The Prophesy Rhymes Of Tal Kator
Darren Shell
SMASHWORDS.COM EBOOK EDITION
published by Fideli Publishing, Inc.
Copyright 2009, Darren Shell
All Rights Reserved.
SMASHWORDS.COM EBOOK EDITION
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This is a work of fiction. Any and all characters are a product of the author's imagination, and any correlation between these characters and those of real people are strictly coincidental.
From the Book of Lore, the Dark Ages
Through forest and field,
Fen and glade,
A harsh and terrible
Sound is made.
Never a likely
Tale's been told,
In Leafling lore
From tales of old.
There came a cry
From distant north,
And Devil Troll
Came raging forth.
He cast his spell
With poison rain,
And Tal Kator
Cried tears of pain.
And Quoth, said Troll,
"Nevermore!
Will Leafling toil
In Tal Kator!"
… and the Prophesy begins.
~1~
In the far reaches of the Deep Forest, lived a very large colony of Leaflings. It wasn't the very farthest depths of the woods, but it was far enough that most of the King's men and the wandering wizards never bothered to travel there. It was a fantastic glen, or valley, with the most placid small lake in the center. This body of water was fantastically beautiful, and for the peaceful village of Tal Kator, it was perfect. The Leaflings of Tal Kator lived all around the confines of this sparkling lake that they named Mirare, meaning mirror. There was a great waterfall that flowed into it that added vibrant sounds, and the beautiful swirling currents engulfed the Leaflings in very nutrient-rich and oxygen-filled water. It was a place of great beauty, with the woodland animals bouncing to and fro in their perfect little woodland setting. Its waters soothed body and soul for the Leaflings, and they all considered it the absolute Utopia of the world. And although many a wolf had trodden his way through this seemingly desolate section of forest, the existence of these special creatures has somehow remained a mystery for centuries beyond account.
It is no small wonder that the keen nose of a savvy wolf would not have discovered these vibrant little beings of the woods. But, the fact that they are not actually mammals could attest for that. That's the trouble with these spiritual little creatures. They are not really animals, they are not really plants. They are somewhat of a combination. It seems impossible that such vibrant and strange life could exist in the Deep Forest, and yet, it happened. In the very early tongues of man, they were called Myrtos, a Greek term meaning small green plant. Some of the descendents of these creatures actually became Myrtle, which is a long-known and loved ground cover that grows in many varieties in many places in the world. Most Myrtle varieties of the world are very low-slung and vine-like. Their beautiful violet blooms enhance the stark winter floor of most woodland settings where other plants dare not delve. They have very ivy-like characteristics that make them quite well suited for their protective nature of hugging the forest floor, with their network of net-like coverings. Myrtle's ancient ancestors, the Leaflings, were not much different in appearance.
The Leaflings so resembled their Myrtle cousins, that if they chose to simply stand still ...they would be completely camouflaged and totally unnoticed. Their skin, or bark, was very rough looking and dark in color. But, its texture was much softer to the touch than it appeared to the naked eye. Even though it looked very rough and crude, it smoothed out like hair when touched, and was actually quite pleasant to experience. Their limbs, or legs and arms, were exceptionally thin to view. They, too, looked vine-like and seemed as gangly as ivy. But despite their skinny appearance, these creatures were remarkably strong and durable. A full-grown man could step directly upon their eight-to-ten inch bodies, and they would simply bend to meet the weight.
The head of a Leafling is much the same as that of man. They have facial features that, at times, show quite vibrantly. And still other times, they could seem totally nonexistent. That's what makes them so hard to discern in the woods. You simply cannot see them if they choose to be unseen. All they really have to do is stand still and act, well, like a plant.
These wonderful creatures have numerous leafy coverings upon them, and some have much more than others. Some even go through a leafless state like that of trees, but it is rarely seen in the winter months. They seem to shed these leaf-like hairs in summer as a cooling mechanism. Even in their leafless state, the Leaflings are still impossible to see when they choose. They just look like little sticks.
Another very special characteristic of these creatures is located on their fingers and toes. Where modern man grows toenails and fingernails, the Leaflings grow long and slender root-like appendages. They are used in the gathering of food. You see, the Leaflings do not eat...at least not with their mouth. When they need nourishment, they simply pause and push their roots into any soft soil. Sometimes a wet pile of leaves serves as quite a meal. Now granted, this takes much longer than the time we humans take to eat, but for a long-lived and durable Leafling, the earthy nutrients are well worth the wait. And the fact that they don't eat, means one more trait of survival...they do not leave droppings. Where there's no poop, there must not be creatures, and that, alone, could attest for their long secrecy.
