Me is… floatin’.
Is peaceful.
Is nice.
Not like dat before. Dat was hurty.
Dis is jus’ nice.
Der is noise.
Me no want listen to noise. Me no want open eyes.
Me jus’ wanna be here.
But den me smell somethin’. It… really nice smell. Me open eyes.
Dere be beauty-discs on me… and me in a cave of beauty-discs. Dey be all colours.
Roof-roof colour, grass colour, river colour — even colour me no see before.
An’ it smell good.
“I’m… glad you like it… Grug… and I’m glad you’re awake. I thought you were… dead.”
Me no see not-annoying-buzzy, but me hear speak. It sound sleepy. Where it be?
Da not-annoying-buzzy jump on me stomach, an’ it go-go around.
“This is a Flower Cradle. It’s something… I have access to. Kinda.”
It pretty. But why me be here? Me no come here. Me was goin’ for da carved-sticks… no, me got new pet.
Where dat?
“Don’t worry. It’s safe.”
Ok. Dat good.
“I’m sorry… Grug. I couldn’t protect you. You’re hurt. Very hurt — and your regeneration isn’t healing you. The fire hurt you very, very bad.”
Dat ok. Me is good. Me no feel da flicker-hot-hurty. Not-annoying-buzzy make hurty go-go!
Not-annoying-buzzy greatest buzzy!
“No, Grug. That’s the cradle. Your entire body is burnt. As soon as you exist… I can’t imagine the amount of pain you’ll be in.”
Den me stay here? No go?
“I can’t keep it up much longer. I don’t know… if I’ve already pushed myself to the point where I won’t be able to come back. I want to help my friend but… I don’t want to die.”
It ok. Me no want not-annoying-buzzy go bye-bye jus’ for me. It friend. Me no want friend go bye-bye. It ok.
“Listen, Grug… I’ve got to go for a while. I’m hoping it won’t be forever. When I go, the cradle will go too.”
It land on me nose. “If you meet anyone else, please promise me you’ll say this to them: Friend. Please, Grug, promise me.”
Me do dat. For freend.
It sighs, then giggles. “Close enough, freend. Bye, Grug.”
Den it go.
Me feel like me sink in wet-ground… an me head go under da water. Me scramble up, me no wanna go no-breathy!
Da beauty-discs break into beauty-bits an’ dey fly in da breezy-breath.
Den… me feel tingly… den me start feel a lot tingly!
Den it hurt!
It hurt bad!
Hurty bad!
It no jus’ part, it no jus’ shoulder an’ back, it all! It hurty all!
Me make bad-singy. Me no mean do that. Me do it more. Why me do that?
It get louder an’ louder until all me hear is own-mouth-sound. Bad-singy!
Me move, but it no stop hurty. What stop da hurty!?
Me feet hurty less… an’ dey in da water. So me go in water.
It make hurty less… but me heart go big-bumpy-lots! Me jump out of da water… but den it hurty so me go in!
Dis no good! Me no like dis! Why it hurty! Why me no fix! Me always fix!
It hurty!
Me grab grass, make connecty-grass. Hurty no go!
Me noggin-think!
Me fix bridge with new carved-stick!
Den… me see bridge.
It black… it… it broke.
It broke worse. Dey’s no bridge… jus’ carved-sticks now.
Some of it in river. Now me no even able to walk over it.
Why it broke?
Me no understand?
Me sink into da water an’ den me get out.
Me heart go lots-bumpy. Me no like. Why it go bumpy?
Me was in water always before, an’ me never felt dis.
Wet-ground cool… me rub it on me when air hot.
Me grab mud from river an’ me rub on me skin, all where me can reach.
But me no reach back… an’ it hurty!
Wait. Me feel head.
Me stick-head gone!
Why? Why me stick-head gone!?
Me feel… sleepy. An’ weird. Me no remember.
What if me jus’ sleep?
Da hurty go?
But… bridge.
Me look at it. It broke.
It my bridge.
Me fix it.
Me climb out da river. Me feel hurty… but me want fix da bridge!
Dey’s a strange thing, on da no-grass-place. But dey’s no weird-thingys.
Weird-thingys bad?
Me hurty when weird-thingys be?
Dey’s got flicker-hot… an’ dey do da flicker-hot-hurty.
Dey’s bad?
Dey’s good eaty?
