by Matthew Cody
“So what do we do?” asked Carter.
Lukas reached into his belt and withdrew his leather scroll case. It gleamed in the sunlight, as the leather had been oiled to keep moisture out. Inside, carefully protected, was the Peddler’s map.
He carefully unrolled it on the ground in front of them. “We can leave the road here,” he said, pointing to a section of map that lay between the dotted line of the road and a river. Someone had sketched in little boulders and trees and a little arched bridge. There were words written next to the bridge, but they were too small for Max to read over Lukas’s shoulder. “If we cut through the forest, we can make camp and be off the road while the rats pass us by.”
“Are you sure that’s the best plan?” asked Max. “What if these rats decide to leave the road, too? What if they find us?” She gave Lukas a pointed look to remind him of his promise to her—the promise to keep Carter safe.
Lukas looked Max in the eye. “If they do, it’ll be the worse for them. If it comes to a fight, Paul and I can handle a couple of rats.”
Paul let out a twanging sound and made as if he was aiming his bow, a sly grin on his face. “Better than wasting arrows on kobolds.”
“Boys,” said Emilie with an exasperated sigh. “Always confusing fighting for playing.” For once, Max couldn’t have agreed more.
“It’s settled, then,” said Lukas. “We leave the road and head east to the river.”
“Awesome,” said Carter, her brother’s cheerfulness undaunted by the nixies, nokks or even giant rats. It was annoying.
Carter dreamed he was walking through an autumn wood. Golden-red colors fell around him as leaves fluttered by on a cool breeze. The forest floor crunched beneath his feet. Someone was whistling a tune nearby.
He couldn’t find his companions, but Max wouldn’t have let him wander off by himself, surely. With no better options, Carter decided to follow the music. The whistler might be his sister, or if not, at least he could ask directions. To where exactly, he wasn’t sure, but he knew he needed to get somewhere.
The whistler turned out to be the ratcatcher, dressed in his starched white uniform and cap, and sitting on a moss-covered log. He was using Carter’s knife to whittle a piece of wood, and whistling while he worked. Carter couldn’t place the song, though the tune sounded familiar. The words PEST CONTROL were stitched across the front of his cap in bright red letters that seemed to shift and bleed when Carter stared at them for too long.
“Hello, Carter,” said the ratcatcher without looking up from his work.
“I know you,” said Carter. “I shouldn’t be talking to you.”
“Now you sound like your sister,” said the ratcatcher. “How is she, by the way? Is she sleeping yet? I haven’t seen her around here.”
“Emilie gave her some tea to help her sleep,” said Carter, remembering. “The stuff knocked her right out. Maybe that’s why I can’t find her, either.”
“Ah, that explains it,” said the ratcatcher, pausing in his knife work. “One of Emilie’s home-brewed potions. Your sister won’t be dreaming tonight.”
Carter felt like he should be alarmed at seeing the ratcatcher here in the forest. It was something to warn the others about, at least, but seeing as the others were nowhere around, there wasn’t anyone to tell. If he ran from the ratcatcher or told him to go away, then he would be alone, and Carter did not want to be alone.
“What do you think?” said the ratcatcher, holding up the stick he’d been working on. “Nearly finished with this one.”
The stick was no longer just a stick; it was now very nearly a small flute. Rough along one end, where the wood was still splintered and raw, but the finger holes were evenly spaced and the mouthpiece looked smooth. Carter wondered how he’d managed to hollow the thing out with nothing but Carter’s tiny knife.
“What are you going to do with it?” asked Carter.
“Play music, of course,” said the ratcatcher. “But it’ll never be as good as my old one.” The ratcatcher shook his head wistfully. “In the meantime, I’d like to give you a little advice—you’re wasting your time with your friends, Carter. You don’t need them. But I can help you, if you’ll let me.” Finally, the ratcatcher looked up, and Carter got a clear look at his face. It was familiar, as familiar as the song he’d been whistling.
That face. If Carter could stare at it for just a few more seconds, he was sure he could place it. It was very, very important that he did.
