Hamlet Thriving (Black Lake book 2)

Chapter 12
Birs

~

Ike sat on the hearth rubbin’ wax into the ash of his bow. I have to admit my youngling created a magnificent piece of art. Not just a huntin’ tool. Over the past two months, he patiently burned the intricate design into the bow’s face usin’ simple pieces of heavy fencin’ wire he hammered into the shapes he wanted. He burned his fingers raw brandin’ the wood.

“Will ya ever consider sellin’ that to Janding?” I asked. A simple-minded Northerner would pay a ransom to place that on a wall.

The ogreling didn’t answer.

“He’s offered ya enough to outfit a small ranch with cattle,” I said. “That would be quite a tidy sum to put under yar mattress for—the future.”

The youngling sat on the hearth strokin’ the wood with the square of oiled wool. His eyes never fluttered. His expression didn’t twitch. If I didn’t know my mate as well as I do, I would question if the ogreling is indeed my offspring. He possesses way too much focus. While Asr can read for hours on end, it doesn’t mean he has focus. Torc bounces from task to task, thought to thought, like a stone rattlin’ inside a steel can.

“Ya gonna craft yarself more than three arrows, aren’t ya?”

“Never use more than one at a time,” the youngling said in his soft voice.

Could he be the same tyke that shouted toy, and bam at the top of his lungs for years? The last two seasons he sprouted like no ogre I ever met. He peers over Asr’s head already, with a build that makes Torc look spindly.

“I agree ya’re good with a bow, but—” I stopped myself. Thought about the last time I watched Ike practicin’. Perhaps he didn’t need more than one arrow—if he was huntin’ only one critter. It’s that focus. Patience.

Ike turned and looked at me, closed one eye halfway, but it wasn’t exactly a wink. More like he judged his papa’s thoughts a bit deeper only out of respect. It gave me a shiver. I love my youngest, but he’s a little eerie in some ways. Advanced as he is physically, thrice too serious, too patient to be reasonable. Though a prankster when he’s around that Lucas, Ike needs more true mirth, like he had when he was ankle tall to a daemon. He sped through his youth too fast. A sadness rushed into my chest. The ogreling wouldn’t be about much longer.

“Before ya go a wanderin’, maybe ya’ll craft one of those for yar papa,” I said. Maybe that would keep him about longer.

Tiff stood abruptly, her knittin’ forgotten in her lap, fallin’ to the floor. She glared at me. My face turned as hot as one of my youngling’s tiny brandin’ irons.

“Ya don’t expect me to ever return one day, after I go a hikin’. But that isn’t what’s on my mind,” the young ogre bull said.

Tiff, tears runnin’ down her cheeks, sat back down. The legs of her chair screeched against the wood floor. I wanted to ask Ike what he meant, but the ogreling slid the bow into the leather sling he made for it, and picked up his night fur warmin’ by the fire. I watched the strappin’ youngling walk toward the bedrooms. He didn’t say, “Goodnight.” That isn’t something he ever volunteered anymore—since Ren moved to her new home with Angus. The bull misses his hen sibling more than can be put into words, even though she only lives miles away, across the Lake.

~

The next mornin’ at the dinin’ table I smiled, listenin’ to Asr and Torc talk excitedly about our upcomin’ winter hunt. I was startled when the somber youngest spoke up. The two elder siblings jerked their heads to look at Ike. One learns to pay attention to the few words the tyke—young bull—shares.

“We’ve all been west, many times,” Ike said. “This year we go east.”

It wasn’t a request or even a suggestion. There was no confusin’ that the ogreling made a decision for the four of us. It immediately occurred to me that if we didn’t agree, he’d simply go without us.

“Why do ya wish to go east?” Asr asked with irritation clear in his voice. “Even the orcs are forsakin’ it. There’s nothin’ there.”

Ike made a fist and held it in front of him. For a moment I thought he threatened my middle bull offspring.

