Troll Bridge Page 11

  Her voice starting to roughen, Moira segued into the English version of Humperdink’s “Hansel and Gretel” that she’d recently played in a children’s concert with the orchestra.

  Insane with fury, Aenmarr bellowed and stumbled back into his house. He emerged again brandishing a very large knife, the size of a spear. Moira squeaked as he heaved it at the ring of fire. Luckily it stuck in one of the logs and did not dislodge it.

  “Sing louder!” Jakob hissed, then called out again, “Aenmarr of Trollholm, do not anger me, do not call down Doom again.”

  “Doom, Doom, Doom,” sang Moira, remembering half the words of the verses and making up the rest.

  “Papa…” cried Buri as his mother pulled him into the safety of her house.

  Aenmarr threw several more knives, a pot, and three bowls at the ring of fire. One of the bowls managed to sail over the logs and into the center. Still singing, Moira picked it up and wore it as an oversized hat and sang the first verse and chorus of “In My Easter Bonnet.”

  “Where do you get these songs?” Jakob asked her, awe and amusement warring on his face. Aenmarr was still fuming and strode back into the house for a few more pots giving Jakob more time to add on to the burning wood.

  She sang back, “Just trying to keep the music going.” Which was no answer. But then she hadn’t a clue. She just sang whatever popped into her head, grateful for each and every song.

  At last, as Aenmarr’s three wives gathered behind him, their voices squabbling, urging him to do something, Jakob called out, “I will not ask again, Aenmarr of Trollholm. I will gather the Dairy Princesses once the sun rises again. They will greet their sister here, the Dairy Queen.”

  Moira snorted.

  “Sing!” he hissed at her.

  She winked, then sang:

  Doom, Doom, Doom

  I’m back.

  My fiery room

  Goes crackle and crack.

  The Dairy Queen,

  Who wears the crown,

  Can be real mean

  And wear you down,

  So make a deal

  Another pact

  Or you will feel

  Your sons hijacked.

  Doom, Doom, Doom,

  Doom, Doom, Doom.

  “Impressive,” Jakob conceded. “You can write songs for the Griffsons any time you wish.”

  “Oh. Are you and your brothers in a band?”

  Speechless, Jakob stared at her as if she were crazy.

  Moira shrugged and launched with gusto into the “Hallelujah Chorus.” Her voice was getting hoarse but at least she could still hit the notes. And of course she was right on pitch.

  Aenmarr grimaced and held out his hands, either in thrall or in pain, it was hard to tell.

  “Tell me what Compact you be wishing, human Doom,” cried Aenmarr in submission.

  “You turn over the princesses to me and I will teach you to play the guitar,” Jakob said.

  Aenmarr’s hands raked his green-black hair. He roared, “What be a … guitar?”

  “The fiddle that hangs on the wall of Oddi’s house,” Jakob said. “Bring it here and I shall show you what I know and what I can teach.”

  Aenmarr clumped back to the near house. “Buri, be going to Botvi’s house and bringing me the fiddle that hangs on the wall. Mind, if you be breaking it, I be breaking your head and boiling its contents into soup.” There was another thwacking sound, a cry from the boy, and the sound of pounding feet fading away.

  “Keep singing,” Jakob urged Moira.

  She needed no urging, starting immediately on “You Are My Sunshine,” going from there to three old British songs: “Western Wind,” “Hares on the Mountain,” and “The Great Selchie of Sule Skerry.” She thought she’d have to start on nursery rhymes next, then go back to the beginning if she could only remember what the beginning had consisted of. But she worried repeats might annoy Aenmarr instead of enchanting him. For once she didn’t need to tell herself to shut up.

  By the time she had come to the last verse of the selchie song—luckily Scottish ballads have more verses than sense—the troll boy, Buri, was back with the guitar and handed it to his father.

  That was when Moira’s heart sank. Aenmarr couldn’t come close enough to the wall of flames to lift the guitar over. And Jakob didn’t dare go out of the circle to get it.

  Stalemate, she thought. And just when things seemed to be going so well.

  She started to cry, which made singing difficult. And to make matters worse, the bottom part of the circle behind them burned through and everything above it crashed to the ground.

