Page 62 of Mostly Shattered

The tunnel is dark and ominous, as the crystals do not grace the walls to give it light. Firelight coming from within reveals our destination. We turn a few corners before coming to an enormous cavern. A fire burns inside an inlet in the far wall beneath a cauldron. Trinkets and oddities surround oversized furniture made for a giant. Gemmed necklaces hang from the ceiling to create the impression of the night sky.

We’re in the lair of the cave troll, but I don’t see him.

“Costin?” I stop walking as he tries to go deeper inside. I want to run, but his grip tightens. “I don’t think he’s home. We should wait outside.”

At the sound of my voice, a large rock moves on the ground in the center of the cavern.

“Remember, let me do all the talking,” Costin whispers. “No jokes or small talk. Stay quiet.”

Chapter

Fourteen

The rock reveals itself to be the crouched figure of the cave troll. His skin has a rough, stone-like texture to it, as if the mottled gray color camouflages him to his surroundings. Cracks and fissures run along its arms and chest, filled with green moss. It only enhances its indestructible appearance.

At our intrusion into his sanctuary, the troll stands. He towers over us. Limbs are long and grotesquely muscled, the sinew beneath the skin rippling with each movement. Massive hands, tipped with jagged, dirt-encrusted nails, hang at its sides, each finger as thick as my wrist. His legs are bowed, succumbing to the immense weight. Wide, bare feet dig into the stone floor as though they’ve always been part of the earth.

The troll’s face is perhaps his most unsettlingfeature. Its eyes are deep set, catching the firelight like molten coals. A flat, wide nose spreads across its face, with nostrils that flare with each breath. With each exhale, he emits a low, rumbling sound. Small tusks jut from the bottom jaw, curving upward like broken tree roots.

The troll’s gaze sweeps toward us, lingering on me for a moment. I gravitate close to Costin, wanting to hide behind him.

Yep. The vampire can do the talking.

There’s something about the troll’s eyes. Though it’s evidently a creature of brute strength, I can tell it’s not mindless. It moves with purpose, its enormous form blocking the firelight when he moves past.

“What brings you to Morvok’s domain, Costin and pet?” The troll’s low, gravelly voice reverberates over us, and I swear I feel the ground tremble beneath my feet. A grumbly reverberation follows the words, as if he has little cause to use his voice. His mouth is full of uneven, jagged teeth that protrude even when it’s closed—shards of broken stone ready to tear through anything in its path.

Honestly. This thing can call me whatever names he wants. I’m not going to protest.

Costin approaches him, his voice taking on a respectful tone. “Greetings, Morvok. We come because we need a necklace repaired.”

The troll ambles closer. My instinct is to step back, but Costin holds firm.

Long, stringy hair hangs in greasy clumps from Morvok’s head, matted with grime and what looks like the tangled remnants of a long-dead animal.

“Give Morvok.” He stretches out his hand.

Costin turns to me. “Give me the necklace.”

“Not Costin,” Morvok denies. “Pet give Morvok.”

The troll’s eyes shift toward me.

I pull the pouch out of my pocket and slowly move toward him. I tremble as I stretch my arm as far as it will go to give him the pouch. I catch the faint scent of damp earth and decay, like something that’s been buried for far too long. I’m well aware that every step we take forward is pulling me deeper into a world I barely understand.

“M-my name is Tamara.” My voice is unsteady as I drag my feet, inching closer. “It’s nice to meet you, Morvok.”

He grumbles, the sound vibrating the ground beneath me.

The troll holds out his hand, and I drop the pouch into his palm without touching him. He lifts it to his nose and sniffs. Something about what he senses causes him to move. “What trouble did you bring Morvok, Costin? This is an amulet, not a necklace.”

I step backward until I bump into Costin. Heplaces his hand on my shoulder and presses down to keep me there.

Bony ridges protrude from the troll’s back when he turns toward the firelight. He tears away the string holding the pouch shut and drops it on the floor before dumping the broken shards onto a worktable.

“Can you repair it?” Costin asks.

“Where did you steal this?” he demands. “This belongs to the gods. You are not a god.”

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