Expiring Covenant (Black Lake Book 1)

Chapter 1
Birs
~

The night breeze thrust the smoke of the pyre into my face. Eyes watered and snout burned from the acrid stench. I longed to escape. If I heard one more ogre bull or hen say, “It was for the best,” I might be inclined to firmly grasp the speaker’s throat and squeeze.

Papa and Mama dyin’ within hours of one another was not for the best.

Best woulda been both recoverin’ from the black cough.

If they were meant to die, why did they have to suffer through the entire winter? Reach the promise of spring, only to— It wasn’t fair.

The ogre who would replace Papa as clan leader stepped in front of me. At least the bull gave me somethin’ to look at, other than the flames and smoke.

“Birs, yar papa, God rest ’im, helped forge strong alliances for the clan. He had a spine like no other I’ve ever met. He’ll be missed. Yar mama was an angel. She gave comfort when few could see good on dark days.”

The ogre’s hand landed heavily on my shoulder.

My papa was a bully, mama a witch who could manipulate a snake to dance. Why do people lie at funerals?

“The council will meet at the full moon.”

It does every month.

“Be there to take yar seat. That is what yar papa would want ya to do.”

Ya just want me to be yar lackey too. I served my papa’s whims my whole life. I’m done with that. “I believe,” I said instead, “I’ll be goin’ a wanderin’ for a bit. I’ve been tied down all winter. They were ill so long. I need time to calm my mind.”

The bull’s eyes narrowed. “What of yar place? Yar stock?”

“I’ll be movin’ what I can into the hills to forage through the summer. Have a couple ogrelin’s picked out from a northern village relishin’ the task. I’ll sell the chickens and such for coin.”

The elder opened his mouth to speak, but another ogre thrust his hand at me. I took the new ogre’s fist and gripped it solemnly, listenin’ to the stale words of condolence, wishin’ the new clan leader would move away. The interlopin’ ogre’s mate embraced me. She sniffed in my ear to prove her tears. I didn’t believe it for a moment.

When she let go, the stinkin’ elder, stubborn to a fault, grabbed me by the arm, led me away from the others, hissin’ in my ear, “I know ya were behind every move yar papa made the last ten years.”

“I— I hardly owned my papa’s agenda,” I said.

“When he insulted those who woulda followed him, ya came behind and smoothed hurt feelin’s and brought them around. The clan needs ya. The clan respects ya like no other.”

“The clan will do fine without sire or son,” I said.

“There is no ogre who works as hard, or as smart as ya. When ya were only fifteen, I knew ya would one day replace yar papa as clan leader. It’s in yar blood. Ya owe it to the clan.”

“Where was the clan when the two of ’em coughed up their lungs?” I found my tone harsher than intended, but continued, peltin’ the surprised elder. “I saw no one tendin’ to my parents, visitin’, helpin’ with naught. Ya appeared only when ya needed an approval for one thin’ or another, and ya were promptly off on yar way.

“I had to leave my folks alone in the middle of the night to search out the healer time and again, ’cause no one was ever there to console them in their pain.

“My mama was not a kind ogre hen, but she stepped forward any time there was a sick member of the clan. She washed soiled linens, mopped fevered foreheads, stoked the fire, and cooked.

“Don’t speak to me about what I owe the clan, or I may throw ya on the remains of that fire.” I pointed at the flickerin’ embers.

The soon-to-be leader cleared his throat, looked at the ground a moment, before slippin’ away into the gloom.

~

No urgency pressed me to reach the highlands. There would still be snow on the peaks and shadowed crevasses. My heart remained heavy, despite the beauty of the weather. The weight of my pack, with half my belongin’s tied to it, far from encouraged me to rush. Besides, my favorite goats Bert and Twitty strolled behind in no hurry either. As the day progressed, they showed more interest in tryin’ out the local grasses than keepin’ up. So I allowed myself to take frequent breaks.

“I’ll be there when I’m there,” I mumbled, again droppin’ my pack to the ground.

Bert and Twitty rushed forward to see if I’d found somethin’ especially delectable to stop for. When they saw I hadn’t, they ambled away from the trees, where the sun better encouraged the grass.

I sat on my sleepin’ fur and plucked a sweet stalk of grass of my own to chew, mind wanderin’ as freely as my goats. Breathed in the aroma of the forest, the pine needles, crisp air strangely different from the lowlands. I thought of the elder’s words two days earlier, the friends I would miss, the home I abandoned, position in the clan.

My plan to live on the bank of the majical Black Lake made me shiver, if I was honest with myself. Was this an unwise endeavor? Many feared the waters of that lake. Spoke of the spirits that lived within, the danger of her depths.