There have been times, over the years, that drought has become a troublesome battle for the Leaflings. They can tolerate a very long dry spell, and still live through it without much discomfort. The dryness does take its toll, though. For instance, they become much more brittle and much less tolerant of the footsteps of man. They tend to break, when dry. Also, their voices become almost nonexistent. Even when well lubricated, the voice of a Leafling is raspy and dry...like the rubbing of wood...the rustling of leaves. It is almost a loud whisper. Their speech can be heard by those trained in the listening, but if one was not prepared to hear such noises, they would seem quite normal and woods-like. But, to the listening of the trained ear, the Leaflings have developed a language much like that of the very early English. Some of their words are of Latin decent, and some of Greek. Some other influences have changed their speech over the years, much like that of all walks of life. Language changes with the life around it and the Leaflings have life all around them. Even the birds and animals played a part in their language.
Despite their developed language, the Leaflings live a fairly primitive sort of life. Their lifestyle resembles that of the Native American Indians. They can live from the land, and protect their own with the fierce anger of the toughest of warriors. They even carve their own tiny arrowheads and build their own arrows...which they shoot from their own limbs...like a sling. No bow and string...just their own limbs and the waxy vine-like twine of a root system at their fingertips. They can actually bend those roots and use their appendages as fingers, or stretch them out as tentacle-like whips with many uses. They can be ferocious little blokes when they want to be. They are like much-developed spiders, with limbs flailing and snapping back and forth with razor-like precision. Thankfully, they are quite calm and peace-loving creatures most of the time, which might be attributed to their lack of sexual differences. These Leafling creatures are both male...and female.
To reproduce, the Leafling parent simply leaves its root-like fingernails immersed in soil and wait. In a matter of a few days, tiny roots sprout from their fingers, and with a quick, intentional snap, they break off a piece of themselves...thus allowing a portion of themselves to root on its own and come to life. It is a very emotional time in the life of a Leafling. It is said to be quite painful, but very rewarding for a parent to fulfill its destiny...to bare the life of another. It is a choice made by the Leafling when the time is right, which is considerably different from the mammal world, where opportunity sometimes knocks at very inopportune and awkward times. It seems to bring both the feminine qualities to the creature, as well as masculine. It is said that this brings a greater and deeper understanding of living things than is accomplished through normal male/female conditions. They are normally in tune to the influences of the world that deal with the complexities of life, itself. They are, in fact, quite peaceful creatures, most of the time ...and go way out of their way to avoid any sort of conflict. But Peace, my friends, isn't always peaceful, and it isn't always achieved through peaceful means. Peace...can sometimes only be upheld by force...by war ...by some of the most unmerciful means imaginable. And, in the name of Peace...and because of the persistence of one disgusting old Troll, the floor of the Deep Forest was about to erupt.
~2~
The morning sun pierced the hazy morning sky and bounced from the surface of the Mirare. Young Kimbli and his Leafling parent, Tulas, sat peacefully on the shoreline with their toes pushed deeply into the muddy bank. They watched as tree swallows sailed overhead and elegantly soared over the lake surface, searching for tiny insects. Squirrels scampered from tree to tree, barking back and forth with one another, and bluebirds sang their morning song. The age-old branches of the great chestnut stretched out over the edge of The Great Falls, offering shade and shelter. In the distance, the chuckling voices of young Leaflings floated on the morning air, as they pounced and played merrily on the forest floor. Spring was in the air in Tal Kator, and life was as fresh as the morning dew.
Tulas looked down proudly at his young Leafling by his side. With a crooked smile, his mind danced back to the day when the little one was born. It seemed like only yesterday that he had pushed his hand deep into the soil and waited. Days passed as he silently and patiently sat as all vigilant Leafling parents must. He could easily remember the tingling sensation of new roots beginning to form, and could almost hear that dreaded, yet rewarding, snap of his arm breaking...creating life. Young Kimbli was the light of his life, and he loved him more than life itself.
