shirt, I clung to the hope that maybe it didn't know I was there. And then it opened its eyes. I'm not too embarrassed to admit I peed my trousers right then, and in a laughable attempt at saving myself, I dropped my book and covered my face with my arms.
Those following moments were an eternity, but as time passed and nothing happened, I peeked out from behind my elbows; what I saw made me lower my arms in wonder, because the Nannak was looking down at the ground at my now opened book, at an illustration of Timothy the Naughty Bunny.
It was transfixed, staring at the picture like a child stares at an especially shimmery goldfish.
"Rabbit," it said, pointing a massive finger at the page.
It said it again, this time addressing it to me, its deep-set silver eyes looking truly quizzical.
"What it do?" it asked.
"H-he's stealing carrots," I answered.
This surprised the Nannak, and it resumed staring at the page, its immense form dwarfing what was in truth a very large storybook.
I was shocked, and for a while all I could do was stand and watch as the Nannak, this monster that ripped wings from dragons, sat spellbound over a drawing of a bunny playing in the grass.
"There's more on the other page," I said.
But it didn't understand, and in what could only be described as a decision forged in desperation, I knelt down and carefully turned the page.
"You see?" I said, sounding as gentle as I could. "Now the farmer is chasing him with his hoe."
I watched as the Nannak absorbed this new illustration with the same sense of wonder as the one before.
"But it's okay," I continued, flipping the page again, "because Timothy is a fast little bunny and before the farmer can get him, he's down his hole again, all safe and sound."
The story continued for several more pages, and when it was finished, the Nannak studied the final drawing before tapping the page with its finger.
"Again," it said.
So I did, this time actually reading the story rather than just describing what was happening in the pictures. The Nannak was enchanted, and the moment I was finished it told me to start over again, hanging on to each word like it had never heard them before.
Emboldened, I began stealing glances at the Nannak's monstrous form between pages. It was unlike anything I had ever seen before, with smooth gray hide that looked as though it could have been sculpted from stone. And its eyes—they literally glowed, filling the space directly in front with a discernable light that ebbed and flowed depending on its mood.
There was something about it that reminded me of the cattle my uncle on my mother's side used to raise. They were called Kianina, and according to my Uncle Bill, were the largest breed of cattle in the world. The bulls in particular were monstrous, with ebony horns, and I would watch them from the other side of the fence, wondering what good it would do me if they decided to charge.
But though they might have shared some vague similarities, don't be mistaken—the two were very, very different creatures. For as fearsome as those animals were, they were still only cows, content to chew on grass while I sipped my lemonade on my uncle's veranda. The Nannak, on the other hand—one had only to look at the skulls littering the floor to know where its appetite lay. And it wasn't only orc skulls; there were human skulls too. I counted six in the area immediately surrounding me.
And so I continued reading, even inventing dialogue, all while keeping a close eye on the monster's temper. It was exhausting work. Yet as difficult as it was, it was also strangely rewarding, and when that big iron door opened, for a moment at least, I had no idea where I was.
"Come, Golo. It's time."
Borgol the Elder's voice echoed through the gloom, and I stood up, not entirely certain what would happen next. The Nannak, for its part, seemed content watching me.
"Do you think I could have my book?" I asked, pointing at the floor.
I half expected it to become angry. Instead it reached out and poked me on the chest with a stony finger.
"Name," it said.
"Arlo," I answered.
Question answered, the Nannak slowly rose and retreated back into the darkness, leaving me to retrieve my book and hurry outside into the bright sun.
The old orc greeted my return with his familiar one-eyed scowl.
"You live," he said.
I nodded, glancing down at the stain of my soiled trousers with embarrassment. But Borgol was unmoved.
"What did you learn?" he asked.
I assumed he was referring to my godlessness.
"I don't know," I answered.
Frowning, he looked at me, and then signaled for me to climb into the waiting wagon while the big guard orc slowly closed the building's iron door.
It was strange driving away. I'd entered that place certain I was going to die, but now I found myself feeling almost empty, or maybe absent was a better word, blankly staring into the distance as we rolled along the orcish thoroughfare.
