, still warm from the oven, and even a handful of bright red strawberries. I bought a second loaf for the road, and joined Roy outside in time to watch him finish the last bit of preparation for the journey.

With the horses suited up, he deemed the cart ready for travel.

Beside us, a trio of orcs that I had seen last night were saddling their own horses. Seeing me looking at them, the merchant nodded to me. "They're travelling the same way for a few days, and we figured it might be smart to go as a group. Six of us in total, probably most bandits would let us pass by rather than bother us. 'Specially with three orcs. And Berta."

Orcs weren't always violent, and many probably had no idea how to fight. But between their massive physique and their history of war, they had earned a brutal reputation.

I wasn't thrilled about being surrounded by a bunch of strange men, but perked up a bit when I saw that the hired bodyguard was a woman. I smiled at her, but she just frowned. I took a moment to recover, then decided that it's probably not an uncommon reaction to a stranger when you're a professional bodyguard. Especially when you're a dwarf. Oddly, I felt safer just having Berta there.

I hopped up onto the back of the cart, and looked it over. It had a canvas top about four feet tall, and the whole thing was six feet across and probably ten feet long. The front had only a small bench, so I settled down on the back of the cart.

I draped my legs over the edge and leaned against a sack of potatoes as the unmistakable sound of cracking reins got the horses moving. The streets were smooth, and I watched the city pass slowly around me, then saw the gate pass overhead and slip behind us.

I watched the city shrink as the cart rattled its way down the highway. An hour later I was still watching, though the city had since shrunk away to nothing on the horizon. I sighed, already missing the comforts of city life, and fished out a small map. I'd bought it the day before I left my lover's house, and it seemed fairly accurate.

I traced the highway's path on the thick parchment, figuring out how far this cart could get me before I'd have to go off on foot. If the merchant followed the main road, which he almost certainly would, I'd be able to ride comfortably for three days, and could probably make the rest of my journey on foot.

I folded the map and put it back in my bag, then settled into a light doze as the morning sun slowly rose above us.

My eyes snapped open as the cart dipped into a pothole in the road, rocking the whole wooden frame. I blinked a few times and stretched slowly, letting the muscle cramps work themselves out.

The cart was slowing now, so I stepped out onto the thin ledge, and craned my head around the side until I could see Roy. "We stopping?"

"A short stop," he shouted over his shoulder, not bothering to turn around in his seat. "Good time to stretch your legs, piss in the bushes, eat a lunch, whatever."

My lip curled a bit at his vulgarity, but I couldn't argue. My legs were stiff and I needed to get out of the cart for a bit.

The cart slowed to a crawl as Roy looked for a good spot to park it. Impatient, I hopped out the back and started walking beside it, almost limping as I worked the kinks out of my leg. Ahead, the three orcs had dismounted and tied their horses to a tree. I set off in that direction, watching the horses graze among the weeds.

I stepped off the small path and stepped behind a bush, and found a place to relieve myself. Roy might be nauseating, but he wasn't wrong about that part.

Finished, I pulled my pants up and turned. I stopped short when I heard a bush move, and quickly stepped behind some foliage. One of the orcs stepped into my line of sight and stopped near a small creek, looking around. Apparently satisfied, he unlaced the front of his shirt and pulled the whole thing over his head.

I started to turn away, but a twinge of curiosity drew my eye back. He was facing away from me, leaving me only a view of his back, but what I could see nearly took my breath away. His skin was the deep green of fresh moss, pulled taut over lines of hard muscle. He bent down, dipping a rag into the creek, and I admired the way his pants clung to his ass when he moved. But then he straightened again, starting to slowly wash himself with the cloth, and I felt embarrassed at watching a stranger in such a private moment.

I set off to get back in a slightly roundabout way, and by the time I joined the group they were ready to go. I watched that same orc lift himself into his saddle, and couldn't help but stare at his arm as he climbed up. Muscles bulged under his dark green skin, and I felt my eyebrows creep up a bit.

But then I looked up, and he was looking right at me. He had obviously just caught me staring, and he gave me a wink. I felt my cheeks grow hotter, and have no reply but an embarrassed head duck.

I turned and fled back to the cart, pulling myself up and into it without a backwards glance.

I pulled out the book I'd brought for the trip, but found myself reading the same few lines over and over.

I sighed and put the stupid book aside, irritated at myself. I pulled the map back out and started trying to gauge landmarks around us to figure out how far we'd gone so far. By our second break (which was thankfully uneventful), I had figured out the approximate distance we'd gone. After comparing my map with Roy's, I decided mine was at an accurate scale, and I started figuring out relative distances.

By the time it started getting dark outside the cart, I'd determined that I'd be going about thirty miles on foot, which would be at least two full days if I made good time. I sighed, starting again at the little mark I'd made on the map, "The Old Woods".

The sun had dipped about halfway down the horizon when our cart finally came to a complete stop, ten feet off of the road.

The three of us left our respective spots, and Roy started pulling firewood from the back of the cart. Berta found a large pot, and filled it from a small stream. I chopped a few potatoes into the pot while Roy worked on the fire, and before long we had a stew roasting.

The orcs had their own fire, and three small tents set up. They kept to themselves, and their loud laughter made me think they had no problem with that.

As our potatoes were finally getting soft in the pot, one of the orcs sauntered over to our fire. I wasn't particularly surprised to see that it was the same guy who'd caught me eyeing him earlier. "Don't know about you folks," he said without any preamble, "but we orcs have some traditions. One of those is that you don't travel with someone you haven't shared a drink with."

He held out a leather flask in Roy's direction, and the two traded wineskins. Roy took a sip from the orc's bottle and coughed, looking mildly horrified. Berta took the wineskin from her boss, and drank much more smoothly. She nodded to the orc guest, and passed the bag over.

I took it, only hesitating a moment, and then took a sip. I'd expected the strong alcoholic kick, but I hadn't anticipated it being spicy. "Spiced brandy?"

He nodded, taking the flask back when I offered. He handed Roy's own wineskin back to him, looking mollified.

He turned away, then immediately turned back to me. "Met Berta and Roy earlier, but I never caught your name."

"Amaranthea," I said, holding a hand out. "But most people just call me Amy."

"Amaranthea," he repeated smoothly, taking my hand in a firm grip. "I'm Davor. Back there is Mazon and Ausk, my brothers in all but blood." He gave us all a tusky grin, gave me one last look, then went back to his group.

"He seems nice," Roy commented, and Berta gave a noncommittal grunt.

Both the stew and the company left much to be desired, but it was nice to sit down and eat after a long day on the road.

The three of us slept in the cart, with Roy sprawled over a couple of boxes, me tucked beside the potatoes and Berta by the lip of the cart. I'm sure she was colder than the other two of us, but had fresh air instead of the smell of three bodies, so she maybe had a better deal.

The night passed without event, and we all woke to sunlight coming in through the canvas top.

I staggered, stiff and tired, to the little stream, with Berta right behind me. She set out to fill the kettle with water, and I looked for somewhere to relieve myself again, finally settling on almost the same place as last night.

Today, no orcs happened upon me, and I was equally disappointed and relieved.

By the time I got back, Berta was gone, and I had the stream to myself. I pulled out a small strip of cloth I'd packed, and dipped it in the water. I almost shivered as the cold water stole the heat from my hands.

Then I took a quick moment to scrub my face with the cloth. The icy water was almost painfully shocking on my skin, but refreshing. I cleaned my neck and armpits, then took a glance around. Seeing no one, I took the opportunity to wipe inside my pants with the now thankfully warm cloth.