Ch. 14— Deadsong Lullaby

Moonthread, by Anthony Lee Phillips

Chapter 14
DEADSONG LULLABY

They followed the trail of the monster’s strange blood.

The trail meandered, like a river in reverse, toward the cratered peak of Mount Wraithwood.

The blood swirled where it had been spilled, which made it look alive against the cracking grey ground.

“You got that thing good!” said Bakura.

He sounded happy about it, but Nala was miserable, and so she said nothing.

The pair of orclings walked a long time, deeper and deeper into the misty grey wood.

Deeper and deeper, where the air became thin.

The path became barren and sheer.

“Steep,” said Nala.

“Don’t look down,” said Bakura, following his own advice.

“Aren’t you afraid?”

Bakura shrugged ahead of her, stepping carefully, eyes ahead.

“Fear is dangerous,” Bakura said, loud enough for Nala to hear. “The more you think about what you’re afraid of, the more likely it is to happen.”

“Maybe for you,” Nala said.

“For anyone,” Bakura said, with all the sureness of an angry young boy.

Nala dropped into private thought. She was relieved when the path went away from the cliff’s edge, back into the forest.

Were it anywhere but there, there would have been critters behind every bush, and a bird on each branch.

Eventually, they came upon a little glade, a natural clearing.

Well… almost natural. There was a huge, round burrow-mound in the middle of the meadow.

There were huge holes dug into the mound, as if snakes or rats had dens beneath the glen.

“What do you think dug these?” Bakura mused.

Nala shrugged, still feeling hollow. “Snakes maybe. Moles.”

“I hope it’s not snakes,” said Bakura.

Nala smirked. “You afraid of snakes?”

“Snakes that big?!” he scoffed. “Oh yeah! Listen, I’m from the desert. You learn what to be afraid of in the desert.”

He pointed.

“A snake that big? Nope. I don’t think so.”

Then they heard a loud rattle, and both of them flinched.

“…Just ghosts,” Nala said.

mmm agreed the Ring.

Then, it was her going first, following the bloodtrail into the trees.

Eventually, they got to a vast, gnarly thicket.

Nala grunted. She was tired now. She wanted sleep. She just wanted to turn around, and—

“You ever hunted before?” Bakura asked her.

“I’ve… fished.”

He stared at her. “So, no?”

“Well—”

“Have you ever killed anything before?” he asked.

“I’ve killed fish.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“Of course it counts!”

“But you’ve never slaughtered anything?”

Nala was horrified. “Of course not.”

“Not even… a pig?” Bakura said. “Or a sheep? You eat meat, right?”

Nala didn’t answer.

“My point is— you cut that thing and you feel bad,” said Bakura. “But if you hadn’t done that, I’d be dead. Understand? I. Would. Be. Gone. You saved my life, you know?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Nala didn’t say.

She held it in instead.

She pressed it into the book of her heart, like a flower between its pages.

“Thank you is what I’m saying,” Bakura said.

She didn’t want to be thanked. She didn’t wanna think about it, so she thought about something else.

“What’s Yegorah like?” Nala asked.

He stopped.

She couldn’t see his face, but she could sense that she’d said something wrong.

“I mean,” she said, “wh-where is it?”

“Far,” he said.

“How far?”

He nodded. “Just about as far as you can get. Southeast. Way Southeast.”

“What’s it like?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Desert.” He turned, but wasn’t looking at her. He wasn’t really looking at anything.

“It was my tribe,” he told her. “And now, I am the last. The last of the Yegorah.”

Nala nodded. “The last one, huh?”

He did not nod. “Last and Least. Prince of Nothing. Prince of…”

Nala tongued her tusk, wishing it was sore so she’d have a different reason to be anxious.

“You ever heard of the Death Knight?” Bakura muttered.

Nala shook her head.

Though he wasn’t looking at her, he nodded as if he’d seen.

“Good,” he said. He looked at her. “You’re lucky.”

Then he saw something. Nala turned to see what he was seeing.

“Is that…? Is that a door?” Nala said.

Bakura nodded. It was indeed a door, but it was embedded into the Mountain’s sloping face. The arch was dry greystone, uncracked. The double doors leading into the mountain had been made of wood, ancient wood, its grain so fine it looked like it had been woven.

The doors had been shattered, and caved in. Splinters jutted out like a hundred crowded teeth. The wood should have been rotting, but this was Mt. Wraithwood, where nothing died, and nothing grew.

“Maybe we should just keep going?” Nala suggested. Tired as she was, the sight of it really creeped her out.

He shook his head and turned to look at her.

