Majutsu-shi no Chikara Ch. 10

"Nurcan." Prende bowed in greeting, even as the human leaned in and snatched the dagger-like tooth from the nymph's grasp.

Kamakshi's brow rose in confusion at this. This fae's reaction to these humans seemed less as master and more as supplicant... or fawning child. Snorting, the former chieftain spat into the vines at her feet before she followed, naked and seemingly forgotten for the moment. A curiously human arrangement for such a being, that Kamakshi was not entirely certain the nymph controlled their relationship any more than she herself controlled Damon. The notion unsettled her, and she shook her head again, re-focusing her attention on the slender, swaying form of the nymph ahead of her.

"I have clothing for you." the woman, Nurcan, looked only just over her shoulder but did not meet Kamakshi's eyes. "Follow me, ser."

Letting her smile open just enough into a sneer, Kamakshi savored the sound of the honorific. It was good to still be feared, even if she felt hobbled in this shriveled human place, and the lure of hospitality was a welcome balm to her abused pride.

"I have hunger." Kamakshi's quickened only a pace or two and drew alongside Nurcan, causing the human to flinch involuntarily -- but Nurcan did not look up or step away from her. "Much hunger."

"We have food." Nurcan clipped these words, bobbing her head as she walked faster through the village and eager to be done hosting Damon's strays... or whatever they were.

"And males?" Kamakshi kept in step easily with the shorter and less hale human, though Kamakshi guessed she was easily four hundred or more moons the elder of Nurcan.

"Any willing to lay with you shall seek you out." Nurcan gave the she-ork a glance, bitter, venomous. "That is more hospitality than could be demanded..."

For a murderer. Nurcan bit her tongue to silence, but Kamakshi heard the hidden meaning well enough in the human's cold welcome.

"Then I should thank you." Kamakshi made it clear that she was not grateful, but a loud growling from her gut made her chuckle. "And my belly is more eager."

"Hmph." Nurcan hefted her skirts to quicken her pace a bit more, grunting with the effort as her joints groaned painfully.

Leather-soled shoes, simple in their design, scraped and rasped a deft path on the packed trails and single road of South-wold to Nurcan's own family home. There, her father and remaining kin had gathered to discuss the unnatural return of their forsaken neighbor. The matter of his entourage, one they recognized and the other they had seen or heard tell-of, was becoming a restless discourse between them. Four, in all, and their voices carried clearly to where Nurcan stopped and motioned Kamakshi to abide a moment before she ducked inside the narrow frame doorway.

...

"Tidn't nat'ral." her third-cousin, Omachari, was chewing the words out the left side of his mouth and scratching the deeply-scarred knuckles of his right hand restlessly with his left. "Tae hae 'n ork brin' him back... an' two 'm, beside."

Stern faces gave nod and grumble, as Nurcan approached -- but it was Shaum who spoke next.

"His return is drifted snow, for true." Shaum rasped, his eyes noting his daughter with firm regard as he continued. "If the Head-Elder shall suffer it, South-wold shall suffer it."

"Omach', would ye break hospitality?" Nurcan wove into their conclave and fetched an unmended tunic and skirt that she decided would serve better to offer some modesty for the brownish she-ork waiting outside. "Cultivar and Blight an ye do."

"Aye." Omachari sniffed, wiping his left hand over his face below a drooping right eye. "An I do -- I didnae."

"Orks didnae honor hospitality when they cut our kin down." Nurcan's surviving sister, Shimai, gave pointed argument. Her hands made a warding symbol toward the door, Kamakshi's form plain beyond the threshold.

"Are we orks?" Shaum coughed lightly, scrubbing his bony hands over the fabric swaddling his knees. "What do we know of these arrivals?"

Eyes turned to Nurcan, who plainly had more to share -- for she heralded the darkening of their door by half the orks in the village this day.

"Mother and daughter." she answered, chewing her lip as she considered whether to elaborate.

"They look an age t'gether." Shimai's tone was disbelieving.

"Aye." Nurcan nodded, but Omachari grumbled and his scarred right hand shook feebly.

"Th' rest?" Omachari glared hatefully toward the door before turning his attention to his cousins. "Wha' o' th' rest?"

"Dead, or fled?" Shaum's voice was hopeful, but Nurcan was forced to give answer that quelled no fear.

"No more threat, or they would hae been upon us, a'ready."

"Their shaman?" Shaum leaned to the side, grunting at the effort to peer around his gathered kinfolk at the blurry wall of grey-brown flesh just beyond his door.

