****
As we got closer, only a few more minutes, Papa had promised, I had a moment of panic. What if he says no? What if it’s not enough? Would anything ever be, considering what he wants?
“Will he be agreeable to the trade, do you think?” I wondered aloud.
Papa took a long time in answering. “If it can see the gem within, I’m sure it will,” he offered cryptically.
“Gems,” I corrected, cradling the sack of priceless family heirlooms, the only ones we possessed, to my chest.
Flesh Of My Flesh
Papa stopped suddenly, and I glanced around, wide-eyed.
“Are we here?” I couldn’t help the quiver in my voice. Having a good look around, I had to question it, wondering if maybe Papa had just stopped for a spell, or maybe we were lost. All I could see was a rickety old bridge and a river below it. A muddy embankment, covered with small bits of grass, dotted with tall reeds, was spread out along before us in either direction.
It was gloomy and muddy, muddier than the stuff I’d traipsed through to get to Papa the other night, and the air had an eerie quality to it, like the thick mist surrounding us, enveloping us like a dampened sheet, warning us to go back.
Oh, how I wanted nothing more than to turn around and run, but I wouldn’t.
I glanced at the river again, the rise and fall as the water went from a steady trickle, babbling quietly, to thunderous, crashing thwacks and splashes down towards the opposite end, as if it couldn’t get itself moving fast enough past that crumbling, creaking structure. My eyes strayed down the stretch of it, idly wondering if it kept raging on and on, or settled down to a steady trickle, like the opposite end had started out. I couldn’t tell, but it looked as if it went on forever, never ending.
Papa grunted in answer, “This is it.” Dismounting, he hopped down on wobbly legs, and once again gave me his hand, of which I took, and he helped me down.
Shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, Papa pointed towards the bridge. “It’s just under there, Daphedaenya, just beyond that thicket of weeds underneath.”
I followed his finger and my lips parted in astonishment.
“Underneath the bridge?” I mumbled through thick lips. I had to swallow past the catch in my throat. I have to go under there?
Stupid to think a bridge troll would live any place else, but still, silly me, the idea that I’d have to do it was boggling me.
My eyes widened and I turned to Papa, but he’d already mounted and was turning his horse around.
“Wait!” Picking up my skirts, the bag clutched in my hand, I ran towards him, tempted to try and hop back on. “But… Papa, wait! You’re leaving?”
“I’m not allowed to return,” he explained without explaining. “He threatened to disembowel me if I did. Take care, my Daphie.” His voice was hoarse as he called out my name, and that was all he offered before he took off.
Watching him go, I stood there, dumbfounded, until I couldn’t see him hurrying off into the distance any more, his coat flapping in the cold breeze. He threatened to disembowel my papa? And they want me to go have a little chat with him? Not for the first time since reaching adulthood, I had to question my parents’ sanity, and my own for that matter, knowing I was still going to do it.
Terrified, but willing to see this through, I slowly made my way to the bridge, my feet squishing wetly through a wealth of mud and rocks that seemed to sprout up out of nowhere, my sinking boots sucking wetly as I yanked them up, one foot at a time, trudging towards the bottom of the lone, rickety bridge, catching them on small rocks and pebbles mixed within.
I had to question my father’s sanity once more as I went ‘round to the right, peering underneath the bottom of the unsound framework, finding only wobbly beams that looked so decrepit I thought they might come tumbling down at any given moment, and a hastily speeding past, abundance of murky river water. And mold, yes, lots of musty, damp, stink ridden mold—can’t forget that.
Chagrined and feeling slightly duped, I pulled my head back, wiping river muck off on the back of my cape.
Heading back—to where, I didn’t know—I can’t go home right now, they’d just send me right back—a sound caught my attention and I paused, trying to track it.
A muffled cry, but not just any muffled cry.
Hand slapping up to my face, I gasped, ecstatic, “Oh!” It was Otvla!
Before I’d thought better of it, I ran around to the other side, ignoring the thickening black goop that was making its way inside my boots and into my stockings, soaking my already numb toes.
