The Family Gruffe

[Kikuyu_Black_Paws]

The great hilly moors of the upper-fold were shaded in a thick blue mist from valley to crown. Every now and then the light of the struggling pre-dawn sun would pierce through a gap, only to be quickly swallowed again in swarthy dimness. A snow bird peeped its head from the depths of its warm nest, ruffling its dew soaked feathers and blinking. Through the fog, surrounded by quiet, damp creatures that dared not raise their bleats against the stillness of the murkiness, a goat-herder led his charges up the moor. His low calls echoed eerily back from the silver crags of mountain and the blank wall of vapor. The goats, long-eared things in black and white and grey-blue and russet-gold, turned their heads at his voice. The bell of the lead goat chimed a single time and hushed. It too feared the silence and the disruption its own noise caused. The young herder kicked dew off of his damp boots and clicked to his goats, urging the littlest with a small nudge to the rump. It bleated in protest, quickly hushed again, and huddled against its mother.

 

They broke the dim shield of the cloud and pushed their way into sunlight, bright and warm. The great upper fields, surrounded in mountains like a bowl, glistened in dawn and emerald grass. The waving stalks of sun-enriched plant were speckled with tiny jewels of blue and gold, spattered with tiny spots of white lace.

 

The goat-herd smiled and the goats, freed of the oppressive atmosphere of cloud, trotted forward with happy bleats. The newborns jumped and chased each other as their mothers settled down to graze, watching with half-lidded eyes and rotating jaws. The great male, a shaggy beast with curling horns and a long beard, positioned himself at the crown of the herd, a great gold eye surveying his harem and those under his protection. The young man always felt that he himself was included in this protective arrogance. He stretched out his legs, lying down on top of his long coat, and broke into a loaf of bread kept warm by a towel and a pile of apples he spilled into his lap.

 

 

The old hut was nestled four miles below the upper-fold, in the bottom of the valley. It perched atop a cliff at the very end of the valley, with the barn set far behind and away from the precipice. As the sun set, the golden and red light speared in and lit the valley for one brilliant moment, catching the hut just before darkness set in.

 

The young herder shouted and urged his goats into the barn as the sun drifted close to the horizon. The goats milled and chuckled, butting their heads against his legs and tapping their sharp hooves on the sill of the door.

 

Safely barred and laid down for the night, the young herder made his way to the hut, stretching. He paused at the door, turning his head to watch as the sun slipped beneath the horizon, sending the red-gold explosion of light towards the valley, turning light to dark and dirt to precious metal. Then it was gone, the painting lingering in the sky as dark purple night set on and the first star twinkled hesitantly into being.

 

The young man grinned and opened the door, kissing his fingers and touching the sill where a bit of lace was tacked as he went. Inside the firelight flickered in every corner, wreathing the woodwork in russet hues. The smell of roast fowl lingered in the air and he shrugged his coat from his shoulders.

 

“Minst, you’re back.”

 

Minst Gruffe looked up with a sigh and a nod. By the fire sat his two older brothers, Mellersta Gruffe, two years his senior, and Aldst Gruffe the eldest at twenty four—seven years older than Minst. Mellersta had asked the question, a glitter in his eye that was no cause of the fire. Aldst looked away drearily into the light, a pipe trailing smoke lazily.

 

“Any good grazing?” Mellersta asked.

 

“Not much,” the youngest said, turning to load dinner on an earthenware plate. “I found a good pasture up in the fold, but only enough to last a few weeks at most. The goats were so hungry they cleared almost an acre of it today alone, and it’s four miles away. We’d have to move up there to make that trip worthwhile for the goats—they can’t burn so many calories in one day and graze it all back, there’s just no way. And the air is so thin and there are no resources to make it worthwhile for us.”

 

Aldst groaned in his chest. “If we don’t find good grazing land the goats will starve—and so will we. Without milk to send to the traders on their route or cheese to eat in winter, we’ll have no source of food or income.” His eyes turned to his brothers. “I don’t need to stress the severity of our problem?”

 

“Of course not!” Mellersta said vehemently. “We take the goats out just as often as you do—we see how much they eat.”

 

“I wasn’t questioning your integrity, dimwit,” Aldst said darkly. “I want you to realize that without grazing we’ll have to slaughter the goats while they still have meat on their bones and move south, perhaps forever.”

