found our way into the tutelage of human builders, adapting everything we learned to suit our own history and style.
"And I expect those numbers to grow as we enter this new era of cautious optimism. And who knows," he said, slowly folding his arms, "when that day comes and you can return home, perhaps you will bring with you something of value you can share with your own people."
His mention of my returning home surprised me, and left me feeling sad.
"Do you think I will ever see my family again?" I asked.
He didn't answer me right away. Rather he stood there, gazing into my newly colorless eyes.
"I think so," he said, eventually. "But you will have to be careful. Orcs are by nature an insular people, and see your very presence as a threat. But they also respect authority, and if you can get Borgol to back you, it might help them to accept you."
I pictured the old orc, with his scars and ivory teeth, glaring at me.
"How do I do that?" I asked.
"Continue what you're doing," he answered. "The fact you willingly faced half a dozen orcs in the enclosure after being poisoned did not go unnoticed."
I happened to catch a glimpse of my nose in a mirror on the counter, swollen and bent to the left.
"A lot of good that did me," I muttered.
"That was probably the single best thing you could have done."
"How? They knocked the stuffing out of me. Heck, they even knocked me unconscious."
"But you didn't give up, and it was that refusal to bend, even in the face of impossible odds, that really impressed Borgol. I know because he told me."
"Really?"
"His precise words were, ‘He’s stubborn,’ and that's high praise coming from an orc."
I studied my battered face in the mirror while the memories of that painful episode roared in my mind. No, it wasn't stubbornness that spurred me forward that morning, it was fear. But I wasn't about to admit that, not yet at least.
"You know, I can straighten that for you," said the healer, referring to my nose. "But I think you'd be better off leaving it the way it is. Battle scars are prized here, and that one is a doozy."
I continued staring into the mirror, gently tracing the shape of my beak with my finger. He was right, it was a doozy. Yet as nasty as it looked, it also gave my face some personality.
"I think I will leave it," I said, finally.
With our meeting drawing to a close, I bid the healer good afternoon and returned outside, where I found Borgol the Younger leaning against the building wall, still chewing on his jerky.
"Here, I got this for you," he said, handing me a large piece of my own.
It smelled alien, but I was so hungry I didn't care, and I ripped some off with my teeth, chewing it while its fragrance wafted out of my still smarting nose. It was actually quite tasty, and once the sting of the spices faded, I ripped myself some more, closing my eyes as the pieces found their way into my belly.
"So was it the food?" asked Borgol the Younger.
"Pardon?"
"Your eyes: did the food do it to you?"
"Yes," I answered. "Yes, it did."
The young orc seemed concerned about my health, and when we returned home he mixed me a brackish drink he explained was good for replenishing the body. He was actually talkative, explaining to me at great length how his sister would soon be home from military school.
But I was too tired to care, and I went to my room where I managed to sleep a while before the dinner gong summoned me downstairs. I was slow out of bed and last to the table, and when the others saw me they stopped what they were doing and stared while I took my place beside Borgol the Younger.
"You have orc eyes," said Borgol the Elder.
I didn't answer, for what could I say?
"Have you seen the healer?" he asked.
"I have," I answered.
"And what did he say?"
"That I am recovered."
The old orc shook his head, still staring at my eyes.
"I don't like it," he growled.
It wasn't much later that the food was brought in. I was famished, and the moment they were done stabbing themselves, I ate, hungrily shoveling rice and sauce into my mouth while the rest of the table watched.
If I needed any more proof something had changed inside me, this was it. Only a few days earlier this very same fare had poisoned me. Now I couldn't get enough of the stuff, stuffing my face in the same way I did when my mother served mashed potatoes with gravy.
Soon a large goat hound appeared. I hadn't seen him before and he walked right up beside Borgol the Elder, bringing his shaggy head level to the table to stare longingly at his master’s food. Back home this would have earned him a swift rebuke and a swat on the rear. Instead, Borgol the Elder tossed him a piece of meat from his plate.
"He's a handsome dog," I said.
