Cyrus LongBones Box Set

by Jeremy Mathiesen

  “Well…” Grim said, picking up the tossed klops foot.

  He waded over to his stump and slumped down his hulking frame.

  “Don’t just lay there feeling sorry for yourself. It ain’t cannibal if they’re already dead. Gut and clean ‘em.”

  Stygl’s face twisted into a wrinkled grin.

  Chapter 13

  CAMPFIRE TALES

  CYRUS AWOKE HUNGRY and sore. Before him lay snow-covered rocks, and beyond the rocks rested a forest of powder-caked evergreens. The morning sky sagged with gray clouds, and a nearby fire crackled smoky and hot.

  “Heslig would have wanted it this way,” Stygl said.

  The troll was somewhere behind Cyrus, talking through a mouth full of food.

  Sizzling fat and roasted moss tainted the crisp, winter air.

  “I’ll remember that when it’s your time,” Grim said.

  Cyrus had hoped it was all a bad dream. He felt a large shaggy mass shift behind him.

  “Inbred swine,” Tier growled.

  Again, Cyrus strained against the coarse rope.

  “What is your kind doing back in these parts?” the yeti demanded, “My grandfather drove you off east a generation ago.”

  “Murdered our woman and children, they did,” Stygl whined, “Now there’s only two of us left.”

  “We heard the stories as children,” Tier said, “Stories of trolls that would wed their cousins, aunts, brothers, sisters, it did not matter. Stories of gluttonous oafs that would hunt the forest bare, feasting on whatever they could find. Whole herds of moose and deer would vanish in a season, leaving the wolves to starve and become crazed. We were told of trolls that would hide in the woods, in plain sight, and make off with our children.”

  Cyrus could feel the tension in Tier’s muscles. He strained to turn his head. The two trolls sat around the campfire, turning their roasted friend over a spit. The fire crackled and flared with the dripping fat from Heslig’s carcass.

  “We ran out of food, and were forced back west,” Grim said, eating a chubby toe like an apple, “When we found you lot taken prisoner, and unable to defend these lands, we thought, well, that solves that problem. The queen’s a nasty piece of work, but she usually leaves us well enough alone.”

  “How did you escape the camp anyways?” Stygl asked.

  “Who?” Cyrus replied.

  “You two of course.”

  “What camp?” Tier demanded.

  “In the mountains above,” Grim said, “All those yeti workin’ away, day and night. Become slaves to klops? Pathetic.”

  “They’re still alive,” Tier said, hope in her deep voice.

  “That queen gives me the creeps,” Stygl said, biting into a thick shoulder, “Eating children is one thing, but newborn hatchlings? There’s a special hell for her kind.”

  “She’s evil, that’s for certain,” Grim added, “It makes my bones itch thinking what you lot must have done to bring her wickedness down on your kind.”

  “Speaking of eating children,” Stygl said, “I want to see what the pink one tastes like.”

  The troll tossed the bone over his shoulder and rose to his feet. His eyes were lusty and bloodshot.

  “Sit down,” Grim said, smacking Stygl in the side of the head with a toeless foot.

  Stygl snarled and turned on Grim. Grim stood to his full height and glared back.

  “I said sit down,” Grim repeated, pointing a fractured thigh bone at Stygl, “The queen won’t give us a fair trade if the meat’s damaged.”

  “The queen?” Stygl whined, “I thought we was trying to avoid the queen. I’m not going near that she-demon.”

  “You will if you want to eat,” Grim said, “I’ve been thinking about it. I bet she gives us fifty klops for these two runaways. And not the skinny feeble ones either, but the big fat ones.”

  “She feeds babies to the fat ones,” Stygl shrieked.

  “Stop your blubbering and pack up the meat,” Grim ordered, “We’ve got bargains to make.”

  Chapter 14

  THE TROLL HOLE

  THE TROLLS TIED CYRUS and Tier to two lengthy tree branches, then carried them along a narrow, cliff-side trail. Like game, the prisoners dangled from the branches, bound by their wrists and ankles. Cyrus’ body twisted and ached. Where were they headed? How long had they been walking for? He prayed the long march would come to an end soon. The clouds grew dark and low. Evening neared.

