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I crane to see. Cando stands there in his underclothes, a pitchfork in his hand. Elisher, his neighbor, is also present and half-dressed, but he holds a makeshift club, a heavy staff with nails protruding from its tip. They eye the kidnappers warily.
I send out as much fear as I can, pushing it out like sweat, seizing all three brutes. I’ve only just learned how to do more than one at a time.
Two of them stiffen. The third drops me, and I hit the ground on my knees, splitting the skin of one. Sensing an advantage, Elisher moves forward and takes a swing at one, missing widely. These men aren’t warriors.
And so I direct my attention to the horse. It whinnies and rears before charging east.
“No!” one of my father’s men yelps, while the other draws his sword, ready to fight Cando. I shove terror into him, and he nearly drops the blade. He turns to me, but instead of a hard look, he appears like a child beneath a grizzly beard, likely grown during his search for me. Just a boy, alone and afraid.
Just like me.
I choke on fright, but I am merciless, and the men begin to shake and weep. The legs of one grow wet with urine, and they flee Cando and Elisher, two on horses, one on foot, taking off in the direction of the lost steed.
I push the fear as hard and far as I can, until I’m sobbing and can no longer hear their retreat beyond the squat township buildings. Cando lowers his pitchfork. “Are you all right, Lark?”
I’m slow to return to myself. Gritting my teeth, I have to convince myself not to run. Coerce my heartbeat to slow, my breaths to even out. Persuade my mind that that fear isn’t real, though much of it is. But I’m not all right, for I know I must leave, because now my father’s men know where I am, and they’ll come back with reinforcements. An army these people could never hope to best. This is a small place with few people, as most townships are. Farmers and the desperate, not trained warriors. And I, a fifteen-year-old girl, can only do so much.
Had they hit my head first, before dragging me out of the stable, I wouldn’t have been able to do anything, even scream. Next time, they won’t make that mistake.
I wake from a fitful sleep with memories of Dorys dancing behind my eyelids. I’d hoped that I’d find the Cosmodian I’d met as a girl when I’d moved to the township, but she wasn’t there. Still, the people of Dorys had been kind to me, until after that morning. Then they were suspicious. But humans are superstitious creatures. I don’t know if I could have stayed, even had I tried. Dorys is probably the human settlement closest to Cagmar, about sixty or seventy miles northeast. It sits in the middle of human land, as though its founders had left the long-dried river in an attempt to reach the canyon and given up halfway. Dorys always makes me think of sagebrush. There was so much of it there.
Silver light seeps through the narrow window above me, a predawn sky high above where I slumber, cradled by canyon walls. I smile at it before rubbing sleep from my eyes. As I sit up, a second blanket, thick with fur and heavy, falls from my shoulders. I gape at it, having no recollection of it. Unach must have had a change of heart ... or my shivering was loud enough to bother her. Either way, my heart fills atthe sight of the blanket, for surely where there is kindness, there is hope for me.
I fold the blanket and leave it by Unach’s door. I’m not sure what to do for breakfast. I have only what’s in my small bag, which is little more than a change of clothes. Eyeing the two closed bedroom doors, I slip into the crammed closet and change quickly, my cold fingers struggling with the buttons of my dress. Stepping out, I braid my hair over my shoulder.
Fortunately, I don’t have to wait long. I’ve just returned the rug to its place when Unach opens her door. She is perfectly put together and alert, her topaz eyes darting to the fireplace before looking over the floor. In this better light, I struggle to hide my awe of her. She stands over seven feet tall, equal to her brother. Her clothing reminds me of leather armor, and like the guardsmen on the bridge, she wears a thick belt around her middle, which emphasizes her small breasts. Her arms bear more muscle than any human man’s, and every bony nub and spike on her is polished and white.
She is terrifying and magnificent and every bit a troll.
Eyeing me, she crosses the room to light a small fire, which she then places a pot over. She doesn’t speak as she does this, or as she prepares something in the kitchen. When the water begins to bubble, she pulls a tin cup from the cupboard and fills it. “There’s food for you in the cold storage box.” She points to a cupboard in the floor. “It needs to last the whole day,” she adds with a tone of warning, “which means you need to get your rations from the market. If they don’t have any for you, it’s the council’s problem, not mine.”
Relief calms my hunger. “Thank you.” I head into the kitchen. It’s small and cramped, and it’s not hard to find the cold storage box recessed into the floor. Inside is some dried meat from an animal I’m not sure I want to identify, as well as some cucumbers and what looks like ... flower petals? I grab the meat and close the box, taking a large bite and working it in my mouth.
When I return to the main room, Unach looks me up and down and sighs. “Makes no sense.” She heads for the door, stops, and plants a hand on her hip. “Well? You expect me to wait for you?”
I blanch, grab my bag from my pallet, and hurry to Unach’s side. Scoffing, she rips open the door and steps out into the dimly lit corridor. She walks with long and purposeful strides. We return to the lift from before, dropping to a different floor that opens up to a maze of tunnels that makes me think of an anthill.
Cagmar is much more alive at this hour; trolls crowd everywhere. While they come in an assortment of heights, shades, and sizes, they all dwarf me. Several give me strange looks as I hurry to keep up with Unach. Others pay me little mind, which means other humansmustbe here, else my presence would be more novel. When Unach takes a sharp turn, I bump into a dark-gray-skinned woman, who spits, “Clumsy louse,” at me before continuing on her way.
The next corridor has a floor made of wooden slats on metal girders, and it brightens as we walk through it. It takes me a beat to realize that the light comes from the sun itself; the wall to my left suddenly opens up, revealing the steep cliffside of the canyon. It’s covered with various loops and trellises, and hanging from them streams vegetation in all the colors of the rainbow. Vines, climbers, flowers—so many flowers, many the color of the strange disk Unach gave me to eat the night before. The smell consumes me, earthy and floral and lovely. Trolls hang from short bridges and trellises, watering, pollinating, or harvesting the plants. I’m utterly enthralled. My steps slow as I take in the impressive garden, grasping a handrail that separates it from the main path.
A strike from a shoulder sends me to the floor. The shock of the landing radiates up my tailbone. I look up to see a large troll looming over me. He is broad and gray skinned, with beefy arms folded across his chest. His jaw and chin are the widest I’ve seen yet, accented with large bone studs. His tusks are narrow and sharp, almost like fangs.
“Never seen food before,human?” He sneers at me. He stands aside from the flow of traffic. Did he go out of his way to collide with me? “If you think you’ll get away with stealing it, you’re a fool.”
I grab the handrail and pull myself up. “N-Not at all. I’m already provided for.” I bow my head and try to move around him, but he sidesteps and blocks my path. A buzz of fear creeps up my spine.
He leans close. His hot breath smells of fish when he speaks. “You’d do better providing for the monsters below.”
I gape and glance past the handrail. If I wanted to, I could jump past the lip of the opening and fall into that endless darkness. How long would it take for me to hit?
“Move it, Grodd.”
A sigh escapes me. Unach’s voice has never sounded so sweet.
Grodd turns and glares at Unach over his shoulder. He has several inches on her ... and more of those turquoise beads, I notice. “What business is it of yours?” His tone is hard, but not entirely disrespectful. Meanwhile, several passing trolls duck their heads away, as though wanting to be unnoticed. I wonder at their deference.
“Council business,” she answers flatly.
