Nemesis and the Troll King

by Ashley Du Toit

  All was noise and colour. Before them stretched banks of tables laden with wares of many kinds. The stalls nearest to them displayed colourful rugs and blankets, others a little further along had jars of glittering dust. All different kinds of immortals moved busily through aisles, some haggling over prices with sellers, others just browsing.

  Folgoo put his hand on Yarg’s shoulder. “Bemoomba said that Urdelyn would be at the far side of the markets,” he reminded Yarg.

  Yarg nodded and headed further into the markets, so intent on his task and bemused by the activity around him that he quite forgot the line of Nuffins trailing behind.

  Yarg scanned the stalls as he went, not taking much interest until a table of condiments caught his eye. He stopped abruptly. In the midst of jars of fresh earwax and belly button fluff, he saw a bottle of thick black toenails. He arched his eyebrows at the elf behind the table. Noticing Yarg’s interest, she held them up to give him a closer look.

  “Fresh troll toenails,” she pronounced proudly.

  Yarg growled at her, then shook his head in disgust and walked off. “Who would want to buy troll’s toenails?” he muttered.

  Folgoo sniggered at Yarg’s displeasure. “A lot of beings eat troll’s toenails. They’re not a main meal, of course, more an appetiser, but I think the question you should be asking is how do they get those toenails?”

  Yarg gritted his teeth, irritated by the amusement in Folgoo’s voice. “I don’t think I want to know,” he replied.

  Just then a few goblins strolled by, one of them eating a fat curly spider that looked to have been freshly fried. As it passed him, the goblin stood on Yarg’s foot.

  Yarg tried not to wince as his foot was squashed into the ground, but Folgoo noticed and laughed out loud. Yarg scowled at him, then pushed forward faster, even though his foot throbbed.

  To add to his woes, a pixie, showing her goods to a potential customer, opened an umbrella as Yarg walked past, almost ripping his nose off with one of the spines. “Oops, sorry,” she muttered as he grabbed his offended nose.

  Yarg growled deep in his throat as another snicker came from Folgoo. He stopped to wipe the tears that the injury to his nose had produced.

  “Now, ye be trying to rob me.” The soft brogue, unmistakably that of a leprechaun, came from his left. “They be half that price at the stall over there,” the leprechaun continued.

  “Then off you go and buy them from the stall over there,” came the amused reply.

  “Now, ye know I would only ever be buying from Urdelyn. Be givin’ me three, then.”

  Yarg spun around at the sound of the name. Behind him was a young witch bent over a table, jiggling something into a pouch, while a leprechaun, one shoulder leaning against the table, looked on. The table itself was covered with small phials containing potions of different consistencies and colours—some purple, others pink, and even one that was black. A smaller table behind the witch held a miniature cauldron with a big wooden spoon resting beside it.

  As Yarg took in the scene, the witch straightened and exchanged the pouch for some copper coins. “She looks a bit young to be Urdelyn. Maybe her apprentice?” Yarg muttered, more to himself than to Folgoo.

  The witch’s gaze snapped up. “Who’s looking for Urdelyn?” she asked.

  Straightening his shoulders, Yarg walked past the leprechaun, who was stashing his purchase in the pocket of his baggy green pants as he moved off, and up to the table in front of the witch.

  “My name is Yarg. I am the King of the Trolls. I seek Urdelyn on an important task,” he said.

  “And what does the King of the Trolls want with Urdelyn?” she challenged.

  “That’s none of your business. Just tell me where to find her,” Yarg snapped.

  The witch raised her eyebrows at the tone of his voice. Realising that he had let his troll nature take over again, Yarg controlled himself and answered in a more reasonable tone.

  “Look, I don’t mean any harm, I just want to talk to Urdelyn. She has something that I need.”

  Yarg blinked as the witch suddenly picked up a stick and slapped the small hand that had reached out to touch a brightly-coloured jar on the table.

  “Stop That!” she hissed.

  Yarg turned to glare a warning at the offending Nuffin, then turned back to the witch.

