The Toll

by Jeanette Lynn

  Taking a few steps forward, I tugged at the bottom of my nightgown, tracing the faint red mark along my hip.

  “Ow,” I muttered, “that...” my words died in my throat, a croak escaping me as I slowly lifted the hem higher and higher, tugging it up and over my head, shucking it completely and tossing it towards the bed. The room seemed to shrink, closing in on me as I forced myself to look, made sure I examined every single curve and thick swirl, dip and curl.

  A small, pained cry slipped passed my numb lips as I caught sight of myself in the small mirror Papa had hung on the wall years and years ago. Walking over, my hands shook and my chin wobbled as I plucked it up, slowly bringing it up and down the length of me.

  A sob choked out as my fingertips ran over the raised black markings that covered almost all of my entire chest, and up one side of my neck.

  Everywhere Trystan had touched me.

  My face tightened at the thought, tensing, inside and out.

  Memories, horrible nightmare like mental images of that night, flickered through my mind, threatening to intrude on my insanity.

  “No,” I squeezed my eyes shut and had to take several deep breaths, “I won’t let it. He took a part of me,” and I know I’ll never get it back, “but he can’t have what’s left.” I refuse.

  Glancing lower, I knew what I’d find—the same swirling patterns trickling down into my woman’s place, slipping down farther, and then up and across my thighs. My jaw tightened and I clenched my teeth.

  Tracing my fingers over the patterns again, I felt a huge sense of betrayal from Troll. This is his fault too. Not Trystan’s actions, those are entirely his own to answer for, but the scars, the black swirling burns, as a result of the magic Troll had cast on me, a brand for all to see of Trystan’s treachery, are now a permanent part of me. If he hadn’t bonded us... I let the words trail off, my gut tightening in dismay. The memory of all the excruciating pain I’d had to endure had me shivering. Both times.

  Bonded. What bond? This is what happens when a troll bonds to you? Or is that all just another clever trick?

  My mind spun at the possibility, a wave of dizziness washing over me. I’d believed him, though. He’d seemed as if he was telling the truth. Or was that just another misstep on my part? The mere idea had my gut tumbling. Bile rose in my throat. And the things I’d told him...

  I’d imagined we’d formed a bond, of a sort, odd as that may seem. Was it just fanciful on my part? Was I just imagining it all?

  I deflated at that, the more I thought about it, flattened and squished, as if finally being defeated, finishing me off. Peeling off the tinted glasses I’d been peering at the world through for so long, I stomped them good into the ground.

  My mind raced as I tried to piece it all out. It wasn’t working, though, no matter how hard I tried, and I started growling and muttering in my frustration. The harder I tried, the more upset I got, everything I thought of, following on the thought of something else, much worse or more perplexing than the last.

  Is this all somehow another punishment—a clever way for him to retaliate, while still able to maintain some supposed innocence? Do I matter at all?

  “Cursed, indeed,” I whispered aloud. He could do it, I realized. If he’d really wanted to. He had to know how much power he’d have over me if he bonded us. Why else would he have in the first place?

  Power. Greed. To get back at me for thinking I’d crossed him first. Retribution. Heart lurching, I slowly crumpled to my knees, scoffing. He’d said as much, hadn’t he?

  And I’d said I loved him

  A wave of fresh anger slapped at me and I buried my face in my hands. More the fool am I. A forgiving, stupid... That’s right, giving, always giving. That had me pausing, hardening as I truly did finally ice over. That’s all I’ve been doing, my entire life!—giving.

  I give and give, and for what? “Nothing.” All of me, given so freely, and nothing in return. I was sick of it. No more.

  My mind went back to Troll holding that pocket watch, the possessive gleam in his eyes. I’m the equivalent of a pocket watch when I see him watching me, aren’t I? It’s a covetous thing, like his fascination with my locket. I’m just another trinket for his collection—another thing to collect and stow away until he has use. Would he trade me in for a prettier one if the opportunity arose?

  Then I thought of Trystan, my sacrifice for him—my life for his, his marrying Otvla, and so soon after I’d been gone, then taking me too. My whole body flinched, just thinking about it. They betrayed me, is what they did. Tricked me and betrayed me. Always expecting me to take it on myself, pay the price.

