Trolls and Tribulations

by Kevin Partner

  There were, perhaps, a dozen dials and switches, each with letters beautifully engraved in ancient Varman and, therefore, unreadable to Bill. He took a guess and grabbed what looked like the frame of a belt buckle - there was one on each side of the panel. He gave the left one a tug and gasped in surprise as the left arm of the machine swung round - reflecting his movements perfectly. He tried lifting his feet, and he felt the suit’s feet raise and the torso lean sideways to maintain perfect balance. He looked out of the visor, intending to warn Brianna that he was going to try moving the suit, but he was only just in time to see the suit to his left closing up. His girlfriend wasn’t, after all, the most patient of souls.

  Bill pushed his right foot in a sort of pseudo-step. With a creaking and hissing of escaping gas, the suit leaned forward and Bill found himself looking at the debris-laden floor, before repeating the movement with his left foot and then straightening up. Viewed from outside, he imagined, he’d have looked more like a grandpa getting out of his armchair after an afternoon nap than the killer robert about to sweep the black hordes aside. He scanned the instrument panel for any indication that there was anything amiss and, satisfied that he was ready, prepared to step again. He looked up just in time to see the back of Brianna’s suit as it stepped nimbly across the room and headed for the door. Her metalised voice emerged from inside his helmet. “Come on, slow-poach,” she said, and passed into the corridor outside.

  Bill went to follow.

  Chapter 28

  The elf lay next to a small fire and groaned. They’d camped on the precarious landing on the inside of the mountain door, and Mother Hemlock had ordered Marcello to lay the elf down in a small natural hollow and warm her up. The wizard had displayed all the compassion of an octopus with hemorrhoids as he’d done this, practically dropping the small creature and taking no care at all whether she was comfortable or not.

  Gramma was squatting in the corner, sucking on her pipe. She’d taken advantage of the fire to light the last of her tobacco and was watching Marcello closely. Aligvok crouched on the other side of the fire, his back to the wall, his eyes never leaving his rival wizard. As for Velicity, her attention was focused on the long stairway, as if she was hoping beyond hope to see someone climbing those stairs.

  “Cock,” Gramma said, pointing her pipe stem at Marcello, “I’m watching you, and if you don’t stop treating that lickle lass like a sack of smelly laundry, I’m goin’ to get bloody angry. And ‘great wizard’ or no, you won’t escape a leatherin’.”

  Marcello scowled and backed away. He found a step to his liking a little way down the staircase and leaned against the rock wall, his face impassive.

  Yes, that was a puzzle, thought Mother Hemlock. She was convinced that this was the Minus the Great, and that he had body-hopped his way down the centuries, extending his life way beyond its natural length. And yet he’d shown not a trace of magic, save a little posturing that was more bravado than incantation. Perhaps it was all cleverness with him, and he was clever, of that there was no doubt. She felt as though she was within a hair’s-breadth of seeing the answer, but she couldn’t quite join all the pieces together.

  And then there was the elf.

  “Oh, hello cock,” Gramma said, “how are you feeling? You’ve ‘ad a long sleep for such a lickle person.”

  The elf sat up. She wore a tattered shirt of what might once have been a bright yellow but that was now faded and covered in blood-stains both old and new. Her face was very pale and grimy with an oddly reptilian blankness to it, but her eyes a sparkling blue that hinted at a vivid, living, soul.

  The elf looked at each of those gathered around her in turn. Her face creased into a weak smile as she caught Velicity’s eyes and she seemed comforted as she held each of the witches in her entrancing gaze. And then the shutters descended as she looked at Aligvok, who was very definitely staring at the wall in a quite obvious and totally fake attempt at disinterest. Her face hardened, and she turned to Velicity.

  “It’s okay,” Velicity said, “she’s not one of us, we just brought her along for fear of what she might do if we left her behind.”

  “Dark soul,” the elf whispered. “It hides inside.”

  “Yes, cock. It’s bloody complicated and I ‘aven’t quite got my brain around it yet, but this ‘ere lickle girl is actually a miserable old wizard what got ‘is arse kicked centuries ago. Don’t ask me to explain it, cos I can’t.”