 

The terrible words hung in the air like a death knoll, like the terrible gong that had been played at their parents’ funeral. Minst shivered as he heard the tone again and wrapped his arms around him. Mellersta toyed with a carving knife in anxious anger.

 

Aldst put the pipe back to his lips and took a deep draw, his smoky-grey eyes distant. “If we don’t find any grazing within the week we’ll have no other choice. We’ll trade off taking the goats—spread out and search in every direction, as far as you can. This is our only hope.”

 

 

Minst woke before dawn for five days straight, searching ten, twelve, even twenty miles out north, south, east, and west. On the sixth day he took the goats to the upper fold, the stress of luckless searching creasing his and his brothers’ faces. He sat uneasily, staring at nothing as the goats milled around him. The fold had not lasted as long as Minst had estimated—already the grass was chewed to nubbins with nothing but dry chaff to eat. The goats bleated in dissatisfaction but set to it, seeing no other choice.

 

Minst tossed his apple cores to the goats with a wry twist of his lips. “Sorry little fellas,” he said softly. “We tried. We really tried. But there’s one day left, yes?” He trailed off, not believing his own words of hope, waiting for the sun to reach its descent so he could go home and see the disappointment on his brother’s anxious, worn expressions.

 

 

“Not one blasted patch of grass that the goats would eat,” Mellersta exploded, kicking a chair over. “It’s all woodland and rocks for miles and miles around. The drought has just knocked out too many plains.”

 

Aldst glanced at Minst expressionlessly. He didn’t even have to voice his question.

 

“The field won’t last another week,” Minst said dully.

 

“Then we have just one more day,” Aldst said emotionlessly. “I’ll take the goats tomorrow. The two of you cover as much ground as possible, but don’t be idiots. I’ll expect you both back with my supper waiting.”

 

Even the dry humor could not lift their spirits. Without another word the brothers went to bed, leaving Aldst sitting gazing into the fire, his pipe casting a red and grey glow on his cheeks.

 

 

Minst waited until both Aldst and Mellersta had gone before he exited the house, pack over his shoulders, and stared at the open land beyond the cliff. He had lived in the southern regions, the towns, before, and he would rather die starving in the mountains than return. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and swung himself around. “Find the plain, find the grass,” he whispered.

 

He stopped as a scent caught his nostrils—the tantalizing sweet scent of new grown foliage, and he opened his eyes. He was facing east and slightly north, towards the uncharted areas of mountain that he had roamed before, always cautious of going too far. Caution...Minst thought, and swore under his breath. He set out with long, quick strides that would have him in the uncharted hills by mid morn.

 

 

The mountains were beautifully displayed in the full bloom of spring, and Minst could not help but feel like the ground was pushing energy and warmth into his feet as he walked. The great cupping peaks of the mountains speared above him ominously, spattered with a thick dusting of snow despite the warm weather below. Thick patches of flowers every color of the rainbow sprang along the copses of giant boulders moss and lichen covered. A stream trickled with a musical gurgle, and Minst angled a little more towards the east to follow it.

 

He came to a bridge. At the sight of it, Minst paused, his foot half-raised in the air. It was a normal looking bridge—wide and spanning the now ten foot width of the creek. The grey-brown planks of wood looked old but sturdy, but the hand rails were carved with some strange markings he could not make out. A bit of dried moss, or hair, Minst thought uneasily, was draped across the rails at the beginning and end of the bridge.

 

The young herder finally ripped his gaze away from the bridge and looked at the land beyond it, and his eyes widened. Guarded by a curve of the mountains, a great plain that he could see stretching for miles up hills and crests in the range waved with thick grass so green it made his eyes hurt. There were the plains he had been looking for—they had all been looking for. The river would provide fish and water for their cooking and cleaning, and the grass was close enough they could take the goats out in their backyard. It was a rich, beautiful set of land, and the sight of it almost brought tears of relief to Minst’s eyes.

 

Minst took the first steps across the bridge—it held well enough, though it made deep, pounding noises under his feet as if he were an oversized goat pinging his way across the oaken planks. The bridge creaked under his weight and he hesitated, fearing a collapse into the ice waters below, but the bridge fell silent. He paused to look at the water rushing past underneath, danger past, and smiled again at the beauty of the blue-green river, thick with fat mountain fish and swaying with thick water plants and lilies firmly attached to their stalks. The shadow cast by the bridge shivered and twitched in the flashing light of moving water.

