Ogreness, Black Lake-book5

Chapter 15
~

When the sun goes down in the Range, it never fails to amaze me how dark it becomes, despite the stars being brighter, with a moon that can blind ya if ya look directly at it when it’s full.

As it was, the moon was at a quarter and not above the peaks yet, as we sluiced into the bowl the Hamlet flows around. The lights of the homes twinkled, passin’ between the ancient pines that make the Hamlet majically special. Of course the pitch of the Lake has something to do with the special ambiance.

The majical kind may have decided to return to the ethereal for good, but they left behind traces of their majic here. I can always feel it in my bones as we descend into the valley.

“It’s cold,” Nuel complained.

I should probably bump up the heater for her, but I was busy enjoyin’ the beauty in my mind’s eye.

“It’s still summer, right?” Nuel asked. “I know we’ve been on the road a long time, but—”

I drove the long way to my cousin’s place. Just isn’t right not to cruise the narrow, cobblestone lane that leads through the ancient Hamlet center when I arrive. Even if I couldn’t see much of anything in the dark.

“What are ya looking for?” Nuel asked.

Had the hen ever visited Black Lake before? This is the ancestral heart of our kind, at least since the first pioneers settled here from the West. Can’t she sense the majic?

“Fine. Don’t answer me.”

The lane twisted away from the pitch of the Lake, to the two-lane blacktop, and I turned left. Sissy stood with her front paws on the center console, butt vibratin’, tail flippin’ back and forth. No ogre, but she could sense the majic. That, and eager for the freedom the hills give her to run. No fences. Neighbors who love every creature, respect the gifts Mother and the gods provide.

Nuel grabbed the handgrip as the Green Hornet flowed left and right over the many cross back twists into the sheer valley, a pristine culvert two hundred years ago. Sissy bounced from my shoulder then Nuel’s, but her eager whine remained constant. Like me, she could see the hundreds of cabins spaced between the arbor behemoths, invisible except in our hearts, only flips of light shimmyin’ through the woods.

Majic. Majic. The Hamlet. Black Lake.

“Will we be there soon?” Nuel asked. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

The back wheels slipped as I swung left, between the silver reflectors designatin’ my cousin’s lane.

“How can ya see?” Nuel gushed. “We’re gonna die.”

Finally the front tires gripped and I accelerated up the incline, only to slam on the brakes to park next to Ezra’s old truck.

“Ya left my stomach back there,” Nuel whined. “A lung on the highway twenty minutes ago.”

I considered answerin’ her but Sissy was squealin’ like a pig to be slopped. I opened the door and she flew over me, back paws takin’ a little ogre flesh with her. Ouch.

“She’s excited,” Nuel mumbled.

A second, brighter porch light turned on to our right. I keyed off the ignition and doused the headlights.

“Welcome,” threaded to us.

Nuel and I grabbed our bags and exited the Green Hornet as Ezra’s broad shoulders flowed toward me. My cousin grasped me in a bear hug, lifted me in the air, and swung me around. Maybe would have felt friendlier if we weren’t in pitch black. Dizzied me a bit.

“Why are ya so skinny?” she shrieked.

When I could pull air back into my lungs, I introduced Ezra to Nuel. I guess I had to.

“Darshee and Wizper?” Ezra asked.

“Stayin’ with others. Know ya didn’t have the room for all of us.”

“Nonsense. Three bedrooms. Ya two in one, they could have doubled up.”

“Nuh, nuh, nuh—” Nuel and I stumbled over each other tryin’ to deny we had a sleepin’ arrangement in mind.

“Shut up, cousin,” Ezra growled. “I know. Just yankin’ yar chain. Ya’re so easy.”

“I love ya too.”

“Can we go inside,” Nuel asked. “I’m freezing.”

Ezra slapped me in the chest, hard. “These Northern ogres are wimps, huh, cousin?”

“Are not,” Nuel hissed.

I just shrugged and headed for the porch.

“Why are ya so late?” Ezra asked.

I had no interest in explainin’, which I didn’t have to worry about, because Nuel was managin’ that, addin’ side issues that weren’t appropriate, like, I’m an idjit, and almost got myself killed. Shot for DWO. Drivin’ while ogre, she said. Hmm. That must be a Northern expression.

Ezra knew Nuel’s alma mater, breakfast preference, and relationship status before we reached the stoop. Gods, hens can talk. Ezra seemed to know all about Nuel’s presence to address the council. How excitin’ it was to have a hen meetin’ the council. Oh, yippee.

“No hen that I’ve ever met would care to talk to the old codgers,” Ezra said stridin’ up the steps behind us.

“Bunch of misogynists, huh,” Nuel muttered.

Ezra stopped in her tracks. I passed Nuel. Didn’t need to be in this conversation. Bad enough I was gonna be sharin’ a home with two hens for the week. No reason to begin a bad habit of payin’ attention to them.

I headed for the kitchen, but still heard Ezra explain it was the best way to make the bulls feel empowered and worthwhile. Personally, I wouldn’t mind being less stimulated. Any number of hens could step forward and take my place on the council, or the OI board.

Thankfully the tenure on the board is only six years. Way to long. Insanely too long. Council responsibility lasts until we run away to the Wildes, which aren’t all that wild any longer, or we kill ourselves.

Ezra’s fridge is surprisingly small for an ogre. I pushed containers around. Maybe she didn’t expect to feed us. A scratch at the back door caught my attention. I closed the fridge and let Sissy in, surprised she had gotten in enough smellin’ already.

Steps clomped noisily on the stairs. Why hadn’t I worked a little harder to find another place for Nuel to stay? Maybe with luck she was headin’ for bed and I wouldn’t have to put up with her any more this evening.

But I had my head back in the fridge when I heard the two pairs of ogre bare feet on the stairs, comin’ down this time. Meh. I looked forward to catchin’ up with Ezra. Didn’t have anything to share with Nuel.

Ezra patted me on the back as she slipped behind me, and disappeared behind the door to her cold cellar. Oh. Why hadn’t I thought about that? Been livin’ on the plains too long. I was rubbin’ my hands together as she padded back up the stairs carryin’ a platter holdin’ a golden-brown turkey. Um.

Pint glasses, not the human variety—ogre pint glasses hold a good, three real pints, appeared on the counter with a good head leanin’ over their rims. I must have zoned out, studyin’ the cooked bird. Yeah. I was pretty thirsty too.

Ezra handed us both a fork and carvin’ knife. No need to sit. We stood at the counter cuttin’ slices between our gulps of beer. Ezra mixed up her question-askin’ between me and Nuel. A misfortunate democracy. Why’d the hen answer back so politely? She never did that to me.

Sissy, not to worry, got her share of bird. Ezra set down a bowl of water for her too.

Ezra filled our glasses and the inquiry rejoined. Sadly, the turkey was too soon a naked pile of bones. But Ezra made another trip to the cold cellar. Yes. And returned with another bird smoked this afternoon in the Inn’s kitchen. Ezra manages the ancient Inn the family has been affiliated with since the Hamlet was founded.

The new bird dwindled. I would survive until morning.

“Top off my glass, will ya, sweetie?” I asked Ezra.

~ Nuel ~

Felt a bit uncivilized eating off the same bird together without even sitting down. Whilst in Rome I guess, ya wallow in the muck with the hogs. Though plain speaking, Ike’s cousin seemed to be a gem, awash with sarcasm that nearly made me spit out turkey a half-dozen times.

Now if the nasty old cabin just had some heat. My nose dripped and my fingertips were frozen numb. Sometime in our drive we crossed into the Antarctic.

~