Engulfed in soft sheets beneath a warm quilt, she could lie here forever, if it weren’t for that annoying beep that just wouldn’t stop.
She opened her eyes. It was bright. Too bright. She squinted against the glare.
Slowly, the room came into focus. She saw white walls and an open window. Flimsy curtains billowing in a cool breeze. Outside, the sun was shining. There was a table covered in vases and flower pots, filled with a veritable garden of colourful blossoms.
Then she saw her mother slumped in a chair beside the bed, her head bowed down to her knees. Her mother’s whole body shook, as if she was laughing, or…crying.
No, that couldn’t be right. Her mother never cried.
Looming over her was a bulky medical apparatus, displaying animated graphs and lots of numbers. It was what was doing the beeping.
She sat up slowly. There was no pain, but she felt like she shouldn’t rush things. When she raised her arm, she could see tubes running from it.
“It’s okay, Mum,” she whispered. “I’m fine, really.” But her mother didn’t seem to notice, and continued to sit there, head buried in her arms, her body wracked with sobs.
“Mum…?”
This wasn’t right at all. She lurched out of bed, still trailing a tangle of tubes.
“Mum!”
Right there in front of her, impossible to ignore, she all but shouted the word. And yet still her mother ignored her.
Reaching out desperately, she grabbed her mum’s shoulders, pulling her upright. Her mother’s head lolled forward. Gently lifting her chin, she tilted the head to face her.
“I’m right here, Mum. It’s gonna be okay. I…”
This wasn’t her mother.
This wasn’t even a woman, though the delicate features set on his porcelain mask of a face left some room for doubt on that front.
She couldn’t look away from his eyes. Those pale eyes that peered into her soul.
Saskia’s eyes snapped open. It was dark, but that didn’t necessarily mean night time on this world. According to her clock, it was actually early afternoon, and in the midst of an extended trunk-eclipse.
That dream had been…unsettling. She wondered if it meant anything beyond the obvious fears that she really was lying in a hospital bed somewhere, with her mother sitting vigil beside her slowly withering body. That was as plausible an explanation for all this craziness as any other she could think of. But what was up with that…thing’s face? She’d had some creepy dreams before, but where the hell had that come from?
She felt a powerful urge to pull out her sketchpad and draw the creature’s face before her memory of it faded. But she didn’t have a sketchpad. Not here. So she had no choice but to let the dream go.
Shaking her head, Saskia looked down at herself. To her relief, she could once again see out of both eyes. Most of her other injuries also seemed to have been healing quite nicely while she slept. More than just healing, actually. Her skin was becoming noticeably thicker and tougher around her stomach, where it had been torn away. She’d noticed this with her earlier arrow and spear wounds too, but here it was happening over a larger area. It was almost like her flesh was forming a natural armour against similar attacks in the future.
On the other hand, the spots of burnt skin where she’d been hit by droplets of acid—or whatever that amber goo was—had formed ugly blisters, some of which were oozing green pus. Ugh. The putrid smell emanating from those wounds was too much for even her troll senses to endure. She gagged.
It seemed there were limits to what could be healed by her natural regeneration. If she remembered correctly, Dungeons & Dragons trolls could only be killed by fire and acid, and a few powerful spells and effects. Maybe it was the same for the trolls of this world? Regardless, she’d have to wait for these burns to heal the slow way.
And yet, bad as this felt, it could have been much, much worse. This was what victory felt like. Just thinking about it gave her the shakes. If just one of the druid’s acid blasts had struck her directly, she wouldn’t be sitting here worrying about blisters.
If that encounter had taught her one thing, it was that elves were dangerous, even to a giant monster such as herself. Perhaps especially to a monster such as herself. Because they hadn’t shown the slightest hesitation in trying to kill her.
Once, just once, she’d like to meet someone on this world who didn’t want her dead. The rational part of her mind understood these elves were all just defending their territory from what they perceived as a dangerous monster. Didn’t make it any less annoying though.
Oh well. At least she hadn’t come out of that battle empty-handed. She’d stripped the druid down to what passed for underwear on this world, and made off with all his stuff. Saskia did this for entirely utilitarian reasons, and was not at all motivated by greed or petty spite.
Okay, so perhaps it hadn’t been entirely necessary to arrange his unconscious body into an amusing pose. But he totally deserved it!
Anyhow, she figured he’d be less inclined to pursue her in his undies. Unlike a certain drunk guy at a party back in her uni days.
She’d spared the archer the same ignominious treatment, because she didn’t want to move him. She hoped his head wound wasn't as bad as it looked. Despite everything he’d done to her, she didn’t want his death on her conscience, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it now. In the end, the only things she’d taken from the archer were his weapons.
