Whoa! Hold the carriage! How did we go from there to that? Is this all just a twisted precursor to sex for him? Troll foreplay?
More than a little shocked, I sputtered, my eyes shooting open wide. “Are you crazy? I’m not going to kiss you! You’re insane!”
Heavy brows pulled down, he narrowed his eyes to beady little slits. “Kiss me an’ I’ll let ye see yer family again.”
Blinking up at him, I stopped protesting as he moved his face closer, still eyeing him warily, considering. Kiss a troll to see my family? Frowning in thought, I eyed those thick, dark lips, gaze drifting over his mottled, grey skin. I just couldn’t decide if it was worth it.
“You... You mean it? You’d really let me see my family if I... if I, uhm, kissed you.”
“Aye,” he agreed easily, too easily. He looked calculating for a moment, before he hid it, something in his eyes.
Beyond reluctant, I gave a quick shake of my head. It’s too good to be true. This is a trick. I know it.
Or is it…?
No. He’s playing me. It couldn’t be that easy.
“For how long?” I questioned.
“How long what?” It was his turn to blink in surprise. “Kiss? ‘Til I say stop.”
“No.” I shook my head again, and he snapped out of the staring match he was having with my mouth as I spoke.
Grunting as he shook himself, his eyes shot up, and I forged ahead.
“How long can I visit them for, and when can I go? That is, if I was to agree, uhm, hypothetically speaking.”
Pausing, it was he who hesitated for once, for far longer than I felt he’d need to think about it, and I knew, right then, he was just fooling me.
“Let me up,” I gritted out, anger suffusing me, “I changed my mind. I don’t care. It’s not worth it.”
“Fine, suit yerself.” Face hardening, he pushed up and exited the cave, stomping angrily away, the sound of something stomping above me soon after letting me know he was up top, watching his bridge.
Trying to gather my thoughts, and my person, as my heart tried to thump right out of my chest, I stayed there on the floor, sprawled out and staring at the ceiling.
“I hate my life,” I muttered to myself. And I’d never heard such truer words.
Beyond A Reasonable Doubt
Peeking out, I stood at the opening of the cave, watching the stars dotting the dark blue night sky.
“Get away from there. I have no desire ta fish ye outta the river like a stout trout.”
“Ye aint sa skinny yerself,” I mock snarled back, but I dutifully stepped back into the much warmer confines of the dwelling.
I was going on six months of troll service, and had thoroughly learned all the ‘do’s and ‘don’t’s by now. Six long months, and I’d know, it could be dreadfully boring at times, and I made sure to keep track on the wall.
“Ye’re gettin’ downright feisty for a carrot topped wench,” Troll tossed out, rummaging through his trunks, yet again.
What does he scrape around for in there, anyways? It all looks like junk to me. Besides the ones with gold or jewels, that is.
“And you’re awfully bold for someone with no body hair, Troll.”
We’d settled into acceptable hateful banter, and it suited me just fine. Plus, it gave me a chance to snipe at him without fear of repercussions, and I’m beginning to think he secretly enjoys our bickering matches. I don’t know why, though, half the time I feel I’ve won.
“All it would take is a quick shave an’ ye’d be just as hairless and ugly as me, nugget. Get on me nerves an’ ye’ll experience it, firsthand.”
"I highly doubt it but knock yourself out,” I mumbled quietly under my breath.
“Wha’ was tha’, carrot top? I dinna think I quite heard ye?”
“What are you looking for in there? A lost human skull? A pair of castrated testes preserved in a jar and stuffed in a purse?”
Troll’s head shot up. “What?” he barked, incredulous. “What would I need wit’ another males shriveled balls in a jar for, shoved in a lady purse?”
Flicking a hand out, I shrugged. “I don’t know, why do you keep a shrunken head?”
“Good luck,” he grunted, before he dove back in and resumed his search.
The look he gave me said, ‘Hello, nugget, don’t be daft’.
I chose to ignore it.
“If you say so...” I fingered the locket around my neck, playing with it idly as I sat down heavily on my pallet bed, stuffed to the side in the corner.
