by Sarina Dorie
“What do you say to me just calling you Harry?”
His eyebrows drew together and he studied himself. The hair on his body faded away. The air chilled him and he felt oddly naked. He wrapped his arms around himself to keep from shivering.
The maiden walked a few paces away, lifted a green cloak from the ground, and handed it to him.
He wrapped it around himself.
“It is customary to thank someone when they do something nice for you,” the maiden said.
Harry—as that’s what he decided he would call himself—toed the earth. “Um, thank you.”
“And what’s all this growling and roaring about?”
He shrugged. He watched the maiden continue to pick berries, noticing how the branches shifted away from her graceful hands. She didn’t have one scratch on her.
“Are you a witch?” he asked.
“Oh? You think I’m a witch because of the bushes?” Her smile was utterly mischievous. “That’s nothing really. I simply asked the bushes nicely if I could pick their berries and they’re being polite. You might consider using manners yourself some time. It will get you farther in the world.”
Somehow Harry didn’t think asking someone to please surrender in a battle was going to work for him. Maybe such a tactic could work for her. Just staring at the delicate features of the maiden’s face, he could feel part of himself surrendering.
He didn’t like it.
She held a berry out to him. “Would you like to try one?”
Harry hesitated, suspicious it was a trap. That’s how it would have been with the humans whom he fought, as well as those who were his masters. He snatched up the berry, but nothing happened. He gobbled it up. Still nothing bad happened. Surprisingly, it was better than his usual diet of raw human.
Her smile was so sweet, it was hard for him not to smile back.
“Have you ever eaten a blackberry pie?” she asked.
Harry shook his head. “But once, the king had a special pie made for me from the flesh of his enemies.”
The maiden scrunched up her nose. “To each their own, I suppose.” She held out a bucket to him. “How about this?—You carry these buckets back to my cottage and I’ll make you a berry pie.”
Again, he was suspicious this might be a trap, but he supposed even as a human he was hulking and strong and he could crush her slender neck if he wanted to. Oddly, he didn’t feel like murdering today. Warmth surged outward from his heart—or maybe it was from his stomach—when he looked at her.
Harry followed the maiden through the forest, still wondering why someone would do something nice for him like bake him a pie without even asking him to kill a hundred men in battle first.
Melinda, as he learned she was called, led him to her strange home inside an immense oak tree. Harry knew magic was at work when he stepped indoors because the cottage appeared much larger on the inside. Melinda instructed him in how to help her make the pies and set them to bake in her brick oven. While they were baking, Melinda sat at a table across from him, offering him bread and cheese as a snack while they waited for the pies. He found the food tolerable.
“Why do you think I’m human?” Harry asked. “If you didn’t turn me into a man, how did this happen?”
Melinda shrugged. “Well, have you always been a troll?”
Harry considered this. “I think so.”
“Some creatures from the forest are changelings and can shift shapes. Usually they have two bodies; an animal or plant of some kind, which could be a creature like a troll. The other shape is a human body—except for the Ridged-back Snookletree. It either has the body of a birch tree or a Ridged-back Snookle.”
Harry wasn’t sure what a Ridged-back Snookle was, nor did he ask.
Melinda continued, “For many changelings, there are rules governing their abilities to change. Wolf-men, for example, can only change into wolves at night under the light of the moon, selkies can only change into humans when they’re on dry land.”
“How do you know all this?”
“From my previous profession.” He noticed she didn’t volunteer to share what profession that had been. “Anyway, perhaps you saw something in the clearing that triggered this reaction. Blackberries for instance. Or it could have been—”
“Or an evil witch has cursed me! I will seek out this witch and grind her bones to make my… pie.” It sounded a little anti-climatic. Perhaps if he learned how to bake other foods, he might grind her bones to make something else.
Melinda rolled her eyes. “You obviously have much to learn about making pies.”
Of course, Harry had never even made a pie before this day. The smell was incredible. When the pies were finished baking, he reached out for one, but Melinda smacked his hand with a wooden spoon. “They’re hot. You’ll burn yourself.”