Still, the spoils of war were plentiful. She was too big to wear the druid’s cloak the way it was meant to be worn, but she was able to tie it around her front, replacing the rags that the giant cat-thing had torn to shreds. Inside a bag she’d unstrapped from the dead cat’s back, she’d found some rope, a blanket and a water bladder; all very useful. As for the weapons, the bow and dagger might come in handy, but she had no real use for the staff. Nor could she find an immediate use for the contents of the druid’s satchel: pouches of dried herbs, berries and powders, vials of liquid, coins and random nicknacks of inscrutable purpose. Still, she sure as shaz didn’t want to leave them in the druid’s hands. Maybe someday she could learn how to druid.
Gathering her things (she had things—how amazing was that), Saskia set off once more in the direction of the great lake. There was still no sign of it on her map, but surely it had to be close by now.
Later that day, she came upon another small cluster of houses in the woods. And then another. And it became apparent that she was entering a much more crowded portion of the forest. Perhaps the outskirts of a city. It’d likely get worse as she approached the lake. The closer she got to elf-central, the more dire her predicament would be if they caught her.
Time to rethink her plan. She needed to get out of elven territory and find some of her own people. Elves loved forests. Everyone knew that. But what about trolls? Saskia happened to have done a little bit of background research while coming up with visual designs for Nautilum’s trolls. Forest trolls featured in some fantasy worlds, sure. But in Norse mythology and Scandinavian folklore, they were usually described as mountain creatures and cave-dwellers.
There were mountains nearby. Or at least things that looked like mountains, with snow on top. Even if they were just vestigial branchlets, or knots of…whatever this world tree was made of (surely not plain old wood, or it’d be a blackened husk by now), they must work approximately the same as mountains back on Earth. If the lake she’d spotted was trunkward, or north of here, the nearest peak would be northeast.
Feeling a surge of confidence in her new plan, Saskia veered off up a steep gully, into the nearby foothills. She kept climbing, and gradually the trees grew sparser, and the air cooler.
One night spent shivering on a ridgetop was enough to convince her that she needed to procure some more appropriate attire for the conditions. It was time to stop pussyfooting around and act like a troll. So she killed a tiger-bear with her teeth and claws and the dagger she’d taken from the elves (though the tiny blade proved to be of little help). The encounter left her bloodied and bruised, but nowhere near as injured as she’d become after her fight with the elves and their monstrous kitty-cat. And unlike her burns from that earlier encounter, these wounds were healing fast. She peeled off the beast’s skin and gorged on its flesh. Then she draped the pelt around her body (after washing it and drying it out in the sun—she hadn’t gone full cave-troll).
Now she was ready to meet her people.
A day or two later (she was starting to lose count), she cleared the tree line, and emerged onto a tussocky slopes of a snow-covered mountain range.
Up here, it was far more obvious that this world was not just a spherical planet. She could clearly see the shape of the main branch, where it curved around and narrowed with distance. Far to the south, the branch angled steeply upward, higher than any mountain, before ending in a pointed tip. Greenery clung to the tip of the branch like moss on…uh, branches.
Strange that the tip jutting into the sky remained so green. On the nearby peaks, which were much lower, the forest and tussock quickly gave way to bare rock, then snow. Here, just as it did on Earth, the air seemed to grow thinner and cooler at higher altitudes, eventually reaching the point where no normal plants could survive. So why was the tip of the branch defying that rule?
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Her head throbbed.
Magic. Yup. Must be magic.
She could see no leaves attached to any of the branches of the world tree, including this one. Except, of course, the leaves belonging to the innumerable trees and plants growing upon them. The world tree’s shape was unlike that of any tree she’d seen on this world or on Earth. Its long, flat branches for the most part remained perfectly horizontal, which was just as well for the things that grew upon them. Assuming that gravity always pointed down, which was by no means a given. Actually, the tree was easily massive enough to produce its own gravity. Shouldn’t she be falling or sliding toward the trunk?
Nope, she decided. Because magic.
A body of water stretched out below the mountains, just as she’d expected. But now she saw that the word lake didn’t do it justice. It was a land-locked sea that extended a significant distance down the length of the great branch, toward the world tree’s colossal trunk. A gleaming city hugged a bay on the southwestern shore like a crescent moon. Smaller settlements were sprinkled around the nearer shores.
Saskia watched sleek sailboats glide across the waves, circled by flocks of birds, or those small, screeching reptilian things that were as common as birds on this world. There was something else out there on the sea. A white spire, poking out from the top of what looked like an inverted tornado. That tower had to be artificial, but she couldn’t begin to guess its purpose.