“What’s in my hand?” he asked.

“Prolly nothin’, like the eastern desert,” Torc blurted, and laughed.

“If ya don’t investigate, ya’ll never learn if there’s anythin’ there,” Ike whispered.

My youngest’s voice wore scratchy, old, like on old sage’s. I found myself leanin’ toward Ike with interest, only half because I struggled to hear his words.

“I’ll nibble,” Asr said. “Open yar hand. What mysteries are ya hidin’?”

Ike turned his hand and opened it palm up.

“Ha, nothin’,” Torc and Asr said together.

But Ike studied the surface of his palm closely, with the light of the hearth in the background. I realized the ogreling had sprinkled salt into his hand.

“The crystals explode with all the colors of the clouds at sunset,” Ike murmured. “The even surfaces and sharp edges of each, look like nothin’ else ya’ll see on this earth. They’re magnificent. But I had to shut my mouth and study them to discover their beauty.”

The two older ogrelings shouted at Ike. I closed my eyes.

Why didn’t we stop after one hen and one bull offspring? The typical ogre mates often settle on one.

I immediately felt guilty merely thinkin’ the thought. But three young bulls under the same roof the past year had become increasin’ly more difficult. It had always been a task. Tiff leaned toward me and whispered in my ear.

“I never realized how much peace Ren managed in this home.”

~

We had waited on the porch for a few minutes for Ike. Asr and Torc were eager to get underway, and sniped at their missin’ bull sibling, rocked back and forth, and pushed each other in good-natured teasin’. The door opened and the broad-shouldered youngest strode past us without a word. At the bottom of the stairs he turned left, east.

“Oh no. We aren’t goin’ to the desert,” Torc shouted.

“Papa,” Asr whined.

I watched Ike steadily stridin’ forward. He had no intention of debatin’. We either followed him, or he traipsed off on his own. I didn’t have the heart to battle my youngest. I somehow recognized that Ike’s refusal to be swayed showed no lack of respect for me, as his papa. The ogreling simply lived in his own world. Everyone else was welcome to stay in their own. It made little difference to him.

I turned to the other two young bulls and smiled, before steppin’ off the porch and followin’ Ike. Asr and Torc followed, their ire fillin’ the quiet, icy, mountain air.

~

The second night, we camped in a depression, selected by Ike, in foothills that an ogre possibly hadn’t tread in centuries—surely since the wars. I mused that I felt more like the youngling, followin’ my papa, than the other way around. The tyke’s brain is constantly takin’ in everythin’ around him, his senses as alert as a hawk studyin’ the plain grass. He pointed out critters and plants and rock formations I know I would have otherwise ignored. But once Ike made me aware of them, I started to recognize the awe of the eastern desert.

As we relaxed under our furs, I said to Ike, “Now I know what ya and Janding, and Kelhin had to talk about all those nights in front of the hearth.”

“Pazeta and Yoso too,” Ike said.

A moment later the deep breathin’ of one asleep floated over to me. As busy as my youngest’s mind is durin’ the day—he certainly can stop it when he lies down. The other two young bulls chatted about their aches and pains.

~

I woke smellin’ the sharp aroma of smokin’ meat, the crackle of fire, somethin’ sizzlin’. The eastern sky hardly held a glint. It was stinkin’ cold. Too cold to rise before the sun. I closed my eyes again, but my snout wouldn’t allow me to sleep. I heard the phhhff of someone blowin’ on somethin’. No ogre can resist sizzlin’ meat. My curiosity piqued, I sat up and watched Ike nibblin’ on a longish strip of roasted white meat.

“Whacha eatin’ there?”

Ike handed me the stick it was spitted on. I tasted it while Ike worked to separate another that was strung over the fire.

“Hm. A little tough. Tastes like range chicken.”

“Snake,” Ike told me.

“Snake? Have ya lost yar mind? How many times have I told ya to stay away from snakes? They can kill ya.”