My mind returned to what it tends to focus on most, the ogre hen who owned my heart. She’d no doubt accept my proposal—sooner if I remained in my parent’s home. The place was established, able to support a brood of a dozen. Why then did I traipse off where hardly a soul ever tread, consider strikin’ a new stake, far from any settled clan?

“I’m probably a fool,” I said aloud.

Thirty paces away, Bert belched.

“Ya didn’t have to agree with me so readily,” I called after the goat.

Billy and nanny glared my way as though I intruded upon their dinin’ pleasure. I wrenched a snarlin’ face at ’em. They remained unimpressed.

~

I skirted the shore of the lake for a full day, Bert and Twitty continually makin’ our progress painfully slow, before settlin’ upon a place to camp. The stinkin’ goats were in heaven with the lush, spring growth near the water. The valley I chose was a mile wide, sloped gently toward the water a hundred yards from the tree line, the grass so rich it held a purple hue in the afternoon light.

The wind would sweep across the shorefront harshly in the winter, but it was a magnificently beautiful place, with miles of the meanderin’ lake in view east to west, the stark crags of peaks stretchin’ across the entire breadth of the north shore. To the south, a single, massive, snow-capped pinnacle pointed up at the sky like one of the god’s raised hand demandin’ I go no farther.

I entertained myself for a bit watchin’ the two goats greedily gorge themselves. “Yar gonna make yarselves so stinkin’ sick.”

Movement at the tree line caught my eye. A gang of elk a dozen strong peered back. An enormous bull snorted a challenge, before leisurely leadin’ his harem away.

“A good sign,” I said, lookin’ back at Bert and Twitty. “Maybe not too many big cats, or wolf packs who might think two fat, lazy goats might be a tasty snack. I’ll still need to keep a close eye on ya two though.”

~

That night I saw the light across the water, an illuminated cabin window. I’d heard rumors a mean warlock dwarf lived on Black Lake’s shore somewhere. Never thought much about it. A bit embarrassed to admit I may have shivered. Not from the cold, but I threw another stick on the fire. Looked at the eyes of Bert reflectin’ the glow of the flickerin’ flames.

“Stay close, ya two.”

~

Bert woke me with a worried whinny. The sky in the east held a tinge of a glow. A herd of deer thirty strong traipsed between us and the edge of the water.

I’ve never in my life seen a herd that size in the lowlands.

I eased from my fur and reached for my bow. Before I managed to fix the string, my motion set them leapin’ away. I sat watchin’ the beauty of their aerobatics.

“Huntin’s gonna be better here than even the stories boasted. Won’t even need stock up here.”

Bert belched.

“No offense. I’ll need ya for milk and cheese.”

Bert belched again.

“Well maybe ya don’t provide that, lil’ bull, but ya help Twitty keep happy, so she can.”

The billy rose stiffly and walked into the gloom, his tail high in the air, sharin’ what he thought of his ogre friend that moment.

~

That first day, found my busy mind wouldn’t allow me to idle about, to rest from my recent turmoil, as I planned. Intended to explore more of the lakeshore, but decided I’d find no better site than right here. Besides, I might have to cross the path of that warlock dwarf. Just the thought of that made me shudder. Any hikin’ must include Bert and Twitty. Couldn’t leave them alone. Besides, in their new grass haven, they were far from motivated to budge.

I knuckled into first-light-to-dusk endeavors. Found a rockslide an elbow crook away, the perfect source for the thirty-odd boundary markers I’d set out to mark my stake. There was forest and shoreline to claim.

By the second day of effort I had grown tired of eatin’ jerked meat and honeyed oats, but didn’t dare yet leave my pets alone to hunt. It was time to try the Black Lake fishin’ of lore. First for some bait. I cut two, good-length ash poles, carefully unwound my precious seine, attached it to the two shafts, and sank one firmly into the ground at the edge of the water.

I walked into the lake with a smile on my face, but lost it with a shriek. “How can it be this cold?” I struggled to hold onto the end of the seine as a wicked shiver wracked me. I stepped deeper to avoid a clump of stones. In the slick muck I found myself slidin’ farther from the shore. I lowered the nettin’ and groaned as the water crept higher up my thigh.

“Cold!”

Gets deep fast, too.

Cramps gripped me, doublin’ me over in pain. Lost my balance and toppled forward, face plungin’ into blackness. The icy water penetrated my flesh like daggers, stole my breath. A force pressed me downward. Slipped deeper, and deeper, limbs suddenly useless weights.