A flare of troll-like anger exploded in Harry. He snarled and stomped his foot.
Melinda crossed her arms. “Go ahead and burn yourself then if that’s what you really want.”
Harry grabbed the pie and immediately dropped it back onto the table, sorry he hadn’t listened to her advice. Not only did his hand hurt, but he felt ashamed of his ignorance about the limitations of this new body. He had never felt such things as a troll.
Melinda dabbed a paste made from herbs onto his burnt fingers and wrapped his hand in a bandage of leaves. “There is something that you might consider learning in addition to manners. It’s called patience,” she said.
“Patience?” he asked in his deep grumble of a voice.
She explained the idea of patience to him. By the time she was done explaining—and it did take a while—the pies had cooled enough to eat. Melinda made him use manners and a fork. It was a small price to pay for the most delicious meal he’d ever had. He ate his entire pie in one sitting.
“My belly is full, but I’m human. What will I do now? I can’t go back to the king.” Nor was he sure he wanted to after he’d had a taste of freedom.
Melinda told Harry he was welcome to sleep beside her hearth if he wished, but Harry declined. He was afraid he might turn into a troll and be unable to resist eating her. Even worse, he feared he might remain a human and be unable to resist kissing her. He had a feeling Melinda wouldn’t put up with either.
He told her, “I will return to the clearing and see if I can find out why I have turned into a human.”
***
Harry traveled back to the clearing along the path. The sun sank low on the horizon, the forest growing dark. He stumbled through the brush, unable to see clearly and stubbed his toe. He let out a growl and suddenly noticed how animal-like his grumbles sounded. The cape grew tight around his neck and he fumbled to loosen it. The bandages on his hand fell away in tatters. It was then he realized how large and hairy his hands were. He was a troll again.
How had this happened? Was it because he’d gotten angry when he’d stubbed his toe? He’d grown vexed in Melinda’s cottage when he’d wanted to eat the pie. He didn’t think he’d turned into a troll then, but he might not have noticed if it had only been for a minute. Though, she hadn’t commented on it if he had.
Harry stomped through the brambles, pushing a tree out of the way with his normal strength. Fury welled up in him, almost as much anger as when he’d first turned into a human. Everything he’d learned that day about having manners, patience and eating pies was pointless. He was once again a brute and he had little need for such things.
“The monster!” a man yelled.
Harry looked around. The man, dressed in the uniform of one of King Hathgar’s soldiers pointed at him.
Immediately a battalion of soldiers surrounded him.
Harry let out a feeble roar. He wasn’t in the spirit for any killing. And he was still full from the pie, so not hungry for humans. Harry let the men drive him into a large iron cage and didn’t bother to claw at them as they loaded him into a cart and returned him to the castle’s dungeon.
***
Hathgar was thrilled to have his pet monster back; he was planning a battle against the king of East Valdor and wouldn’t consider showing his still handsome and fairly youthful face—unless he had his warrior son present to do the majority of the work for him.
Hathgar did notice the troll lacked his usual vigor and lust for blood. “Perhaps he has eaten some rancid meat in the forest. Or a fairy. I hear they give heartburn,” he said to his general. “Regardless of this, you may commence with the lessons to teach him to say Cinderethylaide’s name.”
This, the dog trainer and general did, surprised at the ease with which they were able to do so. For they had not spent five minutes with the big brute before he was able to pronounce the queen’s name—a name even they had difficulty with.
A week later, Hathgar met with the king of East Valdor in battle, releasing his troll son upon the soldiers of his enemies. Yet, instead of his usual murderous rampage, the monster actually hesitated.
“Go on,” Hathgar said, encouragingly. “Go kill them.”
To his disappointment, his son simply made roaring sounds and stomped around, which did at least cause the opposing kingdom’s troupe to shiver in their boots. To Hathgar’s irritation, they surrendered without any blood lost. He sighed in disgust. Well, at least he’d acquired more land. And at last was his chance to get rid of Cinderethylaide.
