Grump & Rose

by Aaron Burdett

  Bah sauntered over and went to work on a plant. Grump chuckled and patted her shoulder. "Good girl."

  "I should think not," a woman said, her voice strong but rough, like the croak of an old but determined toad. "That coriander is for my soup, not for that bloated goat of yours!"

  Grump's heart lurched into his throat. His teeth locked in an instinctive wall as he whirled around to face this invader. All the tranquility, the peace and pride he collected over those quiet days vanished on her angry words.

  The woman's hood hid her ears, but by the web of cracks spread over her cheeks, full lips, and smashed bulb of a nose, she was a human, and one who lived through many winters. Hazel eyes watched him curiously from drooping lids. Her sagging upper lip collapsed into a fat line where it met the lower one, their corners creases that spanned her jaw. Silver hair prodded the fringe of her ratty almond hood, curling around the hem like dried grass. She leaned on a knotted cane capped by a wooden raven with sharp antlers and dark, unblinking eyes.

  She inspected Grump more with disdainful curiosity than fear, and that cooled his thundering Hunger. Odd that. Even wild humans ran screaming from trolls unless an armored troop stood behind them. That an old woman would look at him more like a weed than a monster gave him pause.

  They stared at one another a long moment. Then, she arched a brow. "Well? You speak, troll, or do you just stare dimwitted at old ladies until sunrise?"

  "What is, ah, a coriander?" he asked.

  "You mean you trolls don't cook? Coriander gives soup a fine, strong flavor. Get that goat away from my good herb before I crack your neck. You'd give that pet of yours a good thrashing if you knew how hard it was to grow that herb in this damnable soil."

  Grump nudged Bah from the plant. She bleated in protest, struggling her way past his leg, but he held her back. "I'm ... I'm sorry? Bah likes eating. It's what goats do."

  "Well, knock me over with a cockatrice feather, a troll with table manners? You look enough like a blackwoods troll to me. Never thought something that'd wander out of that stink hole would know the meaning of the word kind."

  "Maybe you don't know as much as you think you do," Grump said, throwing his shoulders back.

  "Hah! And I suppose you do?" The woman shuffled forward, her milky gaze washing over the plants. "Interesting…."

  A hard knot clung to Grump's throat while she inspected his work. He wiped his clammy palm against his chest and cleared his throat. "I fell. The plants were smashed, and with the storm—"

  She whipped her cane in an arc, the raven's antlers coming within a hair of Grump's throat. "Quiet. I expected a ruined garden upon my return. That maelstrom was not a Farlain storm. No, it came from someplace else. A harbinger, perhaps, and one I sorely wish I witnessed for myself and not by way of elven scrying. You can't read a nasty omen like that through a fancy looking glass, but trying to teach an elf a lesson in anything is about as easy as teaching a boulder how to dance."

  Grump wrinkled his nose and scratched the back of his neck. "I, um, wouldn't know. I've never met an elf. This is my first time in Farlain."

  "No, I suppose you wouldn't know then. Tell me, strange swamp troll, how did my garden survive?" She bent to a row of plants and rolled her knuckles over their leaves. "It didn't, did it? This earth's been worked. Who came with you? Some goblin who's lived above ground some time? Perhaps a fae slave or blind human?"

  "No, I—”

  "Ogre? Gods save me if there's an ogre in my home. I'll never get rid of the stink.”

  "I've never even met an ogre! It was just—”

  "Human?" She rubbed her jaw and scanned the chasm. "Some human who knew the trade. I suppose it's not unheard of for a troll and human to tolerate one another, and the wildlings certainly have done stranger things before."

  "Would you let me speak!”

  His voice rumbled through the verdant gorge. Rocks clattered from high above, tumbling down the pinkish granite walls. Several birds squawked in protest and wheeled into the sky. The old woman's lips pressed into a line as she arched a bushy brow. "Speak then, speak."

  Heat warmed Grump's cheeks. He straightened and cleared his throat. "Thank you. I fell, and your plants broke the fall. But ... between me and the storm, your, uh, garden did not look very good. At first. But then I tried to fix it, make it better. Bah and I have been here through the storm. No one else."

