The Troll-Human War
Page 21
This year had flown by so fast.
The sky was overcast with a marine layer, the air wet and clammy. It would burn off by midafternoon, the blue sky innocently looking down, as if it had never been covered at all. The stiff breeze off the water carried the smell of musty reeds and reminding Dennis of all the cobwebs gathering in the corners of his living room. He just wasn’t home as much anymore.
For some reason, he’d thought he’d have more time off working fulltime for Christine.
Turned out, as he was his own boss now, that he was a much harder taskmaster than any boss he’d ever worked for before.
Who would have thunk it? Him, being more responsible now that he didn’t have to report to anyone else?
Fortunately, he still frequently went drinking with various members of the kith and kin, so he was still upholding his reputation as a party boy.
For now.
Dad looked miserable, huddled in on himself on a park bench beside the pier, looking out on the water. It wasn’t the cold, Dennis could tell that much. It was as if even if the sun did come back out, Dad would never be warm again.
Dennis shook his head. He wasn’t given to flights of fancy, not like that.
Hopefully this, too, wasn’t a sign of maturity.
“Hey, Dad,” Dennis said as he slid onto the solid wooden bench.
“Howdy, Son,” Dad said, nodding, but not turning to look at Dennis. “I suppose you’re wondering why I asked you to sit with me this morning.”
“You okay?” Dennis asked, though he knew the answer from just looking at his dad.
Dad had never looked that old before, not like he did that morning. His skin seemed to reflect the gray pallor of the clouds. Wrinkles had been furrowed around the edges of his face overnight. He even had an old man smell that Dennis had never noticed before.
Weird.
“You’ll hear it from the others, but I wanted to make sure you heard it from me, first,” Dad said.
Fear struck Dennis’ core. “You and Mum aren’t getting a divorce, are you?”
Dad laughed. Though it sounded bitter, at least it ended on a more hopeful note.
“No, Son, Lizzie and I are doing fine,” Dad said. He cleared his throat. “Mostly.”
Dennis nodded. He’d heard from the other kith and kin races that always telling the truth seemed to be an aftereffect of standing under the obelisk of truth. At least for a while, as the effect appeared to wear off eventually.
“How long were you at the battle, Dad?” Dennis asked.
“Long enough to get my ass handed to me,” Dad replied. He took a deep breath. “You know that some of the beings fled when faced with the truth of their lives?”
“I do,” Dennis said. “But no one is shaming them, or even blaming them. Battles are hard things to face. Particularly if you’d never fought in one before.”
Plus, from the tales he’d heard, some of the demons fled the field of battle to go and fight for their loved ones on their own planes.
Their place hadn’t been at that battle. They needed to fight someplace else. Or at least that was how Dennis tried to spin the subject every time it had come up.
He was getting good at it, too.
“I fled,” Dad admitted.
Dennis nodded. “And it was a damned good thing, too. You know that Christine would never have forgiven herself if you’d gotten yourself killed in her war, right?”
Dad gave another chuckle, softer this time. “That’s what she said. And what your mother has said as well.”
“Good,” Dennis said. “So what’s the problem?” It wasn’t like Dad to beat around the bush. Sure, he was less blunt than Mum, but that was merely a matter of degree.
“You truly don’t mind that I fled?” Dad said.
“You aren’t a coward,” Dennis said flatly. “None of us think of you that way. And you shouldn’t think of yourself that way, either.”
“But I left,” Dad said, sounding like a much younger, possibly even two-year-old version of his former self.
“And it is much better to leave one battle and survive in order to go fight the next one,” Dennis said, trying to put some iron into his voice so that Dad wouldn’t try to wiggle out. “We’re still proud of you. Hell, I’m still proud of you, and brag on you all the time.”
Ah, that seemed to be the key.
It had been Dad’s pride that had taken the blow while he’d been protecting his own skin.
“Really?” Dad asked, wonder tinging his tone. “Why?”
“In part, because you’re my dad, and you’re awesome,” Dennis said. It was true. “Even though you’re weird and different.”
“Son, half our family would be considered pretty weird and different,” Dad said, sounding more like his old self.
“But also,” Dennis said after a moment, when it appeared that Dad still was waiting for more, “you protected yourself when you needed to most. There are a few who stood and fought even after their hearts told them to go. They mostly died.” Dennis shuddered. He’d heard that tale a couple of times. “The few who survived…” Dennis thought for a moment as he tried to put the feeling into words. “They only physically survived. Mentally, I don’t know if they’ll ever come off that field.”
Dad nodded slowly, absorbing the words.
“Your soul told you to leave that battleground. You weren’t supposed to be in that place. You did the right thing by going,” Dennis said again.
Dad appeared to be taking a few deep breaths, one after another. “You know why I brought you out here? Wanted to meet with you separately? So that you could yell at me, away from the others,” Dad said. “I was too much of a coward to let you do that in front of the others.”
Dennis rolled his eyes and made sure that Dad saw it. “First off, you’re not a coward. You need to stop thinking that way. Next, while I appreciate the opportunity to speak my mind to you privately, I wouldn’t have yelled at you in front of everyone else. That’s just…rude,” Dennis said.
“You didn’t always believe that,” Dad said quietly.
Dennis couldn’t help but roll his eyes again. “Look at me. Growing up and shit. Who would have thought that could happen?”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Dad admonished.
