Ogre Enchanted, page 7
The old man became preoccupied and sad and angry as his fear lessened. Angry, as if he’d been ill-used. He had dignity, revealed by his erect stance and the upward tilt of his chin. I thought he might be their leader and the owner of the manor.
The younger, exceedingly thin man had a busy mind. I couldn’t read his thoughts but I sensed their buzz. In the girl, fear mixed with exhilaration, probably because she was in the presence of an ogre and not dead.
Patients were often afraid of what I might do to them, and I had to heal their fright before I could heal their bodies.
A measured tone. “You’ve heard . . .” Too harsh. I swallowed. “You see an ogre . . .” Truth calmed patients more than promises. I managed to sweeten my voice. “You believe we’re all alike, but you know already that I’m different.”
The air around their fear grew. The other feelings—distraction, eagerness, worry—dulled, and the terror shrank into a tight fist.
Not small enough. The elf Grellon’s and Master Peter’s fright, when they’d been zEEned, had been the size of a pea. I listened for the absent woman and heard her faintly.
Why was she tarrying? Was she too afraid to come back and save her fellows?
If I could zEEn the old man, I thought the others might follow along, and the key to him was probably his melancholy and sense of ill use.
In my new, honeyed voice, I said, “There is solace for everyone.” There would be for me if I could get back to Master Peter. “For some it’s in a poem.”
No response.
“For some in a fine meal.” Not that, either, though a meat stick would relax me. “For some in a garden.”
The man’s air grew. His shoulders relaxed. Being reminded of the garden eased him. The others breathed more easily, too. As I succeeded, they seemed more edible.
I heard a muffled clatter. The woman had dropped some part of the arsenal she was carrying.
Be slow picking it up! Drop more!
I said, “My favorite flowers are roses. In our—”
In an age-roughened voice, the old man said, “I like the red rose best.”
I heard the woman’s labored breathing. She was carrying weapons for them all, and no one was with her.
“On my way here,” I said, forcing myself not to rush, “I happened across a cluster of night daisies, late for the season.”
“Where?” the old man asked. “Would you show me—us?”
Ah. “If you help me out, I will.”
The gaunt man disappeared from my view. Using my new voice, I said something about flowers. The woman with the weapons was closer.
The man reappeared with a pole, which he extended to me. I took it and planted it in the earth beneath the straw. Hand over hand on the pole, my feet climbing the dirt walls, I rose, reached the top, and hauled myself out.
The people smiled at me, which made them look even more delicious. Beautiful puppets, as SSahlOO had predicted. Offering themselves. Wanting to be eaten.
Of its own, my hand moved toward the girl’s cheek, to stroke it and feel its tenderness. I pulled the hand back and started to reach for meat sticks.
The door burst open.
The zEEning shattered.
Chapter Twelve
THE WOMAN STAGGERED IN, bearing an axe, a scythe, a rake, a spade.
“Would you . . .” But my honey had fled.
Farewell, Master Peter!
Hastily, the woman passed out weapons.
If I ran, they’d pursue me on horseback and catch me.
We faced each other in momentary uncertainty.
Run!
And leave the meat sticks? No!
With ogre speed, I grabbed the old man’s elbow, pulled him close, wrested his rake from him, and flung it on the ground. Using my free hand, I grabbed meat sticks, many meat sticks, and shoved them inside the man’s shirt and mine. Not trying for honey, I rasped out, “If you wish to see your friend again and not just his bones, do not pursue me for two hours.”
The girl cried, “Don’t hurt the master!”
Brave.
“We’ll come after you,” the thin man said.
My captive—the master—said, “Listen to it. Give it the two hours. I’ll be all right.” It. My fury flared, but I backed out, keeping him facing them. Outside, I picked him up and ran on the road in the direction of the Fens. Rain still threatened.
Master Peter, I will see you again.
As much as he could, the man craned his neck away from me. I remembered how rank I smelled. He smelled meaty.
I expected him to be terrified, but he wasn’t. And he was no longer under the influence of zEEn—I sensed no dullness, no dense pea of fear. Instead he was curious and thoughtful.
