Nemesis and the Troll King (11 page)

9

Sik and His Nymphs

T
he Ashtree Woodlands were really beautiful, thought Yarg, as he stepped closer to the waterfall that flowed into a pool at the base of the tree before him. The water was enticing, so Yarg sat down and put his hand in it. Coolness trickled through his fingers as he moved them lazily through the gentle pool. Soothed, he closed his eyes. As he began to drift gently off to sleep, he was distantly aware of Folgoo's faint snores.

Someone sleeps the sleep of dreams

Someone seeks the dream of dreams

Someone knows what I do not

Someone knows what he cannot

The soft tune woke Yarg up. It niggled until he opened his eyes. All he could make out in his half-asleep stage was a head—a beautiful young face, small pointy ears. She—for that delicate beauty must surely belong to a female—was staring down at him. Yarg blinked, but she was still there when his eyes opened again. She smiled at him and then ran off, disappearing into a group of trees. He could hear her giggling, but he could no longer see her. He sat up and shook Folgoo until the centaur opened his eyes.

“We're not alone.”

Folgoo yawned. “Who?” he asked.

“I don't know,” Yarg replied.

Folgoo scanned the scene around them. “Where?” he continued.

“She ran off—in that direction,” Yarg said, waving a hand in the general direction of the trees.

As Yarg and Folgoo started to stand up, a tall satyr strode out from the trees.

“Visitors. How odd,” he drawled, stopping in front of them, a little too close for Yarg's comfort.

Yarg had never seen a satyr before—they jealously guarded their privacy, hardly allowing others close for fear they might try to steal their nymphs. This one stood proudly. His upper body was quite muscular, with broad shoulders that slouched, creating a slight bulge across his stomach. He stood on two equally muscular legs, the hair on them thick enough to be called fur. High on either side of his forehead were short black horns that looked as if they'd been plucked off a goat and glued on. His hair was long, dark and curly, and he had two pointed ears that drooped down towards his shoulders. His lean face was dominated by expressive hazel eyes that were now staring hard at the two travellers.

Yarg said the first thing that popped into his mind. “Is she one of your nymphs?” he asked, pointing towards the spot he'd seen her last.

“
She
is none of your business!” snapped the satyr. “I am Sik. Who are you, and what do you want in my woodlands?”

“Oh, sorry, my name is Yarg, and this is Folgoo,” he said gesturing to Folgoo, who now stood beside him.

“Well, that answers one of my questions,” he said demandingly. “What do you want here?” he repeated.

“You don't know?” asked Yarg, surprised. “I thought that the grapevine would have spread my story through all the realms by now.”

“Famous, are you?” sneered the satyr.

“Never mind Yarg, he just thought that you'd perhaps heard of a troll on a special quest,” offered Folgoo in a diplomatic tone.

“I'm on a quest to save a fairy named Kaylin,” explained Yarg. “Nemesis bid me retrieve some tokens so that I might save her and redeem myself.”

The satyr relaxed visibly at the mention of the great dragon.

“Oh were you a naughty troll, then?” said Sik over his shoulder as he walked back towards the grove of trees. Yarg and Folgoo glanced at each other, then set off after him.

“Tell me what you know of satyrs, Folgoo,” whispered Yarg as they walked.

“They are fascinating creatures, full of contradictions. Be careful what you say to a satyr, Yarg, they have strong tempers. Their sense of humour is something of an acquired taste—they tease and insult, and can be very sarcastic. They love the unconventional and revel in the unique. They defy logic on purpose. They are extremely passionate about anything that interests them, and although they can be blunt, with no thought to another's feelings, they also have an inexplicable charm, which is why their nymphs stay with them. They're very good with animals and they love to have them around. They never lie. They have the ability to create the most beautiful or the most haunting melodies ever known, depending on their mood. And they have one great philosophy—if you believe that all will be well with your world, then it shall be.”

“Whispering about me, then?” queried Sik as he stopped in the centre of a clearing.