  Her arched brow flattened, and she peered up the chasm wall. "You fell from up there? And survived?"

  Grump smiled, rocking on his heels. "Your plants saved me. They protected me from sunlight until the night. I think. I'm not sure. I—I don't remember much."

  "My plants protected you from the sun? Wouldn’t be the first time they’ve acted up. They're always doing strange things, my plants. Then again the whole world's gone a little strange these days if you ask me." Her eyes refocused on him. "Very interesting. Tell me how a troll at home in trees and vines and stinky bogs slips and falls into a gorge."

  "I didn't slip. Bah was thrown, and I jumped to save her." His gaze dropped to his toes. He watched them dig into the soil.

  "You're a troll," she stated, like he didn't know that obvious fact.

  "I am."

  "Trolls don't go around saving things, much less goats. And bless these hairy old ears of mine but did you name her?"

  "Her name is Bah."

  "A fitting name for a goat if there ever was one. Even a little humorous. Troll, you surprise me, and here I was thinking these old bones would never be surprised again."

  Grump lifted his gaze to find the woman staring intently, her mouth puckered into a wrinkled raisin. He swallowed and clasped his hands before him. "I stayed to fix the plants. They saved me, so it didn't feel right to leave them. If I fixed them, maybe one day they could save someone else."

  Her puckered lips spread into a wrinkled grin. She snorted, prodding a broad leaf with her staff. The old woman mumbled something under breath, a cascade of low vowels that bordered on song more than speech.

  "I don't understand that tongue," he said.

  She blinked and looked up. "Eh? Nothing, nothing. I've seen many an oddity in my day, but never would I have thought I'd meet a troll with better manners than an elf and a heart more noble than a man. You ever met an elf, ehh...what was your name again?"

  The strange woman thrust her cane at Grump, waving its tip in a circle. He considered reminding her that he'd already said he never met an elf, but decided against provoking an argument.

  He licked his lips and flashed an awkward smile. "I’m Grump."

  "Grump? You greenskins and your abysmal names. I don't know who is less creative with their offspring, your kind or goblins. Well, thank you kindly for replanting my garden, Grump. I'll not be giving you any reward for your work considering how your goat's made a mess of a good number of my plants, so don't think I've got gold or treasure you can bring back to that bog of yours. And don't even think about bringing one of my bones back for your chief's morbid crown. I'll not be giving you so much as my pinkie for that nasty piece of jewelry."

  "Reward? It never—I never thought of that." His brows furrowed. "You know of the crown of bones? I want nothing to do with that crown or those trolls. Nothing."

  "A selfless loner? My word, you are a strange one. So you're telling me you're not with that band of fools raiding the woods and causing all the ruckus in Farlain?"

  "No, but…." He caught the words before they spilled out. Better not tell her the one causing the ruckus was his father. "… I know the ones. They're from my clan. Or, it was my clan. I can't go back there … won't go back there."

  The old woman groaned and walked toward him. Her liver-spotted hand clenched her staff, and she favored it heavily. "Oh great, a kindly troll with a sob story. You'll not be plucking my heartstrings today, my boy. That instrument's long since gone out of tune. Now on with you. I don't care if you go back to the blackwoods. I don't care if you wander Farlain until the elves stick an arrow through yo
ur eye. I don't care if you run all the way to the Grey Plains and wait for the sunlight to make a fat stone of you. Just get out of my garden, and we'll let that be that."

  Grump shifted on his heels. Dread weighed on him like a boot on his throat. Part of Grump always knew he couldn't stay in this hidden heaven forever, but that didn't stop him from dreaming of the possibility.

  He scooped up his goat, cooing as she protested with her bleats and hoofs. By now Crush had probably claimed the secondborn title. Maybe Thorn was already dead. Grump could return to his family and make his own death quick. Or maybe he could wander the forest for a while until elves or the wild men caught him. He could always just wait for morning and let the sun make short work of him. He’d always wanted to see the sun, after all.

  "You've seen the sunrise, haven't you, Bah?" he asked.

  She bleated, and Grump tickled her chin. "Maybe it's time I see it, too."