“Not in this weather. They’re coldblooded. Just lie curled in their hidey holes, in a forced slumber.”

“Coldblooded?” I couldn’t remember ever hearin’ the expression. A farmer’s offspring, seems like somethin’ I should be aware of.

I think I hate this ogreling. He sits and absorbs everythin’. The little booger. Not so little any more. What’s he learned sittin’ on the pier talkin’ to the Inn’s guests? I could have been givin’ him more chores.

~

The vastness of the desert is a little numbin’ to me, I have to admit. Asr and Torc had a right to complain. Still, Ike climbed into every gully and examined every cactus like it was from another world. Well, might as well have been, considerin’ what the bull had experienced in the Range. The next day, we climbed a high outcroppin’, a mountain in its own right, which allowed us to see a hundred miles in every direction. Ike sat enthralled by the sight. Asr and Torc rewarded him with glares that would have wilted anyone who cared. Instead, Ike talked about the scrub oak that dotted the peak.

“Very slow growin’. These could be four hundred years old,” he said with awe in his voice. “Imagine. They may have been inch long sprigs before the earlier wars ever began.”

Asr and Torc scoffed. I wasn’t too sure if the thought entertained me. How did anythin’ so scrawny manage to be so old? But I wasn’t about to doubt what my youngest suggested. It’s irritatin’ that Ike finds so many borin’ thin’s so stinkin’ interestin’.

Ike’s eyes followed somethin’ high in the sky. I looked up expectin’ a cloud formation, or maybe a vulture, to be catchin’ the young bull’s attention, but there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

“Oh. A vulture,” I mumbled. “We’ll have a kettle of them followin’ us until we reach the mountains.”

Ike leveled me with, for him, an enormous grin. “Don’t think it’s a vulture. Farther away than it looks.”

“Then what?”

Ike pulled his huntin’ knife out of its sleeve and fiddled with it—not whittlin’, or carvin’ on anythin’. Took me several moments before I realized Ike wasn’t mindlessly keepin’ his hands busy. Should have realized quicker. Ike doesn’t do anythin’ without a reason. The ogreling was usin’ the polished blade to flash a reflection at whatever was in the sky.

“We gonna sit here all day?” Asr asked, not payin’ attention to our discussion.

“Ya think it’s a—” I didn’t finish my statement.

Ike repeated his little-practiced smile.

“Way out here? Why would a dragon be way out here?”

“What we’re doin’. Explorin’,” Ike suggested.

“But dragons hibernate.”

Asr started payin’ attention to us, prolly when he heard the word dragon. “Dragons don’t really hibernate,” he mumbled. “Ours sleep so much in the winter because it’s so cold in the mountains.

“Tir says the half of the sedge that settled on the North Plain are goin’ out and huntin’ every week still.” Asr turned and followed our stare. “Mo’sale says the few remainin’ dragons are spread across the far, southern edge of the continent.”

“But that does look like a soarin’ dragon,” Torc said. He stood and joined us, glancin’ down to watch the signalin’ his younger sibling was doin’. “What if it isn’t as friendly as Ash’et and her brood?”

“If he was huntin’, he wouldn’t be so high,” Asr said.

“How do ya know it’s a bull?” Torc challenged.

Ike laughed. “If it was a queen, she’d have at least one bull followin’ her, if not an entire sedge of ’em.”

Asr nodded, but didn’t say anythin’. I slipped off my pack and made myself comfortable—clearly Ike was prepared to linger here for as long as it—whatever it is—took. A few moments later the dragon reduced its altitude, and I could see it thrusted its wings now, but it was gonna be a while before it joined us. And no doubt, we were gonna wait until he did. Ike put away his knife. The other two bulls got comfortable, too.

The creature circled above us, finally landin’ on a near, adjacent peak. Ike was on his way across the saddle ridge before I caught my breath. I looked around, a bit surprised it wasn’t Asr to first go to the dragon, since he’s bonded to one. But the ogreling remained still, studyin’ the newcomer, satisfied to let his little bull sibling do the investigatin’.