And he was handsome: tall, with a long head, powerful shoulders, and thin waist, he reminded me of the hounds the constabulary used at home. And maybe it was the grub working its magic on me, but I actually found its knobby little horns to be rather endearing as well.
Borgol the Elder, though, regarded the animal with a one-eyed scowl.
"All he does is eat," he said. And without warning he kicked him, sending the animal retreating to a spot nearer the wall.
Dinner went quietly after that. Anxious, I took to studying the suits of armor on display in the room around me. They were impressive, even frightening, particularly with their grimacing faceplates, and it made me wonder what it would be like to come across a warrior wearing one on the battlefield.
It was while I was serving myself some more rice that I noticed Borgol the Elder watching me. He looked angry, angrier than usual, and though I tried to ignore him, there reached a point where I could no longer remain quiet.
"Is there something wrong?" I asked
"Tomorrow you visit the Nannak."
I nearly fell onto the floor. The Nannak were legendary creatures, violent and as big as houses. That I was to be brought before one was enough to send my stomach into my lungs. And it wasn't just me; both mother and son gasped at the news as well.
"But why?" asked Borgol the Younger.
The old orc's eyes narrowed. "Now that your body has healed, your godlessness must be cured as well. I cannot say what you will find there, but know this: come face to face with the Nannak and you will leave that place believing in something. That is, if you're still alive."
I suppose I could have asked him to reconsider, pleaded for him to change his mind, but I knew it would have been a waste of time. Instead I waited for them to finish eating, at which time I returned to my room.
I spent the night pacing. I felt like a prisoner on his way to the gallows, yet even that was preferable to the horror awaiting me. I wished I could be with my family again. Knowing I was going to my death never to see another human face was unbearable, and in a desperate attempt to latch onto something familiar, I decided to bring with me my old book of children's stories I had placed in the bottom of my bag.
It was early morning when Borgol the Elder entered my room, followed by his son. The young orc looked genuinely sad, and he handed me a smoothed piece of bone engraved with the Eye of Morroth. It made my skin crawl, but I thanked him, and put it in my pocket before picking up my book and following the elder Borgol to my certain doom.
We went by wagon to a dour stone building on the edge of town. It was huge, with a pair of barred windows set high above a big iron door. Together they made a face. Meanwhile the outside swarmed with soldiers.
Knees trembling, I followed Borgol the Elder right up to the entrance, where a giant orc was holding a nasty looking whip. He was huge, bigger even than my brother David, and he leered at me in a way that made me stare at the ground.
"Let him inside," ordered Borgol.
The monstrous orc did as he was told, using his considerable bulk to slowly swing open the door. It needed oil, shuddering and groaning under its own weight
, but the door finally opened enough that I could make my way inside. Instead, I stood there, watching the dust disappear into the shadows.
"Go on," said Borgol, shoving me forward.
I thought briefly of running, but I knew I wouldn't get very far. So I walked slowly inside with my storybook clutched to my chest, peering hard into the darkness.
"I will see you soon, Golo," said Borgol.
And with those words, the door slammed behind me.
There was a famous poem I learned in school entitled “The Nannak,” that told the story of one of the creatures battling a dragon for supremacy of a mountain. It was long and flowery and not at all the sort of thing I enjoyed reading, but there was one section that described the Nannak tearing the dragon's wings off, and it was all I could think of as my eyes slowly adjusted to the blue light filtering in from the barred windows high above.
I knew something was in there with me. My instincts proved correct when I heard a pair of cavernous nostrils sniff the air somewhere on the other side of the room. It made my hair stand on end, and I could only hang onto my book as I saw the outline of a very large, very wide being move toward me.
The creature was massive, easily two stories tall, and it lumbered forward with its eyes closed, its immense feet crushing the bones I could now see littering the floor. It had horns, and a thick, powerful neck, and it followed its nose right to where I was standing. I thought it was blind, so I kept very still, holding my breath while the Nannak sniffed the air above my head before bringing its table-sized face in front of mine.
Though I could feel the heat of its breath through the material of my