Power Trio

50. Bonfire Rite (Kell)



The light of the bonfire casts long and loping shadows through the trees. Kell ties the silk tether to Evan’s wrist with a loose bow. She gives her forearm an experimental pull. Not too tight, but they’re good and bound together. Just enough clearance to have use of the limb, as long as they stay close. “There we go.”

Thekla’s tied to her other wrist. “You okay without a free hand?”

“Sure,” Kell says. “You guys can just feed me.”

Their steps are lit by the full, heavy moon as she leads them back to the main clearing, where a few dozen orcs and a smattering of interspecies lovers are talking, drinking, and laughing around a tent-sized bonfire. The cold of the late summer is banished by its glow, and Evan’s taken his jacket back from Thekla and slung it over a shoulder. It’s a fetching shade of charcoal, Evan’s suit, and very tailored. They’re overdressed, but Kell doesn’t mind. Thekla’s in some chunky platform heels, unsuitable for hiking through the woods, but that just gave Kell an excuse to piggyback her.

It’s been a blast so far. The food is amazing, blackened and aromatic and authentic as hell. It draws back a veil of nostalgia, of life before the farm school and New Laytham. Auntie Logga would love this Heart of the Mighty Boar gumbo. The evening’s hit the point where the rite bit begins; hence the tethers. A cute holdover from the old world ways when you’d tie them to your imprinted mates. Not much left from those days in any of the bonfire rites she’s been to, but dancing is always a fun challenge when you’re tied to your date. There’s all sorts of folks wearing them tonight, mostly couples but a few less conventional arrangements like hers.

She fills a solo cup with the spiced, fruity punch on offer. This shit’s strong; she’s limiting herself to just one cup. Maybe two eventually. Vi’roak’s mate, a zaftig oak-colored orc, tosses another satchel of melanged herbs onto the fire. Man, that smells good.

Vi’roak is circling round, slapping people on the back and shaking hands with others, going between orcish and English. “Hail to you, Kell. Howdy, Kell’s mates.”

“They’re not exactly my mates,” Kell admits. “They’re my boyfriend and my girlfriend.”

“Oh.” Vi’roak’s eyebrows raise. “I see.” He scratches the back of his neck. “So we’re gonna start the drumming soon. I got a conga for you if you want.”

“Sure, man.” Kell gives him a thumbs up, raises Thekla’s arm a little as she goes.

Vi’roak continues his orbit. “We’re not exactly your mates?” Evan asks.

“Just old world talk,” Kell says. “Out in the sticks and with the tradpacks they make a weird distinction. Don’t worry about it, you’re still welcome.”

Pack.” Vi’roak rasps the orcish word across the clearing as he returns to the head of the bonfire. “We gather.”

Someone passes Kell the promised drum. “All riiight,” she says. “Kickin’ it old school.”

Thekla polishes off a rib, licks her fingers. “No DJs in the Hundred Acre Wood, I guess.”

The other drummers start a thunderous beat. Kell grins and joins in. What a throwback. “From fire, the world is born,” Vi’roak chants over the rhythm. The other orcs echo him.

Before us the fire.” Kell repeats it. So do Evan and Thekla, though they butcher the pronunciation. She giggles, and blinks salt out of her eyes. This bonfire’s making her sweat.

Within us the fire.” A loose, wild dance starts around the flames.

Kell’s tongue is dry. She sips more of that punch. There’s a buzzing behind her eyes. She hasn’t had that much, has she?

The light of the fire.” Oh, fuck. Her tangr’ak.

Kell the city orc has made a big mistake.

The strength of the fire.” She’s stopped drumming.

Thekla frowns. “You okay, Kell?”

The strength of the pack.

Kell stands up, knocking her drum to the ground in her haste. “Guys, we need to go.” Her teeth are rattling. The world sharpens. Tend your fire.

From fire, our strength is born!” Vi’roak is bellowing it now, thumping his chest in time with the drums. That fucking asshole. Why didn’t he tell her?

Her tangr’ak flashes into brilliant, fierce life. Oh no. Oh, God.

From fire, the world is born!” The dance is whirling madness now. One orc howls, lifts her date into the air, and powerslams him bodily to the ground. They roll and thrash for advantage, grappling before the fire. Another orc hauls off and elbows his boyfriend right in the chest; he’s repaid with a sliding headlock.

Not his boyfriend. That’s his mate. Kell, you dumbass. What have you done?

Evan leaps back from the melee. “What the fuck?” The combat is spreading across the circle. Some of the wrestling orcs are undressing themselves, heedless of fasteners, ripping their bodies free.

“We need to go. We are going.” Kell tucks Thekla under her arm and grabs Evan’s hand, and they go dashing away from the bonfire and its bacchanalia, into the forest. She swallows what tangr’ak she can and redirects the rest into a nervous sprint. Thank God she’s wearing flats.

