Sword of Fire (Through the Ashes Book 1)

by J. A. Culican

  Father's eyes went wide and he pursed his lips. "Don't say such things, dear. You know they have ways of hearing us. By the White King, if they think we're holding out on them, it will go bad for us."

  She nodded and looked away, unable to meet his eyes. She had just brought danger to her family without even thinking about it. She had to be more careful, as her sister had always been happy to tell her.

  She made her way back to the stream and moved farther downstream. There, they had dug a long series of pits which connected to the stream at two points, allowing the water to flow in and then back out again. The fish needed oxygen, after all, and nothing was better than the aerated water from the stream.

  She looked at her family's fish pit and smiled. It was deeper on one end than the other, sliding sharply upward before leveling out about a foot below the surface on the upstream end.

  Half the pond was solidly choked with water plants—weeds, the humans had called them—and the other half belonged to the fish they raised. It had been easy to convince the plants to grow only on one side once Father had explained to them that they would get lots of nutrients from the fish. It was a symbiotic relationship. A couple times a year, the fae waded in with sickles and chopped down most of the plants, leaving the roots and some greenery. What they cut, they added to the soil in their gardens, greatly accelerating the soil's recovery from the sterilization of human fertilizers and insect control chemicals. Why humans didn't want insects in their gardens, she had no idea—they attracted snakes, lizards, and birds, all of whom enriched the soil with their droppings, attracting yet more animals.

  The fae had only been in the village for a decade, but soon now the soil would begin to produce as much food as the humans ever had, so long as they allowed nature to balance itself.

  Today, the fish seemed happy. A couple of them jumped into the air as she approached, and Bells smiled at their greeting, tossing in a couple handfuls of mealworms.

  As Bells looked around, she saw that the raft gardens were growing rich and green. If the elves didn't take it, her family might actually eat well that winter after they jarred up whatever they didn't eat, smoke, or dehydrate.

  Satisfied, she headed toward the woods to see if her two older brothers needed any help. Today, they were chopping wood. Other days, they might be hunting and hard to find, which was a pain. On the other hand, when they chopped wood, they needed water twice instead of just once.

  "All things in balance, and balance in all things," she muttered to herself. Those were the words by which the fae lived.

  She left what water remained in the bucket with her brothers so she could carry an armload of cut wood back to the hut, then layered that evenly on top of the curing stack on the hut's southern wall. The sunlight there helped to cure it faster—what little sunlight got through the smoke haze that still covered the Earth since the time of the great burning, when the Pures had stepped out of shadows to once again declare war on humankind.

  Just as with every other war, there was no reason for the slaughter as far as she was concerned. So the humans had been destroying the Earth. Who cared? The Pures had lived in the Shadow World for a millennium, and she would have happily lived there forever. There was plenty of food to go around, and as long as the fae obeyed their betters, the elves, trolls and weres had pretty much left them alone.

  Not so, here on Earth.

  She headed into her family hut, deciding to spend the rest of the day at the loom and spindle, making fabric and thread for ropes. There was no end to the chores that needed doing, and even in a large family like hers, there were never enough hands to do it all. She began spinning thread from the many plant fibers her family collected whenever they could.

  A loud bang at the front door made her jerk, dropping her thread spindle, and she jumped up to get the door. She had irritation written on her face. "I'm coming, hold your horses."

  When she was halfway across the room, whoever was outside banged again, making the whole door shake in its frame. "By the White King, I said I'm coming!" she yelled.

  She opened the door, but when she saw who stood there, she let out a little squeak and tried to close it in the thing's face. A huge, obsidian-colored hand slapped the door open almost like swatting at a bug, but the movement was powerful enough to send her flying. She landed on her back and looked through the doorway, eyes wide; she saw only a bulging belly and two stumpy legs.