  Again, Cyrus strained against his bonds. He wished he had a knife or Tier’s rifle. The trolls had abandoned the rifle back at the camp, along with their crossbows, and Tier’s leather satchels.

  Cyrus fought back tears of exhaustion and frustration. How long could this go on for? How could they escape? Was Fibian still alive? Was Edward?

  The dizzying path arrived at the mouth of a gaping, mountain-side cavern. The cavity seemed to have been blown out of the living rock.

  “What is this place?” Cyrus whispered.

  “How should I know?” Tier said, her voice full of agitation.

  “Shut up, you two,” Stygl ordered.

  The brutes entered the cave and dropped their catch on the cold stone floor. The lair was massive and the trolls were puny by comparison. Cyrus looked about as Grim and Stygl walked towards the craggy recesses and relieved their bladders. The ceiling was high and harbored small clusters of snoozing bats. Areas of the roof had been built up and supported by large wooden beams.

  The two trolls returned to their catch and started to ready a spit. Large puddles of ice blotted the cavern’s uneven ground. The frozen pools began to reflect the newborn fire.

  “Chain ‘em up,” Grim ordered.

  One at a time, Stygl untied Cyrus and Tier and dragged them over to a granite wall. There, a pair of iron cuffs dangled from the chiseled rock. The troll slapped one around Tier’s left wrist. The other he locked about Cyrus’ neck. His limbs were too thin for the large shackles.

  “Trolls don’t work metal like this,” Tier said, pulling against the iron chains.

  “Klops made,” Grim replied, feeding wood to the fire from a nearby pile.

  “Impossible,” Tier said.

  “You should know better than us,” Stygl added, “That queen’s got them lot doin’ all sorts of queer things.”

  Grim pulled the leftover Heslig out of two dripping sacks and began to reheat their breakfast. The roasting meat smelled of bacon grease and compost.

  Once the prisoners were safe and secured, the trolls sat down to an early supper of organ meats and bone. They crunched and slurped and burped, guzzling down a large barrel of amber liquid they had hidden within the cavern. Cyrus watched, his guts rolling. Evening turned to night. The two giants passed gas and grew merry.

  A rat crept out of a crack in the wall and started to scavenge the brutes’ discarded scraps. Like wolf’s hair, the rodent’s coat was thick and bristly, its tail heavy like cord.

  When finally, all of Heslig had been consumed, Stygl slurred, “I’m still hungry.”

  The fiend leered at Cyrus through bloodshot eyes.

  Grim burped, and said, “You’ve had your fill for the night. Them two’s for the queen.”

  Cyrus was not going to be troll food, or be handed over to some child-eating monster. He searched the hollows of the shadowy cave for some way of escape. If he could just get a stick to pick the lock, or a knife to defend himself. He found only weeping bats and imagined phantoms lurking within the dark.

  “I wants to eat ‘em,” Stygl squawked, “Who says you gets to decide what we do with ‘em?”

  “I says I decide,” Grim grunted, “You want to eat for a night or a month?”

  “Well, I’m hungry, and I don’t trust that queen. Besides, I want to know what that pink one tastes like.”

  Stygl rose clumsily to his feet.

  “Sit down,” Grim ordered.

  “Or what?” Stygl asked, taking a swig from the barrel.

  Grim punched Stygl hard in the belly. The
troll spat up a mouthful of drink. Grim walloped him in the jaw. Stygl dropped the barrel and stumbled backward, falling onto an icy puddle. Several branches snapped off his backside. Grim marched forward, grasping Stygl by the scruff of the neck, and hurled the troll into a second puddle. Ice shattered and the ground shook.

  “Or that’s what,” Grim said, huffing like a wild bull.

  Cyrus watched as Stygl rolled to all fours. The troll gasped for breath and checked for missing teeth.

  “You sucker punched me,” he shrieked.

  Stygl swallowed deep and spat in Grim’s direction. Then he caught Cyrus staring at him. His eyes became fiery and crazed.

  “What you lookin’ at, meat?”

  Cyrus turned away and peered out the cave entrance, yearning for escape. Beyond the firelight, past the cave’s glow, a snowstorm danced and swirled like a frenzied phantom. For a mere moment, Cyrus thought he saw two glowing blue lights move within the flurry of falling snow.

  “It can’t be,” he whispered, “Fibian?”