"Just outside." Nurcan frowned and bowed her head, wrapping the clothing she carried about her left arm.

The surprise of those in Shaum's house was a single, sharp intake of breath and a unison of three different exclamations that made the whole unintelligible -- even though the meaning was plain.

"Their shaman -- and her daugher -- have returned Akuji's son?" Shaum sat back in shock, eyes staring vacantly through the upper edge of the room opposite where he sat.

"As ye say, Father." Nurcan bowed politely. "Excuse me."

"That's a bitter humor." Shaum scratched at his hollow cheek, his stubble making his long, narrow face bristle in patchy white whisker.

"Eh? Wha'sat?" Omachari sniffed loudly, his left hand again picking at the scars on the back of his right hand.

"Cultivar and Blight, 'tis said." Shaum shivered and fussed at his blankets to warm himself. "See that the Head-Elder's tasks are completed. Belike he will want to revel his son's return from the dead. What father would not?"

"Da?" Shimai could scarce believe her ears, but a sidelong glance from the old man gave it the proof. "As ye say, Da."

Nurcan was shepherding Kamakshi (newly garbed) away from the door when her three kinfolk emerged and filed down the path at as brisk a step they could muster. Omachari spat a loose clump of phlegm over his shoulder, but did not turn his head or eyes to look on Kamakshi or his cousin, before tottering along his way in a wobbly limping gait.

From within the house, Shaum's scratchy voice coughed out to them.

"Tarry you, Exile?" and he coughed several times.

Kamakshi waited for his fit to settle before she grunted an acknowledgment.

"Speak with me, if you would do no more ill on us." Shaum gurgled, then coughed again before Kamakshi heard faint sipping noises.

Nurcan gave a sigh and motioned to the entrance before dropping her hand to slap loosely against her thigh in defeat.

Kamakshi eyed the doorway, looked Nurcan up and down; then looked down at her borrowed clothes. The coarse fabric of the tunic was taut over the she-ork's bosom, and snug at the arms. The skirt was likewise tight at the hips, but offered no other constraint to her movement. When she bent her arm and squeezed, several stitches groaned and popped, revealing a thin wedge of naked flesh where the seams failed. Flexing her neck to a cracking noise, she considered her own intentions in South-wold before she shook her head, hunched her shoulders, and ducked through the narrow frame into the shade of Nurcan's house.

Inside, Kamakshi was forced to stoop, lest she strike her head against the timber beams set across the span of the structure. The timbers created narrow sleeping lofts abutting the gables of the roof's high peak. Between these lofts, the central hearth was set and built-over with a stone-and-iron arch; furs, woven pallets, and two chairs arranged all about. A human ancient -- who must have once been nearly as tall and broad as Kamakshi herself in his prime -- looked shrunken into the larger of the two chairs, and swaddled in furs and blankets against a chill Kamakshi did not feel. Ravaged by time, the ancient received Kamakshi's silent pity, for orks often lead such violent lives that time seldom destroys much of their sinew before some other marauder or beast of the wild removes them from the tribe. The sight of old humans was always unnerving to Kamakshi, for these wizened figures seemed to hold a shrewd power apart from magic that was no less mystical in its fullness. In all her life, she had seen but two orks that had lived long enough to suffer time's pitiless hunger and be deserving the title "old". Even those had been bulwarks of health compared to the decrepitude of aging humans (already a frail species).

"I bring no promise of bloodshed to South-wold, or any kin of Damon son of Akuji, human." Kamakshi nodded her head with what she understood to be human politeness -- a ritual most tribal orks did not share.

"You are the one they call Sidero? The one they called chief?" Shaum looked up at her.

Clever human. Kamakshi raised a brow at him, while the human motioned to Nurcan and waved his hand limply toward an iron kettle resting atop the arch of the hearth.

"I am Kamakshi, of Sidero. I was called chief." she admitted.

"We have not crossed blades with a war party of orks in many summers, Kamakshi Sidero." Shaum straightened in his chair, then sagged again as though his effort made no difference.

Nurcan offered her a clay cup of steaming water -- which Kamakshi accepted. Nurcan gave only passing glances at Kamakshi as the woman set about tidying the hearth and preparing a fortified broth for her father. The she-ork sipped at the water, wondering at the curious human customs she had long puzzled-over but never bothered to seek more than simple explanation. In view of ork customs (such as they were), the only useful custom she had adopted was a method of diplomacy steeped in dialogue rather than bloodletting.

