Blacklake-Book4-1 Three Cousins

Chapter 22
~

Ezo sided next to my desk, hunked her head and a thumb toward the entrance, and said, “Ya gota couple visitors.”

It maybe took me a moment to pull my thoughts from the GUI spec I was reviewin’, before I glanced to the front of the broad room, at the bull and hen standin’ near the entrance.

“Sellin’ something?” I asked.

“No. I think their bully was one of em who attacked Ezra last night.”

“They admit to that?” I asked.

“No. The one still in the hospital—went to the community college with him. I remember meetin’ em at some gathering.” Ezo shrugged, almost in apology.

I considered tellin’ her to tell em to go away. But then the sadness on the bull’s face hit me. I could almost sense him shakin’ from here. I told Ezo thanks, stood, and strode that way.

The hen gripped her hands together. Eyes were washed red. Couldn’t really say what made the bull look so pathetic, but it folded around him like a fog.

“Thank ya for seein’ us,” the hen said. Her mate nodded deeply, almost a bow. “Won’t waste yar time. We’re here to petition leniency for our youngest.”

“I’m not gonna be judgin’ him,” I said.

“No. But ya can talk to those involved in the decision.”

Uh, so could they. I asked why I would want to speak for him. Maybe a little abruptly.

“My bully was a fool, to go along with that crowd of no-accounts. He deserves punishment, but I gotta say, a perforated lung and four broken ribs is a pretty good reward for his idjitry.”

“All the same, the six were one in tryin’ to abduct my cousin. I expect all of em will get the same punishment.”

“Please.” The mate’s bull stepped nearer, but not in front of his hen. “His exile will kill me and my mate. The disgrace will ruin his life. He’s barely old enough to vote for his clan leader. Will likely have to live outside a clan the rest of his life, for twenty minutes of disengagin’ his brain. Please help us.”

“Most punishment is less about the deed, than to discourage the next foolishness.” I think I heard Papa mumble that once.

“He’s just a youngling,” he said.

“As old as me,” I said. “We all have to be responsible for—”

“Aye,” the hen rushed to say. “Not here to deny or lessen his failure. Not easy to beg. But I’ll beg anyone I have to, to avoid the punishment he’s likely to face.”

We ogres fear clan expulsion more than death.

“There’s an alternative,” the bull growled, half under his breath.”

The hen ripped him an almost-angry face. As though he was about to suggest something they’d already ruled out raisin’.

“Long before ogres stretched across the Western Plain and throughout the Range—”

His hen growled, but he kept going. “When a clan couldn’t easily bear the loss of a single resource, we embraced a different kind of punishment.”

I of course knew where he was goin’. But even in grade school history class, we learned our kind had grown enlightened and turned away from physical punishment. Generations have lived and died, since disgusted with—

“Distasteful, yes,” the bull said. “But the memory of a hundred lashes will fade quicker than the shame and repercussions of clan exile.”

Tears actually threaded down the hen’s face. I considered suggestin’ the entire family could join him in the Wildes. But then, the Wildes aren’t that wild any longer, nor sparsely populated, so that a neighbor might be more concerned what brought a settler to locate nearby. Clan banishments have been respected down there for generations.

“I’m not gonna ruin my reputation suggestin’ such an archaic sentence,” I growled. Not that it was my role to put myself in the middle.

Perhaps the bull’s face turned a shade darker.

The hen stretched out her arm, as though to hide her mate from view. Maybe more a signal to shut his mouth. “It’s the judge’s purview, to decide upon a punishment. But I beg—”

“My cousin could just have easily broken yar youngling’s neck to protect herself. Ya could have been preparin’ for his dirge and pyre today. Think of that when ya worry ya’ll only be able to talk to him on the phone daily, whenever ya want.”

I appreciated the family’s shame—wasn’t just about the bully’s censure. We ogres more than embrace our hierarchical ways and conservative values. We’re maybe a bit judgmental. Part of what keeps the clan homogeneous in our beliefs.

I read her anguish transpire to anger, but wasn’t sure I cared. Daze had harassed me yesterday for failin’ to rise above emotion, to be better since I was one day expected to lead the clan and the council. That memory instantly burned, somewhere low in my chest. Was I lackin’ compassion for these two? Failin’ to consider the broader context?

Suddenly the hen was graspin’ the front of my polo and draggin’ me toward her, other hand reachin’ back to build a bit of momentum. “No, Mama,” her mate shrieked.

In reflex only, didn’t have time to come up with any kind of plan, my right fist plowed just beneath her sternum. Musta hit the right place, ’cause every bit of air in her lungs whooshed out. She bent almost double, and an un-ogre whine followed, before she let go of me, and her mate rushed her, still bent double, for the door.

~ Ezra ~

“Tell me ya didn’t strike the mama of one of my attackers,” I texted Ike.

“Geez,” He replied back. “It just happened. Ya have a camera set on my office?”

“Telegraph, tell a cousin,” I texted back. The cacklin’ around me in the kitchen still hadn’t let up. I headed for the side door, as though I needed quiet for a conversation, though I was just textin’ with my fool second-best cousin. He struck a hen. Was no longer up there with favorite status.

“Text ya later,” he replied. “Constable just arrived.”

Why would the constables be involved? I wasn’t gonna stand here wonderin’. I stepped outside and dialed the constable office. Didn’t recognize the voice, and asked for the sergeant. I should be embarrassed I didn’t recall his name. The hen didn’t ask, which sergeant, before askin’ me to hold. After a slice of a minute, my past creative writing classmate said, “Hey, Ezra.”

“How’d ya know this was me?” I asked. “Didn’t give the hen who answered—”

“I believe I’ve rightly figgered out that anything happening with that particular Birs bull, I’ll be hearing from ya.”

That shut me up for a moment.

“Yar folk sure are causin’ a ruckus in the Valley lately,” he continued, “considerin’ he’s the second Birs to be attacked, lately.”

What’d he mean? Hadn’t heard anything about Ike bein’ attacked. But I was thankful he didn’t mention constables havin’ to pull Ike off of Thomas a couple days ago.

“So embarrassed ya can’t speak?” he asked.

I sucked in a quick breath. “He was attacked?”

“Like ya, didn’t allow it to go very far.”

“So, why’s a constable showin’ up at Ike’s office?” I asked.

“Not that it’s yar business. But we don’t much like assaults to perpetuate the precinct. And we like to ask a couple questions before we arrest the mama of a youngling we have handcuffed at the hospital.”

“She hurt Ike?” I think I half-screamed.

“Didn’t I mention he was as progressive as ya?” I could hear the stinkin’ humor in his voice. Progressive, what did that mean?

“So he’s not in trouble?” I asked.

“Do ya want him to be?” He asked. “I could arrange something, if ya want.”

Jerk. Was that troll flirtin’?

~