 

Then the shadow blinked at him.

 

Minst jumped back as the darkness pulled itself together and leapt bodily from beneath the bridge. It knocked him over with a very real, muscular arm and pinned him against the wood. Minst cracked his head against the bridge and gasped for breath as lights pin wheeled before his eyes.

 

When he could see again he looked at what he was gripping tightly in an effort to keep from strangling. The forearm was hairless and covered in a thick, almost granite-like grey skin. The nails were long and yellowed set in hands too long for any living thing, like a spider’s legs set to human frame. He followed the arm and its bulging, rocky muscles to a shoulder. The shoulder branched into what looked like bark and a gnarled ridge on a tree, swept back in a sharp spike. The skin on the chest was scaled, hard, and still grey. Minst gasped, no longer because the pressure on his throat kept him from breathing, but because the creature was so inconceivable. Its hind legs were that of a goat’s, grey-furred with massive, sharp hooves, and a great curling tail like a lion’s draped on the planks beyond.

 

Minst raised his eyes to the creature’s face and was pierced by golden eyes with owlish slits surrounded by emerald green speckles. They were set so far back in the skull that the shadows around them gave the appearance of staring into darkness. The face was human, but the cheekbones were too high and the mouth too wide and the eyes too far set apart and the skin too harsh. Two curling horns of ebony arched back along his skull to rest just above his shoulders, and the shaggy mane that made up its hair trailed down its back. Minst pushed even harder on the arm pinning him to the ground, gasping. “Tro—tr—troll!”

 

The troll bared its very sharp canines at him and snarled. “Very well done,” it said in a masculine, gravelly, seductive voice. “Give the child a prize. And while you’re at it, you could explain what you’re doing on my bridge?”

 

Minst flinched and screamed as the troll’s voice rose to a blinding shriek that made the bridge shake and the water beneath roil and froth. A bird dropped dead from the sky and Minst felt blood trickle down his temple from his ear. “I was crossing the river to get to the field!” he said all at once. “We need the grazing for our goats or we’ll starve!”

 

The troll cocked his head and leaned back, gripping Minst’s throat in one long hand. He pried him up off the bridge as easily as he might have picked up a kitten by the scruff of its neck. Minst choked as the troll reared to his full height, dangling the young man’s legs three feet above the bridge’s surface. “We? Goats?” he asked, almost incredulously. “You dare to cross my bridge…for goats?”

 

Minst cried out in surprise as the troll dropped him. The monster threw back his head and laughed, long and hard, the noise shaking his chest and making Minst cover his wounded ears. The troll crouching down again to be eye-level with Minst. “Do you fear death, human? Eh? Would you scream if I devoured you alive, right now? Your blood would stain this dry wood black and the waters would run thick with your life-fluid.” He bared his sharp teeth in a fierce smile, lapping up the fear that oozed from Minst’s skin like an audible presence. “But let me guess—this dangling ‘we’ sent you out to find grazing land for your ever precious goats, is that right? Eh?” He slapped Minst, prompting an answer.

 

“Yes!” Minst gasped. “My brothers.”

 

“Eldest or youngest?” the troll purred.

 

“Youngest.”

 

The troll pursed his black lips, long nails scratching his jaw. Minst stared in horror, unable to move his legs, face aching from the slap. Finally the troll turned his pondering eyes back to the young boy and the goat-herd flinched. “Very well,” the troll grinned, baring his jaws again. “I’ll step aside and let you have the field if you bring me the children of the sun by noon tomorrow.”

 

Minst stared at him. “What are…”

 

“Don’t ask,” the troll growled, the threat of another bellow rumbling in his chest. “Just do it. That’s the fun of the game. And when you return, bring your, ah, brothers.” A sly grin twisted his lips. “If you don’t come back, I’ll find you and kill all three of you. Slowly. And I’ll leave you for last. Perhaps I’ll make you join me in my feast first. Are we understood?”

 

Minst nodded, feeling like he was going to vomit. Under the intense glare of the troll he could almost see his brothers being rent to pieces, their blood thick and metallic in the air, hear their screams. He trembled, but still he could not move.