Do me eaty dem?
Go back lots-weird-thingy-place an’ eaty dem?
Dat help hurty?
It hard. Noggin-think bad. Me no want hurty. Me hunt, me me no want hurty.
Bridge fix hard… but me make bridge fix no so hard. Me put hand on big-stick, an’ me pull carved-stick out.
Me go to bridge. Me look at bridge.
What me do? How me fix now?
Me no pull out old carved-stick an’ put new grug-made carved-stick… so what me do?
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
Me… me cannot fix bridge.
Bridge is broken now.
—
Jonas stares out of the window of the Vessel. A troll stands on the bridge — or what remains of it. A bridge that he, and his father, had hoped to cross.
It cries big, fat tears into the air, muttering all the while in gibberish.
Then it turns. His heart leaps.
But it only walks up to a tree.
Then — as if out of nowhere — it pulls fully formed, pristine planks. They even seem polished for fucks sake.
It carries them to the edge of the bridge, looks at the bridge, drops the planks, then repeats.
Over and over, they watch, for the better part of an hour. Only then do they feel able to breath normally.
Who would expect a troll here?
His father looks over at him from the drivers seat. “Jonas…” he starts… but doesn’t continue.
As if there is anything to say in the face of this.
“What do we do, father?” he asks.
“There’s not much we can do.” He sighs. “Wait for it to move?”
His father brushes his white beard, then rubs his eyes and runs a finger along his black eye-scales, cleaning them.
Then he shakes his head. “Not all trolls are evil. That’s a lie… but this one? It’s been in a fight. Recently.”
Jonas looks at the troll — as if he could look at anything else — and nods.
Black burns run down the length of its grey skin, seeming so fresh he expects to see an ember flicker off the back of it.
The flesh looks rotten, like the times they’ve passed through warzones. Burns, scrapes, cuts, bruises… he’s seen a lot of it.
The Merciful, when available, had tried to heal soldiers regardless of side.
But when they’d only been able to partially do so, the wound would turn into something like this.
Splotchy, rotten nasty.
That is what covers the troll’s body.
His father smacks the dashboard, wrenching Jonas from thought. “Agathor fucking damn it!” he shouts, then grabs a — very expensive — map.
“Three miles to the As’tiki, but the river’s too damn wide for the Vessel to bridge an—“
“And if it’s too wide for that, it’s too wide for us. I know.” Jonas finishes. “It’s not the only bridge. Let’s go around?”
He shakes his head, then looks out of the glass window. “Not a chance. I don’t think we can turn around. This forest is damned thick. We'd have to go in reverse for the entire way till we get the grasslands. Whatever spirit they have here isn’t doing a very good job.”
“Is it running from Malachai?” He asks, then rolls his eyes. “As we are?”
His father’s eyes snap to him. “What do you mean by that? What would you expect me to do? Ram the damn thing into him?”
He taps his hand on the wheel. “Look. Having our cargo confiscated is a setback, yes… and it means we won’t be able to explore for another few years but…”
“I get it, father.”
“I know you are angry, Jonas, but don’t direct that onto me. That boy is dangerous and we’re having none of it. We’ll meet with Gaem’a, get the Vessel retrofit to cross the water and then we’re gone, so help me Agathor! Understand?”
Jonas looks out the opposite window, shaking his head. His father makes lazy finger-circles on the drive lever.
Years and years of various knick-knacks and note books are stacked all around the driving cabin.
Double-thick glass ensures they don’t catch a stray arrow — or intentional arrow in the riskier territories.
Like this one, now.
He supposes he shouldn’t call them territories, now. Not with the empire collapsed.
His father puts his hands up. “Okay. I’m going to speak with it!” He says, then starts nodding his head. “It’s the only way. Maybe if I—”
He jumps out of the seat and enters the spatial rift between the seats. A moment later, he comes back with a waterskin.
“This is some As’tiki burn gel. Made from that stuff in the savannah. If I can just get some of this on it.”
Jonas looks at him, narrowing his eyes. “Yes, by Agathor, lets go up to the burnt — probably very angry — troll and beg him to do… what, exactly? Be our friend?”
His father slams the dashboard, knocking carefully balanced ball-bearings and scraps of paper — attached only with sub-par glue — across the rest of the cabin.
“Alright, then, son of mine, what is your grand, brilliant fucking plan?”
