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Chapter Eighteen

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Country music blared when I pressed the start button. I turned the sound off quickly, rememberin’ Ike jokin’ one day how much Nuel hated country. Surprised me I didn’t turn the volume up because of that.

But I had enough thin’s on my mind clutterin’ it up. Not least of all, what was so secret about that SD card. What did the Troll Council have that was so important to the current situation?

It occurred to me, like a palm-plant to the forehead, that our visit to the Council was a front, to hide the real agenda. Nuel is right, I’m a total idjit, but then so is she. The real agenda involved that SD card. Ike could have gotten appropriate contacts makin’ a few phone calls.

Bizarre subterfuge.

Saddens me to think I’m as big an idjit as Nuel thinks I am. But, maybe there was a side, third agenda. Gettin’ those city plannin’ designs to the Council—more the timin’ of the delivery. That attorney had acted sincerely shocked, and excited about ’em. Those plans were as secret as the Eastern railway.

The OM’s seat automatically adjusted a smidgen for me, so Ike must have been drivin’, not one of the trolls. Those three had looked like they hadn’t slept in days. Hopefully they could catch a nap on the train. What might Ike be up to, down South? He’d exposed a good, decades-old conspiracy in one motion, and traveled to deepen the plot.

Within a mile, as the highway snugged against the ever-risin’ mountain face, the scenery opened up to our west. The fallin’ sun rippled across orange dunes makin’ me blink. But I didn’t want to look away, which was fine. The OM has great lane-assist and radar-cruise control, so it gave me lots of opportunity to take it in.

Nuel should turn her head left. It was a gorgeous view. Never imagined what a cactus forest would look like as it evaporated into a scatter of dots a hundred miles away. The train Ike would be on blurred across the valley followin’ a yardstick, a few degrees behind us.

As the long, sandy horizon disappeared, conifer forest pressed upon the highway on both sides. My ears popped, popped again from the steep rise in elevation. Layers of overlappin’ peaks replaced the sun-soaked western view.

An hour later a sign welcomed us to Orc Pass. I merged into the exit lane, eyes fixated on the signs indicatin’ restaurants. Not just human fast food, but sit-down giant fare. My mouth watered. Still the hen hadn’t said anythin’. No remarks about my drivin’, about how this city on a mountain existed without anyone North knowin’ about it.

Probably built on top of an ancient orc village BCE, from the pre-Covenant era.

I steered for a truck stop first. The SUV had plenty of gas, but bein’ a virgin to the region, I had no clue how available fill ups would be on the east face of the sierras.

The troll, Zia, came to mind. If I returned to the Hamlet and she treated me as Ike had Nuel—that would crush me. Maybe, just maybe, I could understand why Nuel had been so quiet the last couple hours.

Odd thought. For me.

Served her right. Though. Gettin’ some comeuppance.

I decided to give Zia a quick text while I filled the tank.

~

Nuel

~

The fool pulled toward the gas pumps as though he knew what he was doin’. I glanced at his side of the dash. Almost half a tank. Spoke to his lack of confidence.

That was mean. And stupid. If the bull boasts anythin’, it’s self confidence. Has that in over abundance. Except for the way he behaved around that young troll hen at the Hamlet. That was a bit comical.

Ironic, I thought the same thin’ about Ike when I first met him. He overly compensated, endeavorin’ to come across smart and accomplished. No act was required. Of course our meetin’ coincided with him lockin’ himself out of his house. That was hilarious. But I already knew enough about him from my busybody sorority sister I was visiting not to be confused about who he was.

I know I’m overly harsh to Ike and his socially klutzy cousin. And I know it’s because of my own lack of confidence—because of the new environment I’ve found myself in. Maybe. And I behave like I have somethin’ to prove. As if everythin’s a competition.

We possess a sense of entitlement, arrogance, we Northerners. We’ve accomplished everythin’ that’s been worth accomplishin’—we’re taught.

But I look around and see what the South has accomplished without any fanfare, and— This highway for example. There’s nothin’ close to it in the North. That railway. And I was raised assumin’ everyone is so backward south of the North Plain. And this little hamlet, not quaint. It rivals any uppity-rich community anywhere in the world.

Kriz is awkward, socially—and he’s been my primary contact at OW. Security and architecture are nearly one and the same cog. From our first interaction he slammed me with the fact I’m not as smart as I think I am. His understandin’ of technology is—far surpasses anythin’ I ever studied in school, or seen in practice since.

He’s incredibly easy to hate.

The assumption he held his position only because of his place in the clan—that embarrasses me now.

But—couldn’t he try to be a little nicer?

The majority of this disgustin’ experience he’s—I shut him down at every juncture. Maybe. I could’ve been eaten by a wolf pack up there, if I hadn’t finally shoved aside my stubbornness.

He finished fuelin’ the OM and settled back in, closin’ the door. The whisperin’ from the pines for the few moments his door was open sounded amazin’. Don’t hear that up North.

“Eat somethin’?” he asked.

I nodded. Not because I didn’t want to speak to him. For fear my voice may break. I’m such a miserable person. At times. Maybe. Sadness gripped my chest, like a vise. I need to get over this. I so want to cry. I’m alone in the world. Hardly a friend.

Wizper and Darshee aren’t really my friends. Took me on as a project for Ike’s sake. A thousand miles away from my pa, everythin’ I ever knew. Perhaps I need to pack up the few thin’s I’ve gathered since I moved onto the Plain, and go home. Get back to the civilization I know.

Kriz maneuvered around the traffic and pulled toward a sit-down restaurant adjacent, external to the collection of fast-food joints near the truck stop. My mouth almost opened to complain about it takin’ too long to be served. I clamped it shut. So we didn’t get back on the highway in ten minutes. Wasn’t gonna kill me—to sit across a table from him for forty-five minutes.

But then it might.

Could he have chosen this upscale place to please me? Probably not. And I wasn’t gonna ask.