Without waiting for an answer, he lifted a set of panpipes to his lips and let out a quick, light tune. From out of the trees appeared six beautiful nymphs. They wore floating long dresses of purest white. Garlands of flowers were woven through hair that flowed down their backs to their knees. They had delicate faces and tiny pointy ears.

Tiny dragonflies flew out behind the nymphs to hover around them.

The nymphs ran towards Sik, joining hands and dancing around him, softly humming melodies. He let out another short trill on the pipes and the nymphs stopped dancing.

“Ah, my pretties, meet Yarg the troll and Folgoo the centaur,” he said.

“Let's dance,” said one reaching for Sik's arm.

“No, let's make music,” another said.

“I want to go swimming,” from a third.

“I want to play Hide and Seek.”

Sik laughed with delight, then said, “First we must help our friends.”

The nymphs looked enquiringly at Yarg and Folgoo.

“I need something from you, a token of mystical music,” Yarg explained.

“Ooohh, that's a big one,” said the nymph closest to Sik.

Sik smiled a small, roguish smile. “I can grant you a piece of mystical music, although I don't have the ingredients for it—only you can provide those,” he said, giving Yarg a long look.

“What ingredients do you need?” Yarg asked.

“Music is an expression of life. Your emotions are tied into the mixture. For example, if you were feeling happy, then your music would be light and fun and uplifting. But if you were in a bad mood, your music might be darker with more boom, boom, boom at the end of it. Understand what I mean?”

“But what ingredients do you need?” Yarg asked, a hint of frustration leaking into his voice.

“I just told you. Didn't you hear me?”

Yarg growled, his frustration now very obvious.

Controlling his urge to lash out at the satyr, he asked, “Tell me again, please.”

“Let's go
s-l-o-w-l-y
, for the
b-i-g t-r-o-l-l,
shall we,” he said, laughing. “If you want a piece of music, you must decide what should go into it. Your heart has the answer.”

Yarg growled again, and sent a look of exasperation to Folgoo.

Folgoo's mouth twitched, but his voice was steady as he explained.

“You want something to set Kaylin free, so maybe you need to put something light and fun into your mystical melody. Something inspiring … stirring. Something that will reassure and draw her, make her want to live again.”

Yarg looked at Folgoo as if the centaur had lost his mind. “And just how would I do that?”

Folgoo rolled his eyes. “Bring it out from inside you. Just think something light, something to bring Kaylin back.”

Yarg turned to Sik. “Did you understand that? Something light.”

“Okay, that sounds good. Now give it to me and my nymphs will help you.”

“What is he talking about now?” he said to Folgoo. “What must I give him?”

Sik laughed aloud. “How does one get lightness?” he prompted.

“If I knew I wouldn't have asked!” snarled Yarg.

“One gets lightness by being light, silly,” replied Sik, then laughed until he was clutching his stomach.

“Oh, I am going to have to thump him,” growled Yarg.

Folgoo couldn't help laughing aloud as well. He stepped forward.

“Let me try,” he said diplomatically. Drawing a deep breath, he faced Sik. “Brother, tell me, how does one be light?”

“That's easy, by dancing and singing, of course.”

“Of course,” laughed Folgoo. “Yarg, you have to dance and sing with the nymphs so that Sik can make the mystical melody that you need.”

Yarg looked at him in horror. “I can't dance. Or sing.”

“You have to if you want me to create a melody for you,” responded Sik. “I can only create what you give me. If you want to save your fairy, then you have to give me something to work with.” He walked away to retrieve his pipes.

“He's lying,” said Yarg, smashing his hands together to release some of the rage that had been building inside him. “He just wants to make a fool of me.”

“Remember, I told you that satyrs never lie,” whispered Folgoo. “If you want him to create this melody for you, then you have to sing and dance. Even more important, you have to do it with joy in your heart so that it can be conveyed in the music.”

“I don't feel joy, I feel sick,” Yarg grumbled.

“Just try,” Folgoo urged.

Groaning loudly, Yarg walked to the centre of the clearing and stood there. Closing his eyes, he drew a deep breath and started to sway his big hips from side to side. Folgoo watched, squashing the urge to laugh as Yarg wobbled his ungainly body around.

