~

Chapter Fifty-two

~

“Ya have some nerve,” I mumbled. “I get out of here, I’m goin’ home and not budgin’ for two years. Ya show yar face and I’ll use a club on yar head, bury ya in a shallow grave.”

Jam mumbled, “That’s harsh.”

The phone hummed quiet a moment.

“I want ya to take my place on the council,” Ike said. Wouldn’t that make me the clan leader by default? I hurt too much for a shock like that. “What kinda stupid talk is that?”

“Everythin’ is so messed up. I’ve used up every favor for the next two centuries. All the councils are in an uproar. Everyone’s at each other’s throats. All the slope councils are threatenin’ to go their own way.”

Hard to believe they ever came together to fight a common threat. We’re independent folk. “And ya’re the face of it,” I said.

“Yeah. They need a new face. A new start.”

“Maybe they need to go their own way. I got news for ya, fool.” I waited to ensure I had his attention. “There aren’t gonna be any easy answers. No shortcuts. No fast fixes. And ya better start gettin’ that shoved into every fool head out there.”

“Your Trollish accent is improvin’.” He sighed. “They aren’t listenin’ to me any longer.”

“They aren’t gonna listen to an idjit who gets shot a thousand times. And ya know I hate folk. I’d rather stab myself in the eye than debate some fool. Talkin’ to ya irritates me enough I wanna shoot ya and we’ve been two peas since potty trainin’.

“Just because they’re irritated by the situation, doesn’t mean ya’re not given ’em good advice.”

He sighed hard. “I take it that’s a hard no.”

“Ya’ve always wanted to be the fixer,” I said softly. Maybe he was exhaustin’ me. “Maybe what’s needed, is ya got to let others make some hard decisions. Let ’em see it isn’t so easy.”

“Ya’re sayin’, delegate.”

“For a complete idjit, ya eventually catch on.”

I let his new sigh fill the long moment.

“I’m gonna be here another day,” I said. “Will ya send the council jet out for us? I hear there’s a regional between here and the West Coast. I am not, ever again, goin’ into the city.”

“Nuel and her pa are on the road now. They didn’t want to wait any longer.”

“What?” I hissed. “Headin’ for the Range, or Central Plain?”

“Duh. Road’s five feet deep in snow on the North Slope.”

“But the airport is open?” I asked.

“Snowplows stay busy,” he said. “Snowcat get ya to the Hamlet no problem. But I’d prefer yar help down here.”

“Ya need to get out of the South and go home. Be a single council leader. Stop tryin’ to run the world, directin’ fifty councils.”

“Easier said than done,” he said.

“Ya’re a fool.” I hung up.

Not lookin’ up from his paperback, Jam said, “That’s harsh.”

I told him to shut up. I let my mind think about it for a minute, before callin’ Bliar.

“Heard ya survived,” Uncle said, answerin’ on the first ring.

“Tell yar youngest idjit offspring to get home and stop fiddlin’ with what isn’t his business any longer. Wasn’t in the first place.”

“Hello to ya too. How ya feelin’?”

“Worse and deeper than dragon pooh. He’s gotta pull back.”

I waited.

“Ya hear me?” Maybe I shouted.

A long moment later he said, “He got ’em into this. He’s gotta get ’em out.”

“He didn’t get anyone into anythin’. He don’t have to fix anythin’. He kept thin’s from gettin’ worse. Kept us out of a shootin’ war, which those idjit humans were forcin’ ’cause they thought we’re pushovers.

“And I’m not gonna let the various councils drag my cousin through the muck to keep ’em smellin’ roses.” I’m certain I shouted that part.

He sighed. My kin sigh a lot. “I can’t get used to ya speakin’ Trollish.

“Did ya hear me?” I hissed.

He sighed again. “Let me think about it.”

“Don’t think about it long. I’ll give ya ten minutes. Ya’re too comfortable sittin’ there on the ranch like a prince with no responsibility. Ya might get off yar butt and act like a bull who cares a snip.” I hung up.

“That’s harsh,” Jam mumbled.

I told him to shut up, and dialed Nuel. She answered warily, as I’d expect. I hadn’t been easy on her lately. Maybe ever. “Where are ya?” I demanded.

“Just south of the city. Toppin’ off the tank. The traffic is really awful.”

“Ya need to straighten out that bullfriend of yars.” My voice might have sounded angry. It had to be a hangover from Ike.

“What? What are ya talkin’ about, idjit?”

“He’s lost his way. Dyin’ inside a little. Needs someone supportin’ him, not demandin’ he find a solution. That support needs to be from ya. I’m tired of ya pussy footin’ it around him. Ya’re an ogre. Act like it.”

