Chapter Two
The Survivor
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And the young human female
did speaketh.
~~*~~
“Hi! Are you an Orc?”
He stared up.
He should’ve been
like his now-dead brethren: he should’ve seen his opportunity and grabbed her
and eaten her alive. She was probably quite tender. But even with death staring
him in the face, he couldn’t force himself to look at this girl like that. He
swallowed hard and cleared his throat. He went to speak in the Black Tongue,
but what came out instead was English:
“Orc. Yes …
starving. Legs … broken. Don’t … know.”
He gasped for air,
amazed at himself, and amazed at her. The juvenile girl seemed utterly
unterrified.
“Men …” he said.
“Army … Gondor.”
She understood.
“They left early this morning. Didn’t you hear them?”
He shook his head.
It was a genuine miracle they didn’t discover him lying here and finish him. He
gazed up at the girl, whose face was upside down in his vision.
Her home must be
close by, he reasoned. If so, it was smack-dab in the middle of Orc territory.
Or … it was.
She knelt at his
shoulder and patted it consolingly. “I will bring back some food. Don’t go
anywhere, Mr. Orc, okay?”
She sprang to her
feet.
Before he could
croak out another (English!) syllable, she turned and ran off.
He raised his arms
over his face to shield it from the sun, and closed his eyes to make sure he
wasn’t dreaming.
She returned hours later. The sun by that point had been
thankfully occluded by large puffy clouds. A breeze had kicked up and cooled
him as well. He wheezed in his weakness and waited.
“It’s human food,
Mr. Orc. I hope you don’t mind.”
She put a plate
down by his shoulder and stood and watched him.
He could smell it.
Fowl of some kind. Chicken? His mouth was suddenly watering. He pushed himself
to an elbow and looked down at the plate.
It was chicken in
between two thick slices of bread. He grabbed it with his free hand and stuffed
it whole into his mouth.
“Wow!” exclaimed
the girl. “That’s impressive! When I try that at home, my mom gets really
upset!”
He chewed
manically, swallowed. It was delicious. He looked up at her.
“Are you thirsty?”
she asked.
He glanced at the
stream a few feet away, then back up at her. She followed his gaze and nodded in
understanding.
“Are you still
hungry?”
“Hungry,” he
rasped, still amazed at the ease with which English came to his tongue.
“Hungry.”
“If you come to my
house, I can feed you more.”
She lifted the
empty plate and put it in the pack behind her. “Here. Let me help you.”
She grabbed his
shoulder—again, without fear or trepidation—and said, “Sit up. Can you?”
With her help, he
sat up. He looked at her. “Legs. Broken. I think … broken …”
“Roll up your pant
legs. Let me look,” she offered.
She came around to
face him and knelt at his right knee. With her help, he rolled up the bottoms
of his torn and filthy pants.
She rubbed her chin
as she studied his legs. “Hmmm. Well, now, let’s take a look …” She shrugged.
“That’s what our physician says when I get sick. I think it helps.”
She went back to
rubbing her chin in a very professional and studious manner while visually examining
his legs. She reached cautiously and touched the right one, then gently
squeezed his calf. “Does this hurt?”
He felt no pain and
shook his head. She reached for his knee, gave it a squeeze. That did hurt, and
he squealed. She released it like it was suddenly hot. “I’m sorry, Mr. Orc! I
did not mean to hurt you!”
“It’s … okay,” he
rasped. “Okay. Knee. Not broken … just … sprained. I will be … all right.”
She looked
horrified that she’d hurt him. To help her confidence more than anything else,
he offered, “Would you … check the other one, please, young physician?” The
sound of easy English coming to his lips felt so odd that it made him queasy.
She nodded very
tentatively and reached for the other knee. She gave it a very light squeeze.
It didn’t hurt, and he told her.
“My … hip … that
side. And … back. Injured.”
“And your knee,”
she said.
“I can … stand … with
your … help. Please, young physician. I would be … most … grateful.”
