The Toll (48 page)

“
What’s real anymore?” My
heartbeat sped up, a slight throb in my temples coming on.
How
will
he fix
it? He’d seemed so sure—said he would. I had to force the question
on myself.
He never did say, and I dreaded
to think what he’d do, if he hadn’t attempted it
already.

We. Hah. How foolish of me.
Maybe it’s the bond making him feel that way, and he resents it. Is
that how it even works?
I knew I was
feeling it, and rather keenly, as well as his absence, short as
that has been, but I’d had the stirrings of unacknowledged
softening towards him even before the bond.

Perhaps he doesn’t wish to
be a ‘we’.

My chest ached at he
thought. He can’t fight the bond, hard as he wanted, and he very
well couldn’t break it, I knew at least that much.
How, then, could he do anything about
it?

I’m just a stupid human,
aren’t I?
Falling for a cursed beast
without a heart to love anyone with, even himself. “Heartless
bastard. Lumbering, grating, swearing, disgruntled,
uncouth...”

“
Tis but broken. Mend it.”
My skin pricked and an icy shiver kissed my spine. “Take the organ,
keep it safe.”

“
Niniane?” Stiffening, I
sputtered, eyes darting around. They widened as her voice whispered
on the wind, a few fluffy snowflakes kissing my face. “He doesn’t
want me anymore.”

“
Keep it safe... reap the
fate...” Then she was silent, the whistle of the wind ringing
hollowing as it whipped under the bridge.

“
I believe his is quite
safe, and untouched,” I grumbled, rolling my eyes. “As well as the
size of a bean!” Heartless wretch. “And I hope you’re happy now!
I’m going to die now, because of you, and your son will go on his
merry way!” I was beyond shouting, bellowing it out loud enough to
echo all around me. Was that what it was? When the bonded dies and
you can fight the pull long enough you’re free? “This is... that
is... it’s just... poppy cock! And you aren’t supposed to be
interfering anymore, you know!” My fist slammed into a plank of
wood. “You swore. Yow! Shit!”

“
And what did that poor old
structure ever do to you, hmm?”

“
What?” Leaning forward, I
thought the voice was coming from under the bridge as it rang out
across the rumbling current of the river. Wood creaked as I pressed
my face between two slats, struggling to catch a glimpse from
below.

“
Over here, and to your
left! Yes, that’s a girl. Don’t know why you’d look down below. Do
I seem a fish to you? A merman, perhaps?”

Jumping with a startled gasp, I didn’t
notice the tall, thin shouldered, springy haired red head towering
over me until it was too late. Squawking in protest, I tucked and
rolled to the side, his booted foot and quick thinking the only
thing to save me from a rather nasty, frigid, partially-frozen-over
river spill.

“
May I join you? That is to
say, I would love the pleasure of your company,
Miss...?”

A gurgling sound was my
response as I crab walked back a ways, I was so thoroughly stunned
silent
. Wouldn’t Troll be
proud?

He had an odd outfit on that I
couldn’t help but gape at—my uninvited acquaintance—his misshapen,
muted grey, floppy brimmed hat at odds with his sharp, tight black
pants, brand new looking, shiny black boots, gold earring dangling
from one ear, and brightly colored sash fastened around his slim
waist, just over his belt.

Slung across his chest, cross wise,
was a funny leather bag, and it looked so familiar, but I couldn’t
place from where. There was also a sword and a gun, both worn but
in relatively good shape, fastened to the thick leather belt at his
waist, to top it all off. A pirate from some silly ship captain’s
tale if I’d ever been witness to one.

“
What are you?” I found
myself blurting, watching as he grinned, flashing a set of large,
even white teeth as he flopped down next to me. For an instance I
thought I saw something dancing in those eyes—recognition?
Admiration, maybe?—but it was gone the next.

“
I think you meant
who
, not
what.”
He winked and
chuckled, his smile dying when I just stared up at him
blankly.

