One of the piglets, the largest and most self-assured, tried to assert its dominance in the sty. It constantly pushed its way between the others, squealing wildly, and contentedly ate the best bits from the trough. Chechi, ignoring the feces littering the pen, stepped in and grabbed it by the waist, clenching left hand on her right wrist, under the animal's bristly belly. She squeezed hard and, unmindful of the kicking hooves, put it back at the rear. The whole time it was off the ground, the pig stared at her dumbfounded and squealed, emitting a stench from between its uneven teeth. The girl paid no attention. She was strong, slender, and terribly dirty. Dorky swallowed.
"This is how you do it. Everyone should eat equally. Then you'll rake the shit and shovel it over the fence," she said, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, "because they've made a terrible mess here." She looked around the pen and suddenly blurted out, "What's your name?"
The question hung in the air, and Dorky hesitated for a moment whether to answer.
"You have a name, don't you?" she asked mockingly. "I'm not going to call you 'human,' after all."
"Dorky." He extended his hand and immediately dropped it, seeing her expression. "Don't imagine too much, human!" she hissed. She measured him with her gaze for a moment, but he didn't rise to the challenge. "Well, Dorky, work-work," she said more softly now and smiled, narrowing her eyes. As she left the pigpen, she swung her arm, pretending to slap his butt, to which he involuntarily reacted with a lightning-fast pull of it under himself and an ungainly jump forward.
"He suffered yesterday, oh, he suffered," she scoffed, laughing heartily, and walked off among the huts deeper into the camp. He followed her with a longing gaze, thinking they would work together and he could at least partially learn about the issues troubling him, but he quickly shook off that feeling and just got to it. Animals are animals; he didn't have much experience herding pigs, but he wasn't bad with goats and sheep, so he decided he would learn this trade too. Above all, he didn't want to provoke the Strong. The thought of a repeat of last night's punishment made him feel faint, and his butt hurt even more. So he pulled the unruly pig away from the trough, shielding the smaller ones with his body, and then obediently raked the dung and shoved it over the fence to the designated spot. Spring in full bloom meant high temperatures and a sharp sun, so he worked shirtless, in just his pants, and barefoot. When he finished everything he was told to do, the piglets huddled and lazily rolled from side to side in the shade against the wall of the adjoining building. Chechi stood leaning against the fence, holding two balancing poles laden with buckets.
"We're going for water; they need mud to wallow in," she said seriously, her gaze sweeping over him. "But you're such a scrawny thing. I don't know how the Twins managed to spot and catch you. You must be terribly stupid, huh?"
He didn't answer, just tightened his lips and hoisted one of the balancing poles onto his back. The buckets dangled at his sides as they walked through the encampment, watched by curious glances.
"Not from here!" Chechi shook her head, seeing him about to put down his load. "That's the tribe's sacred well. For the pigs, we'll take water from the river."
He examined the described object. It looked like an ordinary well lined with limestone pebbles, with a wooden scaffolding adorned with a sun-bleached skull of something large, formidable, and toothed. "You must learn our customs, or you will know pain." Saying this, she turned to him and nodded gravely.
"I understand. Thank you for helping me," he said uncertainly.
The Orc-woman pouted and rolled her eyes. "It's not because I like you, Dorky. It's just that the tribe has no use for you right now. If I help you, maybe there will be some. That's all."
As they descended towards the river, the young slave's mind involuntarily began to assess the situation for escape. Even in this part of the camp, far from the gate, a watchtower stood on high stilts, roofed and bristling with spear racks. A solidly built ladder led upwards, which could be pulled up and secured out of attackers' reach. From the tower, there must have been a good view of the entire river bend, the small backwater, and the thickets on the other side. From the boy's eye level, much less was visible. In the wide riverbed with its irregular walls, eroded by changing water levels, wet ropes gleamed, used for pulling up water buckets and shellfish baskets. The water flowed slowly in the middle, drying up on shimmering, mineral-rich, light earth banks. On the other side of the riverbed, several wild fruit trees tightly wrapped their roots around limestone rocks. On a beamed stand stood several slender canoes made from hollowed-out old tree trunks. At this time of year, the Orc-women apparently didn't use them, as they were set upside down and additionally tied with rope so they wouldn't be overturned by gusts of wind. The paddles were probably inside. The boy thought for a moment. If he were to arrive here at night, unnoticed, and then quietly free and launch one of them… But doubts immediately assailed him. The lazy river in this section could quickly change its character to a more unruly one, or even disappear into deep, treacherous canyons and constrictions barely a few cubits wide. Part of the water could completely vanish underground, only to reappear a few dozen paces further. What would happen to him if he ventured into such terrain in a canoe? Would he be able to brake in time and get to shore?
