“Be a good woman.” Whirling around with a speed that belayed her age, the hunched old thing tapped her temple with an emaciated, liver spotted, wrinkled, gnarled hand. “I see it. Worry not, lil’un. Ye be good. Ornthren look, if they open their blasted eyes, and they see all. You’ll see.”
“Ornthren?” I murmured aloud. Why did it feel like I’d heard that somewhere?
“Mmm. Yes. And the third eye sees all, if the blinders aren’t on.”
“What blinders?”
Her thin shoulders shrugged, the thick layers of the robes encasing her shifting heavily with her. “Whatever it be. To each their own to carry, yes? A burden to prove. Now, come. Come. You chill me as you stand there with the door open, gums flappin’. Give an old woman a respite, hmm? These tired old bones can’t take much more, I be thinkin’.”
Rushing to do her bidding before I’d given it another thought, I closed and barred the door. The heat of the fire roaring, along with the smell of the pot cooking over it, filled me with delicious warmth, the tension in my wind whipped body melting away.
“Take tea, Uhm?” The old woman barked from her kitchen, rattling around in her cupboards as she tossed on a warm shawl.
“Oh, uhm, I... You know, I really must be going. Thank you, th...” My words trailed off as a crack of thunder rumbled right over head, a flash of lightening illuminating the hauntingly light and dark woods surrounding us. Where, exactly, would I be going, then, if I did leave? I had to ask myself. I didn’t know.
Nowhere. Back to the small pond to soak in the rain? Looks like this is my only option at the moment.
“Foolish to go out in this. You’ll be stayin’ with me, you will.”
“I really shouldn’t,” I mumbled, wincing as the sound of rain pitter pattered, and then clattered and snapped noisily, like rocks raining down over what I prayed was a properly thatched roof.
“Mm,” she grunted with a harrumph, “but you will. Tea?”
Without much choice, I sank down into one of the small wooden chairs, plumped up with old but warm furs, situated just off to the side of the fire.
“It’s not, uhm, my name,” as I paused, she looked sharply as I fiddled with the corner of my sheet-cape, “it’s... it’s Daphedaenya.” After a moment’s hesitation, the words, the name, rolling off my tongue like a bad taste, leaving a bitter bite on the tip of my tongue, didn’t feel right. Sucking my lips into my mouth as if to keep from speaking further, I peeked up at her from beneath my long, blonde and orange colored lashes as I slowly pushed them back out, chewing on the inside of my cheek.
I’m not Daphedaenya anymore, and I’d been right to tell Papa that. That, woman- No, that girl, doesn’t exist anymore. But what should I be called, then? I didn’t have an answer.
Snorting derisively, her eyes narrowed to brilliant blue slits, so brightly lit those large orbs shined luminously, standing out against her frail skin, youthful almost, radiating a type of ethereal effervescence and life, set in such a failing, ailing body. Clucking her tongue noisily, she hunched and wobbled when she walked, and there was a hitch in her breath that only seemed to worsen with her motions. Her skin was tinged wrong, a sallow, unhealthy yellow, dotted with liver spots, deep purple ringing her eyes. Though she did seem quite capable, in my opinion, obviously having managed fair enough out here all on her own, for all she was and wasn’t, a well of empathy swelled within me for her. She’s all alone too.
As I observed her as unobtrusively as possible, I watched as she winced whenever she used her hands, rubbing them soothingly every few minutes while she worked. The gnarled, twisted bones of each small finger suggested a bothersome ailment.
Does it bother the rest of her? I wondered, noting she seemed to favor her left leg. Knocking on death’s door, yet still so full of life—it was saddening.
She had to be fairly up there in years, not that I’d ever be so calloused as to ask, but surely older than my grandmum, who was nearing her eightieth year when she left us.
“Don’t look like no Daphadanny to me,” my curmudgeonly hostess grumbled. “Try again, Uhm. I’ll not be callin’ ya a name that doesn’t suit. Rather call you a bumbling mumble—uhm—than a Dafta-anything.”
“Mmm.” thinking that over for a moment, I licked my dry lips, swiping a bit of moisture off my face with the end of my sheet. “You could call me Nugget?” The offer was tentative, slipping past my lips as I thought aloud. My odd sense’s approval hummed along my spine, adding a bit of much needed warmth to my slowly thawing frame. It was like a warm hug when I needed one most, and I embraced it most readily.