He stares at Jonas. “What does the great Jonas, traveller of the seven deserts, explorer of ruins, master of the vessel, plan to do?”He splutters, pointing at the troll. “Every creature with half a brain knows that trade is valuable. This burn gel for his help. I don’t know. We’re out of fucking options, Jonas!”
Jonas opens his mouth, and the word catch in his throat. His father is right.
Compared to him, Jonas is very little.
He’s not a traveller of the seven deserts — only two, at most.
Nor is he an explorer. Born too late for that.
It’s true that he will, eventually, be the master of the vessel — but not for a while.
Hopefully.
“I’m sorry… father.” He says, and his father sighs, then reaches out a hand to put it on his shoulder.
“Me too, boy. I’m sorry I snapped at you.”
Then he sticks out his tongue. “You’ll have your own Legend, one day — don’t compare yourself to me, no matter how great I am!”
Jonas smiles… then his father opens the door. His smile drops. The old voidorne is out of the safety of the cabin.
He watches as his father walks towards the troll.
How can he be so brave?
Even though he’s shaking… he’s going.
Could he do that? Is it just his Legend?
Jonas speaks a small prayer. To Agathor… to any god that’ll listen.
“Let this Troll be friendly… like the one we met. The Wandering Troll.”
—
Me got lots carved-sticks… me need dem to fix bridge. Me is gonna need dem… me think.
Me scoop more mud from river, an’ me put it on me. It make da hurty no so bad… but it still bad.
Me heart no right. It feel bad… it no beat enough. It no heart. It hollow… like cave.
Me no like dat. An’ it when me walk to da big-stick dat me no feel good.
Me jus’ puttin’ one foot in front da other.
Me is goin’ place, but no really dere…
But den me get da big-sticks an’ me turn… an’ it go lots-bad.
Me keep bad noggin-think. What if me jus’ go on ground an’ lay down.
What if me go back to cave?
Nice, murky cool cave?
Me drop carved-sticks on other carved-sticks… an’ den me go get more.
Only… when me turn, dey’s a weird-thingy dere. Me roar!
It no got flicker-hot, but what if it make? Me no want hurty more!
What if it got other hurty-make!?
It no good. Me gotta hurty it… or it hurty me!
But… it small. It kinda like snappy-jaw an’ weird-thingy both. It strange.
It… snappy-jaw-thingy? No weird-thingy?
Den it talk!
“You big-troll, me no want hurty big-troll. You is?”
Me noggin go work… den me point to me. Den me do thing dat not-annoying-buzzy do.
Freend.
It step back, den it tilt it head. “Me no know dat?”
Me shrug, den me jump as me nail catch extra-hurty on me side.
“You… is hurty?”
Me is hurty… me hurty all.
“It do? Me help hurty…? Me can help hurty?”
How?
It bare munchers, den it stop, an’ it eyes go big. Me step back, it bite?
“Me no mean bare teeth. Me sorry.”
You weird-thingy? You hurty me?
“No, no, me no hurty. Me no know what weird-thingy be?”
Weird-thingy got two leg an’ two arm an’ throw flicker-hot at me. You no got flicker-hot?
“No… me got flicker-hot-hurty help… thing?”
What?
“You fix bridge?”
No. Me no fix bridge. It broke. Me no know how.
“Ok… me make hurty go bye-bye… an’ me help fix bridge?”
How?
“You help, me small troll, me no big to go over slidy-water?”
What slidy-water?
“Slidy-water? Dat.” It say an’ it point.
Oh. Dat river, dat no slidy-water.
“Me small, me no go in river or me go bye-bye. You help? An’ me help hurty? An’ help fix bridge?”
Me look at river. Me can go in river, but me heart no like… but if fix bridge?
An’ it make hurty go bye-ye…
Me do it.
“Ok… you got square-tree-make…”
What? What dat?
It point at da carved-sticks.
Silly weird-thingy… dat no square-tree-make, dat carved-stick.
“Oh. How you get carved-stick?”
Me go to big-stick, an’ me pull out da carved-stick.
Da snappy-jaw-thingy make mouth-sound, but me no understand. Den it speak an’ me understand.
“You got carved-stick… but you need… hard-earth-stabby? To fix da bridge? You got hard-earth-stabby?”
What dat?
Da snappy-jaw-thing go to strange thing, den come back an glinty in hand. It hold out hand an’ me look.