A pang of fear leapt through me, realizin’ my youngest traipsed to a creature capable of tearin’ him in two, swallowin’ him in as many gulps. The sharp breeze made me aware sweat beaded my face. Ike was steps away from the thin’. It lowered its wings, somethin’ only a calm dragon would do.

I sat back down and leaned against a boulder, watched Ike and the dragon closely for a moment, smiled as my oldest caught my attention. Torc was totally indifferent to what occurred across the way. He strolled about the ridge searchin’ for anythin’ to grab his attention, glared off into the distance, searched the sky. Obviously, he preferred to be anywhere in the world besides this mountain peak. That’s Torc. Bored. There weren’t enough distractions. Used to a hundred things in his mind even durin’ the dinin’ hour.

I turned back to Ike and the dragon. The creature had seen plenty of seasons, wore more than his share of scars for the typical territorial battle. A slate color, several shades lighter than Tir’s sibling—what’s his name—Kyn’loch. Asr would be horrified to think I forgot anythin’ about one of his dragon’s siblings, much less one of their names. I idly wondered if Asr’s bondin’ would interfere with his wooin’ an ogre hen, present interference in a relationship? Competition? I scrunched up my face. That would be a bizarre twist in the ogreling’s life. But then, he’d have to get his snout out of a book to notice the existence of an attractive hen.

The dragon threw back its head and let go a soft trumpet. I’d observed Tir do the same thin’ a hundred times with Asr. So Ike amused the creature. He wouldn’t be a snack. The dragon’s voice carried across with the breeze from time to time. It seemed as though he was now doin’ most of the talkin’. He would raise one deadly-lookin’ talon and wave it in the air as he spoke. It reminded me how animated Gladys can get. She uses both hands whenever she weaves a story, if they aren’t encumbered with a knittin’ needle or kitchen tool. Most every Northerner I’d ever met is the same way. They’re odd folk.

“I’m not gonna stand around here all day.”

I looked at Torc, studied the young bull’s frustrated expression.

“I’m headin’ home. I’ve had enough of this empty desert. Nothin’ out here to hunt in the first place. In the second place, the sun’s gonna peel away all my skin. Place stinks.”

I closed my eyes a moment. Torc’s statement reminded me of Ike’s several days ago, when he made a similar, dedicated statement. But Torc didn’t move. He waited for concurrence, for someone to join him. The elder of the three bulls isn’t the least bit as independent as his youngest sibling, as he wanted to sound.

I glanced over at Asr, who raised his brow. So he agreed, in sort. I remained sittin’ for a few more moments decidin’ what to do with Ike. A sadness crept into my chest. Ike’s years from even sportin’ proper tusks. Advanced for his years, but still an ogreling. Did I throw my youngling over my shoulder and carry him home? This is the fear Tiff cries herself to sleep over, kept me awake many a night as well—of Ike leavin’ home. No matter when it comes, gonna be too soon. My mind wandered upon the thin’s that keep Ike in the Hamlet. Ren. Lucas and Iza. Braes, Silvia, Bick and Gladys. I sighed. At least one family member is on the list.

I stood, in no hurry to begin the confrontation. “I’ll speak to Ike,” I told the two siblings.

A sense of exhaustion flowed across my shoulders, and my knees wobbled as I walked across the saddle between the two peaks to the dragon and my youngest. The dragon didn’t acknowledge me until I stopped beside Ike.

“This is Taiz’lin,” Ike said. “This is my papa, Birs.”

The dragon extended his head toward me in the familiar way dragons smell one another’s breath when they greet. It’s intimidatin’ to have the jaws of a creature like that leanin’ in so close to my face. I found myself takin’ in Taiz’lin’s musky odor as Asr did Tir every time they’d been apart. The dragon’s lips pulled taut, exposin’ its deadly teeth—a good eighteen inches long. If I didn’t have a bull dragon livin’ in my barn, I imagine I would have wet myself. The dragon’s expression looked like a snarl, but it’s the closest thin’ to a smile the race managed.

