My world is not kind to women. But I’m going to change that.

The orc invasion has left humanity a broken husk of its former self. Society has broken down. And it’s the human females that have paid the price.

We’re commodities to both human men and orcs. To be used, claimed, and bartered with.

I admit that when I was first captured by an orc, I felt that once again, I was at the mercy of a male. Never has it seemed so unfair as when he took me from my bunker.

But there was something different about this orc.

Maybe it was the kindness that emanated form him and the gentleness in his eyes. He was huge compared to me and covered in a thick armor of muscle. He calmed me. And he seemed to trust me.

And I do trust him. No matter the frightening, unexpected, or cruel things that might be coming my way.

He is a decent and honorable orc. And he has stolen more than just my body from the human bunker.

He’s stolen my heart.

Chapter 1

Aqidah

The rattle from my mother’s chest stings my own as I take a fur and drape it over her slumped shoulders. Though she has always been weak in the body, I have never seen her quite so frail, the cough claiming almost every waking breath and her skin losing so much of its green hue it looks almost human.

 “You need to eat,” I say, pointing to the bowl of steaming stew that I have placed in front of her. “The winter will be here before we know it, and you need to muster as much strength as you can to see you through.”

Just the thought of it makes my stomach turn. If the cold and wet winters of the previous few years are anything to go by then she will stand little chance of seeing the next spring. I look around at our small cabin, the wood becoming rotten and the gaps where daylight pokes through getting seemingly bigger by the day.

“We have to face facts, my son. I am getting weaker with each moon that passes. The healers will not waste their dwindling magic on me, and my only concern is that you are okay once I am gone.”

“Stop!” I say and the words come out harsher than I mean them to. But hearing her talk this way is too much. Children bury their parents—that is the natural order of things. I just don’t want to do it yet.

Seeing her suffer in this way both breaks my heart and enrages it. She was a woman of rank, a chieftain’s daughter of an enemy tribe, surrendered by them to appease the Chieftain of this tribe—my father, Uziah.

Yet neither of us have been paid what we are due by this clan. The Golden Arrow Clan is led by my father with his other three sons by his side. Whereas my mother and I are shunned, made to live on the outskirts of the stronghold as though we are nothing to him.

There is nothing about me that would indicate I am a chieftain’s son. I am no different to anyone else—an ordinary soldier leading an ordinary life that is set to become even lonelier if I lose my mother to whatever illness now plagues her.

But she is right. There is no way magic will save her, Uziah would never allow it and would have the head of any healer that tried.

Illness has been a constant companion to her, and I often wonder how she suffered at the hands of my father in the years before I was born. He would doubtless have had any patience or sympathies for her, even if she had bore him a child.

Uziah and my half-brothers are built like machines, and this is how orcs are supposed to be. I am able to fight and can hold my own against anyone—orc or human. But I am no Uziah, and this he has never let me forget.

There is no room for weakness within any clan. Orcs have already fled the persecution of the Dark Elves, and now face new hardships. A brutal landscape. The dying of the magic. Humans that want to see the end to our kind.

Not only do these challenges pose as our greatest threats, but there is also the constant fear of our race dying out due to the lack of orc females and a birth rate that is far from healthy. Though coming here from Protheka through the great rift helped save us from the Elves, there was a price.

That price was our magic, and our women.

Was it worth it?

We are Orcs of Protheka, and yet I was born here and know only Earth. When I ask my mother what is was like she finds it hard to answer. She and her family suffered greatly under the Elves. Orcs have a long lifespan, and that means a lot of suffering.

“Eat,” I say, “please, Mother. Do you need me to help you?”

“I’m not quite that useless yet,” she says, her eyes narrowing and the corner of her mouth quirking up into a half-smile.

“I know,” I say, kissing her on top of her head. “You have never been and never will be useless.” She smiles before picking up her spoon and doing her best to swallow the food.

Stoking up the fire I wonder how long this can go on for. Because it is eating away at me—mind and body. Gnawing at my insides like a rat that will tear and gorge until there is nothing left, and I am hollow.

Footsteps outside bring me out of my head and back to the room. There is a quick knock—one that I recognize—and the door swings open as my cousin Romiah enters.

“Romiah,” says my mother. “Come, sit.”

“Ezah, don’t get up. I’m here to look after you, not the other way around.” Romiah looks over to me and smiles gently. We are more like siblings than cousins, and she will know how worried I am, as she must be too.

“Thank you for coming,” I say.

“Of course, I am looking forward to spending some time with Ezah, where we can discuss who has the biggest ego between Uziah and your half-brothers and who has the smallest brain.”

“That would be quite the competition,” I say as my mother laughs, her eyes shining like they used to do. It heartens me to see her this way, and Romiah always knows how to do it.

“So you see, there is much to discuss while you are out on patrol, and nothing for you to worry about, dear cousin.”

“You’ll make sure she eats and gets enough rest,” I say.

She raises an eyebrow at me. “Go and do your job, Aqidah Valun, and let me do mine.”

“She’s right, it will do me good to have the company of my niece,” my mother states.

I know she is right, of course, but I cannot help but worry. “The fire should be more than adequate though there is plenty of dry wood stored in the—”

“Aqidah, we’ll be fine,” Romiah says, walking over to me and resting a hand on my arm. Her eyes are warm if determined, and I am reminded of how grateful I am to have her in my life. She has always been there for me and for my mother, never more so than in these last few weeks when I have had to ask her to help when I am out on my duties.

I cannot risk losing my position as a soldier, especially now. Then I would become truly worthless to my father and I have no intention of imagining what our fates would be if that were the case.

“Thank you, Romiah,” I say before kneeling before my mother. “I will see you tomorrow, Mother.”

“Yes, you will,” she says. “Be careful out there, my son.”

“Always.” The thought of returning and her not being here comes to me, filling me with that familiar feeling of dread and fear. “I will find you a cure. I promise.”

She says nothing back, just smiles gently. It’s more than I can take, and I stand, collect my things and make my way outside. It’s only when I am at the end of our pathway that I realize I did not even say goodbye.

I turn and look back at the house, cradled between the trees. Though the trees have grown over the years the house has remained small and now almost looks as though it will be swallowed.

Inside sit the two people that I care most about in this dark and difficult world, and one of them is dying. I can’t let that happen. I won’t let that happen.

Somehow, I will find a cure, even if it kills me.