  He squatted down, looking through the doorway, and Bells squeaked again. The troll's face was narrow, all angles and corners, looking like he had been rough-hewn into some sort of pitch-black rock sprinkled with blood-red flakes. His nose was easily half a foot long and it curved forward like a hawk's beak. His eyes were just as predatory as any bird of prey’s, despite taking up twice as much of his face as any human or fae eyes. The thing grinned and bared black, rotted teeth.

  A troll.

  "She's a tasty morsel, yes she is. It wonders how she tastes. Is her marrow delicious and bitter? If she has no answers, it gets to find out." The troll curled his lips back again in a snarl.

  Bells froze in place, sitting up on her elbows and staring at the black and red-flaked eyes that peered back at her. "I... What answers? You shouldn't be here. The elves are supposed to inspect us today. If they find you poaching—"

  The troll laughed, his belly shaking. It sounded like a pig snorting over and over again. He said, "Answers to questions, yes, of course. The elves aren't coming, not today." He clicked his teeth together over and over again at her and made a sucking sound through his teeth. Then he said, "She shows it where her fish are unless she wants to be the snack."

  He reached one hand through the doorway. Impossibly long fingers, thin and bony with four-inch, talon-like claws, grabbed Bells around her ankle and dragged her outside.

  Holding her upside down, he brought Bells up to his face. "She shows the fish, or she is the fish. Which does she want?"

  Bells clasped both hands over her mouth, trying not to scream. If her brothers came back, they might be tempted to do something stupid. Then, her whole family would suffer. She nodded and said, "Yes, I'll show you the fish. We are doing well this month. Well enough that even a troll your size might get full on fish heads. Wouldn't you like that?"

  The troll nodded frantically and cackled as he tossed her to the ground, letting her go. She landed in a crumpled heap.

  She said, "Okay... Then let's... I'll show you where the fish are!" Staggering, she slowly rose to her feet, then she headed toward the stream and her family's fish pond. She silently prayed by the White King that her brothers wouldn't come out, not yet. They would definitely do or say something stupid to defend her, given how close their sister was to becoming a mincemeat pie. Trolls loved mincemeat pies.

  She grabbed her shawl on the way out the door and said, "But our taxes aren't due until next week."

  When she stepped outside, the troll didn't get out of her way. At 5 feet tall—average height, for a fae—she only came up to his waist. She was more than happy that his patchwork armor covered certain parts of him and had no desire to see any more of him.

  "Your taxes are due when I say, little fae. Now, take it to the fishes." The troll bounced from one foot to the other in his excitement.

  She led the monster through the raised garden beds in front of her hut and noticed that her father was suspiciously absent. He had just been there a few minutes before. Hopefully, he'd found a place to hide when the troll first approached the hut.

  "Hurry up, girl," the troll said, sounding agitated.

  When they got to the river, she led him to her family's fish pit. Right on cue, one of the fishes jumped into the air, making a splash when it hit the water again. The troll made a terrible noise that she took to be laughter. Maybe he was grinning, but with his protruding teeth, who could tell?

  "This is my family's fish pond. We've got the population stable, so we should be able to meet the upcoming fish tax for the elves if you don't eat them all." She only h
oped he was smart enough to figure out the hidden threat.

  The troll grunted. "I don't care about elf taxes. I don't care about pop-loo-shins or big words from fae girls. Give me fish, or I find something else to eat." Again, he made the terrible huffing sound she took to be laughter.

  Bells nodded. Better to be short a few fish than for her family to be short one daughter. "There's a fishing net right there. Just scoop it into the water and you'll get a fish. It might take a try or two, but it's not like the fish can run away." She shied away from the troll, trying to get out of the monster's striking distance. Trolls could get upset at surprising things, which she thought was because they were too stupid to understand and too big and mean to put up with feeling embarrassed.

  She needn't have worried, however, because the troll jumped from a standing position all the way across the pond to where a round fishing net leaned against the family's supply bins. It snatched the net up in its long, gnarled fingers. Then, faster than she thought possible, the troll shoved the net into the water and dragged it halfway across the pond. When the net came dripping out of the water, it held at least four or five fish. Its thin webbing strained at the weight.

