Meek

Chapter 18: Something for Himself

Eli's pain faded.

The sharp jabs and dull aches eased. All his pain vanished, even the shattered jaw and cheekbone and the burst eardrums. Everything except for his blessdamned teeth, which felt rough and jagged against his tongue.

"Human teeth take the longest time to heal," Mist-Beneath's voice growled.

"As a wise troll once told me," he said, from the comfort of the bed.

When he rolled to face her, he found himself in the familiar chamber, with the incense and crystals and the bubbling stewpot. Except now he saw two ancient wrinkled troll-crones and two racks of ornately-decorated animals kills. Two of everything, which for a moment confused him.

Then he realized that in fact he was seeing three of everything. He'd grown accustomed to one spark, which afforded him two points of view. Yet now his mind was alive with the perceptions of a second spark, another invisible point that drifted above Mist-Beneath, confusing his vision and making him a little nauseous.

On the bright side, he also saw two platters of roasted meat and two bowls of steaming tea. He didn't know if healing made him hungry or if his body was still recovering from starving in the Keep dungeon, but he'd never had an appetite like this before.

"Help yourself," Mist-Beneath said.

Eli reached out tentatively, watching from three directions as his hand moved toward the platter.

"Armored-in-Frost must've really given you a knock," she said. "If you're still dizzy."

He clumsily grabbed a cube of roast meat. "I thought you sent him for a friendly bout."

"I did."

"Then an unfriendly bout would've killed me."

She tsked. "The foolish troll expected that he'd simply cuff you within the first few seconds, and finish the match. Apparently you led him quite a merry chase."

"Maybe not my best decision."

"Oh, I'm not sure about that, Cloaked-in-Meekness. You showed how much you learned."

"Still not enough."

"Mm." She watched him drink tea. "After you fell, your brother and sisters jumped Armored-in-Frost."

"Yeah? I hope they shoved his horns up his arse."

"In fact, they didn't last much longer than you However, they lasted longer than he expected. They picked up some strange habits, training with you."

"You want to talk about strange habits, I'm regrowing my teeth for the second time."

She took his hand and gazed at him with all three eyes. "You've done so well. Better than I ever imagined. And the ..." A smile spread on her creased face. "The way your siblings literally leapt to your defense? That makes me happier than I've been in years."

"They're not so bad," he said.

"You are family."

He wanted to say something gruff and dismissive, but the words caught in his throat. He said, "Yeah."

"But you can still pass for human."

"I still am human, Mist-Beneath. Not wholly, but ... I don't want to lie to you. I'm still human."

"You are family."

Eli bowed his head, accepting her words. He didn't know what he was: human, troll, mage, scribe. Failed militia member, accused traitor. What he did know was simple: he'd never found a home like this before. Maybe he'd learned that lesson from his blood, like he'd learned to speak trollish, maybe that's why he felt so completely, so bizarrely, comfortable here.

Even if so, that didn't make the feeling false: he was family.

Mist-Beneath poured him another bowl of tea and threw a handful of crystals onto an animal skin stretched as taut as a drumhead ... but idly. More like a nervous tic than a ritual. She wasn't divining, she was simply thinking

"I spoke with Clay-Watches and Rivulet-Abides," she finally said.

When she didn't continued, Eli said, "About wanting another child?"

"What? No. I spoke with them about--"

"They want another pup. One of their own."

"I know, Cloaked. I know they do. We all do, but the risk ..." She sighed. "No, my child. I spoke with them about your training."

"I don't need more. I made Armored-in-Frost work to break my teeth. That mean I'm ready."

"That's what we discussed. We agree."

"Good. Then let's talk preparations."

She raised a hand to stop him. "However, there is a ... tradition. A sort of ritual for you to--"

"No way! I'm not fighting another clister."

"A gentle ritual," she said, with a rumbling laugh. "For trolls who depart on a journey. We usually don't, you know. We don't travel. We are born of the mountain and in the mountain we live and die. Yet occasionally, rarely, in times of direst need, such as now, with you, a troll ventures forth."

"Ah."

"Before they leave, they're encouraged to dwell, for a time, with the weight of the mountain. To still their mind. To harden their hide. And so they might carry the mountain with them wherever their path leads."

"Uh ..." Eli had no clue what she was talking about. "Do we have time for that? Lichen thinks the humans are going to attacker harder--and soon."

"There is no way your brother could possibly know that."

"Oh."

"Also, he's correct."

"Oh!"

"We expect them to lay siege to us before winter. Or ..." She sighed. "Or even worse."

"So we don't have time."

"We're preparing defenses. We'll collapse the entrance tunnels if necessary. We've started weakening the supports already."

"Mages will blast through any collapse."

"Not quickly. We'll have time to escape. At least some of us. In the end, there is no defense. At least not other than you."

Eli swallowed. "So I should leave now. The longer we wait, the worse this gets."

"This ritual is a high distinction, child. There's no telling how it might help you. Well, or if. The crystals are dull on the matter. Yet in the heart of a foolish old troll ..." She thumped her chest. "I believe this is the correct path. You would honor me, if you accept."

"I ... then of course I will. But what is the ritual?"

"You'll sit in a deep chamber. You may leave whenever you choose, but we hope--I hope--you'll remain until you've borne the mountain's full weight."

Eli still didn't have a clue what that meant, but he didn't doubt Mist-Beneath's words. And the sooner he left, the sooner he'd strike the killing blow. Return to Rockbridge. Cloak himself in meekness, and wait for the right moment to bring down the Marquis.

And after that?

After that, he'd return to the mountain. Well, if he survived the aftermath: the vengeful nobles, enraged mages, and murderous militia. He reckoned his chance of living as slim, but better than zero. Because he healed like a troll. Let them pierce him with spears, he'd crawl out of his own grave. Unless they burned or decapitated him, or a mage blasted him to chunks, or they locked him away for decades or...

Still, he wouldn't falter, he wouldn't fail. He owed his second life, his second family, to the trolls.

And he owed himself something, too: revenge.

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