I stop short. "We can't go this way. There's a bridge..."
He adjusts the duffle bag over his shoulder, brushes aside the thickness of the woods, and deviates from the path that U-shapes and leads back to town, a last ditch effort to keep any wanderers from veering off course and toward the bridge. "Exactly."
I blink. "You mean you want to go over a bridge? In case your many teachers didn't tell you, this is a magic town which makes that a troll bridge." Through the overgrowth, I see hints of the moonlit clearing he's leading us to. The bridge is there, and fear rattles within me, a paralyzing thing that runs cold to my fingertips. "We can't go there. There has to be another way."
"I know the layout of towns and bridges, and yes I know what kind of bridge that is, but do you have a better idea? We need to get out of this realm, fast. As soon as magicians get to your shop—if they're not there already, they'll trace my magic right to us. I killed two of them and set your store on fire. I don't think they'll be keen on talking as much as trying to kill me—kill us."
He's right. After a magician comes into their powers, they become part of a bigger network of magic, a traceable web. It's also the first time he's acknowledged he killed Lachlan and Perry, and there's not an ounce of remorse in his words. He's killed before, I know it. The ease with which he killed Lachlan and did God knows what to Perry tells me this. The lack of sentiment just now screams it. And while I know things are different when you're staring death in the face, it still unsettles me.
"I've already used enough magic," he says, pushing further through the trees, "and I need to take the trail far from here. The Nether will take care it, and I'll take care of whatever we meet on that bridge."
A part of me wants to laugh, but his surety is staggering, and I realize, "You've crossed a bridge before."
"Something like that." He pushes on, clears our way through the tangles of vines and shoots of wildwoods.
"How? No one's ever crossed and lived to tell about it."
"Yeah, well, I did," he replies, tense, my line of questioning seeming to strike a nerve.
I start to press him on the subject, but a strange heaviness settles in my chest. The air feels denser while at the same time lighter to where it gets a bit hard to breathe. A sense of unsteadiness makes my legs watery. This is the veil, the place where our world thins away, merges with the other realms. It isn't a clean break. There's no door you push aside to enter another realm, no set demarcation, but rather a seamless progression of place and existence.
Caleb told me once of a group of young magicians who wanted to see the Trolls. They thought the veil started once they set foot on the bridge. The trolls appeared from behind them as the Nether started some yards into the forest. They didn't stand a chance. The veil isn't something you see, rather something you feel and experience. We're taught to heed its warnings, the strange prickles on our skin, the tightness in our chest and our stomachs. While not all bridges are doorways to other realms, this one is and the thought coils tight to my feet. But fear will do me little good, and so I stay close to Roane as we reach the clearing and he pushes aside the bushes.
The view steals at my breath. A long rope bridge crosses over to the other side of a large chasm and vanishes into a thick smog. Below the bridge, the ocean roars and waves crash against the jagged rocks at the foot of the cliff. Various caves mark the mountain wall eroded by the hands of time and the elements. Though the openings appear small, my fear isn't. A troll could be hiding in any of those caves—a troll could be staring me in the face and I wouldn't be able to see it, not until it wants me to see it. Not until it's too late. My lack of magic doesn't just make me an outcast, but also makes me blind to many things of magic, including the Trolls. As much as instincts tell me that I should be cautious of Roane, I need to trust him. Not just as my protector, but as my eyes.
Roane abandons the forest lines and approaches the bridge. Trailing my gaze along the scenery, I ease closer to him. Trolls are vicious and just as repulsive. They're said to appear hunched over, a massive arched spine protruding from their backs. Their skin is covered in boils and puss oozes from their pores. The worst is supposed to be their eyes, said to be the window of all evil.
I inch a little closer, whisper, "Are you sure about this?"
He steps onto the bridge, turns and holds a hand to me. "Trust me. I'll keep you safe."
Aunt Sabana always says hands are the first to show signs of any emotion. While mine clutch at my sleeves in uncertainty, his hand doesn't waver. I take comfort in that confidence, nod, and force my feet forward.
