Nemesis and the Troll King

by Ashley Du Toit

  I call upon the ancient dragon’s line …

  Let what was bound be unbound,

  what was forgotten be remembered,

  what was taken be restored.

  Release the hidden moments now!

  The ancient words twined around Yarg’s body and a blinding white light exploded behind his eyelids. Disoriented, he sat down as an onslaught of memories chased each other cross his mind’s eye, almost too rapidly for him to absorb. Then the kaleidoscope slowed and settled on one scene.

  He is human, standing beside a lake, proud and tall. He sees a tiny creature—could it be a fairy? Intrigued, he follows her through a shimmer, finds himself in another place. Her small body hovering in the air ahead of him, panic in her eyes, she is trying desperately to get him to return to his human world. Frustrated by her denial, he lashes out, saying cruel things to her. Watches in horror as she begins to freeze.

  The scene rolled on and Yarg saw …

  Nemesis landing beside them, seeing the tiny fairy freezing, scooping her up as he bellows his rage, fury radiating from every scale on his massive body, causing the very air to vibrate.

  Nemesis demanding he save her.

  Himself not understanding, not knowing what to do, paralysed by shock and fear.

  Nemesis, amber eyes whirling with rage, chanting over him.

  His body, no longer under his control, shifting and changing—fingers extending and growing thick black nails, bones popping and shifting, muscles contorting and expanding, skin marbling blue, nose lengthening, warts appearing, clothes and shoes tearing then shredding as his body outgrows them, sense of self fading, mind screaming that he hadn’t been used to people saying no to him, hadn’t realised the effect his anger would have, hadn’t meant to …

  The scene ended and Yarg was back in the moment. A groan escaped from deep within himself.

  Nemesis watched him. “You are not beyond redemption, troll. You have courage within you. You can correct this and save her,” he said softly.

  Yarg turned anguished eyes towards Nemesis. “I have been a member of the Guild of Immortals these three years past, have sat on your council and faced you, but you never once spoke of any of this.”

  “You were not ready.”

  Yarg shoved his hand through his hair in frustration. “Then when would I have been ready? When would you have told me?”

  Nemesis tensed. He growled low in his throat, the sound pulsating across the cave’s expanse. “You dare to question me?”

  Hair standing straight on end, Yarg started to back away. Then realising that he had to face this, had to make it right, he gathered his courage to ask, “No, only to ask your help to save the fairy.”

  Nemesis relaxed his body. “Her name is Kaylin,” he said.

  Yarg moved his arms from around his knees and stood up. “Kaylin,” he said softly, rolling the fairy’s name over his tongue, testing it out for himself.

  “Yes,” said Nemesis. “She was so beautiful, filled with the joy of life, kindness in everything she said and did, gentleness in everything she touched. As you well know, King of the Trolls, every fairy has a special quality and a special task. Kaylin was birthed from a rare line, she was the fairy of dreams and emotions. She was also guardian of the blue bells—I’m sure that you would have seen some of her work in the mortal realms. Entire forests and woodlands floors all carpeted with her flowers, a covering of blues and purples for as far as the eye could see. She really was quite gifted. Of course, there are not so many blue bells anymore,” he said, staring accusingly at Yarg.

  Yarg hung his head as he realised all that he’d taken from both worlds. “How can I save her?” he asked in a subdued tone.

  “Kaylin froze herself as a defence against things her tender spirit could not cope with. To repair the damage will require magic. I will give you a list of the tokens I need for the spell to call her back to us. It must be cast at the new moon, when magic is strongest, so you have only seven days to gather them.”

  “But if you can use magic to bring Kaylin back, why have you not saved her already?” Yarg asked in bewilderment.

  “Because your act entwined your lives. You caused the harm, you must undo it.”

  “But if I am the only one who can save Kaylin, why did you put me in this troll’s body? And why give me amnesia?” Yarg asked, his mind still trying to make sense of the puzzle.

  Nemesis smiled in an odd sort of way, his big fangs showing.

