Phillip Corrig would fight his way inside if he thought he stood half a chance. Instead, his impotent fuming on a mound of dirt amounted to nothing more than stern looks at the lodge of his father-in-law. Two Koru orcs walked along the path in front of him and gave him obvious indifference. A marked improvement from his visit three years ago. Fresh torches along the pathway crackled and popped as the sky above grew amber. Night would fall soon.
The guttural cry of his wife Bracka tore through the air and echoed amongst the trees of the Erokan Forest. Her birthing pangs were getting worse and he hoped it wouldn’t be much longer. The wispy lights of the Erokar Troll dwellings twinkled in the branches of the surrounding trees. The clearing for the sprawling orc settlement of Gorond was one of three allowed in the troll's sacred forest. While the Erokar accepted the Logash refugees from the Eastern Reaches, they would only go so far to accommodate orcish customs. The same orcish customs that forbid soon to be fathers from the birthing rite.
Bracka cried out again and the sound further insulted Phillip's own helplessness. He could make the finest armor and weapons out of the crudest elements, yet was unable to help her through this.
“Whelp,” a dark voice boomed over Bracka’s cries. The unsettling way Brom's obsidian skin appeared to swallow the surrounding light went far beyond the intimidation Phillip expected from his father-in-law. Brom's hulking, battle-scarred arm held a musty bundle over Phillip’s head.
“Drak’ash,” Phillip replied with extreme deference. While his human tongue always butchered the Logash language, he always addressed Brom as honored father. This continued to make Brom wince and growl to that very day.
A roar burst from the lodge.
Phillip abandoned all sense of decorum and self-preservation to launch himself off the mound. Dirt sprayed into the air and the throb in his cheek from the midwife’s punch several hours prior did nothing to slow him. He managed to set foot on the path before he ricocheted off Brom’s forearm.
Brom loomed over Phillip again, his lower tusks gleaming in the nearby torchlight. The bundle of musty clothes fell from his hand onto Phillip.
“One word and I’ll rip out your pink tongue.”
Phillip nodded and unfolded the bundle of fabric that shimmered like the shield he made for Bracka the first time she came to his stall in Tewynton. It looked wrinkled and coarse, but its touch was luxurious to the point Phillip was puzzled why such a rough-edged orc like Brom had it. Phillip fastened the clasps of the cloak down the front.
“Hood too,” Brom grumbled with waning patience.
The thick hood covered Phillip’s face, but to his surprise the world around him remained as a hazy vision. Stories of such things where muttered near his stall by soldiers cursing sorcerers and their magic. He had written it off as fantasy but there he was wearing a cloak of invisibility. A scandal in his own father’s house, it made him wonder…
Why did Brom have one, let alone let Phillip wear it?
Following Brom across the pathway, Phillip couldn’t help but think about meeting Bracka that morning for the first time. Lost in her green eyes he dropped her shield, twice. After several visits, two more shields and a pair of gauntlets, he finally realized she wasn’t coming back for the armor. She took his surname to honor human custom. He fought her brother in ritual combat for the right to marry her.
An uncountable number of bruises and a broken arm later she was his wife, his partner. She moved to Alon to live with him. After the Thornbearer said she was with child Bracka wanted to return home to Gorond. It was important to give birth to their son according to Logash customs.
“Remember what I said about your tongue,” Brom whispered just as he took three large strides into the lodge, holding the door long enough for Phillip to sneak in. Luka, Bracka’s mother, rushed towards the door, her green skin shimmered with sweat.
“Drak’tha!” she whispered and clung to Brom. Her voice broke when she continued. “The baby…”
Brom thundered deeper into the lodge along the well-worn pathways Bracka chased him when she was a youngling. Phillip wasn’t sure but he swore he felt panic in Brom’s breathing. He followed close behind as Brom burst into the large back room.
Bracka’s pained groans assaulted the air as she laid on a large table with several lanterns hung around the room. Her mottled brown-green legs were spread wide and her belly swollen while long sweat-soaked hair clung to her arms and breasts. Phillip had never seen his wife this way, exhausted, scared, and very angry.
She never looked more beautiful.
A brown skinned orc in ceremonial robes grabbed Brom by the ear and shoved him to the other side of the table. She shouted instructions in Logash, but she spoke so fast Phillip only understood the word ‘move’. His attention returned to Bracka and the rest of the world went quiet. There was just her and by the Goddess what he would give to ease the pain she was in, but just as she told him, all she needed was him. She had to know he was there with her. A hammer to an anvil, he went to her.
Bracka screamed as Luka, Brom, and the midwife pushed and contorted her belly until it undulated and settled. Luka rushed to her baby and smoothed the hair from Bracka’s face.
“Be brave my little one,” Luka encouraged.
“Bravery left me,” Bracka cried. “I’m scared mama.”
No one noticed Bracka’s right hand disappear.
Phillip grasped it and caressed her thumb like he did when they walked at sunset. Words burned in his throat that took his entire will to restrain. She had to know how proud he was of her, how he marveled at her strength, how he knew she could do this and be the most amazing mother.
Surprise and ecstasy washed over Bracka’s face. Her four fingers squeezed her beloved’s hand and steeled her resolve. Her body readied and determination focused into a grimace that would make the bravest warrior flee the battlefield. With the strength and fury of her ancestors she gave one, final, push.
Bracka’s body collapsed on the table and a deep sigh escaped her lips. Her grip relaxed and a shrill cry filled the room from the other end of the table. Little green arms flailed against the gray goo that matted down a full head of thin black hair.
“You have son!” the midwife exclaimed in broken Alonnish, Phillip’s native tongue.
Time stopped for Phillip so his reality could change. Everything went silent for him as he watched his son angrily greet the world. His gasps came shallow and rapid as tears barreled down his face. Any sound he made was dwarfed by Bracka’s joyous sobs when the baby was placed in her arms.
“Our beautiful boy,” she wailed.
Brom, stoic as ever, inspected the child. His midnight skin provided a stark contrast with his grandson’s light green. He tapped the baby’s tiny nub tusks and even smirked when five tiny fingers tried to grasp his thick thumb. He kissed Bracka’s forehead and looked back to his his grandson.
“His name?”
“Goesh,” Bracka cooed and caressed her son’s soft hair.
“A strong name,” Brom beamed with the timbre of his voice drumming with pride. “Fight strong and with honor Goesh Corrig. The Logash people welcome you all into the fold.” Brom ushered Luka and the midwife out the door.
Once they were gone Phillip hurled the cloak to the ground and kissed his wife with delicate fervor.
“You are a goddess,” he whispered with his lips pressed against her forehead.
“Then get down here and kiss me right,” Bracka responded with a smirk.
When a proper embrace was completed, Bracka eased Goesh into Phillip’s arms. It surprised him how it felt like Goesh had been missing from them this entire time. It was like they were built for this moment. Phillip marveled at this brave new world that shined back at him from fresh green eyes.
The End