The wood planks groan when I step onto them. Dread makes the emptiness below me grow and scream, but I grasp the rope and fix my eyes on Roane's waiting hand. Another step and my gaze drops to the expanse below. The waves' liquid fingers reach out as if telling me not to go. I slide my hand into Roane's, wishing that were a choice.
The fusion is instant. I gasp and clutch the railing tightly as the physical world mists away in vines and curls of light and smoke. It's as if a fog has been cleared from my eyes, a screen door opened in my soul. Though this world I see is the same, everything has changed. It's magic, and with it, I can hear the forest. Hear the trees' sighs echo into the wind. Hear water trickle through their small veins. Creatures of the night tap away to one another, secret conversations I'm now privy to. Hauling in a deep breath, I relish the layers of scents that waft past; the lemony scent of pine, the musky dampness of rotting bark.
I turn my eyes up and I'm rooted. Clouds melt down as if the sky is bleeding. The swirls of white smoke touch the ground, continuously wrenching, infusing the ground with its essence. Droplets of water rise from the ocean, toward the clouds. I release the railing and reach out to touch one. The infinitesimal yet visible bead plops against my finger, but then materializes once more and joins its rising brothers. The bond is unbreakable. It's a cycle of life, of magic.
A broken laugh escapes me. This is how all magicians say it feels the first time they come into their powers, the first time they feel to truly see. This is what it feels like to have real magic—an infinite connection with nature, with the elements that make up the world and our lives. The beauty of it all spills from my eyes. Though standing in the most dangerous place I've ever been, I've never felt more alive.
Roane sighs, his brown eyes apologetic. "Look, I'm really sorry about back there. I know I'm asking a lot, but we need to move." His fingers loosen around mine—
"No." I hold his hand tighter. "Don't let go, please."
Magic hums as electricity from his hand to mine, vibrates into my soul in the most natural of connections. Unable to care about time and space, unable to care that he's Sharing his magic with me, I tighten my grip and close my eyes lost in the sensation, led by the need to feel more, to hear more of the magic that now travels my veins. I understand now why Warlocks do what they do. With simply bits of Roane's magic, I already want more. I want it all.
"I won't let you go," he says, reciprocating my hold.
I open my eyes. "Roane!" I yank him to me and away from the dark shadows that have materialized within the smog behind him.
A gust brushes past, pushes at the fog. The mist billows, scatters a slight, and leaves three hulking, mountainous creatures in its wake. Their hair, black and stringy, frames their boil filled faces. Patches of matted hair cover their oily skin and sharpened teeth curve out from their closed mouths. There are traces of beauty beneath their haggardness, but it's long gone to the dark aura they radiate. It's like darkness is draped over them, keeps them imprisoned under its invisible fingers.
One lifts a massive hammer club over his shoulder, his seedy eyes focused on me from under pronounced brows. I turn to run back, but two more Trolls stand just at the mouth of the forest, one of them red-haired and bigger than the rest. Dread washes over me. There's only one way out, and that's down.
Roane brings us back, closer to the pillar at the start of the bridge, closer to the two Trolls as oppose to the three that approach. "We don't want any trouble. We just want to cross."
"You asked for trouble the moment you stepped through those bushes," the red-haired one grumbles. "I'm Baskus and this is my bridge. There's a toll to cross it. You seem to have it, so leave the girl and you can go."
With one hand fixed on Roane's back, I slip out my dagger from my belt with the other. Like hell I'm staying behind.
"The girl is mine and she comes with me," Roane says, much calmer than I ever could.
Baskus's gruff laugh echoes over the thundering waves. Behind Roane, the other three Trolls draw closer. I tug on his arm in warning. We make it to the small clearing just before the bridge. It's not enough space for a scuffle without someone falling off the edge. We're outnumbered. And with the two biggest Trolls at either side of us, we're stuck.
"We're going to cross this bride." Roane drops the duffel bag, slips off his jacket, thrusts it down beside him. The trolls look to his arms and their seedy eyes widen a slight.