  “There are many questions to be answered there,” he mused. “I needed to keep you in this world where I could watch you because you are the only one who could save Kaylin. Why a troll? As a punishment—it was the least like your handsome human self that I could think of. The amnesia was necessary because you would have gone mad if you knew you were a human living in a troll’s body before you were ready to right the wrong you had caused,” Nemesis replied.

  Obviously feeling that the matter had been explained in full, Nemesis locked his gaze with Yarg’s. A warning note in his tone, he asked formally, “Know this: should you not complete your quest, not only will Kaylin remain as she is, but you shall also spend eternity in that same frozen realm. So, Yarg, do you still want to save her?”

  At Yarg’s nod, Nemesis began to chant again. Before him appeared an ancient parchment, so fine and translucent that it gleamed even in the dimly lit cave. Yarg remembered giving an almost exact replica to Bella, the Fairy of Pure Heart. As he raised his hand to take it from Nemesis, he asked, “I remember sending the Fairy of Pure Heart to you. What became of her?”

  Nemesis just smiled softly. “She received all that she deserved,” he said cryptically, “but your concern is with the Fairy of Blue Bells. You should be going … your time is limited,” he cautioned, then turned and disappeared into the shadows at the back of his cave.

  Yarg tucked the parchment carefully into the bag secured around his ample girth. He took one last look around before heading back to Folgoo.

  5

  An ancient tree

  Yarg was exhausted by the time he reached the edge of the lake. With a mighty effort he raised his hand to meet Folgoo’s, and let the centaur drag him out of the water. Then he flopped onto the bank, drawing in air in great, greedy gulps.

  Yarg sensed Folgoo watching him. Lifting his gaze, he saw a question in the centaur’s eyes, so he told Folgoo all that had transpired since he had been with Nemesis. He told of the cave and what Nemesis had said, and that to save Kaylin he had just seven days to gather the list of things he had been given and take them back to Nemesis.

  “So, where do we start?” Folgoo asked.

  We? thought Yarg. Folgoo would come with him?

  He raised his eyes to meet Folgoo’s, letting his companion see how grateful he was, then retrieved the parchment that Nemesis had given him. It shimmered in the sun’s bright light. He read the list aloud.

  He turned the parchment over, looking for explanations of what the things on the list might be or clues to where they might be found, but the back was blank.

  The whole thing was a riddle. Well, he was not going to let that stop him. He breathed in deeply, and with that one breath came hope, and then certainty that he and Folgoo would find the answers he needed.

  “Have you heard of ancient moonrays?” he asked.

  Folgoo shook his head. “No.”

  “Do you possibly know anyone who has any kind of ray, moon or otherwise?”

  Folgoo shook his head again. “No.”

  “Do you have any idea who might know?” Yarg persevered, with remarkable patience for a troll.

  “Bemoomba,” Folgoo replied after a moment’s reflection.

  “Bemoomba?” queried Yarg. “Isn’t she a tree?”

  Folgoo put the back of his hand to his mouth to smother the laugh that threaten
ed to break free. “Yes, but she is also Queen of the Manukies.”

  “What’s a Manukie?” asked Yarg.

  “Manukies are creatures with the power to bestow life to all plants and trees within the immortal realms, and the mortal one, too.” Folgoo answered.

  “Ah,” said Yarg. “So you think Bemoomba might know where we could get an ancient moonray?”

  Folgoo stretched his muscles before answering, “I think we should go and ask her.”

  “You’re sure that this is what you want to do—go on this quest with me?” Yarg asked.

  Folgoo snorted and said drily, “Don’t irritate me, troll.”

  Yarg laughed, then laughed again as Folgoo asked, “Well, what are you waiting for?”

  Yarg placed his hand on the centaur’s back and closed his eyes. Even as he drew breath, he felt the sensation of movement. What a gift these centaurs have, he thought.