He said, “I think you won’t eat me. Are roses actually your favorite flower?”
“To look at. They’re not as useful as lavender.”
He said no more. I plucked a meat stick out of his shirt and managed to chew it while galloping. My hunger for him lessened to wishfulness.
When should I let him go? I might have already covered three miles. If the rain came, he would be soaked. The night was cool. He might get chilled, which could lead to fever. I wouldn’t be here to treat him. Who knew what sort of healer he had? I didn’t want him to die.
I stopped, set him down, and took the meat sticks I’d stuffed in his shirt. “The other man—your servant, I think—is too thin.” I shook my head hard. “Not too thin for me to eat! That’s not what I meant. Disease hunts people like him. See that he drinks sheep’s milk flavored with ginger.” I added, “I’m a healer.”
“This has been the strangest night of my life.” The man’s chest rose in a deep breath. “You should stop stealing.”
I couldn’t! A realization broke over me. I didn’t need the band anymore. “I’ll steal less.” I had to feed only myself and Master Peter.
The man raised his eyebrows. “Now that we know you’re an ogre, even though you’re an odd one, people will kill you—or try to—and I won’t be able to prevent it. By now my servants will have sent for help, but I won’t let anyone go after you tonight.”
“Thank you.” With a little luck, I wouldn’t be an ogre much longer.
He called after me, “Farewell.”
I started to run again but discovered I was too tired even to trot. Merely walking called for reserves I’d used up. I left the road and curled up on the far side of an oak. The threatened rain fell.
Happiness deepened my sleep, which, untroubled by the downpour, was sweeter than it had been since before Lucinda entered my life. I didn’t awaken until late the next morning. My clothes were damp, but the day was sunny, and they soon dried. As I ran, I satisfied myself with meat sticks from the night’s plunder.
By early afternoon of my twenty-fourth day as an ogre, I reached the Fens. Near home, an unusual quiet reigned. For once, I heard no snarling, no thumps as bodies slammed into one another. The band seemed to be at peace, as I was.
No! The only times they were quiet were—
Master Peter!
I raced.
My love!
They heard me and looked up from their prey—
—which wasn’t Master Peter.
A young female giant, still alive, still zEEned, bleeding but only nibbled so far, smiled at me. “Oooayaagik (honk).” Welcome.
SSahlOO raised his head. “Beautiful mare, we thought you weren’t coming back.”
AAng said, “I missed giant. Nothing else is this tender.” She returned to eating.
They all did, taking turns to keep up the zEEning.
I shouted at the giant. “Wake up! Run!” Even if she didn’t understand Kyrrian, my tone would break the persuasion.
Where was Master Peter? Had they already eaten him?
I didn’t see fresh bones. Master Peter’s wares were scattered. There lay the utensils that were to be my necklace. There lay his rapier.
The giant sat up and brushed away two of the band. AAng bit into her leg and hung on, like a badger with a hedgehog. ShuMM began zEEning again. Her face relaxed. The others resumed feeding.
Now she was really losing blood.
My rage dwarfed anything I’d ever felt.
But my human side intervened. “Meat sticks!” I cried, running to them, waving meat sticks in their faces.
They pushed me off, though SSahlOO made room for me at the belly. The two who’d been swept away by the giant ate again.
I roared, snatched the rapier, and pulled it from its sheath. They’d have to kill me before they killed the giant.
Unless I killed them.
The giant, roused by my bellowing, rose on one elbow.
“Run!” I shouted. If she still could.
AAng first. With a healer’s certainty of where to thrust the sword, I stabbed the base of her skull. She slumped forward.
SSahlOO lifted his head. To lull him, I smiled—and then pierced one of his eyes, which were blue. He fell on his side.
A hand seized my arm and yanked me away. I slashed.
EEnth howled in pain, jumped back, and faced me in a crouch, his side bloody.
They all faced me, the four that were left. ShuMM’s mouth moved, but I couldn’t hear him over my own blaring.
