The Ogre Apprentice (The Bowl of Souls Book 8), page 24
Puj’s presence didn’t help the situation. Her feelings had been hurt when Fist announced that she couldn’t join his tribe until after the evil was destroyed. She had burst out in tears until Fist, feeling terribly guilty, assured her that this requirement was just a formality. Scowling, Puj had run to Crag. Fist didn’t know what Crag said to her, but she calmed down after that. Fist had been relieved by how well she was taking it. Then, to his dismay, she began shadowing him.
Puj stayed at his side the first full day, dogging his steps. She stayed fairly quiet for the most part, but nudged him from time-to-time and laughed while making crude suggestions. This was the ogre version of flirting. Fist didn’t know how to respond without being rude and Squirrel and Charz found his discomfort hilarious. Several times he politely tried to excuse himself from her presence so that he could talk to Locksher, but Puj was back at his side within minutes.
When night came, Fist set his bedroll on the far side of the fire, next to Locksher and away from the rest of the ogres. To the further amusement of Charz and Squirrel, Puj placed her furs right next to him. Fist moved his bedroll further away from the fire, but she moved her furs next to him again. Finally, Fist told her that he needed to be alone to practice his magic before sleeping and she let him move his bedroll away from her again.
He spoke with Justan through the bond and, though Justan was sympathetic to his plight, he could offer no helpful suggestion. All he said was that Fist should probably just ‘put up with it’. After closing his connection with Justan, Fist did as Darlan had instructed and practiced draining his magic. He used a static mix of air and earth to create a glowing orb and focused on making its light as dim as possible.
As Darlan had promised, Fist felt his resources deplete quickly. The longer he kept it up, the more power it took to keep the light from blazing like a beacon. After just a few minutes, the light winked out and he collapsed with exhaustion. The last thing he saw before losing consciousness was the reflection of the firelight in Puj’s eyes as she watched him from her furs. For the first time in a long while, Fist didn’t dream.
When Fist woke up in the morning, Puj was next to him. She was on her back asleep, and one of her arms was lying across his chest. When Fist looked down, he saw that Squirrel had left a tiny pile of shelled seeds on her open palm as a sign of his approval. For a moment, Fist contemplated squishing his little friend and told Squirrel so, but the little beast was unapologetic.
Fist gently moved her arm aside and looked for Wizard Locksher, but the man was nowhere to be seen. Fist grew concerned and considered going to look for the man, but Squirrel assured him that the wizard wasn’t far away. Sure enough, Locksher returned to the camp a short time later lugging the chest full of maggots, one eyebrow raised in contemplation.
That day they continued their journey through the forest, the ogres’ long strides eating up the distance. Locksher grumbled about the pace at first, needing to jog to keep up. Fist offered to let the wizard hold his mace, but Locksher had scoffed at the weight of the weapon. Instead, the wizard had enacted a spell of his own to increase his speed. After that, he had no trouble keeping up, but he made a strange sight, his legs pumping at twice their normal tempo while the rest of him moved like normal. He somehow even managed to read from an ancient leather-bound book as he walked, pausing every now and then to jot down notes in a small notebook he kept within his robes.
There was a minor bit of excitement that afternoon as the group was attacked by three hungry trolls, but the slavering beasts were no match for the power of their party. Charz and the ogres gleefully smashed the trolls to pieces and Locksher set their quivering remains on fire with a quick spell.
The battle helped develop a sense of camaraderie between Fist’s tribe and the Thunder People. The ogres looked at Locksher with a newfound respect after witnessing his fire spell and they had all been impressed at the savagery with which Charz had pulped the trolls. Several of the ogres now marched alongside the giant, giving him reverent stares. Charz enjoyed the attention and regaled them with stories of his past battles, grinning as the ogres oohed and aahed.
For Fist, this second day of the journey was better than the first. The battle with the trolls helped him realize that the enthusiasm of the group wasn’t such a bad thing. Fist had also resigned himself to the fact that Puj was determined to follow him around.
The ogress noticed the difference in his attitude and became quite talkative, telling him all about her life growing up. Fist realized how little he had known about the day-to-day life of ogre females. In some ways it wasn’t so different than the life of the females of most species. They grew up learning how to clean and cook and care for the injuries of the men. Then he was reminded of the cruelties they endured.
Puj was two years older than Fist, but had already been part of six different tribes. She was born into the Water People tribe, but had been stolen away from them as a child during a raid by the Stone People. The ogress had then been traded around different tribes, most recently to the River People before Crag had taken over their territory during the Barldag’s war. She was popular among the men wherever she went and the other ogresses often treated her roughly, jealous of her looks.
To Fist’s surprise, he learned that Puj had already borne two children; one to the River People and one just the last summer to the Thunder People. Fist had always seen the way ogre females were treated as demeaning and told her so, but Puj didn’t understand what he meant. To the ogress, these experiences were a badge of honor. Puj was quite proud of the way the men clamored for her attentions. The most uncomfortable part of the conversation for Fist was the amount of unnecessary detail she used when bragging about her mating prowess.
