Chapter Twelve
~
We hadn’t been back on the road thirty minutes when Hale’s phone rang, and heard Uncle Ike shout, “Put me on speaker.”
When Hale had, and told him to go ahead, Uncle talked a lot faster than I’m used to an ogre talkin’. It’s safe to say he was ticked off.
“I’m sorry for what happened,” he said, maybe hearin’ himself in his head, and slowin’ down a tad.
How had he heard? Neither of us had called anyone.
“Council attorneys have ripped him a new one. The Range council’s already acted to deny the clan any votes for the next two years. He’s been personally sanctioned with prejudice.”
That was fast. Papa’s complained the council can argue about the day of the week for three months.
“That’ll alienate them a bunch, doncha think,” Hale said.
I gave him a sharp look. There he went openin’ his mouth again. He might get in the habit and I’d never get him to shut up.
Uncle remained quiet a long moment. “Ya have somethin’ to say?”
“He didn’t lie about the hoops ya’ve jumped through to avoid the issue at the hoedown. So ya’ve ticked him off, and ya’ve ticked me and Bele off, for the despicable way ya’ve used us.”
Whoa. Ya go, bull. Though I wasn’t feelin’ used. More, confused.
“Despicable? Not usin’ ya,” Ike hissed.
Hale called him a liar, and a sudden intake of air made me half-choke, half-vomit. Yuck. Tasted terrible. I swallowed at it hard.
“Ya’re callin’ an ogre a liar?” Uncle close-to screamed. “Another bull, I’d shake ’em till their head flew off.”
Hale laughed, more cackled. “So, ya’re a little loose with yar honor. Not a big difference.”
Holy Moly.
“Ya’ve got a lot of nerve, ya—”
“Oh, save it,” Hale barked at Uncle. “I always thought it was odd ya, or no other council leader, or even Aunt Nuel, took us aside to chat about their expectations at the hoedown. Ya wanted us to be stupid, ignert, and unaware. Save ya from havin’ to go against folk who disagree with ya.”
Whoa. Uncle remained silent. Hale must have punched him right in the solar plexus.
“Ya don’t think much of me, do ya?” Uncle finally muttered.
Did he think he was gonna get sympathy from Hale now?
“Not this moment, no,” Hale answered. “Papa’s always said ya're so full of yarself ya can’t see the sky for yar own ego.”
“Yeah. He’s said that to my face, on many occasions. But we fling insults at one another for fun. It’s how we communicate. Ya take that to heart yar conflatin’ reality.”
“Maybe,” Hale said, “ya’ve gotten so used to getting’ yar way even when folk call ya on yar dragon pooh, ya think yar sky’s a different color than everyone else’s.”
Unexpectedly, Uncle laughed, hard, after a five-count.
Hale and I exchanged confused glances.
“Yar papa never let me get away with anythin’ either,” Uncle said softly. “Ya’re definitely yar papa’s offspring.” He paused a two-count. “Okay, tell me yar thoughts about the other thin’. Ya don’t think it’s politically bright to tick off the bull that pulled ya off the highway? I suspect that was a bit—disconcertin’.”
Askin’ us naive younglings about diplomacy?
“Pullin’ us over like that was indeed wrong,” Hale said. “But he didn’t think ya’d given him a choice. A bull with deep convictions can behave unexpectedly if ya don’t show ’em the respect they deserve. At least the consideration they believe they deserve.”
Uncle remained quiet.
“I think,” Hale continued, “ya oughta call the bull, apologize, tell him ya’ll get the action revoked.”
“Apologize? Phft.”
“Yes,” Hale hissed.
“I’m not reversin’ his personal sanction,” Uncle bellowed. “No one assaults a member of this family.”
“Wasn’t an assault,” I said. Thought it was time for me to speak up. Besides I felt left out. Not used to Hale doin’ all the talkin’.
“Assault. Tomato. Tomato. He messed with ya, on the open highway.”
“Turnpike,” I said. Felt good to get another word in.
“Ya’ve left us terribly unprepared for the hoedown,” Hale said.
