Efficiently covered, I slipped off the rest of my underthings and gathered them all into a pile beside me. Shifting about restlessly, I still felt naked and exposed, supremely vulnerable. My feet were bare against the cool metal floor of the cage and I curled my toes at the discomfort.
“Come,” he ordered, showing up moments later, opening the door barring me in.
Cautious, I stepped out tentatively, ducking quickly under his outstretched arm, not wanting to follow, yet unwilling to find out what he’d do to me if I didn’t.
“Take those wit’ ya.” He motioned to my mound of wet clothing, and I scooped them up, docilely trailing behind. “Ye’ll be cleanin’ up yer boot mess on tha wall first, then yer clothes.” Gesturing about as he talked, he walked me through what he wanted me to do after that, in great detail, and I felt myself sinking deeper and deeper into despair. Is this to be my life now? A troll’s slave?
“How... how long did Otvla have to work off?” I queried cautiously. “How much was her toll to pay?”
Pausing, but only briefly, he spared me a quick glance from over his shoulder before he started rifling through a musty old trunk full of moth eaten garments. “One summer, if she did as I’d asked, but it’d be two for ye, hers plus yers, seein’ as that’s fittin’ an’ fair ta me.”
“Two seasons!” I shouted. “I can’t be your indentured servant for two seasons! That’s ridiculous! What did she do? And what did I do, for that matter, to earn my own season?”
“Ye canna go back on it now. A deal is a deal, nugget, an’ that’s that.”
“Explain!” I cried. My chest started heaving and it felt as if the walls of the cave were closing in on me, squeezing me, surrounding me, boxing me in, constricting me tight.
Biting my lip, I stumbled back into the wall behind me, a whimper escaping my lips. It was almost as bad as when he’d choked me, this suffocating sensation, but this time the pain was inward and slowly creeping its way out, eating at me from the inside out.
“I dinna have ta. Ye be knowin’, anyway. Trespassin’ an’ all tha’, see? Ye agreed ta me terms, an’ they’re reasonable enough.”
“Trespassing? That’s shit! And reasonable to who? You?” I bellowed, tossing my wet clothes at him before I took off, scrambling towards the wall that kept me away from my freedom and the outside world. Frantic and panicked, I clawed at it when I reached it, digging my nails in as I tried, fruitlessly, to dig my way through. Unrelenting, unwilling to just give up like that, I kept at it, even as my nails broke and my knuckles bloodied, leaving behind small gouges dotted with crimson.
“Ye done yet?” Troll called from behind me. “There’s work ta be done an’ I aint got all day.”
Heaving with the effort to keep myself upright, I crumpled to the floor, noticing my wet clothes as they were plopped down right beside me. Oddly enough, my cape was in the wet, messy pile too. Had he found it? And if so, why? What am I saying? Who cares!
My shoulders shook as I stared at them, tears silently slipping down my cheeks.
“I know what ye’re thinkin’,” he grumbled as he wandered off, “an’ it willna be workin’, ye hear. If ye run I’ll find ye. Willna be likin’ the consequences.”
Blinking to clear my vision, I shivered at the intended threat, wiping at my face, smearing tears and the blood from my knuckles in my haste.
“Any day now, nugget!” Troll bellowed from somewhere deeper inside the cave.
On wobbly limbs, I got up slowly and found a small cloth, bar of soap, and metal bucket of water, meant for me to scrub with. Forcing back a sob, I made my way over to the mud my boot had left behind on his wall. First sharp object I come across, I promised myself, and I’m stabbing him in the thigh, consequences be damned.
It was a long and grueling day after that, full of mindless, numbing chores I had no choice but to do, and I fell asleep atop a pile of unwashed linen on the dirty, unkempt floor, falling down right there as exhaustion overtook me. My hands stung, nails throbbing and broken, burning from using them, damaged as they were, working tirelessly for the troll tyrant.
Groaning, calling it quits, I face planted into a smelly old shirt, praying the fumes it produced would suffocate me in my sleep. I never did find my sharp object, I thought as I fell blissfully asleep, my stomach empty and aching, mouth parched and dry, body battered and bruised. Ah, well, I thought, thinking of finding a blunt object sharp enough to at least poke his eye out if nothing sharp ever becomes available. Well, Daphedaenya, there’s always tomorrow.