  Her hot breath washed across his chest. He patted her brow. "The elves don't eat meat. They’ll find you and take care of you. You’ll live a long and happy life with them. I wish I could've done the same, but this world's no place for a troll like me."

  The woman mumbled and grumbled. Grump paused to hug Bah and sigh so loud anything with a beating heart within the canyon could hear.

  She made a long, melodramatic groan and swatted the air. "Gods be damned. Just wait a moment."

  Grump's shoulders pulled back and his eyes widened. He turned and blinked. "Yes?"

  "You'll destroy yourself, just to see the sun? Have you no one to turn to, no friend to give you quarter?"

  Her words stung more than he liked. He licked a tusk and shook his head. "No. I have no one but Bah."

  "And why do you have no one?"

  "Like you said, I'm not like other trolls. They don't understand me, and because they don't understand me, they hate me. My younger brother is hungry for power. He tried to kill me during the storm. He’ll try to kill me again if I return." Grump looked to Bah and smiled. "It’s better that I die at peace and give Bah a chance at a happy life than return to them and guarantee a long and painful death for both of us."

  "And how much of a monster do you become when the Hunger takes you? You control it well, but I see the rage within you."

  "You know the Hunger?"

  "Answer the question, Grump."

  "I couldn't say. I've never given in to it. It sings its song to me, but, I've never let it take me. I … I fear it, because somehow I know that when it takes me, I will no longer be me. I will be them. I will be troll."

  The strange woman nearly dropped her cane. She pulled it back against her chest and narrowed her eyes. "You've never once let the Hunger take you? Don't lie to me. I can tell."

  "It's no lie."

  She mumbled and grumbled and flexed her fingers. She looked to the side, mouthing words he couldn’t hear. After a few moments, those vexing hazel eyes of hers fixed on him. "Had elf or man or fae wandered into my garden home, I would have cast them out. Had any normal troll come here, I would have done more than cast them out. Your kind are an evil lot. They pillage, rape, and murder. They steal. They break families and sow discord. By all rights, I should kill you where you stand and be treated a hero in Farlain. But, I’m a senile old fool and you're the most pitiful, lonely creature I think I've ever laid eyes on."

  Grump's heart twisted. He stared at his feet and dug his toes into the earth.

  "You're unlike any troll I've met. You’re a troll with elvish innocence and human vulnerability, and I'll be damned if there's not even a little something fairy about you too. You are a mystery, Grump, and I believed this world ran dry of mysteries for me long ago. Before I croak, I think I'd like to see why fate brought you and I together."

  "You mean I can stay?" He dropped Bah as his heart fluttered like a flock racing for the sky.

  "Watch that goat!" she snapped.

  He snatched Bah up, her teeth clacking together inches from a tuft of coriander. The woman nodded, scowling at his goat. "You're still more troll than anything else, and it'll be a long while before I can beat that out of your head. I'll not have any trollish temper tantrums thrashing my good garden."

  "But I can control my Hunger. It's what's made me different than the others."

  "Hah!" She clucked, shaking her head. "You know nothing about control. There's a difference between having a long fuse and knowing not to light it. You've got a long fuse, yes, but it still lights at a mouse's fart just like all the other trolls. These old eyes of mine see that much at least. You live with me, and you might actually learn something about control. That's when the mystery surrounding you will be revealed. Yes, indeed."

  "But how?" Grump gathered enough courage to walk back into the garden, and the leaves licked his shins as he passed.

  "Your Hunger needs a leash. I think you might already have an inkling what that leash will be." She swung her cane in an arc over the aromatic yard. "Gardening, Grump. You'll become a gardener, and if what I see before me is any indication, I think you'll make a fine one."

  "But what does a garden have to do with Hunger? I don't understand."

  "It feeds it, for one." She cackled at her own joke and slapped her knee. "You'll see what they have to do with one another soon enough. Now come, I'll make us some dinner. You trolls allergic to anything besides sunlight?"

  "Not that I know of."

  "Good." She hobbled down the row while she hummed a little tune.

