Malacath: Goddess of Childbirth

I heard another moan of pain from inside the longhouse.

"This is stupid I'm going in"

A massive grey hand pressed itself on the door before I could even attempt to open it.

"No. This is her battle. She'll do it without us."

I imagine having a longhouse orc for a father-in-law is difficult at the best of times. But when you ride into their compound, your pregnant wife having just gone into labour, only to discover that none of her letters ever reached her parents meaning this is the first they've ever heard of you... well that makes for an "interesting Loredas".

I yanked on the door but with chief Olfin leaning on it I might as well have been tugging on a mountain. He seemed annoyed with me.

"You don't understand", I said. "We're partners. We fought back-to-back for years in the Valenwood Fighters Guild. She once carried me through six miles of wild forest when I got hit with a poison arrow. We pledged -"

Another yell of pain. I felt like someone had grabbed my stomach with a hand made of ice. My babbling was crushed under an overwhelming wave of helplessness. I looked to Olfin.

"I love her. I don't want her be alone."

The seemed to soften him a bit.

"I love her too. Don't think you're the only one here scared out of their mind. But she has the wise-woman. That's all she's allowed."

"Why? Why can't we be with her?"

Olfin pointed to a mound of raised earth near the end of the compound. He then let go of door and walked towards it, gesturing that I should follow.

I hesitated. Should I take this chance?

"You go in there and my daughter will throw you out herself. Why do think she wanted to travel halfway across the world at a time like this? Besides, I've been through this enough to know you've got plenty of time before anything interesting happens."

The mound was covered with grass and flowers. A small wooden door made me realize it was hollow. Near the entrance were a handful of small statues of orcs. One of them I recognized: the snarling, sword-raised outline of Malacath was similar enough to the one Shel insisted on keeping in our bedroom (freaked me out a bit, but hey, marriage is all about compromise). Olfin pointed to one, a female orc sitting cross-legged with a dagger in her lap. Several necklaces had been woven out of some kind of plant and placed around her neck.

"Would you like to lay sweetgrass?" asked Olfin. Seeing the confusion on my face, he let out a sigh and began picking the long grass near the stronghold wall.

"So where were you born?" he asked me as he sat down with a pile of plants at his side.

"Temple of Mara in Woodhearth"

"Ah" he said in a 'that-explains-it' tone I didn't quite appreciate, "then I suppose you don't know about the code."

"I know enough of it" I said, struggling to recall the points Shel had repeated to me dozens of times before. "'Don't steal'. 'Don't attack with no reason'. Ummm, 'protect the tribe'-"

He shook his head. He was twisting the bottoms of the grass off and throwing the dirt covered roots off to the side.

"'Protect the tribe' is a bad way of saying it. The original orc would be, well, I guess closer to 'keep the tribe alive'."

He had his foot on one end of the grass and had begun to weave it together.

"The only way to keep the tribe alive is to kill anyone who wants it dead. Might be a Jarl with his eyes on your mine. Might be a High Rock Duke that thinks you're getting too powerful. I imagine you Wood Orcs have some same thing down South. Don't matter. Axe to the head will solve all three.

Those are easy. Gods are trickier. Especially the old dragon. Your Imperial friends dress him up all nice, but the Nords are more honest about him. At the end of the day he eats us all. Only one way for the tribe to fight that."

The braid was about halfway done. He gestured to the barrow.

"This is the hall of heroes. Those who died upholding the code are placed here. My own sister is in there. Gave her last drop of blood taking down a pair of trolls who breached the walls. Malacath tested her and she did not run. We sang the warriors hymns when her ashes were laid to rest.

My mother's in there too. She died giving birth to me.

The wise women say that Malacath appears to women as they labour. She holds the not-yet-orc in her arms and taunts the mother to reach it, wracking her body with pain. The woman has to prove her strength, taking the pain and fighting on.

There is no shame in falling, no orc can always win, only in calling out for help. A fight with Malacath is single combat; that is the only path to honor.

If Shel dies today, she will be placed here, among her grandmother and other heroes of the tribe, and we will sing the warriors hymns. That's what she is. That's what she's doing. Fighting the oldest war in existence. The "We shall be" against a world that says "You shall not".

He held up the finished necklace and handed it to me.

"Don't you want to place one too?" I asked.

He smiled at that. "Only women ask for luck from her".

As I laid the sweetgrass around the neck of Malacath, I blurted a question without thinking.

"Why a dagger?"

Another smile. "It's the reason babies cry when they are born. As Malacath hands the baby to the mother she stabs it with her dagger. It's the first and most important lesson Malacath will ever teach us:

'This is pain. Welcome to the Arena.'