  “My business with Urdelyn is personal. You have no need to fear, I won’t hurt her. I just need to talk to her. Please, if you know where she is, just tell me.”

  The young witch watched him for a moment before saying, “I am Urdelyn.”

  “But you’re so … young,” Yarg said, his surprise evident in his voice.

  “And you’re so … blue,” she drawled. “Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, are you going to tell me what you want?”

  Folgoo hastily smothered a laugh and Yarg turned a withering gaze on him.

  “I am on a quest to save a fairy, and I need a token from you. I need The Sand of Memory.”

  Urdelyn quickly straightened up. “Shhhh!” she hissed. “How do you know of this? What makes you think that I have it?” she whispered.

  “Bemoomba told me to find you. So if you don’t have it, then you know who does.”

  Urdelyn watched Yarg intently for a moment, then leaned in closer to him and spoke so softly that he almost had to strain to hear.

  “Do you know what The Sand of Memory can do?”

  “Well, no, but Nemesis bid me find it so that I can save my fairy. So surely it must be alright.”

  At the mention of the great dragon’s name, the tension seemed to leave Urdelyn. Her gaze focused on a point beyond Yarg and Folgoo, and she was silent for several long moments.

  Eventually she returned her gaze to the troll king and began to whisper again.

  “The Sand of Memory is an ancient hourglass constructed at the beginning of time. It allows the owner to keep memories alive, or to delete them. With it you can heal those who have lost their memory. It is very powerful and it could do great harm if it fell into the wrong hands.”

  In a sudden change of mood, Urdelyn smiled at Yarg and said cheekily, “Mindboggling, isn’t it?”

  Then she paused and looked searchingly at Yarg. “A long time ago, Nemesis entrusted The Sand of Memory to my coven, and they have passed its care to me. Nemesis must have need of it now if he has sent you to bring it back,” she mused.

  “Well of course he does. So why don’t you just give it to me, witch?” Yarg asked.

  “Don’t talk to me like that, troll,” said Urdelyn, instantly offended. “You sought me out, not the other way around, and you want something from me, so be nice. My name is not ‘witch’, it is ‘Urdelyn’. Ur- de-lyn. If you can’t use it, then don’t bother staying around to talk to me.”

  Yarg hurried to mend the damage his thoughtless words had done. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m sorry.”

  Urdelyn nodded her head in acceptance of the apology. “You need to be careful not to offend me, Yarg, or I might turn you into a frog.”

  “You look too young to be able to do that,” Yarg said, smiling gently to ensure that she knew this was meant as a compliment.

  “I might be young,” she replied, “but I am strong in my craft. I can grow and shrink things. I can make storm spells. And I can make a spell that will give the bearer an endless supply of clothes—all they would have to do was imagine what they wanted to wear, and then ‘poof’, they would be wearing it. I can work a food spell, too—it works the same as the clothes spell, but instead of getting something to wear, you get something to eat. My latest spell is for invisibility that doesn’t wear off until the subject wishes it to. I haven’t perfected it yet, but I’m working on it. There’s something else I’m trying to do as well, but I don’t have all the ingredients, and I probably won’t a
nytime soon because it’ll take me ages to gather them all.”

  A shuffling of feet behind him reminded Yarg that the Nuffins were inclined to get into mischief when bored, and he was supposed to make sure that they kept the rules of the Immortal Markets. He turned to check on them. Folgoo was doing a great job keeping them in line, but the exasperated look he threw at Yarg showed what an effort it was.

  Her attention also turning to the rest of Yarg’s entourage, Urdelyn asked, “Why do you have all these little ones around you? Don’t you know how naughty they are?”

  “It’s a long story,” he muttered.

  “Why don’t you take them to the gardens?” Urdelyn suggested, pointing to an area at the back of the markets where many immortals were taking advantage of the open space to rest, eat snacks and admire their purchases.

  “Great idea,” agreed Yarg. “Gurt, take them over there and keep them out of mischief. I’ll meet you there when I’ve finished here.”

  “You’d better,” Gurt grumbled, but he rounded up his small troop and led them away.

