The Realms Thereunder

CHAPTER NINE
Trolls in Morven
1

Now . . .

Alex moved carefully among the loose rocks and stones that formed the base of Morven’s northern slope. Its name could be translated from Gaelic as either Big Mountain or Big Hill. Its technical classification was a “graham,” but its name fit either way. At over seven hundred meters in height, it was certainly a big hill, though on the small side for a mountain. However, in contrast to the otherwise level plain of Caithness, it seemed enormous, being the only feature in an otherwise completely flat landscape.

The ascent was relatively gentle. Alex walked beside Reverend Maccanish, who had insisted on accompanying him and being his guide to the area once Alex had more fully explained what he expected to find, and what he would have to do once he found it. It took the reverend little time to change into hiking clothes and rubber boots. Alex changed into some heavier gear-motorcycle gear, actually. Tough, padded leather trousers and a padded leather jacket, reinforced in the forearms, upper arms, chest, and back with metal plates. He also grabbed a rucksack with different sorts of emergency provisions and a long black object, which he slung on his back. He finished by lacing up a pair of army-issue, steel-toe boots. And they set off.

They had walked only about forty-five minutes and had made it about halfway around the graham. It was a little after noon, so they stopped for a break.

“Are you sure it’s a cave you’re looking for here? I know of none around here.”

“There will be . . . something,” Alex answered. “But incidentally, do you know of any caves or other rock formations in the area?”

“No, nothing like that. Why, do you think it more likely we’ll find the . . . creature there?”

“No, it’s probably here,” Alex said, offering another oatcake to Maccanish. “We just have to keep our eyes open. And our ears.

Even our-” Alex paused. Even as he was about to say it, he caught a whiff of something rotten on the wind.

“What is it?” Maccanish asked, slightly alarmed, twisting around. “Do you see-?”

“No, it’s alright,” Alex assured him. “Finish up,” he said, taking a long drink from his bottle of water. He packed his things together and brushed his hand over the long rectangular object wrapped in black that lay in his lap.

“Do you mind if I see it?” Maccanish asked, gesturing.

Alex thought for a moment and raised the black object- almost four feet long-and handed it to him.

Maccanish fumbled with it for a few moments and then found its rubberized handle and withdrew it from its scabbard.

“It’s like no sword I’ve ever seen,” Maccanish said, holding it upwards. It had just one cutting edge, which sloped and tapered at the top so that the blunt end was completely straight to the tip. It had a grey, brushed finish, which meant it didn’t shine or glimmer, except along the sharpened side. It was nearly five inches thick at its widest point and would have been heavy because of this, except that it had three irregularly spaced oblong holes to cut down on mass. A rivulet ran parallel to the cutting edge.

“It’s the latest modern design,” Alex said with an ironic air. “I had it custom-made and designed, as well as stress-tested. I told them I was being commissioned by a Hollywood movie studio. I said I was making a vampire movie. It’s high-strength, low-alloy steel that’s been subzero treated and coated with a synthetic fluoropolymer. It cost a bloody fortune.”

“I can imagine,” Maccanish said, sheathing the sword once more. “And you’ve actually used this thing?”

“Just a couple times. When circumstance warranted it.”

“Would not a rifle or machine gun do better?”

Alex shook his head. “Not for what we’re hunting.”

“My uncle has my great-grandfather’s old Claymore, but I wouldn’t put that up against this,” Maccanish said, handing it back to Alex.

“Ready?” Alex asked, standing up.

The reverend gathered his things together and stood. “Ready. Lead on.”

They set off again along the side of the mountain where the ground became firmer and covered with heather and ferns. The stench that Alex had smelt was still in the air and getting thicker.

“Do you know what that is?” he asked Maccanish. It was obvious what he was referring to.

“Something died. Maybe several things. Is it what we’re looking for?”

“Could be. What’s this crevice up here?”

It seemed as if there were a fold in the mountain, running from the peak to the foot. It showed bare rock where rainwater washed the plants away.

“It’s just a burn. It fills to no more than a trickle when it rains.