“A peaceful greeting I offer ya, Ike’s papa.”

“Happy to make yar acquaintance,” I said.

The dragon cocked his head at me, studyin’ me—a bit like a slab of meat. Made Taiz’lin appear cross eyed, and the dragon pulled back, no doubt so he could focus. “I’m excited to hear yar region has been settled by a sedge of my kind.”

I shuddered as the vibration of the creature’s voice flowed over me. Felt as though it physically touched me, caressed me, in a way. The creature had a beautiful voice, which resonated with confidence, courage. Taiz’lin’s muzzle was heavily dusted with silver. Far from a young bull. Had prolly been wanderin’ the continent for centuries. I audibly groaned, as the thought of Ike befriendin’ another wanderer struck me.

The dragon cocked his head again.

It’s happenin’ too fast. My right knee threatened to buckle.

“Ya’re distressed,” Taiz’lin said.

“My papa is terrified I’m gonna take off on my own and never return,” Ike said.

“Ya said ya like to explore,” Taiz’lin said. “But ya’re only a child. For an ogre, ya must remain with yar family another decade, I would think, correct?”

Ike smiled. “Since I was a toddler I’ve been takin’ off to explore, but they refuse to believe my intentions—”

“Of course ya’ll return. As I return to my sedge’s territory at least twice a decade. Though I must admit, as the sedge has thinned, there is less to keep me every year. My visits are shorter.”

The conversation, I knew, was meant to calm me, but accomplished the opposite. My heart must have beat twice faster than normal. I wanted it over. Wanted to get my youngling away from this dragon. “Ike, it’s time to go, return home. Come.”

“Taiz’lin has offered to fly me to the eastern coast. Can ya imagine? The eastern ocean.”

I opened my mouth to speak but the dragon beat me.

“How many days will it take ya to make it home?”

“Th—three,” I answered.

“Then I promise to have yar youngling back to yar village in three days,” Taiz’lin said. “He will come back with stories to tell, memories to last him a lifetime. I look forward to the company. I’ve never traveled with one of ya two-legged creatures before. I’m excited about the prospect. Ike tells me his sibling is bonded to one of my kind. Imagine. Ya must be so proud.”

I closed my mouth. At least the dragon didn’t refer to us as a lesser race. But the war is over. Anger replaced dread. “Ya said yarself he’s a youngling, too young to leave his clan.”

Taiz’lin’s head ratcheted backward another foot and he angled his head. “Yar ire is misplaced, ogre.”

I remained silent. A sense of defeat radiated across my chest. I took several slow breaths before turnin’ to Ike, stared into his dark green eyes. They sparkled with excitement. How could I compete with flyin’ about on a dragon? Wanderers aren’t known to live long lives. For that, could their lives perhaps be richer, fuller, than those bonded to a place, as a blessin’ for a life lived well? That moment might be the last time I ever saw my obsessively focused, youngest. I pulled him against me and Ike thumped me on my back.

“Only three days, Papa. I promise.”

Don’t say what ya can’t follow through with. A bull’s word is his measure. But ya’re years away from bein’ a bull—only an ogreling. It isn’t right. I let Ike go and turned to Taiz’lin.

“Take care of my youngest,” I said.

The dragon raised a gnarled, taloned mitt. “I’ll protect him with my life.”

I, somehow, knew he would. I thought of how protective Tir’loch is of Asr, how the dragon adores my middle youngling bull. So is that it?

Have I assumed these two will bond? Three bull younglings, two dragons. All I need is Torc bondin’ with that remainin’ bull of Ash’et’s.

I slugged Ike in the arm and walked away without another word. I didn’t want to sob in front of the bravest ogre, ogreling, I’d ever known.

The little booger.

~