It like… biggest swingy-singy… river-hard-earth?
“Dat it. Dis hard-earth-stabby.” It say, an’ den it touchy da carved-stick an’ den stop. “You… me touch carved-stick? It ok?”
It ok.
It grab da carved-stick, an’ den another, an’ it put dem together. Den it put da hard-earth-stabby in da carved-stick an’ smack it.
Den it hand da carved-stick to me.
Dey’s… stuck?
Dey’s stuck!
How it do?
Da snappy-jaw-thingy put two carved-stick, den it hold thing in hand.
It got hard-earth on it… an’ it smacky da hard-earth-stabby…
It hard-earth-smacky!
Me want touchy it… me touchy it?
It hold it out, an’ me grab both hard-earth-things.
Da carved-stick go together when me smack! It good! Me can fix bridge!
Snappy-jaw-thingy give hard-earth-stabby? You freend?
“Me no have lots hard-earth-stabby. Dis all me have. You need lots. Me help get, an’ me help less hurty, if you help me an’ me boy go dere?”
It point to da dark-big-stick-place.
Dat easy… but what boy?
It put hand on it chin. “You have mama?”
Me shrug. Mama go.
“Me mama, me have little snappy-jaw-thingy.” It say, an’ den it point at da big weird thing.
Me look at it. Den me look at snappy-jaw-thingy.
Dat no little-snappy-jaw-thingy?
It turns. “Me go get.”
—
Damien
He jumps back into the vessel. His heart pounds out of his chest.
“I fucking did it! I am fucking Damien of Volos!”
“You did? It listened!?”
He grabs his son’s shoulders and fucking shakes him!
“I fucking did! Yes! Yes!”
Jonas looks at him, and he turns. “What? Are you alright?”
“Father… you’re amazing. I don’t know how you did it. I don’t think… I could.”
He pulls his son in for a hug.
“Don’t worry, my boy. It’ll come. It will come. Don’t compare yourself to me in my old age. I was a wimp once, too.”
Jonas pushes him off, playfully. “Fuck off, old man.”
He sticks his tongue out… then his heavy breathing fills the room. The fear he’d withheld comes to him in an single moment.
“Father, are you alright?”
“I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing….” He says, and tears come to his eyes. “Staring up at that big fucker took all the hair from my balls and when I smiled I saw him shift… I thought I was fucking dead!”
“It’s alright… you did it. You did it!”
“I did. I… did.” He leans back in the chair. The troll has already gone back to creating planks from the tree.
“You spoke a lot… how much did you understand?”
“Not a lot. It used a very different language from the other I learnt from. Different names for stuff. ’Planks’, for me, were square-tree-make. Carved-stick for him. Same for the river.”
Jonas looks at the troll. “Could you… teach me?” Jonas asks, then looks at his feet. “I doubted you… but… I think it’s something I should learn.”
He laughs. “Oh, I’ll try—“ He speaks, then snaps up a book and pen. “—but even if you’re multilingual it’s one of the hardest languages to speak let alone understand.”
Jonas smiles. "Oh, I doubt it'll be too hard I learnt As'tiki, didn't I? What's so hard about it?"
He taps on the pen on his mouth. “Well, they don’t really have words for things… they have descriptors. I didn’t know before, but it seems its not even consisted. It’s localised.” He puts a hand out. He's in teaching mode now. “The Wandering Troll called it something, this one calls it different.” He speaks, then looks at the troll.
“And… it’s not so easy with this one. Very hard to parse — because its always speaking. It’s talking to itself constantly. You have a voice in your head, right?”
Jonas raises a scaly eyebrow. “Yes? As in I can talk to myself?”
Damien snaps his finger. “Right! This one doesn’t have an inner voice, it has a voice, period. A constant monologue of all its actions, thoughts etc… all for you to listen, if you know how.”
He shakes his head. “Made it damn-near impossible to know when it was talking to me or thinking about the damned daisies.”
“On another note, Father, you can see stats, right? Whats it like?”
“Oh no, that’s a whole can of worms. Once you go prying people — or trolls — open like that, its very hard not to see the entire world like that. It’s not good.”
“Please, just once, I’m curious?”
Damien chuckles. “Fine. I’ll—“
The troll puts a fat finger against the glass, rocking the vessel back.
They both scream.