The party couldn’t afford to stay at the fancy inn for another night, so they rented a single room at a cheaper one. It was cramped, but they all felt more comfortable about it after Percival Buttons’s abduction. Rain pelted on the creaky window and the roof had a slight leak—Steve placed one of his pots beneath it so the water wouldn’t pool on the floor. No one spoke much. They all fell asleep on the creaky floor, listening to the rhythmic raindrops dripping into Steve’s pot.
The following morning, they gathered their things and made their way for Varis’s southeast exit, which wasn’t nearly as grand as the western exit. The sight that lay ahead wasn’t bad, though: an expanse of grassy plains split by a dirt road occasionally interrupted by a farm or hostel. This road pointed south toward the Nether Regions.
“Will it be weird to go back to the Nether Regions, Francis?” DJ asked.
The orc nodded without any light. “Almost certainly.”
An uncomfortable silence. DJ said, “Is that because you don’t have a clan?”
Francis nodded again.
“Are you… ready to talk about it?”
Francis didn’t answer right away. Instead, his face pressed with thought. After a long moment, the silence became too much for DJ. He said, “Listen, if you don’t want to go to the Nether Regions, we can go farther east toward Silverwar Grove. Cross Traitor’s Trench a little farther north. I really don’t mind if we miss the Nether Regions. It’s not a big deal.”
“It is a big deal,” Francis gazed hard at DJ. “For you to be fully respected as a knight, you must visit every region in Uh. I made an oath to help you do that, and that is why we’re passing through the Nether Regions.” He gave a big, cleansing breath. “With any luck, we won’t run into my old acquaintances. Last I remember, they were farther west.”
DJ chose to drop the conversation, but Riley’s curiosity pushed her forward. She pranced up to Francis and patted his arm. “Are you don’t want to talk about it? We’ve been through a lot together. You can trust us.”
Francis opened and closed his mouth twice. Everyone could tell he was on the verge of sharing something, but the words got caught each time. Finally, he forced a smile for Riley.
“If it doesn’t come up in the Nether Regions,” he said, “I’ll tell you everything when we reach Blight’s Respite. Is that fair?”
Riley nodded and squeezed his hand. The orc gave her an affectionate hug around her shoulders.
Within the hour, they crested a hill to find an old woman standing in the middle of the road. She was an odd-looking one. Wispy grey hair fell from her scalp and her entire body was plagued with wrinkles and liver spots. She pressed a walking stick into the ground and watched the party with bright gray eyes.
“Greetings, travelers!” she said. “I am the Highway Hag, and you have approached my crossing!”
DJ raised an eyebrow. “Your crossing?”
“Yes!” she said. “You cannot pass until you’ve played my game!” She stifled a cackle. “Have no fear, it is simple enough.”
Everyone traded irritated looks. DJ spoke first. “Are you serious?”
“I am.”
“But we could just walk around you.”
“I suppose you could, but wouldn’t be any fun!”
DJ frowned and tried to keep a cautious distance as he walked around, but as soon as his foot passed her, it was magnetized to the dirt. No matter how hard he strained, his foot wouldn’t budge. Unless he pulled it back to stand before the Hag. Then he was free. The Hag cackled as she watched him struggle.
DJ let out an irritated sigh and looked to his friends. “Does anyone want to play?”
“You must play!” the Hag said, pointing. “You are the leader of this motley crew, yes? You must play!”
“Go on, young knight,” Francis sounded tired. “Let’s get on with it.”
“Fine,” DJ said. “What’s your game?”
The Hag’s eyes flashed. “Truth… or dare?”
DJ nearly laughed. Really? A maiden’s slumber party game? He knew he didn’t want to pick dare, because a dare from an anonymous Hag could be any kind of outrageous thing. He didn’t want to take the chance. Truth was the obvious choice.
“Truth,” he said.
The Hag’s gaze traveled from DJ, to Riley, and back again. She grinned with crooked teeth and pointed a bony finger. “You wanna kiss her, don’t ‘cha?”
DJ flushed cold and his face turned beet red. Riley laughed as if it were some great joke, but Francis and Steve said nothing. They had seen the signs. They saw the occasional stares and DJ’s protectiveness. Now the truth had to come out, or they couldn’t continue.
“Come on then!” the Hag jeered. “Tell us the truth!”
Could I lie? DJ floundered. Could she tell? He tried to swallow in a dry throat. Riley laughed a second time, but less spirited. A foreign truth was dawning on her, and her voice betrayed her discomfort. DJ knew the longer he waited to answer, the more awkward it would get.
His heart pounded. His palms grew clammy. Throwing away his pride, he swallowed and said, “Yes.”
Deafening quiet slammed the party. But the Hag gave a delighted cackle.
“Ha! I knew it!” she said. She tottered to the side. “Right! Off you go then!”
