Chapter Text
“I’m scared.”
“It be over—” Ondingo traded Orcish for his native tongue. “It will all be over soon. You’ll see.”
Ju’lii loved that Ondingo spoke in two tongues. Such a worldly troll. She looked at him, and nearly forgot to be afraid. She couldn’t wait to leave the islands with him. Together, they would live forever, and see everything, twice. They just had to put this one thing behind them. Then, they could go. Ju’lii gripped Ondingo’s hand, and leaned on his shoulder. The sand was cool beneath their feet. A flat sheet of gray cloud dampened the dawn light. They passed through the sleepy village, between darkened huts, unnoticed.
The healer’s shack was huge, and covered in charms. Feathers fluttered, brown and gold. Polished wooden reeds and bead-covered driftwood rocked and spun. Ju’lii’s heart seemed to rock and spin. Before wind-rocked charms, she froze. Her eyes, wide and wet, turned to handsome Ondingo. He smiled his jaunty smile, and kissed her hand, and she melted.
“It will be fine,” Ondingo said over her hand. He pressed his lips there again, as his hazel eyes caught hers. “You’ll see,” he said out the side of his mouth. His breath warmed her skin. His gaze warmed her. He was smart, and beautiful, and he would give her a better life than she ever dreamed of.
So, Ju’lii let Ondingo lead her. She watched, as he lifted the curtain aside. It was like a test, she thought, to see prove that she was brave enough to walk with him. She wouldn’t fail. Brave Ju’lii walked between wind-rocked charms.
Healer Tu’wela looked up from her place on the floor. Her hands, which were busy peeling a boiled egg, stilled. She eyed the two young trolls, then guessed correctly, though Ju’lii had no belly to speak of: “An abortion?” She resumed peeling the egg.
Perhaps a good omen, that the healer knew why they were there. Ju’lii nodded, and looked over at Ondingo, who looked at the healer.
“Yeah,” said Ondingo.
Tu’wela dropped the egg shell in a bowl fashioned from a polished coconut shell. She shoved the egg in her mouth, stood, and rounded the short wooden table. Tu’wela had to be a very good healer, to be so wealthy as to own a heavy wooden table like that.
Ju’lii licked her lips, and found them to be numb. She listened, as Ondingo explained to the healer that Ju’lii had missed her blood four times now. Ondingo and Tu’wela exchanged more words, but Ju’lii barely heard. She stared at the table, and told herself that Ondingo was a wise and worldly fifteen-year-old man, and that Tu’wela was the best healer in all of Kalimdor… No, the best on Azeroth. It was going to be okay. Ondingo would be impressed by her maturity.
Mature Ju’lii’s surreptitious hand crept to her belly. It was nothing, Ondingo had said, and that had hurt some, but he was right. It was hardly half-formed. Probably looked like a mango pit. She wouldn’t look, though. Didn’t want to know what their could-have-been looked like. She’d learn to see past it, when they finished circling the world three times and settled down to have a dozen beautiful babies together. And the first beautiful male would be named for his father. Everything was going to be okay.
“Girl.”
Ju’lii looked up. Their expectant eyes were upon her. She tried not to notice the anxious way that Ondingo stared. It made her think that he was unsure whether she would do it. It made walking away seem so possible. But, then, he would walk away from her. Couldn’t travel everywhere with a pup in tow. So, Ju’lii shook her head. “Sorry. What?”
Tu’wela repeated, “You’re certain? It can’t be undone.”
Ondingo squeezed Ju’lii’s hand, maybe too tight. From worlds away, Ju’lii heard herself say, “I’m— We’re sure.” She started to look toward Ondingo, but was afraid what she might see there, so she stared at Tu’wela’s gray-streaked, midnight blue hair. Ondingo said that trolls from off the island had all colors of hair, not just blue. Ju’lii wondered if they ever had golden hair like sunshine. She wished it weren’t so dim outside. “We’re too young,” she added.
Tu’wela nodded. “Wait here.” She disappeared behind a second curtain. She was so rich, her hut had three curtains. Four rooms. Ondingo’s hut was tiny, because he kept all of his gold in Orgrimmar, where he rented rooms bigger than any hut. Those who roamed rented, according to Ondingo. Soon, they’d roam together, like wolves…
Ju’lii turned toward Ondingo. They stared at one-another, just a couple of pups at a loss for grownup words, until Tu’wela returned.