  Tier glared down at him.

  “You are exhausted and desperate,” the towering beast said, “Your mind is playing tricks on you. Your blue-eyed friend succumbed to the klops’ poison long ago, and without a warm body as shelter, your spider friend is dead as well. You doomed them to a snowy grave, the moment you left their side.”

  Understanding struck Cyrus like a bolt. Tier had not magically gotten over her mother’s death. There was still hate in her heart. The two klops had spoilt her murder plot. She had changed tactics; divide and conquer. It did not seem to bother her that, without Fibian and Edward’s help, they were about to be handed over to the very creature that had destroyed her kingdom. Even the wise and beautiful yeti could be made foolish by fear and anger. If the queen could so easily defeat such a strong people, what hope did Cyrus have?

  Chapter 15

  STYGL

  CYRUS TRIED to sleep, sitting on the cold stone. The shackle around his neck bit at his throat. The large, shaggy Tier sat dozing to his right. Her manacled right arm hung from the chain like butcher’s meat. It would be morning soon, Cyrus thought. How could he escape?

  Grim snored in the glow of the smoldering fire. Stygl had sulked off hours ago, to lick his wounds somewhere in the shadows.

  “Make a sound and I’ll split ya belly to brain.”

  Cyrus’ breath caught in his throat. He saw the knife glinting in the darkness. Then Stygl moved into the light.

  “Get back!” Cyrus shouted.

  Grim shifted in his sleep. Stygl shoved a rag into Cyrus’ mouth.

  “I said, shut up.”

  Cyrus tried to scream. He produced only a muffled cry. He looked up towards Tier. The yeti’s eyes were open and staring down at him. Her face held no emotion. Cyrus reached out for help. She turned away.

  Could Cyrus blame her? He would have done the same had someone killed Edward or Fibian. Were his friends truly dead? Was Cyrus about to join them?

  Stygl unlocked Cyrus’ neck using a rusted, iron key, then dragged him by the collar further into the cavern. Cyrus slid struggling over sharp rock and slippery ice. He clutched at the ground in search of a weapon. Nothing.

  Stygl hauled Cyrus out of earshot. He forced him to his back and stepped on his belly, pinning him to the ground. Cyrus struggled to breathe. The troll struck a piece of flint against his knife and ignited an alcohol-doused torch. The flame flickered, then bloomed.

  Stygl’s right eye was blackened and swollen, and a sort of sap dripped from the broken branches on his face.

  “Now, let’s go somewheres a little more private,” Stygl grinned, his breath sour and sweet with the stench of booze and meat.

  Cyrus tried to fight, but the troll dragged him kicking and clawing into the bowels of the subterranean hollow.

  Deep within the cavern, the air smelled of musty rock dust. The torchlight illuminated clusters of egg-like sacs hidden in craggy alcoves. Several small skeletons lay scattered near the ruptured cocoons. Some had teeth marks on their arm and leg bones; others had large bites out of their skulls.

  “Filthy klops,” Stygl said, “Sees, I told you they was cannibalish swine. Eats their own young. And it’s all that witchy queen’s doin’.”

  Cyrus peered around at the abandoned catacomb of monstrosities. He could not die in a place like this. What was happening?

  “Now let’s see,” Stygl slurred.

  He pulled off one of Cyrus’ boots. The cold air snapped at Cyrus’ toes. He scrambled and tried to scream.

  “Stop yer strugglin’,” Stygl said, ripping off the second boot.

  Cyrus drove his heel into the troll’s bulbous nose.

  “Gahhh!”

  Stygl grasped his face. Then he pushed Cyrus belly-down to the ground, forcing the air from his lungs. He pulled off Cyrus’ leather trousers. Cyrus kicked Stygl in the mouth. The troll slapped his legs aside and pulled the jacket off his back. Cyrus’ flesh screamed, his long underwear doing little to fend off the cold.

  The troll grasped Cyrus by the left wrist and picked him up off the ground. Cyrus kicked and punched as Stygl raised him to his slavering mouth. Stewing gas wafted out of the brute’s throat. Cyrus wriggled, making his arm go limp. He slipped several inches through the troll’s grip. Stygl tossed Cyrus in the air and caught him near the elbow. Cyrus twisted and thrashed. His toes scraped Stygl’s moss-coated teeth. He reached up and gripped the branch growing from the troll’s nose. He twisted and pulled. The appendage broke free.