  19

  Jakob

  Jakob ducked as sparks from the collapsing circle showered him. Grabbing Moira, he dragged her toward the center of the ring. She was still singing. Something about a Susie Clellan being burned in Dundee.

  Very topical. He hoped Susie made it. Even more, he hoped they did.

  “Aenmarr,” he called out to the towering troll, “throw the guitar … er … fiddle.”

  Aenmarr raised a dark green eyebrow dubiously.

  “Don’t be an idiot,” Moira whispered. “He couldn’t reach us with his other projectiles. How’s he going to get the guitar in here without breaking it to pieces?”

  Jakob looked behind him, thinking the collapse had lowered the wall, but it also made the flames gout higher when fresh oxygen had hit them.

  “I can catch it.”

  “And if you don’t? Then where will we be?”

  Jakob set his lips in a tight line. “I can catch it.”

  Moira relented. “All right. I hope you do.” Then she returned to the Susie song.

  “Okay, Aenmarr, when I count to three.…” Jakob squinted through the smoke and flames.

  Who are you trying to fool? he thought. There isn’t a fly ball in the world that hasn’t hit you on the head.

  “One…”

  You’re going to drop the guitar. Break our only bargaining chip.

  “Two…”

  Stop showing off for the girl and think!

  “Wait!” Jakob shouted. “Don’t throw it. I…” He looked over at Moira and shrugged. “I might drop it.”

  Moira gave him a wan smile and sang the last line of the Susie song: “And bonnie Susie Clellan was burned in Dundee.”

  Crud, Jakob thought abruptly. Then he yelled to Aenmarr, “We’ll just … we’ll just have to trust one another. We make a Compact tonight and we will start the lessons tomorrow night when you release the princesses.”

  Aenmarr’s big belly shook with laughter. “Trust? How can I be trusting you? You be allied with the Fossegrim.”

  “The fox?” Jakob kicked away some smoldering branches. “What’s he to us?”

  “That I do not be knowing, Little Doom. But you be a fool to be trusting him.” The big green eyebrows went up and down as he spoke.

  Frowning, Jakob asked, “Why’s that?”

  Suddenly, an arrow sprouted from Aenmarr’s right shoulder. The troll peered almost matter-of-factly at the feathered shaft as if it were no more nuisance than an insect bite, and snapped it off in his hand.

  “Hah!” Aenmarr rumbled. “This be your idea of trust?” Another arrow struck his chest, and he ripped it out with a growl. “I soon be eating your liver, human, eating it while you be still alive!”

  Just then Jakob heard Foss in his mind, shouting angrily, “The eyes, you fool! Aim for the eyes!”

  To his right, through the flickering fire, Jakob saw Erik stepping from the forest into the clearing. He carried a bow nearly as tall as himself.

  “I’m trying,” Erik cried out, notching another arrow. “I wasn’t a Boy Scout for long.” He let fly, and Jakob whipped around to see Aenmarr swat the arrow angrily from the air. “We didn’t do much archery.”

  Not any, Jakob thought, furious with his brother for being so stupid. And you were actually a Cub Scout, and for only a single season before quitting. Dad never forgave you for that. He had to rema
in scoutmaster the whole year.

  Aenmarr tossed Jakob’s guitar to his son and charged. Erik fumbled to notch another arrow into the bow, but the arrow seemed to leap from his trembling hand. And after three big steps, Aenmarr was almost upon him.

  Erik dropped his bow and ran.

  “Oh, Erik,” Jakob cried, looking around frantically for some way to help, but he and Moira were surrounded by flames. He watched helplessly as Erik disappeared into the woods just ahead of Aenmarr. The rampaging troll began ripping trees up by their trunks as he chased in after the boy. Soon, they were both swallowed by the trees and the darkness, but Jakob could still hear Aenmarr’s thunderous footfalls. If those footsteps stop, he thought, I’ll know Erik’s dead.

  Moira grabbed Jakob by the shoulders. “We have to get out of here. When Aenmarr comes back, I don’t think music is going to soothe the savage beast anymore. He’s going to pick up one of those tree trunks and sweep our fire away.”

  She was right, Jakob realized. Again. He tore his eyes away from the dark tree line. “But how do we get out?”

  Moira pointed at the section of the bonfire that had collapsed behind them. “Through there.”