The healer held a glass bottle smudged with fingerprints. It was full of something ugly and grayish green. In her other hand, she held a little metal spoon. Ju’lii’s mother had a spoon for cooking. It was wooden. Ondingo probably rented a spoon.
“Five months.” Tu’wela shook her head. “Another few weeks, and I would have had to give you different herbs, and gone up inside.” She watched both young trolls cringe. “You’ll feel some pain. Contractions. Probably puke, too. There’s a small risk of death,” she warned.
“Rare,” blurted Ondingo. He looked at Ju’lii who had released his hand to hug herself. It was a chilly day. “Tell her,” he said to the healer.
“At five months… one, maybe two, for every one hundred,” said Tu’wela.
And that was okay. That was good. One hundred was huge. One hundred was a whole world. Two were she and Ondingo, once this was over with. Three was too many, which was why they were here. But two? Hardly anything at all. “Okay,” said Ju’lii.
“You could wait a day. Think on it,” said the healer.
Both young trolls shook their heads. Ondingo, furiously. Ju’lii, haltingly.
“Alright,” said Tu’wela. She poured the thick poison onto the spoon.
Ju’lii took the spoon. The smell was hateful. Everything in her screamed to toss it away. She could feel Ondingo’s eyes on her. So, she drank. The drinking was like death. Jul’ii’s throat clenched. She slammed her hand over her mouth.
Tu’wela took the spoon. “Come,” she said. So they went past another of the many curtains. Four rooms. So many! Three, too many. Two, hardly anything.
The size of two loomed in Ju’lii’s mind, as she lay upon a well-used mat, next to a bucket. Tu’wela knelt beside the mat. Ondingo knelt on the other side. Ju’lii’s insides writhed and clenched. She’d drunk death, for sure. Pain isolated her, though they knelt so close. She was alone, but for the little one dying in her womb.
“A mango pit,” Ju’lii slurred, nauseous.
“Huh?” Ondingo peered at her.
“N—” Ju’lii gagged. She sat up and retched.
“Hold it down,” said Ondingo. Fuck him. He didn’t know this feeling. Couldn’t know what it was to drink death. It wound all through her like a serpent, squeezing its way beneath taut skin, over tensed muscle. Sweat pasted her hair to her brow. She could feel the poison everywhere, and then it was nearing her womb, making it clench.
Ondingo’s brow furrowed. His eyes widened.
Ju’lii wanted to say, ‘what?’ She forgot, when a pain— the worst she’d ever known— twisted her middle. She snatched the bucket from the floor, and bent nearly double to vomit. Only some water came out. Still, her body kept bending, as wave after wave of evil pain shook her. On the final wave, she felt a ‘pop’ from within. Dizzy, she lie back.
“Hurts,” said Ju’lii. The pain was trickling away from her, though. Something was trickling, somewhere. Then, gushing.
“It’s almost done,” said Ondingo.
Ju’lii parted her gray lips, but said nothing. The pain had stopped. She looked at Ondingo, and she thought he looked very lost, for one so worldly. She held out her hand. Ondingo stared at it.
“Hold her damn hand,” muttered Tu’wela. She mopped Ju’lii’s brow with a cloth.
Ondingo took Ju’lii’s hand for the last time. He watched Ju’lii’s gray face. Tu’wela knelt between Ju’lii’s knees with a towel in hand. Ju’lii’s body lifted and fell, convulsing against the poison, while blood left her veins through a tear, to fill up space in her belly, but her face was dazed and quiet, seemingly untouched by the pain, as she stared at Ondingo.
It was hardly anything, when he slipped from her. Pressure, then a small emptiness. She never saw him, but her heart knew that he was a boy. A handsome little boy like Ondingo, but she would name him something else. She knew, as the little life slipped from her, that she would have loved him. She did love him.
Ju’lii didn’t need the whole world, after all. She would join her little one, in the spirit world. She would hold him, and he would forgive her. She pondered names, as she sunk quietly into darkness, and nobody saw her go.
The dead thing, round and shiny, slipped from Ju’lii. “It’s out!” Ondingo shouted triumphantly. He shook Ju’lii’s hand around as he watched Tu’wela disappear it into the towel. “It’s out. It’s over.” He looked at Ju’lii. Her hand, pale and limp, slid from his. It was over.
