The Book of Ga-Huel

by Richard Ashley Hamilton

  Otto Scaarbach removed his fedora and kneeled before Gunmar. He folded his hands together and begged, “N-no! This is merely a Changeling safe house, great Gunmar!”

  “You will address our king as Dark Underlord!” spat Dictatious, his six blinded eyes narrowed in disgust at the sniveling Scaarbach.

  “M-my apologies, Dark Underlord,” said Scaarbach, drenched with flop sweat. “But our main base of operations rests beneath the very heart of Arcadia. Preparations are still being made for your glorious arrival, and it will take us at least another night’s travel to reach it from these outskirts. I thought it prudent for us to stop here, so that you could . . . rest.”

  “Rest?” said Gunmar. “Why should I—Gunmar the Black, the Vicious, the Skullcrusher, the Warbringer—ever need rest?”

  Even as he said it, Gunmar saw the pale glow in his veins start to fade. It had been so long since he had replenished his power with a true Heartstone. The paltry ergs of energy upon which he subsisted during his exile were unsatisfying at best. And following that accursed human Trollhunter out of the Darklands had taken its toll on Gunmar’s reserves, though the defiant Gumm-Gumm would never show even the slightest sign of weakness. In the blink of an eye, Gunmar willed the Decimaar Blade to take shape in his claw. He held the sword’s edge up to Scaarbach’s twitching face, its unnatural sheen reflecting across the spymaster’s glasses. With a dry swallow, Scaarbach mustered enough courage to say, “Th-there is one other reason for this d-detour, Dark Underlord.”

  “My eyes have failed me, sire, but my ears do detect a twinge of desperation,” Dictatious said, stifling another grin. “Could it be that he’s lying to forestall your righteous judgment?”

  “I’d never misdirect you, Gunmar!” swore Scaarbach. “I have devoted my entire existence to your triumph over all the realms—to the Eternal Night you are fated to fulfill!”

  Gunmar considered Scaarbach’s pledge, then lowered his sword a fraction of an inch and said, “Choose your next words carefully, Impure, for they may be the last you ever utter.”

  Scaarbach steadied himself with a deep breath and said, “Th-this warehouse holds more than human furnishings. It is also where the Janus Order has been keeping Bular.”

  Gunmar’s single eye widened in uncharacteristic surprise, and Dictatious inhaled sharply. With renewed vigor, Gunmar the Black stood to his full, terrifying height and said, “Take me to my son.”

  • • •

  A forklift pulled a large wooden crate from one of the back warehouse’s many rows of shelves and lowered it to the concrete floor. Two black-masked Janus Order agents pried open the crate’s lid with crowbars, then backed away reverentially. The warehouse fell absolutely silent, save for the faint whir of the spinning yellow light at the front of the forklift.

  Gunmar walked up to the crate, squared his jaw, and looked inside. The broken, rocky remains of his son, Bular, sat in a heap at the bottom.

  “We . . . we recovered as much of him as we could from the canal,” Scaarbach said from a safe distance. “A torrential downpour made the currents quite strong that day, so there is a slight chance we missed a piece or—”

  “Begone,” said Gunmar, his back turned, his eyes riveted to the crate’s contents.

  Scaarbach, Dictatious, and the Janus Order agents were all too happy to leave the warehouse for the front showroom. Once he heard the last of their footsteps fade away, Gunmar the Black reached into the crate. His claw sifted through what was left of his son like so much gravel. The Gumm-Gumm king’s entire body shuddered. He retracted his claw and gripped the crate’s edge to steady himself. And for the first time in his long, sinister life, Gunmar the Black—the Vicious, the Skullcrusher, the Warbringer—showed weakness.

  He threw back his horned head as if he were about to unleash a primal howl. But no sound came. His pitted teeth merely clicked together in a muted wail of anguish and loss.

  The forklift’s yellow light continued to spin until Gunmar’s claw snatched it. He squeezed with all his might, grinding the glass bulb and shell into glittery dust. Gunmar then dropped to his knees, knocking over the crate as he went. Chunks of Bular spilled across the scuffed concrete. When Gunmar opened his eye again, he saw a fragment of his son’s face staring back at him from the floor. The Dark Underlord took it in his claws, studying the ossified horn, eye, and bit of upper jaw on the rubble.

  “My brutal boy,” whispered Gunmar. “My dark prince.”

