Hamlet Thriving (Black Lake book 2)

Chapter 18
Braes

~

I waved the human girl over to me. “Yar private gossipin’ stays in the kitchen, or the dormitory,” I snapped. “Not out here among the guests.”

“Yes, Master Braes,” she said, her face flashin’ red as she turned to hurry to the back.

Bick strode over, doin’ a lousy job lookin’ nonchalant about it. “Ya’re startin’ to make the dwarf sound warm and cuddly, and he carries an axe everywhere he goes. Hasn’t smiled in a decade. No one has as much as dropped a plate in a week. Relax, elf.”

Don’t know why I want to rip off yar head, went through my head, but don’t dare tell me to relax.

“Wow,” Bick said. “The temperature just fell ten degrees in here. I better go throw a few logs on the hearth.”

I looked down at the ledger set out in front of me. Maybe if I ignore him, the irritatin’ human will go away.

“Maybe one of Pazeta’s rubdowns could loosen the knots in yar neck a bit,” Bick said softly. “I know it would make the rest of us feel better.”

“Then go for a massage yar own self,” I said.

“I meant—”

“I know what ya meant. Do ya think I’m daft?”

“I think,” Bick said, “ya’re an irritable little runt who’s gonna run off all his patrons. Breakfast is windin’ down. It’s quiet. Why don’t ya go for a hike or somethin’? Ya gettin’ out of here will do the rest of us a world of good. Don’t glare at me. I’ll trim those pointy little ears of yars.”

“I feel tired,” I confessed.

“Maybe some fresh air will help.”

“I haven’t visited Kincere’s brood in a while, nor lil’ Gladys.”

“Go. Please, go. Again with the glare. I’m gonna start callin’ ya a more-irritatin’, skinny dwarf.”

~

I walked on the polished gravel, my fists pushed into my pockets. I told myself to enjoy the sounds and sights of nature, but my mind wandered about insignificant irritants instead. I forced myself to focus on the slappin’ waves a few feet from me, of the swifts dippin’ and divin’ above in the blue sky, the terns flittin’ in front of me. A quarter mile away at the tree line the crows and jays battled to see who could sound the rowdiest. I looked back down at the ground, as though the effort to scan my world drained me.

I imagined Kincere’s orclings would be a hand taller. Hadn’t seen them since the ice on the Lake thinned too much to support me. That made the trip a longer one. I always feel guilty the moment I leave the Inn. I tell myself the place won’t fall apart. But can’t get away from the responsibility. Even with the crowd always about in my life, still feel utterly alone.

Ya’re a dolt. How can ya feel lonely when ya constantly have carin’ fools around ya? Appreciate what ya have. Ya have more than most. Ya live in paradise—even if it is frozen-over half the year.

A dog barked as I approached the orcs’ place, what used to be Coedwig’s. The cabin, now more a home, looked like it had never belonged to a dwarf. The dark wood is now whitewashed, and light-colored drapes are pulled back from the windows lettin’ the wanin’ days of summer in. There are flowers planted along the front, and colored-glass wind chimes sing in the breeze. For a folk originally nomads, who lived in what were essentially tents, they made the property look like a place humans might live.

The dog that first challenged me, trotted up to me, tail waggin’ furiously, gave me a rude sniff, and walked beside me to the front steps. Still find it odd the orcs have embraced dogs, more a human’s sidekick. The door opened before I made it to the porch and a pack of orclings streamed out, competin’ to see who could scream the loudest. I counted nine of the thin’s. The Valley orc population is larger than I remembered.

“Ooof,” I groaned, as the melee took me to the wood boards.

“Get off him! I said, get off him, ya little devils!”

With screeches of delight, the horde was off again, floatin’ away like a swarm of crop-devourin’ locust. Kincere reached out a hand to help me up. “Ya’re a brave one to visit here in the middle of the day.”

“Forgot how many ya care for now. Surprised yar dreadlocks aren’t totally gray already.”

“They’re gettin’ that way.” She laughed. Her needle-like teeth gleamed between parted lips.

I thought back to the days she had to work to smile with her mouth closed, not to frighten the humans. That kind struggle with the toothy smiles of orcs and goblins.

