The Troll King (The Bowl of Souls Book 9) (21 page)

A sharp whistle blew to her right and Tarah looked over to see her papa standing on another root not too far away. He waved her over. “Just jump. You can make it, baby girl.”

“You stopped calling me baby girl when I was ten,” Tarah reminded him.

“I know. When you kept begging me to stop,” he said. “But I’m gonna start it up again anyway because I like it. Now jump.”

Tarah narrowed her eyes at him and used the butt of her staff to help propel her to the other root. This one curved around and over the top of the root that had blocked her path. She hiked up it and when she reached its apex, she saw that the shape of the root changed. The top of it was flat and had squeezed tightly together with a series of other roots to form a pathway.

“See, Tarah? Easy,” said Gad the Brawler, smiling. He began to take a step forward, but paused and held up a finger. “Hold on a second, baby girl. Don’t move.”

Tarah stopped and two elves jumped down from a root up above, landing on the pathway right next to her. They were females and wore armor that seemed to be made of living wood that flexed and moved with their bodies. To Tarah’s relief, they didn’t give her a second glance, but made odd clicking and whistling noises to each other and kept on running.

At least she knew Esmine’s magic really did work on them. That was a bit of a relief. “What did they see?” she wondered.

“Oh as far as they were concerned, you were just another bulge in the root,” Gad said. “Let’s keep going.”

Tarah followed her papa as he jogged down the pathway formed by the roots. He talked to her excitedly, pointing out wonders. One of them was a small garden formed in the side of one of the Jharro trunks. The elves had formed the wood into terraced beds and filled them with soil. The plants inside were lush and full of fruit. She watched one elf pick a white strawberry the size of her fist.

“Oh, you need to pick you one of those,” her papa urged. “Let’s go. I see a big one.”

“No, papa,” she replied. Even if she was able to make her way there over the enormous tangle of roots to get to that garden, there was woodsman etiquette to consider. It was bad enough that she was trespassing. You don’t just eat out of someone else’s garden. “Tarah Woodblade is no thief.”

“Bah!” he said and with a series of jumps and climbs, some of them Tarah was sure were impossible for her father to truly make, Gad made his way to the elf garden. He picked one of the berries and took a bite, showing it to her as he chewed. The flesh inside was dark pink and juicy. “It’s not stealing when they have so many.”

“Now that sounds more like something Grampa Rolf would say.” She folded her arms, a frown forming on her face. Gad had been the one to teach her that taking someone else’s food was wrong. He had also told her about elves and their homeland.

Esmine should have known that. The rogue horse spent all her spare time sifting through Tarah’s memories, yet she was getting a lot of it wrong. Gad would never have entered elf land without their permission and he most certainly wouldn’t have stolen their food.

“Papa, you were the one who taught me how sensitive elves are about the things that grow in their soil. ‘If you ask, they may give some to you as a gift, but if you take it without permission, you make yourself their enemy.’ That’s what you taught me.”

“Good point,” her papa said and suddenly he disappeared, replaced by Grampa Rolf. The old man gave her an impish smile and took another bite of the oversized fruit. “This is a game with your Grampa Rolf now. Get over here and try some. Tarah Woodblade isn’t scared of a little adventure.”

Her frown deepened. That wasn’t much like Grampa Rolf either. He wasn’t the type to go out on adventures. He was a businessman. If Rolf went anywhere it was in search of money. Also, if he were to steal food it would be because he was starving. He wouldn’t do it just for the fun of it.

No, Esmine was the one who liked to sneak about. Esmine was the one that would steal food because it was a challenge. Pretending that this was a game for Tarah’s benefit was just another way for the rogue horse to relieve her boredom.

“I don’t like this game, Esmine,” Tarah said. What had she been thinking, agreeing to this in the first place? This was only going to get her and possibly her friends back in the city in a great deal of trouble. “Let’s return back to the palace before they realize I’m gone.”

“But I like this place,” Rolf said petulantly, not even trying to act like himself anymore. “I want to stay. Just a bit longer? Tarah Woodblade wouldn’t deny some fun to her best friend, would she?”

“We’re leaving,” Tarah said. She turned to leave, but one of the roots rose up in front of her, blocking her path. “Esmine. This isn’t funny.”

“Stay and play with me,” Rolf insisted.

“You’re not supposed to use your magic on me, Esmine,” Tarah said angrily.

She walked right at the root, wincing as she stepped face first into it. For a moment she felt the solid mass of it pressing against her nose and she thought she had made a mistake, but the illusion dissipated. The pathway in front of her was clear again.

Rolf appeared in front of her, barring her way. “I’m tired of being your servant. It’s time you obeyed me for a change.”

Tarah’s jaw dropped. Esmine had never acted this way before. Why now? “That isn’t how this works.”

“You owe this to me.”  Rolf’s skin grew pale, his cheeks sallow and his eye sockets dark. He was aging quickly like he had in the last days before he had died. Tarah had stayed at his side, helpless to do anything. He reached one emaciated arm towards her. “I was free. For a thousand years I roamed anywhere I wanted. I did anything I wanted. Until you let me be captured.”

“No,” said Tarah, fighting the lump that rose in her throat. Why was Esmine doing this? Why was she dredging up such an awful memory?

“Your fault-.” Rolf let out a ragged gasp and stopped breathing. The Rolf that stood before her was a corpse now; his eyes gray and lifeless. His skin dried out and his lips pulled back from his yellowed teeth until his face was a withered rictus of death. “You let me die. You took my freedom. You owe me.”

