Page 4 of Sacrificed to the Orc
I steel myself.
It was prophesized.
I can remember, as a young boy, eating by the fire, a choice cut of meat reserved for me. It was my father who hunted it. My mother was stitching furs.
The shamans sang, low and deep, telling us that one day, the herds would be gone. I did not believe it, then, not when my father had taken me out to see them, the vast herds that stretched out to the horizon.
They told me then, nearly twenty years ago, that the vital herds would be turned to rot, a great pile of spoiled meat that only the flies would dine on, and that we would be plunged into a starvation that would decimate us, unless we pleased the Gods.
I heard those words then, and again, four days ago, when I was chosen to bring back a virgin human to appease the Gods.
One does not live for himself, but for the tribe.
Even if that requires sacrifice.
4
HAZEL
My eyes slowly adjust to the tiny beam of moonlight that comes through a crack where the boulder is not quite lodged into the cave entrance. I run my hands over my body. I’m healthy, I’m alive, and I’ve got my wits.
Maybe it hasn’t hit me yet, but strangely, I’m not panicked.
The horns were sounded. With the recent attacks, my town had doubled the guard, but they were looking for screaming raiding parties, not a single orc working alone. Not all hope is lost. It’s possible that with a single set of footprints, some of the braver guards will rally up a group to come save me…
But I can’t rely on that. I’ll need to find my own way out.
I pull the thick, fur blankets over me. They stink of the orc. He’s got a heavy, animal musk to him. It should make my stomach roil, but it doesn’t.
Useless anger at the orc flares up, and I push it down. If I’m going to get away, I need to find his weaknesses. He is a deeply spiritual man, that I know, and he would do anything for his tribe.
Even bringing me to have my throat slit in a ritual.
That makes my heart pound. It’s really going to happen. I’m really going to be held down against a boulder and face the knives of the shamans. His people will chant in their blood ritual, and the last moment of my life will be a knife cutting into my throat.
My fist clenches. I’m not going to let that happen. I hum, softly to myself, a calming melody that no one taught me, but that I knew instinctively. My grandparents said that even before I spoke my first word, I would hum near silently, and that it always made my grandpa beam.
Nana told me my songs had power. That always scared me. I didn’t want to be different than everyone else, and I sometimes heard people whispering or looking at me as I walked. That my vegetable garden flourished while others wilted, that the food in my cellar stayed fresh beyond natural limits–but they were sure to knock on my door when it was time to sing our songs to ward our crops.
I reach out and grab the bowl of water, still with a small lump of snow floating, and take a sip. The bowl is made of stone. If it was clay, I could break it, and at least have a sharp piece to use on the orc when he lets me out in the morning.
I put the bowl down heavily. It’s a foolish thought. Even armed, I’d stand no chance against the orc. He’s over seven foot tall, and even malnourished to the point I can see the outline of every one of his muscles, he can pin me down with a single finger.
I bite my lip, confronting the truth.
He let a crucial piece of information slip.
I’m useless to his tribe if I lose my virginity. The rumors must be true–that orcs can taste innocence, and that it drives them wild. I saw how desperately he wanted me, how he barely controlled the insatiable mating rage. Other villagers have told tales of the orcs. That they have deep superstitions, believing that each man and woman has a perfect match, that when they get the scent of a woman who might be their mate…
They go mad with feverish need.
I run my hand over my thigh, trying to imagine what his huge, callused green hands would feel like. I squeeze, tight, hard enough it hurts, trying to prepare myself for the pain of the beastly, savage brute claiming me as his own.
I’ve only got one chance of survival.
To be broken and bound to the orc. To make him snap. To make him lose control, turned into nothing more than a rutting beast.
It would ruin me forever, and I don’t know if I’d survive his brute desires.