Tu’wela looked at Ju’lii’s swollen abdomen. She placed the towel-wrapped corpse quickly aside. She rushed to Julii’s head, cradled it, and poured something into the girl’s mouth. Amber liquid pooled upon Ju’lii’s still lips. Twin rivers coursed down her placid cheeks. They disappeared into her hair.
Ondingo’s ears flattened. He looked up slowly. Tu’wela held a sheet. She looked at Ondingo, as though she expected something from him. He did nothing. He stared back at her. She sighed, and covered Ju’lii’s ashen face.
Ondingo shook his head, his brow creased, and his lip lifted in a confused grimace. She was fucking fourteen— almost fourteen. Fourteen-year-olds didn’t drop dead from medicine. Fourteen-year-olds didn’t die.
Tu’wela knelt before Ondingo. She held a bowl fashioned from a polished coconut shell. Was it the same one, Ondingo wondered, over which she ate her breakfast? Had it held eggshells? Probably a different bowl. No shortage of coconuts on these shitty podunk islands. He’d only come here temporarily, to escape debt. Should have gone somewhere else. Booty Bay, maybe. Tu’wela handed the bowl to Ondingo. “Stay,” she said, “at least until the rain stops.”
Ondingo leaned his head back. He shut his eyes. His ear swiveled to the sound of rain.
The healer took a pipe and tobacco. She left the curtain open.
Alone, Ondingo knelt next to the draped corpse of the only girl who would leave him before he could run out on her.
The tiny troll lie on its back in the bowl.
Perhaps it was a moment of insanity, brought on by so much death… So much quiet. Whatever the reason, Ondingo reached into the bowl.
The pup barely filled his palm. The fine blue tuft of its hair, pasted down with its dead mother’s water, sprung up, as it dried. The back of its fuzzy head nestled in the crease of Ondingo’s fingers. Its wrinkled little baby-ugly face seemed to smile. It had reason to smile, didn’t it? It had cheated this fucked-up world of one more victim.
Its skin was a tired gray-purple: the sleepy hue of death. Ondingo felt tired. He looked at the feet, like mouse paws with fat soles. Its pecker was little more than a dot beneath the slightly bigger dot of its umbilicus. The stubs of its fingers—
“… moved,” croaked Ondingo. It was hardly a sound. He gulped, staring down at the tiny finger that curled into the round purple palm. Was the purple less gray, more blue? He thought so. “Hey. Hey, it moved. It fucking moved.” His voice trembled.
“They twitch, sometimes,” said Tu’wela. They did sometimes twitch, but it was more often a trick of the light. They never believed in a trick of the light, though. They always believed their eyes. Tu’wela reached out.
Gingerly, Ondingo tipped his hand into hers. The hand-warmed corpse was soft and blue on her palm. She peered at the baby, as rain patted the roof, gentle. “… huh.” Tu’wela looked at Ondingo, who looked afraid. “Wait here,” she said.
Ondingo waited next to the husk of Ju’lii. He felt not the sorrow of goodbye, but the sorrow of remorse. For all his sympathy was worth, she did not stir. He had to get out of this place. He needed miles between himself and this. He looked up sharply, when the healer returned.
“Here,” said Tu’wela.
Ondingo stood. The healer lay a rolled washcloth in his hand. The impossibly tiny troll lie swaddled within. A snatch of that wispy hair (dark blue, just like the baby’s father) escaped the cloth. Ondingo thought of cattail fuzz. He stared down, and felt that he must be floating away on the wind. He hoped to land far from here. Across the sea, perhaps. He was tired of this place.
“Cover him with your other hand. Warm him.” Tu’wela shook her head. “I won’t mince words with you. He’ll probably die.” More a question of ‘when’ than ‘whether.’ A baby so premature could not live. A baby poisoned could not live, but she must have miscarried before the poison could reach him. There was a first time for everything.
Silence between them, for a minute, then two. Ondingo, whose ear was pressed to the closed clamshell of his hands, said, “It’s making noise.”
Tu’wela tilted her ear to his hand. She shook her head in pure puzzlement. “He’s crying.” Looking into the boy’s big, terrified hazel eyes, she could see why the girl was so taken with him. “Wait here.” She patted Ondingo’s stiff shoulder, and left.
Ondingo was supposed to walk out of here with no attachments… still would, but it wasn’t supposed to be like this. He looked down at Ju’lii’s draped form. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, and he meant it. He could have just abandoned her with the kid. She’d be alive. Ondingo would be as gone as he wished to be. She’d have a baby to keep her company.