The party made good time, covering many miles through the woods. That evening they camped in a glade by a deep pond. Charz and the ogres saw this as a great opportunity for fun. Despite the lingering winter chill they hurled themselves into the water and horsed around, splashing and dunking each other until the pond became a battle royale filled with roars and laughter.
Fist estimated that the group splashed out a good third of the water in the first ten minutes. He didn’t join them, despite the urging of Charz and Crag. As much as he liked the idea of a bath, he did not look forward to trying to dry off and warm up afterwards. Besides, the others would just try to get him involved in the fighting. Puj watched the ruckus longingly, but since Fist didn’t go in, she didn’t either. She sat on the trunk of a downed tree and waited while Fist built the fire.
Stupid, Squirrel remarked from his perch in a tree overlooking the scene.
“They are pretty foolish,” he agreed.
Not them. You, Squirrel said.
“What do you mean?” Fist asked, as he stacked some dry branches in the fire pit he had dug a safe distance from the pond.
They are fun, Squirrel replied. You are not.
“They are fun?” Fist said, scowling as a particularly large splash sent a gout of water right into the fire pit. He noticed Puj glance at him and this time didn’t speak aloud. If they are so much fun, why don’t you go swim with them?
Squirrel snorted. Squirrels don’t swim. Ogres do.
Fist glanced back at the thrashing group of ogres and watched as Charz, laughing maniacally, hurled Rub into the air. The ogre howled as he flipped end-over-end towards another group of ogres that were brawling with the chieftain. Crag saw Rub coming and met the airborne ogre with an uppercut that caught him in the jaw and reversed his forward momentum, knocking him back into the other ogres with a concussive splash.
A chorus of laughter erupted from the pond and Fist had to admit to himself that it did look like fun. He would have to check out Rub later and see if he needed healing, though. He turned his head to look at Puj, who had watched the whole spectacle with an open-mouthed grin.
“You should join them, Puj,” he said.
The ogress shook her head. “No. There is only mens out there and I am not part of their tribe. I am not part of any tribe now.”
Fist winced guiltily. Technically she was right and it was his fault. Even though Fist had not let her enter his tribe, Crag had told the male ogres that she belonged to Fist. This meant that she was not a Thunder People woman any more and was off limits for the journey home. Any contact between her and the other ogres would be inappropriate.
“This is only temporary,” he said.
Puj gave him a confused look. “Tim . . . what?”
“This won’t last much longer,” Fist clarified. He kept forgetting that the other ogres didn’t know all his new words. “When the evil is gone, you will be part of a tribe again.”
The ogress nodded and stared back at the cavorting ogres while Fist struggled to get the fire going. Fist used his water magic to draw the moisture out of the branches, a trick Locksher had shown him the night before. He still didn’t quite have the technique down and looked to the wizard for help, but Locksher had disappeared into the trees with the chest again.
It took Fist a few minutes of trial and error, but eventually he succeeded in getting the wood dry enough to light. As the flames grew, Fist stepped back and surveyed his handiwork with a smile of satisfaction.
“Are you sure you can do it, Big Fist?” Puj asked suddenly. “You can kill the evil?”
“I-uh, well . . .” Fist stammered for a moment. There was such a pleading look in her eyes. Fist had no doubt that Locksher would find a way to destroy whatever evil force was controlling the maggots, but the ogre wasn’t sure just how much of it would be his own doing.
You will! Squirrel urged and Fist glanced to see that the little animal was sitting on the log next to the ogress.
“I will,” he said firmly, deciding that it wasn’t really a lie. “The evil will be gone and you will be part of a tribe again.”
That night, after the furor had died down and the shivering ogres had eaten and were huddled under their furs, Puj moved her bedding next to Fist again. This time he did not move as far away, just making sure that there was a good two feet of earth between them before communing with Justan. He then drained his magic using the ball of light and fell right to sleep.
When Fist opened his eyes, it was morning. He must have been really out of it, because when he turned his head, a pile of seeds that Squirrel had left on his forehead spilled across his pillow. This was the second night in a row that he had avoided those vivid dreams. Was it Darlan’s technique that caused this? Fist smiled at the possibility. Did he now have a way to avoid the dreams altogether?
The rest of the camp was beginning to get up and moving. Puj wasn’t in her furs and Locksher was already off on his own with the chest. The ogress showed up a short time later, shoving her way through the ogres, her cheeks tear-stained. Fist didn’t see Locksher until the rest of the camp was ready to leave. When he did appear, he was carrying the chest, a contemplative frown affixed to his face.
The rest of the day went without major incidents. Puj continued to stay at Fist’s side, but was quieter than the day before. The group stopped for the night at the forest’s edge, staying within the trees, the vast rolling plains waiting just outside the flickering light of their campfire. Once again, Fist drained his magic and fell into a dreamless sleep.
