Page 3 of Troll Charming

“Ain’t that the truth. I need a mate. It is time, but there are little prospects to find one in a world that no longer accepts us. We’d be lucky to get to go out on the human’s Halloween night without being chased by a band of pitchfork-wielding nutjobs.

Troth surprises me with a rare chuckle before posing a question. “Was there no one at your old job? Wasn’t that a place of acceptance of the magic world? You were a hero, were you not?”

“I spent my time there taking care of everyone. It would not be proper to take advantage of my position. Besides, no onethere would want a green seven-foot-tall troll. Most of them were shifters and witches, all human and small. I would break a human woman in half with just a finger, for God’s sake.” I splay out my large hand for Troth to see.

“Maybe, but never say never, my friend. There could be a woman who loves your big hands, ears, and nose.”

“The better to smell you with, my dear.” I repeat the old wolf’s line in the children’s tale and smile despite myself. I can’t help what I look like.

“Or maybe…” My friend pauses, then winks at me. “There are other big things about you she could be looking for.”

I laugh out loud at his bawdy joke. “I need a mate that will love me for me, not just in bed.”

Troth nods. “Being good in bed helps, I hear. Even your cousin Sardis found a bride. And he’s ugly as the day is long.”

I sigh again. There is no point in this conversation. “Sardis is closer to the royal line than I am. He is born of the second generation as I am of the third. Besides, he traveled almost a thousand miles to the garden lands to find her, and even then, the bride price almost placed him in debt.”

“I know you have the troll trove somewhere in these mountains. Your family is rich. They should help you propagate your line. Perhaps we all should go to garden lands.” Troth puts his hand on my shoulder. He’s three feet taller than me, and his arms are as thick as tree trunks and a lot thicker in the chest, but somehow, despite this and his gruff demeanor, I have found him to be surprisingly sensitive in many ways. “You and I know that our little Monitor Township will never supply us unwed males with proper mates. We will have to go somewhere else, far away. Perhaps in the old country in the north of Europe. Are you sure you cannot return to your old job and find us a couple of beauties to bring home?” He looks at me expectantly.

“It is off season, and there are few there at the moment, except maybe a few witches and minimal grounds crew.”

Troth rubs his square, hairless chin with one large, meaty hand. “Witches, you say?”

“Yes,” I reply, staring at the phoenix tree as a new sapling forms on the ruined bark. “They stay to maintain the shield around the place, just in case.”

“You should tell me the story about it sometime.”

“Not right now. Why do you ask about the witches?”

“They say witches can make powerful spells.”

“Yeah, so?”

Troth seems reluctant to say more.

“Come on. Out with it.”

“Fine, maybe they could make a spell to bring us some ladies.”

I chuckle. “So under that tough exterior, you just want to settle down too, huh?”

“All ogres need a mate. It is the way of things,” he says defensively.

I hum as I walk away from the regenerating tree, its new trunk spouting tiny branches. “I don’t think witches weave spells like that lightly.”

“Maybe not, but if it is possible, perhaps it is worth a shot.” After a beat, he exclaims, “Wait!” Troth slaps his head dramatically with his hand. “Isn’t there a witch living in the village right now? Tabitha, I think is her name. We must go see her.”

“I do not want to bother the village seer with my lack of prowess.”

“It has nothing to do with prowess. There is no opportunity here.” Before I can respond, he is already heading back toward the path.

He’s not wrong in this instance. I need help to fill the hole inside me. With trepidation and curiosity, I follow him. We make our way through the forest and toward town, my face flaming red with the thought of what we will ask this crazy woman. But now, I am willing to try anything, no matter how absurd.

We weave through the streets until we cross to the other side of the village and enter the darkest forest area. After a short time, we emerge and come upon a small lake, where Tabitha keeps her little witch cottage behind small copses of trees.

A bell rings around us as my large boots step on her welcome mat. The door to the little brown thatched-roofed cottage swings open. The small and fire-headed Tabitha is waiting at the door, her tiny foot tapping on her clean wooden floor.

“You’re late,” she says, looking at a sundial around her neck. “We’ve been waiting for you for the last fifteen minutes. Hurry up and get in here. I am about to start.”

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