  And what of me, in all of this?

  Who will take a toll for me?

  When will I be worthy?

  When will I be worth it?

  “Well,” I gritted out, arms spread wide, “I hope they’re happy now.” I’ve definitely paid... They’ve taken all of me, everything I have left. I’m empty.

  Selfish, all of them. Is there no loyalty at all? Selfish toads. I wasn’t even warmed up yet, not even close. They were just the tip of it. What about my own family? Where was their concern for me in all of this? Trading me off to a troll, thinking he’d... I stiffened and lost it, letting out an ear piercing scream, life’s betrayals so fresh, plastered in my mind, beating my fists on the ground. They were going to trade me to Troll for Otvla, knowing he’d want a taste of me, a piece, as Trystan had.

  Yet they’d still set me up, their own child, for the other! What makes her worth more than me? “I want to know, damn it!”

  It’s not fair!

  And Trystan, he’s no better than a troll! My fists clenched as my emotions consumed me. I’d said no, and he’d done it anyways. He took what wasn’t given freely.

  Eyes straying, I glanced down my chest, a choked cry tumbling out. And I’m the one who had to pay for it. I didn’t, for one second, think this hadn’t had anything to do with the bonding. It had everything to do with it. Troll had made it so no one else could touch what he’d claimed, no one could take what he felt his.

  Beyond the pain and humiliation I felt at Trystan’s attack, there was the pain of Troll’s curse, that he could hurt me so, tearing at me badly, shredding the remnants of anything I’d felt for him.

  He truly did curse me, and that’s the only way I saw it—a curse—punishing me for Trystan’s deceit.

  “I curse them,” I snapped, “I curse them all.”

  At my heartfelt proclamation, I felt a low hum, almost a buzzing, at the back of my head, the hair along my nape pricking before the feeling slowly ebbed and fell.

  Consumed with resentment, anger filling me anew, I let it wash over me, let my spite run free, poisoning me to everything else. It almost felt comforting, in a way, having something to wrap around me like and invisible shroud, protecting me from my own fears and worries, drowning all the rest out.

  I made a vow then, a promise to myself—I’ll never let anything have that kind of power over me again. No one will ever hurt me again.

  The front door opened, creaking noisily on its hinges, pulling me from my dark thoughts, and my head shot up.

  Guess I’m not alone anymore. Not that it would matter, either way.

  Naked as the day I was born, and truly not giving a fig, I walked to my dresser and pulled out a clean shift, slipping it on over my head.

  “What do you think you’re doing?!” Papa’s shout came from the door, then a grunt.

  “She’s screaming! Something’s wrong! Let me through!” I heard Trystan protest.

  There was grunting and the sound of shuffling feet, a scuffle by the front door.

  “Do I look stupid to you, boy?”

  Walking back to my bedding, ignoring their little kerfuffle, I dragged the thin sheet off of the top of my bed, wrapping it around me as I left my room.

  My body shivered as I took my first tentative step into the living area, like a cold gust of wind had just shot up me. The dark, raised markings on m
y skin, still twinged, I soon found as I moved about, aching as much as the rest of me. No stinging burning, all consuming pain, but a deep ache.

  Testing out my limbs, I felt like a giant bruise.

  Frowning, I ignored the shouting match at the door to glance back at my room curiously. It was rather strange, and it almost felt like I’d walked through an invisible curtain or a shield of some sort.

  A protection, I corrected, not really knowing where the term came from or how I’d thought of it, but it suited. Yes, a protection. But from what?

  From me? Snorting out loud, I laughed at the idea. Them? Protecting me from myself? No, they were protecting themselves. From me.

  Selfish. The whole lot.

  “They should feel what I feel,” I whispered darkly, almost menacingly, “hurt like they’ve hurt me. Feel it, all of it, know what all they’ve put me through.”

  The back of my eyelids felt hot and my fingertips tingled, skin itching with renewed ferocity. About to raise my hands up high, stabbing them at them, I jerked back as if I’d been shocked, and in some ways, I had.