Troll came out a few minutes later, grinning like the cat that got the canary, fingering an old pocket watch made of gold.
“Perfect,” he said to himself, spinning it out in front of him on its chain.
“Why do you call me nugget?” I opened and closed my locket, then opened it again, turning it to stare at the pictures inside. One was of Mamma and one was Papa. They’d given it to me on my eighteenth birthday. The pictures were of them in their youths, and I treasured it.
“Ye’re short an’ round, an’ yer hair is orangey gold. Ye look like a little nugget.” Lifting a thick, fat finger, he gestured to the locket I’d been fiddling with all day. “Why does that pretty mean so much ta ye?”
This is what we’d settled into, idle chatter for the bored and lonely. We always kept it simple and uncomplicated—no odd kiss deals or awkward bathing experiences.
He doesn’t push or hit me anymore like he initially had at first, no more rough manhandling, and I don’t try to hide sharp objects to maim him with, or day dream of bludgeoning him.
I don’t know when it happened, the slow change in our arrangement, but I could almost say we were friends, of a sort. Odd friends who wouldn’t hesitate to blackmail one another, one to get out of something, the other to trick them into it.
Note I said almost like friends.
Can you really call a troll a friend? Especially one who tricked you into two years of slavery, unfairly, and then an eternity to save your one true love’s life?
Shifting restlessly, I cleared my throat as normally smothered emotions threatened to take over, the locket opened in my palm bringing things I’d best not think of rushing back.
“My, uh, my parents gave it to me. It’s special. It’s the nicest thing I own.” It makes me feel pretty when I wear it—special. Loved. It was given with love.
Pausing, he stopped spinning the pocket watch and cocked his head, studying me. “Ye miss them.” There was no censure in his tone. It was merely him stating a fact.
“Yes,” I freely admitted. “Don’t you miss your family sometimes?”
Do trolls even have families? I wondered. Or are they spawned from a demonic patch of cabbages in Hell?
Brows pulling down, Troll eyed the locket and then me. Scratching his head, he brought his hand down to his chin and rubbed at it thoughtfully.
“I’ll make ye a deal,” Troll threw out of nowhere.
“Huh?” Snapping it open and shut, then open again, absently, as I peered inside, fiddling with the pretty piece, I stopped and closed my locket.
“I’ll make ye a deal,” he repeated, a hint of a growl snaking out as I glanced up at him.
“No thanks.” Lips pursing, I shook my head. I had no desire to kiss or fondle, or any other such thing I feared he might suggest, in exchange for an as of yet undecided family visit, which would happen who knew when.
Eyes narrowing to tiny little slits, he scowled and shoved the watch into his snug, too small for his thick size, black breeches. They were the ones I’d dug out of his clothing trunk, glad when he actually wore them.
I’d never seen so much of a male, against my will, so often in my life. Good riddance holey pants. Good riddance hairless balls out on display if he sits funny.
“The locket, dafty. I want ta trade ye for that locket.”
My face lit up. “Really?” but then I frowned. “When, though? And for how long? And...”
“Hold yer horses, nugget, an’ breathe
.” His snarling voice was back, but I was too happy at the thought of going home to care.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I ignored the black look that complemented his glowing orange eyes, filled with irritation on my behalf—another thing I’d slowly gotten accustomed to over time. He’s always irritated at some such thing or another, at any given moment. I don’t think he’d know how not to be.
Hands clenched together tight, so tight the knuckles were probably bloodless, I tried to wait for him to answer, striving for patience as I squirmed in my seat, but he was taking his sweet time in answering, and I couldn’t wait a second longer.
“When?” I blurted, bursting at the seams.
“Ton...” he started.
“Tonight!” I finished quickly, whooping in excitement. “You really mean it? For how long?”
Springing to my feet, I practically threw my locket at him, pulling my re-sewn dress from the small sack of my belongings I kept at the foot of my sleeping pallet, racing to the back to change into it.
“A dinna say… Ugh. A week,” he grumbled out curtly, “but not a day more.”