  After a time the motion ceased and Yarg opened his eyes. He blinked, and then blinked again. He had been expecting lushness—an oasis of brilliant, vibrant greens to be exact—the Manukies were the custodians of all plant life, after all. But ahead of them stretched an utter wasteland, huge spreads of dryness interspersed with patches of swamp.

  Folgoo and Yarg looked at each other, and then looked again at the dismal landscape.

  “Are you sure this is the Manukie realm?” Yarg asked Folgoo.

  Folgoo snorted again and said, “I thought I told you not to irritate me!”

  Yarg felt no urge to laugh this time. Folgoo motioned his head in the other direction and Yarg turned to see what Folgoo was trying to get him to notice. Several beings, rather like big fat balls of orange fluff atop very stumpy legs, were moving towards them.

  “Manukies,” Folgoo stated.

  The Manukies were half-walking, half-dragging themselves along the ground. A screeching sound emanated from them that made Yarg’s hair stand on end.

  He flinched involuntarily, and Folgoo threw him that now familiar look of amusement.

  Yarg cleared his throat and said in a loud voice, “My name is Yarg, King of the Trolls. I wish to see Bemoomba.”

  The Manukies didn’t so much as hesitate; they kept inching their way towards Yarg and Folgoo. Yarg cringed as a small Manukie placed its tiny orange furball hand within the depths of his bigger palm.

  “Are you coming, Folgoo?” Yarg asked with a hint of desperation as the Manukie began to tug on his hand to move him forward.

  The Manukies led them across areas of dryness that skirted the edges of swamp. Eventually they came to a circled clearing, the lush grass within forming a stark contrast to the marsh and bare patches that surrounded it. The Manukies went to stand at the edges of the clearing, forming a ring within it.

  Yarg’s attention was drawn to the enormous weeping willow that stood in the middle of the clearing—its massive trunk telling of great age, graceful branches hanging heavy to the ground. Even as he watched, the branches slowly began to move. They swayed, and then stretched out carefully as if they were the arms of someone waking from a long nap. When the last branches had extended themselves, the trunk was revealed, and Yarg was surprised to see a face etched into it. He had the urge to step back, but forced himself to stand still. He looked harder at the face, noting that it was very wrinkled, but kindly looking, with huge baby-blue eyes.

  Yarg did step backwards when the tree started speaking in a soft female voice.

  “Yarg, great King of the Trolls, we have been awaiting your arrival for some time now.”

  As she spoke, Yarg realised that he was in the presence of something unique and powerful. Then her words penetrated and his eyes widened in surprise. They had known he was coming? He raised his hand to his head and started to scratch, then caught himself and hurriedly brought it down again. Some habits are harder to get rid of than others, he thought.

  “Are you Bemoomba?” he asked the tree.

  The tree chuckled. “Indeed I am. I am Bemoomba, custodian of all growing things, Queen of the Manukies,” she answered proudly.

  “If you are the queen of the Manukies and the custodian of all growing things, why is your valley so dry and bleak?” Yarg asked, gesturing towards the surrounding wasteland, his curiosity diverting him momentarily from his task.

  Bemoomba’s eyes closed for a moment, and Yarg heard her take a deep breath. Ignoring his question, she said, “So Yarg, I see your quest has begun, as it was foretold those many years ago. What is it you seek here among the Manukies?”

  Yarg’s eyes narrowed as he looked at her, wondering what she meant about it being foretold, but not daring to ask. “I am on a quest to save a fairy named Kaylin … I need to find an ancient moonray. Do you have one that I could take, or can you tell me how I can get one?

  Bemoomba smiled at Yarg. “No, I don’t, but yes, I do,” she replied.

  It’s like playing a game, Yarg thought, exasperated.

  “Then will you tell me?” he asked, trying to keep the impatience he felt from showing in his voice.

  “Yes.”

  Yarg’s relief was short-lived when she added: “But first I need your help with something.”

  Yarg frowned. “I have to save Kaylin, and I have only seven days to complete my task. If you give me the moonbeam, I will return to help you when my quest is finished.”

