Red Rowan: Book 2: All Gone, the Gods

by Helen Gosney

  “I know that too... but I do want to go with you... I couldn’t bear for you to leave me behind now. If it means that I must go down that... that hole in the ground... then I shall,” she said huskily, “The silly part of it all is that I don’t even know why it frightens me so...”

  “We don’t always know what it is that frightens us,” Moss mused, “If we did, we...” he stopped speaking suddenly and cocked his head as if listening. “They are coming back... I hear their voices.”

  He strode over to the hole and looked down. It was very dark down there now that the sun was getting lower in the sky. A few moments later a light emerged from the tunnel at the bottom and Cris started to climb up the shaft.

  “Thanks, Moss,” he said as the troll helped him out of the hole, “You won’t believe what we found down there; it’s wonderful, just incredible.” His face was alight with the excitement and mystery of what they’d seen.

  “Are you both all right?” Rose looked at him anxiously, “You’ve been gone for ages... Oh! Listen to me... anyone would think you were the troll twins!”

  “We’re fine, truly. Both of us are big enough and ugly enough to look after ourselves!” Rowan smiled at her as he came over the top of the shaft. “I promise you, love, ’tisn’t as bad down there as you think,” he added quietly as she hugged him. “But Gods, I’m hungry... I think I missed out on my lunch somehow, with all that exploring.”

  “Serves you right!” she said briskly, relieved that both men had returned safely. She knew that Rowan wouldn’t take unnecessary risks, particularly with Cris along, but still… she’d also learnt that he wasn’t as invulnerable as she’d once naively believed. “I think the twins and Shale have eaten the lot... but we are expected at the trollhall,” she added, laughing.

  They walked down the valley as the sun was setting, with Cris and Rowan telling of their underground exploits. Mica joined them and followed at Rowan’s heels like a huge dog.

  “How... how amazing,” Rose said, “But you didn’t get to the top of the stairs?”

  “No... We thought we’d better come back,” Cris replied, “There was no way of knowing how much further we had to go.”

  “But we’ll find out tomorrow, I hope...” Rowan added.

  Rose said, “Will we be organised by tomorrow, do you think?”

  He shrugged, his eyes bright with anticipation.

  “Aye, I think so.”

  **********

  32. “Have either of ye ever played scrambleball?”

  The trolls had decided to eat outdoors as it was such a fine night, and they’d arranged blankets and cushions and low tables on the grass. The young trolls were delighted to see Mica and they made much of him, patting his dappled hide and tucking flowers into his mane, and carefully feeding him bits of grass and bread. The stallion bore it all patiently, lowering his head so that the smallest trolls could reach to tickle his ears, and carefully lipping at the morsels offered to him on bravely outstretched palms. The older trolls placed torches around a huge square on the grass, as Rowan had asked.

  When all was ready, Rowan vaulted onto Mica’s bare back and they danced on the grass in the torchlight, just as the moons were rising.

  The trolls sat entranced by the beauty of the movements and the gracefulness of horse and rider, their meal completely forgotten. Of course they kept beasts themselves, goats and curly-horned mountain sheep, big black pigs and the huge hairy brown creatures they called ‘milkers’; but they’d never seen anything like this, and they couldn’t believe their eyes as Mica pirouetted and spun and leapt and paced the beautiful intricate measures before them.

  Finally it was over, and the stallion bowed low to his enthralled audience. The trolls sat in silence for several heartbeats, then leapt to their feet as one, cheering and clapping their great hands together. Mica’s ears flickered at the sudden tumult, but he stood like a statue as trolls large and small came to surround him.

  “That was beautiful...” Moss sighed, watching horse and rider almost disappear in a sea of delighted trolls, “Even though I have seen them before, practising - when there was a nice flat place to do it - it was wonderful.”

  “I never thought to see such a thing...” Shale said, awestruck.

  Moss chuckled suddenly and winked at Rose and Cris, “... And I never thought to see trolls stop eating while there is still food to be eaten!”

