“Troll! Come out!” Sion roared, surprising even Richard. The knight gave him a dark look but waited to see what happened.
Nothing did. No answer came.
“Do not make us set fire to your home, destroying this bridge!” Sion continued.
Still nothing.
“Well, knight?” Tod asked, war hammer ready. “Is the troll there?”
Richard sent his magic into the gloom beneath the bridge. There was nothing. He probed further, knowing trolls had magic of their own, knowing that they sometimes skulked around the immediate area of their home. Still nothing.
On a whim, he cast his magic into the bridge itself.
And there, in its depths, the troll stirred, darkness in its heart.
“He is there,” Richard said. “A nasty one too. He is in the very essence of the bridge, in the wood and stone. He can join with it.”
“Then we destroy the bridge,” Ryk said, walking up to Richard, his blue eyes like ice. “Is your magic powerful enough?”
“It is. I can destroy that entire bridge, although I would prefer not to. People will have need of it, now as well as after the Everwinter ends,” the Heliwr said. He turned to Sion. “Can the troll escape? Through the water?”
“By now, I believe it is rooted in place,” Kathidell’s first born said. “It can spawn and send its children downriver but it can no longer flee.”
“Flush it out, Heliwr,” Tod ordered. “We will then kill it.”
While Ryk controlled the horses, his sons drew their weapons. Richard could not argue with the idea. The knight brought the magic of the Dark Thorn to bear, weaving it first, ensuring its success.
Sion suddenly stopped moving. Surprise and then fear crossed his features.
—I know you. Survivor—
The troll’s voice was a rumbling growl, filled with rage, spreading from the bridge but in the air and entering their minds. Richard kept the spell ready, worried. Sion did not move, paralyzed, seemingly the only one affected. The knight could feel the man fighting whatever power the troll had over him. But attacking the troll now could harm Sion if they were connected in some way.
—I know. All of you. Family. Of the witch—
The troll slavered the words.
Breathing hard, Sion fought through what had stopped him then. Whatever could be said of the bookseller, he was made of stern stuff.
He lifted his sword. “You will not take me,” Sion growled.
—First son Oldten. Free of us. For now. Not. Your. Mother—
Richard placed a warning hand on Sion’s chest. He would not let the man do something rash. “Troll, leave Kathidell Jayn Oldten be. Leave your bridge and face us with whatever courage you possess.”
—Fight. Me. Kill. Me. It will. Not. Matter—
The troll snarled a laugh, thick with contempt. Richard had had enough. Giving the group a warning look to stay back, he sent the power of the Dark Thorn surging into the land beneath the bridge, his spell completed, locating the filth of the troll within the structure and drawing its spirit out like poison. The troll reacted immediately, countering with dark magic of its own, anchoring itself to every aspect of the bridge it inhabited. The wood. The stone. The land beneath. It all shook. Richard gritted his teeth, growling a different bolstering spell that drew upon the magic that yet lived within Annwn, giving him an edge the troll did not have. Through sheer will, the Heliwr began extracting it, its nightmarish body being pulled free of the bridge—human-like but disproportionately so, its round belly spotted with gangrene; its head an angled lump without eyes; its long, black, sinewy arms and legs ending in sharp claws that tore at the air as if it were the enemy.
Sion and Tod saw the troll as it shimmered into existence—and together charged the bridge to kill it.
“Not yet!” Richard roared.
Too late. Still under the troll’s control, the bridge ripped apart then, become a creature of its own and a far deadlier weapon. It lashed out at the Oldten brothers, boards snapping and flailing in the air, stone pillars rocking apart from their moorings in the ground, defending the troll that possessed it. The troll struck Sion first, the bookseller spinning like a top, barely able to keep his footing and sword in hand. He would have died if not for his brother. Tod jumped to defend, his great war hammer repeatedly smashing apart the boards filled with nails and spikes that swiped at them. He was not fast enough though. In a matter of seconds, the sheer volume of bridge pieces would kill both brothers.