“Whoops,” said the ratcatcher. “Time to go. Just remember that the rats are afraid of the water.”
Then he smiled. “I taught them to be.”
Carter woke with a start, and at first he was afraid he’d simply woken into another dream. He was still looking at trees, but these trees were lush with the green leaves of summer. When he sat up and squinted in the dim morning light, he was startled to see a figure perched near him, sitting on a moss-covered log.
“Wake up,” said Paul, nudging him with his toe.
“Oh,” said Carter. “Good morning.”
“We’ve got a visitor,” said Paul, pointing.
Carter sat up and rubbed his eyes. A few yards away, Lukas was huddled in conversation with what looked like a small hairy man. He was maybe a foot and a half tall, plump, and dressed in dingy overalls and a little hat. His clothing was filthy and worn thin, and tufts of hair poked through at the seams.
“Is that…,” said Carter, trying to shake himself awake. “Wait, what is that?”
“A kobold,” answered Paul. “But he doesn’t look like much fun. If I loosed an arrow at him, he’d probably turn me into a toad.”
“Wow,” said Carter. Last night’s dream and all its grim portents disappeared with the sight of the furry little man in a hat.
Lukas straightened up and walked back to their camp. The kobold followed. Emilie was awake now and pulling out bits of forest that had settled in her hair overnight. Some leaves, a bug or two.
“This is His Majesty Tussleroot,” said Lukas. “He’s, uh, king here.”
“From that tree,” said the kobold, pointing, “to this rock. Tussleroot’s kingdom is vast.”
Carter looked down at the ground they’d been sleeping on. The shortcut through the forest was taking longer than any of them had expected, and it was especially hard on Carter’s bad leg. The hidden ditches and patches of loose earth made the way treacherous, and stones kept getting lodged between Carter’s leg brace and his foot. After nearly a day of slogging across this unforgiving ground, they’d made camp in this clearing. Visible now in the bright morning sunlight was a ring of toadstools that circled the area where they’d been sleeping. The toadstools apparently marked the outlines of the kobold’s kingdom—a circle approximately five feet in diameter.
“I was just explaining that we meant no disrespect in setting up camp here,” said Lukas. “And that we are, uh, weary travelers seeking safety in his…lands.”
Tussleroot hooked his thumbs into the straps of his overalls and nodded magnanimously. “Tussleroot forgives your transgression and hereby grants you safe passage through his kingdom. No harm shall come to you while you are within its borders.”
The way Carter was sitting, his left foot was already sticking well past those borders. Were he to scoot a little to the left or right, he’d be out of them entirely.
“We thank his majesty for his generosity,” said Emilie, with a meaningful look back at Carter and Paul. “Don’t we?”
“Huh?” said Paul. “Oh, yeah. But where are all your people?”
“Tussleroot has only ever had one subject, and he was lost. Now there is only Tussleroot.” Tussleroot bowed his head for a moment before looking up at them slyly. “Say, you aren’t in need of a king, are you?”
“No, I’m sorry,” said Carter. He’d been waiting for Max to say something snarky when he realized that his sister was still sleeping. She was huddled up in a little ball and snoring softly.
“I was just telling Tussleroot abo
ut the rats on the road, and he says that he’s seen them before,” said Lukas.
“They are cruel, but would not dare cross Tussleroot’s borders.”
Paul barely stifled a laugh, and Carter couldn’t blame him. It would take about two steps to circumvent Tussleroot’s kingdom entirely.
“He thinks they are still on the road, though,” said Lukas. “Between us and the river.”
“Big rats,” said Tussleroot, nodding. “Rats usually steer clear of the Peddler’s Road, so they must be searching for someone. Maybe you, Tussleroot is thinking.”
That didn’t sound good. Carter didn’t see how they could risk getting back on the road now.
“Tussleroot, is there a safe path through the woods to the river?” asked Emilie. “We need to cross the Western Fork and avoid the rats, but we’re having trouble finding our way.”