I held out the rapier and waved it from side to side. “Let it go.” It! Her. “The giant. Run, giant!”
As one, the band rushed me. I stabbed. ShuMM groaned. Then they were all on top of me. Someone bit my shoulder. I lost the rapier, but I writhed, wriggled—couldn’t get free. AAng’s toothache wouldn’t save me this time. I hoped the giant had escaped.
Mother and Wormy wouldn’t know what had become of me.
Chapter Thirteen
THEN THEY WERE GONE. I opened my eyes. IZZ and FFanOOn sprawled on the ground near me, their faces blue.
But EEnth and a bloody ShuMM were already at the giant again, zEEning her between bites. I yelled, and her hands, in an instant, circled the throat of each, squeezed, then tossed them aside.
“Uueeetaatii (honk) obobee aiiiee.” I am a friend. I hoped she knew Kyrrian, because I’d just used up most of my Abdegi. In Kyrrian, so she’d know I spoke it, I repeated, “I am a friend.”
Carefully forming each word, she said, also in Kyrrian, “Thank you. You saved me.”
“Not yet.” She was bleeding from many wounds. Luckily, none were gushing, but ogre bites were even more poisonous than their scratches, and she’d endured both. Untreated, she’d certainly die. I bled, too, though I wasn’t as badly cut, and ogre bites and scratches—unless they were severe—didn’t kill ogres. I reached for my satchel.
Luckily, I hadn’t used any purpline on AAng.
Whom I’d killed.
I couldn’t think about that now.
I found my carpetbag and shook out its contents.
The giant backed away. I felt her gigantic fear.
ZEEn! The air around her fear was also bigger than in a human. I honeyed my voice. “I mean no harm. I helped you before, didn’t I?”
She nodded, her face relaxing, the air expanding.
I kept zEEning. As I usually did with patients, I explained what I was doing. Meanwhile, I worried. I didn’t have nearly enough bandages.
Why hadn’t I prepared for a wounded giant, when I’d just left Aeediou behind in Jenn?
“A drop of purpline is all you need,” I repeated again and again, telling her and reminding myself. And keeping at bay thoughts of my dead band and my Master Peter, who was almost certainly dead, too.
A drop in each wound was almost all I had, with a drop or two left over. My bandages were enough to bind only one of her legs. While I worked, I worried that another band might attack, which would doubtless finish us off.
But none did, perhaps prevented by respect for the boundary of our—now my—land or by the certainty that some of them would die.
When I’d done what I could for her, I used the last of the purpline on my shoulder, where the wound was deepest. I stopped zEEning and said in my ordinary rasp, “I’m finished. Please rest.” If the purpline did its work, her wounds would be healed enough by morning for us to attempt to leave. “Don’t move.” If she remained still, the need for binding the cuts would be less.
I walked our perimeter, looking for a sign of Master Peter among the bones.
Human ulna, femur, many finger phalanges, two skulls. I saw nothing distinctly Master Peter. Every skull has high cheekbones. None have noses or lips. Or eyes that softened when they looked at me.
I asked the giant if she’d seen a human when the band had brought her here. She said she hadn’t.
Even if my band hadn’t eaten him, he couldn’t have gone far. He was dead.
However, if the giant and I lived, as soon as I delivered her to safety, I would, against all reason, search for him. He’d do the same for me, I was sure of it.
Night fell, and I was grateful to the dark for concealing the bodies. I sat near the giant, whose name was Udaak, and let myself feel my grief, despair, and fury. I sobbed noisily. Udaak put a gentle, huge hand on my back, but I moved away from the comfort and continued weeping until I was empty and exhausted.
Then the thoughts started. I’d never killed any being who could speak. Even though they were ogres, I loathed myself for not having saved them and for not preventing Master Peter’s death.
How could they have done it? They knew I cared about him and didn’t want anyone killed.
EEnth and SSahlOO! Why didn’t you wait for your beautiful mare?
Because they were ogres. Like me.
