last several years. He smiled, watching as his other self and Cairne spoke animatedly about negotiations, land rights, treaties. How they worked through problems, and found solutions. The scene shifted quickly, and he was standing with Jaina, as he had also done many times, and together they spoke of peace and how to achieve it.
There was no deep emotion, other than concern for the safety of the people he led. No great sense of rootedness, or burning passion for an outcome. With Jaina and with Cairne at these moments, Thrall used his head rather than his powerful body or emotions. This was rational, intellectual conversation—talk of new beginnings. Of hope.
Now-Thrall nodded, understanding it all. Of course. Air—the element of clarity of thought, of inspiration, insight, and fresh starts. He had begun again with Cairne when the orcs had arrived on Kalimdor, and had forged a tentative peace with Jaina Proudmoore. All with words, and careful thought. Attributes that some did not expect to find in orcs, but which Thrall had cultivated all his life—from his youngest days devouring books to this moment, where he had made a difficult decision to leave his world and come here, to Outland, to Nagrand.
He smiled a little, and as the scene began to fade, he let it go easily. Because he knew that with Air, there would always be something new to come, to challenge and inspire him.
He stayed, in the strange being-not-being place, with Aggra in spirit wolf form, waiting either for the fifth element, the elusive spark that enabled the shaman to connect with the other elements, to manifest, or for some sign to be given that would aid him. The time passed, but nothing happened. Thrall began to feel agitated. Finally he turned to Aggra, confused. His voice echoed in the not-place. “Will I be able to save Azeroth? The Horde?”
The mist cleared suddenly. Thrall saw himself wearing the black armor that Orgrim Doomhammer had bequeathed him as leader of the Horde. He carried that late orc’s great weapon, looking every inch the warrior. But there was fear on his green face—fear, and a terrible sense of loss. The Doomhammer split into several chunks, each piece hurtling away as if it had been fired from a gun. The armor cracked and fell off, and Thrall fell to his knees, clad only in what he wore now—the simple brown robe of an initiate.
“No,” Thrall breathed. And that quickly, he was awake. He found himself staring up into a dark-skinned orcish face bending over his, with gorgeous paint, kind eyes, and wide, smiling lips curving over two small, sharp tusks. He reached and gripped her arm.
“Aggra, I failed! Or, rather, I’m going to! They showed—”
“Shh,” she soothed, shaking her head, calm in the face of his panic. “They showed you an image. It is up to you to decide what it means.”
He started to get to his feet, then caught himself, dizzy. Gently she eased him into a sitting position. “It seemed clear enough to me.”
“I saw it, too,” she said. “And trust me when I say that the clearest visions are often the most confusing. But—there is a way to find clarity. I think you are ready to see the Furies. You have completed the vision quest. You realize that you have integrated the elements within you now. You are ready.”
“They will help me understand the vision at the end?”
She shrugged. “Maybe not. It certainly couldn’t hurt, now, could it?”
He found himself smiling. Her tongue-in-cheek brusqueness was exactly what he needed.
“When?”
“Tomorrow,” Aggra said. “Tomorrow.”
TWENTY-SIX
Thrall was surprised that the Throne of the Elements was so easily accessible, and so close to Garadar. It was but a short run across Skysong Lake to a small island nestled against the mountains. As they drew closer, he saw moss-covered standing stones arranged in a pattern.
“Why are the Furies so close?” he asked Aggra as they ran.
She gave him a wry smile, but her eyes had more mischief than anger in them as she replied, “If you were a giant embodiment of an elemental force, would you be worried by anyone disturbing you?”
Caught off guard, Thrall laughed, a short, amused bark. Aggra’s smile widened. “There are members of the Earthen Ring there who make certain that the Furies are not bothered by trivialities. Only those who have need of their wisdom or who are sincere in offering their aid may speak with them. Even so, it is just a courtesy. The Furies can certainly handle themselves.”
They left