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A Tale for a Troll Toll

The sun sparkled on the water while my family packed up for the night. Grandad wasguarding the other side of his precious stone bridge with his club beside him, hoping we’d get a client before nightfall.

As it was, a white-haired stranger leaning heavily on a walking stick hobbled toward our side of the troll bridge. His clothing was much mended and his hands were gnarled in the way only really old human’s hands get.

“Hello there!” he called.

My two brothers, Binky and Bunky, belted up the river bank and peered out at the stranger from behind a large rock.

Ma and Da looked up from their fishing. “Can we help you?”

“I was hoping to cross today,” the human said. “I’m just a little short of money…”

“How short of money?” Grandad asked, abandoning his post on the far side of the river. “Because we’re also short of money. One gold piece short, to be exact.”

The human nodded. “Yes, times are tough, but I have important news to share.”

“A story!” Binky yelled, pumping a fist into the air. That boy would do anything for a story.

“That’s not enough,” Grandad grumped, his club artfully balanced on his shoulder in a way we all agreed was threatening, but not too threatening.

Ma shook her head. “We’re sorry, but my daughter and my two growing boys can’t eat news.”

“I see.” The human pulled off his backpack and rifled through it. “I have some popcorn we could share.”

“Popcorn?” Binky and Bunky squealed with excitement.

Ma and Da and Grandad looked into the packet of dry corn kernels. Da shook his head. “Sorry, we’ve already eaten.”

The boys looked crestfallen. They seemed to have a better idea of what popcorn was than the rest of us.

“And a bag of walnuts.”

Grandad grinned. “Now you’re talking.”

“What about the story?” Binky blinked his big green eyes at Grandad.

“I guess there’s no harm in it,” Grandad said. “But I’d best not stick around. Someone has to guard the bridge.” He stomped off, but not before the old human had handed him the bag of walnuts.

The rest of my family and I settled on the bank to watch the human ritual of fire starting. He struck the tinder box with a stone and let the sparks fall on dry moss. Ma and Da gasped and inched back as the flames took off, while Binky, Bunky and I leaned closer. The wispy smoke tickled my throat.

As soon as the fire was flickering, Binky started on the questions. “Did you come from a town?” he asked.

“You could say that.”

“Ah, Binky,” Ma said. “Don’t annoy our visitor.”

“Was it a big town?” Bunky asked.

The human shook his head.

“Bunky.” Ma’s voice was flat.

“It’s alright, Ma’am,” the human said, all polite.

“Are you a magic user?” Binky asked, his eyes widening.

“Well, I don’t know about that.” The human tightened his jaw and hung a dented old pot on a stick over the growing fire.

The trapped smoke funnelled toward me, stinging my eyes and throat so they felt like sandpaper. When I coughed, the wind abruptly changed direction, sending the smoke swirling over the human’s head.

“You are a magic user, aren’t you?” Binky was alight. “Have you ever been to the Library of Alexandria? I want to be a student there when I grow up.”

“Only if the library has dragons,” Bunky piped up. “Have you ever seen a dragon?”

The human threw two handfuls of corn kernels into his pot. “It just so happens that dragons are an important part of my news. Now, I’m sorry you’ll have to wait, or I won’t be able to hear myself think over the popping corn.”

“Dragons.” Bunky grinned. “Imagine flying on a dragon.”

I grinned back.

“Have you ever flown on a dragon?” Binky asked.

The human grunted something that sounded like no. And not a happy no. Had the innocent question hit a nerve?

“Now that will do,” Ma said, speaking louder over all the popping. “Don’t talk the storyteller’s head off.”

When the popping subsided, the human lifted his battered tin lid to reveal a pot filled to the brim with fluffy, gold-and-white popped corn. The smell was amazing: buttery and toasty, mixed in with a hint of campfire.

When we all had a gobful—and, most importantly, Binky and Bunky were too busy eating to talk—the human started his story about a skinwalking demon called Wyrden, who was sending dragons to attack and destroy or capture troll bridges. It was all very dramatic. At the end, he turned and stared at each of us in turn. “The trolls who’d been attacked either hid well or disappeared. Nobody knows where, not even me. Rumour has it they’re being taken to slave in Wyrden’s iron mines next to his Dragon Castle.”

The boys hung on his every word, while Ma and Da clearly didn’t believe any of it.

“We’ve been here all our lives,” Ma snapped at last. “There’s never been a problem with that Dragon Castle.”

“Until now,” the man said, “Wyrden’s focused on other things. Although other people have suffered, he’s left the trolls alone. But no more. That’s exactly why I came here. To warn you.” He looked over at Binky and Bunky. “Please hide if you have to. Don’t get caught, or you might be sent to the mines and never see sunlight again.”

“Oh, that was a scary story,” Binky said. “Next time can you tell us one about the Library of Alexandria?”

