The Toll

by Jeanette Lynn

  Waving her hand, she pulled out a warped metal bowl, cracking a small, oddly shaped black spotted egg into it. Bright pink oozed from the inside, and she tossed what looked like dried herbs in, breathing onto it, sparks shooting from her lips, to jerk back when a flame lit. Silver sparkles shot out around us, a small curtain-like veil enclosing us, and she smiled serenely, supremely pleased with the feat.

  Edging back a little, stunned, I made a choking noise as she tossed me a conspiratorial wink.

  “There. No interruptions and no intrusions. Now,” she looked to me pointedly, “we may speak.” The lines on her face relaxed and she let out a deep breath. “We will be leaving in the morning, and cannot take you where we are headed. I am sorry, but your condition would put us all in danger.” When I went to speak, she held up a hand. “I know what you are,” her eyes drifted to my markings, hidden by my night shirt, all the starch and matronly patronization gone from her tone, “and I know to whom you belong.”

  I flinched at the way that sounded, but let her have her say. No use in explaining he’d abandoned me, either. What would be the point?

  “Anyone as old as I,” her hand pressed to her breast gently, jingling her clinking bracelets, tinkling in her wake, “and I am much older than one might think,” silver and dark brown mixed brows lifted up slightly, daring me to argue the fact, “knows of Ornthren. Or trolls, if you prefer.” Giving her head a quick shake that sent more wisps of stray curls free from her thick braid, she pulled something out of a hidden pocket in the fold of her voluminous skirt, keeping it hidden within her closed palm.

  “Then you know...” I trailed off, letting it taper off into dead silence. Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I forced the words through dry lips, “Then... you know what I am.” There, I’d said it.

  Finally saying it out loud, having someone to come clean to, I wasn’t surprised to find it gave me a small measure of relief. A small weight lifted off my chest.

  “Yes,” Madga nodded somberly, a sadness in her eyes I knew mirrored in my own. Hers might be out of pity or sympathy, mine was derived from a sudden sense of loss, of grief, a bit of spite. He’s gone. He left me.

  All signs point to Troll not caring—he found out the truth—I had, in fact, been just as duped as he—and still he cast me out. I should despise him and be glad I’m rid of him, once and for all, but... if only someone could tell my head and my heart.

  “Never known an Ornthren to bond, though I’ve heard a tale or two.”

  “Never?”

  “No. Ornthren are fierce beings,” she murmured, a strange look crossing her face, “full of magicks, but humans and certain others wield more power over them than they think.” The way she talked, was as if she considered humans a different species than us completely. “I have heard of a few being enslaved by Casters,” she added almost conversationally.

  “Casters? Oh! You mean witches. But, how?” I found myself leaning towards her, hanging on every word. This is what I’ve been waiting for—someone who will finally give me answers.

  Lips pursing as she picked up a small flask from her cloth lined basket, she pulled the cork and took a long quaff, eyeing me dubiously the entire time. “Don’t you know, dearie?” Offering me a sip, I shook my head, hands up, and she pulled it away, tossing the swill back as she wagged at me with her pinky. Shooting forward, she smacked her lips, nose wrinkling. “You don’t expect me to believe you ended up that way on a whim, do you?” Snorting as she pushed the cork back in, she let out a high, tinkling laugh—carefree—like I’d just done or said the funniest thing she’d ever heard. “And then, well, you know.”

  Anger flashed through me, red hot, and I bit back a hiss through gritted teeth. “I don’t, and I didn’t do anything.”

  “Oh,” she smirked cattily, “but don’t you? Didn’t you?”

  “No.”

  Magda stopped dead at my words, my voice gone harsh and guttural. Hands fisting the rug underneath me, a loud rip tore throughout the room.

  “Mmm. Pity.” Trying to mask her expression, she gave the rug a small forlorn look before sending a frown my way. Clucking her tongue, she waved me off. “I rather liked that one.”

  Hard as she might, she couldn’t hide her smell. She was nervous, and she wreaked of it.

  “So buy another fucking one.” Teeth clacking, I’d just snarled at her, incensed by her careless remarks. Runes humming, my Other sense was hissing at me to establish dominance with this lower being. It was the way of things. This is how it was to be. How dare she insult me. She needed to learn her place.