In the woods below was a large town encircled by a tight mass of giant tree-sized vines, knotted together to form a high wall. The town was built around a grove of trees that dwarfed those of the surrounding forest. She might have been impressed by the sight if she weren’t standing on a tree the size of a planet.
Beyond the mountains to the north, the endless forest gave way to open, grassy plains and winding rivers. Beyond that, the air became too hazy to make out any details, but it was clear the branch was at least hundreds—perhaps thousands of kilometres long.
As she continued her ascent, hardy tussock and lichen slowly gave way to bare rocks and dirt. The air had a bite to it, and the landscape was littered with patches of unmelted snow.
Saskia was tempted to scale one of the nearby snow-covered peaks, just for the sheer joy of climbing. But not today. There’d be plenty of time for that later. She was here to look for signs of other trolls, and it was very unlikely trolls would choose to live that high in the mountains, where there’d be no prey to feed on.
Instead, she headed over a saddle between two of the peaks, and down into small green valley, surrounded on all sides by snowy mountains.
The interior of the valley was covered in patches of snow and thick tussocky grass, and dotted with pine trees, or rather, conifers that closely resembled Earth pines but probably weren’t. Stone ruins littered the ground; barely more than piles of rubble. Whoever had once occupied them was long gone.
Now the valley was ruled by the animal kingdom. Plump beasts that looked like shaggy pigs with gnarled horns scattered at her approach. She couldn’t blame them. To Saskia, they may as well have been thick slices of sizzling bacon with legs. Her mouth watered.
Then she noticed something that made her forget all about her stomach, for once. On the edge of her map, about half a kilometre away, was a cave. She couldn’t see it with her eyes, but the icon of a cave-entrance was clearly marked there.
That cave had troll-home written all over it. Not literally, of course. None of the markers or icons on her map were labelled. Sure would have been helpful if they were…
Anyhow, the important thing was…cave!
Something about the place called out to her, making her heart sing. Dimly, she wondered if this was the way trolls felt about all caves, or if there was something special about this cave. But it didn’t seem to matter. Her higher brain functions were taking a back seat right now.
The cave mouth was near the base of a sheer wall of crumbling rock. As she got closer, the interior of the cave began to fade into view on her map. She scrambled up to the wide entrance, and peered inside. The outside world faded away, both from the map, and from her mind. As if in a trance, she followed a twisting passage that ambled gently upward, culminating in a large cavern with glowing lichen sprinkled across the walls, like stars. It was beautiful, and it was hers.
There was another tunnel behind the cavern, leading deep inside the mountain. But it was sealed behind many metres of solid rock, and she couldn’t find any other way of reaching it from here. Perhaps she could dig her way through, given time, but for now, there didn’t seem to be any reason to do that.
Half-buried in the dirt was a pile of bones. There were skulls and femurs and rib-cages in various states of decay. Animals, mostly, but two of the skulls were very nearly human. Elves, or members of some other demi-human race. Scratching up the dirt around the bones, she found scraps of metal armour, and a broken sword.
On the other side of the chamber, the dismembered skeleton of a much larger humanoid lay splayed out across the floor. Its massive skull was shaped a bit like those of Neanderthals she’d seen in TV documentaries, with prominent brow-ridges and a slightly receding forehead. But unlike a Neanderthal, it had sharp teeth. And there were claws at the ends of its long fingers and toes.
These were the bones of the cave’s former occupant. The bones of a troll.
Saskia buried the bones in the valley outside, marked the grave site with a cairn, and said a little prayer over it. She had no idea if the god or gods of this world listened to prayers, but she figured it was the least she could do for the bones’ former owners. Her mum would be proud.
With the bones cleared out, she began to settle into her new home—or whatever it was to her. She felt conflicted. What was she doing here? As a human, she’d have found the cave dark and dank and claustrophobic, but to her troll self, it felt warm and inviting. It felt like home.
Not that she had the place entirely to herself. Like caves back on Earth, this one had its own self-contained ecology. There were the bugs that fed on the cave lichen, and the bugs that fed on those bugs. And the small four-winged bat-like creatures that fed on everything else.
Saskia could have fed on the bats, but they were too small and roosted too high up for it to be worth her while to try to catch them. Instead, she foraged around the valley for food, picking sweet, rubbery fruit from some of the small thorny shrubs that sprouted beneath the pines, and feasting on one of the horned pigs that snuffled around in the tussock. Its meat tasted nothing at all like bacon, but was no less delicious.
With leaves and branches gathered from the valley, she built a cosy mattress for herself. Nothing particularly impressive. It was closer to a bird’s nest than an actual bed, but it beat sleeping on the dirt. Later, she weaved some flax-like leaves into a crude basket to hold the food she gathered. When that task was done, she began to construct a platform out of branches tied together with leaves. No more eating off the ground like an animal, she vowed. But it was slow going. Crafting, it seemed, was not her forte. Not with these hands. Her claws kept getting in the way.
