Chapter 7

SITA

I know that I’m a pain in Gurrek’s butt. I’d hoped that cooking dinner tonight might endear me to him, or at least make him less prickly, but that doesn’t appear to have worked. And I was so, so hungry.

But he’s just as irritable as ever as he glances at me, then quickly turns his eyes away again with an even more sour look on his face.

He didn’t grimace like this when he was working in the forge. Though I could only see him in profile, he wore an expression of concentration as much as pleasure. He clearly enjoys his work, but upon coming home to find me, that’s all gone.

My eyes fall to my plate as I finish eating, then I get up to collect Gurrek’s. He snaps something in Orcish at me, and takes over cleaning up, demanding I once again “ sit down .”

I do as he asks, hoping that he might warm up to me. I would hate to spend my entire life here with someone who detests my presence.

After Gurrek has finished cleaning up, he retreats into the cellar. I hope he doesn’t mind that I helped myself. I was famished, and I thought it might be a nice surprise upon returning from working the forge to find a meal ready for him.

My assumptions don’t seem to be correct, though, where Gurrek is concerned.

After the house is gleaming again, he says something to me in Orcish that I try to commit to memory, because once he storms into his room and closes the door, I’m nearly certain it means goodnight .

Or maybe the rude version of that.

I spend another hour or two in front of the fire, staring into the flames, hoping they’ll give me some kind of answer. What should I do now? How do I make this new life bearable for both of us?

I’m not afraid of Gurrek, but I’m afraid of the future. Will I spend the rest of my days feeling like I’m walking on eggshells, trying to please someone who will never be pleased? Will I always feel this lonely ? Already I miss coming home to Van’s hugs and his endless chatter about his day. Perhaps I’ll simply have to get used to living with a monstrous grouch.

When no solution comes to me, I wander off to my bed on the floor and slip into a dreamless sleep.

The next morning, though, things change. I’m not sure if it’s a change for better or for worse, though.

After breakfast, Gurrek does not abandon me again. Instead, he beckons me along to follow him, and I’m both eager and trepidatious to find out what he has planned.

He leads me down the path toward the village, and my stomach flips at the idea of encountering even more orcs with whom I can’t communicate. But before we head into the village, Gurrek takes a right turn onto another path, one that leads to a modest home with two goats in a pen outside.

“Merka,” is all he says to me, and I wish I knew what that meant. Then he knocks on the door, and we wait.

Eventually, there come footsteps on the other side and the door opens. A much older orc woman greets us, gray hair braided over her shoulder to hang down her chest. She’s tall, though not as tall as Gurrek, and bulky, too. I still haven’t adjusted to just how big orcs are.

The woman nods like she’s been expecting us and speaks animatedly with Gurrek. He gives monosyllabic responses, then before I know it, I’m being ushered into the house.

I glance up at Gurrek and squint. Does he intend to leave me here? Is he... giving me away?

But we have none of my clothes with me, so I think it’s just temporary.

“Go,” Gurrek says in my tongue, pushing me toward the open doorway. I had hoped he might take me to the forge with him and make me useful there; it was fascinating to watch him work yesterday, and I’d love to see even more of it. But it seems he’s pawning me off on his neighbor instead.

Strangely hurt by this development, I step inside the house. Before the door can even close behind me, Gurrek is gone.

My emotions must show plainly on my face, because the older woman regards me with pity.

“Merka,” she says, tapping her chest. Then she points at me.

“Sita.” I tap my own chest, but there’s no real energy behind it. I’ve been given a babysitter.

Merka leads me deeper into the quaint little house, with walls covered in tapestries. It reminds me of Gurrek’s home but smaller, with only a single bedroom, and her hearth doubles as her fire pit.

We continue to the back door, where she leads me to a new room I didn’t expect.

Two looms sit in the middle of the wide space, while baskets of thread and yarn line the floors. She has two worktables, making the room look nearly as large as her house.

Merka picks up a stool and sets it next to the loom. Then she takes up her own seat in front of it and pats the stool.

She wants me to sit. Well, I suppose watching someone work is better than doing nothing. I sit down as instructed, and soon, Merka begins weaving.

We’re silent at first as she gets into the swing of it, and the quick movements of her hands on the shuttle mesmerize me. I’m still not sure why I’m here or what’s going to be asked of me.

After a time, Merka speaks.