"We arrived from the north -- three or four moons' hard march along the mountains." Kamakshi's explanation was an answer all of skin and no flesh. Shaum seemed to know this before even the words had time to cool between them.

"Why did you bring your tribe to the south?" Shaum burped, sipped at a similar cup of steaming water, and flatulated loudly.

"My reasons are my..." but Shaum interrupted her before she could finish, which made her shoulders tense and her teeth grind.

"Cultivar and Blight is what brought you." Shaum hissed, wiping at his mouth with his free hand before setting his cup aside. "The name Sidero was known to me of old, but I did not remember."

"Your eyes fail you, to think I am Sidero." Kamakshi took a breath and relaxed the muscles of her back, stooping low to sit upon the floor on one of the pallets -- to a loud snapping of thread as stitches beneath the arm-holes of the tunic split wide.

"My eyes do fail." the old man nodded gravely. "That we are alive is proof you are not Sidero in the flesh... but perhaps a child, or grandchild, and your retreat from the north is further proof of your lineage."

"You are a scholar of ork bloodlines, then. A rare profession." Kamakshi grinned with more teeth than humor. "Or a Seer."

"No." Shaum pouted and wagged his head, spilling white strands of hair to either side of his face. "Merely old. Old and over-weary of the devices of wizards and scheming, petty gods."

"Cultivar and Blight?" Kamakshi sipped at the water. "I have no knowing of such human gods."

"Nor would you." Shaum glowered into the hearth, watching light play among the red coals as Nurcan stoked young flames beneath a fresh chunk of wood. "Cultivar and Blight is a parable of waste. Reap and sow ruin, then ruin shall befall you. That, it seems, is the fate of your sire or grand-sire: Sidero."

"Clever to find such meaning." Kamakshi scoffed, though Nurcan gave her a stabbing glare in response before resuming her preparations of the broth.

"Ruin, you mean? Or how it followed the name Sidero from the south, into the north, and back again?" Shaum gave a sly smile.

"And South-wold? How does your home come to welcome such ruin?" Kamakshi turned Shaum's smile back at him, but her cleverness was met with an infuriatingly sage nodding of the head.

"A mad sorcerer is best put to the sword, as any mad creature... wolf, stag... Matta stayed too long, when his time was long past." Shaum again pouted in deep thought. "But this brings us back to what brings you to my hearth."

"Damon."

"Ruin." Shaum corrected, raising a finger and wagging it slowly. "Or, more plainly: the rotting vestiges that spring new life."

"This... Cultivar?" Kamakshi furrowed her brow and frowned, but Shaum again nodded his head.

"You're more clever than most -- but you know that already." Shaum sighed and hefted his water cup for a tentative sip. "Do you know our Right of Hospitality?"

"If it is kin to what northerners call Hearth Right, I know it." Kamakshi nodded, quaffing the last of the water only for Nurcan to pick the cup up from where she placed it, refill it with more steaming liquid, and calmly offer it back to the she-ork.

Now, the liquid smelled of some southern herb of which Kamakshi was not very familiar. She drank the cha as delicately as her tusks would allow, and found the taste much to her liking. It tasted of a blooming meadow in late spring, when the flowers were fat with bees, and the heat reminded her of a hot spring she had frequented in the north before her exodus.

"Just so." Shaum waved his hand; whether to summon or dismiss her, Kamakshi could not be sure. "Akuji must offer you hospitality, as you come bringing him a precious gift, but do not think that he will let any of you remain."

"Not even his own child?" Kamakshi found this curious.

"Especially his child." Shaum frowned at her. Nurcan bowed her head, already well acquainted with the circumstances.

"I had not thought a human..." and again, Shaum interrupted her in the way the venerable had a way of scything through to another pointed argument.

"Much the way your daughter travels the same direction as you, but not for the same reason."

"South-wold keeps a Seer, then." Kamakshi scowled into the steam rising from her cha.

"Do you mean that you were exiled from your tribe and your daughter followed you?" Shaum cocked his head forward and narrowed his eyes at Kamakshi. "You would have me believe -- whatever magic struck your tribe and lead to your removal as chief -- that your daughter gave her loyalty to you and not the rest of the tribe, when she could have taken the mantle of chief? Or do you think me a fool and I believe you two are the only survivors of your tribe who come now in contrition to beg forgiveness?"

Damned humans. Kamakshi decided not to continue their conversation. "You are too clever, old human. It is good you are not a wizard, or I would take you as a seed slave."

"Pah." Shaum laughed dryly, slumping backward into the frame of his chair and waving Kamakshi away. "Go on, she-ork, and good riddance... these bones are close enough to the grave you'll get no more from me than spite."