“What? What are ya talkin’ about?” That sounded a little shrill.

“Have ya even talked with him?” I asked.

“We’ve texted,” she said.

“He needs more than a text. Ya need to be with him. Come back here, and fly to the Lake with me tomorrow. Call him and tell him ya expect him to meet ya at the Hamlet. Don’t ask him. Tell him. He’s lost right now. And needs us.”

I let her think a long bit.

“He isn’t my bullfriend,” she said. “It’s not my place.”

“Ya’re really tickin’ me off,” I said. “Ya need to take the next step. And yar folk, all giants, need ya to help Ike do what he needs to do.”

“And what is that?”

“Back up and stop tryin’ to fix everythin’,” I said, calmer than I know I felt. “It’s a community thin’, not a one-bull thin’.”

“Uh. That sounds utterly idiotic and counter to—uh. I need to think.”

“Get back here while ya’re thinkin’.”

Another thread worked through my head. It was kinda a strange direction. Didn’t focus well. Maybe my concussion. Was a funny thought, Nuel takin’ on clan leadership. That would require her be in the clan. She’d have to mate in, which wouldn’t tick me off—since it wouldn’t be me matin’ her. Seemed good timin’ to get this thin’ between her and Ike settled a bit.

She does love to be in control. Take charge. Be kinda strange, a hen on the council. Never been one before, that I knew of. But no fiat against it. Hens truly rule via the bedroom anyway—be kinda fun to see ’em doin’ it publicly for a change. Mix thin’s up. Maybe be hilarious. The scandalous talk would be fun to listen to.

Probably bein’ a complete idjit with that thought.

It would get Nuel out of my hair at OW, though. If OW survives. At the moment that didn’t look promisin’.

I told her I’d see her in a bit, and hung up.

“Have ya lost yar mind?” Jam asked me.

I told him to shut up, and dialed Bliar back.

“What?” he hissed.

“Ya packin’ a bag yet?” I asked.

“Hasn’t been ten minutes,” he said.

“Yar time is up. Call yar idjit son. Tell him to meet ya at the Hamlet.” Thankfully ogres do what their papas say. That is fiat. Wasn’t so sure about an uncle listenin’ to his nephew.

“Are ya sure this is the thin’ to do?” he asked.

“I’m certain other folk need to step up, and ya’re one of those folk.”

Didn’t have a clue, in all honesty.

~

Nuel

~

I told Papa to pull over to the side. He’d just finished refuelin’ the OM. He said somethin’ about me lookin’ white as a sheet. I told him I needed to think a second.

“Ike call ya?” he asked, lookin’ at the phone I had perched halfway to my lap.

I shook my head. He waited.

“Kriz.”

“And.”

And what? How did I explain the bomb Kriz hurled into my face. I swallowed hard. Felt as though I’d been eatin’ tumbleweeds. “He gave me some direction,” I said. I’d gone to meet Ike at the Hamlet, and he sent me off to help get his cousin half-killed.

“Direction?”

“Unexpected, direction. Advice.”

He pulled to the right of the gas station’s exit, lookin’ around, eyes wide. We were still in the suburbs. Police still warnin’ giants not to go out if we could avoid it. Orcs and goblins were bright never spreadin’ north.

Papa’s thumbs lightly thrummed the steerin’ wheel. Turned off the jazz playin’ from the console, as though he looked for an address, like bulls do. The sound of the street, cars, trucks, bled into the cab.

“Talk to me,” he said.

“Kinda, crazy,” I complained. He urged me to filter it for him. I did my best.

“Actually sounds very astute,” he said after a longer than necessary pause.

“Ya think so?” I asked.

“Well. Ya been talkin’ to me every other night since ya met Ike, that he’s special. Even special folk need support.”

Don’t think I ever called him special. “Ya get sick of hearin’ about him?” I asked.

He chuckled. “Since when had ya ever talked about yar beaus? Was a relief this one didn’t sound like a Neanderthal. He cares about thin’s. I know he cares about ya.”

I shot him a glare. He mirrored it. I thought about how Ike acted on that rail platform. Papa was probably thinkin’ about when I toddled about like a pet iguana, bein’ cute and cuddly. Don’t think Ike sees me as cute and cuddly.

I wonder whatever happened to Lulu. She loved to gnaw on a finger now and then. Loved it when I rubbed lotion into her dry scales, though.

“What makes ya think he cares about me?”

“’Cause he’s not an idjit. Kriz is irritatin’. But he’s as cogent an ogre as I’ve come ’cross. Except for his dalliance as a shootin’ target. I won’t tell ya what to do. But I don’t think Kriz is off base.”