A few more awkward moments
passed.

“
Alright, then,” clearing
his throat aloud, I thought he muttered, “we’ll do it your way.’
Arms thrusting out, straightening the sleeves of his thick charcoal
grey winter coat and long, fur-lined purple cloak, he instantly
sobered, eyeing me evenly. “Last I perused?” His arms went wide,
spreading up and out at his sides, fingers wiggling along with his
well-shaped brows. “A man.” His deep voice was at odds with his
silly get up, rail thin frame, and rather flamboyant personality,
but I easily reminded myself that first impressions, as well as
looks, weren’t everything.

Meh. If he’s crazy, I’ll
just push him in the river,
I reasoned,
ignoring this new, violent, protective side to myself.
Survival instincts,
I
thought quietly
, that’s all it is, nothing
more. Merely wishing to survive.

Glancing down and taking in
my own bedraggled appearance—a real sight for sore eyes—I shifted
my sheet cloak closed tighter, wondering,
what must he think of me?

“
I say, you don’t talk
much, do you?” That teasing grin was back, his soft blue eyes
twinkling. “Name’s Bavol.” The overly friendly stranger thrust out
his hand, angling it towards me for a proper shake. I jerked back
reflexively, recoiling at his slight advance.

Eyeing me curiously, his hand fell and
he took a huge step back to give me a bit of space. “Got a name,
hmm? Or should I just call ya ginger?”

At my befuddled frown, he gestured to
my hair, the bits escaping my hood to trail down the front glinting
a dim orange in the waning light.

Tilting my head slightly to the side
to study him, I gave him a good once over. “Do you mean to rob me?”
I asked evenly, fingers tightening on my bag of coins, should I
need to beat him soundly with them. Or, as I’d said previously,
toss his bum in the river.

At the idea of him cozying up to me
just to rob me blind or kill me, I saw red. As my jaw clenched,
fingers fisted, my eyes flashed bright blue, the runes along my
skin, safely hidden beneath my cloak, shimmered across my
skin.

“
What? No!” Shaking his
head vigorously, this Bavol person, ripped off his hat, exposing a
bright mop of blood red locks, sticking up at all ends around his
head. “My lady, I assure you, I mean you no harm.”

“
Then what
do
you want? Everyone
always wants something.” And everything comes at a
price.

“
What makes you think I
wish something of you?” Arching thick brows, his shoulders lifted
in a carefree shrug as he settled himself a short distance away.
Wiggling his bum to get more comfortable, his legs swung back and
forth over the edge, one on either side of slats holding up the
bridge’s railing, reminding me more of a small boy than a grown
man.

“
I’m to believe that
hogwash?”

Blinking down at me, his mouth opened
and closed for a minute, hands cupping his swinging knees. He
seemed truly stumped. “Well... yes?”

“
Is that a question?”
Incredulous and a bit put out, I just stared at him. His response
sounded oddly like a question to me.

Gnawing the inside of his cheeks, his
eyes narrowed, staring off over my shoulder for a long moment.
Finally, he gave a slight nod, glancing towards me through the
corner of his eye.

Focus going back to me as I stared,
strangely fascinated by this odd man, he let out a half-hearted
chuckle and mumbled, “Uhm, no?”

I wasn’t afraid or leery of this scrap
of a male, he was too disarming to have my back up, though I did
proceed with caution. I didn’t sense anything warning me off from
him, so I let things stand.

At my dubious look, my lips pursed
tight, he rushed to explain, “I saw another lonely soul on this
bitter eve, and merely thought to extend the invitation. Others
have died in less, you know.”

Ignoring the fact that he had a
point—the village would have, I’m sure, by now, heard all about
‘Crazy Daphedaenya’, ready for a proper witch burning any day now,
so I couldn’t seek shelter there—and the ramshackle hut was too
far.

I’d be right toasty then, wouldn’t I,
if I’d chosen to face the masses? A Daphy-pire, I thought rather
sardonically.