Truthfully, besides the crone and my heightened senses, what else have I got?
Nothing.
Brows shooting up, the gnarled old woman threw off her hood, barking out a laugh. “Nugget, huh? Mmm, well, a nugget you say? Hah! I like it. You’ve a bit about you like a nugget.” She chortled a little to herself at that, grinning a toothless grin. “It’s fitting.” There was a note of approval in her voice that I couldn’t quite figure out, but it was the truth, and I didn’t dare ask her to explain what she meant by her comment, for fear we’d both end up insulted somehow. No, best leave it and let her have her say. She is helping me out, after all, isn’t she?
What other name did I have at the moment, anyways? Dafty was definitely out of the question, and I wanted no other. No, nugget would just have to do for now.
“May I know yours?” I asked quietly, watching as she effortlessly readied two drinks.
“Tea?” she demanded, not bothering at all to look up, not bothering to answer, either.
I guess that’s a no.
“I’d love some,” I responded quietly, brushing a thick hank of wet hair off my shoulder, turning towards the fire. “Thank you.”
Thin lips twisting up into some funny semblance of a pleased smile as she finished, she brought our drinks over and poured us each a bowl of stew, despite my insistence she let me help, taking the seat across from me and pulling a warn looking blue patterned quilt off the back, tucking it around herself.
One bite and I smiled. “This is very good. Thank you.”
Tilting her long white hair covered head slightly, she nodded at the compliment.
My eyes darted back and forth between her hunched form as she ate and the glowing embers of the fire. “And, uh, thank you for taking me in. I... I don’t know how to repay you.”
“I want not.” Her grunted reply was muffled with a mouthful of stew as she carefully shoveled it in, chewing methodically. It was very soft, the meat just melting in your mouth, making it so easy for her to eat with little to no, from what I’d gathered, teeth.
“But, surely, you must have need of something? Help around here, somewhere, perhaps?”
“Do just fine, all by myself. Don’t need handouts. Keep that kinda thinkin’ to yerself. Hmph.”
Mulling that over, my eyes lit up and I sat up in my seat. “I have a bit of coin,” I offered, thinking of the blasted gold bags that wouldn’t just go away. “I can spare a bit.” More than a bit, and wouldn’t that just piss Troll off, giving it away like that.
Hah! Some coin, I’d give her all of it, I decided. Buy me off, will he? Hmph. I don’t need his blood money. I’ll figure it out on my own.
But... how do I get the coins now? I don’t have them on me, and I certainly can’t go back, not now.
“Thinkin’ hard, is we?”
Startled, I blinked, snapping out of it, and shook my head. “What? No. I was just thinking.” About how I’m going to ring his blasted, oversized troll-ish neck, ignoring the fact that the need to be near him, thanks to that inconceivable bond, will always be there; tugging at me, I feared, no matter the cost.
I love him and I hate him. It was a bit of a sticky wicket I found myself trapped in.
Gah! I still want the cursed fool.
Ugh. I truly am mad.
“About a boy?” My dinner companion asked slyly, a guarded look crossing her face.
Wa
tching her closely as my gaze slid up, I debated. To tell, or not to tell? Ultimately, I went with the truth.
“A troll, actually. A big, hairless, meandering, foul-mouthed, orange-eyed, grey skinned menace.”
“Oh?” Lips twitching, she shook her head and cackled whole heartedly, thinking me teasing, slapping her knee hard enough she almost upset her supper.
“Yes,” I nodded, expression intent, “I’m thinking about making a rug out of one. Any advice?” If I can get my body to move in concert with my head and not attack him like a starved mad woman hell bent on ravaging him, then, yes, a rug or a shrunken head would do nicely. I could hang the head over my bed, wherever I end up, like a trophy. Or if it’s a rug, I’ll just drop it by the foot of my as of yet found bed, stomping on it every morning as I get up to start the day.
A giggle slipped past my lips and I snorted. I really have gone mad.
Face alight, fairly glowing in the fire’s light as her eyes danced, lending her a bit of a shadow of the great beauty she must have been once upon a time, my remarks only served to make the old woman laugh harder.