  The flames were still high, but the wall was significantly lower. Just not low enough. “There’s no way we can jump over that.”

  “Not right now,” Moira said. “But maybe if…” Taking off her pot helmet, she heaved it as hard as she could right at the weakened section. It hit with a solid thunk and fell into the flames. A single smoldering branch toppled to the ground but the wall of flame didn’t budge.

  Moira’s shoulders slumped.

  They stared into the flames, dejected.

  “I have an idea,” Jakob said suddenly, stooping to pick up a branch that lay near them. He inched forward on his stomach, holding the branch out in front of him. It was hot, but he forced himself to keep going until he thought his eyebrows would burst into flames. Then he poked and prodded the branch at the bonfire. Hot sparks showered him again and stung the backs of his hands.

  “Keep going!” Moira called. “I think it’s working.”

  Encouraged, Jakob poked harder. More sparks kicked up; smoke roiled. His lungs burned from it, and he could no longer see what he was doing.

  Moira most have sensed that he was mometarily blinded, because she began shouting directions. “Now to the left. Up a little. One hard one in the middle. That’s it! It’s going to … oh, no!”

  Jakob looked up, then pushed his face into the ground as the flaming bonfire collapsed on top of him. Fire burned his neck, his back, his right leg. He tried to scramble backward, but he was trapped under the hot logs. Trapped and burning. He couldn’t do anything but scream into the ground.

  Then Moira grabbed his ankles and dragged him from the wreckage, swatting at the flames rising from his shirt and pants. “Roll!” she shouted. “Roll!”

  Jakob rolled and rolled until Moira said breathlessly, “They’re out. The flames are out.” He rolled once more for good measure.

  “Owowowowowow,” he cried. “Hot.”

  Moira laughed nervously. “You okay?”

  “I don’t know.” He stumbled to his feet. He hurt everywhere, and he smelled of burnt hair, but it seemed he could move. “Let’s get out of here.”

  There was a gap in the flaming wall, like a missing tooth. Moira eyed it critically. “I think we can make it,” she said. “If you can jump.”

  Jakob flexed his right leg. He nodded, but added, “But maybe not for long.”

  “We only need one good jump,” she told him. “Do you need a hand?”

  “No,” he said, “just adrenaline!” He began running toward the breach in the flames. It seemed to grow smaller instead of bigger as he approached, but he didn’t slow down.

  Neither did Moira.

  And then they leaped through the flames and landed on the other side in matching, clumsy shoulder rolls. They kept rolling and rolling to make sure they weren’t on fire. At last they came up hard against a giant oak tree where they lay, limbs splayed out, laughing with relief.

  They didn’t laugh long. Towering over them was the troll boy, Buri, clutching Jakob’s guitar.

  Moira scrambled to her feet. Jakob’s injured leg collapsed under him, and he fell to one knee. Putting his back to the tree, he clenched his fists.

  “Run!” he called to Moira.

  Instead, Moira assumed a karate stance, calling, “C’mon, you ugly beast. Let’s do this.”

  The young troll let his head drop to one side, puzzled. He held the guitar toward Jakob. “Fiddle, Little Doom,” he said, his voice quavering nervously. “Can you be teaching me to play?”

  Jakob stood, his leg throbbing. For a moment he didn’t quite understand what the troll boy was asking. Then he slowly unclenched his fists and glanced over at Moira who was still crouched awkwardly. She managed to shrug.

  “Can you teach him to play?” she asked.

  “But what about Eric?” Jakob asked. “We have to find him.”

  “We can’t help. We have to trust he’ll get away. That Foss will hide him. This is our part of the plan. Jakob—we have to stick with the plan.”

  He nodded, knowing she was right. He waved at Buri to hand him the guitar. As he tuned it, he saw Buri’s mother begin walking from the house toward them. Behind her came two other troll women. They were big, ugly, and green.

  Jakob suppressed a shudder. “All right, Buri,” he said, placing his left hand on the guitar. “This is a G chord.” He strummed and Buri shivered.

  “Oooh,” Buri said. “I like that one.”

  Jakob smiled. “Your turn.”

  “What?”