  Aligvok froze, looking like the world’s worst mime artist, as he fought between the competing desires to strike back and to pretend not to have heard.

  “Now, what’s your name, lickle elf?” Gramma continued. “This ‘ere is our Velicity and our Jessie. That miserable sod is called Alingcock, or somat, and down yonder is Marvolo.”

  “My name is Marcello,” said the wizard, unable to resist the futile temptation to correct the old woman. He rose out of the shadows of the stairs and stepped into the torchlight, “and that is the most dangerous creature you will ever meet. Kill her before it’s too late!”

  The elf looked, saw who was concealed beneath the unfamiliar body, and screamed.

  #

  Bill followed Brianna’s brazen backside as she headed smoothly down the corridor towards the distant gate to the Darkworld. Humunculus had gone ahead and was now barely visible except for the occasional glint reflected from Brianna’s lamps.

  The all pervading metallic tang of machine oil was shredding Bill’s already frayed nerves, but it was as nothing compared to the maddening squealing and grinding of hidden gears and the pinging of indicators. Despite the cacophony, he could hear his ears ringing. To make matters worse, he still hadn’t got the hang of using the suit. Brianna, by contrast, was striding confidently in a straight line while he meandered uncertainly, colliding with first one wall, then the other.

  “Slow down a bit, will you?” Bill said, listening to his unfamiliar artificial voice echoing down the corridor.

  Brianna turned, shaking her helmet, while somehow managing to keep walking forward. “We’ll lose him if we don’t hurry. I don’t trust that sly bastard.”

  “Neither do I,” Bill said, getting on a bit of a roll and catching her up. Or maybe she’d had pity on him and slowed a little. “But I don’t think we’d catch him, anyway. We’ve got to shut that door to the Darkworld with, or without, his help.”

  “Why don’t we just collapse the roof here and block the tunnel?” Brianna said, pointing upwards.

  Bill began lumbering past her. “We may have to, but I’d prefer to do it further along. Chortley said there’s a door up ahead with three levers - everything beyond that is the Darkworld. We need to find a way to seal the tunnel there.”

  “And what about him?” Brianna asked as she followed Bill impatiently. “We can’t let him get away. The gods only know what he’d be able to do in that machine body - the goblins seem to know he’s in there.”

  Bill lengthened his stride as he caught a last glimpse of the machine Humunculus ahead. He found, to his surprise, that the faster he moved, the more stable he seemed to be although he rather suspected it would prove easier to speed up than to stop. The overall impression of his tottering, falling, gait was like a jellyfish on stilts.

  They reached the door with the levers and passed through it. “Bill!”

  “I’m going to catch the bastard!”

  Sure enough, he was closing on Humunculus. Close enough to see the scampering form of Bently alongside him and close enough to get the impression that, ahead of Humunculus and on the edge of his vision, was a dark horde just like the one following them.

  “Come on!” Bill called as he teetered along the tunnel, sure now he wouldn’t be able to stop even if he wanted to.

  “Bill!” Brianna’s voice bounced off the tunnel walls, quieter now.

  And there was the door to the outside. It was lying in ruin, the grey sky of the Darkworld’s surface framed in the shattered stone opening. The light was cut off by the bulk of the Humuncu
lus machine as it passed outside and then it was back and there was no sign of him.

  “Bill, you idiot!”

  No, he was going to do this. He was going to bring that sly little shit down and drag him back to the tunnels. This was his moment.

  Thud, thud, thud. The metallic sound of his boots and the straining of gears filled his ears and his nose creased at the acrid smell of burning oil. He ignored everything and plunged through the open doorway and into the Darkworld.

  He ran onto the dark grey sand, almost falling as the surface yielded to his robotic feet. Momentarily dazzled by the dim, unnatural light of the Darkworld, he stopped and rubbed his eyes. The landscape was barren and rock-strewn, the flat escarpment he’d stumbled onto surrounded by stony hills in all directions. It was like a natural amphitheatre and, looking down at him from the cheap seats on either side sat a goblin horde, steel glinting from sword and spear.