Tussleroot scratched his furry chin. “Tussleroot knows a path. Then you could follow the river south to the troll bridge. But you shouldn’t. The lands to the east have grown very dangerous. Even along the Peddler’s Road. Very dangerous.”
“We’ll be careful,” said Lukas.
“Troll bridge?” whispered Carter, but Emilie waved him into silence.
“We appreciate the warning, your majesty,” said Emilie. “But we must go there nonetheless, and we appreciate any help you can give us.”
With that, they began gathering up their things while Tussleroot looked on disapprovingly. Astoundingly, Max kept on snoring through it all. Emilie explained that the tea she’d given her the night before might make waking her difficult and that at the very least she was sure to be groggy. Carter thought this was probably for the best, because he could hardly imagine his sister’s reaction when she found out where they were headed next.
Despite the little kobold’s inflated sense of self, Lukas was grateful for Tussleroot’s help. He guided them out of the forest, and they reached the riverbank by midafternoon. The Great River split the Summer Isle into halves, and the river’s arms were called the Forks. The Western Fork was sluggish, muddy and deep, while the Eastern Fork was shallow and fast and clear as ice water.
After bidding goodbye to his majesty King Tussleroot the First, Lukas and his companions followed the Western Fork south. Paul and Carter skipped rocks along the water’s edge while Emilie lectured Max on the dangers of overexerting oneself. Poor Max, thought Lukas, but at least it kept Emilie too busy to lecture him on any number of other things.
As they hiked along the riverbank, Lukas absently fingered the map case in his belt, thinking of the little dotted line they were following and where it went. The Peddler’s Road cut across both forks, winding all the way past the Deep Forest and onward to the sea. They’d need to leave the road before then, and march the rest of the way north across the moors to find the Black Tower. And there were doubtless many dangers between here and there. The isle only got wilder the farther east one traveled.
And yet, Lukas’s heart felt lighter than it had in a long, long time, since before he’d inherited the title of Eldest Boy, since he had become responsible for defending a village of over a hundred children. The backpack strapped to his shoulders wasn’t nearly as heavy as the Iron Sword, not when weighed in duty. He’d even found the time to join Paul and Carter in a game of skipping stones. Lukas hadn’t lost his knack for finding the best-shaped rocks. They needed to be flat, of course, but not so thin that they didn’t have any momentum, because a good skipping stone also needed to be heavy enough to go far.
Lukas probably should’ve been more worried, especially with the rats nearby, but it was hard not to get caught up in the freedom of the adventure. Of course he’d honor his promise to Max by keeping her brother safe, and together he truly believed they would reach the Black Tower and, hopefully, find the way home. And if not, if the prophecy turned out to be false, well, then Lukas had a secret plan for that, too. Because he wasn’t going back to New Hamelin, at least not as Eldest Boy. If he returned at all, he’d refuse to take back the sword from Finn. Lukas was done with it.
After less than an hour’s walk, they spotted what they were looking for—the oddly shaped stone arch known as the troll bridge. It spanned the Western Fork from one bank of the river to the other, and the Peddler’s Road, which emerged from the trees a few leagues to the south, went right up to the bridge’s foot. The road continued again on the far bank. Except for the many wrens nesting there, the bridge was empty. Not another soul in sight.
“So that’s it?” asked Max as they drew nearer. “That’s the troll bridge?”
Lukas nodded, suppressing a smile. He knew what the next question would be. In fact, he’d been looking forward to it.
“So where’s the troll?” asked Carter. The boy actually looked ready to run on ahead until Max yanked him back by the hood of his cloak. Carter was brave enough to be called foolhardy.
“That’s the troll,” answered Lukas, pointing at the bridge.
“Where?” asked Max. “Under the bridge?”
“No,” said Lukas, unable to stifle his laughter any longer. “It is the bridge. Look closer. Go on, I promise it’s safe.”
Max’s forehead scrunched up in confusion—she wasn’t enjoying this little game. But as she took a few steps closer, her eyes grew wide. Lukas should’ve prepared them for the truth, but this way was easier than explaining. And, honestly, it was so much more fun.
“Really, Lukas,” said Emilie. “You’re almost as bad as Paul.”