  The troll reached out and propped up the net bottom with his other hand, shoving all four fish into his mouth at once. It began chomping, making happy little grunts while bits of goo and fish guts leaked out the corner of his mouth.

  It was disgusting, but she forced a smile. "You like our fish?"

  "No, fish are tasty snack... But, not enough in this pond... Where I find more fishes?"

  Bells frowned. "I don't understand. This is all the fish I have. To get more fish, you'd have to go to a bigger fish pit, but those aren't my family's. And I know those fae have already paid their taxes."

  Still holding the fishing net, he turned his back on her. "So? Show me bigger pond."

  Bells felt a growing desperation. If she led him to one of the larger ponds, some other family might blame her for the loss of their fish, and her family couldn't afford to replace them. But she didn't want to think about what the troll might do if he got angry.

  "I'm waiting," the troll snarled, taking a step toward her with his fists clenched.

  Hastily, she said, "I told you, they already paid their taxes. No fish there. Understand? The elves took all their fish. They'll take ours when our taxes are due. Next week, remember?"

  The troll spun around, lashing out with his fist, but she had wisely stayed out of range. The hand, as big as her head, whistled by with inches to spare. Startled, Bells fell over backward and scrambled away on her elbows as quickly as she could, eyes wide with fear.

  The troll, seeing her reaction, began a full belly laugh, grabbing his stomach and bending over. The sounds reminded her of an angry wild hog. Trolls were vile, for sure. She scrambled back up to her feet and glanced around to find the best way to escape if the troll attacked her.

  Catching its breath, the troll said, "Fine. No more fish. Not here for fish, anyway."

  "Then what are you here for?" Then she hastily added, "Mr. Troll."

  The monster grunted and shrugged his massive shoulders. "Here for weapon. Your fae family is making mace. Where is it? She takes it to the mace, or she is like the fishes."

  Mace? What mace? Her family did have a little household smithy behind the hut. When had her family had been chosen to gather materials for and then build a troll-sized mace? No wonder Father had been so upset when he received the elves' latest "request" a few days earlier. It wasn't Father's habit to discuss such orders with his children, though.

  She glanced up at the troll, risking upsetting him with accidental eye contact, but she needed to get a sense of his body language. He was shifting from foot to foot again, but this time, he didn't look happy-excited. He clenched and unclenched his fists and took a half-step toward her.

  Hastily, Bells blurted, "Follow me. I didn't know we were supposed to make you a mace. I'm sorry I didn't know, but I do know where it would be. Our smithy is just behind our house. Come on, I'll lead you—"

  The troll didn't wait for her to finish her sentence but turned and headed quickly toward the house, tearing up bushes and crops as he went. Thankfully, the fae did most of their agriculture by disguising plants as wild growth, making it harder for the elves to find it—and then tax it.

  She ran to catch up, but the troll got farther ahead. She lost sight of him as he went around the hut to the back. She put her head down and sprinted as fast as she could.

  When she got to the smithy, she found the troll on his hands and knees, peering through the fae-sized doorway. He had ripped the simple timber door off its hinges and thrown it twenty feet away.

  "Where the mace? It doesn't see it. Fae girl, you go in and get it."

  "Yes, sir," she said quickly and headed for the doorway.

  After a quick glance around, Bells didn't spot the mace on the anvil where she had expected to find it, assuming her father really had been working on a commissioned mace. Her heart beat faster and the sweat she felt forming on her head wasn't only because of the fierce heat inside the smithy. Stepping farther inside, she said, "Are you sure the order went to this house? I think I would see a mace built for someone your size, sir."

  Her life practically flashed before her eyes as she said it.

  The troll outside paused for a moment and simply stared at her. She couldn't look away from the huge, monstrous eyes that held her riveted in place. Slowly, as though talking to an idiot, the troll said, "This is the house. You make the mace. Make it in the shop. You're in the shop. Or maybe you should find the mace before it thinks you are stealing. It counts to ten, then it eats you. One. Four. Two..."