  Gradually Rowan and Mica came over to where they were standing. Rowan then stood on Mica’s broad back, balancing easily. The trolls fell silent again as he began to speak.

  “Thank you, my friends, I’m glad you enjoyed that...” he said, pleased with Mica’s efforts. “We wanted to thank you for all you’ve done for us, especially Varla and Venn...” there was a cheer “... and as soon as I walk Mica around and cool him down a little, I’ll tell you what we found today...” another cheer “...if you’d like to return to this delicious meal I’ll be back with you soon... oh, and please leave some for me, I’m starving!” the last few words were drowned in trollish laughter and cheers.

  “Rowan, Varla and Venn can walk Mica for ye... if ye would not mind. They are very good with our beasts,” Marna suggested hesitantly. The little trolls looked up at Rowan hopefully and he couldn’t resist their bright-eyed ugly faces.

  “Mind? I’d be delighted... um... just a moment,” Rowan said, slipping a rope around Mica’s neck and placing the end in Varla’s hand. Venn took hold of it a little further along and they were ready.

  The little troll twins walked away on their important task, Mica following behind as placidly as the tamest milker.

  **********

  The talking and eating and drinking went on long into the night. At one stage three teams of four trolls assembled, tossing a round ball made of deerhide and stuffed with dried grass.

  These particular trolls were perhaps twenty-five or thirty years old, but trolls age differently to men; most were around Rowan’s height or a little taller, well-muscled and surprisingly agile, and they were the Trollish equivalent of fit active eighteen year-olds. None of them had been on trading expeditions yet, and so none had seen men before. They were fascinated by them and like all young males were keen to test themselves and have some fun at the same time. One of them looked across at Rowan and Cris and grinned. He ran across to them quickly.

  “Have either of ye ever played scrambleball?” he said hopefully.

  The two men looked at each other and laughed. Both were familiar with this particular trollish invention, having played it as lads, and they were game for anything now.

  The game comprised several teams, with the exact number of teams and the number in each team variable depending on the number of willing participants. Its object was simple: get the ball from the opposition and put it in a basket to score a goal. The only problem was that if you managed to get the ball almost everyone else was suddenly against you and there usually ended up being an awful lot of players chasing after you, intent on mayhem. The trolls could be fierce tacklers. And sometimes the rules varied so much that Cris used to wonder if the trolls simply made it up as they went along.

  “Aye, I have. ‘Tis a while ago, but I think I can remember the rules well enough. You too, Cris?” Rowan smiled at him. Mostly the rules seemed to be that almost anything was legal, apart from deliberately injuring someone.

  “It’s been a while for me too, but… yes, I’d like to have another go at it.” Cris grinned cheerfully. His small stature was generally an unexpected bonus for scrambleball as most trolls were careful about not hurting him. He was very fit from training with Rowan every day too, and he thought he’d manage fairly well.

  “Good. Let’s go then. I’m Grit, by the way,” the troll said.

  “Won’t we need another person though?” Cris wondered.

  Grit laughed happily.

  “No, it doesn’t matter. The others will just, er, rearrange themselves a bit.”

  Sure enough, the young trolls had reorganised themselves into
four teams of three, having dragged up a brave young she-troll to join them.

  She threw the ball up for them and the game began. Rowan took a running leap over the trolls, grabbed the ball and ran. He was very fast on his feet and he got to the basket well before any of the troll defenders, easily scoring the first goal for his team. The trolls huddled together after he’d done the same thing twice and decided to change their plans a little. They left some defenders by the basket.

  The next toss-up saw Rowan knocked aside by a couple of burly trolls, but he somersaulted to his feet unharmed as Cris darted in, grabbing the ball from the scrimmage. The little ratcatcher threw it quickly to Grit and the troll headed off down the field, tossed the ball to Rowan halfway to the basket and waited to see what he’d do this time. A solid wall of trolls blocked his way but he simply threw the ball back to Cris, who galloped around the lot of them to score again.