Now, before this story goes any farther, one must consider how Leaflings were addressed by man. The Leaflings were referred to as males, (him, he, his, etc.) because they tend to look male. As has already been stated, they are not just male, but female as well. Many of their mannerisms are much more female than male, but overall, they appear male at first glance. Most have had trouble referring to them without gender references, so for a lack of a better way, most refer to them as male. Although, at times, it isn't fitting at all. For instance, the young Leaflings affectionately call their parents Ori. It is derived from the Latin term Oriri, meaning origin...or parent. The terms Mom and Dad do not fit, and Ori (to the Leaflings) is an address held in high regard. It is a playful and loving term, loved by one and all.
Kimbli was in his usual morning doldrums, impatiently waiting for his morning feeding to end so he could join his Leafling friends in their morning frolic. The young Leaflings, and sometimes old ones, love to play in the morning. They have many little games of fancy that nearly all contain swinging from tree limbs or swimming in the lake. One even consists of throwing one another into the air by using their long fingers to weave nets between themselves like firemen catching someone in a tarp. The Leaflings play with all their hearts, and few members of the forest could keep up when they chose to play along. Some of the young squirrels would play for awhile, but would shy away when the throwing got a little too close to the water. So, by now, young Kimbli had heard enough singing and playing to be well annoyed by the wait.
"Come on, Kimbli," yelled one of the youngsters. "Don't be such a stick-in-the-mud."
"Can I Ori, pleeeeeeease," he asked, with the sweetest sad-eyes he could conjure.
"Alright," said Tulas, "I suppose you've had enough. You may go." Tulas chuckled as Kimbli jerked his feet from the soil and scurried off. "Stay away from the old Apple Tree!" he shouted, in his raspy Leafling voice. Within seconds, the little one was five feet in the air and laughing out loud along with his friends. And, the floor of the Deep Forest was glad.
Tulas eventually pulled his feet from the soil and made his way across the clearing to the edge of the forest. He slowed his pace as he passed the old Apple tree. Some of the old Leaflings were enjoying a "good soaking" at the old Apple. The old Apple was a favorite destination among the old timers, and was quite popular as a local hang-out. Last year's apples had fallen and fermented upon the forest floor, and the old Leaflings loved the fermented soil like mankind loves the effects of a fine barrel of ale or wine. They were having a right-jolly old time as Tulas approached.
"A bit early to be hitting the fruit, Ducah," smarted Tulas to one of the barkies. The term barky was a term used by younger Leaflings to poke fun at the older crowd. "You barkies can always be found near here."
"My purpose," suggested Ducah, with a drunken smile, "is purely medicinal, and nothing more! Me old boughs hurt me so, you know!"
"Yes, yes, of course," said Tulas, "how could I be so judgmental... Do accept my humble apologies, dear friend." Tulas smiled his crafty smile and raised a knowing eyebrow. "Carry on, my friends...as you were!" The old blokes continued their conversations, laughing to and fro as Tulas strolled past, chuckling to himself. Today was a good day. The young ones were frolicking playfully and the barkies were happy doing what they do best. And, Tulas was just glad to be a part of it. Tal Kator had all the comforts of a warm civilization, and all the serenity of the most remote and natural portions of the wood, and life seemed to float along with the sweetest of harmonies. Life was pure and simple here...just as life is supposed to be.
Tulas reached his destination and waited patiently on the rock overhang, just outside a small cave. He watched as a number of young ones hung from the old Chestnut and slung others into the vibrant waters of the Mirare. They laughed and played as if there was no tomorrow. Today, he wished he could play along, but knew that Azir would be ready for his teachings. Tulas was a faithful student of the elder Leafling, by the name of Azir. Azir was the oldest and wisest of all the Leaflings, and carried a weight of knowledge that seemed to burden him beyond his years. Knowledge can be a great and terrible weight to carry. Some of the happiest creatures one could ever meet in this world are plum stupid. That sounds harsh, but sometimes, ignorance is bliss. Sometimes, the wiser one becomes, the more worried one becomes...and vise-versa. Sometimes knowledge and destiny become too entwined, and Azir was a very knowledgeable individual.
Today was to be just another day of lessons and spiritual work for Tulas. He attended a meeting several days a week to learn the teachings of Leafling lore. Leaflings rarely ever documented anything on paper or stone. They chose, like many civilizations, to simply relay, from one to another, the important occurrences of a very old civilization. They learned...from word of mouth...from old-to-young...and that seemed to be enough. It was history from folklore...and folklore from history. And, it served this community well for generations.