  "But what's your name?" Grump chased after the old woman, swinging Bah away from the plants just before she could rip off a leaf or two.

  The stranger paused and glanced over her shoulder. She wore a sly smile etched with deep wrinkles running down her chin. "If I'd wanted to tell you my name, I would've said it when you told me yours. If you're a good student, maybe one day you'll learn it. Until then, I am simply ‘Teacher.’ Don't like it? I'm sure those arms of yours can climb out of here easily enough."

  "Then you’re ‘Teacher’ to me. Where’re we going?"

  "To my home."

  Grump blinked. "But this place is empty. Where’s your home?"

  Teacher snickered and continued on her path. "Maybe you weren't looking hard enough? I haven’t lived in Farlain this long to learn a trick or two about hiding what’s mine when I’m not there."

  Grump was sure he scoured every inch of the canyon for anyone who might live there, but if Teacher said she had a home, she had a home.

  A protest edged by Hunger curled his tongue, but he held it back. He looked to Bah, who nipped angrily at his chin. He swatted her nose and shrugged. "She's probably crazy, Bah. We might have better luck facing trolls."

  Bah bleated. Grump nodded. "Good point. Maybe this gardening thing isn't so bad. No more eating her coriander, though. She's got an eye on you."

  Bah bleated again, longer.

  "Fine, fine. I'll sneak you a little, but keep it our secret."

  They followed Teacher across the garden. As far as Grump knew, no troll had ever tended plants before. Perhaps it was time one learned.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Boil's Bargain

  The page cracked and crumbled between Boil's fingertips. He winced. A book this old didn't stand the strength of a digger's fingers, no matter how delicately he handled the yellowed parchment. On the next page, he passed his hand gently over the map of glittering stars drawn in two identical circles placed side by side. The artist connected stars to one another, forming rough diagrams of creatures he'd never imagined could exist in the world beyond the mountain. As with most other pages, runes circled the drawings, screaming out the answer to his questions in a language he couldn't understand.

  Boil puffed air across the page, and the runes and stars shimmered like polished gems. He discovered that fascinating little detail of the book one long night attempting to decipher the strange runes. If only he could ask someone, anyone, why the symbols shimmered. But no diggers could read or write, and asking a mine master invited punishment ran
ging from agonizing torture to a slow death.

  With a little head shake, he closed the creaky tome and tucked it beneath the foul wolf pelts. One day soon, he would ask someone on the surface about writing, and he'd ask the question beneath the very stars drawn upon those pages.

  His neighbor grumbled something in his sleep, a line of drool running down his sharp chin. Boil danced over the greenskin, hopping in the little spaces between squirming diggers. Each night he performed this same dance to the sleeping lumps carpeting his hovel, and each night he made less and less sound the more confident he became.

  Like a shadow he moved, quiet as a sigh and quick as a parting glance. He reached the hovel gate and scrambled over the iron bars. Since the broken side stuck against the floor, Boil discovered he could climb it without moving the metal, removing the risk of one of the mine masters being woken by a creaky hinge.

  One snoring mine master after another he passed with a toothy grin smeared across his face. He reached Skar's bed and paused to stare at the hulking greenskin. Skar's nostrils flared as he snorted in a breath. His broad hand fell to the massive club propped against his bed. Fresh blood stained the splintered wood.

  Boil stuck his thumbs in his ears and wagged his fingers at the mine master. Skar might be bigger than a digger, but Boil doubted the greenskin had half the brains Boil had.

  He leaned close to Skar. His breath tickled the mine master’s ear, and it twitched. "You'll never have her," Boil whispered.

  The mine master grumbled and rolled to a side. Boil smirked and spun on his heel, sprinting into the tunnels.

  Deep down in the mines, in the darkest tunnel where no glittering stones waited, Boil found Ember and Urt in their secret digger sanctuary. The skeletons carved into the walls watched them work on the dark archway.

  It took a few days, but Boil finally convinced Urt lighting a torch wouldn't bring a hundred angry mine masters down on their heads. He struck flint against a skeleton's jaw. Sparks splashed onto the torch, and a flame flickered to life, washing their hideout in warm reds and dancing oranges.