She helped him
stand. It was very painful, and he squealed, and that scared her. But she did
not abandon him.
On his feet, he
leaned against her as little as he was able. Under his arm, she gazed up at
him, an unsure smile glancing her lips. “Can you walk? Our house is just up
this stream, no more than a mile.” She motioned with her chin towards a
tree-covered hill. The creek meandered out of the shadows there. It would be a
very difficult trek.
“I … can … try … if
you … if you are willing to … to help.”
“Let’s go,” she
said, and together they took their first steps together.
The pain of it was excruciating,
and he had to stop often for rest, many times after taking no more than five or
ten steps. But eventually the big trees drew near.
“Orc,” he told her.
“I’m … Orc … enemy … of humans. Why … why help me … young human?”
Her face was
covered in sweat, and it appeared that she was approaching exhaustion. They
stopped just a hundred or so feet away from the welcome shade.
“Rothtia,” she said
as she caught her breath. “That’s … my name. My mother calls me Tia. You can
too.”
“Tia,” he said.
She smiled.
“Why … why help … me,
Tia?”
She shrugged under
his armpit. “Because you need it.”
“But …” he rasped.
“I … am … Orc.”
She shrugged again.
“Your mother …” he
said.
“She always told me
that if I wanted to go to Heaven, that I should look for the good in all God’s
creatures. Besides,” she went on, “we’ve known many bad men, as bad as Orcs. No
offense, Mr. Orc. We could find no good in them, try as we might. One of them—a
soldier of Gondor—hurt her real bad once. Ever since that happened, the Orcs
left us alone. C’mon.”
With that, they
limped into the shade. She lowered him against a tree next to the creek, which
burbled happily. She opened her pack and filled two cups at the creek and
brought them back. They drank.
He was covered in
sweat and the shade cooled him, as did the water, which was delicious.
“What is your name,
Mr. Orc?”
His name, in the
Black Tongue, was Krasphé. When he tried to pronounce it, it stuck in his mouth
like a thick paste.
He tried coughing
to get it out. Tia stared at him, alarmed.
“Are you all
right?” she said urgently, standing. “Can I do something to help you?”
“My … name …” he rasped, spitting, “… name … Kras …p. Kra … s …p. KRA … -cough! - P … P! KRRRRAP-P-P-P!”
His chest heaving,
he gave up.
“Good to meet you,
Mr. Krapp,” said Tia.
The home was uphill a good way, which made the trek that
much more difficult. They eventually came upon a trail.
“This is ours,” she
gasped from under his armpit. “Not far now, Mr. Krapp.”
He looked up. The
trail started out as groomed dirt climbing over and running in between thick
tree roots. Stonework covered it a hundred feet on. From there it snaked
through a stand of several very large trees to the right and disappeared. From
that direction a faint call sounded out: “Tia? Tia? Where are you?”
“I’m here, Mom!”
The faint voice
came back: “Where is ‘here’?”
“The trailhead! I
need your help!”
“Coming!”
Krapp (he couldn’t
even pronounce his Orc name to himself!) felt fear flood through him. He was an
Orc. The human mother wouldn’t understand her daughter helping him. She’d call
on men to dispose of him. It was inevitable …
She appeared
several minutes later. When she saw what Tia was holding up, she stared. Krapp
saw fear in her eyes … but only for a moment. Tia must have seen it too,
because she blurted out: “He’s hurt, Mom. His name is Krapp. He’s hurt. You always told us we should look
out for those who need our help. He’s nice, Mom, really he is!”
Tia’s mother stared
… and then cautiously approached. A foot away she stopped. She hesitated for a
long, tense moment. Tia waited breathlessly; Krapp could feel her body become
rigid in expectation.
“Mr. Krapp,” said
Tia’s mother. “You indeed look hurt. Let me help …”
And with that she
moved to his left shoulder, where she threw his arm around her shoulder.
Together the two human females helped Krapp limp to their home.
Chapter Three
Chapter Three
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