  He stood again, righted the crate, and delicately returned the shard of his son’s skull.

  “Of all my unholy progeny, your appetite for carnage was the most voracious . . . the most like my own.”

  The glow in Gunmar’s veins returned, burning brighter than they had in millennia. He turned his head in the direction of the show room and barked, “Attend me.”

  Scaarbach, Dictatious, and the masked Changelings scurried back into the warehouse.

  “You say the Trollhunter lives nearby? In this Arr-Cay-Dee-Uh?” said Gunmar.

  “Ja, mein Dark Underlord,” said Scaarbach.

  “Then we must finish the rest of our trek there tonight,” decided Gunmar. “I will brook no further delays. Now is the time that I visit my revenge upon Merlin’s creation. He may have cut down my son in his murderous prime, but I shall see to it that the Trollhunter suffers before I seal his remains in a box.”

  “As you wish, my liege,” said Scaarbach. “And may it please you to know the Janus Order already undermines your nemesis and his allies as we speak . . . with The Book of Ga-Huel.”

  “It still exists?” Dictatious asked in disbelief.

  “Quite,” Scaarbach bragged. “Better still, one of our top agents has devised a way to author new chapters even after Bodus’s death.”

  Gunmar twisted his jaws into an awful approximation of a smile and said, “I would read these chapters, and perhaps write a few of my own—with the Trollhunter’s blood for ink.”

  CHAPTER 12

  BACKSTABBER

  Blinky had wanted to see day break over Arcadia ever since he beheld his first sunset during the Troll’s brief, magical stint as a human.

  “Great Gronka Morka,” said Blinky in awe. “Is it possible the sunrise is even more impressive than its descent?”

  It would have been hard for the rest of Team Trollhunters to argue, had they been so inclined. The sun painted vibrant hues of orange and red across the suburbs their bluff overlooked. Normally, this daylight would have proved fatal to Blinky and AAARRRGGHH!!! But Claire had them covered—literally—with an artificial shadow cast by her staff. She turned and smiled at Jim, who sat next to her, typing into his phone.

  “Jim, you’re missing the best part,” Claire said.

  “Sorry, just texting my mom,” said Jim distractedly. “She seemed pretty miffed about the basement. But now it sounds like it’s clean again?”

  “Gotta love that Draal,” said Toby, putting his hands behind his head and reclining along their grassy lookout point. “He slices, he dices, he does windows!”

  “Har, har, Tobes,” said Jim, pressing send. “By the way, if she asks, we had a sleepover at your place after our ‘workout’ last night.”

  “Neep, neep,” said Chompsky of the beautiful sunrise before them.

  “Eh, I’ve seen better,” NotEnrique replied with a dismissive wave.

  “Well, it’s certainly the most radiant sight my eyes have beheld,” said Blinky.

  “AAARRRGGHH!!! make sure you see another,” promised the gentle giant beside him.

  Jim looked up from his cell and absently nodded in agreement. But on the inside, he felt slightly less confident about Blinky’s chances. Twice now, the Trollhunter had seen The Book of Ga-Huel outwit and outlast the Trolls in his Void Visitations, as if the tome willed their deaths—as if it had a cold, calculating mind of its own. Jim struggled with the feeling that he was still missing some big, important detail about the book. Like this blank spot was right in front of the Trollhunter, staring hi
m in the face, and yet he could not see it. And the more Jim tried to focus on the problem, the further it retreated into the murky limits of his understanding.

  The whole thing made Jim feel very tired all of a sudden. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about his mom for a few hours. Barbara’s latest text told Jim that she was about to see patients at the hospital, and Jim figured she’d be safe in such a public setting.

  “Hard to believe our party was less than two days ago,” Claire sighed.

  The friends sat in contented quiet with the memory of their melon bashing before the bushes rustled behind them. They saw Draal trudging out to join them on the promontory.

  “Draal, we were just talking about you!” said Toby. “Thanks for the cleanup effort!”

  Draal did not answer. Jim studied his face, unable to read the Troll’s neutral expression. A new wave of worry hit the Trollhunter, even if he didn’t quite know why. Jim’s voice cracked as he asked, “Draal? What is it? Did my mom get to the hospital okay? Is she safe?”

  “She is,” said Draal, devoid of emotion. “But you are not.”