"A soldier..." Baskus's black lips curve to a smile.
"A soldier?" I echo. Roane doesn't say a word.
Baskus lifts a thick hand, his smile wide. "This one's mine, boys."
The three Trolls obey and stop their approach but still block our only way across. Roane may be a soldier, but the matter remains that we're outnumbered. I grip the dagger tighter. Roane tenses, fists clenched.
Baskus slides a sword from his scabbard. "What's a king's guard doing so far from home? I hate the king's men, just as much as I hate the king."
Cold grates down my spine. Roane is one of the king's men—their king. That could only mean...
"You're...you're a troll," I breathe. Though Baskus said the words and I repeated them, my mind refuses to accept it. How can Roane be a troll? He isn't like them. He entered my world without dying in spite of the spells that keep Trolls bound to the bridges and the depths of the Nether. But he's the enemy.
"You're a troll," I say again, inching away from him.
"Stay close!" he rasps.
Too late.
The Troll beside Baskus lunges for me, faster than his size should allow, half gnarled body and half black smoke. Roane whirls me behind him, rams a fist into its chin. Crunching bone resounds. The Troll's body arches up and back at the blow, black teeth and warm blood spraying across my face. In the dispersing swirls of smoke, Roane reaches for him. Lifts him into the air. Brings him down onto his bent knee. The snap of its spine crackles and I cringe. The broken body tumbles at my feet, dead.
A feral howl tears through the space around us as Baskus swings his ax before him. "My brother!" He rushes toward Roane.
Roane snaps his arm at his side. A sword is now in his hands, a sword that was once tattooed down his arm, but is no longer there. He thrusts his sword up, meets Baskus' blade with a piercing clink.
"Run!" he yells over his shoulder.
Frozen, I look to the bridge, to the approaching Trolls.
"Aramina, go!"
Grabbing the duffel bag, I leap over the dead and broken troll and dart into the forest. Trees brush past as shadows. Branches reach for me, cut at my face, but I push, push, run, run. The clash of metal against metal ricochets through the trees and the sound halts my steps. I'm running away. How? The Sprites had chased me, Lachlan and Perry tried to kidnap me, the Trolls had attacked me, and through it all, Roane fought for me.
And—I turn—I can see them through the trees. All of them. I no longer touch Roane, but I can still see the Trolls though I have no magic of my own. He Shared his magic so that I could see them and protect myself.
With this new sight I watch him whirl his sword over his head and slice it before him. Blood splatters out as he cuts through Baskus's massive torso. Baskus falls back, but the rest of the Trolls rush Roane at once. He kicks the first one. It drops to its knees and the club falls from his hands. Roane whirls, slices the air around him in one lithe spin. Behind him, the troll's head rolls away.
Another one attacks with a halberd. Roane swings his sword, loops it in a figure 8. One twist and he disarms the Troll. A scythe blade appears in his hold. I remember it tattooed to his forearm. He swings it upward and stabs the blade into the troll's gut. Lifting him, he flips him over the cliff's edge.
The Troll behind him stabs down. Roane turns just in time, lifts an arm. The knife meant for his back slices his arm. He kicks the Troll back and shrugs his shoulders. A metal chain materializes in his hand.
The Troll advances. Roane meets him. Their blades flash and ring, and it's impossible to follow how fast they move. Roane swing his chain. It wraps around the Troll's sword. Roane yanks it, but the Troll breaks free. Their swords clash again. In spite of the sparks that fly into the air at their colliding weapons, Roane doesn't see a bloody Baskus stumble to his feet. I do.
Dagger in hands, I dash toward them. It's stupid, I know, but there's no time to think. The Troll is enormous and my dagger is small, but it'll have to be enough.
Baskus stumbles closer. Lifts his blade over his head as Roane struggles to hold the other Troll's away. In this battle of wills, Roane is at a disadvantage. He's standing on lower ground, the Troll leaning in.
I double in speed, make it back to the clearing. With momentum and without a thought, I lunge.
Thank you for reading! Please vote and comment if you enjoyed the chapter!
XO