A light shone from the left side of the underside of the bridge, and my eyes widened, hands coming around to grip the wood of it as I peeked around cautiously.
Otvla came into view and I gasped, slapping my hand over my mouth to muffle it. She saw me too, though, and started shouting out my name.
“Daphedaenya!” she cried, rattling the sturdy bars of her swinging prison, “Daphie! Oh, you’ve come! I knew you’d come!”
She babbled some more nonsense, something about saviors and beasts, but I was distracted, taking everything in. She looked surprisingly well, I noticed, her dress, face and hands covered in a thick, black soot, but still in one piece, and still very much Otvla.
Her pretty, golden brown locks hung in dirty clumps about her head, full of twigs and other unidentified plant life, as opposed to their pristine, perfectly kempt state at home, her pouty lips dried and cracked—a stark contrast to their typically soft pink appearance—but other than that there wasn’t a scratch on her.
“Oh, Daphedaenya! You’ve come!” she crowed, and if I wasn’t so happy to see her I would have clobbered her.
“Shhh!” I hushed, but I had no delusions that the troll hadn’t discovered me by now. Gee, thanks, sis, why don’t you paint him a sign that says, ‘She’s right here, ya lummox’?
Already found out and mustering up some courage I didn’t really feel, I straightened up and stiffened my spine, walking stiffly into view. The sight before me shocked me, my eyes taking in everything around me in unhindered amazement.
“But how?” I mumbled as I took in the cave-like dwelling I now stood in front of, a large fire roaring and crackling as it heated the large space, set farther back.
There were beautiful tapestries covering the naked rock walls, brightly colored murals telling vivid stories, all intricately woven, carefully crafted by hand, and chests full of jewels lay opened and untouched, setting out, right out in the open for all to see, just waiting for someone to pluck them up and take them home.
“Let me out! Let me out!” she shrieked, rocking her cage further, toppling over when it swung violently to the side and caught on the wall. The bars were made of thick metal, probably iron, and she yelped as her head smacked against one. “Help me!” she wailed, rubbing the back of her scalp. “Daphie! I want to go home!!”
“Shut it!!!” a booming voice roared, the troll Trystan had warned me about lumbering slowly into view.
My whole body vibrated with the echoing of his bellow throughout the deep, well lit space. At first sight of him, I couldn’t help but tremble in place. He was huge, wider than he was tall, though he was enough at that, his hands almost brushing the dirt floor when he moved, his arms were so long; and they were thick, as was the rest of him. He had mottled grey skin, strange, raised markings covering the skin visible through the ratty old tatters of clothing remnants that covered his hard grey body.
The troll hadn’t seen me yet, his focus solely on Otvla, but I sure did get more than an eyeful of him. I was completely surprised he hadn’t noticed me, seeing as to how loud she’d been, practically sounding an alarm.
“Dunno why I havena gotten rid of ye yet,” he growled, punching the bottom of her cage, “yer nothin’ but a bleedin’ pain in my arse, ye is. Stupid wench. Blasted thievin’ humans. Shoulda just given ya ta one of the Others, collected meself a good price an’ been done wit’ ya.”
She let out a plaintiff wail, b
ut slapped a hand over her mouth at the blistering look he gave her.
Lips pulling back, he growled, annoyed, and it looked like he might do it again—punch her cage. “Scare ye, then, does it?” As I’d expected, he did, chuckling at the terrified look on her face.
“Please don’t do that,” I croaked out, hoping my voice came out a lot stronger than I knew it didn’t.
Roaring in maybe surprise or shock, being caught completely off guard, the beastly creature whirled around and crouched down.
Before I knew what was happening, he had me pinned to the wall, his hand wrapped tightly around my throat.
“Who trespasses?” he snarled in my face, and I thought my head might explode if my heart didn’t burst.
Otvla made a small plaintive noise, her lips trembling as she watched helplessly, unable to do anything.
“I do,” I got out in a choked whisper, wrapping my fingers around his huge paw of a hand, gripping it and tugging to try and get him to loosen his grip, even if it was just enough to catch my breath.
He didn’t.
