Nemesis and the Troll King (5 page)

5

An ancient tree

Y
arg was exhausted by the time he reached the edge of the lake. With a mighty effort he raised his hand to meet Folgoo's, and let the centaur drag him out of the water. Then he flopped onto the bank, drawing in air in great, greedy gulps.

Yarg sensed Folgoo watching him. Lifting his gaze, he saw a question in the centaur's eyes, so he told Folgoo all that had transpired since he had been with Nemesis. He told of the cave and what Nemesis had said, and that to save Kaylin he had just seven days to gather the list of things he had been given and take them back to Nemesis.

“So, where do we start?” Folgoo asked.

We?
thought Yarg.
Folgoo would come with him?

He raised his eyes to meet Folgoo's, letting his companion see how grateful he was, then retrieved the parchment that Nemesis had given him. It shimmered in the sun's bright light. He read the list aloud.

He turned the parchment over, looking for explanations of what the things on the list might be or clues to where they might be found, but the back was blank.

The whole thing was a riddle. Well, he was not going to let that stop him. He breathed in deeply, and with that one breath came hope, and then certainty that he and Folgoo would find the answers he needed.

“Have you heard of ancient moonrays?” he asked.

Folgoo shook his head. “No.”

“Do you possibly know anyone who has any kind of ray, moon or otherwise?”

Folgoo shook his head again. “No.”

“Do you have any idea who
might
know?” Yarg persevered, with remarkable patience for a troll.

“Bemoomba,” Folgoo replied after a moment's reflection.

“Bemoomba?” queried Yarg. “Isn't she a tree?”

Folgoo put the back of his hand to his mouth to smother the laugh that threatened to break free. “Yes, but she is also Queen of the Manukies.”

“What's a Manukie?” asked Yarg.

“Manukies are creatures with the power to bestow life to all plants and trees within the immortal realms, and the mortal one, too.” Folgoo answered.

“Ah,” said Yarg. “So you think Bemoomba might know where we could get an ancient moonray?”

Folgoo stretched his muscles before answering, “I think we should go and ask her.”

“You're sure that this is what you want to do—go on this quest with me?” Yarg asked.

Folgoo snorted and said drily, “Don't irritate me, troll.”

Yarg laughed, then laughed again as Folgoo asked, “Well, what are you waiting for?”

Yarg placed his hand on the centaur's back and closed his eyes. Even as he drew breath, he felt the sensation of movement.
What a gift these centaurs have,
he thought.

After a time the motion ceased and Yarg opened his eyes. He blinked, and then blinked again. He had been expecting lushness—an oasis of brilliant, vibrant greens to be exact—the Manukies were the custodians of all plant life, after all. But ahead of them stretched an utter wasteland, huge spreads of dryness interspersed with patches of swamp.

Folgoo and Yarg looked at each other, and then looked again at the dismal landscape.

“Are you sure this is the Manukie realm?” Yarg asked Folgoo.

Folgoo snorted again and said, “I thought I told you not to irritate me!”

Yarg felt no urge to laugh this time. Folgoo motioned his head in the other direction and Yarg turned to see what Folgoo was trying to get him to notice. Several beings, rather like big fat balls of orange fluff atop very stumpy legs, were moving towards them.

“Manukies,” Folgoo stated.

The Manukies were half-walking, half-dragging themselves along the ground. A screeching sound emanated from them that made Yarg's hair stand on end.

He flinched involuntarily, and Folgoo threw him that now familiar look of amusement.

Yarg cleared his throat and said in a loud voice, “My name is Yarg, King of the Trolls. I wish to see Bemoomba.”

The Manukies didn't so much as hesitate; they kept inching their way towards Yarg and Folgoo. Yarg cringed as a small Manukie placed its tiny orange furball hand within the depths of his bigger palm.

“Are you coming, Folgoo?” Yarg asked with a hint of desperation as the Manukie began to tug on his hand to move him forward.

The Manukies led them across areas of dryness that skirted the edges of swamp. Eventually they came to a circled clearing, the lush grass within forming a stark contrast to the marsh and bare patches that surrounded it. The Manukies went to stand at the edges of the clearing, forming a ring within it.

Yarg's attention was drawn to the enormous weeping willow that stood in the middle of the clearing—its massive trunk telling of great age, graceful branches hanging heavy to the ground. Even as he watched, the branches slowly began to move. They swayed, and then stretched out carefully as if they were the arms of someone waking from a long nap. When the last branches had extended themselves, the trunk was revealed, and Yarg was surprised to see a face etched into it. He had the urge to step back, but forced himself to stand still. He looked harder at the face, noting that it was very wrinkled, but kindly looking, with huge baby-blue eyes.

Yarg did step backwards when the tree started speaking in a soft female voice.

“Yarg, great King of the Trolls, we have been awaiting your arrival for some time now.”

As she spoke, Yarg realised that he was in the presence of something unique and powerful. Then her words penetrated and his eyes widened in surprise. They had known he was coming? He raised his hand to his head and started to scratch, then caught himself and hurriedly brought it down again.
Some habits are harder to get rid of than others,
he thought.

“Are you Bemoomba?” he asked the tree.

The tree chuckled. “Indeed I am. I am Bemoomba, custodian of all growing things, Queen of the Manukies,” she answered proudly.

“If you are the queen of the Manukies and the custodian of all growing things, why is your valley so dry and bleak?” Yarg asked, gesturing towards the surrounding wasteland, his curiosity diverting him momentarily from his task.

Bemoomba's eyes closed for a moment, and Yarg heard her take a deep breath. Ignoring his question, she said, “So Yarg, I see your quest has begun, as it was foretold those many years ago. What is it you seek here among the Manukies?”