They careen through the darkened forest until the bonfire’s glow is a flickering star behind them. “I had no idea. Jesus.” Kell puts Thekla down and leans on an old-growth tree. Her head is full of smoke. That fucking incense. That drink, that music. She didn’t realize anyone did this anymore. “Let’s give them some time. They’ll cool down.”

“What was that?” Evan says.

That was old world shit,” Kell’s teeth grit. “The bonfire rites I’ve been to in New Layth are way less traditional. It’s a barbecue, but you’re tethered to your date. It’s a cute thing. This was—I’ve only read about what this was.”

She picks a stick up from the ground and starts nervously breaking it. She squeezes her legs together. Tend your fire. Tend your fire. But she can’t stop staring at her companions, so small and soft and vulnerable. And it’s only growing.

“Babe. What the fuck.” Thekla pants out a panicky laugh. “Are you saying that a traditional bonfire rite is a fucking fight club?”

“No. Kind of.” Kell is going to kill Vi’roak. “It’s this whole—there’s this thing called tangr’ak. And it makes orcs—uh—” She reaches out and pulls one of the smaller branches from the tree. Its crack is louder than she expected; Evan and Thekla jump. “It makes us energetic.

“I can see that.” Evan picks leaves off of himself. There’s the distant crash of underbrush. Kell’s head jerks toward the sound.

This bonfire rite—this isn’t what we do in New Laytham. I’m so sorry.” Tend your fire, Kell. “Uh, the food, the music, the incense. It was designed to kindle our tangr’ak. To fill young orcs with it.”

“Kell,” Thekla says. “Why does it do that?”

“So that we, um.” Kell’s fists ball the hem of her dress up.

A cry punctuates the night, high and girlish. They hear rustling bodies in the forest.

It’s not the sound of a fight. Fights are not that rhythmic. Kell tugs on the tethers. “Let’s give them space.”

She’s glad to have another excuse to run. Her legs burn. But her tangr’ak isn’t going down. It’s like playing drums. The exertion is only fueling it.

Deeper into the forest. Kell sets Thekla down again. She hastily unties their tethers.

“You okay, Kell?” Evan lays his hand on her. His touch ignites her.

With a snarl, she yanks him close and pushes him up against a tree. He gasps as she inhales him. He smells male. Her hips thrust cravingly against him, her abs flexing and constricting; her body clenches around nothing. She’s so empty. She needs something inside.

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” She stumbles back from him. “Tend your fire. Tend your fire.”

“Kell.” Thekla’s full of concern. She’s so tiny. So delicate. “What can we do to help you? Are you… angry?”

“No. No, I’m not. I’m sorry. I’m—” Kell rakes her fingers through her hair. “I’m fucking horny,” she whispers.

Thekla takes a step toward her. She throws out a hand. “Wait wait. It’s too much, baby. The fire’s too high. I need to tend it before I touch you. It’s making me want to—to mate. Like an old world orc.”

“What would that be like?” Thekla asks, quietly. She’s pulling her tights down her curvy little legs. She doesn’t understand what she’s doing and Kell’s rapidly losing the ability to explain.

“I’d—we’d fight. To see who’s—” This isn’t helping her calm down. “Who’s dominant. And then. And then we’d—” Her throat is dry, as if every drop of available moisture is traveling downward. “You’d surrender. And I’d, uh, I’d claim you. As mates.”

Thekla takes another step toward her. “You don’t—I can’t—” She shrinks back. “If I give in, I’m gonna—I won’t be able to turn it off. There’s no going back. I—” She buries her head between her knees. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I don’t think you will.” Thekla’s voice is a gentle brook, cool and tranquil. “I don’t think you ever would, bonfire or no bonfire.”

Evan’s closer too now. His pale throat works as he swallows. “Let us help you.” His voice is too soft. She could make it ragged. She could make him scream.

Their scents fill Kell’s skull like a feedback loop. Her ears are ringing so goddamn loud she can barely hear. Her nipples are pebbled and tight against the flimsy fabric of her dress. She wants this constricting thing off.

“If we wanted you to… claim us,” Thekla says. “What would we have to do?”

Kell’s brain is about to pop out of her skull like a jack-in-the-box. She can’t do this anymore. She gives in.

Her gaze snaps up from the ground. She moves with the explosive force of an ambush predator, seizes Thekla around the middle as she tackles Evan to the soft earth. She holds them both to the forest floor, loosely by their necks, feeling their jugulars under her palms. “Submit.”

“I submit. I submit.” Evan scrabbles at her hand. She barely feels the pressure. “I’m submissive as fuck.”

“Me too.” Thekla writhes. “Take me. Claim me.

And the final tenuous thread tying Kell to civilization breaks.


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