Wrought of Iron and Silk, Book One [2014 Watty Award Winner]

Chapter 21 - The Council

Chapter 21 – The Council

In the Aspenwood, an enormous figure was sitting silently against a tree, bound to its trunk by the ropes that encircled its chest. Its hands and feet were also tied. At that point in the forest, the footpath was bounded by a row of elms. With silent footfall, and sharp eyes warily observing, Cecilia approached the battered creature.

It was a mass of sagging flesh that looked as if it had been folded together, leaving deep creases – with one large fold hanging from its left shoulder like a massive tumor. Gnarled bone chips like awkward toenails covered its toes, and ridges of bone crisscrossed its torso. Its arms were longer than its body and its head was a pumpkin-shaped abomination of oozing flesh with two round eyes, dark as mud pools.

She stepped closer; something tiny crunched beneath her foot.

The troll looked up. Terror widened its eyes as it pivoted its head, realizing she was just a short distance away.

"You're dying," she said plainly.

"We are all dying, human." Its voice was weak. "The end is near, do you feel it?"

Cecilia's heart pounded against her ribcage. She wanted to collapse on the spot, but a renewed determination took hold. The thought of saving her home spurred her on. She willed herself to keep putting one foot in front of the other in spite of her fear. "Why do you keep saying that?"

"You are young," it snarled. "And naïve."

Finally she came to a halt beside the tree. "And why am I naïve?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

The troll chuckled. "You think you have a chance of leaving this realm alive."

Growing impatient, she drew her sword, pointed it at the creature, and even came closer to see its face.

"Ah," said the troll, smiling with jagged green teeth. Its mouth was a dark pit of decay and drool, large enough to engulf her thigh. "So, you wish to fight? I do not fight with steel, foolish warrior. I fight with wits. If you wish to battle, you must out-think me. And if you wish to win the war, you must solve my riddle; if not, you will all be destroyed."

Cecilia's lower lip quivered, and for a moment she said nothing. She glanced at her sword, and then at the troll. "And if I solve your riddle, you will tell me what I need to know?"

The troll nodded.

Cecilia's face lit up with hope. "Very well," she said, sheathing her sword. If it was lying, she had a knife close at hand.

As she looked at the troll's cracked lips, she became thirsty. She unlatched the water pouch at her belt and took a sip for herself. Remember mercy, she considered reasonably. Slowly, Cecilia knelt beside the creature, put her hand behind its head and lifted it up.

She put the pouch to its lips, and the troll drank a little. "Tell me your riddle," she urged.

The troll smiled wide. "I am smaller than a stone, yet cities are built of me. Though I would not satisfy a stone mouse, I feed the realms and create great beauty. What am I?" it rasped.

Cecilia repeated the riddle, her voice giving evidence that she was already unsure of accepting the challenge.

"You have until dawn."

❧

It wasn't the end of the world, although it felt like it. There was no going back. She had only one chance – and now she would do what she must. Her heart empty, Cecilia roamed through Faragard, exploring everywhere she could. Even this late in the afternoon, the thriving town, perched on the side of a rugged mountain, buzzed with activity.