Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Anger wedges itself between the lust and thoughts of the female next door as Oran flips the venison and my mouth begins to water. Although, I am not sure if it is from the smell of the food or something else…
“Isn’t that meat done yet?” My sister Athaan approaches from the smaller firepit with potatoes skewered on sharpened branches, laying them down on the cooler side of the grate where Oran is cooking. “Let’s get this party started. The mead is quite tasty.” She smiles and I see the sway in her walk, knowing she’s had a few mugfuls already.
Life on Earth is an infinite measure better than being enslaved but it is not without its challenges, and Sunday is our day to try to forget our troubles. To help that, it is not unusual for us to throw back a few growlers and mugs of fermented mash or mead. There are older members of our clan that tend to our distillery back at our camp and it is an art I have yet to master.
“I am missing Gathred,” my mother says as she sighs and Mol and Raven come back from the house.
We all nod, the moment of levity lost. “Let us drink to Gathred, then.” I walk to where the mead barrel sits open and grab a mug, scooping up the dark liquid and holding the mug to the sky as Raven fills mugs for my mother and Mol, and Athaan re-fills hers.
“To Gathred,” we say in unison, the tightness in my chest intensifying as I remember our eldest brother. “May he find his way back to family. In this life, or the next.”
“Lakktra.” We say our family name together, then lower our mugs and take a long drink of the sour, warm liquid.
The thump of my heart reminds me of the time before we were taken. The three of us older brothers, all except Oran, working beside our father in the fields and mines of North Haara. Gathred was a natural leader. As hard and stern as our father, yet able to bring peace to the hardest of situations. He was known as the Sensana in our clan and his loss during the return was not only felt by our family, but by the entire clan.
The last we heard, he was killed in the first battles when we returned. Humans and orcs fought for months, herding us into camps not fit for swine. We were separated from him, and finally Judicial Enforcement informed my mother that his body was found inside a building that exploded after an orc gang tried to occupy it illegally and it was firebombed.
There was no time to mourn. No closure and a property warriors funeral pire. We only have our memories and those we hold in the fists of our clan one day, in this life or the next, to be united with him again.
I scoop another mug of mead as the food is set out on the long feast table I finished building yesterday. Orcs are communal eaters. We lay the meal on the table and everyone takes what they want. Plates and silverware are human inventions and a waste of time if you ask me. Hands are just as washable as plates and forks and eating with your hands suits our deep, primal nature.
The eating and drinking continue as the sun finds its way to rest behind the trees of the camp behind the house. It is an old golf course that has served our clan well, and the addition of this sub-division with its damaged houses and open land will serve us well for years to come.
As long as we can secure it before it is taken by others.
We eat and talk of the past and the future. Oran is the quietest, Mol calmer now that he is mated and I, well, I carry deep darkness from our time away from Earth. A darkness I can never forget and never forgive.
“You’ve barely eaten.” Athaan throws a cleaned bone into the pile on the ground.
“I’m not hungry,” I snarl. “I have to get back to work.”
“It’s dark,” she says on a chuckle.
“I see better in the dark,” I say, striding toward the house as the rest of them continue eating and drinking as though the world isn’t spinning backwards right now.
Inside the back door, I lift the leather belt, heavy with my tools, and buckle it around my center, grimacing again at the hot pokers of pain that shoot out from my throbbing shaft.
I pull my hammer and head toward the side wall. I will fit it with dry timbers, then stretch animal skins tightly across to cover up the horrible floral wallpaper that covers main living area. I’ve already ripped out the pink soft carpeting and replaced it with rough-sawn planks. Torn out the low ceiling to the rafters which will be covered with timbers and hides as well.