  Bells was in a panic, looking for the mace again, checking under tables, up in the rafters, even in small parts-bins. She was out of places to look but she wasn't yet ready to be eaten by a troll, so she ignored his noises of impatience outside the door and kept searching. Every time she looked somewhere and didn't find it, she let out a little panicked squeak she was hardly even aware of.

  The troll's face disappeared from the doorway. Some wild, foolish part of her hoped the troll was going away. A moment later, she was brought crashing back into reality when he shoved his arm through the doorway, knocking over the anvil as though it were a paperweight. He didn't even flinch from the coals which landed on his hand and sizzled—his calloused hide was far too thick to feel such minor irritations.

  In an instant, his fat fingers wrapped around Bells like thick, coiled ropes and yanked her out through the door at a dizzying speed. Bells screamed. In fact, she couldn't stop screaming. The troll cocked his head to one side and simply stared at her, his mouth twitching in what might have been an amused smile. When nothing happened, though, her screams eventually died on her lips, trailing away to nothing.

  The troll suddenly burst into deep laughter, his whole body shaking, rattling her like a can of paint. She thought the beast might crush her, he squeezed so hard, but when he caught his breath, he relaxed his grip.

  He dangled Bells only a couple feet from his face so he could look her in the eyes. "Well, you tell me why it not eat her now. Maybe it lets her live?"

  Trying to find words, her mouth opened and closed, opened and closed. But when the troll made that expression again, the one he did right before laughing the last time, she found herself blurting, "If you eat me, I can't make sure we find your mace."

  Bells and the troll both stood motionless, staring into one another's eyes, the troll looking confused and Bells too terrified to move, much less to say anything else.

  At last, the troll nodded as he rose to his feet, the ground rushing away from her as he kept her held up to his face. "Fine." Then he simply opened his hand.

  Bells fell to the ground, landing on her backside painfully. She let out a gasp of pain, and the troll made the huffing, chuckling noise again. Then he said, "Yes, fine. She gets the mace, it doesn't eat her. If she steals its mace, her whole family is dinner. Har, har. Yu
m."

  Bells nodded, her head going up and down like a bobble-head doll. "Yes, I swear, I'll find it. Come back next month and we'll make sure it's done."

  She had barely finished speaking when the troll snapped, "No. No waiting. It comes in one week with the elves for getting taxes. If she has no mace, she leaves the village in its belly." His eyes glittered with mirth as he laughed at his own joke.

  Bells didn't think it was so funny. She quickly agreed, then watched the troll's back receding as it strode away. From somewhere, surprisingly, an angry spark flared up in her heart. She could feel it growing hotter and hotter as the spark turned into an inferno. The most maddening thing about it was that there was nothing one little fae girl could do about it. Fists clenched, she stormed from the smithy to the gardens, kicking rocks as she went to find her father.

  She found him on his hands and knees, hiding under a long, berry-laden branch. When he saw her, he blinked quickly and began moving his hands around the branch, picking fruit, then glanced at her. He did a double-take, pretending to be surprised. "Bells, how nice to see you. Is it lunchtime?"

  She glared, crossing her arms and tapping a foot. "You don't have a basket. An interesting way to pick fruit, hmmm?"

  "Oh. Well, my addled old brain must be going out on me. So... No lunch?"

  "Father! Why didn't you tell me we got a ticket to make a mace for a troll? You didn't even have me go to the market to get more iron. That will use up every scrap we have and more, and you didn't even finish it. What did you think was going to happen? That troll almost ate me, and you knew it was coming. It's coming back for us all, by the way."

  The old man's face flushed red in his cheeks, and lines appeared on his forehead as he furrowed his brow. "I'm sorry, Bells. What were we supposed to do? We simply can't afford to buy more metal. And you don't see a mace in the blacksmith shop because... Well, because I never finished it. We ran out of iron before I got halfway through forging the mace head. I don't know what to do." He put his face in his hands.