  On shaky legs, I thrust my hands around my stomach, tugging the sheet with it.

  “I’ve gone mad,” I muttered, “utterly mad.” I was going to hurt them, all of them, punish them for what they’d done to me, make them pay. It was wrong, very wrong, and it frightened me with the intensity of which those feelings consumed me.

  There was a new awareness about me, a sense, just on my peripherals, there but still just out of my reach, warning me while alternately warming me, as I fought within myself. The scars on my skin shivered as a chill kissed its way up my spine, an omen that didn’t bode well.

  My skin... Glancing down, I lifted the sheet, biting back a hiss as the thin material grazed my sensitive flesh. Blinking down at myself in disbelief, I couldn’t hide the shuddering look of horror that flashed across my ashen face. Barely holding back a cringe, I slapped the sheet across my damaged, prickling markings, hiding the shimmering, glittering runes—and that’s exactly what they were—runes—I realized with dawning panic—lit up and glittering across my marked skin.

  “Runes... Runes...” I mumbled, trying not to hyperventilate. Runes are magical, very powerful things. So that’s what Troll wears, etched forever in his skin. Runes! But... Oh, god. I’m covered in them. The tingling fingers, the odd feelings, senses. Magic. My eyes bulged with the gravity of it all.

  What had I been about to do? Dread filling me, I knew deep down that it wouldn’t have ended well. With my current mood, my marking’s reaction to them—my whole body’s reaction—it would be bad to entertain such thoughts about others, especially in my current state, physically and mentally. And yet, I still did.

  No wonder that belligerent troll is such an asshole! He’s fighting off the temptation to invoke the... whatever is held within the runes. Or does it even work like that with his kind? Gah! I’m so confused. There are so many questions, so many things yet left unanswered.

  “Oh...” I mumbled dejectedly, “I am so done for...” All the anger from moments ago left me, temporarily put off to the side, for fear my dark thoughts might somehow come to fruition.

  Taking a deep breath, I pushed it all back for a moment, hoping to figure this all out, piece it all together somehow. It helped, but only a little, trickling out of me, a fraction at a time, as I slowly but steadily deflated.

  I really need to watch myself. Sucking in a sharp breath, I bit my lip hard. If I’m not careful, I could really hurt someone without even realizing it. Couldn’t I?

  Why? Why would he do such a thing to me? Why, you stupid troll? I railed at the thought, because all it did was add even more unknown speculation, more things to worry over—more troublesome questions.

  If he knew it would give me some kind of magical power, whatever it is I now possess, then why share it with me? Why give me what’s necessary to go toe to toe with him? That makes absolutely no sense.

  Or... is that why he was so mad? Because he hadn’t really meant to in the first place?

  “Nathem?” Mamma called from just outside the kitchen window, probably in the garden. “What’s this all about, then? Is someone hurt? I heard shouting. Are you havin’ a tiff?”

  Though my feelings remained unchanged, as far as everything went— resentment and anger, pain, still burning a hole in my gut, intensifying the ache in my chest—I was thoroughly sickened, just shy of disgusted, with myself at the thought of what could have happened. Had I raised my hands, releasing whatever my body barely contained, fueled by my raging, rampant emotions... It would have done something, I just knew. Something bad.

  Scrambling back towards my room, I stopped dead in my tracks before I’d even reached the door. I can’t go back in there. It doesn’t feel right, and it makes my skin crawl in an entirely different way. Unnatural, stifling, suffocating, smothering. Wrong.

  It’s like the room is trying to snuff me out, as if I was nothing more than a stubborn candle wick that just wouldn’t extinguish.

  “I need to get out of here,” I whispered quietly, the sudden urge to flee overwhelming me, scars itching more fiercely than before, begging relief. My fingers still tingled and everything still ached, but that odd sense, a feeling of the other, grew steadily.

  Racing towards my parents’ room, I skidded to a halt and turned for the back door, throwing back the quilt Mamma liked to use on cooler nights to help keep out the draft. Technically, we never use this door, and Mamma lamented the fact that Papa had even put it in, claiming it useless. It was useful enough for me at the moment, though, as I yanked it open and scrambled through, ignoring the cold stones under my feet as I scurried out of the house, the sound of old wood scraping across the worn floor.