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Engrossed in these difficult considerations, he didn't even notice the girl start to pull the rope, and a bucket full of water, attached to a clamp, rose to his face. A prolonged whistle snapped him out of his reverie. He obediently tilted the container and poured its contents into one of his buckets. After several turns, he caught the rhythm and pondered the ingenuity of this system. It was clever and convenient. Would anyone in his village be able to convince the rest to build such a device? Probably not, because fetching water was women's work, and who would waste time on conveniences for them. The Uurb clan apparently had time to waste. The weight of this thought made him scratch his nose.
He looked at Chechi, who had finished her work and was now skipping flat stones across the water, whistling. She turned over her shoulder and gestured for him to take the load on his back.
His stomach rumbled, and the sun was somewhat taxing. He usually didn't work so much, and when it was hot, he interspersed his pastoral duties with ample rest, lying in the shade, watching the clouds and contemplating. That time, which he mentally began to call his time "at liberty," was over. He had to learn new things and force himself to work constantly, hoping to avoid punishment and humiliation. At the same time, so far, nothing beyond his strength had been demanded of him. He walked on the beaten earth path diagonally from Chechi, observing the details of her features. Her skin was quite fair for an Orc-woman. Sunlight sent occasional blinks off a horned earring in the middle of her right ear. She had dark green, shoulder-length hair and freckles of an almost identical color. A dark band of delicate leather squeezed her neck. Despite the heat, she wore a short armored vest with puffed fur on the shoulders, and over dark grey knee-length leggings, she donned an asymmetrical, reddish-brown skirt with a few brass sequins. She liked to walk barefoot, but she wore something like leather ankle guards, polished to a shine on the inside. Her calves were shapely and slender, unlike the steel-hardened muscles of the Twins or the titanic specimens he had observed with astonishment on Babeno. She was a girl. His age.
A sudden memory of his conversation with Celine flashed before his eyes, which involuntarily welled up. He took a deep breath through his nose, trying not to let out a painful groan. Celine was gone, along with his entire previous life. And he himself was now in captivity, here and now. Carrying terribly heavy water on his back. He'd better not spill too much. He'd better not remember too much.
He moistened his lips with his tongue and composed himself.
The rest of the day was spent on similar useful, mundane activities. He had already managed to better orient himself within the camp layout. The Great Hall, a place for meetings and councils, occupied the center. This squat, circular building, with a minimal number of supports, looked quite warlike, as all its exterior walls were adorned with weapon racks, now almost completely depleted. The males, having set off to war, had taken their favorite toys with them. Adjacent to the Hall were the warriors' and Chieftain's quarters, currently only partially inhabited by women. Babeno, being the Chieftain's sister, now occupied his dwelling. Other Orcs lived near their main occupations, by the sawmill, granary, forge, and animals. The absence of most of the population was noticeable; some buildings lay fallow and deteriorated. For Dorky, the confusion regarding the settlement's defenses was interesting. Did the Orc-women have anything to fear? It seemed so. He would have to ask, when the opportunity arose, what the chances were of him surviving even less than the promised hundred days, unluckily killed during an attack by another tribe or some terrible wilderness creatures. On the other hand, he pondered how little emotion such a scenario currently evoked in him. He told himself he was only connected to the here and now.
He returned to mapping the settlement plan in his head. His dwelling place, the slave stables, of which he was currently the sole inhabitant, were built near the main gate, along with the goat pens and pig sties. The Orc-women here did not use mounts, probably due to the lack of convenient roads and the possessive, thorny nature of the vegetation, which only allowed for the trampling of narrow, orange-soiled paths between rocks and impenetrable thickets, and true fortresses of monstrously sized prickly pear cacti. Contrary to the general rule, a powerful stallion stood in the cleared pen, belonging, he was told, to Marpala. When addressing this extremely unusual Orc-woman, who wore fortune-worth polished glasses in delicate wire frames on her nose, the title of Advisor had to be added. She must have been at least as rich as the merchant from whom he had seen similar goods years ago. Dorky saved finding out what all this meant for later. Due to the stallion's presence, his daily duties now included grooming the animal's mane and flanks, feeding it, and ensuring its cleanliness. The horse was not easy to handle, and they didn't immediately take to each other. The unridden animal was a dominant, bored bastard, fond of nipping with his teeth and pushing smaller beings with long movements of his powerful head. Marpala observed Dorky's struggles with her mount from a distance, smiling wryly.
"A pretty boy, but stupid as if he were one of ours," she threw to Farme, who was passing by. The human warrior gladly accepted the compliment, which indicated deep respect and integration with the tribe, but outwardly she just shrugged and moved on to supervise the regular Orc-women working with wood to reinforce the fortifications.
In the evening, they all met in the Great Hall. When the main meal was over and only the rare crunch of gurara tubers or bone gnawing was heard, nudging each other and joking, they sent Chechi to bring the boy for his lessons.
