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Chapter Thirty-three

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The barn smelled just like it did when I was five-years-old followin’ after the older cousins. I always hated that I was the youngest among our generation. As though I wasn’t different enough already.

Funny I don’t ever remember trailin’ after my sister and brother like I did the others. Maybe they had their fill of me, and were happy to get free of me, away from home.

Instead of a team of horses and the typical two milk cows, a few critters waitin’ to foal, the buggy and heavy wagon, maybe a tractor, the barn now housed two OM trucks and a coupe, several wheeled and tracked ATVs, and a Snowcat built for a bunch of passengers.

Cut hay. Animal waste. Odd that could be nostalgic. No, the place wasn’t the same. Nothing stays the same. The only constant is change.

“Ya reminiscing?” Zia asked.

I pulled my eyes back from the twenty-four-inch-thick, ancient timbers makin’ up the walls of the barn. The hen can read my mind. I don’t mind it from her. I smiled.

“Or ya delayin’ going inside with everyone else?”

Ha. Maybe I am.

Would she have to go back to the kitchen? I—needed to be with her for a while. I wanted to be with her. And I definitely didn’t want to be around others yet. Didn’t want to share her. I asked Zia if she’d take a walk with me. She smiled as though she couldn’t entertain a better idea.

I removed my leather loafers, slapped ’em together to get what moisture had already grabbed onto ’em, and walked to the side door, holdin’ it open for her. We strolled the shoveled walk westerly, an eagerness growin’ in my chest to see it, what I’d juggled in my mind half the way here. On the helicopter, I received a text from my attorney, bad-news good-news.

I left my shoes on the Inn’s grand steps and we continued on the boardwalk. Zia took my hand in hers and every inch of my flesh vibrated. Shouts and grunts from the game on the ice blended with the sounds in my head. The sub-freezin’ temperature and breeze off the openness of the Lake added to the togetherness I felt with Zia, made me feel whole, even happy for the first time in my life.

Zia didn’t ask me where we were going. Didn’t fret about the salted walk affectin’ her pretty painted toenails. The sun tilted hard west toward Dragon Ledge, glarin’ through the blue-blue sky. We exited the commercial district, passed the lane leadin’ to my place, and three more blocks, when we arrived.

I stood, lookin’ up at the amazin’, majical, enormous oak, still holdin’ on to a good portion of her leaves, despite the season.

“Never noticed that,” Zia said softly. “She’s beautiful. Taller than any pine in the Range, I bet.” The oak’s limbs traversed three properties in every direction.

“Very few at this elevation,” I said, happily in Trollish. I would always speak Trollish with Zia. “Actually, she’s the only oak I know about this high in the Range. Probably six hundred years old.”

Pre-Covenant era. Had one of the majical kind planted it? What kept her sap from freezin’, which would have caused her to splinter durin’ the first cold snap? Had they protected her with majic, to keep that from happenin’?

I hated lettin’ go of Zia’s hand, but I didn’t want her to feel as though she had to follow me. I stepped from the walk into the deep snow, and trudged the twenty feet to the base of the great old oak, placed my hand against her rough flesh, and tears welled. I spoke to her silently. And to the gods to keep lookin’ after her. I told her how happy I was that she had more life in her to give—as long as I lived she’d remain safe, I promised her.

Zia smudgin’ at frozen tears on my cheek brought my eyes open. Just to my right, in the near cabin, the angry eyes of the ogre hen I’d been battlin’ in clan arbitration for a year, glared at me through what looked like her kitchen window. With that anger, it was especially nice to have Zia standin’ next to me again.

“If looks could kill. Who’s that?” Zia asked.

I took a couple deep breaths, took hold of Zia’s hand again. She pressed against me, leaned down, tusk caressin’ my forehead. I wanted to tell her, but I didn’t want her to think I manipulated this to make me look—what? Sensitive. What bull would ever want to look sensitive?

“Whatever it is—” Zia whispered. “Ya can tell me.”

I nodded. I wanted to share this with her. It may have been my most important endeavor of my life.

“The property owner claimed she was diseased.” She’d know I meant the tree, right? “Endangered her home. She petitioned for a permit to have her cut for lumber.

“Because my clan has some clout, I received a second hearin’. Still she stood with a death warrant. A third arbitration thanks to Ike’s intervention, also failed.