  He swung round to find the entrance to the tunnel and there, blocking his way, stood the Humunculus machine, surrounded by large, brutish, guards with black swords. And Bently.

  “How delicious!” Humunculus crowed.

  Bill bellowed, leant forward and ran at the Faerie King, arms outstretched, fists clenched.

  He was so focused on smashing into that smug bastard and bringing his machine tumbling down, that he didn’t spot the rope that had been pulled tight in his path until he was already toppling.

  “Bill!”

  He hit the ground, his head slamming against the inside of the helmet and bouncing back again as the suit rolled over and came to rest on its back. Bill felt dozens of impacts on the wood and metal skin of the suit and the unmistakable sense of becoming heavier and sinking a little into the sand as goblins jumped onto him. He couldn’t move.

  A face appeared above him, framed in a grey sky. Two green, glowing eyes, stared down, and the machine laughed. “Finally,” said the machine voice. It shook its head then disappeared.

  “Now then, my dear,” echoed the voice, “I know that you care what happens to this idiot though, for the life of me, I can’t imagine why. If you wish to see him again, intact, then you will fetch the most becoming of the Faerie captains who were incompetent enough to be captured by your imbecilic friends. You will bring me a Faerie and ensure that your wizard friend oversees the return of my essence to a suitable body. And then, perhaps, I will return this fool. Now go!”

  Brianna’s metallic footsteps echoed into the amphitheatre as she headed back down the tunnel. Bill bellowed.

  #

  “Calm down, lass!” Mother Hemlock had grabbed the elf’s arms and was holding her down as she writhed on the floor, screaming.

  Marcello went to move towards the elf, but Gramma stepped in front of him. “Hold on, lad,” she said, “I ‘ave a feeling our lickle friend doesn’t want you getting no nearer.”

  “Stupid old woman,” Marcello snapped, “how can you possibly understand? This creature should be thrown over the edge before she poisons us all.”

  Gramma looked up at the looming figure of the world’s most famous wizard and gave a small smile. “Stupid old woman, is it?”

  Marcello froze. Tendrils of some thorny desert plant crept from the shade on the other side of the door, through the crack beneath and wound up his legs, then his arms, pinning him in place.

  “I suggest you show some respec’ or I’ll ask this plant, nicely like, to squeeze your knackers off,” she said. “Now shut up and let our Jessie and our Velicity do the faggling!”

  Meanwhile, Velicity had knelt down beside the elf and had taken the creature’s head in her hands, singing softly. “Come now, you are safe, talk to us,” she said, “at least tell us your name.”

  Slowly the elf stopped struggling and her sobbing subsided. She looked up at Velicity, but pointedly kept her gaze from where Marcello stood, glowering near the top of the steps.

  “In your tongue, my name would be Floatslikeabutterfly,” she whispered, “and he is evil.”

  “Silence!” roared Marcello, heaving against his bonds.

  Gramma mumbled something, and a tendril wound up the wizard’s neck, wrapped itself around his skull and pulled his jaw shut.

  “Tell me what you mean,” Velicity said, stroking the elf’s face.

  Floatslikeabutterfly looked up and her eyes filled with tears. “The Beyond is the name your people give to my world, but, to us, it is Gaia, the motherworld, and you are the outsiders - we call you Mudlanders.”

  “What has all this to do with him?” Velicity said, nodding in the direction of the struggling wizard.

  The elf kept her gaze on Velicity, as if using the witch’s gaze as safe harbour. “We have known of the portals for many centuries and we have sent Watchers into the other worlds to learn about them and to find out if they were a threat. We discovered the Darkworld, a grim place, we didn’t like it there and for a long time we did nothing more than set a guard on the weak spots in case the inhabitants broke through.”

  “Faeries?”

  Floatslikeabutterfly shook her head. “No, we found only goblins, and we feared them little as they had no interest other than grubbing around in their tunnels and caves, or farming what little land would support crops.”