And the day after that… and after that… and after…
Troll Brokering
I awoke to the scraping sound of boots shuffling, a scuffling sort of noise, followed by a harsh curse and a whispered shout.
“Daphie? Daphie?”
Groggy but coherent, I shot up at the familiar voice. Trystan? That definitely woke me up. Trystan!
Running into the main room by the entrance, I shoved a finger to my lips to silence him, letting him envelop me in his arms. He was warm and welcome, familiar.
It was night and the entrance was once again opened, the wall mysteriously gone. I didn’t question it right then, I was too happy.
“It’s true, then?” he whispered. “You sold yourself to a troll? Oh, Daphie-girl, how could you?”
“No, I didn’t,” I tried desperately to explain. “He tricked me!” Holding on for dear life, I gripped his shirt as he pulled back to stare down at me, my mind willing him not to be a dream.
“That’s not the way Otvla is telling it, Daphedaenya.”
“No. No. No.” Shaking my head vigorously, whispering desperately, I reached up to cup his face in my hands, pulling back before they would have actually touched him. They were banged up and dirty, dried blood stuck between what’s left of my nail beds. “And you take her word over mine?” I asked askance, glancing around to make sure the troll wasn’t present.
“No.” But the uncertainty I heard in his voice as it caught on the word tore at me, and my lips trembled.
“Trystan,” I choked out, and he ran his hand caressingly down my cheek, taking in my current state.
“Ah, what has he done to you, my love? You have blood all over your face, and your neck is purple.”
“Be doin’ a lot worse to ye, boy, ye can be sure, if ye dinna unhand that female.”
My eyes widened, but Trystan pushed me behind him. Tensing, as if preparing for a fight, he pulled a slim dagger from his boot.
“Run, Daph, and don’t look back.”
“Oh, my god, Trystan! What are you…?”
“Just go, Daphedaenya,” he barked, “now!”
My eyes slid nervously to the troll, and he growled, as if he could read my mind. ‘Don’t even think it,’ his look warned.
Biting my cheek, I wisely kept my place. One day in and I knew to heed that expression well.
The troll’s hands flexed, as if he wished nothing more than to curl it around something and choke it. Eyes darting between them, I found myself clenching my own hands tightly, reflexively, together in front of me.
“I… I can’t, Trystan, he’ll...” my voice trailed off as Trystan started waving his knife around wildly, as if he had no idea how to go about using it.
The troll bellowed out in rage and took a crouched stance, hunching his shoulders forward as he balanced effortlessly on the balls of his feet, knuckles rolling his thick frame forward on the floor.
“Daph, now! Do as I say!” Trystan commanded, waving the small, sharp blade around frantically, circling the snarling troll in front of him.
“Stupid, whelp,” the troll chuffed, “shoulda listened ta me at the first.”
Trystan cried out in sudden pain as the troll moved fast, inhumanly fast, a knife of his own whipping out and shooting across the space between them. The larger, wider black dagger landed in Trystan’s shoulder with a sickening thunk.
My would-be rescuer called out, crumpling, screaming bloody murder as blood dribbled from his wo
und and he writhed on the floor.
The troll knocked me over as he leapt over and pressed Trystan into the ground, his hands wrapping around his neck tight.
“Try ta kill me, will ye? Take off wit’ me slave, hmm? I’ll pop yer head off an’ smash it like a grape!”
Trystan started choking between gasping cries, his face mottling as he slowly suffocated.
“No! Please!” I gripped the troll’s arm and tugged. “Please! Please!” I screamed as he ignored me. “I love him!!”
Snarling, he shrugged me off but loosened his grip. Lips pulled back in a gruesome grimace, his eyes shot to mine, narrowing as his lip curled up and his chest rumbled.
I met them unflinchingly, babbling as I tried to plead my case.
“He’s pissed himself,” he grumbled disgustedly, cutting me off, his nose crinkling up. “How can ye love a pissin’ little excuse fer a male?”