  Bemoomba smiled knowingly at him. “Yes, I know that time is pressing for you, my sweet troll king, but so it is for my Manukies. Unfortunately we cannot wait for the great Yarg to return as he says he will. If you want your moonray, you will have to help us first.”

  Yarg growled in annoyance. He was beginning to feel rather frustrated and realised that, even though he now knew he was human, he wanted to let his troll instincts loose. He wanted to rip heads off and bash things, but he forced his hands into fists to control himself and said to Bemoomba: “Tell me what can I do for you.”

  Bemoomba widened her eyes at his curt tone. It seemed that Nemesis was correct—the troll king did need to learn a lot before he could reclaim his human life.

  “Our river has been taken from us and we are denied access to the hidden depth of magic that lies within the riverbed. That magic enriches the lushness of plant life across all worlds—mortal and immortal alike. Without it, all will be laid waste, and our way of life and yours are in danger.”

  “Aren’t the fairies guardians to flowers and plants? Can’t they just look after them?” Yarg queried.

  Bemoomba gave a small laugh. “You are a smart one!” she said. “But there is a small problem with that. The fairies use the magical water from my river to nourish the flowers in their care.”

  “So you need to get it back, and you want me to do it,” Yarg said, understanding finally dawning.

  Bemoomba’s eyes were grave. “Exactly. But I think you’ll have your hands full. It’s no ordinary creatures that have done this, but a rather mischievous lot. I’m sure that you have heard of them, because they are just as naughty as you trolls can be.”

  Yarg grinned as flashes of memory of some of the pranks he and his subjects had pulled scrolled across his mind, before saying, “Then it must be the Nuffins. They are the only beings who cause more chaos than trolls.”

  “Very clever, Yarg! It is indeed the Nuffins who have stolen our river.”

  “But why?” asked Yarg. “This is not like their usual mischievous pranks. This is causing real harm.”

  “They came here wanting to make their home with us—apparently they caused a lot of trouble at the Immortal Markets and were forced to leave.” Breathing deeply she continued. “Well, my Manukies aren’t comfortable with others, so I politely refused. Instead of respecting that, the Nuffins just decided to force us to do what they wanted.”

  “Ah …” mused Yarg as he turned and looked at the scene behind him. “Wh
at did Nemesis say to this?”

  “Why do you think you are here?” Bemoomba asked in reply, amusement in her voice.

  Rolling his eyes at that response, Yarg looked around him. More lushness had seeped from the land even as they had been speaking.

  “Have you tried asking them to leave?”

  “Of course. They refuse to go.”

  “I’ll go talk to them and hear for myself what they have to say.”

  “You do that,” said Bemoomba. “My Manukies will lead you.”

  In signal that the audience had come to an end, she closed her eyes and began to lower her branches.

  The Manukies moved to the northern edge of the clearing and gestured to Yarg to come with them. His little guide reached for his hand again and tugged at him until he began to move. Yarg turned to make sure that Folgoo was following. After a few minutes traversing the verdant path that cut a swathe through the surrounding swampland, the Manukies stopped and Yarg’s little furball companion let go of his hand. As one, the Manukies turned and started back along the path in the direction of the clearing.

  Yarg and Folgoo stood side by side, watching them go. With a single glance at each other, they turned to head down the path leading to the river that sustained the Manukie’s magical way of life.

  The river was startling. The grass along the banks was vibrantly green. The crystal blue water gurgled as it gushed past, and the bottom of the river bed sparkled as if covered by millions of diamonds glittering in the sun’s light. Yarg was standing entranced, staring in awe at the river’s beauty, when a movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.

  “Did you see something?” he was whispering to Folgoo when he was suddenly knocked from behind. His knee collapsing, he landed heavily on the ground, the impact forcing him to grunt. Folgoo turned towards the sound, and was surprised to find Yarg groaning on the floor.

  “What happened? Why are you lying down?” he asked in bewilderment.

  “Well I’m not down here taking a nap, you know,” said Yarg, glaring at Folgoo. “Something knocked me off my feet.”