On the second night, she managed to light a fire by rubbing sticks together. It wasn’t nearly as easy as they’d made it out to be on the Internet. When the tinder finally caught fire, she started piling on branches, and soon it was roaring up toward the ceiling. A choking haze filled the air of the cavern, and it began to rain bats and bugs.
Oops. She’d accidentally fumigated the place. Better keep the fires small from now on, she decided.
It was snowing outside, so she endured the smokey air and huddled by the fire until she fell asleep, dreaming of warm beds and hot showers.
Days became weeks, and the weather turned noticeably colder. This world had seasons too, it seemed. Snow started to pile up in the valley, and a layer of ice began to form inside the cave entrance.
Saskia ranged far and wide, still searching for other trolls, or anyone who might be less inclined to fill her with arrows or fling spells at her. Once, she came across large footprints in the snow that looked suspiciously similar to her own, even though she’d never been there before. In any case, she soon lost the trail, without having found the creature that had left the footprints.
Always, she returned to her cave. It kept drawing her back, tugging against her urge to wander. This dank, dark hollow truly felt like a home to her, albeit a lonely one. She felt safe for the first time since she’d come to this world.
When she took the time to go through everything she’d taken from the elves, her hopes of finding some super-duper magical Swiss army knife or ever-filling mug of ale were quickly dashed.
There were a few coins that looked to be made of gold and silver. Probably quite valuable if those metals were as rare here as they were on Earth. If she ever crossed paths with someone who wasn’t a troll-hater, the coins might come in handy, but here and now they were quite useless to her.
The dagger wasn’t much longer than her claws, so there didn’t seem much point to using it as a melee weapon. And the less said about her attempts to throw it, the better.
Similarly, trollish fighting instincts didn’t extend to firing a bow, it seemed. Her early attempts at archery were just as laughable as her one brief foray into the sport as a human girl. It felt like a toy in her hands, though despite a few moments of forgetting her own strength, she hadn’t managed to break the bowstring yet. It was a lot stronger than it looked. She suspected magic was involved.
After several frustrating days of practice, she managed to somewhat reliably land an arrow where she was aiming, and then one day she shot a small furry hare-like creature. She was ecstatic at first, until she realised she could have just run up and grabbed the little blighter with far less effort.
As for the other items…magic was definitely involved with them, since they came from that donkhole druid. But she hadn’t figured how to make use of any of them. Most of the contents of the druid’s satchel reminded her of alchemy ingredients or spell reagents from games. Or maybe he was a master chef, and they were used in cooking? Thus far, she hadn’t been brave enough to put any of them in her food. There were also some tiny wooden idols that could be powerful spellcasting aids or meaningless baubles; the elven equivalents of Hello Kitty keychains. She had no way of knowing.
Last and strangest of them all was the druid’s staff. Saskia got this weird vibe off it whenever she was near the thing. Like a faint echo of the whispers she’d heard whenever he’d been preparing to cast a spell at her. It made her uneasy, so she bundled the staff away in the far corner of the cave and tried to forget about it.
But from time to time, she’d find herself back in the corner, reaching out to touch the staff, and the whispering in her mind would resolve into something that almost…almost sounded like words.
Was it…alive?
If this were a horror movie, the thing would be slowly corrupting her, turning her into a monster.
Well I’m already a monster, thought Saskia. So joke’s on you, evil demon staff!
One cold winter morning she awoke with a start to realise she’d dozed off while holding the freaky thing. And something wasn’t right with her vision. At first, it was too blurry to make out anything, but slowly her sight resolved into…oh wow, she was seeing out of someone else’s eyes.
Not in the sense that she was physically there. She could feel herself lying on the dusty floor of her cave, still gripping the staff, while the one whose eyes she looked out of was standing. The disconnect was making her a little queasy, just like those vomitastic virtual reality games back home.
The largest elf she’d ever seen stood before her, a sly grin on his smooth face. But he wasn’t just large because…well, clearly he was a big guy, a veritable mountain of muscle. It was also because she was small. Far closer to the ground than she was accustomed to being of late, though still a bit taller than her original human body.
The view tilted down, and she saw that she was actually a he. Her…other self held a long bladed polearm in his hands, and it looked like he knew how to use it. The blade swept up in a defensive posture, just as the burly elf lunged at her—at him with a massive two-handed sword.
Saskia squawked and let go of the staff. It clattered loudly to the floor.
The blades and the elves had vanished, and now there was just the dusty walls of her cave, lit by the faltering embers of the campfire.