“Excuse me,” said a soft, feminine voice from their side, startling both. They glanced over and saw Mira, her arms tucked behind her as if she were a little girl approaching a stranger. Her deep black eyes kept trying to meet Harruq’s gaze, but every few seconds she flitted them down to stare at her feet.
“I’m sorry to bother both of you,” she said. “I knew you’d be out here, because Aurelia, you’re magical and I… I’m sorry, I’ll go.”
“No,” Aurelia said, standing and offering her hand. “Stay with us. What brings you out here?”
“I won’t stay long,” she said, her whole body tilting forward so her black hair could cover her face. “I have something to say to Harruq. It’s stupid, though. I don’t think it means anything.”
“Just say it, girl,” Harruq said, trying to make his gruff voice sound soft as possible. “I’ve heard stuff from Tarlak far dumber than anything you could say.”
Mira smiled. “My mother said that this world needs a sign of faith,” she said. “I think it’s you.”
Harruq raised an eyebrow. “Um… huh?”
Her smile faded. “I told you it was stupid,” she said, turning to go.
“Wait,” Aurelia said. “Ignore my idiot husband. Is that all you have to say?”
Mira crossed her arms over her chest and looked away.
“No,” she said. “Mother hasn’t given up on us yet. It’s not hopeless. We can survive, we can live.” She suddenly looked up and stared at Harruq with incredible intensity, her eyes wide and her lips quivering as if her entire world depended on the half-orc’s next answer. “Do you believe that?” she asked. “I need you to believe that.”
He might have joked or laughed, but she was too serious, too intense, for him to do so. He felt his chest tighten, and he found himself uncomfortable and nervous.
“Yes,” he said. “I do believe that. I’ll die fighting to prove it.”
Mira smiled. He felt both their tensions ease.
“Good,” she said. “That’s all I needed.”
She turned, lifted her arms above her head, and then vanished in shimmering mist of shadows and smoke. Harruq stared at the grass until Aurelia nudged him with her elbow.
“Hrm?” he asked before realizing she was staring at him. “Oh, heh, that was odd, wasn’t it, Aurry?”
“I’ll say,” Aurelia said, trying to read her husband’s reaction. “Is something wrong, Harruq? You seem… not troubled, but like you’re arguing with yourself, and I would appreciate knowing why.”
“It’s nothing,” Harruq said.
“You’re lying.”
“Fine. It is something. But I don’t want to talk about it.”
Aurelia nudged him again. “Wife, remember?”
Harruq sighed. “Fine. It involves Bernard. He was willing to die for you. I need to talk to him, that’s all. Thank him.”
“You’re still holding back,” Aurelia said as she laid her head against his chest. “But I’ll let you get away with it for now.”
They let their conversation slip to lesser things, and from that, fade into nothing, just quiet comfort as together they shared the night.
T he next morning Harruq wandered through the camps, but after an hour of nothing, he finally asked one of the other priests.
“I believe he went to where our temple used to be,” the priest said. “I’m not sure the reason.”
Harruq thanked him and headed into the city. The people in the streets parted ways for him, several glaring at the very sight of him. He found this mildly interesting. Was it because he was from Neldar? An Eschaton? A half-orc? Or just armed and dangerous?
A passing child was kind enough to answer for him.
“Orc bastard!” he shouted.
“You’re not even ten,” Harruq said as the kid ran away.
He continued down the main road, feeling a little better. He was used to people hating him for his half-orc blood. Hating him for his nationality, that seemed a little bizarre. A meager comfort, however. His heart kept thumping too loud in his chest, and he had to fight the urge to turn and run every other minute. For whatever reason, he was terrified of talking with Bernard. At last he turned right and headed toward the smoldering pile of rubble and ash that had been the temple of Ashhur.
Bernard walked through the debris, shifting charred pieces of wood this way and that. His robes were smeared black and gray, and even his sweaty face was covered with ash.
“Hard work to do alone,” Harruq said, stepping into the rubble. “What are you looking for?”
“We didn’t have much,” Bernard said, holding his back with his hands as he straightened up, wincing at the popping his spine made. “But we had a few precious writings. I hoped they survived, but, as you can see…”
Harruq nodded. The fire had been intense. Hardly a piece of wood remained more than a blackened husk.
“I came to thank you,” Harruq said. Bernard waved him off.
“It was nothing,” the priest said.
“It was your life,” Harruq argued.
“Again,” Bernard said, chuckling at him. “Nothing.”
“How can you say that?” Harruq asked. “How can you offer your life for someone you don’t even know?”
“Harruq, are you blind?” the priest asked.
“I can see just fine,” the half-orc grumbled, feeling patronized.
“Then look around you. You fought and bled protecting thousands of people on their journey here. You offered your life for theirs, as did soldiers, fathers, mothers… Many died, others lived. How is what I did any different?”
Harruq opened his mouth, then shut it. He realized he had no argument that wouldn’t ring false.
“I’m sorry,” Harruq said. “Guess I might be a little blind.”
“Little?” Bernard asked, laughing. “Look around a second time. Tarlak is a good man, and he has assembled good people. They all would offer their life for yours. I suspect they already have.”
Harruq pursed his lips and nodded. In combat, it seemed so simple, so obvious, that each would risk their life for the other, but when the adrenaline faded, and life was quiet…
“You look like you’re struggling with something,” Bernard said. He rubbed sweat from his brow onto his sleeve, smearing more ash across his forehead. “I’ll aid, if you’ll let me.”
“Is it ever wrong to forgive someone?” Harruq finally asked.
Bernard tilted his head and thought for a moment.
“You’ve been hurt, haven’t you?” he asked. “By someone you love. Have you already forgiven them, or still deciding if you should?”
“Already have,” Harruq said. “And it cost us dearly.”
“Then pay the cost,” Bernard said. “It is better than the alternative.”
“And what would that be?”
The priest put his hands on his hips and looked to the side.
“Think about it,” he finally said. “How many times have you been forgiven? By your wife, by Tarlak, by your friends and family? If you don’t forgive others, then why should they forgive you? All or nothing, that’s what Ashhur wants.”
“The only family I have is my brother,” Harruq said. “And he’s not one to forgive.”
“Then compare your life to his,” Bernard argued. “Is he happier? Kinder? A stronger person for it? Or is he weak and fragile, clinging to old wounds that refuse to halt their bleeding?”
Harruq didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. More and more a thought kept resurfacing, growing stronger with each passing day. He felt embarrassed, but he blurted it out.
“Karak is everything I cannot stand,” he said. “But Ashhur seems… would he accept a half-orc? My cursed blood?”
To this Bernard put a hand on Harruq’s shoulder and smiled.
“No matter your curse, your wretchedness, your anger or cowardice or malice, no matter your flaws and sins, he loves you,” Bernard said. “Give him your faith, and you will be rewarded. Deny him your faith, and he will still love you. There is nothing you can do to change that.”
Harruq nodded, his mind struggling to wrap around the words. Too simple, he thought. Far too simple.
“I need to go,” he said.