Dennis merely pointed a finger at him. “Kettle,” he said, then he turned the finger around and pointed his finger at himself. “Pot.”
“Fine, I take your point,” Dad said. “Christine said much the same thing, by the way.”
“What, that you weren’t a coward? That you did the right thing by leaving?” Dennis said as they both stood up.
“No, that you were growing up into a nice young man,” Dad said, the old twinkle returning to his eye. “Dependable. Responsible.”
Dennis gave a huge mock shudder. “I’ll just have to go out drinking later on tonight to prove her wrong.”
Dad laughed and threw his arm over Dennis’s neck, giving his shoulder a quick squeeze before letting go.
Dennis swallowed past the lump in his throat. His family used to hug.
Not so much anymore.
At some point, the war would be over, and Dennis could think about dating again.
Though he sometimes wondered if the right girl had already come around once, and he’d missed her.
Naw. He just hadn’t found her yet.
Side by side, father and son returned to the rest of the family to celebrate their latest victory.
And to plan for the many more to come.
Chapter Thirty-One
Christine growled low in her throat as she stood beside her dad, watching the cambion carrying demons into the human plane, racing across the fairy bridge. The night was still and quiet around them; the winds had died down, leaving the air chilled. Wet grass curled around her solid boots. Christine pulled the warm red-wool jacket closer around her, trying to keep out the cold.
She hadn’t won the Great War. Not yet. She’d won a single great battle. The obelis
k of truth had assembled itself when she’d brought the pieces before the army, raising itself and her above the massed soldiers so that all could see.
She’d wondered if there had been a touch of angelic influence at the beginning. It had felt like that, making her uncomfortable in her skin. For a moment, she’d actually thought she’d smelled wood and dust, the scents she frequently associated with Nik.
Then battle had begun and Christine had spent all her energy staying afloat.
She hadn’t won the war. Lars and his demons still were coming, were still planning their attacks. Could still come out on top yet.
But how were the cambions crossing the bridge? They were part demon. That made them oath breakers by their very nature.
It wasn’t because the human part of them was able to cross. No, if Christine was any judge of demon, these cambion were much more closely aligned to their darker brethren.
A niggling tone sounded under Christine’s boots, like a dim bell.
It took Christine a moment to place it.
Though it wasn’t exactly the same, it sounded similar enough to the tone that she’d heard once she’d made a promise, when it was recorded under the earth.
“Just a sec,” she told her dad. “Keep me safe. Call my name if someone notices us.”
“Roger that,” Dad said. He pulled out his wand.
Christine had already told him to be careful with that thing. Dad was a much stronger magician than he realized. His strength would have been wasted on the battlefield. He was needed in magical attacks, not physical ones.
But protecting her was something he could do, and it would make him feel better about himself.
Damn this war.
Christine sent her senses down, far under the earth, searching for that dimly ringing bell.
She’d always been told that the promises made by troll royalty had been written there for any with the skill to read.
Of course, there wasn’t actual writing. Her people didn’t believe in books, a personal failing that she hoped to correct some year.
However, a blazing scene splashed against an empty cavern, deep underground.
Christine felt herself pale as she watched the king give his promise to Manny, the cambion. Her pulse pounded at her temples. Her hands grew clammy. She stiffened her knees so she wouldn’t fall down.
Her own people. Her own king. Had betrayed her as well as the rest of the kith and kin.
The cambion weren’t just bringing demons across to the human plane, they were using the fairy bridge as the jumping off point for many worlds and spaces.
And the king had granted them safe passage.
Damn these demons. Damn this war.
Because the only way for the word of troll royalty to be broken was for the troll to die.
Or to be dethroned.
Christine took a gulping breath past the huge lump in her throat.
She couldn’t cry. Not now. Not even at this betrayal.
She had yet another war to conduct, with her own people. She could cry rivers of tears afterward.
Determined, Christine rose up above the ground. The orange clouds reflected the streetlights harshly. The stench the demons brought with them rolled over her.
Dad stood tall, strong, and proud beside her. “You okay?” he asked quietly, though he kept most of his attention on the gang of demons in front of them.
Christine nodded rather than trust her voice.
She should go back home. She should make sure her dad got home safely.
However, tonight wasn’t a night for safe bets or beds. And her dad needed to prove himself. Not to her, but to himself.
“You wanna help me take them?” she growled as she transformed up, gaining the strength and power of her true troll self.
“Would I!” Dad said, his voice taking on a grim tone that matched how she felt.
“Then let’s go play,” Christine said, leading the charge.
It was only a dozen demons or so.
And her dad was more than ready.
Read More!
Be sure to read all the books in the Seattle Trolls series!
The Changeling Troll
The Princess Troll
The Fairy-Bridge Troll
The Troll-Demon War
The Troll-Human War
The Troll-Troll War
Available for sale now!
About the Author
Leah Cutter writes page-turning fiction in exotic locations, such as a magical New Orleans, the ancient Orient, Hungary, the Oregon coast, rural Kentucky, Seattle, Minneapolis, and many others.
She writes literary, fantasy, mystery, science fiction, and horror fiction. Her short fiction has been published in magazines like Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine and Talebones, anthologies like Fiction River, and on the web. Her long fiction has been published both by New York publishers as well as small presses.
Find Leah’s books here.
Follow her blog at www.LeahCutter.com.
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