“I’d offer to sit with ya and have a cup of tea,” Kincere said, “but I have to keep up with the mob to stop them from destroyin’ the world. Come along, before they find a mountain to dismantle, or an army to dishearten.”

I followed her around the side of the house. The tree swing, seesaw, and painted climbin’-logs were already bein’ left behind for the promise of real adventure. Kincere and I tagged along, toward the edge of the tree line. Several of the little bullies instigated a pinecone battle, but Kincere turned her back to it. I figgered it was a minor infraction she’s willin’ to ignore, as long as they stayed occupied.

It was difficult to chat, since Kincere interrupted us every other second to shout at one evil rug rat or another. I miss seein’ the young orc-hen every day. Wished she could come back and work at the Inn again, but she’s moved on. Looks happy, more than happy. I thought how her two orclings used to love to sit with me. They would ask an endless stream of questions. Those days are passed. They play hard with a herd now. They aren’t the same.

Or did I change? I’ve been away from them too much. They, we, have grown apart.

I shared my goodbyes with Kincere and headed west along the lakeshore for Roger’s place. The horde didn’t notice my departure. I oughta stop by Ren’s place too. Though I could easily spend the rest of the day with lil’ Gladys in my lap.

~

Iza lie spread out in the sun. I paid her my respects, before greetin’ Lucas and Roger, who were cuttin’ fodder for the winter. They stood uncomfortably chattin’ with me for a moment. Could tell they were eager to finish their work while the sun’s up, so I headed for the house.

Lil’ Gladys stood, leanin’ against the banister. She called out to me in her shrill, tiny voice. She staggered stiffly to the steps and extended her arms for a hug when I reached her.

“Ya—came ta—read ta me, huh?” She giggled.

“What story is on yar mind?” I asked.

She reached for the heavy book settin’ on her wheelchair. “Ya—pick, oha—tell me an elven sto—we.”

“Did ya get yar orcin story today?” I asked.

“Ah—couse.” She giggled. “Mizzz—Pa—za came wi—da bunch bafo nap tom.”

I picked her up and sat down with her in the wheeled chair. I had to hold my tongue for a moment, because emotion ripped through my chest, thinkin’ how vibrant and lithe the little human girl had once been. I didn’t think I could speak without sobbin’. Bein’ close to the precious little Gladys made me realize how much I left behind in the North. No. There was no lil’ Gladys back home.

Somethin’ else was missin’ though. Would no other elven kind ever move to the Valley?

Gladys flipped through the story book and made her selection. I coughed several times to test my voice, and read.

~

“I want to go north,” I told Lucas as the young man brushed Iza that evenin’. The dragon’s musky scent seemed stronger than I remembered. Realized I hadn’t spent time with Lucas and Iza, or any of the other dragons or their riders in a long time.

What have I been doin’ the past decade? When did I forget what’s important?

“No problem. Iza’s been gettin’ a little lazy lately anyway.”

The dragon’s chest vibrated, and she unwound her neck to look at him.

“All she does is lie on that rockslide Tir and Syl like, and sun all day.” A mischievous grin accented his freckles. “When do ya wish to go?”

“Before the cold closes the Valley. I know ya’re busy.”

“We should have all the silage we need in by the end of next week. I’ll be ready for a change in scenery after that myself.”

I looked into the human’s blue eyes. Still think of him as a lad. But he had grown to be a man, years ago.

He grew up too fast. As Ike would say, too stinkin’ fast.

“How long will we stay up North?” Lucas asked.

“Ya won’t need to stay.” I’m still tryin’ to figger out how long I intend to linger up there.

“Long horse ride, longer walk, back. The pass will be a foot deep in ice. Ya thinkin’ of stayin’ over the winter?”

“Maybe longer. Maybe—I won’t even come back.”

The young man looked as though someone had jabbed a knife into his ribs. The dragon whipped her head around, her muzzle comin’ within a few inches of my face. She sniffed me, as though my elven aroma might explain if I was jokin’.

The human remained silent, starin’.

Didn’t think a human could be at a loss for words. Often apt to run their mouths before engagin’ a single brain cell. “Ya mind keepin’ this between us, for now?”