The thing about the troll bridge was, if you looked at any single section, you’d think it was just a poorly chiseled bridge of lumpy rock laid across the river. But when one stood back and took in the structure as a whole, the truth gradually revealed itself. The bridge began on the near bank with a great clawed foot, its toes having buried themselves into the earth long ago. That foot’s leg was wholly submerged beneath the water, but the other leg rose up out of the waves and spanned half the river before joining a fat-bellied waist and chest. One side of the head cleared the water’s surface, and one enormous crooked arm stretched up and over, all the way to the far bank. The whole thing looked like an enormous stone giant crawling across the river on all fours, which was exactly what it had been.
“It looks like a giant statue fell across the river,” said Max.
“It’s a giant troll, actually,” said Lukas. “A very unlucky giant troll who found himself caught at dawn crossing the Fork. Sun came up, and the troll did what trolls do in the sunlight. He’s been that way ever since, and now we have ourselves a stone bridge.”
“Nice of him to place himself so conveniently,” said Paul.
“Show a little respect,” chided Emilie.
Once Lukas had assured Max that it was safe, they let Carter take the lead. “No way!” he said, coming to a stop at the troll’s stony foot. Several of the giant’s toes had broken off long ago, and in the years since, the wind and rain had transformed them into freestanding boulders.
Lukas joined him and brushed his fingers across one of the rocky toes. Time had smoothed out the troll’s bumpy skin, and a ledge of toadstools now grew over the toenail. Some things do get older, he thought to himself. Just not us.
“It’s amazing,” said Max. “How long has this been here?”
“Longer than we have,” answered Lukas.
“Once there were many trolls that roamed the Summer Isle,” said Emilie. “But most have gone to sleep, as this one has. Trolls never stop growing, you see, and it becomes hard to escape the sun when you get so very big. And this fellow was comparatively small.”
“So, are you saying that there are even bigger ones?” asked Carter. “Are they stone, too?”
Emilie nodded. “As we journey on, keep a look out for an oddly shaped hill or a lonely mountain. It might have been a troll once upon a time.”
Paul let out a fake snore. “Boring. Are we crossing anytime soon?”
Lukas gave the other boy a playful slap to the back of his head. They were far fr
om the village, but if Paul wasn’t careful, Emilie would swat his backside right here in the middle of the wild. Lukas wouldn’t put it past her.
“All right, follow me and watch your step. That river’s a cold swim,” said Lukas, and he began climbing up the great stone leg. “Paul, you keep an eye on our backs.”
The path across the bridge would be slow going. Lukas eyed the river warily. He hadn’t been totally honest when he’d told Max that he didn’t like the water. The truth was, it terrified him. A shallow stream or clear pool where he could see the bottom didn’t bother him, but murky lakes and muddy rivers made Lukas’s mouth go dry with fear. Too much space down there for something to hide.
Still, there was no other way across the Western Fork, not for miles at least, so they carefully made the climb together. Max helped her brother along, taking special care at points where the stone was the most perilous, and Lukas kept their pace slow so the boy could keep up. They were lucky that there hadn’t been any heavy rains of late, but even so, patches were slick with river moss, and once Emilie lost her footing and nearly slid into the water. It was Paul who actually threw out a hand to steady her, much to the girl’s chagrin.
They were three quarters of the way across when Max asked, “What if the rats are already ahead of us? Are you looking for tracks?”
“No,” said Lukas. “But I know who to ask.”
Max gave him a confused look. “You planning on meeting someone?”
“Watch,” said Lukas. Soon they came to the place he’d been looking for. Partly submerged, half the troll’s ancient stone face peered up from the water. His eyes were closed, and his expression peaceful—a slumbering giant of stone. They picked out a path across the troll’s rocky neck until they found its enormous ear, the canal of which had become a nesting place for a family of wrens.
“Emilie,” said Lukas. “You are probably better at this part than I am.”
“Give me a hand up,” she said. “And so help me, Lukas, if I fall into that river, you will regret it for the next hundred years.”
