Orc Birth

Short Story describing a birth ceremony for orcs.

            The wooden dummy made a satisfying crack as my mace smashed into where its face would be. Splinters flew through air as I raised my shield in defense of an imaginary blow. I stepped forward swiftly, striking once at my opponent’s stomach and again at its head. The dummy shook but did not break. I would have to tell Gruk’thar his woodwork had improved. It was a hot day and I was beginning to sweat as I raised my mace and shield again. Two fast blows where the legs should have been then a roll to the side in anticipation of a powerful swing. I threw my shield to the ground to get more speed. Then I gripped my mace with both hands and raised it over my head. A roar of rage burst from my mouth as I brought the mace down upon the dummy’s head. A loud crash erupted from it as the head was crushed into several pieces. I lowered my weapon and laughed. Maybe Gruk’thar wasn’t as good as I thought. As I surveyed the damage I noticed my son sitting not far away, his mouth agape. Another laugh escaped me and he closed his mouth, embarrassed.

            Raghat was tall for his age. He had seen eight summers and was beginning to show the signs of a potential warrior. His green skin was unscarred from disease or injury. A pair of tusks sprouted from lower jaw, long enough to look intimidating, but short enough to not get in the way. His shoulders were already as broad as male human’s and I knew he would be much bigger by the time he reached maturity. His head reached just below my chin and I often tousled his hair just to bother him. He let it slide because I was still an impressive figure to him.  But I knew that would end soon. It would not be long now until he stood taller than and challenged me for his right to manhood.  That old human saying was true. They really do age too fast. It seemed as though Grishna had brought him into this world only weeks ago.

            Her teeth had been bared in agony that day, but she refused to let out a single whimper of pain. Our tent had been prepared as instructed. Grishna lay on the pelt of my finest kill while the rest of the floor was nothing but dirt. She clutched my hand so tightly I thought I could feel my bones cracking. Her breathing was labored and heavy and she was hurting though she refused to show it. My muscles were clenched tight and I was struggling to control my anxiety. I had never seen her in pain and been unable to help. Then the Greatmother opened the folds of our tent and entered. I rose in anger.

            “Where have you been?! We have been waiting hours!” I shouted at her.

            “Borug! Do not be a fool! Sit down immediately!” Grishna had spat at me angrily. I sat down hard in frustration and grasped her hand again. Greatmother Ghorza did not answer me but instead set aside a sack she had been carrying. She reached her wizened and wrinkled hands into and pulled out several bundles of wood, flint and tinder, a skin of water, and several herbs.

            “Neither of you will speak until the child his here,” she whispered through a mouth almost devoid of teeth, “And when it is you speak only his name until night falls.”

            Grishna and I nodded to her and she began to crush the herbs into a powder with a nearby stone. She did not use a bowl or container but held the herbs in her bare hand as she ground them. The Greatmother then rested her other hand on the ground closed her eyes softly. My eyes seemed to be drawn to her and Grishna’s breathing slowed slightly.

            “Rahu, Lord of Earth, I ask you to grant this child strength, so that he may defend his people.” I thought I felt a rumble in the dirt beneath me, so subtle I could not be sure it wasn’t my imagination. Ghorza scooped a pile of dirt from the ground and mixed it with the herbs in her palm. Grishna’s breathing slowed to almost normal and she steadied herself.

            “Usanas, Mistress of Water, I ask you to grant this child empathy, so that she may look upon her people with understanding.” I heard a gently rain begin to fall on our tent as the Greatmother poured water from the skin into her palm. The water did not run through her hands, but stayed there pooled in her palm. Tears began to run down Grishna’s face. Her ran jumped to her face in shock, but Ghorza took no notice.

            “Manda, Spirit of Air, I ask you to grant this child clarity, so his wisdom may benefit us all.” A breeze flew through the tent flap and Ghorza raised her palm above her head for a time that felt both too long and much too short. I felt Grishna’s grip let up slightly and she stroked my hand with her thumb in a comforting way.

            “Nirriti, Queen of Fire, I ask you to grant this child passion so her people will feel inspiration and her enemies will know fear.” To my surprise, the wood Ghorza brought suddenly erupted in flame. The Greatmother held her palm in the flame and the mixture began to heat, though she was not burned. Then she dipped her fingers into the paste and began to draw strange symbols of Grishna’s confident face. The moved and shimmered in the firelight. The paste would sometimes appear to be a deep red then a soft blue in an instant. I could see what color it was or if it was all of them. When she had finished the Greatmother sat down and looked Grishna in the eyes. Neither woman looked away.

            “And now Master of Life, whose name is nothing and everything, I ask you to grant this child life.” A presence seemed to fill the small tent and I could not look away from the face of my lifemate. Grishna turned away from the Greatmother and stared into my soul. I saw many things in her eyes. Joy, sadness, anger, laughter, desire, loss, greed, love, and many emotions I could not fathom. I was no longer in the tent. I was with her in this realm of pure emotion. The earth was no longer beneath our feet. We were floating in a void of potential and endlessness.

            Then, just as suddenly as it began, it ended. I became aware that Grishna was holding a small green bundle in her arms. We both stared at him and said one word.

            “Raghat.”

            He looked up at me. “Yes Father?” he asked, an excited gleam in his eye.

            “Come here. I’m going to show you how to hold a shield.”