Bunky clapped his hands. “Yes, I love scary stories. And I want to hear about everything—unicorns and dragons, all the creatures we don’t get to see here.”

“And brave Questers on their chicken-legged chairs,” Binky added.

“Another time, maybe. Or maybe it will be a tale of evil humans who steal away unicorns, dragons, and other magical creatures in the middle of the night. Today, it’s getting late, and I have one more bridge to get to.” He poured water on the burned-down fire and covered it with sand.

“One more,” the boys chorused.

“That will do,” Da said. “I don’t want you boys getting nightmares. Into your safety net. It’s your bedtime. And Binky, make sure your books are safe in the store. I’m not paying for any more replacements.”

“Aw,” the boys complained.

“That’s enough,” Ma snapped. “Unless you don’t want any more stories ever.”

The boys, suitably cowed by this threat, obediently toddled off to bed, whispering excitedly to each other.

“Thank you for the story,” I said when the boys were gone and Ma and Pa had hurried back to their fishing. “Binky and Bunky loved it.”

“I think you’ll find I was only willing to go along with calling it a story for the sake of the little ones. Please mark my words, Mandy of Apple Tree Crossing, I have not brought a story, but dire news. If dragons attack your bridge, hide yourself and your brothers well.”

That night, my brothers might not have had nightmares, but I did—dragons flying up the river and flaming our bridge.

It’s just a story. It could never happen, not here, I consoled myself as I locked my hand around my stone handhold under the bridge and let the water rock me to sleep.

Mandy’s Home Is Destroyed

I woke with the river delightfully rippling through my hair. The relaxing music of water rushing over rocks had been replaced by screams of glee from my two little brothers splashing each other out in the sun-dappled water.

“Up ya get, Sleeping Beauty,” Grandad said, swimming past in an effortless breaststroke. Every morning, he followed the same routine—he’d swim to the far end of the bridge, checking the underside, and then walk back over it, methodically looking for cracks. He was proud of his riverstone masterpiece and wanted to know the instant a pebble was out of place.

“Okay, okay.” I yawned and shook my hand to get rid of the pins and needles. As always, it needed stretching after clutching my hold on the pier. I smiled at the memory of Da teaching me how to lock my hand onto the stone when I’d been nought but a tiny trolling. He’d complained that I kept wriggling free of the safety net—the very safety net that my two younger brothers still climbed into every night.

Today, along with the usual cramping, my hand itched.

Rather than worry about it, I launched myself into the pool near my brothers, diving to ambush Binky and Bunky with a wave of water, and revelling in their squeals.

Bunky did his best to splash back, his thin seven-year-old arms managing nothing more than a refreshing spray.

“Come on,” Ma laughed. “We’ve got work to do.”

“River’s down today,” Binky said seriously. “See, the swimming pool is only up to my chest. It should be here.” He raised a skinny green arm to his shoulder, and ended up scaring a dragonfly. It zipped away to the edge of the water.

“Mmm,” Da nodded seriously. “You think the water’s deep enough to get much trade today? Or do you think the humans will go upriver and walk across?”

It was a question he’d asked every day for a week, and we all knew the answer was yes. A lot of the customers we saw in winter were only too happy to ford the bridge by themselves during summer.

“I hope we see lots of people today.” Binky scrambled up onto the shore. “It’s so much more exciting when we have visitors. Like the one last night.” He waited until I was right next to him and shook out his gold-green hair, spraying water in my face. I pushed him an arm’s length away. “That’s enough, Binky.”

“And visitors bring the best food. Like popped corn,” Bunky agreed. His large troll-baby eyes fluttered earnestly.

“You stay out of the way if we get any travellers today,” Grandad muttered. “You’ve got enough wild ideas in your heads without getting any more.”

So, Ma and Da had told him the human’s dragon story. “No more stories instead of tolls,” he snapped. “We have a living to earn if you want food in your belly and clothes on your backs.”

“Hah. I don’t need clothes,” Binky said. “That’s a human thing.” He turned to give Bunky a high five. The two of them were incorrigible.

“You’ll want them in the winter.” Da brushed breakfast crumbs off his trousers with his strong, capable hands and loped over to sit at his fishing spot on the wall on the near side of the bridge.

Both boys shrugged off his words and ran to Ma, who was handing out food from the dry storage pantry built into the abutment.

“Don’t drip in the pantry,” Ma yelled, handing them an eel and watercress sandwich each and shooing them away. “And listen to your grandfather for once. You’re too young to understand how dangerous humans are.”

“Aw.” Binky’s big eyes filled with tears. “But I love to hear their stories. I love knowing what’s happening out in the world.”

“Me too,” Bunky said, standing up for his twin brother. “The human who told us the dragon story last night promised us a story about evil humans who steal away unicorns and dragons and troll younglings in the night. Why don’t you want to hear a story about unicorns, dragons, and brave Questers on their chicken-legged chairs—”

“Because we need to eat,” Da muttered, waving his sandwich. “Do you think this bread grows on trees?”