There couldn’t be anything there.”

“Listen, do you hear that?”

Maccanish tilted his head. “It’s a sort of . . . buzzing. What does it mean?”

“It means it’s worth a look.”

They started down the smooth, embedded rocks. The smell was almost overpowering now, the sick, sweet stench of rotting flesh-it felt like it was sitting in their throats. Bones, still yellow with brown decaying flesh on them were wedged in between the rocks, which a mass of flies were feeding and breeding off of.

“Disgusting,” Maccanish said.

Alex unslung his rucksack and flung it to the side. He kept his sword hitched up on his back. He was getting close, he could feel it. He tried to focus his mind as he descended farther; he tried to clear away any unnecessary thoughts from his consciousness.

It was the body of a cow that indicated the cave. It was sticking out, head and forelegs, from a clump of ferns, still mostly covered in skin but with bits of bone showing around the crown of the skull and the joints. On closer, and more gruesome, inspection, it was revealed not to be just half of a carcass but a whole one that was sticking out of a cave mouth, about four-by-five-feet wide and tall.

“You should stay here,” Alex told Maccanish, “if you’re uncomfortable.”

The reverend didn’t say anything; he came and stood closer to Alex.

“Well, in any case,” Alex said, drawing his sword and tossing the scabbard to the side, “stand a little farther off.”

Maccanish nodded and hung back as Alex advanced. It was good the reverend was here to see this. Someone in the village should see this being done, even if no one would believe his account-that is, if he even told anyone. Someone needed to bear witness.

Alex pulled a glow-stick from his pocket, snapped it, and hung it from his coat’s lapel. The green, iridescent glow was eaten by the walls and reflected on a floor covered with skeletal remains and desiccated corpses of animals. The bones bore regular gashes along them, clustering on the knobby ends. “See that?” Alex said, indicating them. “Tooth marks.”

“Teeth of what?”

“At a guess? I’d say troll.”

“You’re kidding. What, billy goat’s gruff an’ that?”

“Close enough to.”

“Are they . . . big?”

“Like you wouldn’t imagine. Massive arms and hands. But slow at least. Stay out of reach and you’ll do fine.” Alex shifted his weight on the uneven ground and kept his sword in front of him. He was sweating. He willed his heart to slow its humming pace. The cave continued and bore to the right. As Alex banked to the left to see down as far as possible, he noticed something was slumped up against the bend that he had mistaken for an outcropping.

“Wait,” he said, motioning. He stepped closer to it. It was as still as a stone, and as cold. Its bullet head was slumped forward onto its barrel-like chest. Arms the size of tree trunks were splayed outwards, palms up, fingers curled inwards. It had laughably small bowed legs and large flipper feet. But where its potbelly should have been was a gaping, sticky void. Dried entrails hung out of it, torn out and torn apart, gutted. Something had made a meal of it.

“It’s dead,” Alex said, straightening. “Go on, take a look.”

“I wouldnae ha’e believed it,” Maccanish said, a thicker accent creeping into his voice. “How long has it been here? It couldnae have been here the whole time. Where did it come from?”

“It’s odd, but I honestly don’t know. There’s some as say they grow from the rocks or that the peaty bogs birth them from the skulls of thieves and murderers. It’s possible that they burrow up here, but from where, I have no idea. They like solid rock, though, that’s true enough. They’re related to the giants, you know.”

“Incredible. So is that it? It’s dead-are we finished?”

“Unfortunately not. See, it’s been killed, probably by something bigger. They usually go in pairs so it’s poss- Oh, wait. Here we are.”

Alex had stood and was creeping farther into the tunnel.

Around the corner and slumped on the opposite end of the tunnel was the body of another troll. Not bigger this time, but smaller. It was likewise eviscerated, but its massive trunk-like neck was also torn up, nearly cut through completely.

“Another one?” Maccanish asked, moving around.

“This doesn’t make sense . . . They look as if they been here for, oh, over a week. I don’t . . .”