“Should have fuckin’ left.” Now he was stuck standing next to her corpse, holding their dying whelp in his hands. The baby moved around. He nearly peeked at it. He didn’t. It was just dying. Nothing so small could live. He couldn’t care for it, so it had to die. He couldn’t care for anyone. He wasn’t the type. He felt the washcloth shift on his palm. What the fuck was it doing in there?
Just as Ondingo was about to peek after all, Tu’wela returned. She was followed by some big-tittied female that Ondingo may have seen around. The women all looked alike on the islands: blue hair, blue skin, blue tits. Ju’lii was exceptionally pretty. Was.
“He still kicking?” Tu’wela stepped close.
Ondingo nodded, though it wasn’t truly kicking. Rolling, more like. Squirming. Tickling his hand.
“Bindi will feed him,” said Tu’wela. The little one could at least die with a full belly.
Ondingo uncovered his hand, and held the tiny thing aloft. The squirmy, barely-formed pup lie half out of the cloth. It had rolled onto its belly, and was gumming the fold between Ondingo’s palm and finger. Its movements weren’t so feeble anymore.
“He’s hungry. A good sign,” said Tu’wela.
“I’ve never seen one so small,” said Bindi.
“It don’t look fuckin’ dead,” said Ondingo.
Tu’wela clucked at Ondingo, as she took his tiny baby from his palm. The baby began making those muted mouse noises again. Ondingo looked ready to cry, too. She looked down at the baby. She’d been certain that he was dead. Now, he seemed determined to live. Spirit bigger than body.
The whelp was far too small for a teat. Bindi expressed the milk into a cup, into which she dipped a clean rag supplied by Tu’wela. The whelp contented himself to suckle the corner of the dampened cloth.
“Perhaps a name that conveys strength.” He’d need it, thought Tu’wela.
Ondingo stared at nothing. He listened to the rain, which, though sparse, seemed determined to carry on and fucking on. It was a goblin holiday. A half-smirk interrupted his grim expression. He snorted to himself. “Lazarus.”
Tu’wela and Bindi exchanged glances. Bindi went back to feeding the wisp of a baby. Tu’wela asked, “An elf name?”
“No. It’s a dead tongue. Old Gobliano. They have a story, from their loa book… about a man who—” He took in their blank stares. Fuck it. “It means reborn.” His second choice was Zombie Jesus, but the joke would get old fast. Hopefully the humor in the Lazarus joke would outlast the Lazarus… pup. Ondingo resumed his drawn expression. The joke already felt old.
“It sounds elf,” said Tu’wela. Bindi arched her brow and nodded in agreement.
Ondingo shrugged. Why argue over a name? It was going to die, anyway. “Larizu, then.”
“Little Larizu,” said Tu’wela. The women smiled at each other.
With his mouse-belly full, Larizu gave up the cloth. He mewled and squirmed. Fists like blue crumbs waved in the air. The dot of a thumb found the meager dash of a mouth. Larizu squeaked and snuffled around his thumb.
Tu’wela took the baby from Bindi, and re-swaddled him. She turned to put him with his father. Before she could so much as say, ‘He wants you,’ the father stood.
Ondingo shook his head. “I need a drink.” He stalked off without waiting for an answer.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Ondingo paced a circle in his tiny hut. He fed the trial-size baby for the third time in an hour. Larizu let the cloth slip from his toothless mouth. Ondingo tucked the washcloth-swaddle around the nothing of a runt. He bent to snatch up a bottle of whiskey. He sat on his sleeping mat and took a swig before standing the bottle against the wall.
Tu’wela said to hold the baby, to keep him warm.
Ondingo lie on his side, with his palmful of baby near his chest. When Larizu made the quiet grunt that meant he was about to start mewling, Ondingo covered the baby’s back with his thumb.
Larizu fell still. He smiled, untouched by any worry. He had a full belly, a father’s smell, and an entire hand to sleep in. He wanted for nothing. He peed in his swaddle, to celebrate this comfortable life and this comforting hand. Ondingo didn’t notice the droplet, which was the biggest piss of Larizu’s young life thus far.
As Ondingo lie there, he hoped that he didn’t roll and crush the baby in its sleep. That would be a terrible accident, and not his fault, and nobody would be able to blame him. He ruminated on questions of blame, until he slipped into fitful sleep, though his hand was steady, and he did not roll. So there was that.
In his father’s hand, smiling Larizu slept. He was quiet as a mouse.