“Yeah,” I hissed.
“I want ya to send us an unbiased summary of this issue, and any other we may be hit with. Or we’ll turn around and come home.”
I jerked a look at Hale. No. He was bluffin’. But don’t think Uncle would think he was. Hale has never played games. The spectrum leaves him pretty black and white.
“That would be embarrassin’ for the clan,” Uncle said. “Ya’d do that to yar kin?”
“Ya deserve a little cuttin’ down to size,” I said. Felt good.
“I said unbiased. In the next hour. Give us time to prepare as we drive.”
“An hour,” Uncle bellowed. “I—”
“Fifty-nine minutes and a few seconds, now,” Hale said.
Maybe my chest expanded a bit. I didn’t know my bull sibling has those kinds of tusks. Oh, I hate that expression. Hale and I have meagerly-sized tusks, whether we were full ogre or full troll. Just not right.
~
Hale
~
A sense of stinkin’ exhaustion flowed over me after we hung up with Uncle. Did it tire out others to engage in a conflict-filled conversation? Or just me? Was it the actual openin’ my mouth? Or the conflict itself?
Did it make any difference? Prolly, either way, I wasn’t gonna be able to improve how I respond to such thin’s.
Bele continued to glance at me. She could be a metronome sittin’ on a learner’s piano. What might her little majic be tellin’ her? Prolly shriekin’ that any moment I might traipse into an episode. But the terror, pressure that attacks my chest, is absent. It usually comes on quickly, incapacitates me. Shuts down my ability to cope, with whatever invasion is settin’ upon me.
Did pretty well Saturday in the gym. I sensed an episode takin’ over me, and my mind focused only on that, but the terror receded quickly. I sensed my surroundin’s in just a few moments.
Hadn’t had one in months. Many months. Which is very refreshin’. And to be able to recover, like that. Hallelujah. Let the gods and angels sing, dragons bugle from the heights. Gods and angels, a very troll thought. Dragons bugle, very ogrish.
My stomach growled. I could never think about food after previous episodes. Last thing I’d want. Checkin’ the dash, wouldn’t be a bad time to have a break. Even if we’ve only been back on the road an hour or so after fillin’ up.
Saliva tickled my tusks, imaginin’ a pile of barbecue ribs. Followed by a steak. Bele and I aren’t huge eaters like the typical ogre. Have a bit of a sluggish, trollish metabolism, but not quite. Not like we could make do with a bowl of insects followed up by a platter of squirmin’ centipedes. Thought made me shiver. How Mama eats those thin’s.
“Ya’re hungry?” Bele asked.
There goes that majic thin’.
“Not majic,” she mumbled. “I heard yar tummy.”
Giants don’t have tummies. We have guts. At least a beef-basket. Uh, ogres. Don’t know if trolls have that. Insect-basket? Cricket casket? Hate I don’t have bullish tusks. Been mistaken more times for a tall, homely human to irritate my ogre side. My trollish side prolly goes phish. Takes a bit more to tick off a troll. But not wise to do so. Have I ever really been ticked off? Insulted, sure. Got cousins, two in particular, loved to do nothin’ more than— Not good to think of that.
“Ya’re thinkin’ about Woriz and Izig?” Bele asked.
Why would she ask me that?
“Got a sense of irritation from ya, like ya got this mornin’ lookin’ out at Izig.”
“Yar majic is gonna irritate me,” I said.
“Or it’s just that we’re twins.”
I sighed. “Fraternal. Ya’re not that special to me.”
“Ya’re not special to anyone,” she said.
Phish.
“Mama may not even love ya.”
“I’ve been told ya’re adopted.”
“That was mean,” she whined.
We approached an exit that listed a slew of restaurants, and Bele pressed up her blinker. Guess we’re gonna eat.
“Ya said ya were hungry,” she said.
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
“Ya’re an idiot.”
“Ya’re a fool, and an idiot.”
Phish. “Must hurt not knowin’ who yar real folks are.”
“At least my adopted kin love me.”
~
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