Expiring Covenant (Black Lake Book 1)

Chapter 17
Yoso

~

The billies grazin’ nearby belched in irritation and I closed my book of poetry, settin’ it in my lap. I searched the distance for whatever the goats challenged, stood to get a better view. I made out the lumberin’ shoulders of a troll with swayin’ dreadlocks. A hen, and she had a passel of younglin’s with her. Darted about like younglin’s do, with more energy than brains, heads nonetheless dipped, unused to the sun-bathed, green world outside the mines. My heart lurched and my jaw dropped.

“Could it be?” I stared. “It couldn’t.” I shook my head.

I set the book in my chair and walked down the cobblestone path that led from our cozy dugout. The distance and the hen’s veil blockin’ the glare made me unsure if it was truly my daughter—I’d recently learned that human word, like it a lot better than the Southern, hen offspring—but reason dictated it must be her. I stumbled into a run, as best as an old troll can manage in deep, late-summer grass.

“Avena?” I shouted.

The visitor pulled back the scarf and arched her hand above her brow. A smile crossed her face. She waved at the four lil’ bulls walkin’ around her, to encourage them to run to their grandpapa. Five bulls. Five. She’s been doin’ her best to help the troll population soar.

I stopped, and sucked in needed air, and let them come to me. Avena got a better grip of the youngest she carried, and pulled up her dress with her other hand to hurry.

The eldest of the five, I tried to remember his name, it had been so long since I’d seen him, picked up one of the younger bulls. The other two trollin’s ran forward as they were encouraged. They came up to me and stopped, studyin’ their toes. The one wouldn’t have remembered me. The younger ones had never met me. I bent down onto a creakin’ knee to greet them.

“Ya must be Nyst,” I said. “And ya’re Rykn?”

The trollin’ turned an irritated expression to me. “Riv!”

“Happy to make yar acquaintance,” I said, puttin’ out my hand.

Nyst looked to his right, toward the dugout, and dashed away. Riv followed.

“No hug. Phft,” I grumbled. “Not even a shake?” I shouted after them.

“Who would guess? Ya’ve been around them so much.”

I looked up at the angry scowl of the oldest. I was certain of this one’s name. “Hello, Loq,” I said, standin’ with a groan.

The eldest trollin’ looked down at the questionin’ expression of his younger siblin’ in his arms, but didn’t answer me.

“Ya’re growin’ into a strappin’ bull.”

The younglin’ didn’t move a twitch.

“Which one is this?” I asked.

“Hard to keep track over the seasons, is it?” Loq said. It wasn’t really a question. As any old troll can remember five names. Five.

Avena made it to us and rushed into my arms.

“Papa. So glad to see ya.”

I bore down to hug her back, but she was already pullin’ away, fussin’ with the youngest trollin’. She swung a pack off her back and held it out to me.

“Let’s go meet yar grandmama,” she said to the toddler, settin’ him down. She gave him a slap on the fanny, and the trollin’-bull took off after his two older siblin’s.

“Yar mama isn’t here,” I said.

The hen’s face turned into a panic. Hands flew to the side of her head, mouth gapin’ open. “When?” she screamed.

“Settle down. I said not here, not passed on.”

Avena twisted her face awkwardly. “What else would take mama out of her home? I’ve never seen her outside before. Except when ya originally dragged her here.”

Dragged. I guess I did. “Makin’ a life for herself,” I said, but my hen offspring was already rushin’ past me.

She ran to the dugout, through the open door. “Mama!”

She stepped out a moment later. Concern draped over her face, but I had another problem.

“Get off there,” I shouted. The stinkin’ three middle sons were on top of the dome coverin’ the dugout, jumpin’ up and down, as though it was their tailor-made bouncin’ toy. The toddler was crawlin’ through the tall sod to join them.

Avena grimaced. “Ya don’t have to shout.” She waved at the boys, but they kept jumpin’.

“Down!” I shouted.

All five bulls turned toward me, but it only made the three hesitate. They promptly returned to their fun. I hobbled over on achin’ knees and grabbed the littlest before he made it too far to reach. I held the trollin’ under my arm, the little bull’s hands and feet danglin’, as I pointed an angry thumb at the other three.

“Toun isn’t a bag of potatoes, Papa.”

“Please get them down from there,” I growled.

“They aren’t hurtin’ anythin’.”

“I’m gonna peel the hide off those trollin’s’ fannies like they were potatoes ready for the stew if ya don’t get them down from there.” I felt my voice break, my hands shake.

Avena whirled around with her fists on her hips, pursin’ her lips.

Inside my head I was thinkin’, smack her into the next season. Her mama so spoiled her rotten and she hasn’t yet grown up, despite bringin’ five bulls of her own into the world.

Loq took a step aside and placed his hand above his eyes, lookin’ north toward the woods. “What’s that?” he asked.