Leaning forward, face a mask of menace, he sniffed at me loudly and his brows pulled down. His nose was wide and flat, complimenting his thick lips and wide mouth as he snuffled at me some more and finally inhaled deeply, very much reminding me of a dog Papa once had.
A rumbling growl of discontent bubbled up out of him, and I thought I might relieve myself, right there in front of Otvla, the troll, God, and everyone.
His eyes were what scared me the most, though, as he regarded me, above everything else, staring into mine intently, the deep orange of them like twin flames burning into mine, a life all their own.
“You smell of sweat an’ sex,” he grumbled, his voice gravelly, too gravelly, menacingly deep and low.
There was a hint of curiosity to his statement that I didn’t particularly care for, but I didn’t dare voice it out loud.
I was certain, right then, if I wasn't already going to die by his hand of asphyxiation, I would have died of horrified mortification, all on my own from that little observation alone.
“What be ye name, ye nugget?” he demanded, eyeing me up and down curiously as I turned an unnatural shade of purple.
“Please,” I mouthed, my voice gone, “you’re choking me.”
“A name?” he bellowed, his grip tightening fractionally.
Darkness spread over me quickly and I saw spots dancing in my vision. So, this is how I’m to end? I wondered. Death by troll.
“It’s Daphedaenya!” Otvla blurted out. “Daphedaenya! That’s her name! Now stop it! She can’t breathe, you beastly thing! You’re killing her!”
The troll frowned and glanced over at Otvla. “Ye be a liar, so shut it.” He turned back to me, scowling fiercely, letting go of my neck to stand back.
His thick, banded arms crossed over his chest, the straining, rope-like muscles moving sinuously with the motion as I choked and gasped desperately for breath.
“That be right, nugget? Yer name is Daph-a-doo-da-nee?” his lip curled up in disgust as he wrongly pronounced my birth name, the name of my mother’s great-great grandmother.
“Daphedaenya,” I whispered, my voice low and hoarse. My hand came up and I rubbed at my neck, already feeling a bruise forming.
“Daphie-dude-a nay, Daph-e-day-dee-noo, wha’ ever,” he muttered grumpily, “stupid, if ye ask me. A right sorry name ta be lumped wit’.”
“Thank you for noticing,” I blurted, grunting as I bounced back and slid down the rough-hewn wall, landing on my butt with a harsh plop, my voice a low croak. “But I didn’t come all the way out here, through the mud and the cold, to discuss my parents’ shortcomings at child naming.”
At my wry, completely inappropriate response, the monster before me barked out a laugh, letting it turn into a raucous, bellowing one, before finally tapering off into a deep chuckle.
It sounded rusty and choked, as if from disuse, and I got the impression he didn’t do it all that often. His small smile fell and his head whipped around when he heard the tell-tale creak of Otvla’s prison.
She whimpered when his head swung in her direction. The disturbed troll’s eyes narrowed and he pointed at her warningly, before settling back on me.
“A toll,” he ordered and held out his hand, wiggling his fat fingers in front of me. “Ye canna cross the bridge wit’out payin’ a toll.”
“I don’t wish to use your bridge.”
He sniffed and hitched his tattered black pants up on his solid waist. “What is it ye be wantin’, then?”
Opening my mouth to speak, nothing came out.
Before I could gather my wits enough about me to respond, he growled, “Well, come now, nugget. I aint got all day.”
I pointed to Otvla and held out the burlap bag Mamma had provided with the other.
“A trade,” I stated boldly, as he snatched the bag and rifled through it.
Chuffing noisily, the troll frowned at the contents, forehead creasing, and glanced at me. “Ye think me a fool, do ye? What sort of trickery ye be up ta, ye carrot haired she-devil?”
“What?” Puzzled, I frowned and clutched my hands together nervously. “Mamma said to tell you that you could have all they’d already offered, plus the family heirlooms in there.” I pointed at the bag he was shaking in front of me.
“Paste,” he muttered, “must think me a fool ta be offerin’ me paste.”