Lucas, brows dipped into his eyes, looked at Iza. She hid her face from him.

“Iza?”

A gurgle came from the dragon’s chest.

“Did ya already tell yar siblings?” Lucas pressed the dragon queen.

The gurgle repeated.

“Braes, I thought ya knew ya can’t talk in front of a dragon. What one knows, the others know.”

“Hmph. No difference. There are those who might not be so sad to see me go.”

“Nonsense,” Lucas snapped. “This community wouldn’t even exist if it wasn’t for ya.”

“And times change. It may be time for me to live among my own kind.”

“Ya’re wantin’ a missus, aren’t ya?” Lucas asked. A grin pricked one side of his face.

My chest tightened. No. Yes. No. This isn’t what my disarray is about, is it?

What do I want?

I wasn’t even sure I wanted to travel to the northern tip of the continent. The modern elven lands are so far away. The Valley has been my life for two decades. No, more. Not honestly a long time in elven years, but— I’ve more trollen friends now than I ever had elven. My kind aren’t about financial gain, ownin’ thin’s, so what I accomplished at the Inn isn’t a consequence. But the idea of walkin’ away from it is hard, nonetheless. The emotions broilin’ in my chest are very confusin’. Hm. What would they think about my southern accent. I picked it up without even noticin’ within weeks of arrivin’ in the Valley. Believe it comes and goes, without me even noticin’.

~

It was as cold in the north as in the Valley, for the tail end of summer. Iza would be happy to turn around and stop half-way back, in the lowlands where it’s warm. From the sky, it didn’t look like much has changed. That’s the elven way. If it hadn’t been for the wars, our kind would still be livin’ in the giant conifers.

The replanted forests look little different than they did when I left the North. My parent’s home, as unchanged. They peered at Iza about the way I expected, mostly indifferently.

My father stood unsmilin’, keepin’ his place with one finger stuck into his book, like he was ready for us to leave so he could get back to his readin’. The elven bull isn’t much for showin’ emotion—if any exists in his heart. As a younger elfling, never picked up a sense of a heart from the bull.

I’m gonna miss the loud ogres and cantankerous trolls.

Iza launched into the air with Lucas. My chest tightened, tightened more.

What have I done?

~

It took me several days to clean out my old, humble home. Spent more time droppin’ by neighbors than cleanin’. Might as well kept cleanin’, for the interest they shared about my return. The elven race has stagnated. They don’t travel, see no one, and experience nothin’ new. That was a hard recognition. A very sad one.

What has happened to my kind? They were looked up to by all, as the keepers of knowledge, the world’s history. But we stopped learnin’. Where are our enlightened?

The weeks passed and I began to accept the simple peace of my folk. There’s no shoutin’, rushin’, surprise visitors, unhappy patrons, cranky vendors, gossipy females, or raw-soundin’ rows over illegal moves on the checker board. But I still sorely missed the Valley. Every day my internal conflict grew as I got ever more comfortable with the quiet of the clan, woke without the challenge of keepin’ patrons happy, an Inn properly run and supplied.

~

The Blue Jays cawed to warn of the advancin’ visitors. I dabbed the quill of my pen to remove the excess ink before settin’ it down, and blew on the current page of my journal before closin’ it. I rose stiffly and walked to the open door, hopin’ for a loud ogre or troll to break up the stillness of the Earth.

I recognized the green-clad elf bull walkin’ up the path, but not the tall hen with him. My mind spun, tryin’ to place her. If she was of the clan, she was from a family that didn’t join the monthly councils.

She wasn’t particularly attractive, a tiny thin’ for a nose, eyes overly wide, hair that gleamed with too much reddish hue—like a dwarf, round cheeks—overall very un-elfish. Too tall. I would have to look up to her. The poor hen appeared half-human. What a burden to live with.

I looked back at the elf bull tryin’ to remember his name. He wore his Sabbath clothes, odd for a workin’ day.

Oh my gosh.

My chest tightened. There could be no other reason for a bull wearin’ his fine clothes, escortin’ a hen in the middle of the day.

A formal family introduction. A prelude to courtin’!