  Distractions gone, Yarg’s mind returned to the reason for their visit to the markets. “So, since you are custodian of The Sand of Memory, where is it?” he asked.

  “Even though it is Nemesis who has sent you, Yarg, I won’t just give it to you. I expect something in exchange,” she said.

  Yarg sighed. Why did they always want something from him? “What do you want?” he asked with resignation.

  “Well, I need a few ingredients for my new spell, but they’re too far away for me to gather by myself. So if you get my ingredients, I’ll hand over The Sand of Memory to you.”

  “What are these ingredients, where are they and why are they so important?”

  “I need bark scraped from some trees—birch, cedar, oak, pine. Oh, and willow, of course. But it must be from special trees, and they are in places that are quite far away. I can’t leave my stall for the time it would take to get there and back again or I would lose my customers to my competitors.”

  “Why those trees?” asked Yarg.

  “That’s easy, Yarg. All these trees have very powerful magical qualities. The birch tree’s magic allows one to always have a clear mind. The cedar’s cleans any negative thing in the atmosphere, and it can heal. So, if you had a wart that you wanted to be rid of, you could take a piece of the bark and rub it on your wart, and ‘poof’, it’s gone. The oak tree is full of vitality, it ensures long-life. The pine will give you energy, and the willow gives wisdom.”

  “So, if I gather a piece of bark from each of these trees, you’ll give me The Sand of Memory?” Yarg asked.

  “I will. Do we have a bargain?” Urdelyn asked, trying to sound bored, but inside she was very excited—she couldn’t believe her good luck.

  Yarg turned to Folgoo. “Is that alright with you, Folgoo? The only way I could do this would be with your fast-travel.”

  Folgoo looked at Yarg and Urdelyn. “Sure,” he confirmed. “But how will we know where to go?” he asked.

  Yarg turned back to Urdelyn.

  Tilting her head to one side, she smiled. “Oh, that’s easy. I have a map.”

  Anxious in case they changed their minds, she quickly reached into the deep pocket of her cloak, pulled out a well-worn piece of parchment and handed it to Folgoo.

  “Very well then, we have a bargain,” Yarg said.

  “And you must thank the trees before you take any bark from them,” she added, smiling in pleasure.

  Yarg nodded in acknowledgement. “We’ll be back soon,” he said, and started to walk briskly away from the table in the direction of the entrance to the markets.

  “What about the Nuffins?” Urdelyn called after Yarg.

  Yarg stopped in his tracks. His head fell down, brushing his chest, and he slowly shook it. He’d forgotten about those pesky Nuffins.

  His gaze travelled to where the Nuffins seemed to be engaged in a game of leapfrog in the open area of the gardens. “Do you think we can leave them here?” he asked Folgoo. “We could do this so much quicker without them.”

  “They look to be occupied and out of mischief at the moment. We should be fine if we hurry,” Folgoo replied.

  “We’d better check in with the Market Manager. Where is the office?” he turned back to ask Urdelyn.

  She raised her hand and pointed to the centre of the market. There stood a bright yellow door marked in blue letters:

  Immortal Market—Manager’s Office

  Murmuring a word to Folgoo to wait for him, Yarg headed towards it.

  Yarg knocked gently on the door. When no one responded, he knocked again, louder this time. A banshee opened the door and screamed at him. Startled by this unexpected attack, Yarg stumbled back. “Sorry,” he muttered, correcting himself.

  The banshee glared down at him from startlingly electric-blue eyes. Long black hair with snow-white streaks flowed right down to her waist, wispy bits floating freely at the end. She wore a tight skirt and low-cut top, both in black. Her hands were slender but at the end of them was a set of blood-red talons that looked capable of doing some serious damage. Altogether a strange sight, thought Yarg.

  Frowning at her odd behaviour, Yarg told her that he would be leaving the Nuffins in the gardens for a short time. Given the problem the little creatures had created on a previous visit, Yarg was expecting to have a battle to get permission to leave them there, but …

  “Duly noted,” she snapped, and then slammed the door shut in his face.