I took the sandwich Ma offered. The bread was stale and the fish…well, I was sick of fish. It would be so nice to bite into a nice fresh tomato, watercress, and avocado sandwich—one with plenty of salt and pepper, and maybe a nice fragrant pesto. I tried to imagine that’s what I was eating and failed. The smell was too fishy, and the bread was somehow both stale and soggy all at the same time.

“What a face,” Binky said.

“If you don’t want your breakfast, I’ll have it.” Bunky lunged for my sandwich.

I swatted him away half-heartedly. “Sometimes I think it would be nice to have a change.” I sighed and picked watercress from my teeth.

“We could steal the apples from the apple farm down the road,” Bunky said. “It’s only run by humans. It’d be easy.”

“What have I told you?” Ma piped up.

I joined in the familiar chorus. “We’re toll trolls, we do not steal.” Although, to be honest, in my heart of hearts, I wished I was younger and could join Binky and Bunky in their scrumping exploits. Still, the farmer was a good neighbour. He always paid his toll respectfully, and might see things differently if too many of his apples disappeared.

“Now, Mandy, stop your arguing and go and supervise Binky and Bunky weeding the watercress patch. We’ve got a bridge to mind.” Ma picked up the net she was knotting and stomped down to plonk herself next to Da. “And don’t let the boys eat all the weed.”

“Hurry up, then.” I mock-scowled at the boys and wiped my hands on my dress. But the itching in my fingers got worse, like it had the day the river flooded. And on the night the raiders came and Gran died. It made me nervous. “Come on, boys. Stay close. I don’t want to work the patch by myself.”

Not that they were much use—it was more like babysitting—I’d end up doing most of the work while they ate half the patch. Their appetites were enormous. You know what young trolls are like—or maybe you don’t. But everyone has heard the stories of poor, half-starved young trolls getting so hungry they tried to eat a billy goat or two. The human stories always end with the trolls being knocked into the water. The image always made me laugh because, far from being distressed, they’d be thrilled about it—there was nothing the boys liked more than splashing around.

“You’re laughing,” Binky said. “At us.”

“Not really,” I lied, rubbing my itchy hands together. “Come on. Let’s get to work.”

“You are laughing at us, too,” Bunky insisted, shielding his eyes as golden light flared down the river.

I turned, expecting to see the sunrise. Except the sun was already up. This was flame lighting up the river. Giant bird-like shadows loomed behind the flames.

Dragons?

My two stomachs lurched.

“Boys, hide!” I yelled as a thunder of bronze, red, and gold dragons burst through the flames and winged their way up the river toward us.

Seeing the boys duck behind some large stones, I ran to the bridge, shouting, “Dragons!” to warn Ma, Da, and Grandad.

They paid little mind, except to stare and point.

“Run for cover!” I yelled.

“Nah. I’ve never had a problem with dragons in me life.” Grandad reached down to brush the pond scum from his knees. He only did that when he wanted to look good. “Been so long since I saw me a dragon,” he added with a wistful look in his eyes.

The boys popped up from behind their stone. “Look how pretty they are,” Binky squealed.

“Yeah, let’s go get a better look!” Bunky raced to join Ma and Da on the bridge.

“No. Stay right there!” I ordered, putting the knuckles of my right hand under my chin in the troll sign for danger. Ma was shouting something. I couldn’t hear over the top of my own yelling. Still, the boys were right. The dragons were gorgeous. Their scales sparkling in the morning light as they swooped closer, arrowing toward our little troll bridge with a purpose that made my fingers itch even more.

“Grandad, boys, please. Let’s hide,” I begged, but nobody was listening. Ma and Da were staring at the dragons and sidling toward the centre of the bridge to get a better view.

Ma put her hands over her heart. “What a sight. I never thought I’d see the day.”

“But Ma—!”

“You shouldn’t get all upset about stories told by strangers.”

“It didn’t sound like a story to me,” I replied, wondering what I could say to change their minds. Should I tell them about my itchy hands? Would that prove anything?

“It was just a story, Mandy. Come and enjoy the sight with the rest of us,” Ma said.

“Remember what I told you when you were little,” Grandad said. “No point breaking before the storm. It’s never as bad as you think.”

I frowned. “But my hands are itchy. It’s a bad sign.”

Da didn’t even look at me. “Come on, you’ve seen dragons before. It’s anxiety, darling, nothing more.”

The dragons flew closer and closer.

Grandad chortled and pointed into the sky at an enormous gold dragon, bigger than a dozen trolls. “See that gold dragon in among the red ones, boys? That’s good luck, that is. A sign of riches to come.”

My brothers danced around him in excitement. They’d never seen a thunder of dragons so close.

And then the dragons were off, darting away from the river, toward the neighbouring apple farm.

