He had a friend.
As they walked toward Brandson's Tavern, Garlthik twice looked over his shoulder. J'role saw this, and perceptive though he was, could not be certain if the ork was looking back at Charneale and the villagers who stared after them, or something else, something far away along the southern road. Something distant and following Garlthik Garlthik caught J'role watching him. He smiled a broad, toothy smile. "Your people, are you from a nearby kaer?”
J'role nodded and pointed off to the Red Hills, where the shelter still stood, dark and deserted.
"Well, you're doing well for yourselves," the ork said, looking round at the rice paddies and tall trees. "The effects of the Scourge will not last long in this area of the world, I'm certain."-
J'role smiled back politely, but in his heart he was troubled. The Scourge was ending everywhere but in his own head.
* * *
Even as J'role stepped into the large common room filled with tables and the central fire pit, a dozen of the patrons of Brandson's Tavern gasped and stared openly at the ork behind him. Their collective gasp of surprise and shock was like the sound of wind rustling branches just before a rain. J'role was pleased; for once they could not simply ignore him. His companion was an ork.
J 'role saw them struggling with their own thoughts — Should they let the ork in? Why shouldn't they? Why should they? Their indecision cost them the chance to protest, for before anyone could speak, Garlthik had closed the door behind him.
J'role pointed Brandson out to Garlthik, and the ork walked up to the weary-looking man who wore a smock stained with beer and the juices of roasted meats. As with Charneale, Garlthik extended his hand and introduced himself. Unlike Charneale, Brandson returned the handshake, but without the well-known smile he usually bestowed on neighbors and guests.
The two discussed the price of a room: Garlthik would stay at least three days, though he might leave at a moment's notice. This disturbed Brandson, making him wonder if he was inviting trouble into his establishment. But Garlthik produced silver coins to pay in advance for all three days. Whether he left early or not, Brandson could keep the money.
Brandson accepted the coins, and the two shook hands again. This time Brandson smiled his famous smile.
Garlthik turned to J'role. "I've got to get some sleep, lad. Here's your pay so far." He dug his thick fingers into a leather sack strung onto his belt and produced another silver.
Brandson's eyes widened. "Come back later, and I'll tell you some tales of my adventures.
How's that, eh?”
J'role nodded enthusiastically. He loved stories, but wanted the real stories, not his father's lies.
Garlthik picked up his sack and turned to climb the stairs For the first time J'role realized how weary the ork was, who leaned heavily on the railing as he walked slowly up the steps. The blue cloak, the blue of the sky just after sunset when the stars first appear, had a big gash running down its length. Under the cloak, J'role spotted a rip in the ork's shirt, and beneath that, the flash of a wide purple scar.
Halfway up the stairs Garlthik stopped, drew something from a small sack attached to his belt. The object was too small for J'role to make out, but Garlthik stared at it a long time.
Then he clenched his fist around it and laughed softly. He raised his foot halfway to the next step, then stopped, turning his head unexpectedly, looking directly at J'role, catching the boy staring at him.
The good humor in the ork's face suddenly left. In a gruff tone he said, "You shouldn't look where you're not invited."
J'role desired to run away as quickly as possible. But he stayed rooted to the spot, unable to move, afraid that motion would betray a weakness that Garlthik would use to harm him.
Without a change in his grim expression, Garlthik turned back up the stairs and on to the second floor.
When Garlthik had gone from sight, J'role turned to Brandson. Over the years the two had worked out a rudimentary sign system, which J'role now used to buy some bread and cheese with one of the silver pieces Garlthik had given him. Brandson gave him change and wrapped the food in a large piece of cloth, which J'role put under his arm as he left the tavern to find his father. He decided not to show his father the change he'd received, nor the second silver Garlthik had given him, fearing that his father might take the money to spend on drink. All he would show his father was the food.
"Time to feed Dad?" the creature in his thoughts asked.
J'role ignored it.
2
He dreamed of many things, not all bad. But all forgotten. When J'role was only six months old, he began to speak. The words "Mama" and "Papa" were quickly followed by full sentences, and by the second year of his life he began to have full conversations-still limited by the viewpoint of a child, but much more complex in structure than the talk of other children his age.
His parents took pride in his speaking, his mother especially. Red-haired and large, she carried him around the moss-lit corridors of the kaer introducing him to the other inhabitants of the shelter. Other adults, massive like; his mother, leaned down and cooed over him, delighted to engage him in conversation. His mother beamed. She held him tight.
By the time J'role reached the kaer, the stars had spun around the earth, and the stars looked down on him, bright and clear. He had not meant to wander the dry land between his village and the kaer at this late hour, but he had searched everywhere for his father, checking an the usual-hiding places. Behind Brandson's barn. In a shallow ditch near Ishan's warm furnace. In the copse of trees near the north end of the village where Jaspree's influence ended and the land became dry and lifeless, ruined by the work of the Horrors over four centuries.
All the while the creature in his head said, "You know where he is. Why do you delay?"
The creature was right. J'role did know where his father would be-back in the kaer. He invariably went there these days, safe from prying eyes and the company of others. Only children daring each other's courage ever returned to the kaer, and even those excursions stopped once the children realized J'role's father had adopted the dark caves as his home.
So now J'role walked across the flat, dry distance between the farmlands and the kaer, carrying the bundle of food for his father. The moonlight, soft and gentle-blue, illuminated the barren landscape the Horrors had left behind. Stones. Chalky dirt. As J'role walked, the desolation around him seeped into his spirit, as though he were walking through a giant reflection of what he carried within himself.
"You could kill yourself."
"Don't,' J'role begged, half-stumbling as the creature's words drove into his thoughts. -
"Wouldn't it be easier'
"Why don't you leave me alone? I don't-"
"Don't what? Want to give up. Give up what? Hurt anyone? Who would you hurt? Only your father. Maybe. And he probably wouldn't notice that you were gone."
The truth of the statement stopped J'role in his tracks. He dropped the bundle of food to the ground. For a moment his hands and arms felt stiff and detached from his control, then he slammed his fists into his forehead, wanting to knock the thing out of his mind.
He slammed his head again and again, beating his fists wildly about his face until he became dizzy and dropped to his knees. Still he punched himself, flailing until he could no longer feel his hands or the flesh on his forehead and face.
He dropped forward, leaning on his forearms, breathing heavily, tears in his eyes from the pain.