Oskor sniffed the air eagerly. Someone—probably Sidonwy, since Machiko was still on bed rest—had really outdone themselves with dinner tonight.
Without even realizing it, he found himself walking—no, floating—through the empty common room. Odd that no one was around, this close to dinner time, but he didn’t let the thought distract him from his goal. He’d hardly eaten all day, but he’d eat now. And the fewer people around to share with, the better.
A strange sight met him, as he swung open the kitchen door. Gone were the counters and sink. Gone were the piles of pots and pans. Gone, too, were the very ceiling and floor.
He was outside, standing on a hazy, sandy shore. Just ahead of him loomed the mouth of a small, cramped cave, the only light coming from a fire under a large black cooking pot.
Whirling around, Oskor found that the door he’d just come through had disappeared behind him.
“Tryin’ ta leave so soon, little orc?” A booming voice echoed from the cave. “At leas’ stay fah supper. I been cookin’ dis stew all day, just fah joo.”
A stooped figure, wrapped entirely in a black cloak, appeared in the cave’s mouth and beckoned to Oskor. “Well, come on, son. Don’ wan’ dis ta get cold.”
Oskor’s feet moved without him willing them to start. If he could, he would have run the other way. Instead, he found himself drawn to the mysterious speaker. “An’ what ifn Ah ain’t hungry?”
Two large, bony hands pulled the hood back, revealing the face of an ancient troll. As Oskor watched in horror and fascination, the ghastly white flesh seemed to melt away leaving only a grinning skull.
“Ah know joo, Oskah Stormborn, Oskah da Mace, Dean Oskah. But mebbe joo don’ remembah me.”
Oskor gritted his teeth. “Bwonsamdi.” His eyes flicked back toward the beach, but his feet wouldn’t move.
“Glad joo remembah, son. Ah’ll let joo git back ta ya business, jes’ as soon as we finish supper. Dat stew smell good, don’ it?”
Involuntarily, Oskor took a deep breath. Instead of the delicious scent that had brought him here, the air was now filled with the stench of the battlefield. Blood and sweat mingled with even more loathsome smells, and somewhere in it all, he recognized a horribly familiar aroma. An aroma that filled his room and often lingered in his clothing.
Rushing to the cauldron, Oskor peered in horror at what he knew he’d find. Inside, wearing the same horrible grins as the troll standing behind him, were two skulls: one adult-sized, the other smaller than his clenched fist. Most of the flesh had already come loose and fallen into the bubbling liquid. Even so, Oskor had no doubt who they were. The rumbling laughter from behind him confirmed it.
He whirled around, staring at the troll in disgust. “She said yew had a deal! She he’ped y’ wit’ reclaimin’ th’ Isles, an’ you were s’posed t’ make sure she an’ th’ kid came out safe an’ alive.”
His protests were answered by nothing but more howls of laughter. It grew louder and louder, echoing throughout the cave. Oskor fell to his knees, trying to cover his ears, but there was no stopping the awful din. Bwonsamdi’s appalling shrieks and howls rose to a thunderous crescendo.
The Loa’s voice reverberated in Oskor’s head. “Ya elfy forgot somethin’, orc. Bwonsamdi be tha Loa of Death. An’ no one—NO ONE—makes a bahgain wit’ me an’ lives ta tell about it.”
Tears of agony sprang, unwanted, to the orc’s eyes and a merciful darkness spread over him, as he finally blacked out.
Without even realizing it, he found himself walking—no, floating—through the empty common room. Odd that no one was around, this close to dinner time, but he didn’t let the thought distract him from his goal. He’d hardly eaten all day, but he’d eat now. And the fewer people around to share with, the better.
A strange sight met him, as he swung open the kitchen door. Gone were the counters and sink. Gone were the piles of pots and pans. Gone, too, were the very ceiling and floor.
He was outside, standing on a hazy, sandy shore. Just ahead of him loomed the mouth of a small, cramped cave, the only light coming from a fire under a large black cooking pot.
Whirling around, Oskor found that the door he’d just come through had disappeared behind him.
“Tryin’ ta leave so soon, little orc?” A booming voice echoed from the cave. “At leas’ stay fah supper. I been cookin’ dis stew all day, just fah joo.”
A stooped figure, wrapped entirely in a black cloak, appeared in the cave’s mouth and beckoned to Oskor. “Well, come on, son. Don’ wan’ dis ta get cold.”
Oskor’s feet moved without him willing them to start. If he could, he would have run the other way. Instead, he found himself drawn to the mysterious speaker. “An’ what ifn Ah ain’t hungry?”
Two large, bony hands pulled the hood back, revealing the face of an ancient troll. As Oskor watched in horror and fascination, the ghastly white flesh seemed to melt away leaving only a grinning skull.
“Ah know joo, Oskah Stormborn, Oskah da Mace, Dean Oskah. But mebbe joo don’ remembah me.”
Oskor gritted his teeth. “Bwonsamdi.” His eyes flicked back toward the beach, but his feet wouldn’t move.
“Glad joo remembah, son. Ah’ll let joo git back ta ya business, jes’ as soon as we finish supper. Dat stew smell good, don’ it?”
Involuntarily, Oskor took a deep breath. Instead of the delicious scent that had brought him here, the air was now filled with the stench of the battlefield. Blood and sweat mingled with even more loathsome smells, and somewhere in it all, he recognized a horribly familiar aroma. An aroma that filled his room and often lingered in his clothing.
Rushing to the cauldron, Oskor peered in horror at what he knew he’d find. Inside, wearing the same horrible grins as the troll standing behind him, were two skulls: one adult-sized, the other smaller than his clenched fist. Most of the flesh had already come loose and fallen into the bubbling liquid. Even so, Oskor had no doubt who they were. The rumbling laughter from behind him confirmed it.
He whirled around, staring at the troll in disgust. “She said yew had a deal! She he’ped y’ wit’ reclaimin’ th’ Isles, an’ you were s’posed t’ make sure she an’ th’ kid came out safe an’ alive.”
His protests were answered by nothing but more howls of laughter. It grew louder and louder, echoing throughout the cave. Oskor fell to his knees, trying to cover his ears, but there was no stopping the awful din. Bwonsamdi’s appalling shrieks and howls rose to a thunderous crescendo.
The Loa’s voice reverberated in Oskor’s head. “Ya elfy forgot somethin’, orc. Bwonsamdi be tha Loa of Death. An’ no one—NO ONE—makes a bahgain wit’ me an’ lives ta tell about it.”
Tears of agony sprang, unwanted, to the orc’s eyes and a merciful darkness spread over him, as he finally blacked out.