  As the game progressed, the trolls were astounded by the sheer speed and agility of the two men. Usually a game of scrambleball was just that, a scramble and scrimmage for the ball that went on all the way to the basket. Now though, the two men were outjumping them, scrambling over troll backs to get a bit more height and they were literally running rings around them. Grit was delighted with his new teammates and as astonished as everyone else at the men’s swiftness. They were surprisingly strong too, he realised as Rowan easily fended off a determined troll intent on flattening him. The feisty young she-troll was giving a good account of herself too and she managed to trip Rowan as he dodged past her. He somersaulted to his feet and kept going in the way that both fascinated and frustrated the trolls, tossing the ball to Grit as he saw a wall of trolls headed his way.

  A couple tackled him to the ground on general principles and quite a few more grabbed Grit. A speedy young troll made a break for the basket with men and trolls in hot pursuit.

  “I’ll get him, Cris, you grab the ball!” Rowan called as he sprinted after the tearaway. He was a lot lighter than the troll, but his speed and momentum brought the troll crashing down in a flying tackle. Again Cris darted in and stole the ball before anyone else could and he kept running. A quick glance behind showed the fearful sight of eight or nine trolls in full flight after him, but he laughed as he saw Rowan and Grit bring most of them down by the simple tactic of knocking over the largest one. He sped past the astounded defenders to score again. Really, he thought happily, Rowan and I’ll be barred from this game soon. He hadn’t had so much fun in years.

  Their goal tally mounted steadily as the trolls plotted revenge and Grit smiled to himself at the success of his own bold plan.

  But as fast, fearless and determined as the men were, they simply didn’t have the vast endurance of a troll. Cris dropped out first, gasping and panting for breath. Grit and Rowan continued their rampage though, unconcerned that they were a man short and that the other teams had more or less united against them. They knew that the alliance would break down as soon as somebody else stole the ball and meanwhile most of the trolls seemed to be simply getting in each other’s way. Inevitably, Rowan began to slow. He could run all day, but not at full speed, and with such a small team there’d been little opportunity to pace himself a bit. Grit threw him the ball again and he set off gamely for the basket. This time the trolls thought they might finally have him. Rowan avoided the first fierce tackle and Grit fended off another as he tried to protect his teammate, but a great pack of determined young trolls pounced on them both and they disappeared under the mass of bodies.

  It took a while for them to sort themselves out, the trolls being badly out of breath from the unaccustomed speed of their game. Eventually Rowan emerged from the bottom of the heap of laughing, gasping trolls. He was unhurt but winded and he sat on the ground beside Grit, wheezing a bit as he got his breath back. Grit was winded too, but he was delighted with the success of his unorthodox team.

  Like the other young trolls he’d never met men before. He was fascinated by their incredible speed and agility and their utter fearlessness against the rather fierce tackling of the much more heavily built trolls. Truly, he thought happily, these two men had been a revelation.

  They all got their breath back and drank some water to cool their parched throats and the trolls were ready to go again. Cris groaned and Rowan shook his head regretfully.

  “Sorry, young Grit. ‘Tis too much for an old man like me to keep running around with all you spry young trolls. I’ll never be able to climb the stairs tomorrow if I do,” he smiled at the troll’s disappointed face, “When I recover a bit more though, Cris and I can show you a trick we’ve been practising, if you like.”

  Grit grinned at his new friend.

  “You poor feeble old thing, Rowan,” he chuckled. “Is it a good trick? Will you be strong enough to do it after all that exertion?”

  “Probably not. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

  The young trolls went back to their game, trying out some of the new tactics that Cris and Rowan had used against them to such devastating effect. They certainly weren’t as nimble or quick as the men, but against each other they did well enough. They found they were getting very weary though. They went into another huddle and decided perhaps they’d do better to simply talk about the new strategies while they ate something to restore their strength. They flopped down on the grass with grateful sighs and laughed and chattered happily as they waited to see Rowan and Cris’s promised trick.

