by Brandon Mull
ravine.
Why are they dangerous? Seth asked, catching up
with her.
Those are a peculiar class of lotus blossoms. The smell
is intoxicating, the taste divine. A tiny nibble of a single
petal carries you away into a lethargic trance populated by
vivid hallucinations.
Like drugs?
More addictive than most drugs. Sampling a lotus
blossom awakens a craving that will never be silenced.
Many have wasted their lives pursuing and consuming the
petals of those bewitching flowers.
I wasn’t going to eat one.
No? Sit and smell them for a few minutes, and you’ll
end up with a petal in your mouth before you know what
you’re doing.
They proceeded in silence for a few hundred yards. The
walls of the ravine grew more sheer and rocky as they progressed.
They noticed a few other clusters of lotus blossoms.
Where is Nero? Kendra asked.
Grandma scanned the wall of the ravine. Not much
farther. He lives up on a ledge.
We have to climb up to him?
Stan said Nero lowered a rope ladder.
What’s that? Seth asked, pointing up ahead.
I’m not sure, Grandma said. A good distance down
the ravine, about twenty upright logs of increasing height
led from the edge of the stream to the wall of the ravine.
The highest log granted access to a rocky ledge. It might
be our destination. This is not what Stan described.
They arrived at the logs. The lowest was three feet tall,
the next was six feet, and each subsequent log stood
roughly three feet taller than the previous one, until the
tallest rose about sixty feet high. The logs were arranged
about three feet apart, in a staggered row. None of the logs
had any limbs. Short or tall, they were all of a similar circumference,
about eighteen inches, and they were all cut
flat across the top.
Placing a hand beside her mouth, Grandma called up
to the ledge. Nero! We would like to meet with you!
Not a good day, a voice answered, deep and silky.
Try me next week. They could not see the speaker.
We must meet today or never, Grandma insisted.
Who has such an urgent need? the resonant voice
inquired.
Ruth Sorenson and her grandchildren.
Ruth Sorenson? What is your request?
We need to find Stan.
The caretaker? Yes, I could discern his location.
Ascend the stairs and we will discuss terms.
Grandma looked around. You don’t mean these logs,
she called.
I most assuredly do.
Stan said you had a ladder.
That was before I set up these logs. No small undertaking.
Climbing them looks precarious.
Call it a filter, Nero said. A means to ensure that
those who seek my services are in earnest.
So we must climb the logs for the privilege of speaking
with you? How about we talk from down here?
Unacceptable.
Your stairs are equally unacceptable, Grandma said
firmly.
If your need is dire, you will scale them, observed the
troll.
What have you done with the ladder?
I still have it.
May we please climb it instead? I am not dressed for
an obstacle course. We’ll make it worth your while.
How about a compromise? One of you climb the logs.
Then I will lower the ladder for the other two. Final offer.
Concede or go acquire your information elsewhere.
Grandma looked at him. If anyone is climbing those
logs, it will be me. I’m taller and better able to reach from
log to log.
I have smaller feet, so the logs will feel bigger. I’ll keep
my balance easier.
Sorry, Seth. This is something I must do.
Seth dashed over to the first log, scrambled onto it
without much trouble, and, taking a jump as if he were
playing leapfrog, ended up seated atop the second log.
Grandma hurried over to the second log. You get down
from there!
Seth shakily got to his feet. Leaning forward, he placed
his hands on the third log. From his position on the second
log, the top of the third came almost to the middle of his
chest. Another leapfrog jump and he sat atop the nine-foot
log. I can do this, he said.
It won’t be so easy as you get higher, Grandma
warned. You come down and let me do it.
No way. I already have one dead grandma.
Kendra watched silently. From his seated position, Seth
shifted to his knees and rose unsteadily to his feet. He leapt
to the next log, now well out of Grandma’s reach. Kendra
was quietly glad Seth was climbing the logs. She could not
picture Grandma doing it successfully, especially dressed in
a bathrobe and slippers. At the very least, think of the terrible
places she could get splinters! And Kendra could very
clearly envision Grandma Sorenson crumpled in a lifeless
heap at the base of a log.
Seth Andrew Sorenson, you mind your grandmother!
I want you to come down from there.
Stop distracting me, he said.
It may seem like fun on these lower logs, but when you
get higher-
I climb high stuff all the time, Seth insisted. My
friends and I climb up in the bars under the bleachers at
the high school. If we fell there we could die too. He rose
to his feet. He seemed to be getting better at it. Seth
landed on the next log, straddling it for a moment before
getting to his knees.