Binky blinked owlishly up at the sky. “I hope they come back again.”

Maybe my family was right. The dragons had been gloriously pretty—enough to uplift the heart of the most bitter troll. And they’d headed away without showing the slightest interest in us or our bridge.

Smoke poured into the sky.

I joined the rest of my family at the topmost arch of the bridge to see better. The half-dozen dragons who’d been winging toward us earlier were circling the apple farmers’ house, spouting fire. Acrid smoke drifted our way, stinging my eyes and catching in my throat.

We watched in silent horror as flames spread from the building to the huge stand of apple trees. I shielded my eyes and blinked back tears.

Bronze, red, and gold dragons wheeled above the devastation, before heading straight for us. The beasts were both terrible and magnificent, their brilliantly glossy scales highlighted in the fiery backdrop. They parted their scaly lips to reveal teeth as long as knives and roared. The noise rattled my bones, and an unnatural terror gripped me. My heart pounded. Sweat dripped from every pore. My momentary elation at seeing dragons dissipated faster than the sweat I was shedding.

Dragon Fear.

“Run!” The force of the dragon’s Fear hit me like a hammer, breaking me from my trance.

Fire spouted from the jaws of the red dragons as they swept closer.

“Jump!” Da shouted as if from a million miles away.

“And stay under the water,” Ma yelled, helping Binky clamber up the side of the bridge.

I scrambled to give Bunky a boost over the wall. In his hurry, he unwittingly kicked me in the face before diving into the pool below.

Face stinging, I stumbled back. For such a skinny troll, he sure packed quite a punch.

While Ma and Da dove into the water under the bridge after my two brothers, I turned to Grandad and tugged at his leather vest. “We’ve got to go!” I shouted, but he remained standing like a statue—one arm raised to the sky as if in salute.

The heat of dragonfire seared my skin.

“Get away from our bridge!” Binky yelled from below, his high-pitched voice distant over the roaring of the dragons.

A rock whizzed past my ear and bounced off a gold dragon’s wing.

“Binky, Bunky no!” I hollered over the gold dragon’s roar. “Hide.”

The gold dragon kept on coming.

Fear spiking through me, I pulled Grandad’s arm and scrambled backward until we were pressed up against the low parapet wall on the other side.

“You should have run!” A deep voice echoed through my mind.

With a powerful beat of its wings that flung debris at my injured face, the gold dragon slowed and dug its claws into the protective wall. The bridge shuddered under my feet, but the wall held.

The dragon screamed, beating its wings frantically, until, with a loud crack, the masonry fractured and the dragon shot up into the sky, rocks falling from its claws and tumbling into the water.

More dragons flew at the bridge, some with rocks in their claws, others with fire blasting.

“I didn’t even bring my club,” Grandad whispered, glancing over to where he’d left it on the far side of the bridge.

Not that a club would do any good against dragons. I looked down, aimed for the deepest pool, and dragged him over the parapet wall. As we fell, the splash of falling stone resounded over the thrum of dragon wings, the roar of angry dragons, and the wind in our ears.

We hit the middle of the pool I was aiming for, striking the water hard, and sinking to the bottom fast. The cool water blissfully muted the roar of dragons, refreshed my burned and battered skin, and carried us under the damaged bridge.

Pull yourself together. This is no time to revel in the water.

Gripping Grandad’s shoulder tight, I kicked out and used the current sweeping us along to get away from under the bridge.

A huge stone fell behind us. I kicked faster, fear lending me strength. Maybe, if we hurried, we’d catch up with Ma, Da and the boys.

Before I could stop him, Grandad pulled himself free of my grip and swam back to his beloved bridge.

“Don’t be crazy!” I shouted, torn between following and fleeing.

Then, with an ear-splitting crack, the bridge broke, heavy masonry thundering into the water near where Grandad had been swimming.

“Grandad!”

Where is he?

More dragons wheeled in the sky above, breathing flame up and down the stream near the bridge as if corralling us away from the structure.

“Hide,” Ma shouted from not so far downriver. Binky and Bunky scrambled up the far bank and out of sight. Safe. Hopefully.

A dragon dove into the pool where I’d last seen Grandad, scattering water, and throwing rubble from the bridge into the air. Relieved the boys were safely away from the maelstrom, I turned away from the bridge and kicked downstream to hide.

A shadow overhead blocked out the sun. A dragon. It dove into the water so close to my position the waves from its entry sent me tumbling backward. Sickening panic ripped through me. I opened my mouth to scream, and my lungs filled with water. Bad for a human, but just uncomfortable for me.

Icy fear spurring me on, I dove to the riverbed, tearing my knees and elbows on the rocks. With my lungs aching from the water still in them, I crawled along the deepest part of the river until I reached a huge boulder in the centre of the flow—an old hiding place.

Peering up through the water, I checked the treacherously blue sky for dragons. Nothing.