“No, it’s a good idea. Getting some rest. I’m… tired, too. I mean, really tired, so… Come on. It’s close. Some sleep would be good for both of us.”

* * * * / * * * *

It was twilight as they went through the door. The air got cold, and Bakura went first through the mouth of the door.

“Ow!” he said, flinching away from it.

“What?”

“Splinters.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t—”

“I’m fine,” Bakura snapped.

He used the butt of his palm to crush down the worst jagged points.

He went a little longer than Nala would have liked.

“You okay?” Nala asked.

Bakura stopped, and shot her a smile. “Great way to get out aggression. Try it.”

“No thanks,” Nala said. “You’re… kind of scaring me.”

Bakura panted. “I am? I wasn’t trying to be scary.”

Nala shrugged.

“Sorry,” said Bakura.

“No you’re not,” Nala wanted to say. Because he wasn’t.

But she didn’t. Instead, Bakura turned back to his work, striking the door over and over, bashing its teeth in.

Bakura stepped in, whistling a jolly tune. “Come on!” he said, as he descended into the darkness.

Immediately, the doors gave way to some stairs.

Lots of stairs, it turned out. Nala fell. She tumbled, and had it not been for her ring, that may have been the end of Nala the orc.

But she did have the ring. As she slipped on the first unseen step, she fell sideways and hit her head on the greystone arch. That hurt. But then, whatever magic the Shadow’s Ward had enveloped Nala in a cloak of darkness.

Her momentum didn’t stop, but she found herself suddenly at the bottom of the stairs. She looked up, and saw Bakura’s shocked silhouette. He was way way up there, twilight casting half of him in shadow.

He held himself up with one hand. His other hand was out to her, instinctively reaching to catch Nala.

“Wow!” Bakura shouted down at her. “How’d you do that!?”

Nala shrugged. “Wish I knew!”

He went to her, down what must have been a hundred stone steps. They weren’t friendly stairs, either: they were narrow, and too tall, and slimy with moss.

“If nothing grows or dies here,” Bakura complained, “how come the moss doesn’t count?”

“It’s just in here,” Nala said. “I didn’t see any moss on the trail.”

“Your head okay?” he asked.

She rubbed it. “Hurts a little. But… could be worse.”

“…Don’t say that,” he muttered.

It made Nala remember her Gran, back at home. Probably still in the trance.

“Here’s a spot,” Bakura said. “Spot as good as any. Why don’t you sleep first, and I’ll take watch.”

“…What?”

“Well, we need to set up watch. That way, if something comes, then—”

“If something comes?” said Nala.

“You a parrot? Cause you repeat a lot.”

“What’s a parrot?”

“You’ve never seen a parrot?” Bakura said, grinning.

“…You’ll take first watch?” asked Nala.

* * * * / * * * *

As soon as Nala tried to sleep, she couldn’t. Which was frustrating.

She felt safe enough to sleep, but her mind was restless. She pressed her eyes clothes, and figured if she pretended long enough, sleep would just sort of happen.

It didn’t.

There were no sounds. The ghosts were quiet, for one reason or another. Deep in the darkness, there was the sound of dripping water. Out above, beyond the top of the staircase, the wind hissed.

Hhhh…

All she could think of was the sensation of slicing the shadowy creature.

And its howl…

Something else, she thought.

The numb mercy of sleep would not come. Then… she heard…

Bakura began to sing.

Bakura’s voice was gentle. He sang some hymn, or lullaby or something. An old song.

A deadsong.

Nala didn’t know it, and it was a melody she never would’ve been able to come up with.

“When the Desert
Calls my name out
What word do you hear?
Is it wrath?
Or is it mercy?
Does it sound like fear?

“I wish I was a gentle thing
I wish I were a tender wing
I miss the way you used to sing
I miss you most of all
I miss you most…
Of all.”

He sang it over and over. Hummed it too. Sometimes, he said the words, but other rounds he didn’t. Melody in “mms” and “oohs,” or only speaking out the last line.

Near the end, Nala felt the darkness pulling her.

Sleep, some part of her was saying. The ring was humming too, somewhere between an “mm” and “ah.”

The last thing she remembered hearing was Bakura saying the word “wrath,” over and over, over and over, pronouncing every sound in it, then sculpting it in his mouth.

“Wrath,” he muttered.

“Wrath.”

Never loud.

“Wrrrr…”

Never the same twice in a row.

“Wrath. Wrrrath. Wwwrath. Wrathhhh…”

* * * * / * * * *

(Art by Jess Tyree.)

GIFT SHOP
Hats & Hoodies
ORC LORE— Poetry about the Gods

* * * * / * * * *

…One more chapter…