Be careful, Grandma said. Don’t think about the
height.
I know you’re trying to help, Seth said. But please
stop talking.
Grandma came and stood by Kendra. Can he do this?
she whispered.
He has a good chance. He’s really brave, and pretty
athletic. The height might not get to him. I would freak
out.
Kendra wanted to look away. She did not want to see
him fall. But she could not take her eyes from her brother
as he leapfrogged from log to log, higher and higher. As he
jumped to the thirteenth, almost forty feet high now, he
leaned precariously to one side. Chills raced through
Kendra as if she were the one losing her balance. Seth
gripped with his legs and leaned the other way, regaining
his equilibrium. Kendra could breathe again.
Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen. Kendra glanced at Grandma.
He was going to make it! Seventeen. He got to his feet,
wobbling a bit, hands out to either side. These tall ones
shake a little, he called down.
Seth leapfrogged to the next log and landed awkwardly,
teetering too far to one side. For a moment he hovered on
the brink of regaining his balance. Every muscle in
Kendra’s body clenched in horror. Arms pinwheeling, Seth
fell. Kendra shrieked. She could not look away.
Something flashed from the ledge-a slender, black
chain with a metal weight at the end. The chain coiled
around one of Seth’s legs. Instead of falling to the ground,<
br />
he swung into the cliff, colliding roughly with the stone
wall.
For the first time Kendra had a view of Nero. Built like
a man, the troll had reptilian features. A few bright yellow
markings decorated his glossy black body. He held in a
webbed hand the chain from which Seth dangled. Muscles
bunching powerfully, Nero hauled Seth up to the ledge.
They passed out of sight, and then a rope ladder unfurled
from the ledge, unwinding all the way to the base of the
cliff.
Are you okay? Kendra yelled up at Seth.
I’m fine, he answered. Just had the wind knocked
out of me.
Grandma started up the ladder. Kendra followed,
forcing herself to focus on grabbing the next rung, denying
the impulse to look down. At length she reached the ledge.
She moved to the rear of the ledge, standing beside the low
mouth of a dark cave from which wafted a cool draft.
Nero looked even more intimidating up close. Tiny,
sleek scales covered his sinuous body. Though he was not
much taller than Grandma, the thickness of his brawny
physique made him seem massive. He had a snout rather
than a nose, and bulging eyes that never blinked. A row of
sharp spines ran from the center of his forehead to the
small of his back.
Thank you for rescuing Seth, Grandma said.
I told myself, if the boy makes it past fifteen logs, I will
assist him if he falls. I admit that I am curious to hear what
you would exchange to learn the location of your husband.
His voice was suave and rich.
Tell us what you have in mind, Grandma said.
A long, gray tongue popped out of his mouth and
licked his right eye. You would have me speak first? So be
it. I do not ask much, an insignificant trifle for the proprietress
of this illustrious preserve. Six coffers of gold, twelve
puncheons of silver, three casks of uncut gems, and a
bucket of opals.
Kendra looked at Grandma. Could she possibly own
that much treasure?
A reasonable sum, Grandma said. Unfortunately, we
have brought no such riches with us.
I can wait while you retrieve the payment, if you leave
the girl as collateral.
Regrettably we lack the time to shuttle treasure to
you, unless you would reveal Stan’s location before receiving
compensation.
Nero licked his left eye and grinned, a hideous sight
that displayed double rows of needle teeth. I must be paid
in full before fulfilling your request.
Grandma folded her arms. I take it you already possess
great caches of treasure. It surprises me that such a meager
financial offering as I could supply would entice you to
trade.
Go on, he said.
You are offering us a service. Perhaps we should repay
you with a service as well.
Nero nodded thoughtfully. Possible. The boy has some
spirit. Indenture him to me for fifty years.
Seth looked desperately at Grandma.
Grandma frowned. I hope to leave the possibility of
future business open, therefore I do not wish to leave you
feeling slighted. The boy has spirit, but little ability. You
would assume the burden of training him as a servant, and
find yourself yoked to his incompetence. You would add
more value to his life through education than he would to
yours through service.
Your candor is appreciated, Nero said, although you
have much to learn about bargaining. I begin to wonder
whether you have anything of value to offer. If not, our discussion
will not end well.
You speak of value, Grandma said. I ask, what value
is treasure to a wealthy troll? The more riches he possesses,
the less each new acquisition improves his total worth. A bar
of gold means much more to a pauper than to a king. I also
question what value a frail human servant would have to a
master infinitely more wise and capable? Consider the situation.