I blinked and snatched the bag back, pulling out the contents. “These aren’t paste,” I insisted, holding them out for him to get a better look, “these are priceless. They belonged to-”
Grunting, irritated, he grabbed my wrist, the jewels fisted in them, and yanked me up.
“They’re paste jewelry. Fake. They smell like it, they look like it, and...” he argued, prying my fingers open and putting the ruby necklace into his mouth.
I let out a garbled shriek as he mouthed my mother’s priceless jewels like a giant ruby teether, gaping at him openly until he spit four pieces into his hand, the chain soon to follow.
“Paste,” he explained, showing me all the little broken up pieces, spitting on the floor in disgust.
“Paste?” I mumbled, shocked, and he nodded. My shoulders slumped. “The ring too?” I asked worriedly.
“Paste,” he confirmed, and as my hopes sank to my toes, I believed him.
Hurriedly reaching forward, I stopped him before he put that one into his mouth to show me as well.
He appeared shocked that I would place my hands over his in such a familiar fashion, quickly stopping him from mouthing and decimating the last of what Mamma had always assumed was a small fortune.
Plucking it out of his hand, I let out a sigh of relief that I’d at least be able to give her the ring back intact. Don’t know what I’m going to tell her about the necklace. Setting them back in the bag, I unhooked my locket and handed it over to him.
“What about this? Is this real?” I already knew it was, but he seemed the sort that had to see for himself.
Watching me as I dangled the priceless trinket in front of him, he eyed it covetously, like I’d just offered him a sack of free gold coins, no strings attached.
Eyes changing as they fixed on the swinging necklace, he grumbled, “Aye, tis real silver.”
The air whooshed out of me in relief. “So, you’ll take it, then?” Reaching out, I placed it in his hand and waited.
Whole body shuddering, he jerked as if I’d just shocked him, his large, scary eyes closing briefly before he opened them reluctantly. Closing his fist over the locket tight, he broke out in goose flesh, shoulders shaking with the effort. A little hum started high in his throat, building up until it was almost a heavy purr from deep within his massive chest.
Speechless, at a loss, I stared at him unblinkingly. What was all that about? What just happened?
“Ye want ta be givin’ me this?” the odd being standing before me grumbled, incredulous. “This, for her?” He acted as if I was utterly ridiculous for
even suggesting it.
“Well, uh,” swallowing hard, I licked my lips nervously, “yes. Oh! And everything else, uh, too!”
Frowning over at my sister, then me, he raised a brow and shook his head.
“No.” Grimacing, his large skull gave another shake on his thick neck. “Wouldna be fair.” Sighing regretfully, he placed the locket back in my hand, but it looked as if it was quite hard for him to, and with great effort, he stepped back.
“But… but… Can’t we figure something out?” I cried desperately, following after him when he looked like he might take off. “You’re a troll, for god’s sakes! You can’t have an ethical code!”
“Useless,” he snorted. “Oi, what’s she ta ye, anyway? She’ll work off her toll,” he grimaced, “someday, an’ then she’ll be off.”
I hadn’t heard this before.
“Pay off a toll?” I questioned, dogging his footsteps determinedly.
“Aye, but at the rate she goes,” he hooked a thick thumb at her, “she’ll be me slave forever.”
Otvla started to wail again, quieting when he shouted at her and picked up what looked to me like a worn bit of leather from a boot, the heel still attached, throwing it at her cage.
“Please don’t do that,” I implored once again, slamming my lips shut at my outburst.
The scathing look the grey skinned male gave me as he growled heavily and went farther into his dwelling, informed me I’d just said the wrong thing.
This isn’t helping me any.
Taking a moment to gather my wits about me and compose myself, I said a small, silent prayer and pursued the disgruntled creature.
He’d set himself up in front of an oversized fire now, was the first thing I noticed upon spotting him, the large stones it was made out of mind boggling, set far into the wall, then down into the ground some, much like a pit. Not to mention the fact that they were an odd green color, the stones, and the flames burning in it bright were an unnatural red, tipped and dancing with blue.
Blue and red flames, trolls, green fire pit stones, Otvla in a swinging cage. This was all so strange and unreal.
The Toll Page 5