  Without warning, Draal lunged at Jim, swinging his metal arm like a bludgeon. Reacting on pure instinct, Jim dropped his phone and yanked his Amulet out of his pocket.

  “For the glory of Merlin, Daylight is mine to command!” shouted the Trollhunter.

  The Daylight Armor’s left gauntlet adhered to his arm just in time for Jim to activate the shield. The metal-on-metal impact of Draal’s hand on Jim’s shield sent sparks flying. As the remaining segments of armor snapped together around Jim, the rest of Team Trollhunters leaped into action. Blinky and AAARRRGGHH!!! were careful to stay in Claire’s projected shadow as they barred Draal’s path.

  “Draal, cease this madness at once!” said Blinky. “How could you, the son of Kanjigar the Courageous, turn on your Trollhunter? In all our years, I never took you for a backstabber!”

  AAARRRGGHH!!!’s eyes darkened and his runes glowed purple again, prompting Toby to say, “Uh-oh. Looks like we’re in for round two. . . .”

  But AAARRRGGHH!!!’s aggressive stance faltered when the wind shifted. His sense of smell had been heightened ever since his resurrection, and AAARRRGGHH!!! widened his nostrils to take in a full range of scents. He wrinkled his nose and said, “Not Draal.”

  “Do you mean to say this Draal is an impostor?” asked Blinky.

  Team Trollhunters surrounded “Draal,” who cracked an unsettling, mischievous grin.

  “That’s gotta be a fake. I’ve never seen Draal smile!” said Claire.

  Once again, the metal-armed Troll pounced at Jim, who raised his shield again. But midway through his jump, Draal’s appearance instantaneously changed. His body, normally thick with muscle, streamlined into a lithe form. His rack of horns retreated into his skull, which now sprouted black hair, and his skin shifted from blue to silver. When the attacker landed, he was the spitting image of Jim Lake Jr.—Daylight Armor and all.

  “Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa?!” gasped Toby.

  “It’s another Polymorf!” exclaimed Blinky.

  “Neep?” asked Chompsky.

  “A Changeling that can assume multiple identities!” Blinky told the Gnome.

  Jim ducked as the second Jim took a swing at him, then he kicked away his duplicate. The fake Jim rolled into a crouch before ramming into an unsuspecting Claire—and spinning her Shadow Staff into the bluff’s overgrown bushes.

  With the staff now out of her reach, the shadow that had been shielding Blinky and AAARRRGGHH!!! dissipated. The two sunlight-averse Trolls had no choice but to jump under the shade of a tree that was near to them, but far from the Jims.

  NotEnrique helped up Claire, while Toby and Chompsky tried to tell apart the two identical, battling figures. But the task became impossible with their constant circling and slipping out of each other’s armored grips.

  “This! Is! Very! Disturbing!” said one of the Jims as the other started choking him.

  “Don’t try to pretend to be me!” said the other Jim. “I don’t know what you’ve done with Draal or my mom, but I won’t let you hurt any more of my friends!”

  The Jims fell to the ground and struggled some more, their entwined bodies rolling toward the lookout point’s precipice. Having recovered from the Polymorf’s sneak attack, Claire rifled through the bushes for her staff, and NotEnrique shouted, “Hey, AAARRRGGHH!!! Use that supersnout of yers ta sniff out the real Trollhunter!”

  Still confined to the rapidly narrowing shade of the tree, AAARRRGGHH!!! inhaled deeply, then said, “Can’t—two Jims too far away!”

  Jim One and Jim Two came to a stop at the very edge of the bluff, teetering over it. They looked at each other in alarm before the ground gave way beneath their combined weight.

  “Help!” yelled both Jims as they fell.

  “No!” cried Toby.

  Fortunately, one Jim sank his shield into the freshly exposed rock, halting his plummet. He looked down at his ankles and saw the other Jim clinging to them, so that they both dangled precariously from the cliff. Toby, Chompsky, and NotEnrique rushed over to the brink and pulled both Jims back onto terra firma. Now faced with twin Trollhunters glaring angrily at each other, NotEnrique asked, “How’re we ever gonna be able to figure out which one’s which?”

  Toby didn’t even hesitate. He slugged the Jim on the left with his Warhammer, sending him soaring across the lookout point. The remaining Jim rushed forward and hugged Toby.