 

The troll stood again and lifted a hand as if in afterthought. “And those goats—you’ll want to be crossing immediately before I change my mind. Bring them as well.”

 

The troll grabbed Minst by the back of his coat and lifted him off the bridge, throwing him the rest of the length until he was back on dry ground, five feet from the river’s edge. He struck the ground with a heavy thud and groaned in pain as the air left him in a whoosh. For a moment he lay there, trembling in agony and fear. Finally he looked up, but the troll was gone as if he had never been.

 

 

It was almost midnight before Minst got back. He had not stumbled four miles before fainting, his ears hurting so badly it made his eyes black. Upon recovery the sun had set and he was in darkness, forced to use the light of the moon and the stars to guide his way.

 

He met his brothers halfway in their search for him. The grabbed his shoulders, picked him up like a babe, and carried him back to the hut where he was set in a chair.

 

Aldst bathed the blood from the sides of Minst’s face in silence as Mellersta sat in brooding rage. The story of the perfect field, the unbelievable creature and his threats, as well as his demands, had already been related. Minst winced at each sound, but he did not think his eardrums had burst.

 

Aldst put the bloody water and cloth down. “The field is our only hope,” he said slowly, as if unsure how his words would be received. “It’s either the troll or the cities.”

 

Minst kept his thoughts to himself—facing the troll so soon and so terribly, he wanted to go to the cities.

 

But Mellersta gripped the table tightly, so tightly that his knuckles turned white. “The cities are no option,” he snapped. “If this troll wants to play, we’ll play. I’ll go tomorrow—Minst can tell me the way. By nightfall we’ll have this field.”

 

Aldst peered at his brother. He knew Mellersta was a strong wielder of his long pike-staff, its eighteen inch blade curving like liquid light from the six foot staff of black wood. But he was fierce and foolish, and a troll was no laughing matter. “You know the stories,” Aldst said cautiously. “From what Minst has told us, they must be true. Don’t be a fool.”

 

Mellersta glanced at his weapon hanging above the hearth and nodded stiffly. “I won’t.”

 

 

The bridge looked eerie in the cloudy light of noon, slightly golden in the haze trapped by the low storm mist. Slowly Mellersta unhooked his pike-staff from the harness on his back and set its base on the ground with a small thump.

 

He felt his heart quail in his throat as two golden eyes blinked to life from beneath the bridge. “Another whelp,” the voice growled, dark enough to curdle milk. “I take it you’re one of the brothers.”

 

“Second eldest,” Mellersta said fiercely.

 

The troll slowly pried his way from the shadows and stood in the middle of the bridge. “Then the young human did not fulfill my requests.”

 

Mellersta slid his legs apart in a sturdier stance, his teeth ground tightly together. “I’m here to make you pay for what you did to my brother, and to step aside and let us pass."

 

The troll sneered, bending his shaggy knees slightly. “Make me pay, are you?” he hissed. “Fool!”

 

“Not so foolish as you think!” Mellersta screamed, and he flung himself forward, circling the pike in a fierce underhand swing.

 

The troll stepped back, arching his spine to miss the blade cutting in on his belly. He spat angrily but did not have time to snarl again—the blade was swinging back on his head.

 

The troll ducked and shot his feet out, landing on his back with a smack. Mellersta felt the hooves smash into his stomach and screamed as he shot backwards, though he had no air left to scream with. He clutched his stomach, coughing blood.

 

The troll got to his feet and looked down as pain seared on his leg. Thick blood stained his thigh and he touched it with a curious finger. Rage shivered down his arms and he looked up again with blood lust in his eyes, his lips peeling back in fury.

 

Mellersta blinked and rolled to the side in shock as the vague storm light was blocked out by a thick black shadow. The ground shook under the force of the troll’s strike, knocking the young man to the side as he caught the nick of the blow. Mellersta grabbed his dropped pike-staff and shoved it up. The troll seemed to part just as the metal touched his side, dodging it in a manner that made the young man gasp and blink.

 

Something gripped his arm, painfully, and Mellersta screamed as the pressure snapped. He sobbed in agony, white light flaring over his eyes, and he lay panting on the ground as pain screamed on his arm and up his body.

