Chapter Eleven
~
It was officially day, though the higher peaks at our back would keep us in the gloom of the shadows for another forty-five minutes probably. Pullin’ back on the highway from fillin’ up, I glanced at Hale. His eyes scanned front to right, front to right, seemin’ly thrilled by the view. We grew up in these mountains. Don’t know what was so rivetin’. One stretch of peaks after another, pine trees bunched up everywhere, searchin’ for the sun.
We passed another on-ramp from the village we filled up at, a few trucks leanin’ in to join us. I settled in the left lane, accelerated to get past the long-haulers, and between one caught a glimpse of a white SUV pulled onto a wide shoulder for the purpose. Couldn’t be anythin’ other than a constable, and I groaned. Been on the road less than three hours.
Keepin’ my eyes checkin’ my rearview—yep, the beefy OM was catchin’ up to us quickly. I whimsically considered hittin’ the gas hard. Not as though there are any crossroads here on the turnpike that would allow me to avoid ’em. I felt Hale’s eyes studyin’ me. Deep sigh.
I flipped on my blinker as the red and blue flashed. Stink. Stink. Took a bit to find a stretch of the highway not bordered by guardrails, considerin’ we were often either in a tunnel or passin’ a raised portion of the highway with three-hundred foot drops. The long-haulers passed us, rockin’ the car hard. Hale asked me how fast I’d been goin’. I hadn’t checked. Hadn’t even re-set the cruise control yet.
Two minutes later an ogre trudged up to us on the right. Not a troll meanin’fully fixin’ a trooper’s hat on his head, on my left. The ogre wasn’t wearin’ a uniform. By the time the bull reached us though, a trooper hen did stand in front of her cruiser, arms crossed, irritated-like.
Our visitin’ bull tapped on Hale’s glass, and he rolled it down. My stomach wrenched left and right hard. Why was a bull in khakies and a pullover—
“May I join ya inside for a few minutes?” the bull asked. He waved at the backseat.
I was maybe feelin’ a little faint. This was more than a bit out of the ordinary. Why wasn’t the trooper here, askin’ for my license? Hale gave me a look, and my surroundin’s maybe clarified. They both were waitin’ on me to do somethin’. I unlocked the back doors, and the bull climbed in, after rearrangin’ our duffels.
“I’m clan leader of the local villages nearby.” He introduced himself, offered his hand.
Hale twisted in his seat and shook with him. I noticed the shiver cross Hale’s shoulders. He doesn’t like a lot of physical contact. Surprised me he even responded to the greetin’. Usually leaves the conversin’ up to me.
“Apologize for this, unorthodox meetin’. My friend—” He waved a hand to indicate the trooper standin’ behind us. “Not happy with me. Said ya can sue my pink ogre butt off for false somethin’ or other.”
We waited. Shivers were crossing my chest. Beads of sweat dappled my brow. Be ticked if it messed up my makeup. Noted my hands maybe cramped a bit on the steerin’ wheel.
“First time I’ve gotten to see ya in person,” he continued, eyes glued just on me in the rearview. “Ya’re a beautiful young hen, if ya don’t mind me sayin’.”
Maybe I shouldn’ta used a twelve-inch house brush to paint my eyes this mornin’.
“Uh. That’s me not knowin’ how to start, ya know, breakin’ the ice. Forgive me.”
We waited.
“Considered doin’ this officially, but the office would have had to request an audience, and the hullabaloo official nonsense, recordin’ the conversation and all, wasn’t somethin’ I— Never would have happened.”
This is weird. Hale’s eyes traipsed from him to me and back.
“Can ya get to the point?” Hale asked.
I jerked a bit, at Hale’s voice. Not used to him bein’ proactive, communicative-like.
Our guest nodded, with maybe a guilty expression crossin’ his face. “Ya’re close to our Range leader. It’s said. She’s very focused, strongly in favor of, what ’em liberals call normalizin’ relations with the North. And the word in the Statehouse is yar cousin Ike, who I personally look up to, but many of us disagree with on this one point, is facilitatin’ her agenda in certain ways.”
Okay. This was headin’ into Weirdsville. Maybe we’d already docked and were already nearly unloaded.
“Pretty sure ya’ll hear from our family’s attorney, stoppin’ and interferrin’ with us durin’ official clan duties,” Hale growled.
Really. Hale?
“If ya choose to, so be it,” our visitor said. “But the only way to get the emotions of ninety percent of the Range, who feel the North hasn’t yet paid for the Troubles—those of us who don’t live in the ivory tower of the Hamlet, was to reach ya in this underhanded way. We need ya to be aware of our position.
“Ya see. It’s no accident ya two were chosen to press the flesh with the Western clan leaders at the hoedown.”
What?
“The average political type, we would have access to. Official business could be entertained. We could press our agenda. Not easy to go through channels with—outsiders. Laws against such a thin’. Frowned upon.
“It was quite the nervy move, the council assignin’ ya, at this critical point in time. Comin’ in from the East, and three days later headin’ for the hoedown.
“Not proud of takin’ this avenue,” he continued.
Hale shocked me again. “The point.”