DJ blushed so hard he nearly got dizzy. He hiked up his pack and walked on, not looking behind him. No one said anything. The tension followed them like a rain cloud. DJ wondered what Riley must look like. Did she have a pep in her step like this was a delightful revelation? Or did she frown disgustedly and stare at her boots? He wanted to know, but not bad enough to turn around and look.
For the next two days, DJ avoided interacting with Riley from sheer embarrassment. He would steal away and practice magic as much as he could. When they set up camp and established watches at night, he passed his watch to Steve or Francis so he wouldn’t have to confront her.
One night, DJ tapped on Francis’s shoulder and made for his bedroll, but Francis caught him. DJ flipped around. The orc gripped his ankle and his amber eyes were filled with sharpness.
“You need to talk to her,” he whispered.
“Right now? She’s asleep!” DJ whispered back.
“Soon.”
“Francis, let go of me.”
“She is your dearest friend and you’ve barely said a word to her in days. The more you let this fester, the worse it will become.”
DJ yanked away his ankle and narrowed his eyes. “Maybe I’ll wait until Blight’s Respite to open up. How about that?”
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Francis bore his teeth and growled. A sliver of fear ran down DJ’s back, but he knew Francis would never actually hurt him. He said, “I will, just… what do I even say?”
Francis left his bedroll and picked up his ax. “Whatever’s in here.” He pointed at DJ’s heart. “She loves you, young knight. Even if it’s only as a friend. She’ll listen.”
Only as a friend. That’s what DJ was afraid of. He tried desperately to keep his voice from wobbling as he spoke. “What if she doesn’t like me back in that way? What if it ruins everything? She’s the only friend I have.”
Francis thought about it for a moment. He said, “I don’t believe it will. Be brave, Sir DJ. The mightiest battles are often fought within.” He patted DJ’s head then left to keep watch.
That morning, Riley was gone by the time DJ awoke. Cool blue light covered the plains and DJ struggled to leave his bedroll. He braved the chill to rekindle the fire, and as he warmed himself by it, Riley approached with faint steps along the grass. She dangled four jackrabbits in one hand and a dusty sack in the other. Francis and Steve stirred as she approached.
“The traps worked amazing,” Riley said. “And I managed to find some fernweed in the grass. The roots are edible, so we can add them to our breakfast.” She dropped her bounty by the fire.
Swallowing, clearing his throat, DJ lifted his voice. “You’re getting really good at that.”
Riley looked at DJ. She gave a little smile. “Thanks. Do you… want to help me dress the rabbits?”
DJ nodded. “Yeah, but I gave my utility knife to Deirdre back in Varis. Francis, can I borrow yours? Thanks.”
Together, DJ and Riley dressed the rabbits and cleaned the pelts. Conversation started slow, but before long, they were back to talking as they always did. Francis watched them out of the corner of his eye. Steve cooked the rabbits and roots and spices, resulting in a satisfying breakfast.
For the next few days, DJ and Riley acted like the Highway Hag never happened. DJ didn’t bring up his untimely confession, and Riley never asked about it. Maybe she was willing to let it go and ignore it. But that also made a knot of concern in DJ’s chest—how did she truly feel about it?
The wall of the Nether Regions came into view—an expanse of solid timbers carved into spikes. There were thousands of them standing edge-to-edge across miles of land. DJ marveled at the sight. The design was primitive and it must have taken decades to complete. He wanted to ask Francis how long it had stood for, but as they traveled closer to it, Francis only became more tense. His eyebrows furrowed and his hands clenched.
The road led directly to a gate forged out of similar timbers. Two orcs stood sentinel on the opposite side of the wall, watching the road. DJ surmised that there must be a catwalk on the inside of the wall, at least near the gates.
One orc called out, “Who seeks consent to explore the Nether Regions?”
DJ almost answered, but Francis stepped forward. “We do. We seek passage to the eastern bridge to cross Traitor’s Trench.”
“What clan do you claim, orc-brother?” one of the guards called.
Francis replied with visible discomfort. “I have no clan.”
This made the guards pause. Then one of them spoke to the other. “Wait.”
The guards climbed down from their posts. Francis gulped and cracked his knuckles. The gate opened and the orcs marched out to meet them. Both of them were dressed in animal furs and leather armor. Tattoos marked their arms, necks, and legs. As they approached, DJ noticed that Francis was still taller than either of them. The Nether Region orcs, however, were much more chiseled and sinewy.
One of the orcs leaned forward, examining Francis’s face. Francis stood his ground. Then the guard’s voice filled with wonder. “Frok? It’s you, isn’t it?”
“Frok?” DJ wondered out loud.
“His name is Francis!” Steve piped up.
“It wasn’t always,” Francis muttered.
DJ’s jaw fell. Riley and Steve were the same. The guard orcs frowned deeply, their cheeks like stone.
“You got fat,” one orc grumbled. “And you gave yourself a human name?”