  Mamma caught sight of me as I stumbled out, my hair a long, knotted mass, tangled around my head in a fiery orange, frizzy halo. Spotting Papa’s old, worn out boots along the wall, ready for Mamma’s scarecrow, I snatched them up, shoving them on as I scrambled by. A little small for my wide feet but they’d work, they didn’t flop when I ran, though the sides gaped open, smacking the tops of my bared ankles.

  “What was the ma...” Mamma’s jaw dropped, and the carrots she’d been unearthing, a batch held up with her apron, tumbled to the muddy, wet ground.

  Ignoring her, and the squishing, wet earth beneath my booted feet, I ran across the back and clear through to the grass that lay just beyond, headed straight for the open fields. Mamma’s frantic cries turned to panicked shouts, but I kept going.

  More voices soon joined the others, but darkness was gaining, and they’d soon find it tough enough to keep up.

  Run. Run. Now.

  It burns. ‘Find The Lady’s water, soothe the ache’. A whisper rustled to me softly as wind whipped through my ears.

  I didn’t know what drove me, that tingling sense at work again, but I wasn’t of a mind to fight it.

  ****

  Not too far off into the distance, a male shout bellowed after me.

  No. Pumping my thick legs faster, I tried to outrun him. NO! “Go away!”

  “Daphie! You’re not in your right mind! You’ve been ill! Stop!”

  “Fuck off and die!” I snarled, not slowing down a bit. If anything, my determination only renewed.

  “Wait! Please!”

  “Never!”

  Just when I’d thought he’d given up, the chill of the wind deafening me to the sounds emitting from behind me, the vibrations of pounding boots, right on my heels, had me screeching.

  Diving off to the right, I screamed as a large weight hit me. Arms flailing, clenched fists punching left and right, kicking solid flesh where ever I found it, we tumbled as I was wrestled down into the long, tall grass. As my legs kicked out, my boots were knocked clear off of me.

  Straddling me as he rolled me beneath him, Trystan fairly sat on my chest.

  “Noo!!” The blood curdling scream ripped from my throat and I clawed at his wrists, drawing a thin line of blood with every vi
cious swipe. “You won’t have me! I won’t let you, not again! Get off of me, nooow!”

  Instinctively, my mind immediately howled for Troll, along with my voice, crying out to him frantically.

  “What’s going on, then?! Trystan!” Otvla’s distressed screech garbled.

  “Hey! Get off of her! You’re hurting her!” Papa shouted.

  “She’s gone mad!” Trystan called back, grunting as he grabbed at my wrists, trying to subdue me.

  “Fiend! Mad? Mad! Curse you! And damn you straight to hell!”

  “Daphedaenya? What’s that now? Come now, child! Don’t fight him now! We just want to help!”

  “I’m sorry,” Trystan muttered quietly, “but you’re not right in the... in any condition to be-”

  “Oh? So now you’re the authority on what’s right and what’s wrong?” I sneered, eyes spitting fire at him through narrowed slits.

  “Daphie... please,” Trystan whispered harshly, glancing over his shoulder nervously as my family approached, “just stop fighting me.”

  “What are you telling her?” Papa demanded.

  “I’m trying to calm her!” Liar. “She’s not making any sense,” he snapped, growing increasingly frustrated as I fought him off valiantly, bolstering myself as I shrieked and railed against him, buoying myself as I fought off my new gift’s first inclination—attack him, make him pay—he owes us, name the price—using a surprising show of strength and will power I wasn’t aware I possessed.

  As all their voices ran over one another’s, fighting to be heard, blending into a pleading macabre that mashed into one mind battering mass, slapping and beating at me determinedly, entreating me to acquiesce—just give in, let him win. It ate at me, like acid pouring over my soul.

  Helplessness consumed me as Trystan finally managed to pin me down, the memories of his attack flashing back, so fresh and vivid in my mind, and I lost it.

  “You raped me!” I screamed, and everyone quieted immediately.

  Trystan reared back, but his tight grip on my wrists remained.

  “I said no!”