Hathgar asked his pet troll in front of all his men, “Tell me what you desire most, my dear s—monster. What fair maiden do you wish to eat?” He grinned, expecting to hear his wife’s name.
Harry had pretty much gotten a handle for speaking as a troll, practicing in his dungeon cell in the long hours he had been alone. Still, the troll tongue was different than that of his human form and he pronounced each word slowly and carefully so he was understood. “Actually, I would like a blackberry pie. And could I have a fork? I don’t want to get the berries in my fur.”
Hathgar stomped his foot, enraged. He pointed to his general and dog trainer. “I will behead both of you for this!”
The next day King Hathgar hired a new trainer, an expert in training monsters from Upper Valdor. The trainer looked a bit like a monster himself with the sinister gleam in his eyes and a twisted staff he held in spindly hands.
“What you need, is to give him a taste of what he could have, so that he’ll demand more,” the trainer said. “I say we tell the people of your kingdom the monster demands to eat your beautiful wife and will wreak havoc upon the land until you feed her to him. But because Cinderethylaide is the queen and mother of your—how many children?—naturally you refused him. So in her place, you must send a different beautiful maiden to be sacrificed to him each week because you can’t stand to give him Cinderethylaide. After a while, the people of the land will refuse to let you sacrifice all the young maidens and will demand that you feed the monster Cinderethylaide.”
“Masterful!” Tears of admiration filled Hathgar’s eyes. He would look like the hero in this whole affair. Or perhaps the victim. The hero-victim, doing the right thing while sacrificing his supposedly treasured wife. Best of all, his reputation with the ladies wouldn’t be tarnished. He would be able to find the next most beautiful maiden in the kingdom, one who could bear him a male heir and would hopefully demand he got rid of his daughters. Preferably the next beauty wouldn’t leave her shoes all over the castle either.
The expert monster trainer twisted his scraggly, gray beard around his finger. “Now you have two choices for the first sacrifice. You can either have a lottery, or see if there are any… volunteers.”
“Can’t I just volunteer one of my daughters?” Hathgar asked.
“Not if you are to look like the hero in this,” the monster trainer said.
Hathgar’s daughters had mysteriously disappeared again, anyway. He was certain their new shoes would be worn out as usual when they eventually showed up.
Hathgar decided to try the volunteer option first, as that would cast him in the best light and he could fall back on the lottery second. On the bright side, he had a fair chance of getting rid of one of his daughters when they eventually used the lottery, as he had more daughters than the average citizen.
***
Harry sat alone in his barren cell, thinking of Melinda. He had just finished his fourth pie and was starting the fifth—as a troll, his appetite exceeded that of his as a man—when his cell door was thrown open and in stumbled Melinda, carrying a small bundle. She straightened her dress and cast a venomous glare behind her as the guard slammed the iron door closed.
Harry jumped to his feet. He’d never expected to see her again.
Melinda was as lovely as the last time he’d seen her. Her long, dark hair cascaded down her back. Her bright green eyes flashed with what may have been delight as she looked at him.
Harry’s heart instantly fluttered with joy. He was pretty sure it was his heart. He felt weak in his knees and tingly all over. And oddly cold. He looked down at himself. He was naked. Not that he usually wasn’t, but on those occasions, his thick pelt of troll fur covered him, not human skin.
He was human again.
Harry snatched up Melinda’s cloak, which he’d kept, and covered himself. Melinda handed him a pair of men’s clothes.
Melinda turned away, staring at the damp, dingy cell as he dressed. “Interesting home the king has provided for you.”
It was unfurnished, unless one considered the pile of old bones from past dinners to be furnishings.
Harry finished dressing. At a loss for anything else to do, he offered her the remaining pan of pie. Melinda sat down next to him and shared his dinner.
“How did you know where I was? And how did you convince them to allow you to visit me?” he asked.
She shrugged. “King Hathgar was searching for a maiden to sacrifice to his warrior monster. I had a hunch that was you. He says fair maidens are all you’re willing to eat. So I volunteered to be your first victim.”