 

The troll stepped back, panting, blood running from his leg and side. “You are strong, human,” he snarled. “But you tried my patience and see how it has rewarded you. My demands still stand, but now you must bring me something in return for your pitiful life.”

 

Mellersta gasped and tried to drag himself away by one arm. He knew his other was broken, but he dared not look at it in terror of what he would see. “I’ll never…do anything for you!” he gasped.

 

The troll’s face contorted in anger and he grabbed Mellersta by the head, dragging his neck up to his mouth. He sank his teeth into the young man’s flesh and the boy screamed, blood running from the deep wound. “How precious is your life?” the troll shrieked, blood smearing his mouth and hands. “You won’t be the first to die, I assure you! You’re little brother will be the first to go, from the bottom up, and I’ll make you watch his agonized writhing with every mouthful!”

 

“NO!” Mellersta wailed, his mind near breaking with agony. “What do you want?”

 

“Bring me the keys to heaven and hell, along with the children of the sun, and your brothers and your herd. Do so by noon tomorrow or you will all die. I have been merciful so far—do not test me again!”

 

 

Mellersta didn’t know how he made it home—the smell of his blood should have brought predators from miles around. He could only guess that the knowledge of the troll kept them away through some inane animal instinct, and perhaps also because the troll was watching him, ensuring that he got home to deliver the demands. The idea that the monster’s eyes were on him sent chills racing up the young man’s spine that had nothing to do with the fever setting in or the chill of the night.

 

The middle brother met his family halfway, collapsing into their arms and their cries of horror. The pike-staff had been snapped in half and smeared with blood—human blood—and their brother’s wounds were terrible and already beginning to heat with infection and fever.

 

Once Mellersta was bandaged, splinted, and comfortable, loaded beneath quilts to dispel the fever, and with Minst tipping a medicinal broth between his lips every few minutes, the two conscious brothers watched each other through the shadows.

 

Aldst stood with his back turned on the fire, his pipe stowed away, arms crossed with tight passion. For a long time neither spoke.

 

“Is it worth it?” Minst asked hesitantly. “Perhaps the cities will be safer—we can’t kill ourselves over this field.”

 

“No,” Aldst said tightly. “But we can kill ourselves for vengeance. This troll has hurt you—it has nearly killed Mellersta. It must be stopped.” He turned to Minst, his stormy eyes smoldering. “On the morrow I will go—you stay with Mellersta and tend to him. I will deal with this troll and bring him what he asks for.”

 

“The children of the sun and the keys to heaven and hell?” Minst asked incredulously. “Such things are impossible!”

 

Aldst stroked his lower lip thoughtfully, still brooding. “There are ways,” he said. Without another word he made his way upstairs and disappeared into his room.

 

 

Aldst knelt before a large wooden chest in his room, his hands hesitant above the lock. He sat frozen, like one staring at death. Finally, with a shaking breath he unlocked the chest and tilted back its cover.

 

Inside was a lace dress, neatly folded and preserved against age. Aldst touched it with the very tips of his fingers, as if afraid of hurting it in any way. Strewn among the folds were dried yellow flowers—large blossoms with dark eyes at the center of the thick, rustling petals. A pair of golden rings lay among the flowers, glittering in the sudden light. A locket was hung from the top of the chest, so that when open it hung at eye-level. Inside was the painted face of a young woman, her large eyes dark and sweet, and her mouth just slightly crooked into a hidden smile.

 

Aldst swallowed, staring at this picture, and closed his eyes as if he felt the agony of his brother’s wounds in his own flesh. Then he scooped up a handful of the flowers and the two rings, put them in a sack, and closed the chest. He fell into bed without a word or sigh, waiting for dawn.

 

 

“Be careful, Aldst,” Minst said in a hoarse voice, the pale rose light of morning just bathing his youthful face. He didn’t know what he’d do if his solemn, fierce older brother disappeared and never returned. “Don’t get yourself killed, alright?”

 

Aldst managed a paltry, stiff smile before he turned and set his course east and slightly north. The way was easy and pleasant, but he couldn’t help thinking about the gruesome wounds his brothers had endured, the terror. He stiffened on the way, snapping a twig underfoot without thinking. A reindeer lifted its head in the woods in alarm, watching his way with large liquid eyes. No, Aldst thought coldly. I will not let another close to me be harmed.