Yarg's eyes narrowed as he looked at her, wondering what she meant about it being foretold, but not daring to ask. “I am on a quest to save a fairy named Kaylin … I need to find an ancient moonray. Do you have one that I could take, or can you tell me how I can get one?

Bemoomba smiled at Yarg. “No, I don't, but yes, I do,” she replied.

It's like playing a game,
Yarg thought, exasperated.

“Then will you tell me?” he asked, trying to keep the impatience he felt from showing in his voice.

“Yes.”

Yarg's relief was short-lived when she added: “But first I need your help with something.”

Yarg frowned. “I have to save Kaylin, and I have only seven days to complete my task. If you give me the moonbeam, I will return to help you when my quest is finished.”

Bemoomba smiled knowingly at him. “Yes, I know that time is pressing for you, my sweet troll king, but so it is for my Manukies. Unfortunately we cannot wait for the great Yarg to return as he says he will. If you want your moonray, you will have to help us first.”

Yarg growled in annoyance. He was beginning to feel rather frustrated and realised that, even though he now knew he was human, he wanted to let his troll instincts loose. He wanted to rip heads off and bash things, but he forced his hands into fists to control himself and said to Bemoomba: “Tell me what can I do for you.”

Bemoomba widened her eyes at his curt tone. It seemed that Nemesis was correct—the troll king
did
need to learn a lot before he could reclaim his human life.

“Our river has been taken from us and we are denied access to the hidden depth of magic that lies within the riverbed. That magic enriches the lushness of plant life across all worlds—mortal and immortal alike. Without it, all will be laid waste, and our way of life and yours are in danger.”

“Aren't the fairies guardians to flowers and plants? Can't they just look after them?” Yarg queried.

Bemoomba gave a small laugh. “You are a smart one!” she said. “But there is a small problem with that. The fairies use the magical water from my river to nourish the flowers in their care.”

“So you need to get it back, and you want me to do it,” Yarg said, understanding finally dawning.

Bemoomba's eyes were grave. “Exactly. But I think you'll have your hands full. It's no ordinary creatures that have done this, but a rather mischievous lot. I'm sure that you have heard of them, because they are just as naughty as you trolls can be.”

Yarg grinned as flashes of memory of some of the pranks he and his subjects had pulled scrolled across his mind, before saying, “Then it must be the Nuffins. They are the only beings who cause more chaos than trolls.”

“Very clever, Yarg! It is indeed the Nuffins who have stolen our river.”

“But why?” asked Yarg. “This is not like their usual mischievous pranks. This is causing real harm.”

“They came here wanting to make their home with us—apparently they caused a lot of trouble at the Immortal Markets and were forced to leave.” Breathing deeply she continued. “Well, my Manukies aren't comfortable with others, so I politely refused. Instead of respecting that, the Nuffins just decided to force us to do what they wanted.”

“Ah …” mused Yarg as he turned and looked at the scene behind him. “What did Nemesis say to this?”

“Why do you think you are here?” Bemoomba asked in reply, amusement in her voice.

Rolling his eyes at that response, Yarg looked around him. More lushness had seeped from the land even as they had been speaking.

“Have you tried asking them to leave?”

“Of course. They refuse to go.”

“I'll go talk to them and hear for myself what they have to say.”

“You do that,” said Bemoomba. “My Manukies will lead you.”

In signal that the audience had come to an end, she closed her eyes and began to lower her branches.

The Manukies moved to the northern edge of the clearing and gestured to Yarg to come with them. His little guide reached for his hand again and tugged at him until he began to move. Yarg turned to make sure that Folgoo was following. After a few minutes traversing the verdant path that cut a swathe through the surrounding swampland, the Manukies stopped and Yarg's little furball companion let go of his hand. As one, the Manukies turned and started back along the path in the direction of the clearing.

Yarg and Folgoo stood side by side, watching them go. With a single glance at each other, they turned to head down the path leading to the river that sustained the Manukie's magical way of life.

The river was startling. The grass along the banks was vibrantly green. The crystal blue water gurgled as it gushed past, and the bottom of the river bed sparkled as if covered by millions of diamonds glittering in the sun's light. Yarg was standing entranced, staring in awe at the river's beauty, when a movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.

“Did you see something?” he was whispering to Folgoo when he was suddenly knocked from behind. His knee collapsing, he landed heavily on the ground, the impact forcing him to grunt. Folgoo turned towards the sound, and was surprised to find Yarg groaning on the floor.

“What happened? Why are you lying down?” he asked in bewilderment.

“Well I'm not down here taking a nap, you know,” said Yarg, glaring at Folgoo. “Something knocked me off my feet.”

Folgoo started forward to help him up, then he came crashing down beside Yarg.

Yarg burst out laughing.

“Time for a little snooze?” the troll mocked in return.

“Very funny,” sneered Folgoo, and looked down to see his legs tied together with flaxen leaves. He began to untie them. “I didn't even feel them tying my legs. Sneaky little misfits, aren't they?”

Still laughing, Yarg stood up. “Nuffins!” he commanded in a deep voice.

No one answered. Nothing moved.

Yarg was just about to try again when an idea occurred to him. “They must be too afraid to speak to us, Folgoo.” he said, his voice urging Folgoo to play along with him.

They heard a stifled giggle nearby, and Folgoo was just about to reply that Nuffins weren't generally afraid of trolls and centaurs, when he caught the look that Yarg was throwing his way. Understanding dawned.

“Oh, yes,” he drawled, “They must be afraid of the big bad troll.”