Wandering Journey Arts

A free short story prequel to my novel Old Blood

There was a troll skulking around in the Scottish Lowlands. It was barreling down a much used road, headed toward a town of some size. The troll must’ve swum from the coast of Norway;  across in the mortal waters of the North Sea. 

‘Why would a troll swim to Scotland?’

Liam didn’t understand what drove it to such drastic measures. Maybe it thought that it wouldn’t get caught if it was in the mortal world, being so far from the Light Elves of Norway. Maybe it just found dry land and had no idea where it was. The ‘why’ didn’t really matter, he supposed. What mattered was that it was dragged back into the Otherworld as quickly as possible before it did too much damage. 

A troll could wreak havoc in Mortal Scotland. Modern times were not like the olden days. Now the streets were peppered with the rich in their modern motor cars chugging down the road; the same road that the troll was now traveling down. The likelihood that it would reach the town before encountering humans was slim. Liam could see it now, the newspaper headlines: 

First Major Motor Car Accident In Scotland. No Survivors.

The humans would mourn, and then question. It was one thing for skittish horses to drag an unwilling carriage off the road, but the motor cars were supposedly superior. There would be questions; Telegrams back and forth to England and Ireland. The scandal would hit Tír na nÓg within a day, and then his queen would be after him before he could find the words to explain.

Would a mere accident even be a plausible explanation? Troll attacks looked like invading pillagers ransacked a town. These things weren’t common anymore, not in these civilized times. If it somehow managed to reach the town before calamity struck, the scandal and chaos would spread across the world in a matter of weeks. 

Liam needed to stop worrying and get to work. Keeping the fey world and the mortal world separate was his job, and he loved it.  The biggest benefit that his occupation had was that he was required to live in the mortal world. Instead of squabbling over land rights and limited space in Tír na nÓg, he owned several properties around the British Isles. One was here; he owned a small farm, where he employed a kelpie from the Unseelie fairy court as a caretaker. Technically the kelpie was allowed to stay in the mortal world because he was a necessary servant for Liam. 

This arrangement was a delicate one that he’d worked very hard to procure with Fergus, the Unseelie King. Part of the arrangement was that Liam be responsible for helping maintain the fey-human segregation in their country, when he was in residence.

He had returned home, looking to grieve the loss of the love of his life, and instead the kelpie had informed him of rumors from water spirits; a troll had sullied their waters and was now on land. He’d raced to the shore and followed its trail from there. Maybe a good fight would help lessen the hopeless self-hatred that haunted his every step.

The troll was on the road ahead, but it would likely hide if it heard anything. He ran, fast enough to try to catch it, but not so fast that it would hear him or that he would miss the signs of it leaving the road.

Fifteen minutes later he heard a carriage approaching. It was a simple buggy, one horse, maybe four passengers and a driver. He flitted off the road and hid in a field, laying flat in the grass. There was a grove of trees ahead, thickly shrouding the road on either side. If the troll had gone off the road to hide, it was likely in there. He crept to the edge of the trees, crawling on his elbows, the damp grass and mud sullying his clothes. 

He could be irritated about stains later, but dammit these were his favorite trousers. This troll was already more trouble than he wanted to deal with. The carriage came into view and he lay still. He watched it amble by, the horse acting slightly skittish. He was sure it smelled the troll too. The driver urged the horse forward, and the horse was eager to get away. None of them saw Liam. 

Once they were out of sight he sprang upward and tried not to look down at his trousers. He decided to skip going back to the road, and instead sped toward the trees, hoping to catch the troll by surprise before it ventured too far forward.

The smell of it hit him first. The stink of body odor and salt water, plus that distinctive smell that spoke of things buried underground; musty and moldy. He snuck forward as fast as he could, and there it was ahead of him, in an opening inside the trees. 

It was a small male. From the back it did not look like a young troll, more like an undersized one. Which would explain why it left its home; small trolls were bullied and used for training the larger ones to fight, and this one was downright tiny for its kind. Its back was covered in scars, and its brown hair was shorn roughly, chunks sticking out every which way from its massive head. It might’ve been small, but it was still over five foot nine inches tall, meaning it was half a foot taller than Liam himself. It was broad and muscular, and probably somewhere around two hundred to two hundred and fifty pounds. 

Liam sighed in relief. He had not been looking forward to trying to tame a seven foot boulder of a troll, not this close to the town on the road ahead of them. His luck was short lived though, because the thing suddenly turned, a wide club swinging from one of its long burly arms. It must’ve smelled his cologne, because it faced him and peered through the trees, spotting him almost instantly. 

“Not going back,” it said, its voice low pitched and angry.

Liam stepped forward until they were both in the opening in the trees. “I’m afraid that you must. The modern world has no more room for trolls.”

“Mountains have no more room for this troll. Not going back.”