“Go play, my darlings,” laughed Sik, urging his nymphs to join Yarg in the clearing. The nymphs ran laughing and giggling to join him. They took his hands in theirs.

Yarg's eyes popped open. “What are they doing?” he asked.

“They are the conduits that allow me to capture your melody, and if you want it to be something really special, you're actually going to have to do something else besides wriggling like you have blobworm goo in your pants,” said Sik.

“I really don't like you!” snapped Yarg.

“Be light!” Sik snapped back.

“Sing!” “Dance!” said the nymphs to Yarg as they let go of his hands and joined their own to form a circle around him.

Yarg felt ridiculous, but … “I can do this,”
he whispered to himself. He watched the nymphs as they danced around him, then began following their lead.

Tap, tap, tap went his right foot. Tap, tap, tap went the left. Moving forward he lifted his right foot and he hopped: one hop—both feet down, two hops—both feet down, and then three before landing down on the ground again. Hips to the front, hips to the back, hips in a circle, round and round. Jiggle to the left, jiggle to the right, jiggle all around. Yarg twirled and stepped, then the music began fading as his knees began to wobble.

Breathing heavily he looked towards Sik and Folgoo. Folgoo was laughing so hard that he could hardly stand.

“What is so funny, Folgoo?” he bellowed.

“I'm s – s – sorry, I've never seen a troll dance. Wouldn't have missed it for the world!” he managed to get out amid bursts of laughter, wiping tears away from his face.

Yarg growled just as he heard Sik say, “That was a good practice round. Are you ready for me to begin?”

“What do you mean? Didn't you save that?”

“Of course not. You didn't sing.”

“Of course he didn't. I didn't sing.” Yarg mimicked.

Stepping back into the nymph's circle, he called in a deceptively sweet voice, “Let's start then, shall we?”

He started his strange version of the nymph's dance again, but this time he sang, making up the words as they came to him.

I don't know what tomorrow brings,

But I hope it comes on fairy wings.

Let Kaylin's light be seen by all,

Let her find her way through the icy wall.

Let Nemesis fix this grave mistake,

And allow this fairy to be awake.

Come, my fairy … come to me,

Come, my fairy … let it be.

Yarg felt as if the music was compelling him to do better. It welled up from deep inside him, wanting to escape. His feet went faster, his steps became surer, his arms moved almost gracefully above his head. His voice grew deeper with meaning and the notes from the pipes also deepened, became more emotional. As the lines to his song ended, his feet stopped and the music flowed to an end, Yarg realised that he felt great. The music truly had made him feel lighter.

“Well done, troll, that was rather nice, if I do say so myself. You could have thought your words through a bit more, but good nonetheless,” said Sik as he stood up.

Yarg pulled out of the nymph's circle and headed towards Sik, who pulled something out of the air and handed it to Yarg. Yarg reached out and took the piece of bark engraved with glowing magical symbols, the words and music that Yarg had sung.

“I did this?” Yarg whispered in disbelief.

Folgoo walked up to them. “Thanks, satyr,” he said, noticing how absorbed Yarg was with the small piece of bark he held.

Coming to himself again, Yarg raised his head and looked at Sik. “Thanks, Sik,” he said almost reverently.

“One day
I
will collect a favour from
you
. Do we have an agreement?” he asked.

He put the pipes to his lips again. He played a few light notes and watched as his nymphs disappeared into the trees again.

“If I can, then I shall. You have but to call me,” Yarg said.

Sik reached out his hand and shook Yarg's, then walked off, leaving Yarg and Folgoo staring at him as he disappeared into the trees.

“Very strange,” he said to Folgoo.

They headed in the opposite direction.

Folgoo smiled. “Never thought it'd be so much fun,” he said softly.

Yarg nodded his agreement.

“So, where to now?” asked Folgoo as they reached the small waterfall again.

“The last token is Friendship's Pledge. Do you know what that is?” he asked as he bent to put his fingers into the pond one last time.