“I think I be liking you, Nugget.” Nodding her head happily as she watched me, a small laugh escaped me. It felt good. Teasing me a bit more as she cackled aloud, I giggled again and my lips tipped up.
****
“Here.” Another mug was thrust in my face, my bowl unceremoniously yanked from my hands, replaced with the warm smell of something spicy and earthy. It tickled my nose but warmed the senses. Warm cider? Spiced tea?
Mmm. Giving it an appreciative sniff, hands warming around the mug, I glanced up at her, cautiously taking a sip.
“Special brew,” she grunted, “warms the bones.”
Warmth dipped into my belly at the first taste, pooling before it spread. I hummed, a pleased sound in my throat, and took a long drink. True to her word, everything in me slowly warmed, a languorous, calming lethargy washing over me as I felt my limbs, one bit at a time, relaxing.
“Makes my head feel a little fuzzy,” I murmured, tracking her as she motioned for me to follow towards the small straw bed she’d been assembling while I slumped in my warm, cocooned little stupor. Stumbling to get up as I licked my lips, I tried to follow. “Got any more?”
My speech was getting slurred as I reached her and plopped down in the bed of straw, smiling slowly as she pulled my sheet up to my chin, tossing a mess of furs on top of me, along with her faded blue cape.
“No,” she whispered quietly, “I don’t think you’ll be needin’ more.”
“No?” I mumbled, trying to crack a heavy lid open to peer at her, letting out a jaw cracking yawn.
“No.” There was laughter in her voice, and it made her sound younger, happier—almost carefree. “Chose wisely, I be thinkin’.”
“Who did?” Whuh... was going on? What did I miss?
“Sleep, little one,” she whispered, “and we shall just see,” crooning to me softly.
“But... name... I don’t even...”
“Ah, but sleep, and know you’ll keep. Sleep.”
“A... name?” I mumbled with my last reserves.
“Stubborn little thing, aintcha?” I could make out her snort before she gently brushed a hand across my temple, my mind already drifting off. Her voice changed, the smooth dulcet tones of a softly spoken stranger murmuring sweetly, “You may call me Niniane.”
What Be This?
There was a low moan, and my eyes fluttered open. Brain foggy and muddled, I had a hard time focusing properly, my mouth dry to the bone as a harsh breath escaped cracked lips. Beyond parched, my tongue felt thick and heavy in my dehydrated mouth. My arms ached and my chest felt heavy too, body propped up against a cold, hard surface.
This wasn’t the coarse, itchy bed of straw I’d fallen asleep in, and my arms felt thick and numb, suspended just above my head.
Vision eventually adjusting, my eyes widened as I took in my new surroundings. What is this place? Where am I? Trying to lift my hand to my face proved useless, and at a quick glance, I had trouble processing what my eyes were trying to tell me—I’m chained to a wall.
Panic quickly stealing over, I tugged at my restraints. All I got for my efforts were shooting pains zipping up and down the blood deprived limbs—likened to being poked by a thousand pins and needles.
The air was cool and damp, the fetid stench of death and human excrement surrounding me. Light of any kind was barely to be had, a lone lit torch on one of the farthest walls, about to die out, but I could still make out the room in its entirely.
Oh, god. Gaol! I’m... But how? Why?
“No. No. No. Why?” My breath rushed out in a whisper, a familiar grunt sending my head snapping to the side. “Troll?”
An animalistic grunt, followed by a pained hiss, had me staring off across the way, directly at the huddled form balled up in the darkness.
“T-t-t-t... Troll?” No. That can’t be him.
“Nugget?”
“Tro- Uhm, Bektam? Why are we in jail?” Breath catching, I was beginning to get very lightheaded, wondering if I might faint.
“Dinna ye remember?” he rumbled tentatively, grunting with the effort.
“N-n-no.” I wasn’t sure if I wanted to. Whatever had happened, it wasn’t good, and this wasn’t about to end well.
“An’ it’s Gersthart to you, nugget. Dinna be callin’ me falsities.”
“Why are we here?” Voice just above a whisper, small and frightened, I dreaded what his answer might be.
