Chapter 33 - Mother

Several days ago, Clint Morgans sat above Marrie Gauld as she awoke. The day before, she had regaled him with stories of her husband and opened up to him in a whole new way, but Clint knew she still held secrets, and he intended to extract them.

“Who’s the girl?” He asked nonchalantly. By now he had realised how his gaze made Marrie squirm, so he allowed her some comfort by not looking her way yet.

“...Who’s the what?” Marrie shook the sleepiness out of her head, clutching the portrait close to her chest.

“The girl. In the picture.” Clint clarified.

Marrie’s eyes widened as her sleep-addled brain finally caught up to Clint’s words. She froze up, glancing between the hidden picture and him.

“I…” Marrie bit her tongue, struggling to find the words.

“No need to rush. We’ve got all day.” Clint nodded to the still-rising sun outside.

“You really can’t let me suffer in silence, can you?” Marrie sighed, realising how useless it would be to keep further secrets from him. “She’s my daughter.”

Clint looked at her. His eyes were a deep, melancholic yellow. “Is she…?” He trailed off, more for her sake than his own.

“No.” Marrie shook her head. “She’s not… She’s just missing.”

Clint doubted her, but didn’t voice his concern. “Tell me about her.”

“It was ten years ago, when Blüt first attacked. She went-” Marrie began, only for a raised hand from Clint to silence her.

“No, tell me about her. Not how she went missing.” He clarified.

Marrie hesitated, looking at the picture for strength. “Oh, where do I begin?” She breathed in deeply. “She took after her father more than me. She never stopped moving, always rushing around, so full of life. Quite literally, in fact.” Tears streamed from her face, even though the memories were pleasant. “She had all her father’s magical ability and then some, it was almost terrifying.” Marrie recalled.

“Wherever she walked, flowers would grow. If she ever scraped her knee or twisted her ankle, it’d be restored in moments. It seems she took after me too, just a little with that healing magic.” Marrie hugged the picture close. “Grand, even in all his time in the capital had never seen anything like it. Mana poured out of her non-stop, healing everything in her path. If she stepped on a bug, it’d walk away like nothing ever happened.”

“How old is she now?” Clint asked. His mind was working already toward a horrible conclusion.

“She’s sixteen. Sixteen years, three months and twenty-five days.” Marrie’s recollection of the numbers was clearly rehearsed.

“So she was six when she disappeared?” Clint didn’t quite address her with his words, caught up in his own head.

“Yes. She hadn’t even started school yet…” Marrie gripped the edges of the picture tight, threatening to crack the frame. “She was going to the week after… But then… B-but then…”

Clint placed a hand on Marrie’s shoulder. He was firm and comforting. It gave her the strength to continue.

“When Blüt attacked and Grand went to fight him… We were called to evacuate the village and flee to the woods. In the chaos, I lost sight of her…” Tears streamed down her face, but she kept her voice calm. “And-” She choked on the words. “And-... And-...”

“You never found her.” Clint surmised.

“Yes.” Marrie wept.

He knew now. All the pieces came together. The secret behind Blüt’s regeneration was so obvious to him. “Is that why you head out into the woods?” He asked plainly.

“...Yes. I go every month.” Marrie spoke sombrely. “With her magic, there’s no way she died. She’s still out there! She has to be!” She insisted, voice growing louder and louder as she protested at something Clint left unsaid, but they both knew.

Marrie too, was well aware of where Blüt’s regeneration came from, but she could never admit it to herself. It was too great of a horror to know that her daughter was trapped for the last ten years in an iron box on the back of that beast, acting as an engine for the man who killed her father to continue his campaign of tyranny. If she ever admitted that truth to herself, she would die of a broken heart right then and there.

Clint rose to his feet. There was nothing left to say. The only option was to act.

“Clint? Where are you going?” Marrie reached out to him, but he was already too far.

He did not turn. He simply began walking. He would not stop until he reached Blüt and put a bullet in his head.

Back in the present, the battle between Sol and Blut hit a turning point.

After burying his sword in Blüt’s head, Sol had landed a critical blow, the closest any mortal had come to killing the ogre in decades. He was up against a heavily injured, one-armed enemy, it was simple logic that he would win from there.

Sol knew better than that assumption. He knew well how powerful Blut’s anger made him. He didn’t grow complacent, he was wary of every blow, he didn’t overextend, and he fought his hardest. He only made one mistake.

While he didn’t underestimate Blüt’s rage, he did underestimate one other thing: Blüt’s sheer will to live.

It was a strange thought. An immortal with a strong drive to live. After all, what wills one to survive if survival is a foregone conclusion? It was entirely beyond anyone, even someone as wily as Sol, to conceive of this part of Blüt’s psyche. It was something only he knew, deep in the very core of his being, in the back of his mind, far, far away in his memories…

For Blüt, life and death had always been connected. His life began with his mother’s death, after all. She was a young woman whose husband had perished in the long war with the Rhine. An innocent, pitied and beloved by the village, her death was mourned by many. Mourned so greatly, that Blüt’s birth went uncelebrated.