 

He took his time, as was his manner, walking with a long, ponderous stride. Every now and then he packed and lit his pipe to smoke in silence, leaving a trail of blue-grey smoke in his wake. The wind was in his face, giving him the scents of honey suckle, fir tree, fox musk, and river. He lifted his head at that—river water. He was close.

 

He came to the stream and angled east, following the small creek. As it swelled, Aldst felt his heart beat fuller in his chest, a thick pumping that made him heady and uneasy.

 

When the bridge came in view he strode away from the river, circling the curve of wood like a wary animal. Once he was level with it, the eldest took a deep breath and strode up the slightly worn path to stand on the edge of the bridge.

 

At first there was nothing. He heard the chuckle of the river, and the song of some bird far on the northern side of the bridge, but there was no violent roar or attack from beneath. Aldst eyed the planks suspiciously, waiting.

 

He saw the troll as it shifted in darkness beneath him, the penetration of knowing, burning eyes, the roll of foul air that puffed its way up behind a sigh. Then the troll grabbed the side of the bridge, hauled itself over the rail, and stood before the young man.

 

Aldst eyed the troll calmly, his pipe tucked between his teeth. He let out a gentle ring of smoke in thought and scratched his chin before he knocked the contents onto the bridge, ground it out with the heel of his boot in scorn, and stashed the pipe into his chest pocket.

 

“The eldest child,” the troll mused. “You are not afraid, or angry, as the others were.”

 

“You are mistaken,” Aldst said, his voice thicker than usual. “I am very angry. But I have brought the two items which you asked for.”

 

“I asked for four,” the troll reminded, but Aldst ignored him and opened his small embroidered sack, dumping the golden flowers and the golden rings on the bridge between them.

 

The troll looked down at the flowers and gold with a blank expression and then back up at the man with a curl to his lips. “Do explain.”

 

“Gladly,” Aldst said tightly. “You asked for the children of the sun, so I brought you sun flowers, or sun’s child as it is called among my people. You asked for the keys to heaven and hell, so I brought you my and my wife’s wedding bands. They are the key to heaven on earth in the love between two, but my wife is dead, and so they also unlocked the door to hell on earth with my survival.”

 

The troll grunted and scooped up the prizes, weighing them in his gnarled hand. “Clever,” he said. “Very clever. But you failed to bring your brothers and the goats with you. The pact is broken, and your life is forfeit. For your wit I will spare you the sight of your brothers’ deaths.”

 

“You will not touch them,” Aldst said softly.

 

“Really?” the troll purred. He crouched slightly, his tail lashing in excitement, and he spread his arms under a bared smile. “It does not matter where they go. I will find them. Unless you plan to kill me here, human?”

 

Aldst shifted his stance and held up his hands loosely. His half-lidded eyes did not bespeak confidence or concentration, but the intensity behind the stormy-grey made shivers run along the troll’s spine. The troll cracked his jaw, eyes widening in pale hunger, and he lunged forward without a noise or shadow of his movement.

 

Aldst side stepped and struck, his hand parried by the swift back lash of the troll. The troll’s sharp hand reached out for his face, but Aldst flung his leg up and knocked the grip askew. They stumbled back a few feet, eyeing each other.

 

The troll grinned, his mouth widening until it split his face. His fingers elongated and turned as sharp as spikes and the horns on his head and shoulder pushed further out of his rock-like skin. The troll screeched something in a gravelly tone and dropped to one knee, an arm shooting out.

 

Aldst gasped and leaned to the side—the troll’s stretching arm missed his side by a scratch, and he felt blood trickle down his hip. His eyes found the troll’s gaze—smug and vicious as a cat’s.

 

With a scream of fury Aldst charged, weaving and ducking to keep the troll’s ever lengthening and stabbing hands away from him. He felt several more nicks tag his body, but he made it through and forced the toll to his feet with a series of punches and kicks that the monster could only shield himself against.

 

The troll screamed, raising his voice to the pitch that had made Minst’s ears bleed. Aldst clapped his hands to his ears and backed a step, to the center of the bridge. He felt something punch his chest and looked down—one of the troll’s hands was stuck straight through his chest. The troll yanked it free—Aldst felt it tug, but he could feel no pain. Dark blood began to well from the wound and he looked up at the troll again with a confused look.

