The Prodigal Troll

by Charles Coleman Finlay

  "No, my friend," he said. "That is to sustain us on our journey. Save it for tomorrow. We must take the warclub to Custalo's village and dance there next."

  Maggot closed the bag reluctantly. He was not used to the idea of saving food for tomorrow, but he could learn, just as he meant to learn what war was.

  Outside in the central plaza, Sinnglas and Maggot joined the other dancers gathered around the post. They dressed plainly, carrying weapons and bearskin bags of food. A light wind rustled the dead snakeskins.

  "We must strike quickly, take them by surprise," Sinnglas told them.

  Maggot recalled Tanaghri speaking to him before the dance. He was supposed to remember something, but it was a stem lost in the swirling waters of the past day.

  Perhaps he would remember later.

  aggot stood in the central plaza of Custalo's village when the dancing was over. He stared at the stars, letting the sweat evaporate from his skin. A crowd of people stirred around him.

  "War is good," he said, grinning.

  Sinnglas grinned too. "This war is very good."

  So far war involved only dancing. Menato had come ahead to prepare the way for them, so Sinnglas's men were welcomed enthusiastically in Custalo's village. It was two villages, actually, on a high plain that straddled the mountain ranges; one was a little smaller than Damaqua's village and the other a bit larger, situated within a morning's walk of one another. They had danced in both villages over the course of two nights. Maggot liked the dancing. It was exciting in a different way than wrestlingwhen it was over, no one was injured and all the dancers felt good.

  "That is a very great honor, my friend," Sinnglas said, indicating three eagle feathers in Maggot's hand. Custalo, hearing the story of Squandral's gift of his turban to Maggot, had presented the feathers to Maggot during the dance.

  "What do I do with them?" Maggot asked. The sweat ran down his hand, making the feathers damp.

  "You wear them in your cap," Sinnglas said.

  Maggot did not like having his head covered, but he was trying hard to be like people. "You to show me how. I am glad to war with you, my friend."

  "Good," Sinnglas said, turning to talk to the men from Custalo's village. About four handfuls had already changed out of their dancing costumes and were prepared to go.

  Maggot spun in a circle and regarded this village that was at once both familiar and strange. This was troll country. He looked over the palisade and wondered if his mother or any of the other trolls were out there watching him the way he had sat through the nights looking over the walls at people. With his eyes closed in a thick fog, he could find his way from here down to the hot stinking springs, and from there, even with his nose squeezed shut, he could trace the trails rock by rock down to the safety of the caves. Now he had crossed over the wall and was on the inside. He was closer to the woman he wanted.

  Keekyu screamed and flung his arms about, laughing. Maggot watched him share a bottle with some of the other young men, who grew also increasingly boisterous. Noticing his attention, Keekyu walked over and thrust the bottle at Maggot.

  "Go on, take a drink!"

  The noise of conversation around Sinnglas fell suddenly hushed. Maggot saw his friend glaring, his face as angry as it grew during the dance.

  Custalo stood beside Sinnglas. The old warrior had a gentle face like a baby's, until one read the harsh shape of his mouth or felt the cutting manner of his eyes or listened to the stories of his raids against their enemies across the mountains. People and their things could be so different on the inside than on the outside. Trolls were not like that. Custalo stared at the eagle feathers crushed in Maggot's fist.

  Keekyu gave him a sloppy smile. "Go on!"

  "No," Maggot said. He turned away. If he had to choose between Sinnglas and anyone else, he would choose his friend. He held the feathers more gently as he joined the others.

  Sinnglas's followers and the men from Custalo's village walked north for several days. On the third night, they camped on a bluff overlooking a river much wider than any Maggot had ever seen in the high mountains.

  Despite a slight breeze, pungent grease smeared over their bodies, and smudge bundles burning in the fires, the biting insects swarmed to devour them the way crawling bugs consumed the final shreds of meat off the bones of a corpse. A few men slept despite the insects. Sinnglas, Keekyu, Custalo, and the few other older men crowded around a fire, planning strategies. Maggot sat with Pisqueto on the edge of the bluff, trying to escape the stifling heat.

