I was born with twenty-five others. Same pit and blood smell. In the very cold stone. Orc C hears crying and growling all around. The clan says the strong ones bite and crawl first. Orc C crawls slowly. Orc C falls in the mud. They laugh. They say, "Orc C is dumb."
The place where Orc C grows is a hard place. Black rocks. Red dirt. Smoke is always in the air. Fires never sleep. Big drums beat at night. The walls are made from bones and broken shields. The heads of enemies hang and dry like meat. The clan says this shows strength. Orc C looks and feels a small pain in his chest, but Orc C does not know why.
Food is tough meat and bitter roots. Water tastes like iron. The sun is bright and hurts the eyes. The wind brings dust and ash. Warriors train every day. They strike logs. They strike each other. They shout the names of those they have killed. The shaman paints scars and says scars are words the body speaks. Orc C has scars too, but Orc C is not proud of them.
Brothers and sisters grow fast. They lift stones. They break the necks of animals. They run with spears. Orc C drops his spear. Orc C forgets orders. When the chief speaks, the words run too fast in Orc C's head. The others say Orc C is good only for the front line. First to die. They say this as a joke. Orc C laughs too, because the clan laughs.
The clan teaches one rule. Take, burn, kill.
They say the world is made for strong hands. Weak things are made for stepping on. Orc C tries to be strong. Orc C hits when told. Orc C bites when told. But sometimes Orc C looks at the fire and thinks it looks like a kneeling man. Orc C does not know why he thinks this.
At night, Orc C sleeps near the wall. The wind whistles through the skulls. The drums beat slowly. Orc C sees the shadows of warriors dancing on bone poles. This is orc life. This is home. Orc C is a dumb orc in a strong clan. Orc C thinks this is all the world is.
The next day, Orc C takes his spear and shield. The clan paints red lines on their faces. The chief shouts. The drums beat fast now. Feet stomp the ground. Dust rises like smoke. Orc C runs with the others. Armor clacks. Teeth show. Everyone smells sweat and iron.
They go down from the black hills into green land. Soft land. Trees grow there. Houses sit close together like scared animals. The clan likes places like this. Easy to burn. Easy to break.
The first house breaks when the front line hits it. Wood splits. People scream. Orc C runs behind his brother. Fire flies from torches. The sky turns dark with smoke. Orc C hears metal ring. Orc C hears bones crack. Orc C hears words he does not know.
A man runs from a house. He is thin. He wears brown cloth. He holds a short blade that shakes in his hand. He sees Orc C and stops. His eyes are wide. His mouth opens like he wants to shout.
Orc C lifts his spear because that is what Orc C is told to do.
The man steps forward. His blade cuts Orc C's arm. It is a small cut, but it burns. Orc C feels hot blood. Orc C growls. Orc C steps in close like the trainers taught. Shield hits the man's chest. The man falls back into the dirt.
Orc C raises the spear with both hands. The man tries to crawl away. His fingers dig into the ground. Orc C drives the spear down.
The spear goes into the man's back. It feels hard, then soft.
Orc C pulls the spear out. Blood runs down the wood. It is warm. It smells iron.
The clan cheers. Someone slaps Orc C on the shoulder. They shout Orc C's name. They shout "Kill! Kill!" Fire eats the houses. The raid goes on.
Orc C stands and looks at the man on the ground. His eyes are open. They do not move. His hand is still reaching forward.
Orc C feels heavy in the chest again. Same feeling as when he saw the heads on the wall. Orc C does not know the word for this feeling. Orc C only knows the man is not moving, and Orc C made him that way.
The horn cries again. Time to move. Orc C runs after the clan.
But while Orc C runs, Orc C keeps seeing the man's hand in the dirt.
The raid does not last long.
A new sound comes from the road. Not drums. Not horns. It is metal on metal, many feet moving together. Orc C looks up and sees humans in shining skin. Their bodies are covered in bright armor. Sunlight breaks on them like fire on water. They hold long spears and wide shields. They move in lines, not like scared people, but like one hard thing.
They do not shout. They do not run wild. They walk forward and then they strike.
An orc jumps at them. A spear goes through his throat. Another orc swings an axe. A sword cuts his arm and then his neck. Blood falls on the grass. The shining humans keep moving. Step. Thrust. Cut. Step again.
The clan tries to fight. But this time the fight breaks. Strong brothers fall. Loud sisters fall. The ground turns dark and wet. Fire still burns behind them, but now fire is not enough.
The clan leader roars. His voice is like thunder.
"Scatter! Run! Live to raid again!"
Orcs turn and flee. They run into trees. They run into fields. They run into smoke. Orc C runs too.
Orc C is afraid of the shining humans. Their eyes are hidden. Their faces are still. They look like walking walls. Orc C does not want to be cut like the others.
Orc C runs until his chest hurts. Orc C runs past dead bodies. Orc C runs past broken carts. Orc C runs into water.
A river cuts the land. Orc C jumps in. Cold bites his legs. Water pulls at him. Orc C stumbles and almost falls. He holds his spear high and pushes forward. The river makes loud noise and hides his steps.
Orc C climbs out on the other side. His feet are numb. His arms shake. Orc C keeps running.
Trees change to old stone. A building stands alone. Its roof is broken. Its walls lean like tired bones. A tall shape rises above it, with no bell inside. The door hangs open.
Orc C sees no people. Orc C smells dust and old wood, not smoke and blood.
Orc C goes inside.
The place is quiet. Too quiet. The floor is cracked. Plants grow through the stone. Light comes in through holes in the roof. Broken benches lie on their sides. A long wall stands at the front.
On that wall is a picture.
The colors are weak. The paint is falling away. But Orc C can still see a man on his knees. His hands are together. His head is down. Other small figures stand behind him. They look up at the kneeling man.
Orc C stares at the wall.
The man in the picture is not fighting. He is not running.
He is kneeling.
Orc C feels the heavy thing in his chest again.
Orc C hides in the broken church. Outside, far away, Orc C hears fighting and horns and death.
Inside, there is only dust, light, and the faded picture of the kneeling monk.
I look at the picture for a long time. The man on the wall does not move. His knees are on the ground. His back is straight. His head is low. His hands are together like they hold something I cannot see.
I try to stand like him. It feels wrong. My legs shake. So I bend them and lower myself to the floor.
My knees touch stone. It is cold. My shield falls from my arm. My spear rests against the wall. I put my hands together because the man in the picture does that.
I do not know why he kneels. I do not know who he looks at. But I try to be still.
At first, my head is loud. I hear drums in my ears. I see the man I killed. I smell fire and blood. My chest feels tight.
I breathe slow. I copy the man in the picture. Head down. Back still.
The noise inside me becomes smaller.
I do not feel strong. I do not feel brave. But I feel less angry. The heavy thing in my chest does not bite me so hard.
My mind clears a little. Like smoke moving away from fire.
But something is missing.
I do not know what the man in the picture is doing. I only know how he sits. I do not know who he speaks to. I only know he is quiet. I feel like I am holding an empty bowl.
I stand up.
I look at my spear. The steel head is red and dark from blood. I pull it off the wood. It takes time. My hands slip. But it comes free.
Now I only have the staff. Long wood. No point.
Night comes. The light through the roof turns gray, then black. Outside, there are no horns. No shouting. Only insects and wind.
I leave the old church when the dark is full.
I walk with the staff in my hand. I do not go back to the clan. I do not go to the green land. I go where my feet go.
I am dumb. My actions are never planned. I do not know where the world ends. I do not know what the kneeling man means.
But I remember how he sat.
So I walk.
And sometimes, when the ground is quiet, I kneel.