The three lil’ bulls spun around to see what their eldest brother found perplexin’. I stood glarin’, thinkin’ about the muck that would be fallin’ from the ceilin’ inside. Worried what the next storm would bring. Had they disturbed enough of the sod to let the rain make it through the underlyin’ thatch? The three scrambled off the roof of the dugout and sprinted for the forest.

“There,” Avena said. “Ya satisfied? Ya’ve grown into quite the poop,”

I held my breath and tightened my gut.

“Have ya been in the sun?” she asked. “Ya’re awfully red.”

She took the littlest tyke from me and looked about. “So where’s Mama?”

I didn’t get a chance to answer. In the distance I saw the three boys throwin’ rocks high into the limbs above.

Now what?

“Papa! Did ya hear me?”

“Loq, will ya please go see about yar brothers. Don’t let them pester the critters.”

The trollin’ glared indignantly. “They’re only critters,” he said.

Heat flooded my face. Only critters? “Only like ya’re an indignant little—”

“Papa!”

I marched around the lad for the woods. The three trollin’s were beginnin’ a new attack.

“Stop it!” I shouted, pushed myself into a run after them. My chest tightened. I struggled to catch my breath. They continued to ignore me. The middle trollin’ hurled a pebble I couldn’t stop. The elder pulled back his arm, fist graspin’ a large stone. I reached him in time to slap it out of his hand, the stone clattered to the ground. The bull turned an angry face at me. The frantic chirpin’ of an unfledged jay fell from the tree. The flutter of its immature wings gave me a pang of pain that radiated across my shoulders, sent heat shootin’ through my face. The three bulls turned toward the tiny thin’, laughin’.

I reached out and grabbed the closest by the ear and tugged him along until I reached the other two. Grabbed at one’s shirt to pull him against his brother—grabbed a fistful of both of their shirts and pulled them, along with the third to the trunk of a tree and thrust them to the ground.

“Sit!” I shouted.

Their anger turned quickly to fear, as I hovered over them, growlin’.

“We’re gonna talk about the sanctity of life! All life! From the humblest crawlin’ thin’, to the noble eagle soarin’ in the sky!”

One of the bulls motioned to rise.

“Ya’re gonna sit and listen, or I’ll skin the hide off yar butt.”

I stammered through my angry rant, fearin’ my brat-offspring would show up. I hadn’t properly raised her, but I wasn’t gonna allow the present situation to pass without doin’ what was right. That poor jay didn’t deserve bein’ thrust to the ground before its time.

Half-way through my lesson, the youngest cried, and the other two sniffled, their eyes as big as silver coins. “We’ll not be takin’ life for sport or fun,” I screeched at the top of my lungs.

I swallowed to soften the burn in my throat. What an introduction to their grandpapa.

They looked up at me as though they peered into the eyes of a daemon.

“Have I made myself clear?” I boomed.

They nodded, but looked past me. I turned to see what interested them so much. Master Braes neared, his eyes rimmed red. Clearly he had heard my outrage, and was moved.

“My apologies, Master Yoso. With these ears,” he said pointin’ at the side of his head, “any pained shout like yars couldn’t be ignored. If you would allow me, I’d be interested in teachin’ them about their fosterin’ task. I have some experience in the matter. The bird will not take food from another kind. It will have to be thrust down the poor thing’s throat.”

Tears flowed freely down Braes’ cheeks. The three trollin’s looked at the elf in awe—no doubt the first non-troll they’d ever seen. I nodded and took a step back. Braes gave the three a wave for them to follow him, but pressed his finger against his lips.

The three bulls dodged the swoopin’ parents of the chick they collected off the ground. It wouldn’t survive. With luck they’ll become attached, and be moved when it dies. Perhaps that will save the life of other innocent creatures in the future.

I turned and walked down the hill toward my home, and my hen—daughter. My mind spun with the emotion of the last half-hour. It jerked at my thoughts, that Avena had never climbed the hill to investigate what was goin’ on with her three.

Enterin’ the dugout, I took in the debris that had fallen everywhere from the younglin’s’ onslaught on the roof—sight of the littlest tyke on the floor with every pot and pan, every personal doodad Eina and I had displayed on our bureau.

I bent and picked up the broken clay sculpture the orc, Janding, had presented me a few days earlier—a token of thanks. I thought of the tear the younglin’ shed when he’d held it out to me. He said he wished it was more. With a shakin’ hand, I turned the likeness of the eagle about in my hands. My finger traced over the rough edge where the wing snapped off. I glared at my daughter lyin’ indifferently on our bed, fannin’ her face.

Where’s Loq? Don’t know why that question struck me. But he wasn’t with his siblin’s up the hill, and he’s not here now.