Nervously, I climbed up behind the boulder. Ignoring the roar of dragons that hit me as my ears surfaced, I slipped into the pool sloshing around its hollowed-out centre.

I hoped the dragons hadn’t seen me. But there was nothing I could do if they had. There was only one way out.

When the whoosh of dragon wings seemed far enough away, I spat out a river of water, clutching my mouth to stop from coughing.

Wingbeats echoed overhead…and passed by.

And then there was nothing more than the river, mocking me with its cheery gurgle and splash.

Safe, my mind turned to the rest of my family. Is Grandad okay? Where did they hide? Did Binky and Bunky stay quiet enough?

Creeping out, I looked up to the blue sky above. It was as beautiful as ever. And yet, down the river was the wreckage of my grandfather’s pride and joy…his bridge.

“Where is everyone?” I whispered to the rocks and the wreckage.

There was no answer.

Titch’s Diary

Dear Diary,

It is with much sadness that I write today. Yesterday, our beloved fae dragons were stolen and I am ashamed to say there was nothing Billy, Dana or I could do to protect them. After they had successfully protected us for over a century, I had hoped we’d be able to help them when the Thievers came.

I call them Thievers—they call themselves Finders, but they’re worse than the Finders we’ve dealt with in the past. And no, Finders are not like Borrowers; they’re far more brazen. Some of them even call themselves Takers. They think everything should be won by strength, which is crazy—they are no bigger or stronger than any of us.

Still, if it was only the Thievers, there’s no way they could have carried away six fae dragons. But they had a bigun’s wagon, a massive blue dragon, and three stone demons helping them. Once caught, the stone demons bundled all six fae dragons into a carriage.

Billy and Dana fought their way on board the bigun’s carriage, and the Thievers pushed them off the top! They were lucky not to have perished. Billy has at least three broken bones, and Dana is suffering from a shattered tibia. Even with the horrendous wound, Dana shooed me away. It was lucky she did. I managed to sneak onto the carriage moments before it took off. We all know how important it is to carry out our role as protectors of the dragons.

My job now is to hide in this carriage and free Beeble and all our beloved dragons so they can make it safely home again.

Titch the Tiny, Defender of Dragons.

Gone

“Binky! Bunky! Pa! Ma! Grandfather!” I called.

I listened for a reply and heard nothing except the singing of birds and the burbling of the river over the wreckage of the family bridge.

Poor Grandad. All his hard work destroyed.

I assessed the fallen masonry. The dragons had demolished the middle of the bridge, but both abutments had stood solid and the dry storage pantry was intact. When everyone returned, there’d be food to eat—for a little while, at least. The task of rebuilding the bridge itself was a daunting one.

What will we do without the bridge and its tolls?

I spotted a hand waving in the water and all thought of the future collapsed. I needed to be worrying about now.

“Grandad?” I called. My stomachs churned with worry as I rushed toward the work-worn hand. It popped up before submerging again.

Closer, I could see Grandad’s hand was being pushed back and forth in an eddy of water flushed with blue troll blood that swirled between fallen rocks before being swept out and down the river.

That’s an awful lot of blood. Anxiously, I took hold of Grandad’s hand, feeling his fingers unresponsive in mine, and pulled.

Gritting my teeth, I heaved again—to no avail. Grandad’s body was trapped below heavy rocks, and try as I might, the rocks held firm.

Don’t panic. I swallowed down a surge of fear. Hurrying could hurt more than it will help. Trolls can breathe underwater for an hour or two, so I wasn’t afraid that he’d drown. Reluctantly, I let go of his hand and checked to see what the problem was.

His chest was trapped under two large chunks of bridge. I gripped the cragged stonework, and heaved. Sweat ran down my nose and into my eyes. I blinked the salt away.

Once on its edge, the masonry tumbled away in slow motion. I picked up a smaller chunk and pushed it sideways, revealing Grandad’s body—or what was left of it.

He was missing an arm—it had been chewed right off. Blue blood swirled thinly in the water around the stump.

I threw his remaining arm over my shoulder and pulled him to the shore, mind whirling. A dragon had eaten his arm! His chest was crushed, and his beautiful green and blue splotched skin was already fading to deathly pallid pink.

He’s dead.

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I held him for a while longer before laying him down gently. There was nothing more I could do for him now. Nothing that couldn’t wait. I had to find the others. A wave of fear rolled through me—what if the rest of my family had suffered a similar fate to my grandfather? I forced it down. I had to believe they were still alive.

First, though, I swam to the other side of the river, and grabbed Grandad’s club. Hefting its comforting weight, I set off down the river, calling, “Binky! Bunky! Pa! Ma!”