Alex peered deeper into the tunnel. His ears strained for a sound, his eyes for a movement. He caught a glimmer of something shiny piled a few feet beyond the second troll. He moved forward slowly, his feet crunching bone beneath him.

The shiny object was completely circular and reflective.

“What is it? What do you see?” asked Maccanish.

“It’s CDs-dozens of them. All chucked together, just the discs.”

Alex turned his body, shifting the light he wore. “And the boxes are over here-DVD cases, album cases . . . discarded like spent nutshells. They just wanted the discs. I wonder . . .” He bent and prodded around in the pile and found other objects-necklaces, rings, metallic crisp wrappers, a few silver forks. Some of it was valuable, some of it was rubbish, but all of it was shiny.

“Oh no,” Alex said, horror descending on him.

“What?”

“I’ve made a mistake.” He sprang up and stared into the black emptiness of the tunnel before him. “Get out of here, quickly!” he hissed.

“What is it?”

“I’m not prepared for this,” he said, gripping his sword with both hands. He turned to Maccanish. “Did you not hear me? I said run!” he yelled, and turned just as the dragon came swooping towards him, screeching out of the darkness.

In the dim light, Alex caught only a brief flash of long, sharp, reptilian muzzle and an angry flash of red eyes before he was on the ground, winded and pinned beneath a dragon almost six feet in length.

As he fell, he instinctively brought his sword up in front of him. It hit between the beast’s shoulder and arm but did not bite- merely glided along the tough, slick scales. As they both fell, the sword twisted out of his hand and clattered to the ground. Luckily, his left arm had been in front of him and was now between him and the creature. He pushed it upwards just in time to fend off the sharp beak that was coming down to meet his head. It struck the ground just beside Alex’s right ear. It had been a weak effort on the dragon’s part; otherwise he wouldn’t have been so lucky.

The close quarters were proving difficult for the dragon, as it was not able to maneuver its long, bat-winged arms to either gouge at his sides or even take flight. Its legs, however, it could use, and he felt one massive, clawed foot gripping the inside of his thigh, the other trying unsuccessfully to gain purchase just above his hip, but succeeding very ably in tearing away layers of clothing, and then skin.

As the dragon brought its head back up, Alex found he had some breathing space. Almost quicker than he could think it, he brought both hands up and clutched at the monster’s throat. His hands couldn’t meet around it. His thumbs embedded themselves in the soft, leathery gullet and his fingers fought for purchase on cold scales, no bigger than robin’s eggs, but slick and hard as marble.

Its arms still not being able to gain purchase in the cave, the dragon was unable to leverage itself in order to attack with its mouth.

It was a small advantage for Alex, but not one that afforded him escape or a clear way to defeat his attacker. Instead, he looked into the cold, red eyes in fear and horror as thin wisps of white smoke flowed from the dragon’s mouth between its dagger-like teeth.

Alex felt his hands around the thing’s neck grow warm, then hot. The white smoke was tinged with grey and black now.

Frantically, Alex kicked and writhed beneath the animal, which was easily twice his own weight. Strange, choking sounds came from the dragon’s gullet, and Alex closed his eyes for what was going to happen next.

“Alex, lower your hands, now!” came a quick command.

Alex let go of the thing’s throat and covered his head. Between his arms, he saw his sword whiz past him in an upward stroke and sink into the dragon’s head, entering just below the jaw. The sword’s tip looked to be lodged in the base of the brain, or in its spine.

The dragon did a back flip off of Alex and started thrashing against the walls like a floundering fish, first against one wall and then the other. Alex tried to raise himself and was knocked away from the dying creature by its powerful tail. He landed in the arms of Maccanish, who pulled him farther away.

The dragon flailed awhile longer and then calmed. It made motions as if it was trying to wretch, but its mouth was shut firm.

Black blood and bile dripped from its wound and, with a final few spasms, it fell to the ground and lay dead.

Alex and Maccanish stood looking at it for a time.

“Dragons don’t go in pairs, do they?” Maccanish asked eventually.

“No, never,” Alex replied. “Thank God.”

“Amen.”