  Below them, groups of deer rested in the river water among the long grasses. Nothing but their noses and antlers showed above the water's surface.

  "Smart," Maggot said, slapping another insect as it landed on his neck. "Perhaps we go down to the water with them."

  Pisqueto chuckled. "Heh."

  "When will we come to Squandral's village?"

  "Tomorrow. It sits between the hills, at the place where three rivers come together."

  "Three rivers? Are they all as big as this?"

  "The one that flows west is larger, but it leads down to the River Wyndas, and the sea." He lifted his chin. "Look."

  A faint, phosphorescent light as long as a small tree drifted in a serpentine path downstream toward the deer. At first Maggot took it for the reflection of the moon, or perhaps the milky band of light that crossed the sky.

  "Is it a snake?" he asked, thinking that now he understood the source of the snakeskins on the pole in Damaqua's village.

  "No."

  The light vanished below the surface of the water, reappearing in front of one deer slightly apart from the herd. Only the glowing head of the creature appeared, a beacon of light wavering in front of the transfixed deer while a few animals turned to climb out of the river. The head darted forward, the deer bleated, and all the herd splashed up the bank to scatter into the woods. The snake-or whatever it was-coiled around its victim, dragging it under. The river churned like water boiling in a pot, and then the splashing stopped.

  Pisqueto slapped more bugs. "The Old Ones."

  "Old Ones?"

  "If you come near one, you mustn't speak to it or look into its eyesthe Old Ones will take you to the other side." Pisqueto tugged on the gorget at his throat. It was carved in the shape of a snake circled on itself. "Have you not seen the images of the Old Ones among us?"

  "I see," Maggot said. He lifted the colored amulets around his own neck. "I thought they things like this. To say we are people."

  "No." Pisqueto glared angrily. "The soulless made those."

  Frowning, Maggot smacked his nose as an insect landed on it, and then he winced at the blow.

  "The soulless, the invaders," Pisqueto explained. "In the wintertime, when the Old Ones grow sluggish, they seek them out on the riverbanks or dig their burrows in the mud and kill them. That is why our people grow few. The spirits of the Old Ones do not protect us anymore because we do not protect them. Now, Banya, their wizard, he shows respect but ..."

  Pisqueto's voice trailed off. Maggot lifted his necklaces, the light filled stones clicking as they bounced against each other. "These not like yours?"

  "No. Has Sinnglas not talked to you about them?"

  "No."

  "Heh. Why do you wear them?"

  Maggot recalled the woman with the blue gem against the skin of her throat. "They remind me of one."

  Pisqueto's grunt did not say anything that Maggot understood. They sat quietly, stirring only to slap at the bugs. Much later, the Old One, glowing faintly now, dragged its distorted and distended form upon a mud bank in the middle of the river. One by one the deer timidly returned to cool off in the water at another place farther upstream.

  "Why do they go back, when they know it is dangerous for them?" Maggot asked.

  Pisqueto crushed yet another fat mosquito on his arm, leaving a tiny streak of blood. "Because they must. Because where else can they go?"

  After a while, Maggot said, "Tomorrow we will go to Squandral's v
illage. Then we will make your war."

  The post in Squandral's central plaza was covered with more skins than Damaqua's village and many more than Custalo's. But it sat at the junction of several rivers, all of them containing Old Ones. The dancing that night included men from all three villages and some outlying places. During one of the dances, Maggot became so wrought that he stabbed the air repeatedly and screamed. "Show me the lion," he shouted. "I to kill him!"

  Squandral's men chuckled. "Look at the vulture," they said.

  Afterward, Sinnglas came over to Maggot and smiled. "You will have your chance, my friend. We will go avenge the deaths tonight. Now you will see what war is really like."

  "Good!" Maggot panted.

  He was ready to chase down any lion they wanted and destroy it.

  They set out in the darkness for a settlement of farms downstream, where Squandral's niece and her family had gone to trade the day they were murdered.

  They ran hard, heading south and west, crossing the rivers at fords. Before dawn they came to a clearing surrounded by pines in the shadow of a mountain's steep slope. The men from the different villages kept mostly to themselves, but Sinnglas, Squandral, and Custalo met together with a few others. Sinnglas took Keekyu with him.