“ Na agna zag? ”

I sigh. I have no idea what it means, and I’m growing tired of these orcs expecting me to understand them when they talk at me.

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” I shoot back.

Merka raises her brows. Then she pauses and brings one finger to the wood frame of the loom.

“ Saraga ,” she says, tapping it.

That must mean “loom.” I repeat the word, and she nods in approval. She tries it again with her thread, and I try to commit the word to memory.

This will be difficult, I can already tell.

After we’ve covered some terms for parts of the loom, I wonder if this is the reason Gurrek brought me here. He’s probably tired of the fact I can’t speak his tongue and wanted to find someone with the patience to teach me.

I suppose that’s a good sign. It will make it easier for me to integrate here.

Instead of continuing our lessons, though, Merka swaps seats with me and shows me how to operate the loom. I don’t quite understand why, but I have nothing better to do, so I pay attention and listen to her instructions even when I can’t make sense of them. I mimic her hand movements, watching each step carefully.

She nods in approval when I successfully imitate her. Then we continue to the next step.

And the next.

Soon I’m working the loom a bit at a time, adding another row, and then another to the rug she appears to be working on. When I’ve done a decently good job—though she stops and corrects one of my passes—she leads me over to the second loom and starts me from the beginning on a fresh roll of yarn.

“What should I make?” I ask her. She rubs her chin.

“Make,” she repeats, and I nearly jump for joy, discovering that she knows some of my language. She shrugs and raises her arms into the air.

I think she’s saying I can make whatever I want.

A blanket seems simple enough, and it’s utilitarian with the winter coming soon, so I select my colors and Merka helps me put in the first few rows. Once I’ve got the hang of it, though, she steps away and returns to her own work.

This turn of events is surprisingly delightful. Working with my hands this way tickles my need to do something productive, and even though I make frequent mistakes, I can see the object of my labors forming quickly in front of me. It’s satisfying, and maybe I could make things of use someday. New blankets, or fresh rugs for Gurrek’s floor, or perhaps even fabric to turn into clothing.

My mind sticks on this thought. Why should I want to make anything for this orc who detests me?

I’ll make the rug for my own room, so my feet don’t get cold.

After a time, we take a break, and Merka leads me outside to serve water and lunch. She’s quiet at first, studying me as if trying to get a sense of who I am even though we can’t talk. I try to smile and thank her for showing me the loom, as well as for feeding me, and she takes this much better than Gurrek would, smiling and nodding in return.

As we sit, Merka teaches me some new words for the things around us—sky, trees, grass, flowers. She has quite a few garden beds out behind her home, and even though fall is setting in and the leaves are slowly tumbling to the ground, I still find the raised wooden boxes full of flowers beautiful in their simplicity. It reminds me of home and the few daisies that Mother kept alive outside the front windows.

They’re probably dying now, too.

I shiver as a breeze picks up, so Merka and I retreat indoors. We work for another few hours at our respective looms before my hands are sore, and while I’m wringing them out, Merka gets to her feet.

“ Home ,” she says, a word she taught me earlier today when she pointed off to Gurrek’s house. “ You go home. ”

I can’t decide if I’m excited or disappointed. I relished spending time with someone else today, someone who wants to make conversation with me and even praises me from time to time. I didn’t know Merka when I arrived this morning, and though it took her some time to open up to me, I feel like I might have a friend.

But now, facing the task of returning to Gurrek’s house, I have a cloud hanging over my head. At least I learned some words today that I can use with him, and maybe he’ll appreciate that I’m trying to communicate.

When I step outside Merka’s front door, I’m surprised to find the object of my thoughts standing against a nearby tree, arms crossed, one leg propped up on the trunk.

Was he waiting for me? Gurrek glances up when the door opens, but his face is unreadable. I don’t think he’s very happy to see me.

“ Hello , Gurrek, ” I attempt in Orcish, and his brows rise.

“ Hello .”

He doesn’t say anything else as he starts off walking down the path, and I hurry to catch up. Glancing over my shoulder, I wave goodbye to Merka, and she winks as she waves back.

Gurrek and I don’t speak further as we approach the house. Inside, I leave my shoes by the door along with his boots, and immediately he starts busying about making dinner. When I stand up to help, though, he snaps at me.

“ No .”