  “Gor blimey!” said NotEnrique. “How’d you know that was the pretender?”

  “Are you kidding?” said Toby, hugging Jim back. “I’ve known this guy since preschool. You think I can’t tell which Jimbo’s the genuine, sandwich-slinging article?”

  “Meatball subs for life, buddy,” said Jim in gratitude.

  They pulled apart and considered the impostor crumpled against the grassy bluff. The being spasmed and lurched upright. It turned its head toward Team Trollhunters at an unnerving angle, revealing a face that was a nightmarish hybrid of Jim and Draal’s likenesses.

  “Grumbly Gruesomes!” cried Blinky, turning his six eyes away from the sickening sight.

  The creature screamed a shrill, piercing scream that made everyone cover their ears.

  “Um, Claire, any luck in finding your staff?” asked Jim.

  “I’m trying!” Claire said, peeking through the dense bushes.

  “Please do hurry!” called Blinky from under the tree, their shade now a sliver.

  “No pressure,” added AAARRRGGHH!!!, moving his singed elbow from the sunlight.

  The Polymorf lifted its bent body off the ground, its features shifting wildly between human and Troll attributes. Jim, Toby, and Claire watched aghast as the monstrosity altered its appearance one last time, becoming Señor Uhl before their very eyes.

  “You three will be serving detention for a very long time,” said Uhl in his thick accent.

  The Spanish teacher then broke into a run and pulled Blinky out from under the tree.

  “Gah!” cried the six-eyed Troll as his skin started to smoke in the sun.

  AAARRRGGHH!!! swiped at Uhl, but the renegade teacher dragged Blinky out of his reach. Jim shouted, “Please! Keep Blinky out of the sun! You’ll kill him!”

  “If you say so,” taunted Uhl.

  The shape-shifter tossed Blinky into a public trash can, kicked it down the hill, and ran after it. Jim could hear Blinky’s retreating voice as he called out, “Master Jim!”

  “Found it!” said Claire, pulling her Shadow Staff from the bushes.

  She broadcast a new shadow over AAARRRGGHH!!!, who tore off after his abducted friend. The rest of Team Trollhunters joined the chase, and Jim yelled, “Bring back Blinky!”

  CHAPTER 13

  AGAINST UHL ODDS

  “C’mon, Steve!” whined Eli Pepperjack as the bully held him in a headlock. “It’s a Saturday! Can’t we just live and let live?”

  “Yes, it is, and no, I can’t,
Pepperjoke,” said Steve Palchuk, squeezing a little harder.

  He couldn’t believe his luck. Normally, Steve hated doing chores for his mom. She had sent him to the pharmacy on Main Street to pick up some protein powder for her stupid new boyfriend. But once Steve saw Eli walking down the sidewalk, he knew he hit the Pepperjackpot.

  Steve cocked a meaty fist, ready to punch Eli, when Señor Uhl ran past them on top of a trash can like a lumberjack rolling logs. Their Spanish teacher turned his can off of Main Street and disappeared from view.

  “That’s actually not the weirdest thing I’ve seen in Arcadia,” said Eli.

  Several feet below, AAARRRGGHH!!! galloped full bore down Arcadia’s sewers, with NotEnrique and Chompsky clinging to his furry back. The Gnome caught a fleeting glimpse of the trash can through an open manhole cover, and NotEnrique said, “Up there! Turn right!”

  AAARRRGGHH!!! rounded the corner and charged down another grimy tunnel, pouring on the speed. Holding his hat in place with one hand, Chompsky chittered, “Neep? Neep, neep?”

  “I don’t know where those three fleshbags went!” answered NotEnrique.

  “On your left!” said Jim, beeping a horn.

  He rode his Vespa past them, with Toby and Claire clustered behind him on the scooter’s seat. Jim stepped on the gas and said, “Found it right where I left it down here! Good thing Angor Rot didn’t trash my ride after I, y’know, accidentally destroyed his soul!”

  Seeing a public works construction zone dead ahead, Jim floored it and drove the Vespa up a plywood ramp. The scooter launched through a web of yellow caution tape and orange safety cones, landing on a surface street. Uhl rolled on his can a block away, and Jim accelerated. Noticing the broad daylight reflecting off his armor and the staring pedestrians on the sidewalks, he said, “I’m thinking we need a detour before the whole town learns about our extracurricular Trollhunting activities!”