On hurried feet I came back out, throwing on my cape and boots, hopping around as I tried to toss them on.
Laces finally tied tight, I shot across the room.
“Oh, thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” I started to run out of the cave opening, but then thought better of it and ran back. “You won’t regret this!”
Flying at him, I threw my arms around his waist and gave him a quick hug, tugging him down to peck his cheek before I ran off.
“Who knows,” I went on, “you might realize how quiet it is around here without me and decide to let me go altogether!”
My smile brightened at the thought.
“If ye dinna come back ta me...” he growled ominously, everything in him tensing.
“I will!” I cut in. “You have my word!” Plus, he’d hunt me down if I didn’t, but I wasn’t thinking about that right now—‘cause I’m going home!
Home!
Practically bouncing on the balls of my feet, I turned around and waved, but Troll just shook his head.
“It willna be like yer thinkin’.”
“I’m off! Oh, I can’t believe I’m leaving and I don’t have to worry about you tracking me down.”
“Are ye listenin’ ta me at all, dafty?”
“Uh-huh, sure.” I checked my dress pockets, making sure I didn’t forget anything. Not that I had much on my person to begin with.
“Dinna wanna listen ta yer belly achin’ when ye come back an’ everyone’s forgotten ‘bout ye.”
Shaking my head, I stopped and held out my hand.
“If they’ve forgotten about me, I’ll let you gag me the second I start blubbering, just so you don’t have to listen to me.”
“Makin’ a deal now, is we?” Grinning suddenly, his eyes gleamed. He never could turn down a good wager.
“Okay, fine, don’t…”
Swiping a huge paw out, he snatched my hand up and shook it. The heat emanating from him, so warm was his hand, left my skin tingling. “Deal. Just remember ye was the one makin’ it, eh?”
“It won’t matter. Won’t be needed.” I pulled my hand away to find a glowing stone resting in it. Turning it over and over curiously, I fingered it. It was like a small light, a flameless light, it glowed so bright. “What’s this?” I glanced at him curiously as I studied it.
“Lights the way,” was all he said, giving me his back.
Shrugging, I nodded and took it, not questioning it if he was willing to hand something so useful over so willingly, no strings attached.
“Just take it an’ get the hell outta me sight, before I change me mind.”
Don’t have to tell me twice. I spun around and headed for the lip of the cavern, giggling to myself as I took my first step into soggy, muddy soil.
“Willna be coddlin’ ye if yer a slobberin’, blubberin’ mess, ye know!”
“Who sounds worried now?” Lips quirking, I smirked and trudged my way to the top of the small rocks lining the path, signaling the beginning of a man made dirt road.
“Careful what ye wish for, nugget!” he bellowed to my retreating back.
Undeterred, I flicked my hand back and forth over my head in his direction.
He grunted and started mumbling to himself before he lumbered back under his bridge.
My heart was too full and my excitement too great, not giving his admonishment another thought. I grinned the whole way, the darkness not an issue for me anymore. I’d already met the boogey man, I’m indebted to him—according to him and his smarmy troll mouth—not me. The bogies in the night, bumping and creaking, this way and that, were nothing more than a lullaby now—a serenade, since living under a rickety bridge/mystery cavern with a perpetually disgruntled troll with a hoarding problem.
Those ghoulies? Fake. They couldn’t harm me any more than I could harm them. The feeling, along with the elation at the idea of returning home, was freeing.
Home Sweet Home
It was early morning by the time I reached the small, well-kept cottage I called home, and the little stone I still carried had stopped glowing as the sun had risen.
Sliding the smooth rock into my dress pocket, home came into view. I couldn’t remember when I’d ever seen a prettier sight.
Just the thought, I’m home, made the whole place seem bigger somehow, taller, grander, better in some undefinable way.
It was the same as always, yet somehow more. Solid and made of sturdy wood and brick, all the cracks and crevices that would have let the outside world in having been filled and refilled, packed and repacked, as time went on, were all still there, and very much a welcomed sight. Home.