  A low growl built up in my throat, neck cracking as I rolled my shoulders to ease some of the tension bunching in them, pulling tight, and she squeaked.

  Magda’s jaw dropped and she sat back a little, putting as much distance between us as possible without getting up and scrambling from the room.

  “You’re eyes are glowing again.” I could feel her power, smell it in the air, muted, weak but building. She was preparing, arming herself, reaching for the cane, just in case.

  My power wafted around the room, thick in the air. It wanted to envelop hers, touch whatever she had closed in her fist, radiating a sort of rush of familiar magic in waves. It soothed a little, but not much. My senses were clawing at me to gain it—take the pretty—by whatever means necessary.

  The pretty? That brought me tumbling back.

  “I’m sorry,” I snapped after a moment, a small sheen of sweat beginning to form on my brow, eyes squeezing shut tight. “I don’t know what’s come over me. Please, just... just give me a minute. And... put whatever is in your hand away. I don’t want to be around it.”

  Digging deep, I tried for calm, chest rising and falling rapidly as emotions clawed at my throat, grappling to break free. I wanted to bellow at her, I was so inexplicably mad. I wanted to roar, but why? What had she truly done, other than being momentarily rude?

  Biting my tongue, I clenched my teeth, ignoring the sharp, metallic tang of blood in my mouth as I slowly found a small measure of control.

  I wanted my mate, but that couldn’t be remedied.

  “Apologies. I’ve hit a nerve, and this, well...” I could hear her hands fluttering around me, the clink of something delicate but metal, the flutter of a small chain reaching my ears. Inhaling deeply, I scented silver, fear again, and what I now recognize as Fae magic, as well as Magda’s heart racing in her throat. The cane was something else entirely, and my newfound sense advised me not to touch it, cringing away from the thing. The small glimpse of fear I’d smelled on Magda did help deflate my ire, though.

  “S’fine.” It wasn’t, it really wasn’t, but I really was trying. Eyes still shut tight, I didn’t bother opening them when she started talking again.

  “I just assumed...”

  “Well, you thought wrong.” Ahem. Another deep breath, and I started again. “You were saying, about trolls, and humans and power?” I prompted, trying not to twitch as she cupped her trinket in one hand, then the other, letting it fall with those maddening ‘clinkety-clinks’, driving me to distraction. Did she know she was making me crazy? Does she realize how much power that trinket carries? It’s more than that silly cane. If she prizes strength so much, why hasn’t she used it yet?

  “Oh, yes, well,” Magda murmured, clearing her throat lightly, “uhm, give me a moment to remember.”

  There was a slight tremor in her voice. She was shaken, and I’d scared her. She fears me.

  Good. My Other sense was pleased with the thought, and I was beginning to feel like I had a small monster living inside me, egging me on or patting me on the back when I least expected it.

  “You know... could you, maybe, tone it down a little?”

  Eyes popping open wide, I watched her curiously. “Tone what down?” My eyes slid to the trinket—a locket. A very pretty one that shone bright, glowing with blue light. “Where did you get that?” Muttered gruffly, ignoring the curtness to my voice, I was unable to take my eyes away fro
m it, entranced.

  “The bright eyes and the power rolling off of you, it rather, well...” Magda stopped the maddening trinket dance, slowly placing it inside her pocket, hands trembling when a low snarl ripped from my throat. Catching it, I yelped and slammed my lips shut.

  Forcing a smile I knew she didn’t feel, she gestured towards me weakly, hands fluttering about my person. The nervous anxiety slapping at me, coming off of her hard, did the trick, and I finally settled down.

  “Yes,” she murmured, relaxing instantly, “like that.”

  “Does it really affect you so strongly?”

  Glancing towards the back, she nodded. “All halflings are like that, some more so than others. We’re too human, so we fear strong magicks naturally—consider it inborn self-preservation at its finest, but we possess enough magic within us to wield it, and are thus, usually attracted to the power. Ever wonder why humans feel a rush to be inside after dark? The human part of us just screws it all up. Myself, I’m attracted to it more so than most,” she boasted, “I’m of a direct line.” There was no small amount of pride in her tone.