“Ye’re scared. Dinna be. I’ll protect ye.” Hissing through gritted teeth, I could hear him moving, as if to sit up, his choppy breaths sending my own stuttering as my heart raced, worried.
Something’s not right. What’s wrong with him?
The scraping of Troll’s bare feet were disturbingly loud as he pulled himself into a sitting position, straw sticking to the parts of him that I could make out.
At the first good look I glimpsed of him, his efforts to sit up bringing him clearly into view, I gasped, taking in his badly beaten form. Huddled in a massive lump, unchained but suddenly unmoving, his chest heaving in a way that told me his ribs must be broken, quite a few, labored breaths wheezing, rattling out of him. His body was covered in various cuts and bruises, scars and deep gashes marring his thick grey skin, dried, crusted blood obscuring his runes.
A startled cry escaped me and I instinctively went to reach out to him, groaning as the effort only caused me more pain.
Swollen almost beyond recognition, one of his eyes was unable to open, and he had a rather large bump on his head. Dry and cracked, his lips were split and dribbling blood, chin crusted over with that which had long been dried, mixing the two together.
“What... what has happened to you?” Horrified didn’t even begin to explain it as my heartbeat started drumming away in my ears, pounding away as all traces of color bled from my face.
“Dinna be worryin’,” he muttered through clenched teeth, his good eye cracking open to stare at me, a bright, orange flame in such a dreary setting. “Willna let ‘em hurt ye.”
“What?” Blinking down at him, shock blasted me anew.
A short, bitter laugh made its way past his lips and he shook his head. “Ye’re mine. Failed ye once. Willna...” Pausing, he grimaced as he tried to gain his feet, but it soon proved impossible, sending him stumbling back. “Willna be lettin’ it happen again.”
Tears filled my eyes as my lips started trembling. “Troll?”
“Gersthart, bonded,” he fairly snarled, crawling across the filth and rot in the stone floor to get to me. “No’ Troll.”
“Gerst-” My lips stuttered, just trying to get the words out. I couldn’t. “Wh-what did we do? Why are we being p-p-unished? I need... I need to know!”
There was the sound of loud footsteps approaching, alerting us we’d soon have company. Growling under his breath, Troll heaved himself up, tossing his body over mine, hugging me to him as tight as he could, hovering over
me protectively, careful of the chains holding me.
Underneath the stench in the dungeon and the smell of unwashed male flesh, I could scent him—warmth and strength, a resilience only a stubborn troll could possess. Protection. Home. Mine.
Resting my head gently on his chest, I whispered one last time, “Please... What’s going on?”
“Dinna worry, luv,” he grunted, voice rumbling and deep against my ear as he gave it a quick, jerky nuzzle. “I’m sorry I failed ye.” His arms tightened, banding around me, as tears slid down my cheeks. “Shh, now, an’ quit yer blubberin’. I’m here, nugget, an’ I keep me word. No one will ever hurt ye, again. Dinna let ‘em see they’ve gotten to ye, eh?”
My body trembled and a choking sob escaped me. He’d meant every word.
“What is going on in here?!” an imperious, authoritative voice bellowed.
There were quiet, useless chatterings from off behind the booming voice, placations aimed at the angry male shouting the roof off.
“Pick him up and get him off of her!” the impatient man demanded.
“No!” I shrieked, jerking my wrists to tug him back. Troll tried to hush me, burying his face in my neck, grunting with the effort to keep us together against the fierce sound of booted feet meeting solid flesh. They’re kicking him! “Stop it! Stop! You’re hurting him!” My shouts and pleas went ignored.
“What’s the matter, milady?” the angry male looming over us sneered, Trystan’s enraged face, older and wearing the clothes of the upper nobility, coming plainly into view. “Worried we might damage your precious beast?”
Troll groaned and something smattered my skin, warmth oozing down my neck and chest. A gurgled cough and a few pained wheezes, blood spattering my face—his blood—sent my heart thumping wildly, trying to claw up my chest and out my throat. Shrieking in shock and disbelief, I flew into a blind panic.
“Leave him alone! You’re killing him! You’re killing him!”
“Oh? And wouldn’t that just be terrible?” The older, angry Trystan mused.
The Toll Page 24