I kept on calling into the afternoon as I searched every step of the river. Binky and Bunky’s tracks stopped just beyond the bank where I’d seen them ducking away from the attacking dragons, and there were no other tracks for me to follow

I wondered if I was wrong, and the rest of the family had doubled back and gone up the river. I ran upstream, calling until my throat was raw. And then back again with the heat of the midday sun beating down on my shoulders. There was no sign of Binky, Bunky, or their clothing—just a few scuffled footsteps on the edge of the bank where the boys’ trail stopped. Maybe the boys had been careful to walk on the stones. Or covered their tracks like Ma taught them? Or maybe they’ve got a hiding spot around here and they’re still too scared to come out?

I kept up my search until the evening, hardly realising the passage of time until a swallow flitted back and forth across my path. It darted this way and that to catch the dragonflies and water-midges skimming across the sunset-tinged water.

The day gone, I returned to Grandad’s body and sat down next to him, dejected. “I’m sorry I couldn’t find them.” I whispered.

Of course, he did not reply.

My stomachs protested their hunger with an angry gurgling, but I was too exhausted to move. Instead, I rested my back on the remains of the bridge, and imagined that if I sat still for a moment, Ma, Da and the boys would all turn up. That we could at least bury Grandad together.

Or maybe I’ll wake and discover this is a nightmare.

I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again, the moon’s soft light dappled the dark water. I glanced around with sudden hope, but still my family had not shown up. There was no sign of any of them—no sign of anyone at all. Only Grandad. I held his lifeless hand and swallowed my pain.

I was alone. And it was time. There was nothing for it, but to bury Grandad.

An owl’s cry shot through the night, piercing my heavy soul like an arrow. Owls are custodians of the dead and take their job seriously.

I found an old spade in the storage compartment in the abutment and dug out a plot next to Gran’s stone marker. My hands blistered, but I was determined to do a good job.

When I finished, I patted down my filthy, rumpled clothing. There was no way I could bury Grandad looking like that, so I found my best dress in the dry storage pantry and took a quick dip in the river.

The blasted owl hooted again.

“I’m getting there,” I told it, before laying Grandad’s stiff body in the grave.

It was time for someone to say a few words.

Me.

“Our bridge is our strength,” I said, tears rolling down my cheeks. “Our lives merely run through it, like the river on its way to the sea.” That’s what Grandad had said when Gran died, and it felt right.

Grandad looked so lonely lying there. And the ceremony felt so empty.

A hollow wave of panic filled me. I had to do something.

I ran down to the family water garden carved into the side of the river and waded through the watercress to pick two golden-peach waterlily flowers to lay on his chest.

The moon shone down and washed out the colour from his already pale skin, giving him an ethereal quality—like he was a spirit who would get up any moment and walk away. I stared down, remembering how Gran had called him a handsome devil, and hoped they were together in the afterlife. It seemed fair. He’d always said they were parted too soon.

When I had no tears left to cry, I filled the grave and placed a smooth river stone to mark the site until I could make a proper headstone. “You were the bridge and the shade, the hope and…” I couldn’t remember the next words. “Goodbye Grandad.”

I stood lost to thought so long that I didn’t hear the creaking wheels of a wagon on the other side of the river. “Hey there,” one of the apple farmers shouted over the rushing water.

It was more than a bit late for them to be moving, but after yesterday, it was no surprise. He waved to get my attention. Their wagon wasn’t their usual one and had seen better days. Its axles complained under the weight of their possessions bundled atop. I wondered if their younglings were alright, or if they’d been caught in the fire, when the moonlight fell on the two human children sleeping on the top of the pile of belongings. I breathed a sigh of relief, even as my heart stabbed at the thought of Binky and Bunky lost and alone and goodness knew where. Hopefully with Ma and Da.

“Hey there,” the man called again. “I’m so sorry about the bridge. Is everyone alright?”

I ignored the question. The humans were nice, but trolls know better than to trust humans completely. Instead, I called back. “I’m sorry about your farm, too. I hope your younglings are alright.” I waved them downstream. Surely there’d be a bridge still standing down that way. My Auntie Beth’s bridge wasn’t so far away, and further down the river were more cousins and uncles and aunts. One of them had to be intact. No matter what the old human had said, I didn’t want to think about the alternative. Had the storyteller warned the apple farmers, too? Is that why they didn’t get caught in the fire and are all still alive?

The apple farmers trundled away, leaving me to wonder about my family. Could they have made it to Auntie Beth’s? If I travelled down the river to visit, would I find them safe and sound. Or has my family been taken by dragons to work the iron mines?

It had seemed such an outrageous story a day ago. But now I knew it was true.

I tried to sleep in my usual spot, but cold seeped into my bones. Shock. Yes, even trolls get shock. Shivering uncontrollably, I climbed onto the bank and lay down next to Gran and Grandad’s graves.

I missed them so badly. And I could hardly believe it, but I also missed my annoying brothers.

I woke with the sun overhead, and the nightmares of the night realised as truth.

My family is gone.