“Folk in the urban centers, Hamlet, the industrial South, Western ranchers, Eastern shippers, the minority, lookin’ at the dollars normalization would bring in.
“Those of us outside the ivory towers will pay for the impact of the injustices and unsettled social climate the North will have on us, the silent majority.”
“What’s that got to do with us?” Hale asked.
“No surprise to think two younglings influenced by liberals and big capitalists will be clueless to the preferences of the majority outside the Hamlet. Ya’re gonna be engagin’ in official conversations with Western uppity-ups who only care about financial bottom lines. Not fairness. Not right and wrong. Not the danger the Northern bigotry will have on our culture outside the ivory towers.”
Someone must have just clubbed me in the chest. Hoedowns are just social gatherin’s, aren’t they?
~
Hale
~
I’m glad he finally got to the point. Once he did, he rambled on a bit more than I thought necessary. Maybe bein’ younglings, in his words, meant Bele and I weren’t too terribly bright. And naive.
Truly the bull tried to go subtle. Maybe he didn’t want to scare us. Phft. Confuse us simpletons. Maybe sayin’ his piece in a few different manners expressed the nuances of his position.
Got to admit, gave me a bit to think about. Who knew hoedowns aren’t just the social gatherin’ I thought they are. Could he have known we’re headin’ North immediately after the gatherin’? Don’t know how he could. Professor probably hadn’t put it in the news or nothin’. But how did he catch up with us here on the turnpike? Hm.
He didn’t mention us studyin’ up North. He went on and on enough, he probably would have mentioned it, if he knew. Uncle Ike must be working on the sly, settin’ our spyin’ up.
Second truth. Can’t say I’d spent two synapses considerin’ Aunt Nuel’s political desires. Politics isn’t anythin’ Mama has ever broached on her daily calls. Papa doesn’t raise conversation ’bout nothin’. I’ve just the vaguest awareness that normalization was a subject of conversation in the Commons, or classrooms. Definitely not in the art department, where I spend all my free time.
Prolly the folk in the business college discuss it more.
A rapid-fire explosion made me jerk. Noted it rattled Bele a lot. No one shootin’ at us. She’d just driven up on the shoulder’s rumble strip. She jerked the other way, overcompensatin’, and then back to the right again. I checked the dash. She was goin’ considerably under the speed limit. Her knuckles tinged white on the steerin’ wheel at ten and two o’clock.
“Ya need me to drive?” I asked.
She jerked yet again. Don’t think my voice is rumble-strip-like.
She moved around a bit in her seat. Tryin’ to settle herself? “No. I’m good.”
Never seen Bele so rattled. Had there been somethin’ goin’ on I wasn’t aware of? Been a few days, but I thought back how that healer, our second day home, unsettled her. What did the hen call it? Touch? With the ethereal.
“Did ya get—a sense, from that clan leader?” I asked.
She maybe jerked a bit again. “What? Sense?”
“Yar ethereal business?”
She wrinkled her brow. A moment later laughed. I waited. I waited some more.
“Ya don’t believe in that stuff, right?” she finally asked.
“There are folk who don’t even believe in dragons,” I said. “Not gonna suggest most anythin’ is false, just because I can’t see it.”
She remained silent long enough I recognized I’d have to blab on my own self. “Ya’ve had an unnatural connection to me yar entire life. I pretty much don’t have to explain myself to ya at all. Not my emotions. Ya always know.”
“That’s different,” she said. “We’re twins.”
“Phft,” I snorted. “Less likely any more part of it than ya havin’ a connection with majic. Ya’ve always seemed majical to me.”
She laughed. Good. She recognized I was smilin’, on the inside. That proved she’s majical. “So why are ya so rattled over that bull?” I tossed a thumb over my shoulder.
She denied bein’ rattled. I snorted at her again. “Liar.”
“That’s rude. Ogres don’t lie.”
“Phft. Ya’re half troll.”
“Ya sayin’ Mama lies?”
“She’s always said I’m special, and ya’re beautiful, what do ya think?”
She leveled me a glare long enough she was back to the rumble strip.
“Everyone knows ya’re stupid, and that I’m gorgeous. So she only half lies.”
“Half lies are good,” I said.
She sighed. “I sensed no exaggeration or dishonesty from that guy.”
I waited. Maybe I’d opened her up.
“I’m shocked he got us pulled over to discuss somethin’ in politics we have no involvement or impact in.”
Hm. “He had a pretty good argument, that we needed to know there’s an issue. That it would be broached at the hoedown. That maybe we shouldn’t just take the blather without applyin’ a little of our own judgment. Ya don’t think he lied, that the conversations at the hoedown directly impact subsequent policy?”
She remained quiet a long time. Maybe I’d used too many words on her. Nah. The way hens go on and on, that’s not possible. Cluck. Cluck. Cluck.
“Are ya makin’ fun of me?” she asked.
There it was. That majic of hers.
My sister’s a witch. Who knew.
“I’m not a witch,” she hissed.
I nodded. Whatever ya say, witch.
She growled.
I wonder if humans think the giant growl is melodious? I think it is. Mama’s is gorgeous. Maybe Papa’s comes across a little more—intimidatin’.
~
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