“I love him! I do! Please, don’t kill him!” I wasn’t beyond begging, and he knew it, the tears streaming down my face as I cried out desperately obvious enough.
Trystan promptly passed out, and the troll snorted and shook his head, releasing him to stand up, nudging him with his foot.
Lips thinning, he paused for a moment, studying him. “Ugly little fella, isna he?”
“No.” Pushing away from him, I knelt down and cradled Trystan’s head in my lap, pressing the white material of the oversized gown I wore into his wound in hopes of staunching some of the bleeding. “He’s perfect,” I whispered.
“He’s ugly an’ he pissed himself. He’s sad an’ weak, nugget. Be thinkin’ ye canna do much worse than tha’.” Huffing, he let out a noisy sigh and ran a finger under his nose, as if to stave off the rising, acrid scent of urine.
“And how would you know?” I snapped through my tears. “What does a troll know of love? Of anything?”
“What do ye?” he countered.
Sniffling as I cried softly, I ran my hands through Trystan’s thick black curls, placing a chaste kiss on his forehead.
“I know I love him and he loves me, and that’s good enough for me.”
“So... ye’d die fer ‘im, then?” It sounded as if the thought was completely foreign to him, ridiculous, even.
Never taking my eyes off my beloved, I nodded. I didn’t even need to think about it.
“An’ ye truly think he’d be willin’ ta do the same, eh? Truly?”
“Yes,” I said with complete conviction. “Isn’t that what he just did now?”
“No,” he chuckled, ignoring my warning glare as he nudged him with his toe again. “He just waved a knife at me, yellin’, got stabbed, an’ pissed himself, but not before flailin’ about an’ carryin’ on, like a babe. Oh, an’ all in front ‘o’ his love.”
The condescension dripping from his voice made me want to kick him, but I didn’t dare leave Trystan’s side.
“Well, come on, then, kiss him good-bye an’ let me get on wit’ it.” The troll let out a lengthy sigh and motioned for me to get up.
Not liking the look in his eye, I clutched my betrothed tighter. “Get on with what?”
“Come on now, ye aint as dafty as yer name, is ye? Killin’ him, ‘o’ course. So, move.”
“Kill him! You can’t kill him!”
“Course I can. Tried ta kill me. Tis only fittin’. Watch.” He reached a hand out, but I jumped up and threw myself at him, dropping poor Trystan’s head in the process.
“No!” I clung to him like a barnacle. “You can’t! I won’t let you!”
Stilling, he frowned down at me, baffled. “Oh? Ye goin’ ta stop me, nugget?” Lips twitching suddenly, he smirked, as if truly amused. “Ha! Ye an’ what army?”
“You can’t be so heartless!” I shrieked, slapping and pounding on him.
He stopped advancing and stepped back, easily batting away my fists like a pesky fly.
“Please!!” The desperation in my voice was steady and strong. Clutching at him, I gripped his wrists and tugged at them.
As I’d hoped, touching him in such a familiar fashion, so informally, garnered me his full attention.
Gaze unwavering, he peered down into my upturned, pleading face, and I gave his wrists a squeeze, my fingers unable to fit entirely around the circumference, they were so big.
It took him a moment before he spoke. “There’s a price ta pay for everythin’, an’ nothin’s free. Ye willin’ ta pay the price, then?”
“Yes!”
Trystan groaned as he started to wake up, and I knew I was running out of precious bargaining time.
“Ye dinna even know what it be?” The curious look he wore was bothersome, but I’d worry about that later.
“I don’t care!” This was Trystan, my love. I’d do anything for him. Anything.
“Then ye’ll stay wit’ me ‘til I says otherwise,” he agreed, “indefinitely.” And before I could gather my next breath to scream or pass out, my indefinite fate as his slave was sealed.
****
Staring off after them, I sat huddled in my cage as I heard Trystan weakly protesting the troll manhandling him out of here.
“You harm one hair on her head, troll!” he mumbled weakly.
“An’ ye’ll what, piss yerself?” I heard him chuckle evilly. “Again? Yeah, I’d love ta see that, ye no good pee pot. Just shut yer hole an’ move it, or I’ll do it for ye.”