How lovely.

Maybe Otvla and Troll could come
together to dance over my ashes before the wind takes
them.

“
Have a swig?” Waggling a
small water skin that smelled strongly of mead in front of me, I
shook it off.

“
No, but thank you.” My
voice came out low and soft, more tired than anything.

“
Eh, suit yourself.”
Shrugging, he downed the lot.

Knowing I was out of options, no troll
caves reappearing, or trolls, or other means of warmth in sight, I
asked, almost casually, “Invitation to what?”

Red brows winging upward, Bavol licked
his lips, relishing the last of his drink, setting his pouch back
in the small satchel at his side. His happy, toothy smile slowly
brightened and he climbed to his feet, holding a wide, long
fingered hand out to me warmly.

Blue eyes dancing, he admitted
jovially, with a flourish, “Why, to the gypsy camp, mistress, of
course.”

Travellers

Thoroughly questioning my sanity as I
tromped a good three feet behind the kooky man leading me—like the
pied piper without a flute—I followed behind nervously, wondering
if I’d just signed away my own fate.

No, wait, he’d had a
flute
.
Had
, I stressed. And I may or may
not have snarled at him to knock it off—tooting that noisy thing in
my face as he babbled about nothing and everything all at once, in
between—as he possibly led me to my certain, sudden, and rather
painful death when he thought my back was turned. He may even have
planned to use the flute, originally, to do it. Who
knows...

I also might have had
enough two miles back, snatching it from him and breaking it in
half over my knee, swiftly tossing it into the river.
You know—ahem—I could have. Can’t be too
sure.

Maybe I should have thrown him in
too.

“
Are you always this...?”
Bavol searched for a word.

“
Much of a mean bastard?” I
finished for him, not bothering to wipe my scowl, or the black mood
hovering over me.

“
Interesting,” he corrected
gently, still smiling bright.

Clearing my throat, I pursed my lips,
tipping my head up to eye him evenly. “No. At least... I didn’t
used to be.” The smile I tried for fell flat and I soon gave up on
it, dipping my head back down to follow the tops of his boots as he
danced around me like a hopped up man-fairy.

“
Do you think there are
man-fairies?” I murmured aloud.

“
Man-fairies?” Bavol barked
out a laugh. “Why, Nugget, would you think that?”

“
Dunno.” I shrugged. “Why
not? I mean, there are Troll’s, after all. Why not
man-fairies?”

“
Do you feel that you’ve
seen one?” he asked curiously, cocking his head to the side in a
manner that made me think of a hawk or a bird.

“
You’d certainly fit the
bill, I’d imagine.”

At the look on poor Bavol’s face,
shock mingling with surprise, his happy jig faltering, I burst out
laughing. As I started to gain on him, walking right past him at a
clipped pace, he easily caught up.

“
And coming from you?” he
challenged, flicking my hood. “A woman named Nugget, draped in bed
linens?”

“
Not much better than
Bavol, the pirate man-fairy,” I retorted, just as we reached the
edge of a large gathering.

There were dozens of fire pits
littered throughout, and a large camp was setting out around it
all, forming a large circle, a huge, roaring fire set up right in
the middle. The blue and red flames, dancing around in a circle in
the pit as couples embraced around it, twirling and weaving out in
a dizzying pattern, swaying and belting out songs joyously as some
sat and watched, had me rooted to the spot.

Inhaling deeply, I was surprised to
scent magic in the air, brushing at my skin like a warm caress,
welcoming me like a lover’s touch.

“
You should see Magda
first,” Bavol whispered next to my ear, tossing an arm over my
shoulder.

“
Oh?” Shrugging him off, I
lowered my hood, the air unusually warm as we stepped foot inside
the circle, working our way between a wagon and a tent. “And why is
that?”

“
She’ll like your eyes.
Neat trick you’ve got there.”

“
It’s not a trick,” I
murmured absently, fingertips brushing over my brows
self-consciously.