“Good day, Master Braes,” the bull greeted me without a smile, face as stern as a brick. He reached out his hand briskly, like he wished to get a deed done so he could go about his business.

“Glendin, correct?” I shook his hand.

“How kind of you to remember me. I’ve not lived within the clan for long,” the bull said. “My mates’s.” He continued in a rush. “This is my sister Gadewyn, come a visiting from my clan south.”

The homely hen gave me a nod and a little bow, but didn’t say anythin’. I got the feelin’ from her expression she was no happier to be here than her brother. For some reason, that allowed me a relief from my anxiety. Perhaps I misread the situation. Could they be here on council business?

Glendin fell silent. I stood dumbly for a moment before I realized it was my turn to speak.

“Gl—glad to—to make yar acquaintance, Gadewyn,” I said. “Care to join me for a spot of tea?”

“That would be nice,” Glendin said, still not smilin’.

I ushered them in with a wave. At the kitchen table, I hurried to clean the tea sieve, my anxiety risin’ again. Was too quiet in the little room. The two visitors studied my every move. I spilled tea leaves, knocked over the pot splashin’ the table with the remainder of the morning’s drink, burned my hand on the kettle when I removed it from the hearth, and managed almost as much of the steamin’ water on the table as in the teapot.

I caught Glendin’s eye. He seemed to express pity for me, but his lips remained clamped.

“Such a dolt I am,” I mumbled, as I wiped up the table with a dish towel. “Are the two of ya out for a stroll today, or is there somethin’ I can help ya with?” I asked. Might as well get business movin’.

The two stared at the seepin’ tea pot. The quiet made my skin crawl.

“Beautiful day it is, eh?” I tried again. Still quiet. Maybe they’re shocked by my southern accent. Maybe, should try to dull it some.

The hen’s harsh expression softened the tiniest amount. The thinnest smile challenged her face.

“It’s a brother’s duty to introduce his spinster sister to those available to mate,” Glendin said.

I felt my jaw go slack. That was indeed straight to the point. Though it made her appear more like farm stock than family. I stared at the elf bull, notin’ in my peripheral vision that the hen jerked her head to face her brother as well. I turned toward her. The expression paintin’ her face was much more brutal than before. It was deadly. I was glad it wasn’t directed at me. Prolly only family affiliation saved Glendin’s very life. That, and the fact she didn’t have a sword or hammer on her hip.

“Why don’t you say as well, I’m healthy as a witch, strong as an ox, a good cook with a sound dowry while you’re humiliating me, you nincompoop.”

Glendin turned a pleasant ochre-red. Gaze alternated between Gadewyn and me. No doubt the brother didn’t have a great way with words on a good day. This particular day didn’t appear to be one of his best.

“Those things are true, Master Braes. She is a fine catch, she is. Well spoken and conversational. But mindful of her place, of course.”

Gadewyn stood, her chair screechin’ as she pushed away from the table, before it fell over with a crash. She grabbed the handle of the tea pot and poured, shook what she could from it, into her brother’s lap.

The wail from Glendin, the noise of his own chair in his haste to rise, half-covered whatever it was Gadewyn mumbled as she stormed from the cottage. I watched her go, enjoyin’ the rhythmic jerk of her skirt left and right, the well-filled feminine hips, tight-balled fists beatin’ the air, braided hair dancin’ back and forth. I listened to the sharp-spoken words idiot, fool, and buffoon repeated, or echoed back from the woods.

“Family of circus jesters,” was the last thin’ I think she said.

“Did I mention she has spirit?” Glendin asked, pickin’ his trousers away from his flesh, jigglin’ as though he endeavored to get the continental coins settled in his pockets.

I didn’t answer. Walked to the door and followed Gadewyn’s progress up the leaf-covered path with my eyes. The elf hen reminded me much of my dear friend Eina. The troll hen is the sweetest thin’ I’d ever met, but always ready to rip into anyone who crossed her. Actually, Gadewyn even looks a tad like her, without the towerin’ height and dreadlocks, minus the reddish hair and freckles, or the trollish nose. Hmm. What is it about Gadewyn that made me think of Eina? Maybe only the spirit.

I leaned against the door jamb and crossed my arms. The Inn needs a proper elven mistress.

~