  She straightened her back and sighed. “Then we found that the Darkworld, as you call it, was not wide. It was not really a world at all, but a space between worlds and, on the other side, were more portals that led into your world.”

  “Hold on.” Mother Hemlock, who’d been listening to all this while holding Marcello in a stare that sizzled the air, released her gaze and knelt down beside the elf. “How is it you can find these portals and move between worlds so easy, then?”

  For a moment, the elf look frightened, but she saw beneath Mother Hemlock’s frosty exterior and relaxed. “Some of us can sense the portals, but we can pass through only with the aid of a rod made of what we call rautapu, it acts as a key.”

  “So, where is your key?”

  “The portal in the tunnels below needs no key. It was built by him,” the elf said, finally, in her anger, daring to look at Marcello. “He discovered the portals, brought terror to our people and made the doorway below out of rautapu so that it remains ever open to him and his servants.”

  Mother Hemlock looked from the elf to the wizard. “And that door is now an open tap to the Darkworld. You’d better hope my daughter and her lad can close it, cos if not, you’ll be fed to the first goblins who come up them stairs.”

  “You bloody apeth,” Gramma added as Marcello, against the laws of nature and his dark complexion, turned pale.

  #

  Brianna fumed as she stalked down the tunnel away from the portal to the Darkworld. She wasn’t sure who she was angrier with - the smug faerie who’d manipulated the entire situation or her idiot boyfriend who’d fallen into his trap. She had shouted, repeatedly, but she’d been unable to get past the lobotimising hormones that had been flooding Bill’s body. It wouldn’t have been so bad if she could have simply stuck two fingers up at the pair of them, demolished the tunnel and sealed them both on the other side. It would have served them right.

  But no. Even in her apoplexy, she knew that she loved the idiot. His suit was pinned beneath the arses of a dozen fat goblins and she knew that the Darkworld was toxic to him. Perhaps he could get out, and stagger to the doorway, but he’d be caught soon enough and who knew what damage his exposure to that poisonous world would cause.

  She’d found the tunnels full of sword waving goblins, but such was her wrath that most had given way as she strode along. Her fury broadcast scarlet in the emotional spectrum and flooded the corridors with anxiety and panicking goblins. And the fact that none of them would stand and fight made her even angrier. By all the gods, when she finally caught up with them, there would be a leatherin’.

  #

  Bill lay on his back, within the suit, looking up at the grey sky. His tears had dried into crusty remnants in the corners of his eyes and left slug trail
s that disappeared into his bushy black hair. His anger had solidified into a cold fury aimed at Humunculus, but that was as nothing to his incandescent rage at his own stupidity in falling for such an obvious trap. Humunculus had spent altogether too long listening to their debate in the laboratory of Minus. Bill had underestimated him, and the fact that the others had also not seen the betrayal brewing in the Faerie King’s black soul was little comfort. It was he, Bill, after all who was now stuck in a brass and wood coffin, a helpless pawn in Humunculus’ game.

  A scrabbling, scraping sound was transmitted through the suit. At least some of the goblins pinning him down had become bored and had moved away. It didn’t matter, after all, Bill was trapped in here breathing the air of the Brightworld stored in the tanks in the machine’s back. Even if he could somehow escape from the suit, he’d have barely any chance of making it to the tunnel entrance without being caught first, and he certainly wouldn’t be able to run very far on one lungful of air.

  He closed his eyes and sighed. He was out of options. All he could do was to wait. The best he could hope for, assuming Brianna was successful and returned with a living Faerie, was to suffer the humiliation of watching as the spirit of Humunculus was given a new home and, if the king was true to his word, Bill would then be released.

  No, that was not the best he could hope for. To accept that future would be to have no future, not the sort in which he could live with himself. Brianna had very effectively cured Bill of the casual misogyny he’d grown up with, so this wasn’t about being a man, it was about being a human, a person with self-respect. Because, without that, Bill decided, he had nothing. A lifetime of being unable to look Brianna in the eye was not a prospect he could contemplate. Better to do something now, however futile, than to be a sap. Better to die a brave idiot than a passive coward. Better to die.