We want you to render a service of value to us, something
we cannot do for ourselves. You should expect no less.
I agree. Take care. Your words are spreading a net at
your feet. A lethal edge was creeping into his voice.
True, unless I am trained to deliver a service of
extraordinary value. Have you ever received a massage?
Are you serious? The idea has always struck me as
ridiculous.
The idea seems absurd to all the uninitiated. Beware
of rash judgments. We all pursue wealth, and those who
gather the most can afford certain comforts unavailable to
the masses. Foremost among these luxuries is the indescribable
release and relaxation of a massage at the hands of one
skilled in the art.
And you claim to be skilled in this so-called art?
Trained by a true master. My ability is so great as to be
nearly beyond purchase. The only person in the world who
has received a full massage at my hands is the caretaker
himself, and this because I am his woman. I could give you
a full massage, kneading and soothing every muscle in your
body. The experience would redefine your understanding
of pleasure.
Nero shook his head. It will take more than florid
words and grandiose promises to persuade me.
Consider my offer in perspective, Grandma said.
People pay exorbitant sums for an expert massage. You will
receive yours at no cost, merely in exchange for a service.
How long would it take you to ascertain Stan’s location?
A few moments.
A massage will take me thirty grueling minutes. And
you will be experiencing something new, a delight you
have never encountered in all your long years. A similar
opportunity may never arise again.
Nero licked an eye. Granted, I have never received a
massage. I could name many things I have never done,
mainly because I have no interest in doing them. I have
sampled human food and found it wanting. I am not convinced
that I will find a massage as satisfying as you describe.
Grandma studied him. Three minutes. I will give you
a sample for three minutes. It will afford you only a narrow
glimpse of the unspeakable bliss that awaits, but should
place you in a position to make a more educated decision.
Very well. I see no harm in a demonstration.
Give me your hand.
My hand?
I will massage a single hand. You will have to use your
imagination to envision how this would feel across your
entire body.
He held out a hand. Grandma Sorenson took it and
began working his palm with her thumbs. At first he tried
to keep a straight face, but his mouth began to twitch, and
his eyes began to roll. How is that? Grandma asked. Too
deep?
His meager lips quivered. Just right, he purred.
Grandma continued expertly rubbing his palm and the
back of his hand. He started licking his eyes compulsively.
She finished with his fingers. The demonstration is concluded,
s
he announced.
Thirty minutes of that, you say, across my whole
body?
The children will assist me, Grandma said. We will
trade a service for a service.
But I could exchange my service for something more
enduring! For treasure! A single massage is too fleeting.
The law of diminishing returns applies to massages, as
it does to most things. The first is the best, and all you
really need. Besides, you can always exchange your services
for treasure. This may be your only chance to receive an
expert massage.
He held out his other hand. One more example, to
help me decide.
No more samples.
You offer just one massage? What if you stay on as my
personal masseuse for twelve years?
Grandma grew stern. I am not petitioning you to look
in that stone of yours multiple times for multiple purposes.
I am requesting a single piece of information. A service for
a service. That is my offer, lopsided in your favor. The massage
takes thirty minutes, versus mere moments for you to
peer into your stone.
But you need the information, Nero reminded her. I
do not need a massage.
Satisfying needs is the burden of the poor. The
wealthy and powerful can afford to indulge their wants and
whims. If you pass on this opportunity, you will always
wonder what you missed.
Don’t do it, Grandma, Kendra said. Just give him
the treasure.
Nero held up a finger. This proposition is unorthodox,
and against my better judgment, but the idea of a massage
intrigues me, and I am rarely intrigued. However, thirty
minutes is too short. Say… two hours.
Sixty minutes, Grandma said flatly.
Ninety, Nero countered.
Grandma wrung her hands. She folded and unfolded
her arms. She rubbed her brow.
Ninety minutes is too long, Kendra said. You’ve
never given Grandpa a massage longer than an hour!
Hold your tongue, child, Grandma snapped.
Ninety or no deal, Nero said.
Grandma sighed in resignation. All right… ninety
minutes.
Very well, I accept. But if I do not approve of the
entire massage, the deal is off.
Grandma shook her head. No caveats. A single
ninety-minute massage in exchange for the location of
Stan Sorenson. You will treasure the memory until the end
of your days.
Nero eyed Kendra and Seth before fixing Grandma
with a shrewd gaze. Agreed. How do we proceed?
The best table Grandma could find was a fairly narrow