  Some of the older men slept or rested. Maggot had the wakefulness of night and newness both upon him. So he joined those who prepared themselves. "This cap," he told Pisqueto. "It I cannot wear to war." It distracted him.

  Pisqueto shoved the red cloth in the back of Maggot's belt. "But you will have to stay out in front so that we can see it," he said, laughing to himself. Then he tied the eagle feathers into Maggot's braid. They tickled his shoulder when he moved his head at first, but soon he no longer noticed them.

  Sinnglas and Keekyu returned. Keekyu made a bow-drawing motion to Maggot. "The invaders asked us to give you a bow before we attack them."

  Some of the other men chuckled.

  "What?" Maggot had practiced with Keekyu's bow until his thumb was rubbed raw. Though he could shoot far, he had not yet gotten the knack of hitting the target.

  Keekyu laughed, then looked at Sinnglas. "I'll tell the others the plan?"

  Sinnglas shrugged, and then squatted down beside Maggot and Pisqueto. "Squandral has made a good plan."

  "What is it?" Pisqueto asked.

  "We'll attack them just after sunrise. A few men from each village will be our reserve. They will stay downstream from the settlement, in case the invaders try to escape that way. I want you with the reserve, Pisqueto. You too, my friend, Maqwet."

  "I to be with you," Maggot said firmly. Then thinking of the red cloth in his belt, he added, "Out in front."

  "Nor will I stay with the crippled old men and boys," Pisqueto complained.

  "It is not just old men and boys," Sinnglas answered. "It is for those who have never fought before, to stay with those who have fought the most to give them wisdom and guidance."

  "Will you or Squandral or Custalo be with the reserve?" Pisqueto asked.

  "No."

  "Heh," Pisqueto said. "But you three have fought the most, haven't you?" He grinned in triumph when Sinnglas looked away.

  Maggot stood up, drawing his knife. "I will be with you, my friend, out in front."

  The group of reserves took cover alongside the river trail behind mounds of debris-dead branches, uprooted trees. Maggot and Pisqueto went with the main force of men upstream. They passed around a settlement, or small village, its rooflines distinguishable against the sky.

  "When will we start to seek the lion's tracks?" Maggot asked, doubting any bigtooth lion would hunt so close to a cluster of houses.

  Sinnglas angrily gestured him to silence, while some of the other men glared at him. Pisqueto came up beside Maggot and whispered, "We just passed his dung heap."

  Maggot had seen no sign of scat, but he studied the ground closely as they walked on.

  With the birds singing for the morning, they divided into two columns. Squandral and Custalo led the main group of more than forty warriors back toward the cluster of fortified farmhouses.

  Sinnglas took his eleven men and proceeded down to a stream, to approach from the flank. They hurried silently through the shadows under the woods, the dark shapes reminding Maggot of trolls running back to their caves at sunrise after a night of too much feeding.

  Just ahead of them on the trail, a loud crash in the brush was followed by gobblegobblegobble.

  Three huge birds burst from the trees, an arrow flying out of the darkness to hit one of the straggling turkeys and pin it to the ground. Its shrill cry accompanied vigorous flapping in a circle as two men ran out of the woods after it. The men dressed like the hunters in the skin caves, their clothes bright blocks of color in the gray light.

  Sinnglas whooped, just like he did in the dance, as Keekyu lifted his bow, drew, and shot. His arrow sailed through empty air: the men had already reversed direction and bolted away.

  "But-" cried Maggot.

  Half a dozen bows twanged as Sinnglas shouted at the men, "Catch them! Quick! Quick!"

  Keekyu ran ahead, always looking, with Pisqueto and Maggot at his side. Pisqueto's eyes were wide with excitement. Sinnglas and the other men spread out through the woods. Maggot listened to the crashing footsteps of the men ahead and noticed when the noise stopped. Before he realized what this meant, a bowstring vibrated.