  “I don’t fear magic,” I mumbled, puzzled.

  “I wouldn’t either,” she mused, studying my shoulders a little enviously, “if I were you.”

  Shrinking back a little, my skin prickled warningly.

  Catching my discomfort, her eyes shifted and she smiled sheepishly. The smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Sorry.” Lifting her arms up at her sides, she held her hands up impassively, pointing to herself. “Halfling, attracted to, and yet repelled by, magic, remember? Can’t help myself.”

  Try harder, I felt the urge to mutter. And give me that damned necklace.

  “You don’t really look old, do you?” I could see her image wavering, shimmering as she moved, a younger woman, with silver white hair, deep, charcoal eyes, caramel brown skin, and small points at the very tips of her ears, peeking out.

  Tilting her head a little, she smiled slowly, small canines, sharp at the tips, peeking out. “You’ve a name, bonded to Bektam, what is it?” Holding up a hand, she said quickly. “But be certain, when you say it, it’s not a real one. Real name is a powerful thing. The more power you wield, the more precious the truth of it.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, I need to call you something?” Tossing her hands up in the air with a flare on par with an actor well versed in her part, she was right at ease again, as if nothing had come of anything.

  “No,” I let a small chuckle escape me at her antics, “I mean, why is it so important? It’s just a name, after all. What could it possibly do?”

  Sobering quickly, she shook her head. “Everything. In the wrong hands...” She held her own out, gesturing wildly, a small shudder wracking her frame. “You might as well sign away your soul. Other—Ornthren, Sidhe, Changelings, we live forever. A life of slavery? It’s worse than eternal damnation. You are not a mere human anymore, bright eyes. You’re Other.”

  Gersthart. His name whispered through my subconscious.

  Troll had given me his name—his real one. A small glimmer of hope lit as something warm sparked within my chest. He did trust me.

  At least, in the beginning he had. The small amendment made that tiny flicker of hope die down a little, but not completely out.

  All in all, this new bit of information wasn’t all that surprising, considering the two Ornthren I knew of weren’t all that fond of humans. It made sense.

  They probably avoid any kind of attachment to us, toll-paying/troll revenge induced slavery aside—which is making even more sense now—though it’s still very wrong, in my opinion. I still don’t regret hitting that smarmy donkey’s bum I met at the bridge upside his fat head, not one bit. The bastard had deserved it.

  Humming in the back of my throat, I asked, “Is that all you wished to speak to me about?” Gesturing to the back were Vidi slept, I put the funny feeling I got in the pit of my stomach to words.

  “I’ve been given a task I must complete,” Magda murmured, a curiousness to her open expression that put me at ease as opposed to offending. “Will you allow it?”

  “That depends on what it is”

  “A token, from a... friend. I was to hold it for-”

  “A price?” I guessed. “In exchange for what?” I might as well have asked, ‘At what cost to me?’ I wasn’t stupid. I knew this game.

  “A boon.”

  “Boon? A favor?”

  “Yes.” Silver and black eyes flashed triumphantly, no trace of the human color she normally carried to be found. “To be claimed at a later date.”

  Closing off immediately, I scooted back, warding her off, hands waving along with the wild shake of my head. “No. I don’t care and I don’t want it anymore. It’s not worth it.”

  “Really?” Magda fairly purred as she slowly pulled the locket back out, letting it twirl on its chain as she held it out to me. Dangling it enticingly, it was more like, her low murmured entreaties whispering to me softly.

  “It’s already mine,” I gritted out, reaching out to take it from her. “Give it here.” Ready to snatch it out of her hands, a loud shout and a high pitched laugh from outside had me jumping, startling me back to my senses.

  Pulling my hand back as if I was about to shove it into a burning flame, Magda let it fall, landing conveniently in my palm right as it closed.

  On contact I hissed, shivering in pleasure.

  “Oops.” The halfling grinned unapologetically as I glared up at her. Sitting back in her stool, she sighed heavily, clapped her hands, and waved me off. “Glad that’s settled,” she murmured happily, letting out a big yawn.