They would have died if not for Snedeker. The fairy flew in from the river beneath, casting his silvery dust in the space between bridge and brothers. When it met the snow on the ground, it exploded, the concussion throwing the two men free of the melee and saving them even as it set fire to the now retreating, chaotic bridge.
The father went to his sons, grabbing them to safety.
“Get the thing out, Rick!” Snedeker yelled, the bridge trying to swat the fairy from the air.
It had given Richard the time he needed. He renewed his spell’s vigor, sending the Dark Thorn’s magic and his will cascading into the bridge. The troll knew it had lost its initial advantage, thrashing, hissing, and clawing. With a loud crack that echoed throughout the forest and shook its ice-laden tree limbs, the troll came free.
Now lifeless, the bridge collapsed into itself.
Clawing at the snowy ground, the fey creature snarled as it fought to regain its safe haven. Richard didn’t let it. He kept it anchored in place—just long enough for Sion to regain his feet and run his sword through the troll’s head. The fey creature went limp immediately. No sound of hatred at its passing; no rebuke for those who had killed it.
Gesturing Sion back, Richard sent his magic surging into the corpse. It exploded into ash, the gray soot coating the churned Everwinter snow.
The troll was no more.
“It is over,” Richard breathed, letting the Dark Thorn vanish.
The Oldtens looked stunned. No one moved.
“Farnswackle, Rick. Look,” Snedeker cursed, pointing.
Richard and the others followed where his fairy friend gestured. The knight felt his heart sink. Back the way they had come, where the Everwinter snow met the lip of the spring valley, the darkness of the weather had deepened and the snows rushed into the heart of the valley as if a great void had come into being and it now had to be filled. It was clear the Everwinter now invaded the valley home of the witch.
Kathidell Jayn Oldten and her power had been weakened.
Killing the troll hadn’t helped.
The Spring Witch lay dying.
Kathidell breathed shallowly, the rasp of disease and pain tearing even at Richard’s hardened heart. She was unconscious, having gone inside herself, preferring quiet peace to aware anguish. That didn’t stop the Oldten family from surrounding her with their love. Sion stood at her bedside, holding her hand. Tod watched from the corner, stoic in the way serious men were. Ryk stood at the bed’s end, the enormity of what was happening just starting to sink into the hard man. The daughters-in-law came and went from the room as needed, sorrow in their silence. Even Anaya seemed a bit more subdued, the baby having no understanding but sensing it all the same. It was a hard scene to watch; it was the beginning of the coming end.
Richard could not fathom the sorrow they felt. He had lost his wife many years before and it had broken him, nearly consumed him. But the death of a person who meant so many different things to different people was harder in some way. The family sat around her bed, waiting, loving in her final moments.
The Heliwr looked back to Kathidell. There he saw exhaustion, even as she slept. The troll’s efforts now taking their final toll, she barely had the ability to breathe. Richard understood then. He closed his eyes and hummed quietly—so quietly he doubted even Snedeker could hear it—and sent his magic weaving through the room to quietly enter the body of the Spring Witch. Rather than find a troll, he found instead its root within her, the evil having twisted its way through her
body so thoroughly it had become an inevitable death. He felt the truth then, one she had hid from him. When he opened his eyes, the witch had also opened her own, and they stared at one another—not with condemnation of his failure but with the understanding of why it couldn’t have been any different.
“Richard, what are you doing?” Snedeker hissed at his ear, having felt the knight’s magic.
The Heliwr didn’t answer.
Kathidell smiled weakly at her family. “Take me into the sunshine,” she said.
Not questioning her request, Tod gently picked his mother up and carried her outdoors as if she weighed no more than a light bundle of sticks. The others followed. The larger son held her close even as Sion grasped her hand.
“I love you, Mother,” Sion said, eyes shimmering. Tod said the same.