Harry held himself taller. “That’s not true! I’m not going to eat you, nor anyone else.” Though, as he said it, he wondered if he spoke the truth. In the past, he’d eaten plenty of hapless warriors. And pies made of the king’s enemies. It wasn’t such a far-fetched idea that if the king presented him with a fair maiden, Harry might eat one. Yet, after spending that single day as a human, something had awakened in him. It no longer felt right to eat people. He couldn’t think upon his past as a monster without feeling guilt. He didn’t mind being a troll; he liked the way wind whispered over his fur and the sense of strength and power his immense hulk afforded him. He just didn’t have the heart to crush everything he saw now that he realized there was another way.
Melinda giggled. “I thought that might be the case when I saw the pie.”
“I do prefer pie.” His face flushed with heat. “Of course, your pie was better.”
They talked for hours. Harry explained what had happened in the time since he’d last seen her. He told her of the trainers teaching him to say Cinderethylaide’s name, the battle in which he had decided not to eat or kill anyone, and the king’s fury when Harry had asked for a pie.
“I think the king has decided to get rid of his wife,” said Melinda. “Poor Cinderethylaide! I feel horribly responsible for all this.”
“Why?”
Melinda stared down at her hands, clearing her throat. “Well, I was Cinderethylaide’s fairy godmother. That was my past occupation, you see, but I gave it up. I always hated to see how depressed nice girls became when they got what they thought they wanted—usually a rich, handsome prince who turned out to be conceited and vain. Nowadays, I just teach dance—and occasionally cooking. But I see my days of being a fairy godmother will never really end. I have to warn Cinderethylaide about this.”
“I thought fairy godmothers were all old.” From the stories he’d overheard, anyway.
“I am. I just look good for my age. Feel fortunate I like younger men.” Melinda winked at h
im. Then she turned serious. “You must promise me not to eat Cinderethylaide or any other maidens the king sends to you.”
“I won’t,” Harry promised.
Melinda stood up and brushed off her dress. “It’s about time to go. I have a dance lesson to teach at eight o’clock tonight and a party to go to at ten.”
“Oh,” Harry couldn’t help sounding forlorn. “Well, I suppose you should be going. You don’t want to be late to your lesson.”
Melinda laughed. “There’s plenty of time for that. But if you don’t hurry, there won’t be enough time to pick some raspberries for the pie we’re going to bake before the class.”
Harry blinked. “I’m coming with you?”
“Of course. I’m kidnapping you and taking you prisoner.”
Harry wasn’t sure he liked the idea of being anyone’s prisoner. Melinda’s presence already rendered him weak and helpless. When he saw her, his knees turned to jelly, and he had no desire to behave beastly—as it might displease her. Worst of all, he couldn’t bear the idea of eating her.
“What kinds of horrible things do maidens do to their prisoners?” Harry asked.
“We give them baking lessons, teach them to dance and sing, and take them on strolls in the moonlight. There might even be a kiss on the cheek involved, but that’s a big maybe.”
“What about troll baiting? Do you have dogs attack trolls or throw rocks at us or—”
Melinda crossed her arms. “No.”
Well, aside from the kissing, it didn’t sound so scary.
“But they locked us in here.” Hathgar shook the door. This new one was much stronger than the last one. “How will you kidnap me?”
“I still possess a tool I frequently used in my previous occupation.” Melinda held up a skeleton key.
***
Harry had another pie lesson, attended a group dance class—though to his embarrassment, he was the only man among the twelve other students—and went to a party where he met a slew of odd-looking forest creatures and beasts, including a Ridged-back Snookletree. This creature, which looked very much like a large lump of rock about the size of a curled up human, told the partygoers in his—or perhaps it was her—deep and rumbling voice, stories of how it turned people into frogs, stone statues and occasionally cupcakes if they had been wicked. Perhaps the most delightful, and simultaneously terrifying moment of the evening, was when Harry received a kiss on the cheek from Melinda.