Papa had always done well to keep up with it. The thickly thatched roof never leaked for too long, and never more than a slow, steady drip-drip a decent pot could catch.
My legs carried me up the long stretch of dirt road that led to the cobble stone path that, as it so happened, also led right up to our front doorstep, fresh green grass from all the rain we’d been having recently leaving a trail of brand new, newly grown emerald green sproutlets popping up all along it.
I almost skipped up the last few steps, my boots clacking noisily as my heels hit the cobbled walk. It felt so odd to me now, wearing shoes for any given length of time. I’d gotten used to running around without them as the weather had warmed considerably, and I almost missed the feeling of warmed earth under naked feet.
Pressing my hands lovingly along the old wooden front door, I didn’t knock before I entered, assuming it was still safe to say home was still home.
Mamma and Papa, it would seem, had just sat down at the old wobbly legged table we always ate meals at.
A creak from the door as I shut it quietly behind me, immediately alerted them to my presence, and their heads shot up. As their eyes widened, I smiled a little, bubbling with happiness at seeing their wrinkle-lined, thin faces again.
The identical looks on their shocked faces, however, didn’t quite match the smile that fell from mine.
Hands clasped calmly in front of me, I swallowed nervously as they just stared, their lips parted, eyes wide, and I found myself shifting nervously, listing about restlessly from side to side on aching feet.
In my excitement and rush to get back, I had been running, and or sprinting, almost the whole way here, and I was sure the aching in the heels and arches of my feet would surely have a blister or two to match.
“Well,” I mumbled weakly, “I’ve come all this way to see you... I’ve missed you both terribly. Practically ran the whole way. Uhm, aren’t you at least going to say hello?”
“He... hello,” Mamma blurted, her face more paper white than usual, clutching her breakfast plate like she thought at any moment it might hop up and fly away.
Papa got up and hobbled around the table, favoring his right leg as he walked right up to me and slowly reached his hands out.
What had happene
d to his leg? I wondered.
His old, faded blue eyes studied my face searchingly as his fingers slowly reached out to touch my cheeks, the cool feel of those familiar bony fingers making my smile instantly return.
“You’re here,” Papa whispered, his voice choking on a soft sob as he yanked me to his chest with a surprising show of strength, wrapping his arms around me tight. “Oh, Daphie... sweet,” he cried into my shoulder quietly, clutching me to him tight, like he feared I might run off if he let go. “You’re here. You’re really here.”
Wrapping my arms around him, I hugged him back, shedding a few tears of my own.
“I’m here, Papa,” I murmured soothingly, smoothing his frizzy, faded orange hair down around the crown of his head. “I’m here.”
Papa pulled back after a long moment and quickly swiped his shirt sleeve across his eyes, as if to hide the evidence of his unruly emotions.
“So you got away, then?” he asked after a moment. “You bested the troll?”
With only a slight hesitation, I joined them at the table and shook my head.
“No, I, uh, sort of bought some time for myself.”
“Bought yourself some time?” Mamma echoed, fidgeting and blinking uncomprehendingly.
Papa’s shoulders fell and he seemed to whither in his seat.
“A trade,” I explained, my fingers unerringly moving to my neck where my locket used to be. “I made a deal with him and he gave me a week.”
“A week? And what do you do when the week is through? Does he come for you, then?” Papa asked, faded blue eyes meeting mine.
Unable to meet them, mine darted away. “Well, when the week is through… then I have to go back.”
“For how long?” Papa leaned forward on his elbows and rubbed at his temples. “How long do you have until he lets you go, child?”
“Nathem, don’t badger the poor thing, she looks dead on her-”
Papa gave Mamma a dark look until her mouth clacked shut and she looked away, returning his eyes to meet mine.
He tried to, anyways, but I found mine couldn’t always quite keep with his, his steady gaze unwavering. It unsettled me, and uncertainty was already creeping in. Every time he looked at me, like he was seeing more than he liked, I felt a bit of shame for myself, a sliver of pity. Maybe it was just me recognizing what he felt for me, I realized, and I was just mirroring it onto myself.
The Toll Page 9