My eyes watered in the harsh light, and my skin, already sunburned from being out all day yesterday, peeled and itched. So, I hunkered in the shade of an old willow, my toes dangling in the water, to weave a large new sunhat out of reeds for my journey.

A journey I hoped I wouldn’t be taking.

If I squinted my eyes, I could ignore the broken bridge and enjoy the golden sun reflected off the shimmering river. Binky and Bunky loved sunny days like this. They’d insist on jumping into the river for a swim to keep cool, and then they’d hop out and demand food.

Thinking of food, my stomachs activated, and complained about their mistreatment with loud, annoyed gurgling.

Unable to put off eating any longer, I crept to the bridge to inspect our food stores: the potatoes, the apples, and the water weed we’d dried for winter; a couple of waterskins and the bag of walnuts. All dry and safe.

I felt guilty tucking into Grandad’s walnuts, but left the apples Ma had hidden at the back for treats. Apples were Binky and Bunky’s favourites. And they’d be hungry when they made it home. Any minute now.

Munching on the dried waterweed and walnuts, I wandered around, carefully checking the ground for tracks or any sign I might have missed yesterday. There was nothing out of place. Only Grandad’s fresh grave next to Gran’s. And the collapsed bridge.

Grandad would have hated the mess blocking his beloved river, so I lugged the keystone from the deep water and onto the bank. After that mammoth effort, I cleared some of the lighter debris, digging it out of the river and throwing it up onto the shore until my hands bled blue and I couldn’t lift another pebble. Having so many stones up the bank should help Ma and Da rebuild the bridge when they returned.

Night fell again, and still nobody. My hands too sore to hold onto anything, I curled up on the bank again and cried myself to sleep. Grandpa would not have approved. Neither did the river. It burbled along happily, bringing back memories of better times.

I stayed one more day, but by then, I knew it was time to go. My family should have been home by now. They weren’t, so I needed to find them. I put on my new sunhat, tucked a water bottle and as many perishables as I could fit into my travelling sack, hefted Grandad’s old club, and said goodbye to the place where I’d lived all my life. The wreckage of the bridge stood like two broken tusks in a toothless mouth. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” I told the grass and stones that marked Gran and Grandad’s graves. Then I hoisted the sack over my other shoulder and set off for the hills.

I’d find my family if I could. And if not, I’d make those dragons pay, even if it was the last thing I ever did.

No Help and A Dragon

I stomped along the edge of the river all day, fuming with rage at dragons. All dragons. They’d killed my grandad, destroyed the family home and now the rest of my family was lost or dead.

They have to be alive. Otherwise, I would have found them.

I tried to hold on to my hope that when I reached Auntie Beth and her family’s bridge, I’d find them healthy and well. As the day wore on, I became less confident, remembering the human’s story of dragon attacks and trolls being taken to work for the demon skinwalker, Wyrden.

Every step I oscillated from being sure Auntie Beth and Uncle Jada would know exactly how to find Ma and Da and get them back—even if they didn’t like Da all that much—to being equally sure finding my family wouldn’t be that easy.

The dirt and dry heat from the road necessitated lots of trips down to the river to fill my water bottle. I was about to take a final dip when a small wagon drawn by four white horses hurtled toward me, throwing dust into my face. “Careful!” I yelled, jumped aside, and waved my club at the carriage rattling past.

A whir of wings overhead attracted my attention. A blue dragon. It flew lazily above the carriage.

“Rottenstone!” I yelped, almost jumping out of my skin.

My blood heated along with a terrible rage I’d never felt before, like fire running through my veins. I wanted to reach up into the sky and wring that dragon’s neck or bash it to pulp with my grandad’s club, only it was way too high to reach. After a while I calmed down. “Revenge is a dish served best with watercress,” as Grandad used to say.

Walking helped me calm down enough to think. Grandad had liked dragons and wanted them to visit. Maybe they weren’t all bad.

Still, Ma and Da should have listened to the human’s story. They should have listened to me. If we’d hidden, Grandad would still be alive, and Ma and Da and the boys would be home with me right now.

I caught sight of Auntie Beth’s bridge. It had a human walking across it—and the obscured figure of a troll working underneath. I breathed a sigh of relief, but just as hope blossomed, a long line of dust from the road alongside the river caught my eye. The figures were too far in the distance to see much, but there were at least a hundred people about an hour from the bridge. Maybe not enough for an army, but more than enough to be trouble.

I ran to warn Auntie Beth, Uncle Jada and my cousin Hugh, although they’d almost certainly be on the alert. It’s not that unusual for humans to think they can take over our bridges. Fortunately, we’re trolls and we’re tough. We know when to fight, and we know when to play the long game.

I was only a few strides away, when I realised it wasn’t the people arriving that I needed to worry about.

Soot marred the brown stones of the bridge.

Auntie Beth’s bridge had already been attacked.