The realization my predicament wasn’t an inconvenience but life threatenin’ helped me propel my arms to thrash, legs to search for the silt-covered earth. The cold was absolute, robbed me of every bit of energy.

I thought of Mama, and Papa.

It wasn’t time to greet them.

I broke the plane of the water, but the lake pulled me back down. I thrust hard with all my might only to be yanked farther from the shore it seemed by an invisible hand. I stretched to catch a breath, but drew in more water than air, and choked. My thrashin’ turned as painful as the cramps grippin’ my muscles. I sank, the sky above darkened. My lungs burned for air.

The water turned black as pitch.

A new pain jabbed me in the shoulder. I grabbed at whatever it was, clasped onto it, a pole of some sort. It pulled away. Did it draw nearer the shore, or farther away? For good or for bad, I held on. The glare of day made its way through the blackness.

I broke the surface of the water and tried to take in air, but all I could do was choke, to expel the water I’d already inhaled. One knee struck rock, then the other. I gouged numb hands into gravel and slowly pulled myself toward the shore, hand over hand.

Inches from my face, gentle creases of waves folded onto the shore. Could see safety, but my body bent frozen, unable to move. A new pain. Somethin’ pulled at my dreadlocks, propellin’ me forward.

“Don’t give up yet!” a deep rasp commanded.

Somehow my arms moved with the motion. Edged forward. Booted feet drew into focus. No ogre’s feet. Ogres don’t restrict their feet with unnecessary leather bindin’s.

“Move, ya over-sized imbecile!”

The yank of my hair ended as I cleared the water. I collapsed, curled up, overwhelmed with a convulsion, a single cramp that encompassed my entire body.

I may die yet. Never felt such pain before.

Bert and Twitty were next to me, nudgin’ me, but I didn’t want to open my eyes. Lay huggin’ myself, tremblin’ with the cold. A noise farther up the shore made me steal a peek, though. Struggled to tilt a stiff neck so I could locate what the sound might be. A peculiar shrimp of a bein’ bent over, stirred the embers of my campfire. The hip-tall creature muttered and shook his head.

A little brute as wide as tall, long unwieldy beard, hair danglin’ in a single thick thread, wearin’ boots. Humans wear boots. What other bein’s encumber themselves like that? The warlock. Dwarf.

A new fear shook me. The dwarf pulled me from certain death, I reasoned. Maybe it wasn’t as terrible a creature as the stories told. But he was goin’ through my thin’s. Maybe not all bad, but he’s lookin’ to steal me blind while I’m crippled.

The dwarf turned and walked toward me. Bert and Twitty skittered ten feet away, turned and watched with interest. The dwarf held clothes in his hands.

“Get out of those wet thin’s,” he screeched in Standish. “Hurry now!”

I tried to work a clasp of my shirt, but my stinkin’ fingers wouldn’t do as I wished, just trembled. The dwarf bent over me, yanked the shirt unkindly over my head, unlatched my belt and dragged my pants off as well. He barked somethin’ I didn’t understand, most likely in his own language, and Bert and Twitty ran back to us. The dwarf picked up the nanny, which was nearly as big as him.

“Wrap yar arms around yar goat, there,” he said.

I laid on the cold water-smoothed stones with my face pressed against Twitty’s hide, smelled her ripe scent, felt the dwarf rubbin’ my legs, dryin’ me, massagin’ my muscles.

“Get up now! Get yar blood movin’. The fire is what you need.”

I was lifted to my hands and knees.

“Up! Up!”

Every muscle ached as though pierced by an arrow. But somehow I made it up to the camp. Out of the breeze, under my furs, the agony worsened. Body jerked.

~

“Drink this!”

I opened my eyes and peered into an overly long face with a bulbous nose. Gray beard. Hadn’t dreamed up the short little creature.

“Take it!”

I rolled over, raised up on an elbow, and took the brass cup as commanded, sniffed at the musty aroma. The dwarf had scraped willow bark into sweetened tea.

“Drink it. Tisn’t scaldin’. Down fast. Warm up yar innards.”

I did as I was told. The dwarf refilled it from the kettle and handed it back. I ached too much to complain, drank down the second dose.

“All I can do for ya, fool. Stay out of the lake, ya idjit. Next time ya could be a feast for the water beasties. Drink more as ya can.” He pointed at my kettle.

The dwarf turned and walked away. His boots whisked through the tall grass, rasped against rock. The sweet scent of cut wood slowly diminished.

A woodsman. A noble trade. A neighbor not to fear. No warlock, maybe.

~