“Finally. Ya’re home. What’s for dinner? It was an awful hike gettin’ here. And where’s Mama? I find it hard to believe she’s trekked to her home-mine alone.”

“Get up and clean this mess,” I said. “I’ll not treat ya as a guest if ya can’t behave like one.”

“A guest? What’s come over ya, Papa? Have ya lost yar mind?”

I found myself strainin’ against never-experienced emotions. Past seasons I spent so much time tendin’ goats that needed no tendin’, and huntin’, passin’ game hour after hour without attemptin’ to snag it. I had mused I was becomin’ a woodsman-dwarf.

I always preferred the solitude of the forest—to the mayhem Eina allowed. I’d given the hen a free hand.

“I’ll find Loq and have him build ya a fire, while ya get this place picked up,” I growled.

“I don’t appreciate yar tone,” she answered.

I whirled around. “My tone?”

“I’ve left a mate who spoke meanly to me. I won’t put up with it from my own papa, either.”

“P— put up with! Im—imagine him lettin’ his jewel dance out of the mine without a battle,” I said, voice boomin’.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded.

“Hen!” I paused. “I’ll always love ya, but I’m too old to put up with the attitude yar mama allowed to fester in ya. I’m not the troll I used to be, but I’ll pull ya over my knee and wail away at ya as I shoulda two decades ago!”

Avena’s jaw dropped. “Mama won’t put up with that kind of talk, and ya know it,” she sneered.

I laughed.

Avena said, “Ya—ya can just collect yar huntin’ furs and go—go a-hikin’ until ya settle down.”

“I won’t take—” I sucked in a breath, pointed my thumb at my daughter. Bent and picked up the two packs she and Loq left lyin’ on the floor.

She glared at me. “Papa! What’s come over ya?”

“I’ve matured. I wish ya had. If ya can’t behave appropriately with yar papa, ya can go and stay at the inn.” I dropped the packs into her lap.

She blinked. “Ya’re not serious.”

“If ya can’t see that I am, I raised a fool,” I said.

She stood. “The inn?” she asked.

“The big buildin’ ya shoulda noticed on Master Estn’s property.”

“Master Estn built an inn?” she asked.

“Before ya go, clean up this mess.” Anger flared again, and I tilted my head. A soft growl vibrated from my chest. “I changed my mind. Ya can stay in this mess. I’ll go to the inn and live in peace.”

I turned and strode out.

Loq was at the lake’s edge skippin’ rocks on the water. I almost walked on to the inn, but somethin’ made me turn my steps toward my grandsire. The young bull no doubt heard me approach, but kept at his sport. I lamented at the lack of skill the trollin’ demonstrated. Spendin’ his life in the mines didn’t give him much opportunity to practice it. How was he even aware of the pastime?

“I know, I’m not very good,” Loq said, not turnin’ around.

I held my tongue as I searched for the right words. Finally settled with, “This shore doesn’t have very flat rocks.”

Loq grunted. “Papa said Mama would walk all over ya.” He paused. “Wouldn’t he be surprised?”

I smiled. Stood silently and watched Loq for a bit. “Ya ever play the game of checkers?”

“Never heard of it.”

“Tis a shame,” I said.

“Do ya have to throw anythin’ with checkers?” Loq asked.

“Only tantrums when yar grandpapa beats ya.”

The bull laughed.

“Ya hungry?” I asked.

Loq finally turned around and faced me. “I could eat an orc or two,” he said.

I looked to my left and right a little guiltily. “Ya need to be findin’ a new expression,” I said. “We got some of them livin’ in our community here.”

“Orcs?” His chin dropped. “I thought they were made up beasts, to scare younglin’s.”

“Stories of orcs have always been used to scare younglin’s, but they aren’t made up. Though, meetin’ our new orc neighbors, I’m suspectin’ the stories were stretched as thin as a spider web.”

I waved the lad to come along, and we walked toward the inn. Loq asked dozens of questions about Black Lake, the inn, his grandma, my bull siblin’, whom he’d never met. His eyes grew bigger as we approached the inn and he made out the forms sittin’ on the veranda.

“What are those, Grandpapa?”

“Humans,” I said.

“I thought they’re our mortal enemies?”

“To hear some trolls talk, ya’d think the wars never concluded,” I mumbled. “Wait till ya go to work with me tomorrow.”

Loq nearly stumbled on the first step of the stairs. He turned to me.

“Ya have anythin’ against work?” I asked.

“No, sir.”

“Good. Because we’ll be workin’ on an addition to my good friend’s home. He happens to be an ogre.”

“An ogre?”

“Help out an old troll, Loq. What are yar brothers’ names?”

“Nyst, Riv, Rykn, Toun,” he sang.

“Nyst, Riv, Rykn—”

“Toun.”

“That’s quite a brood, indeed.”

~