“I. Love. You. Too,” she whispered, each word requiring a breath, her green eyes having lost the shine that life had once bestowed so easily. She closed them, the dappled sun on her face. Minutes passed. The garden world that had been so vibrant with animal life, sounds, and color had become hushed and dull with sad expectation. The family stood about her, some looking at the witch, others turned away in their grief.
Waiting.
Together.
It was all they could do.
When the end came, it did so faster than Richard expected. The gasping breath slowed. Then became broken, irregular. “You can go, Mom,” Sion murmured, crying.
As if all she had needed was permission, the Spring Witch stopped breathing, her mouth agape, her skin pallid and waxy. After a few moments, a lone gasp. Then another, as if the body was trying to remember how to live. Then nothing more.
In her own creation’s beauty, Kathidell Jayn Oldten died.
Sobs and tears broke the peace. The sons kissed her forehead, their faces wet with anguish. Lost. Broken. Undone. They all were. It didn’t seem real. Richard observed it all from the outside, but he shared their sadness all the same. Kathidell had been so filled with life when they had met just days before. Now this. Death was never easy to witness; it was harder still when it was someone truly special. The Heliwr had sensed that when he had stepped into her presence. She was the best of those gathered, including the Heliwr, his guide, and even the wizard who sent them. The sorrow surrounding her confirmed it, and it was not a sadness that would leave them anytime soon.
Before anyone could move though, the body of the witch began to glow a soft-white light, one without any heat but that intensified like the sun.
The family looked on, shocked, and even the Heliwr could not identify the magic that now took place, only that it originated from Kathidell’s body. Tod continued to hold his mother and Sion her hand, surprise on their faces. The light became so bright the witch’s form disappeared within it, growing into a bright culmination of some sort.
The zenith happened quickly. With a whoosh of accompanying wind, the white light burst forth into a silent explosion—in the form of thousands of butterflies. The beautiful insects were in all shapes, sizes, and species, a collage of beating blue and fire-tipped wings entering the warm day. They spread throughout the garden, changing from blue to whatever color flower they landed upon. Butterflies alit on every family member as well as Richard and Snedeker, and in the soft touch of their wings, words could be heard and kisses given on wet cheeks. Not all is lost. All will be fine. My love will be with you always in the flowers, upon the wind, and in the sunset west. The butterflies carried her will and farewell. The whispered words entered the family, joined with them, and in that way she would never be forgotten.
Richard marveled at the butterfly-filled spring garden—more color than he had ever seen, come alive even in the face of death.
He found he had no words for it.
A last gift of love from the Spring Witch.
In the morning, the Heliwr and his fairy guide left the Oldten home, venturing into a meadow nearby. Despite only a day having passed since the death of Kathidell, the magic of the witch already waned, the temperature dropping considerably, the hills around the home becoming white with snow, the Everwinter forcing its way into the valley. In a matter of a day or two, the weather that gripped Annwn would engulf this valley as well, and for the duration of the season. For now though, a powder-blue sky spread overhead, and sunshine fell on them as they stopped to talk.
“Rick, I do not understand!” Snedeker snapped, his contained confusion erupting forth. “We killed the troll! She should have been fine! Why did this happen?”
“The troll,” Richard said, feeling like his guide.
“No, we killed it!”
“We did. But its darkness had grown within her—and not so easily countered. Or perhaps the darkness originated in her and it went on to create the troll.” He paused, thrusting his hands into his pockets. “I doubt we will ever know for sure.”
“And what of the quest Merle sent us on!” Snedeker threw his bark hands up, exasperated. “We failed.”
“Kathidell did not strike me as a liar. She will keep her word,” the Heliwr disputed. He thought on her final moments. “When I sent my magic into her yesterday, I saw the truth. The thing that killed her become a cancer. And it had spread. Everywhere. She had been able to hide it from me when we first met, when I tracked the troll down. Yesterday, she was too weak to do so. And in agony from the pain, putting on a brave front for her family. I could feel the darkness throughout her entire body.” He paused. “She knew the truth about the troll before we even arrived, I think.”