"Come, Tulas," came the coarse voice of old Azir, "we have much to cover today." Tulas stepped beneath the rock ledge and found Azir in his usual meditating position of setting with all fours pushed into the soil and eyes closed. Azir had parented Leaflings more then once, and had lived long enough to re-grow his hands to full potential. It was rare for a Leafling to parent more than once, and certainly, most that had, did not live long enough to fully recover use of their limbs. Azir was well preserved for his age and carried himself well, as the wise and respected individual that he had become. He had taken it upon himself to educate the colony and had also made great strides in broadening the language spoken here in Tal Kator. His teachings of Faith warmed the hearts of all the Leaflings, and he was as loved as he was respected. He had come to love Tulas as his own young, and hoped that he would someday take over his position as Elder of the colony. Tulas was very much like Azir in his spirituality, and the two had an uncommonly close relationship as friends.
"You look tired today, Azir," spoke Tulas, with a concerned glance. "Would you like to carry out our lesson here..."
"The Shard will strengthen me," Azir replied. "I will feel better when we arrive."
"Alright, my barky friend," smiled Tulas, "have it your way. To the Shard we go! I could use a sip from the falls, myself. It should be an excellent walk on this fine day. The little ones are making waves as we speak."
Tulas extended a supportive arm to Azir, and the two slowly made their way along the stony path from Azir's abode to the shelter beneath The Great Falls. The jagged rocks along the path were worn beautifully smooth by the countless touchings of Leafling hands, and the greenery of trees and plants seemed to creep only close enough to offer their beauty to passers-by. The two paused at a long row of daffodils and admired the rich yellow blooms dripping with morning dew in the bright morning sun. "We are fortunate," said Azir, quietly, "to live near such beauty...and take the time to see it."
"I will accept that as my first lesson of the day." Tulas smiled as he spoke and continued his trek down the path. It wasn't long before the path ended at the base of the rock bluff that overlooked the Mirare and supported the falling water of The Great Falls. As Tulas suspected, the young ones were dangling, hand from hand, from the Old Chestnut and slinging one another out into the lake with a splash. Their chuckling voices seemed to please Azir, and he called out to them, "I see you are giving the Old Chestnut a workout this morning. Don't be too hard on the old rascal, he needs his rest." The young ones hardly slowed down long enough to hear the old Leafling's words, and it appeared that the Old Chestnut enjoyed the attention of having the little ones crawling and hugging all about him. Even if the old tree could talk, it is doubtful he would have any objections.
Their path continued along the water's edge. It narrowed considerably where the bluff met the water, and the two hugged closely to the rock wall. The path meandered along the bluff and up to the waters of the Great Falls. The water was crisp and clear, and very cool to the touch. The two paused at a bench ledge and sat there soaking up the tiny drops of mist in the air. "There is no greater place in the world than right here," exclaimed Tulas, with a smile. "This water soothes the soul. It rejuvenates me."
"It rejuvenates us all, Tulas," said Azir. "The water, the soil, the stones of this cave...they are the life source of the Leaflings. We are as much a part of this place as it is a part of us. Our beautiful home is our life." Azir often spoke his spiritual thoughts aloud, and Tulas sometimes shunned them as just a little too deep for him. "Yeah, yeah," joked Tulas, "and the sun, and the moon, and the stars...I think you've been over at the Old Apple with the rest of the barkies."
Azir shook his head and wondered what the youth of this world was coming to. "Come along, Tulas," he barked with a frown, "there are many lessons I must try to pound into your head. Your Ori's head was hard as an oak, and I don't believe the branch has fallen far from the tree." Tulas smiled at the old one's insults and helped him on into the cavern behind the falls.
Part of the lake extended back into the cavern behind the falls. The reflection of the morning sun from the lake surface helped to light up the stone room that the two Leaflings had entered. It was a very large room with many passageways extending into the deep darkness of the cave. The two instinctively made their way to the center of the cave and stopped at the foot of a large stalagmite protruding from the ground. The top of the stalagmite had been cut flat, and upon it sat a beautiful, sparkling, purple stone. Both Leaflings dropped to their knees and bowed their heads in prayer, and both recited, in unison, a portion of an age-old rhyme, known as The Lay of the Amethyst Stone. Their raspy voices echoed through the cool darkness of the cave, and they opened their hearts and minds as they spoke.