“She was gonna be able to destroy her, this beautiful creature.” I looked high into her snow-covered limbs, and a sob interrupted me.

“No, how awful.”

“That was my attorney’s bad news.”

It took me a second to calm enough to finish. I already looked like a pansy. Such a wuss. Didn’t need my voice to break again.

“But I finally offered enough money for the property, the hen agreed to sell to me.” She’d be able to live like a queen on the South Slope. Good riddance.

“Property’s expensive here,” Zia said, squeezin’ my hand.

If only she knew I had to offer five times the appraised value, the spiteful shrew. But it was worth it. Only a few hundred shares of OW, after all.

“I’m glad ya were able to protect her,” Zia said.

~

Nuel

~

From the front desk I could see Bliar in the lobby in deep battle with a troll, heads close together over a checkerboard. As I checked in I kept looking his way, so I could acknowledge him, but he was in deep with his buddy. There were gold coins, not Continental currency, lined up on both sides of the board. So each game was as serious as it gets. Sirius as a heart attack, is a common expression at OW.

Checked in, I strolled slowly toward him, returning nods from the dozens of locals relaxing in the grand room in overstuffed leather couches and woolen-covered armchairs, enormous mugs gripped in their hands. A smallish fire tumbled in the near fireplace. Though freezing maybe for a human, I sensed a pleasant crispness I didn’t expect. The cold I experienced on the southern slope of the Lake revisited for a moment, back when I thought if I survived, I’d never want to be cold again.

Not that I’m cold now. Maybe ogres aren’t meant to live in the balmy lowlands of the North. Here, am I embracing what’s normal for my race?

I jerked from an angry grumble implying a vicious death is seconds away, followed by a spatter of laughter from nearby neighbors. Bliar’s troll friend must have lost, as he flipped a gold coin on the board, tusks snarling with disgust.

“I’ll kill ya next time,” the troll threatened. “Rip ya to shreds. Spit out yar worthless bones.”

“Hey, Uncle Bliar,” I said.

He looked up at me for a moment as though he didn’t recognize me. Maybe not placing me in this setting. Maybe I was being a little cheeky calling him uncle. As though I deserve that right.

“What are ya doing here, child?”

Child? That was sweet. Though a tad humanish. “This is the most beautiful place on the continent, right?”

“I’m not given my place up,” the troll growled. He could have been reaching for a dagger by the sound of him. I understood—by tradition, when ya loose a game, a new challenger can take yar seat.

“She doesn’t want yar seat ya old strap of tripe. She don’t care how much of yar gold I win off ya.”

Strap of tripe? I found myself laughing.

The troll gave me an evil look. “Ya play?” the troll snarled. “Ya got gold? I don’t sit with nobody without gold.”

“Like this pretty hen would care for yar unpleasant company,” Bliar mumbled. “So’s Ike on his way here?”

I nodded. But I didn’t get a very good estimate when that would be.

“Ya didn’t check in, did ya? I can give ya Ike’s cabin key.”

My breath caught. Stay in Ike’s cabin? Bliar felt I’m welcome in Ike’s Lake home?

“Ya look like ya’re gonna pass out,” Bliar said, rising. “Have ya eaten lately?” He grabbed my duffle slung over my shoulder and maneuvered me toward his seat.

“I’m not playin’ her if she ain’t got gold,” the troll grumbled.

“Ya see the sling she’s got her arm in?” Bliar asked. “The poor dear just got out of the hospital. She look like she’s ready to battle an ugly troll like ya?”

We did a little dance as I avoided sitting across from the troll.

The troll asked, “Ya rude bull, ya gonna introduce me to yar sweetheart?” Despite all of his grumbling now he was giving me a flirtatious leer. His mate prolly sat ten feet away. She’d snarl at him a bit later, no doubt. For fun.

“Shut yar ignernt pie hole ya smelly road kill.” Another good one.

I told ’em I’d leave ’em to their battling. Explained the flight stole the little energy I had and I needed to settle in my room for a bit. I’d get a bite to eat later. The two almost said as one, “I’ll join ya. Could eat a bite.” So where was the troll’s hen?

Bliar was snarling another insult to his friend, which he parried well, and it looked as though it was gonna continue, so I escaped, I think without ’em barely noticing.

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