  After a bit of a rest and a few folk songs from the older trolls, Cris and Rowan were ready. Grit was awestruck and even the adult trolls found themselves watching in amazement as Cris balanced on Rowan’s hands and was tossed in the air, then turned a somersault, and landed safely on Rowan’s shoulders. The pair of them had been practising this in the mornings for a while and they were pleased to show the trick to a more appreciative audience than Rose. They were even more pleased when they managed to pull it off successfully three times. Even Rose was cheering them.

  **********

  Gradually the younger trolls fell asleep, but not before a finale from the travellers. Soot trotted out of the darkness at Rowan’s whistle, to amaze and astound with his ability to ‘count’ and do sums, and to drop to the ground and play dead at Rowan’s request. This was yet another new thing for the trolls; Rose and Moss wondered how many sheep and milkers were going to get an education they’d never bargained for in the next few weeks.

  It was a beautiful night with both moons nearly full, a night made for singing and dancing and the reciting of poetry. Cris showed an unexpected skill at drumming and joined the improvised troll band. They invited Rowan to join as well. He nodded and looked at the array of instruments carefully. Of course he could play the bugle and drums, as all Guardsmen can to one degree or another, but he didn’t think anyone would want to hear his military repertoire. Ah, there was something that looked a bit like a lute… he wasn’t bad with a lute. He gave it a try, but it was simply too large for his hands to span, and he really needed more fingers rather than missing one as he was. Rose laughed at his uncharacteristically clumsy efforts with the ‘lute’ and stood up in his place to sing a couple of traditional Siannen songs in her sweet contralto.

  After the little trolls were all safely asleep, Shale and some of his friends launched into some drinking songs. Of course, they were incomprehensible to Rose and Cris, but Moss and Rowan joined the trolls in some of their efforts, Rowan’s voice blending surprisingly well with theirs. The trolls were amazed that a man would know the somewhat ribald Trollish words; but as Rowan explained, it was surprising what you could pick up as a Guard. His voice gave out long before the laughing trolls did. Much later they quietened and Marna sang some old trollish songs in her lovely deep voice. Later still, Shale played an ancient instrument made from the tusk of some gigantic long-vanished creature. The tunes he produced from it were melancholy and moody, and hauntingly evocative of times long gone.

  “It seems there is more to Shale than meets the eye,” Rose said
softly. She’d had a wonderful time with the hospitable trolls and she was feeling less anxious about the manhole that faced her tomorrow.

  Finally it was time for the travellers to return to their waystation. Shale and Marna produced several large bundles for them to take with them.

  “Ye might need these on your journey,” Marna said, “... And ye will come back to us, won’t ye...?”

  “Aye, Marna, we will,” Rowan said huskily, his voice not recovered from the drinking songs. He and Shale gripped each other’s wrists in the trollish way. “Thank you for your help, my friends. We’ll be back as soon as may be...”

  **********

  33. “It makes no sense.”

  In the morning, they had less to prepare than they’d thought, as Shale’s bundles proved to contain almost all that they might need.

  One contained several of the enormous trollish pasties - crisp pastry crammed with vegetables and meat, and utterly delicious - a couple of roasted mountain geese, some smoked bacon and venison, a sack of flour and another of brown sugar, a box of butter, some loaves of bread and sweet rolls, a big wheel of yellow cheese made from the milkers’ milk, and several smaller blocks of pungent goats’ milk cheese.

  Another bundle contained fresh and dried fruit and vegetables - snarlfruit, apples, pears, and some small knobbly globular fruit that Moss said were called klippens. They looked very unappetising but were in fact sweet, juicy and delightful; and there were carrots, potatoes and other root vegetables and some freshly picked greens, as well as several skins of ale and several more of water.

  The travellers were touched and grateful for such generosity from their new friends.

  “And look... here are bundles of torches, and ropes, and... Oh! Thank you Shale... no more cold ears! A warm woolly hat for each of us and some gloves. Er, mittens, I mean,” Cris looked at the others in wonder, “But what on earth are these?”