That morning he woke a bit later than the day before. The sun was cresting the mountain to the east and the other ogres were already eating their breakfast fare. Fist saw that Puj was missing from her furs. For some reason, the air smelled quite strongly of pine trees.
Charz pointed and laughed as Fist sat up. “Who’re you trying to be? Lenny Firegobbler?”
Fist reached up to find that his upper lip was crusted with tiny seeds. He tugged at them and discovered that Squirrel had used the sap from a nearby pine tree to give him a handlebar mustache.
“Squirrel!” He barked.
Not me! The little beast was sitting on Charz shoulder and pointing at the giant’s face. Fist let lose a snort of laughter despite himself. The giant was sporting a bushy set of seed eyebrows.
Well his is funny, Fist admitted. He began scraping the mustache off of his lip with his fingernails. Just don’t do it to me again.
Please? Squirrel begged, feeling disappointed. He was quite proud of his latest creation. You were really asleep.
“No!” Fist said aloud. The sap was terribly sticky and he knew that it would be a pain getting it all off. But maybe doing it to Charz is okay.
Then Fist heard Puj walk into the camp from the trees. As she had the day before, the ogress pushed her way through the ogres, making a series of angry grunts as she did so. Fist turned at her approach and his brow furrowed in concern. Puj had a split lip and was bleeding from her nose. None of the other ogres that were awake seemed to notice as she weaved her way through them and plopped down onto her furs, scowling glumly.
Fist threw back his blankets and turned to face her. “What happened to your face, Puj?”
“Me?” Puj seemed surprised by his question. She cocked her head and looked closer at him. “What is under your nose?”
“Uh, Squirrel did that.” Fist said, rubbing at his upper lip again. He had managed to get most of the seeds off, but the sap was still so sticky. How had Squirrel avoided getting it all gummed up in his fur? “What happened to you? Your nose? Your lip?”
She looked down in embarrassment. “Nothing.”
Fist frowned and scooted next to her. He reached out one hand and lifted her chin. Now that he was looking closer, he saw that her face was quite swollen. She had the beginnings of a black eye as well as evidence of older fading bruises. “It’s not nothing. You are hurt.”
“It . . .” She pulled her chin away from his hand, refusing to meet his eyes. “I-I did it.”
“You?” he asked skeptically. That didn’t make sense. “How? Did you fall?”
“Yes!” she said quickly, then corrected herself. “No. I . . . hit me.”
“I don’t believe you,” Fist replied.
“I was mad. Mad at me!” she snapped. The ogress stood and turned her back to him. “I am a bad woman.”
“Why do you say that?” Fist asked.
“I am not good,” she said, folding her arms tightly in front of her. “I am ugly. Fist does not want me.”
“That’s not . . .” Fist bit his lip, unwilling to lie to her. Giving her false hope would just make things worse. “You are good, Puj. Very pretty. That has nothing to do with it.”
She looked back over her shoulder at him, confusion in her large dark eyes. “Then why? Why do you not want me, Fist?”
Fist opened his mouth to say that he did want her. It was just a rule of his tribe. But he stopped himself. Fist hated lying to her. It didn’t come natural to him and he knew he was bad at it. But how could he tell her the truth? She wouldn’t understand the real answer. It might even hurt her more.
Guilt welling within him, he stood and he reached for her face. “Let me heal you.” She blinked at him and he added, “With my magic.”
Puj took a step away. “I will put leaves on it. It will get better.”
“But those leaves . . . That will take time,” Fist said. She shook her head slightly and he pressed on, “Please. Let me fix it. The others might think I was the one who hit you.”
That seemed to get through to her because she didn’t back away further. “Will it . . . hurt?”
“No,” he assured her. “It will feel strange, but then your face won’t hurt anymore.”
She gave him a hesitant nod. Fist took a step closer and placed his hands on either side of her head. “Close your eyes.”
He sent probing energies into her face and saw that she indeed had multiple layers of bruising. In addition, one of the bones around her eye had a series of tiny fractures. That was troubling. Ogres had strong bones. It would have taken quite a blow to cause that damage.
Puj shivered as he went in with threads of water and earth to repair the split in her lip. He then sealed the cracks in her bone. Cleaning up the bruising was the tough part. There were dozens of tiny broken blood vessels in her face and that required a delicate touch. Justan would have been able to handle it much better, but all Fist could do was repair the larger vessels and clear away inflammation to encourage her body’s natural healing.
When he let go, Puj stumbled back. She grasped at her face. “What did you do to me?”
“I fixed it,” Fist replied. “You are all better now.”
She shook her head, probing at her lip and at the ridge around her eye. “Something is wrong.”
“It’s not wrong,” Fist assured her. “You look good.”
Slowly a smile grew on her face. “Nothing is wrong. You do like me! I will tell Stinky Chief!” she said enthusiastically, then turned and ran towards Crag.