  “Gaaahh!”

  He stabbed the broken limb into Stygl’s left eye.

  “Nooooo!”

  The troll dropped his prey and clutched his face.

  “I’ll cook you alive for this,” Stygl shouted.

  Cyrus pulled the key off Stygl’s hip, then grasped the large torch off the ground. He fled back towards the mouth of the cave, leaving the defaced villain lost in the darkness.

  Chapter 16

  BACK FROM THE DEAD

  CYRUS PULLED THE GAG from his mouth and made his way stumbling through the twisting tunnel. He had to get away from Stygl. He had to escape.

  His feet hit ice. He slipped, landing hard on his backside. The torch struck the ground and spattered to bits. Cyrus regained his footing and continued on towards the faint firelight. Stygl hollered behind him. The troll was growing near.

  Cyrus grasped along the frigid walls, searching for a way out. Come on! Which way is it? The light was playing tricks. He struck solid rock. A dead end. He felt along the craggy stone. His feet grew numb and his fingers burned. He made his way around a sharp corner. There lay the entrance to the troll’s cavern.

  He spied Grim, asleep by the fire. Then he saw Tier, chained to the wall. She wanted him dead. She was going to double-cross him the first chance she got. She loved her mother, the mother that he, Fibian and Edward had taken. Could Cyrus leave her to die, or condemn her to the yeti slave camp?

  He ran to Tier’s side.

  “You escaped? What are you doing?” she asked, her expression bewildered.

  Cyrus jammed the key into the lock and turned. The insides would not budge.

  “Grim,” Stygl shouted, from the cavern’s depths.

  “Come on, you stupid lock,” Cyrus whispered.

  “Stygl?” Grim yawned, half-waking from his drunken slumber.

  Cyrus withdrew the key and inspected its teeth. One of the prongs was rusted through and had broken off.

  “It must have happened when I fell,” Cyrus moaned.

  “What’s going on? Where’s your clothes?” Tier asked.

  “Stygl, you better not be messing with the prisoners,” Grim slurred.

  The troll rose to his side. He rubbed his eyes and looked around the campfire. Cyrus tried again to unlock the shackle. Tier gripped him by the arm. Cyrus attempted to pull free. No!

  “Please,” Cyrus said, “It was self-defense. She was going to kill us.”

  “Don’t be a fool,” Tier sneered, “
Warn the others. Run!”

  The yeti pushed him away. Cyrus stared back at her. It all felt wrong somehow.

  “I’m going to tie off your chopped limbs,” Stygl cried, “Let you watch as I dine on your bones.”

  The one-eyed troll found his way back to the main chamber.

  “I’m sorry, for everything,” Cyrus said to Tier.

  “Run,” the yeti roared.

  Cyrus gritted his teeth and sped for the exit.

  “Stygl, what you going on about?” Grim asked, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

  Cyrus sped past the larger troll, trying to keep to the shadows.

  “Behind you, you fool,” Stygl shouted, “The pink one’s getting away.”

  Cyrus did not dare look back. He ran as fast as he could for the mouth of the cave. The wooden liquor barrel caught him in the back of the legs. Again, he struck the unforgiving floor. His hip and shoulder screamed and his neck popped. Like a drunk, he tried to regain his footing. A muddy hand squeezed him around the stomach, pushing the life from his lungs.

  “Think you can get away that easy?” Grim asked.

  Cyrus’ head was ringing. He could not bear to look at the troll’s brutish features. His vision swam with stars, or was it snow? He peered down at Grim’s thumb. What was on his thumb?

  “He took my eye,” Stygl shrieked, “He’s mine!”

  There was a snowflake on Grim’s thumb. The snowflake had eyes.

  “Edward?”

  The spider scurried up Grim’s wrist. Cyrus recognized the look on his best friend’s face. Someone was about to die…

  “Hand him over,” Stygl demanded, grabbing Grim’s arm.

  Stygl had pulled the branch from his ruined eye. The socket seeped brownish sap.

  “Get off,” Grim shouted.

  He pushed Stygl’s face away with one hand, holding Cyrus out of reach with the other.