Laelia, leaner and faster than the bog troll, had wild thoughts of running away. However, Zote had a firm grip on her arm and his black eyes flashed a warning. She obediently stood still. He quickly tied a leather strap around her waist and then attached it to his own. Standing in the sunshine above the dark tunnels, her entire being took in the delicious fragrance of orchids. Scattered about the wet bog, the orchids, embellished in their finery of purples and pinks, were the loveliest sight she had ever seen.
As Zote led her along a pond’s edge, Laelia noticed red lilies floating on its surface. She wondered why she had never seen this array of red beauties before. Somewhere in her memory, she recalled a song her mother often sang. The lyrics told of the red water lilies’ magic.
After some time, the bog’s ponds slowly disappeared into an empty parched land. Everywhere Laelia looked, the flat stingy soil yielded only an occasional flower protected by stems with sharp thorns. A few scattered trees stood like dark sticks in a sea of sand. Dry lakes scarring the scorched soil appeared to have patches of snow. Looking closer, their surface was dusted white with natron, the salt Zote used to embalm dead trolls. Her eyes searched the land for green, lavender or red, any sign of life itself. Never, on her mountain or in her bog, had she seen anything like this. Laelia longed to return to her wet bog and feel its mist settling on her face.
A bleak landscape pocked with burrows belching warm air stretched out before them. Their vapors smelled like cooked cabbage and the foreboding odor frightened Laelia. As she moved closer, she felt their heated breath on her face.
Suddenly, Zote dropped to his knees and, yanking the strap tied to Laelia’s waist, crawled from burrow to burrow. Following like an obedient pet, she watched his nose billowing in and out as he loudly sniffed.
Surrounding the burrows were huge tracks left by slithering snakes. She realized Zote had taken her straight into the habitat of the fearsome pythons. She imagined snakes twisting and sliding over each other in these deep pits, fighting for their own space.
Laelia’s eyes, wild with fear, watched a smile slide ever so slightly across Zote’s broken teeth. The burrow they were near had a pungent odor. She knew that a female snake’s clutch of eggs gave off an especially strong scent. He had found an occupied burrow.
She felt the strength in Zote’s massive arms as, ignoring her squirms and kicks, he tied her to a lone tree. Laelia feared this burrow might deliver a monstrous serpent. Unable to escape, imagination took her into a realm of horror as she visualized a colossal python slowly squeezing and devouring her. All snakes had a voracious appetite for troll meat. Zote was strong, but if he lost the fight with the snake, what would happen to her?
Zote began his ritual of preparation for a fierce and dangerous battle. Out of his leather pouch, he pulled a flute fashioned from the leg bone of a wolf. He admired the wolves for their loyalty and boldness in defending their own kind. Zote blew his snotty nose. He then blew into the flute with the breath of his nostrils rather than his mouth. Zote believed his breath contained his soul and the life force of breath increased the powers of the flute. He played the mournful call of the wolf. The flute’s music, floating through the air, was mystical like the spirit of the untamed wolf. The courage of the wolf flowed over his body. Zote was ready to conquer the mighty python.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
The bog troll, familiar with the dry land, searched until he found a creosote bush. When he tore a branch off, resin dripped from its wound. Zote applied the creosote’s resin to the end of the sturdy branch to make a torch. He created sparks from his flint earrings to light the flammable resin.
With the burning creosote torch held in one hand, he lowered himself and squatted close to the burrow. His black eyes studied the open pit. As regal as the wolf, he stood up straight and began to sway in a dance-like trot. All the while the muscles in his legs were twitching. In an instant, he dropped and plunged into the tunnel’s mouth and on hands and knees wiggled his body into its depths. The rituals Zote performed before entering the burrow put him into a trance-like state. He was now unable to feel the hot fire from the torch or his eyes stinging from the salty sweat dripping from his forehead.
Just ahead, the glare from Zote’s torch exposed a twenty-three-foot snake coiled around and nurturing her nest of precious eggs. Zote was pleased to see her massive body quivering, generating heat for her offspring. He knew the serpent was sleeping and would be unaware of his approach even though his filthy beard and torch filled the cave with foul odors and gleaming light. As he crawled closer, the heat from the torch awakened the snake. In her lethargy, she stared at the bog troll with what appeared to be lifeless eyes. Using his free hand, Zote bravely wrapped a rabbit-skin hood over her triangular head. Mesmerized by the flame he held near her eyes, she did not resist. Now with the confidence of a wolf, Zote tugged and pulled the blindfolded python through the tunnel’s passage and up to the surface. Her own undulating body assisted him in moving her massive weight.
Dragged atop the ground and away from her young, the docile snake became fully aroused. She instantly fought with such writhing ferocity that it took all of Zote’s strength to keep her razor-edged fangs from tearing into his flesh. Out of the burrow, she was a killer.
Zote fought to pull the angry and thrashing snake away from his body, sometimes biting her scaly skin with his sharp teeth. He must fight to keep the python’s suffocating coils from muscling their way around his face and chest. If he allowed her one moment to gain control, she would use her strong muscles to tighten her grip and slowly squeeze Zote’s lungs so he could no longer take a breath. Opening her jaws wide she would swallow, head first, even a broad-shouldered troll like Zote.
Gripping with strong hands and using all his strength, he wrestled her long body to the ground. Holding the serpent down with his enormous foot, Zote reached into the leather pouch for his crude knife and cut off her head. The battle was over.
Laelia was astounded at the spectacle of this huge troll using his entire body, even his tail, to subdue this gigantic snake. She found herself admiring his courage even though she, like all mountain trolls, preferred to leave the python alone. She also felt an element of sorrow for Zote as he stumbled from exhaustion in her direction. Rippling nervous tremors wracked his body as he untied her from the tree. His life was difficult and dangerous.
The little troll’s fear of a monstrous snake eating her while helplessly tied to a tree was over. Laelia’s brief feelings of respect for Zote changed as he once again attached the leather strap to his waist. She was still a captive and must follow him out of this inhospitable land and back to his revolting home of catacombs. During their weary journey, she listened to Zote’s labored breathing as he carried the heavy burden of snake meat wrapped around his neck.
Laelia was grateful to be back in the black water bog and to leave the dry, forsaken wilderness far behind her. As they neared the catacombs, a gray fog rolled over the bog. Feeling its moisture on her skin, she marveled at the power of water.
Now, in front of Zote’s cavern, she must once more plunge into its darkened bowels. Desperation seized her. The thought of his cave and its inhabitants was unbearable. She must find a way to escape. For the moment, she would be subservient and play his game. Even though Zote was a strong troll, she kept telling herself she could outwit him.