Danielle Jensen - Stolen Songbird

“I’m afraid you have the advantage, monsieur, for while you know my name, I don’t know yours.” My heart beat faster. Something was dreadfully amiss. Apprehension made my hackles rise like a dog’s as I eyed the man up and down. Who was he and what was he doing beneath the rubble of Forsaken Mountain?

“I should beg your pardon, mademoiselle, for failing to introduce myself. I am Marc de Biron, Comte de Courville.” His attention moved to Luc. “You were to bring her unharmed.”

“You’re lucky she’s still alive – we nearly got ate by that sluag,” Luc retorted.

“You’re lucky you didn’t bring half a dozen of them down upon you the way you two carried on. I wouldn’t be surprised if they could account your argument word for word in Trollus, you were so infernally loud!”

“No,” I whispered. “No, no, no.” Every instinct said to run, but which way? I had no light, and the sluag blocked the way we’d come from. But forward was where he’d come from and he was… Rising to my feet, I cowered against the wall. “You’re a… He’s a…”

“Aye, Cécile,” Luc said, finally taking notice of my yammering. “He’s a troll all right.”

“But you said they were monst…” The troll abruptly turned and faced me straight on, and the word died on my lips, replaced by a scream. Luc had been telling the truth.

CéCILE

The two sides of his face, so flawless on their own, were like halves of a fractured sculpture put back together askew. The lack of symmetry was more than unsettling – it was shocking, gruesome even. One eye higher than the other. One ear lower than the other. A mouth marred by a permanently sardonic twist. I leapt back and into Luc, who clamped a filthy hand over my lips, silencing the scream.

“Not a wise idea,” he whispered in my ear before dropping his hand.

“I’m sorry,” I said, and repeated myself again because my mind didn’t seem able to come up with any more words. “I’m sorry.”

The silence stretched. When I raised my head, the light had retreated behind him, casting his face in shadows once more.

“Come,” he said. “They are expecting you.”

Abruptly, he turned, cloak flaring out as he strode down the tunnel. Then he hesitated, and to my dismay, extended his elbow. “Mademoiselle.”

I didn’t want to take his arm, because doing so meant agreeing to go with him. I stared back the way we came – towards the surface, where my father and our neighbors were frantically searching for me. But they’d never suspect where Luc had taken me. I’d have to rely on my own gumption to get free, but now was not the time – not when they expected an escape attempt.

“You have my word, mademoiselle. I will not harm you in any way.”

Something about the way he said the words made me believe him. Taking a deep breath, I walked towards the troll and rested my hand on his arm. The brocade of his coat felt warm and rich beneath my cold fingers. There was strength, too – caged like the tiger in the circus my father had once taken me to see. But that wasn’t what sent a shiver down my spine. Like the prickle of a sand-filled wind, or the charge in the air during a thunderstorm, power washed over me. Though I never thought such a thing was possible, magic existed here with the force to lift a man and light the darkness. Perhaps my ready belief was naive, but I knew in my gut that the trolls possessed magic.

My tongue ran over dry lips. For now, I would play along. “Then we shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

He escorted us through the maze of tunnels, always confident of which way to turn, though to my eyes, nothing distinguished one tunnel from another. A labyrinth designed to lure a man in, but never allow him out again. Despite my best efforts, I shivered.

The troll glanced down at me. Silently, he disengaged his arm from mine and unclasped his cloak, draping warmth on my shoulders. “Thank you,” I said, wrapping the silken fabric around me. One silver eye met mine, his face tilted to restrict my view to his profile. I wondered if he always carried himself this way, or whether he concealed his deformity for my benefit. “It is nothing,” he said. “I’ve been instructed to ensure you are well treated.”

Behind us, Luc gave a soft snort. I ignored him and took the troll’s arm again.

The ground grew more even, rubbed smooth in a manner suggesting countless feet had trod this path over the years. Eventually the bare rock gave way to paving tiles set in flowing mosaics of black, grey, and white. On the walls of the tunnel, a clear, horizontal line delineated the break between mountain and a rubble of man-made, or perhaps troll-made, structures. The line rose as we walked, as though an invisible force held the fallen mountain up higher and higher the further we went, a city street rising from the rubble. I reached out to trail my fingertips along the seemingly empty space and jerked back.

It was warm.

Tentatively, I raised my hand again and slid my fingers into the gap. Liquid heat enveloped my skin, tangible, but somehow not. I tried to scoop some out, but the magic flowed through and around my hand, bound to its place. The break rose until it was beyond my reach.

“The magic holds the mountain up,” I murmured, examining the walls of stonework between which we now passed.

“It does,” the troll agreed. “It is part of the tree.”

Tree?

Glancing up, I realized he had been watching me. The look in his eye was considering, appraising, even. But it was the pity I saw there that revived my fear. Why was I here? What deal had Luc negotiated with the trolls and what part did I play?

We rounded a turn and ahead metal gates barred our path. Beyond shone a silver glow that I knew better than to mistake for moonlight. A faint gust of air blew down the corridor, dampening my cheeks with mist, accompanied by the sound of falling water. Curiosity warred with fear. Dropping the troll’s arm, I stepped through the gate and out on a ledge. The cavern was enormous and what lay in the valley below drew me to my knees.

The lost city of Trollus.

“Stones and sky,” I whispered.

“Just stones here,” Luc commented from behind us. The troll’s hand balled up into an angry fist, but Luc spoke the truth. Darkness cloaked the cavern and solid rock formed the ceiling. No stars shone through, no moon.

“This way, mademoiselle.” He took my arm, and pulled me to my feet. The three of us started down a flight of granite steps lit periodically with crystal lampposts glowing silver. The sides of the valley were terraced, the white stone buildings lining each level. Most impressive, though, was the waterfall cascading out of the blackness to form the churning river below. The roar of water echoed ceaselessly through the cavern. It was enough to drive one to madness, and I wondered how the trolls abided the constant din.

Realization struck me. “That’s the Devil’s Cauldron!”

“We call it Heaven’s Gates,” the troll murmured, and I did not miss the irony in his voice. I had heard the legend of the Cauldron. It was said that the Brûlé river flowed between Forsaken Mountain and its southern neighbor, but where it met the rock fall, it disappeared into a hole in the ground. It was said that a past duke had paid a beggar man to brave the Cauldron in a wooden barrel, and that a dozen years afterward, he had appeared in Trianon hale and healthy, but unable to account where he had been.

“Good evening to you, Lord Marc.”

The approaching voice startled me and I jumped, then peered into the darkness. A glowing orb moved steadily towards us – a faintly visible shape moving awkwardly across the ground. The troll rolled into our pool of light, and I had to bite my lip to keep from gasping at the shrunken, useless limbs attached to the creature’s torso. Rolling to its crippled feet, it reached out to touch a crystal lamppost, the light flaring brighter.