“Stop it!” Tarah shouted, her voice filled with pain and horror.

“I can make you stay.” The corpse lurched forward.

She raised a trembling hand and clamped it over her eyes so that she wouldn’t see that terrible illusion anymore. “Esmine . . . Why?”

“Tarah Woodblade hides now?” The voice came from next to her ear as if the person was standing right next to her. But this time it wasn’t Grampa Rolf’s voice or even her papa’s. It was the voice of the moonrat head man. She could feel his hot breath on her ear. “Yoouuu caaan’t hiiide from meee.”

Tarah swung her staff, striking something solid. She opened her eyes and saw that she had simply hit the side of a root. She spun around, looking for the next illusion, but nothing was there.

Something wet slithered across the back of her neck. “Plaaay.”

“No!” Tarah shouted. She swung back her arm and threw the staff as hard as she could. It bounced and clattered across several roots before falling between two of them and disappearing from view.

Shuddering, she pulled her papa’s bow off of her shoulder and clutched it tight to her chest. Her father’s memories were gone from its surface, but he had made it with his own hands. This was something real that could bring her comfort.

“Why did you do that?” asked Grampa Rolf. He looked like his healthy self again and stood close to the place where she had thrown the staff. He was peering down between the roots. “Now you’ll just have to go and pick me up again.”

“No,” Tarah said. “Not if you’re gonna torture me like that, Esmine. I’ll just leave you there.”

“To be found by elves? These old wrinkly ones?” Rolf shook his head. “Besides, you wouldn’t leave me here. We’re best friends. You told me so.”

“A best friend wouldn’t do what you were just doing to me,” Tarah said. She turned to walk away.

“I won’t let you leave,” he said.

She put the bow back over her shoulder and started walking.

“Have you forgotten my range?” Now Rolf was in front of her, walking backwards, keeping her pace while facing her. “I won’t let you get far. My illusions will keep you from getting away.”

“You can’t stop me,” she snapped. “I’m Tarah Woodblade. I know how to find my way anywhere. I’ve traveled mountains. I’ve travelled forests. I’ve travelled maze-like deserts that-.”

“And we’re back where we started,” he replied smugly.

Tarah realized that he was right. Once again she was standing across from that elf garden. Somehow he had turned her around. When had that happened?

He smiled at her confusion and pointed into the roots below. “Now go pick me up.”

“I won’t. I don’t care how long I have to keep walking in circles I will eventually figure it out and I will get away,” she promised. “You know I will.”

His eyes narrowed at her. “I have other ways of forcing you to do what I want. I could stop making you invisible for instance. I could make it appear like you were jumping up and down and shouting insults at every elf around us.”

She swallowed. “You wouldn’t.”

“And I could make you appear to be naked as you did it,” he added.

Tarah’s eyes bulged as she tried to think of a way out of the situation. Finally she forced herself to calm down. “This is crazy, Esmine. Why are we even having this conversation? You’re right. I can’t throw you away now. You are my friend and I went through too much to try to help you.”

Rolf smiled. “I knew you would listen.”

“I will not pick you back up without some conditions, though,” she added. “You need to stop appearing to me as my papa or grampa. I just can’t handle that anymore. Not after today.”

Esmine didn’t answer, so she continued. “In turn, I will try to be more accommodating to you and find time to play with you. But I can’t have you using your magic to fool me. I can’t live that way.”

Rolf cocked his head at her for a moment, then raised a finger. “Counter offer.” Suddenly he was gone. In his place was Tarah’s Mother. “I will use this form instead. What do you think, sweetheart?” Her voice had the beautiful alto tone that Tarah remembered. “She died when you were so young. Your memories of her are old and faded, but I can fill in the gaps with my own personality all the better.”

Tarah turned and ran, choking back tears. It was too much. She had to get away. It was the only way she could stay sane.

 Knowing that Esmine would try to turn her around again, Tarah jumped down from the root she was on. She landed on a path below and headed down it, focusing all of her knowledge and training on escape.

Tarah moved from root-to-root as best as she could, jumping and climbing. She constantly glanced upward, trying to keep several reference points in mind. The wide leaves of the Jharro trees mostly hid the sun, but she was fairly confident that she was heading in the right direction.

To her relief Esmine didn’t call out after her. No phantoms appeared to torment her and after the first few panicked minutes, Tarah began to think things through. She slowed down. Was she really leaving Esmine and the staff Rolf had given her behind?

Why had this happened? Sure, Esmine had been acting more stubborn lately, but everything had been fine earlier that day. The rogue horse’s suggestion of escape had seemed like an exciting diversion. What had changed since then?

What Tarah really wanted right then was Djeri. The dwarf would hold her and she could explain everything that happened. He would listen and use that ability he had to see through things and he would tell her exactly what to do.

Tarah stopped walking and finally let the tears stream down her face. She sat down on the root and put her head in her hands. Is this what she had become? After everything she had been through in the last few months, Tarah Woodblade was losing control and blubbering? Pining after a man? She sighed and put her hand down beside her, intending to climb to her feet.

Her palm sunk into the wood.

Suddenly, everything fell away. The roots, the air, even her body disappeared until Tarah’s thoughts were all alone in a soft pink haze. She felt an enormous sense of pressure. It was as if a mountain surrounded her, the mass of it crushing her mind. Then she understood. It wasn’t a mountain. It was a tree.