  Yarg stared at the door for a moment, bewildered with the treatment he’d just received. Either new at the job and doesn’t know about the Nuffins, or just too busy to care, he decided. Either way, he wasn’t going to argue! He turned and made his way back to Folgoo.

  The pair walked past the stalls with their laden tables, through the shimmering invisible door that marked the entrance of the Immortal Markets and straight past the werewolves. They only stopped when they reached the boundary separating the realms. Putting his hand on Folgoo’s and trusting him to get them where they needed to go, Yarg entered the silver wave.

  When Folgoo moved slightly under his hand, Yarg opened his eyes. Before him was a giant tree with beautiful heart-shaped leaves of bright greens mixed with darker hues. He reached his hand out and placed it on the tree.

  “This is the birch tree. The witch said this tree’s bark allows a clear mind. What do you think, Folgoo?” he asked.

  “My people have long known about the birch. Some of them use it when the weight of knowledge gets too heavy,” Folgoo replied quietly.

  Yarg put his huge arms around the tree and gave it a hug. For just a moment he felt rather silly leaning into the tree, but that soon passed, and then it seemed to be a very natural thing to do. He searched for a piece of bark that he could just pull off without hurting the tree. Finally he found a big enough piece. “Thanks for sharing your bark with me,” he whispered, then gently eased it from the trunk.

  Making a mental note to ask Urdelyn why he was thanking the tree, he carefully put the bark into the bag secured around his girth, then turned to Folgoo again. “So, it’s the cedar next?” he queried.

  Folgoo nodded his head. The trips to the other trees passed quickly and without incident. Yarg hugged and thanked each one before collecting the pieces of bark that Urdelyn required. When they had finished, Folgoo brought them back to the Immortal Markets.

  Yarg and Folgoo walked through the entrance, the werewolves sniffing them again as they passed. Yarg headed straight to Urdelyn’s stall. She stood up as she saw them approaching.

  “So, you’re back.”

  “Yes, witch, as you see. And with all the pieces of bark. Now, where is The Sand of Memory?”

  “I told you not to call me witch, troll,” she said caustically.

  Yar
g grinned at that.

  She’s a feisty one, he thought, but diplomatically said, “I’m sorry, I meant no offence again, Urdelyn. A bad habit we trolls have.” then patting his bag said, “Let’s trade, shall we?”

  Urdelyn lifted her hands into the air and began to chant. After a moment, an exquisitely crafted hourglass appeared and hovered in the air before them. About the length of his forearm in height, it was made of glass rimmed with brass, half-filled with sand of the purest white that scintillated in the sunlight as it drifted from the top half of the glass through the narrowed neck to the bottom.

  The finely blown glass was etched with a delicate pattern of twined leaves that formed a frame for the centrepiece of the pattern—a majestic dragon, standing proud, with a fairy upon its shoulder. The pattern was reversed on the bottom half, which would become the top as the sand ran through and the piece was turned. Yarg blinked at the exquisite workmanship, then became aware of the subtle, yet compelling magical allure of the piece.

  As Urdelyn finished chanting, she grasped the hourglass and put it onto the table. Yarg stood mesmerised until Urdelyn gave a gentle cough to bring him back to the business at hand. He carefully retrieved the bark strips from his bag and set them down on the table, piece by piece.

  Urdelyn stared at her new treasures with wonder in her eyes. “Did you thank the trees?” she asked.

  “Yes,” said Yarg, then remembered to ask: “Why was that important?”

  “If you hadn’t thanked the trees, then I couldn’t have used this bark freely,” she explained, somewhat distractedly, as she gently picked up the bark and hugged it to her chest. “Thank you for doing this for me,” she whispered.

  “No, thank you, Urdelyn, for I also could not have done this without you,” he said looking towards the hourglass.

  She smiled once more at Yarg and Folgoo, then began to whisper some magic words. The bark disappeared, whisked away to wherever it was that she hid her most cherished possessions, Yarg surmised.

  “Good luck on your quest, Yarg,” she said gently, gesturing in the direction of The Sand of Memory to indicate that he could take it now.