I shrink back. I learned this word today through Merka telling me how to use the loom—and how not to use it. But Gurrek said it with so much force that all my good mood from the day has dried up.

Gurrek falters for a moment, watching me with those strange, yellow eyes. Then he sighs, turns around, and continues chopping like he had been before.

This is what I wanted, I remind myself. Someone who wouldn’t be interested in me that way. And I’ve certainly accomplished what I set out to do. Gurrek would never attempt to even touch me with the way he views me as a mere pest, so I sit and watch while he works.

Each of his movements in the kitchen is practiced and quick, just like they were at the forge. He slices onions faster than my eye can follow before depositing them in the pan, then he moves on to potatoes and carrots. Everything else fades away as I track his big hands, thick and calloused but also deft, and how they coast through his tasks.

Something about those hands stirs me. As I follow each of his motions, I wonder where else those hands have been, and what else they’ve done. He’s so morose all the time—has he ever cared for someone? Has he even had lovers before that he touched with those hands?

Of course he has. He’s older than I am, though I can’t exactly say by how much, given that he’s an orc. He doesn’t have any wrinkles, but there’s an air of maturity about him. He’s clearly lived alone for many years, as accustomed as he is to caring for himself.

I have no such life experience. I’ve never let a man touch me that way, not beyond a few fingers up my skirt. I didn’t like it, and it was more uncomfortable than pleasurable. I can do much better on my own at pleasing myself, though I rarely found the opportunity while sharing a single room with Van.

Kisses here and there? Sure. Penises? None. There simply wasn’t ever time to fool around with village boys given my commitments to my family. They were all immature, stupid things anyway, with more muscle than sense. They would get into trouble, and a few of them once let some of our cows escape. I beat them all with a broom until they shouted at me and ran away. Van and I only managed to get one of the cows back, and I didn’t speak to any of the ingrates for months afterwards.

But Gurrek is nothing like those foolish young men. He’s nothing like any human man I’ve met, if I’m frank. He sees to his own home just as well as he does to his business, cooking and cleaning and maintaining everything he owns well. He also seems kind enough to his neighbors, if a little gruff.

It’s really only me whom he doesn’t seem to care for.

Soon Gurrek serves the food onto plates, which he brings to the table. I get out of his chair and reach for my plate to head off to my place in the living room, but Gurrek says, “ No .”

I flinch, freezing in place. He marches into my room, and then a quick moment later, returns with a wooden object in his hands.

It’s a chair! A small chair, built just like the one he already has but scaled down. He sets it on the floor across the table from his own, then points at it.

“ Sit down .”

I snap out of my wide-eyed wonder long enough to find my way into the seat. It’s comfortable, much more than his enormous chair, and my feet can touch the floor. The table is a little too high now, but that’s perfectly fine with me.

I don’t think it’s fine with Gurrek, though. He frowns at how I have to sit up to reach my food and lets out a world-weary sigh. But he says nothing else as we eat, and I think that somehow, I’ve disappointed him again.

After the meal is over, I say, “ Thank you .” I don’t know if I’m thanking him for the chair or the meal or both.

Gurrek’s eyebrows rise, then he nods. “ You’re welcome. ”

When I gather up the plates, though, he doesn’t try to stop me. Thank goodness. I’m glad to busy about, getting water and scrubbing dishes until the kitchen is gleaming clean again. It satisfies the part of me that longs for home, that misses the familiarity of busying about.

And I can also feel a little less guilty about the fact Gurrek had to go out and procure an entirely separate chair for my much smaller human frame. I’m so unsuited to everything orc, and it couldn’t be more clear than right now.

But the chair was marvelously thoughtful on Gurrek’s part.

After picking up a cloth I dropped on the floor, I turn around to find the subject of my thoughts has been watching me the entire time, a look on his face I can’t read.

“ Hello ,” I say, not sure how else to ask what he’s thinking.

He blinks, as if he’s been in a daze. Then his face darkens at the cheeks and his lips curl down in a fierce frown, bringing his tusks low.

Have I upset him somehow?

“ Goodnight ,” Gurrek says with a huff, getting up to his feet. I peer out the window, where the sun still hasn’t set.

“ Goodnight? ” I ask, perplexed by how early it is. But when I turn around, he’s already stalking into his bedroom and closing the door behind him.

It slams shut, and I stare at the space where Gurrek used to be.

I wish I knew what I was doing wrong.