Siblings Bele and Hale, Black Lake Novel 7

Chapter Forty

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Alex asked me, in a shaky whisper, “Are we going to die?”

I squeezed him a bit tighter against me. In the glow of the hearth, his lips appeared black. More likely blue with the cold. I leaned into him to get my face to his. Not that I had much warmth left in my carcass either. In the last five hours the wind had finally fallen to maybe a cat 2 level. But my experience, one of these nasty Norwesters didn’t give much of the chill up for a good twenty to thirty hours. Even the Hamlet two hundred miles away would be well dusted with snow.

Alex’s breath already sounded shallow. My pathetic ogre butt would never be the same, sitting on frozen granite, with the human stretched out across my lap, but I couldn’t complain. I’d shamed the fool into this enterprise. I pulled his legs up higher, onto what was left of Hale’s knees, what Beky wasn’t coverin’.

The tiny orc jerked a bit. Not asleep. Comatose. I reconsidered an earlier thought, that it might be better to be awake and pacin’ the floor. I still came to the same conclusion. Activity may create the sensation of warmth, but it also burned up critical energy the body needed to keep organs fed with oxygen. Sometimes unconsciousness is better.

I blinked away a tear, and turned away from the hearth. Hale stared, orange flickerin’ in his eyes. Sensed the pain ricochetin’ through his legs and back. He hadn’t budged a muscle since last feeding a couple blocks of wood on the fire an hour ago. It was my turn, maybe. Maybe feel good to get my frozen butt off the granite.

“Go ahead,” Hale whispered, “if ya want, but it doesn’t really help. Feels like someone jabbin’ a spear in ya with every movement.”

Is it fair he can read my mind now? I asked him without words, how Beky was doin’. He shook his head. For a bull with no emotions, I got a lot of despair waftin’ off of him. “We’ll be okay,” I whispered.

He nodded. But wasn’t convinced. Neither was I.

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Hale

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Despite Bele thinkin’ about feedin’ the fire, it was easier for me, with only the tiny orc in my lap. A lot easier to pick her up without disturbin’ her.

Only seven blocks left. We’d gone through an amazin’ amount of wood in the last dozen hours. The sun had to be up, right? Why was it so dark still? The wind still howled. At least the gravel wasn’t pittin’ the ancient five-inch-thick glass any longer.

We’ve comfortably survived a dandy blizzard in the Hamlet most every winter of our lives. But most of the wind beat the peaks—where we are now—with only the more gentle folds of snow fallin’ in the Black Lake Valley. Risin’ up twenty, even thirty feet against the house, it acted more insulation to the low temps.

As younglings, we’d have a blast diggin’ miles of tunnels to each other’s homes. Grand fun. Work like psychos the entire day, forgettin’ to even stop for a snack. Not somethin’ ogre young often forget about. If our elders had told us we had to work so hard, we would have become enraged. Of course the novelty was never as rich the followin’ day. Less the next. And the next. By the followin’ week, there wasn’t a complaint we’d fail to fling, as we remained locked inside.

Beky stirred, and I froze for a moment. Just the one hitch. So I went about settlin’ three of our last blocks into the fire.

“Is it sunrise?” Beky’s hoarse voice startled me.

Sun had to be up. But the snow banked against the window blocked out any light. So I told her no. “Go back to sleep.” She nodded. Snuggled a little bit into my chest.

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