Their voices faded as they made their way into the night.
A Life Of Servitude
The days all blurred together after that, everyday about the same. I didn’t try to run, knowing he’d keep to his word and hunt me down, then punish me.
Normally that wouldn’t deter me, but I silently feared he might do something to Trystan in retaliation.
In exchange for my obedience, he let me roam around untethered, no shackle on my ankle, anchored by the round hook attached to a length of chain he’d shown me in the floor. It had been almost four weeks since the incident with Trystan.
Four weeks since the troll had carted him off, coming back with a grunted, “Quit the water works, nugget, he’ll live,” before he stomped his way to a room at the back of the cavern somewhere and promptly fallen asleep.
I didn’t make the same mistake I’d made the first night, taking the food and water he offered the next morning without question, but I soon found I didn’t have an appetite for it. As the days passed and I settled into my new, sad existence, I didn’t have much of an appetite for anything.
Half way through the last day of my fourth week, going on five, I collapsed to the floor, a heavy cough wracking my body as I lain there limply, hoping sleep or, if I was lucky, death would overtake me.
“Aw, no ye don’t,” Troll, as I’ve aptly named him—uncaring if he has a name—admonished as he deftly scooped me up. “Ye’ll not be gettin’ off that easy, nugget.”
Mumbling weakly, I grunted in his arms, the closest I’d come to talking all week.
“Dinna be thinkin’ ye can just die on me an’ call it good, ye dafty wench. I’m on ta ya, see.” Troll held me up in his arms, a furnace covered in skin, and I felt something warm touch my lips.
It dribbled into my mouth and I tried to swallow, choking on the warmed liquid instead. It tasted beyond horrible, so I spit it out.
Troll growled at his third attempt to pour whatever that was down my throat, but I just turned my head away, sighing quietly. It smelled really funny, and I didn’t care anymore if it made him mad as I weakly batted it away.
Let him hurt me, I thought, I already feel dead enough on the inside.
“Ye’ll drink it or I’ll choke ye wit’ it. Yer choice, dafty.”
That’s what he always called me when he was getting pissed—dafty. It usually meant something I didn’t like was soon to follow.
“I hate you,” I mumbled, letting the nasty swill spill out the side of my mouth. “Leave me be, Troll.” Blowing a weak raspberry in what I hoped was his general direction, I tossed the words at him like his new n
ame was a bad word, even if it is what he is—a troll.
A moment later large hands tipped me and rolled me to my side, and I thought he’d given up, but he was just tightening his grip, I soon found out.
Snarling under his breath, he pinned me down and plugged my nose, tilting my head back with an iron grip, forcing me to swallow large mouthfuls of brown, vile tasting broth. Gagging and garbling in protest, I couldn’t help but choke most of it down between desperate gasps for air.
“Drink up, filly. That’s it. That’s the way. Be a good little nugget.” I heard him chuckle as I garbled between gulping swallows, likening him to a donkey’s backside.
“Better than ye.” He snorted, snuffling disgustedly. “Ye havena bathed in a week, I’d wager, an’ ye smell like one.”
I smell? Good. Any way to bother him somehow is fine with me.
Eventually, he let me up when the cup was empty, giving a satisfied grunt as my stomach lurched.
“I think I’m going to vomit.” Groaning, I breathed in through my nose, exhaling it slowly through my mouth
“No, ye aren’t,” he said confidently.
“How would you know?” I grumbled as the room started spinning, closing my eyes to try and ease the vertigo. My head lolled about on my shoulders as he hoisted me up. Mumbling under my breath, I tried to open my eyes, but they felt too heavy.
“That’s why,” he murmured in satisfaction, right as I fell fast asleep.
***
I closed my eyes tight, praying for darkness as I felt large hands gently lay me down on something hard. Something hard with a soft top. A cloth?
Thick fingers skimmed my body, running over my feet and then my neck.
“Mm. Good. No more fever. Was beginnin’ ta think ye was gonna kick the bucket on me after all.”
The Toll Page 7