We survived the night. By morning, my wounds were trifling, and I deemed Udaak well enough—barely well enough—to travel. I was more than eager to leave both the Fens and this grisly scene, but we waited several hours, while ogre bands, dimly seen through the perpetual fog, passed by on their way to hunt.
I gathered my meat sticks and had the forethought to stuff Master Peter’s jug into my carpetbag, too. I should have taken someone’s bearskin against the chill, but I couldn’t bring myself to.
The weather cleared beyond the Fens. Even limping, Udaak’s long legs forced me to trot to keep up. By early afternoon, we reached the fork and turned toward the giants’ farms, beyond which lay the dragons’ Spires. Automatically, my hands made fists, and I needed a meat stick to calm myself.
As we went, Udaak thanked me repeatedly for saving her and for being unlike other ogres.
Giants’ farms are vast by human and ogre standards, but the beet harvest was in progress, so we didn’t have to walk to a farmhouse. In about an hour, we came to a fence, which Udaak was tall enough to see over. With honks, whistles, and words, she called to someone.
I heard thudding footsteps. The chest, shoulders, and head of a male giant appeared at the fence. His enormous smile vanished at the sight of me.
Udaak explained me in Abdegi and, at the end, with a tap on my head. I’m sure she didn’t mean to force my feet half an inch into the road.
The farmer’s face softened. In Kyrrian, he thanked me for saving Udaak.
I described Master Peter and asked him if he’d seen such a person. He hadn’t.
Udaak, who had learned something by observing me, invited me for a meal.
Denying my stomach and infuriating my ogre half, I said no. I had to search for Master Peter.
I devoted three days of my dwindling store to looking, hope against hope, for him. Anyone who could have watched would have seen a hideous, distracted creature—sometimes sobbing, sometimes shouting at herself—dashing through the elves’ Forest, running near the roads that went by both the giants’ and the humans’ farms, listening, sniffing.
But I was always aware that, if he lived, he could be where I wasn’t. When I was here—say, near the road—he could be there, in the elves’ Forest or a farmer’s kitchen.
Master Peter had been unique in the way he’d understood me, appreciated me. It couldn’t happen again. Two humans couldn’t fall in love with such a one as I was.
As a memento, I had only his jug, which I filled from a stream in the Forest.
I missed the band at night, when I longed for their snores, their restless sleep, the stink of all of us.
On the third night, while lying awake in a woody dell on a giant’s land, the healer in me woke up. I was my own patient now, and this search for my dead love would destroy me. I didn’t let my patients die if I could help it.
Forgive me, Master Peter! I gave up seeking him and considered where to go next. After an hour of indecision, I chose my destination.
I wouldn’t endanger anyone else in this quest. I’d go alone. If I succeeded, I’d be welcome anywhere, at least for a while, even as an ogre. I could live at home again and wouldn’t have to eternally miss Mother and Wormy.
When I rejoined humanity, I might save someone whose gratitude would progress to love. Then, if I could set aside the memory of Master Peter, I might return the feeling, because saving someone’s life was almost as good as drinking a love potion.
Yes! I would go to the dragons’ Spires. I’d try not to, but if I died seeking purpline, my end would sadden only two people, neither of them myself.
Chapter Fourteen
I SET OFF for the Spires on my twenty-eighth day as an ogre. The morning was cloudy with a brisk wind, but I warmed as I followed the road from a distance. I would have to travel for the next three days at least to reach the end of the giants’ property.
During the first morning of loping along while munching a meat stick, I surprised myself by marveling at this thrilling (and miserable) adventure I was on. The dragons’ Spires were said to be thin rock towers, resembling knotted rope that impossibly stood on end. They sprouted in a basin so deep that they didn’t poke above the surrounding flatlands. The ogre didn’t care, but—dragons aside—the girl in me could hardly wait to see this wonder.
My mind veered to Wormy, who, of the two of us, was the greater admirer of beauty. I wished he could be with me when I reached the Spires—and that we’d both be safe there.
I began to plan. It might be true that the ogres had once defeated the dragons, or it might be nonsense, but it was certainly true that a single ogre hadn’t overcome them all.