Are any of her family still here? I wasn’t about to walk away without finding out. The only person on the bridge was a gangly blond human I’d seen earlier, who appeared about as threatening as last week’s lettuce.

I bent down to get a better look at who was under the bridge. It quickly became clear that the troll was too stocky to be Uncle Jada. Maybe he’s put on weight?

I was so focused on watching the troll and the human that I didn’t notice the man-shaped hunk of sandstone on the riverbank—until it jumped up behind me.

A sandstone demon.

It gave me a shock, I tell you. I mean, I knew demons were made of stone, but the idea of them camouflaging themselves among the river stones had never crossed my mind. Still, as it was too late to run, I did my best to look like I was meant to be there and stepped forward, discreetly gripping Grandad’s club. Time for a little revenge.

“Looks good,” the demon said, staring out over the bridge. “Think we can use this one?”

“Yes, boss,” the gangly blond human male replied.

The demon turned to face me. “And who are you?”

“Chief Bridge Inspector,” I lied, wondering if I should touch my chin in a polite greeting. Nobody else had, so I left it.

“Nah, they’ve doubled up. That’s Jeff’s job,” the blond muttered. “Jeff! Jeff! Where are you?”

The rugged old troll that’d been under the bridge stomped toward us. He was solid as a tree-stump club, with three missing teeth and a troll curse-mark on his arm. The curse tattoo was faded and old, as if he’d been excommunicated some time ago. It was hard work not to curl my hands around my club and threaten him with it, but that would have given the game away.

He looked me up and down.

“I’d get gone if I were you. Don’t need some young pluck second-guessing my job. You go back…um…to The Boss and tell him to give you a different, ah, job.”

“Yes, sir.” I think I got that right. I mean, it felt weird to say, but that’s how humans and demons and goblins work, all the sirs and what not. It was hard to get past my overriding thought: my family isn’t here. I turned away fast so no one could see the tears splashing down my cheeks. Yeah, trolls can cry. Doesn’t mean we’re not tough. I had to know what had happened to my aunt and her family, so I furiously wiped them away and turned back. “Wasn’t there a fam—”

The excommunicated troll, Jeff, looked askance at his companions. They were staring at me so hard that I thought their eyeballs might fall out.

Deliberately the old troll put the knuckles of his right hand under his chin. Danger. I tried not to look shocked. Whoever heard of an excommunicated troll actually caring about other people.

“The other bridge is too badly damaged, Deputy Inspector,” Jeff snapped. “You might as well go back now. This is the one we’re using.” While he was speaking, Jeff turned to the hill with the Dragon Castle carved into it. Then, again, he put his right hand under his chin. This time he ended the motion with a slicing flick of his stubby fingers. Deadly danger. What was he trying to tell me specifically? That my family were in the mountains? That they were in deadly danger, or I was.

Can I really trust him? Except Jeff didn’t seem to be asking for my trust. He seemed to be helping me not get murdered.

Trying not to be too obvious, I glanced toward the gently-steaming volcanic mountain. Several dragons were wheeling right in front of it, like oddly-shaped birds, in the distance.

My hatred of dragons leapt with my anger. I wanted them all dead. I wanted them all to suffer. They’d destroyed everything. I bit back the urge to rage and scream at all these people at the bridge, for their part in it, too. If I wanted to save my family, I needed to be careful and not get in my own way.

Find my family first. Then get our bridges back.

“This is not good enough,” I growled. “I’m going to let…er…The Boss know what’s happened here.” I turned away and set off past a train of people and demons tramping down the road carrying wood, lumber, rocks, and wheelbarrows full of gravel and fine sand. At first, I figured they were planning to mend the bridge and make it bigger—but with all the supplies they were bringing, maybe they were planning to build a small village.

Keeping to the far edge of the road to avoid the labourers streaming past, I spied the blue dragon again. Lucky I had, or I’d have missed the turnoff up to a rugged single-cart track that led to the Wyrden’s Dragon Castle: a vast castle that had been legendarily carved out of the mountain itself.

Not far up the track, the horse-drawn wagon that had passed me earlier was blocking the way. Three demons got out and walked side by side toward me, bent over low as if searching for something tiny and precious lost on the road. Above, the blue dragon whirled and dove, searching the ground.

I couldn’t imagine what they were all looking for. And then something glimmered next to my foot—a grey flicker with gossamer rainbow wings. A dragon. A murderous, troll-slaying dragon. I lifted my foot up to crush the tiny creature.

The tiny dragon rippled and blended into the colour of the rocks as the blue dragon above whooshed its wings and plunged toward me.

It was barely further than a weapon’s strike away.

I clutched Grandad’s club. How dare it dive so close, and yet too far away to hit? Still, if the blue dragon was determinedly looking for the wee dragon at my feet, then I was equally determined that they wouldn’t find it.

I stomped my foot down…

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Happy Reading!

A.J.