“My Queen insists, as does the King of the Unseelie Court, and the Queen of the Seelie Court. You cannot seek asylum in this way, you must go through proper channels.” Liam stepped forward a bit more, careful to stay out of range of the club until he was ready to dive.

“They not here now, little leprechaun. Not going back. Leave me alone.”

“I am their representative, so, as much as I understand, I have to take you back.”

“No.” 

The troll swung its club backward, coming in for a bone crushing blow. But it was slow, and Liam was not known to be the best fighter in the Tuathian kingdom for nothing. Liam rushed forward before the troll’s arm was back all the way, and skittered up its front, wrapping his arms around its thick neck as he swung over its shoulder and clung to its back. 

He pulled tight around its throat, not wanting to bring out his weapons yet. The goal wasn’t to kill the troll, but to subdue it and bring it home. It was used to fighting other trolls that were its same size, or larger, and for a moment it stood still in shock. Liam tried to apply more pressure to its thick neck, but quickly realized he’d made a mistake. 

The troll didn’t try to shake him off, or do any of the other things he was prepared for. Instead, it threw itself backward on top of him. The weight of it slammed onto him, knocking the wind out of him. He saw black for a moment and gaped like a fish trying to breathe. 

That’s when he saw it out of the corner of his eye; a wolf. It was big and blocky. Too big, he realized as the troll lifted its weight and then hammered down onto him again. Its blue eyes watched him struggling, and the silver sheen around them scared him more than the troll ever could. Liam’s heart pounded and he broke into a sweat. It was a werewolf. 

‘What the bloody hell is a werewolf doing in Scotland?’

Werewolves were rumored to be vicious killers and cannibals. They kept to their own kind and usually hunted throughout the steppes of northern Russia. This one was far from home, which meant that it was no longer a part of its pack; likely because it killed its own kind. It would be extra dangerous. Liam needed to get out from under this damn troll and pull out his weapons before the werewolf killed them both. 

The troll either didn’t see the wolf, or it didn’t care. It slammed him into the ground again. He let go of its neck, trying to get out from under it, but he was pinned and the troll had no intention of letting him get back up again. 

His heart skipped a beat when the wolf suddenly leapt at them. Hot blood hit his face and chest before he could even cry out a warning. He knew he was dead. It was one thing to go after an angry undersized troll, quite another to face off with a werewolf. Even if he’d been on his feet with his shillelagh in his hand, he still would’ve been afraid. He heard the troll taking one last wheezing wet breath and then felt it go still. 

He waited for the wolf to attack him… and waited. Nothing happened. 

He looked around for the wolf, and spotted it about ten feet away, its muzzle covered in blood. It watched him carefully, and then opened its mouth, tongue lolling out, and panted happily. 

Warily, Liam began pushing the corpse of the troll off of him, his eyes on the wolf the whole time. What in the world was the wolf up to? If it wanted him dead, he was easy prey while trapped under the troll, but it watched him crawl out from under the troll without moving, tongue out, looking for all the world like it was gloating. 

He wriggled out, his clothes beyond ruined. He wasn’t even sure how he was going to get clean enough to return to his home without alarming his closest neighbors. Secrecy was a requirement of his job, and he needed to maintain his anonymity as much as possible. He crouched next to the body, but the wolf didn’t move. He looked at the bloody corpse and then back at the wolf. It gave him another wolfy grin; it was proud of itself. Then it dawned on him; it thought that it had saved his life. 

He began to laugh. A werewolf, one of the most feared and hated creatures known to the fey, had just saved him from an undersized Troll. The wolf licked its chops and panted some more.

“You’re not supposed to kill them,” Liam said, breathless from laughing. “Come on werewolf, I can’t yell at you when you look like that. Put on your human skin and I’ll buy you a pint.”

The wolf blinked and whined, backing away. 

“It’s alright, I have no desire to hurt you, and if you’d have wanted to kill me you would’ve already.” Liam held up his hands, and the wolf watched him carefully. “The Seelie and Unseelie courts won’t be too pleased that you killed a troll in Scotland, even here in the mortal realm. The Elves are going to have a field day; they’ve been working so hard to create peace with the troll tribes. This is going to be a political nightmare. I have to bury this thing, and then somehow get clean enough to go back to my home without drawing unwanted attention. ”

The wolf looked at the body and whimpered a bit.

Liam looked at the body and then back at the wolf. “Do you… are you hungry? Do you want to eat it?”

The wolf snorted and shook its head.

Liam chuckled. “Ok, well then I’ve got to get rid of it before the humans find it.”

The wolf looked at him and then back at the troll and then back at him. It slowly paced toward him, and Liam held his breath. It might’ve just saved his life, but his instincts were screaming at him to defend himself. He didn’t reach for the knives hidden in his shirt and boots, and kept his shaking hands down at his sides.

The werewolf walked over to the side of the troll, looked at Liam again, and then started digging.