"Then good riddance, hungry ghost." Kamakshi chuckled, and shifted to her feet. "May you die unfulfilled. Nurcan, my belly still hungers."

...

"Wait here, silently."

"I told you not to make me wait." Abhilash fumed, mumbling and growling softly to herself outside Ginga's home.

Damon had stepped inside a heartbeat after looking Abhilash in both eyes and telling her to wait outside. Abhilash waited, feeling more the fool standing in the wrecked human village without so much as a raiding party to carry-off any loot she pillaged. Not that she had anywhere to take it. The terror of losing her tribe had been swift and violent, and she had spent large portions of the journey from Inkar's camp in solitude gnashing her teeth and cursing her mother's stupidity for her plight. Now, the fear was somewhat dull, worn-down from too much use.

When Damon entered Ginga's house, the quiet was palpable. Abhilash wanted to throw a goat into their midst just to spark life into that silence -- but the goats were keeping well out of her reach for the nonce. Both humans started talking at the same time, and stopped to cough awkwardly in their stupid human way.

"Ginga, I'm sorry..."

"I'm sorry, I didn't..."

Abhilash jabbed the point of the sword into the dirt at her feet, bending and flexing the steel to amuse herself and wondering what manner of enchantments could make such a weapon keep an edge after so much use. Damon broke the silence next, with another stupid human thing that didn't involve strength, skill of arms, hunting, loot, or sex...

"I would marry you, if I had not been taken." he said, and Abhilash rolled her eyes and searched the sky for some sign in the clouds to explain the constant human whimpering. "I can't stay in South-wold, and I can't... I don't..."

"I don't want you to leave." Ginga responded with a voice like she'd shouted herself hoarse, likely from idiotic human weeping.

Taking a deep breath through her nose, Abhilash could smell the fear and lust. She smiled. The dead-stink was gone, for the moment. Damon smelled like he had when he had pleasured her, with the slightly acidic tang of fear below like stale piss on old leather. Ginga's shame (a strangled anger at the self) smelled more unpleasant still, but her arousal still encircled much of what she was feeling.

"Would you come with me?" Abhilash would have said it as a point of fact - come with me - but Damon was a stupid human.

"Yes." Came the woman's whispered reply. Abhilash closed her eyes and sighed with some relief, praying the humans would hurry up and rut so she could climb on Damon's cock before she lost her senses to her heat.

Stupid nymph. Abhilash grimaced and leaned against the wall where she stood. Making a rude gesture at onlookers who'd paused to glare at her, the she-ork set the sword-point in the dirt and tipped the weapon against Ginga's house. Hitching the hem of her tunic up in her left hand, she began stroking her eager cunt to soothe the throbbing urgency of her sexual hunger.

Seeing the blatant carnal display, her audience gasped and scattered... a few to more secretive vantage points where they might watch without the double shame of masturbating to the sight of an ork pleasuring themselves... or risk losing their own resolve to offer their own flesh in mutual gratification.

The two moved closer together, and the stench of arousal sweetened in Abhilash's nostrils -- driving her own lust onward in eager pursuit of its fulfillment. The pads of her fingers rubbed with quickly increasing pressure against her mound, first in strokes and then in more round motions.

"I don't know where I'm headed..." their voices grew softer, closer still.

"I don't care." Touching, or so close they were at least trading the scent of each other's breath as they spoke.

"I'm not sure what we'll do for coin..." the sound of rustling fabric, hands scraping over skin, an embrace.

"Let tomorrow worry for itself." this, from Ginga, was as much to calm her own nerves, and was followed by the wet sound of mouth-rutting. Abhilash's pace quickened, and she tilted her shoulders to crane her neck and look through the doorway.

Shit. They weren't in view of the entrance, and Abhilash gave a thought to how useless Damon might be if she barged in to demand his cock... her curse-bond to him offering the barest prickling heat at her temples. She held her breath, scrunching her eyes shut and focusing on the scents and sounds of their movement.

"I've missed you." he sounded winded, but his voice had a deeper, more eager sound that sparked against Abhilash's ears and reminded her of the grunting, sighing noises he made when he rutted her the first time. The wet smacking sounds of lips, slurping mouths, panting breath, skin on skin hissing. A moan, a groaning sound and the sharp hiss of pain, fingernails scraping and pulling hair. She could almost see Ginga's small, dark hands caught in Damon's mane, as his teeth pressed into her flesh. Abhilash wanted to step into the room, growling, snapping and dominating...