  Jakob pressed the guitar into Buri’s green hands. “It’s your turn. Look, your first finger goes here…” Jakob placed Buri’s fingers in the right position then eyed him critically. “I don’t think you’ll need a pick with those fingernails.” They were long, hard, dirty, and black. “Go ahead and strum.”

  “Strum?”

  “Yes, strum. Like this.” Jakob grabbed the troll’s hand and swept it down the strings. Moira cringed at the horrendous noise, but Jakob’s face showed nothing. He’d heard worse. In fact Galen had sounded at least that awful when he’d started, though not quite as loud. Luckily Buri hadn’t broken any strings. Yet. “Not bad, Buri, not bad. Try again.”

  Buri was grinning from ear to pointed ear as he strummed again. The noise was still horrible, but, Jakob thought, perhaps marginally better than the first attempt. The little troll might actually learn something. If he doesn’t eat his teacher first.

  “Okay, now let me show you a C.”

  Moira tapped Jakob surreptitiously on the shoulder and whispered. “Here’s trouble.”

  Jakob glanced up fearfully. All three troll women were now gathered around them. They were close enough to touch Moira or grab Jakob. They stank of perspiration and cooking juices. Jakob’s hands shook as he placed Buri’s hands boldly on an open C and let the chord ring.

  All the trolls closed their eyes and the female trolls smiled rapturously.

  “Think of it,” Buri’s mother breathed. “My son, a musician. I could be passing out with the joy of it.”

  The other two oohed and aahed as Buri rattled the strings inexpertly. But, Jakob thought, at least he isn’t afraid to try, unlike Galen who’d been embarrassed and angry having to learn from his baby brother. He bit his lip. He mustn’t think about Galen now. Or Erik.

  Jakob choked back a sudden sob. “Buri, would you…” he said as evenly as he could, “would you like to learn a whole song?”

  “Oh, yes!” the little troll cried, shoving the guitar back into Jakob’s hands. “Yes!”

  “Mama, I want to learn, too!” There was a second troll boy now, standing beside the troll wives.

  “Be quiet, Arri,” said the tallest of the wives.

  “No, no,” Jakob said quickly, “that can be arranged.” He strummed a D. “This is the first song I ever learned on guitar. It’s
called, ‘Hang Down Your Head, Tom Dooley.’ If I could learn it, certainly a troll can.”

  He sang the simple song, and when Moira joined in on harmony at the chorus, Buri’s mother sat down heavily.

  “My goodness,” she said. “It be too beautiful.”

  The other trolls grunted and snorted in time. And when the song ended, and Jakob told Buri, “Okay, your turn,” his mother did, indeed, fall back on the grass in a dead faint.

  20

  Moira

  They survived a ragged chorus of “Tom Dooley,” with Jakob’s hands on Buri’s making the guitar strum the open chord. Moira couldn’t bring herself to call it music. The noise of it was appalling, but the trolls certainly seemed to love it. They waved their hands and grinned.

  Trigvi awoke from her faint at the end of the first chorus, then promptly passed out again. She lay on the grass with such a beatific smile, Moira figured it was a troll’s version of Heaven.

  By the second chorus, Trigvi was back on her feet and singing along huskily. If, Moira thought, that bizarre organization of notes can be considered singing. Though, it’s wonderful to have such an extreme response to music.

  All of the troll women clapped against the beat and lifted their knees one at a time, then twirled around. It was as if mountains danced. Perspiration like huge cultured pearls popped out on their foreheads. It was disgusting, but at least they seemed happy. And not preparing a soup of human meat. All of which was not to be despised.

  “Now,” Jakob said to the troll boys, “I will teach you a new note.”

  “But I be loving this one,” Buri said, strumming the C chord again. “Hang down, Tom! Hang down!” His voice was like a buzz saw.

  Arri sang with him. Or rather, Moira thought, Arri is singing after him, about a beat too late. And on a different note. Even—she made a face—a different scale.

  “Ah,” Jakob said, “That is a good note, Buri. A very good one. You’re right to like it so much. It’s a favorite of mine, too. All musicians love C. Isn’t that right, Moira?”

  Moira nodded.

  Buri grinned. His teeth—and there seemed far too many of them—were very sharp.

  Arri grinned, too. “I be liking C, I do, I do.”