“Then why go kill that creature? It could have killed her sons! Us even!”
“I suspect she knew we would help and could kill the troll. Like Merle, she knew how events would play out.” Richard paused, finding the words through the emotion that gripped him. “This is simple, Snedeker. She wanted to see her family. Together, one last time. She wanted to see her sons, in the same place. She wanted to see her granddaughter and the child that is to come. She wanted her family around her, at her death, surrounded by those she loved most. She needed an excuse to make that happen and the troll was it.” When the fairy just stared at him like he had said something crazy, he shook his head. “She wanted to love as deeply as any mother and grandmother can, at least one last time. We helped give her that. Is that some small consolation?”
The fairy frowned. “No.”
The Heliwr looked away and was about to explain further when Kathidell’s first born walked out of the garden and toward them in the meadow.
“I saw you two leave,” Sion said, eyes puffy. It was clear he had not found much solace in sleep. “I wanted to catch you before you returned to your world.”
“We didn’t want to intrude upon your privacy,” Richard said. He folded his arms. “It is a difficult time for all of you.”
Sion gave a wan smile. “Can’t believe she is gone. My brother and I talked with her before we left to kill the troll. Told her we loved her. That she had done a great job raising us. That we would not be the men we are today without her. That we would pass on her teachings to her grandchildren.” He took a steadying breath. “Life is not the same now.” He looked lost as he gazed about the flower-filled meadow. “You know, I asked her what her favorite flower was. She just laughed that musical laugh of hers, as if implying I was crazy to even ask.”
“She liked all flowers,” Snedeker guessed.
Sion nodded.
The young man needed to talk. Richard could hear it in his words and see it in his mannerisms. The Heliwr let him.
“She trusted you, knight,” Sion continued, working the words around. “That says a lot. Although she always trusted people until they gave her a reason not to.”
“She trusted you too. That’s the reason she asked me to find you,” Richard said. “But not for the reason we thought. You didn’t seem to know what you were doing when we were attacking the troll. Almost got yourself killed. You’ve never killed one, have you?”
“Let alone two,” Snedeker observed.
“It isn’t that simple,” Sion answered, looking off into the forest. “I’ve twice had to deal with trolls. No idea why they attacked me. And twice my mother came to my aid. They wormed their way into my body and, without her magic and love, I would not have survived.” The tears welled up again in his eyes. “I have forever been in her debt. And when you entered my shop, I knew I had to go. To do what I could.” The tears were rolling down his cheeks. “Yet I wasn’t strong enough to come to her aid. Wasn’t able to save her as she had saved me.”
“You were there for her when she needed it,” Richard said, trying to say something comforting. He didn’t think he was succeeding. “She knew that and loved you all the more for it.”
Sion wiped away the tears, trying to gain some kind of composure. He was not succeeding. “Before we left, my mother put her hand on my wife’s round belly,” he said, smiling despite the hardship of the memory. “My mother fell asleep like that. Kryst had been unsure of what she should do. She stood there for long minutes. It’s something I will never forget.” He choked back his grief. “She never got to hold my child, never got to see if it was a boy or girl, never heard the baby’s first coo. Or see the baby’s first step. And yet, in that one moment with my wife, I could tell my mother had connected with the baby. And now, I think she will watch over my child in a way that no child will have ever been watched over.”
“That is a beautiful memory, Sion,” Richard said, believing every word of it. “You hold onto it. And as your child grows, you will see parts of your mother there.”
“At least you have good memories,” Snedeker added.
“I do. Forever.”
The tears fell heavier now, his grief rolling from him in waves. Richard saw something else too, beyond the pain.
Rage.
“I am going to give you some advice,” Richard said, trying his best to soften what he was about to say. “Do not let your sorrow become anger. It would consume you. I know that fact better than most. And your family needs you now, more than ever.”
Unfettered II: New Tales By Masters of Fantasy Page 57