"I knew you would survive," said Borgol.
The old orc's voice pulled me from my haze.
"The Nannak is voracious," Borgol continued, "and will devour whatever comes walking through its door. But I knew it wouldn't eat you."
I looked at him, not certain I believed him.
"How?" I asked.
"Morroth showed me."
"Where?"
"In a dream."
I thought back to the Nannak's lair, with its collection of bones and broken skulls. I could only imagine the number of souls they represented—people like me, with hopes and fears, and families that loved them. That Borgol had trusted my survival to a dream left me thoroughly shaken.
We returned to the manor, with its scarlet banner billowing in the late morning breeze. The younger Borgol was there and he greeted my exit from the wagon with visible relief, clasping my hand in both of his.
"I was certain I would never see you again," he exclaimed.
Borgol the Elder jumped from the wagon, landing with a mighty thump.
"Get him some trousers," said the old warrior to his son.
The younger Borgol nodded and motioned for me to accompany him inside.
"What was it like?" he asked, as we passed through the manor's entrance. "I've only seen the Nannak once, and that was from a distance."
"It was horrible. I honestly thought it was going to eat me."
The young orc paused, his right foot resting on the first step of the staircase leading to our rooms.
"So why didn't it?"
I shook my head. "I don't know," I answered.
I followed Borgol the Younger into his room where he presented me with a pair of dark leather breeches. I'd never worn anything like them before. They were tight, and made a creaky sound whenever I moved, but the important thing was they were dry, so after quickly putting them on I rejoined Borgol the Younger in time to see a young orc woman exit one of the rooms at the other end of the hall.
It was the sister Borgol had warned me about, and she walked right up to me, staring into my face with a ferocity that rivaled her father's.
"What happened to your eyes?" she demanded.
I'd only seen one other female since my arrival—the mother—and she was repulsive. This girl, on the other hand, was (and I hate to say it) stunning. She was long and lean, with well-defined muscles on her arms and shoulders, but in a way that managed to remain thoroughly feminine. And while her face might not have been considered attractive in a classical sense, as a whole she was without a doubt the most amazing thing I'd ever seen.
She was also frightening, and I looked to Borgol in the hope that he would somehow save me from his sister's fiery glare.
"He saw the Nannak," said Borgol proudly.
She looked at him and then back at me.
"When?"
"Just now," answered Borgol.
Her expression didn't change. In fact I thought she was going to head-butt me when she brought her gaze to bear on her little brother instead.
> "You didn't change my spider's litter," she said.
"Yes, I did," answered the younger Borgol.
"Don't lie to me."
"But I did!"
She stood with her hands at her waist, appearing as though she was content to let it go, then punched him in the stomach. And as he crumpled to the ground she looked at me—magnificent, alien—before turning the corner to disappear down the staircase.
I was spellbound.
"What's her name?" I asked.
Borgol struggled to return to his feet.
"Dinah," he wheezed.
I thought I’d misheard him.
"But that's a human name," I said.
The young orc looked up at me, sheltering his stomach with the crooks of his elbows.
"No. It's an orc name."
Dinah was the elder Borgol’s second child. A gifted fighter, she’d been shipped off to military school to become a warrior like her father. She didn’t come home very often, but when she did, it was to make the younger Borgol’s life a living hell. The stories he told me were hair-raising. She would force him to spar with her, turning him into a bloody mess, all in the name of making him tougher. And if he complained, Dinah would lock him in the basement, sometimes for days, releasing him only if he promised not to tattle.
If it had been a human girl doing those things I would have thought her insane and done my best to stay out of her way. Yet somehow those tales of bullying only added to Dinah's allure, cementing my opinion of her as some unknowable fire, beautiful to behold, that given an opportunity would burn me to a cinder.
I saw her several more times that day, and each time she looked at me as though I was worthless. I tried to pretend I didn't care, stealing glimpses of her when I was certain no one was watching. And then came dinner. Dinah was seated