Orcs aren’t generally superstitious people, but upon extracting the baby Blüt from his mother’s womb, the village struggled for any rational explanation. Ten times the size of a regular child, blue-skinned and boggle-eyed. He couldn’t be called an Orc, not without decimating the pride their kind held in their name. Instead, they christened him an Ogre.

From birth, he was outcast, denied his very race by his people. He was orphaned, his only option to be taken in by the village’s lone nun to live in a church on the outskirts of town. Sister Bellen accepted the child in exchange for a weekly supply of food and money. According to their religious doctrine, nuns weren’t allowed real careers, they had to live and die by donations, so the sister was all too glad to accept Blüt for the benefits alone.

The church he called home was a gloomy stone building with small windows, a dark chamber in which he was to be sealed. Blüt seemed doomed to a miserable childhood… And yet…

Sister Bellen was a rambunctious and gruff woman. She was taller and more muscular than most men, and she kept a lit pipe between her tusks at all times. If there was one thing she loved, it was a challenge like Blüt. With all her vigour, she raised the child with one unshakable principle:

“First up!” She barked, shocking the gormless child before her to attention. “If you’re gonna hit someone, hit ‘em in the balls!”

Blüt scratched his head. “Mama, isn’t that… Unfair?” He questioned.

“Damn right it is!” She grinned, leaning down to impart her wisdom on him more directly. “Don’t you know what the point of a fight is, Blüt?”

Blüt shook his head. He was only five at the time, raised in solitude by Sister Bellen. He had not yet tasted real conflict, though she knew he inevitably would.

“The point of a fight is to keep yourself alive. That’s all.” She grinned. “There’s nothing more precious than your life. Not money, not possessions, not even other people, got it?”

“Not even you?” Blüt asked, eyes wide.

“Of course not, dumbass!” She slapped Blüt on the head lightly. “Your life is yours. Who gives a crap about me?” She chided.

Blüt grasped his head, wincing and frowning at the minor pain he felt. Bellen sighed, kneeling down and petting him. “Your life is the most precious thing. It’s a gift from the Goddess that she gave just to you, understand? Imagine how sad she’d be if you wasted it.” She said softly, running a hand through her son’s hair.

When she kneeled next to him they were around the same height, that’s how enormous Blüt was. Still, she treated him like any other child. “Would you be sad too, Mama?” He asked.

“Of course, moron!” She grinned, exchanging her petting for rubbing her knuckles against his head. “What kind of a mom wants to see their kid die?”

“Ow ow ow!” Blüt winced, attempting to wriggle his way out of his mother’s grasp.

“See, this is why the balls thing is important! When it comes to protecting your life, there’s no trick too dirty, no scheme too evil! Now put that lesson to the test and fight back!”

“B-but Mama!” Blüt complained, still making no effort to escape.

“No buts! Come on! Fight dirty!” She grinned, prodding and poking at Blüt’s body.

“How am I supposed to kick you in the balls when you don’t have any?” Blüt complained, bewildered. This shocked Bellen enough to let go of him, her hand going to her chin as she wondered about that herself for seemingly the first time.

“Hm… If it's a girl or something without any… Go for another weak spot! Get ‘em in the eyes! That’ll show them!” She beamed.

Blüt smiled back. He would never forget what his mother taught him that day, but he wouldn’t truly understand what her words meant until tragedy struck only a few short years later.

Blüt would learn in no uncertain terms, how terrifying death could be, and how desperate he could become to live.

Sol had expected to match Blüt blow for blow. He couldn’t anticipate that Blüt wouldn’t go for a fair clashing of fists, that instead he would turn and run to the riverbank. This moment of bewilderment was enough to make an opportunity for the Ogre. He scurried to the edge of the river, scooping up a fistful of sand and tossing it straight toward Sol.

Dodging and blocking punches was one thing, but millions of particles of sand flung at immense speed was a different story. He focused on protecting his stomach, clumped sand like a cannonball striking centre mass. His defense was effective, no damage was dealt, but he left one very key thing open.

His eyes. Sand flew into them, blinding him momentarily. That moment was all Blüt needed to grab him and end their duel. He reached his colossal hand forward, capturing Sol within his grip. It was the Ogre’s absolute victory.

Finally, Luna’s attack was fully charged and she was ready to strike, she rushed to the cliffside, once again bathing the world below in blue. She illuminated all around her with sheer power, but found only she had shed light on only one thing.

Sol’s body, bruised and battered, held within Blüt’s meaty fingers, raised to the light as a threat. Luna could kill him. She was close enough, her spell was powerful enough… But should she strike, she would kill her brother as well.