  “Nothing’s settled. Take it back.”

  Rummaging around in her basket again, she looked up. “Oh? Alright then,” she straightened up, hand held out, fingers wiggling, “give it back, then.”

  But I couldn’t, clutching the pretty, shiny trinket to my chest tight. Try as I might, I couldn’t let it go, it was just too special.

  Magda smiled in satisfaction. “That’s what I was counting on.”

  “You tricked me.”

  Standing up and stretching, Magda didn’t try to deny it. “I did.”

  “But... why?”

  Glancing towards the sleeping compartment, a look came over her face. “Protection.” Silvery green swirled black eyes met mine, the face of a young, delicate featured Fae woman slowly peeking out. Thin lips set in a small face with wide eyes and a tiny nose, long pointy ears tipping up and out of her long, black and silvery white hair.

  “From me?” I didn’t know what to say. She looked so... capable.

  “No,” Magda shook her head, muttering, “though I feel it might have been pertinent, had I accounted for your untamed power.”

  “From what, then?”

  “For her.” Jerking her chin, she motioned to the sleep compartment.

  A thought occurred to me, my gaze going from the back of the spacious wagon to her, suspicion enveloping me. “You’re not really her grandmother.”

  “No.” Magda’s eyes danced, small crinkle lines at the corner of her mouth giving way to a face that smiled often.

  “Care to fill me in?”

  Unruffled, Magda smirked challengingly. “Only if you go first.”

  “Never mind,” I muttered, mouth turning down.

  “I wish to rest,” Magda said on a second yawn, “all this expenditure to keep the shield up is draining me.”

  “Right.” Great. What do I do now? Glancing down, I eyed my closed fist, clamped down so hard I feared I might crush my pretty. Mine. I could sense the power it held, I just couldn’t tap into it. Yet. I couldn’t open it yet.

  Why does this mean so blasted much to me? I wondered.

  Forcing my fist open, I held it up and out. Small and detailed, it was intricate and beautiful, but that wasn’t the true appeal. What makes it so powerful?

  “The person who wore that cared a great deal about it.”

  I’d completel
y forgotten Magda was still there. Pulling my gaze away, I swayed drunkenly as I slipped its thrall.

  “Who’s was it?”

  “Can’t you tell?”

  “If I could tell, I wouldn’t be asking you,” I shot back, slumping down until I was sprawled out, half propped up by the wall.

  Magda chuckled, long and loud, grinning from ear to ear. “You’ve made me very happy this night,” she pointed to the locket, “so I will tell you,” pausing, she half shrugged, “what I can.”

  Looking up at her, askance, she explained, “That’s where you get your power from, to replenish. It’s a reserve.”

  “But what makes it... full?”

  “Its value. Someone valued that greatly, and that value holds power.”

  Like a name. “So... they value this, whatever it is, and the more they value it, cherish it, the more meaning it has?”

  “Yes.” Nodding, she waved off the bubble of privacy she’d made, bursting it with a flick of her wrist. “They care for it greatly, it has value.”

  “They love it.” I was back to staring at the locket again.

  “You should put it on,” the halfling suggested.

  Something about it pricked me and I forced myself to shove it in the sack of coins I had hidden in the folds of my sheet-cloak. “Maybe in the morning,” I said offhandedly, readying myself to leave.

  Surprise crossing her face fleetingly, she nodded. “You may stay here the night, but no more.”

  Not sure whether I felt trapped, slightly rejected, or relieved, I accepted. “Thank you.”

  “You’d do well to do away with that too,” she murmured. “You are beholden to no one.” Something dark flashed in her eyes and her voice deepened. “Never forget it.”

  Before I could think better of it, I crossed the small distance and pulled her into a hug. Her words struck me, like lightning.

  After a moment’s hesitation, stunned at my forwardness, her Older Magda ruse firmly in place, she held me back. “I know you are much stronger than you appear, and I know you bear a mark of great power. Not many can, or would, bond an Ornthren.”

  When my eyes lifted, meeting hers, uncertainty flicked across her gaze, but she gave my fingers a gentle squeeze.