“What difference does that make to you now?” Francis said sternly.
The second orc puffed out his chest. “We have orders if you returned.”
“I’m not returning,” Francis reassured. “We’re merely passing through. We won’t make ourselves at home.”
“But you will pass through the village on the eastern road,” one orc said. “We moved two years ago. There was a great battle with the Fangtooths. We took their land.”
Francis let out a heavy sigh.
“Gasha ordered us to bring you to her if you returned,” the other orc said.
For the first time, Francis’s face grew soft. “Gasha? She leads the clan now? That means…”
Both orcs nodded.
Francis’s tone fell. “I see.”
What in the Hundred Hells is going on? DJ knew his face spoke his thoughts.
“Gog will guide you,” one orc said. “The clan is five days away. Do not speak, and move quickly. Gasha will decide your fate at the village. Go.”
One of the guards led them through the gate, and that’s when DJ got his first glimpse of the Nether Regions. He immediately understood why most people avoided it. Trees were far apart and appeared to be mostly dead. Not even grass or brush grew between them. As far as he could see, it was expanse of barren, dry dirt. DJ wondered why anyone would choose to live here, even orcs.
For hours, they moved along a barely-visible path with no chatter and quiet steps. The first night, they sheltered in a cave that had a wall and door built into its mouth. When they were secured inside, Gog told them the orcs marked these caves within a day’s journey of each other so they could have safe places to hide during the night. DJ awoke to the sounds of something outside—guttural gurgles and huge paws trudging across the earth before it scratched at the outer wall. He trembled with wide eyes as he waited for the creature to give up and leave. He swore he felt the footfalls through the ground. Whatever it was had to be massive.
The five days of near silence were agonizing. Gog explained that they were meant to stay quiet to avoid attention of creatures, because many of them hunted by sound. The road they walked was specially carved to avoid the nests and colonies of these beasts, but that didn’t mean one wouldn’t wander off occasionally in search for prey. Frequently, he would command them with his hands to stop and lay low if he heard a suspicious sound. Most of the time it was false alarms, but once, DJ saw the back of a great monster move beyond a hilltop. Its back was covered in long spines and its mouth was big enough to bite his arm off. Its growl was a low rumble that traveled hundreds of yards away. A shivering Friar Steve had to hold his pots and pans to keep them from jingling.
All during their trip, DJ would check Francis’s face to measure his emotions. Francis hardly spoke, even in the shelter of sealed caves. DJ got the impression that Francis was as nervous to reach their destination as DJ was to reach Varis. Maybe it was for similar reasons? Soon they would know after months of wondering.
After five days of silence and cave camping, they arrived at the village—another wide circle surrounded by a tall fence of timbers. A deep mote surrounded the fortress, lined with long spikes that could skewer a mammoth. A bridge dropped as the group approached, and the party crossed it.
Francis inhaled a shaky breath. DJ patted his back. It clearly didn’t help.
“Welcome to the village of the Ironhands Clan,” Gog said.
The village was constructed of huts made of wood and dried mud. A single well stood in the middle of the space. DJ heard the clanking of a blacksmith at work. And the village filled with the smell of burning something that was almost appetizing. It turned out to be a creature the size of a carriage with no eyes and a snarling jaw, frozen in death, surrounded by fire.
Noticing DJ’s awe, Gog said, “Larkbeast. This catch will feed the village for days.”
DJ also noticed that as they trudged through the village, orcs stared. When they spotted Francis, they turned to each other and whispered. Many of them scowled. Elderly orcs leaned on walking sticks and shook their heads. Clearly, Francis was a familiar face, and an unwelcome one at that. Francis pretended not to notice, but DJ could tell he felt the weight of those stares.
Gog led them to the largest hut in the village. Dangling above its door was a red banner with a fist crudely painted on it. Francis swallowed. The rest of the party watched him.
“This is where I leave you,” Gog said. “Gasha is inside. Farewell, Frok and humans.”
That was it. Gog marched out of the village and was gone.
Francis stared at the door for a long while. And everyone at the village stared at Francis. DJ could feel hundreds of amber eyes on him, and it made his hands clammy. What he was experiencing only had to be a fraction of what Francis felt, though.
Francis forced himself forward, breathed deep, and knocked on the door.
“Who approaches?” a voice came from inside.
“Frok,” Francis’s voice was hoarse. “Traveling east toward Traitor’s Trench.”
There was a brief pause, then the door flung open. A she-orc answered that was taller than DJ, but twice as thick. Strong arms stretched out of an iron chest piece that was branded with the same design as the banner above the door. Her black hair was tied into a long braid that reached the tips of her shoulder blades.
She slammed the door behind her and gazed up at Francis. Her face was hard for a moment, then it softened. She held Francis’s head between her hands and stroked Francis’s cheek with her thumb. A smile graced her green lips.
“At last,” she said. “Welcome home, my love.”