 

The troll grabbed him by the neck and held him up, his mouth opening, looming close.

 

Aldst grabbed a golden ring that had somehow become looped on one of the troll’s spiky protrusions, grabbed it and shoved his hand into the troll’s mouth. The troll bit down in defense and Aldst screamed, but he shoved the ring back into the troll’s throat and down his windpipe.

 

The troll choked, stumbling. Aldst swung his weight forward, and the two crashed over the rail into the water below. The river was not deep enough to sweep them away, and they lay where they had fallen. Aldst, still gripping the troll by the throat with his hand between the monster’s teeth, shoved the creature’s face under the water. The current rushed up the troll’s nose and mouth, blinding him, drowning him. One of his hands gripped Aldst’s wrist, the other clawed at his face, drawing deep bloody furrows on cheek and brow. Aldst pressed his knees into the troll’s chest, holding him down with all of his weight.

 

Slowly the troll’s movements slowed, then stopped to the occasional twitch. Aldst remained on his body in the cold water until there was no chance the monster was still alive. When he tried to stand, he found he could not move his legs. He glanced down at his chest—the wound had not stopped bleeding all this time. His skin was so white he looked waxy in the dimming light, and the pain was beginning to come, though dark and murky as though through a deep tunnel. Blood stained his face, neck, his clothes, his hands. Was it all his?

 

Somehow he made it to the bank, dragging himself out of the cold water and onto the grass. He pressed both hands to his chest, but it was useless—the wound had gone through to his back as well and he bled out on the grass beneath him, staining the emerald blades ruby. The moon rose as the sun set and the stars twinkled at him with an eerie laughter.

 

A flash of lace ripped from the sky and dangled tauntingly before his eyes. He tried to reach up and grab it—it was her lace, hers, torn from her funeral gown—he couldn’t lose it. But his arm was too heavy, he could not move. He blinked and frowned—there shouldn’t be lace in the sky. He was hallucinating, and Skönhet, his beautiful, loving Skönhet was never coming back. He closed his eyes, felt two stars trickle down his cheeks to mingle with his blood, and fell unconscious.

 

 

He heard a bell in his dreams. Perhaps it was the bell the guardian of heaven or hell wielded, urging the dead on to the gates. He couldn’t see enough to tell which he was headed towards. It was dark, and he smelled goat musk. Oh. He must be in hell then.

 

He heard someone calling his name, desperate cries mixed with weeping. He opened his eyes, great heavy stones they felt pressing on his face.

 

He saw Minst’s face hovering over him, hazy and indistinct, but it was his brother. “Minst,” he whispered, “so you’re here too. You’re too young and innocent to be in hell...”

 

“You’re not in hell, Aldst!” his brother wept. “You’re alive, I don’t believe it but you’re alive!”

 

He felt the agonizing pain in his face and chest then, and felt the pressure of the poultice his brother must have shoved into his wound. The lead goat, the protective goat, was standing nearby, his fierce eyes fixed on the bridge. “The goat found you—I always knew he was looking after us as well. I just knew it.” Aldst blinked as Minst’s voice faded in and out. He couldn’t move, but Minst was right. He was alive. You’ll have to wait, my Skönhet, he thought breathlessly. I’m sorry.

 

“I’m sorry I worried you,” Aldst said in a whisper. “Where’s Mellersta?”

 

“At home. I left him sleeping to come find you, he should be ok. I can carry you back to the hut—”

 

“Minst.”

 

His youngest brother looked at him with eyes full, ready to do anything he asked. Aldst smiled weakly and, with the strength of a hundred men, or perhaps just one wounded man, put his hand on his brother’s arm. “Bring the goats home, Minst.” 

Edited April 29, 2009 by Kikuyu Black Paws

[Degorram]

 

A few gramatical errors here and there, but the rushed, troll-speak language you used was enchanting throughout, once you got used to it. Love it. Perhaps our dream of the book will come true, if I can follow suit and be as good.

Edited April 29, 2009 by Degorram

[Quincunx]

Struck speechless. Awe.

[Peredhil]

Oh wow. *hugs*

...

I wish I'd written this.

[Patrick]

Awesome.

[Gwaihir]

A lovely fairy tale.