  Maggot hurled himself behind a tree, but he saw a silver flash in the air. Keekyu screamed and crumpled over backward, his scalp laid open bare to the white bone of the skull. Blood streamed everywhere, covering his pale, still face.

  Pisqueto froze. He took one look at his brother and gulped. Then he spun around and ran away.

  Before Maggot could run after him, Sinnglas was screaming. "Attack, attack! Don't let them reach the houses!"

  Maggot obeyed.

  Branches slapped at his face and arms as Maggot plunged through the trees after the men. The strangers stopped long enough to draw and shoot, then ran again. The shafts flew wild, sailing over Maggot's head to crash in the leaves.

  The two men broke into the open, one ahead of the other. Maggot emerged from the woods just behind them. Dawn cast its pale light across the lush grass as they all ran over the meadow beside the stream toward the settlement. Kinnicut, the blacksmith in Damaqua's village, ran past Maggot and flung his warclub. It spun through the air and knocked down the trailing stranger. Kinnicut jumped in the air, trilling his triumph, as the tripped man crawled away on all fours like a beast. Then Sinnglas came up and smashed his warclub into the stranger's head, once, twice. On the second strike, the skull splattered like a fruit.

  Maggot stopped.

  "Kill him!" Sinnglas shouted, pointing toward the second man. Several men drew their bows, but their comrades who continued the chase were in the way, so they didn't shoot.

  Sinnglas dashed after the man. Maggot raced at Sinnglas's heels.

  The stranger entered a second, narrower band of trees. Someone shot at him, but the arrow struck wood as he dodged behind the trunks. Maggot realized that the man still ran for the houses, so he angled through the trees and clambered over the small ridge to reach the man first.

  Maggot came out of the trees on the edge of fields dug in straight lines like the patterns on the stranger's clothes. A group of houses sat across the fields.

  The man rounded the hilltop not twenty feet away, shouting words that Maggot didn't understand. Maggot covered the distance in a few short steps, took the man by the hair, and jerked his head back. The man squirmed, batting at Maggot with the bow in his left hand while his right hand slipped off Maggot's greased body. He looked straight into Maggot's eyes, and said, in Sinnglas's language, "You Wyndan piece of shit."

  Maggot plunged his knife into the man's heart and twisted. The man dropped his bow and sagged, but Maggot held him up by the hair. Blood bubbled at his mouth, a single crimson sphere that swelled like the moon and popped.

  Sinnglas arrived at Maggot'
s side. "Over the wall!"

  There was no time to think or feel. Maggot dropped the body and joined seven or eight men sprinting in a ragged line across the fields. Someone twisted an ankle and fell down.

  Maggot outdistanced them all.

  His eyes encompassed everything at once. The strangers had fortified their houses, surrounding them with a fence and filling the spaces in between with a rough wall of logs and wagons. Someone must have warned them of the attack. Flames leapt from a rooftop, lighting the situation. Their shaggy cattle clustered inside, jostling away from the fire, lowing in distress. Squandral's men and Custalo's engaged the strangers on the far side, trading screams and arrows. The bulk of the defenders, a handful of men, were on the far side of the structure; Maggot glimpsed their backs in the flickering light. One-no, two-defended the wall nearest Sinnglas's men.

  Maggot hit the wall at a full run and vaulted over it.

  He rolled on his shoulder and landed upright on his feet, the way his mother had taught him. His momentum carried him straight into the larger archer, and he struck repeatedly with his fist until the man fell.

  Something cut across his back, and he twisted, slashing with his knife, feeling it bite, pulling through. The attacker fell backward, which is when Maggot noticed she was the woman.

  He stood paralyzed, like the deer transfixed by the demon.

  No, not the woman, but a woman. This woman was smaller, like a boy, and her hair was a lighter shade of brown. But she had the same nose, the same sharp-angled face. She sat propped up where she'd fallen against the wall, grimacing, trying to push a blue wad of intestines back into her stomach. One leg kept kicking hard against the ground while blood spurted out between her legs.

  Someone screamed.

  Maggot spun. A man charged around the corner of a house aiming a spear at him. Maggot dodged the thrust, blocking the shaft with his knife hand and shoving the man down.