From fiery night it fell
As if from burning Hell.
It scorched into the ground
To places still unfound.
And from disaster came
Life without a name.
They pulled their roots from land
And walked on foot and hand.
And raised by human fist
Came the Shard of Amethyst.
Azir began a very low and deep rumble of a chant. Tulas joined in harmony. The faint light from the pool's reflection was piercing the Amethyst Stone and reflecting vibrant, pale-purple light inside the cave. In the purple darkness, the two meditated and absorbed the radiant energy of the Shard. At last, Azir spoke aloud, "Long live the Literati," and Tulas then spoke the same.
After a few moments of silence, they raised their heads and stood. Azir slowly walked to the edge of the water inside the cave and seated himself with his feet and toes extended out into the cool water. "Tell me, Tulas," called Azir, "what you remember of the Literati scholars. And tell me," he said, "...as you would tell Kimbli."
Tulas joined his ancient friend at the edge of the pool. His heart swelled at the mention of his young one, and he smiled the same crooked smile as he had earlier in the day with Kimbli. "I have been working with Kimbli for many days, and he has absorbed his lessons well. Shall I start from the beginning, Azir..."
"From whence we came," replied Azir. The old Leafling bowed his head and listened closely as his old roots soaked up the refreshing waters of the Mirare.
Tulas cleared his raspy throat and prepared for his speech. Since the Leaflings rarely put words on paper or stone, the precise reciting of historical events was treated with deep regard, and Tulas took every effort to relay his teachings with the utmost perfection. At last, he spoke. "Long before the awakening of the Leaflings, the Literati scholars studied the ways of the world, and wrote volumes of spiritual lore and wisdom from the days of old." He paused and searched his mind for the proper words. He finally collected himself and spoke again. "Our creed states from disaster came...life without a name...and from disaster, we did in fact come. There is a very rare condition that occurs in this world. From the far reaches of outer space, meteors...balls of fiery burning mass...enter the Earth's atmosphere. It was during one of these rare times, that one particular meteor plummeted deeply into the Earth's crust. Its fiery mass pushed itself hundreds of feet into the soil, melting its way through rock and clay. It came to rest deep below what is now the Mirare. Its scorching core produced steaming gases that belched and sizzled their way to the surface, causing large tunnel-like passageways that culminated in the cavern behind the falls. The meteor had enormous power...huge radiant energy. The forest floor that lay disrupted and scorched in jumbled and turbulent piles, began to re-grow. Life forms that once existed...now evolved. The Deep Forest became rich with life...and our roots pulled from land...and walked on foot and hand. Our colony became known as Tal Kator. Tal is derived from the Greek term Telesma, meaning a religious rite, or charm. Kator is derived from the Greek term Kata-strephein, meaning disaster, or catastrophe. Our name literally means Life Created from Disaster. The Leaflings...had awakened."
Old Azir smiled quietly, as he absorbed Tulas' words. He was proud of how Tulas had accepted his teachings, and enjoyed the listening of the tales of old.
"The Literati," continued Tulas, "sensed the immediate changes in the old forest. Being in tune with nature and the spirit of the forest, these spiritual and scholarly people of the church came forth and raised the first-born Leaflings...or Myrtos, as they were called. It is from the loving gift of these ancient scholars and holy people that we speak and live with the very true harmonies of the forest. Although we worship the life-giving properties of the fiery meteor, we worship the Literati for their generous gift of the parental raising given to our ancestors. It is the Literati, that took us under their wing, and raised us as their own. It was they who showed us the true spirit of the forest...the true love of life...the path of enlightened living. To them, we owe our existence."
"Well done, Tulas," suggested Azir, "you have listened well. There is much more to tell, but we shall get to that." The old Leafling paused for a moment and dangled his toes. "We must cover more of the Amethyst Stone today. Let's see...let me collect my thoughts. Are you in frame of mind to listen..."
"Most certainly," replied Tulas, "as long as you shall speak." And there they sat...young Leafling and mentor, student and teacher ...friends reciting history...and learning life. And in the pale-purple darkness of this ancient cave, two Leaflings were glad.
Azir again spoke, "The Literati began to fear that mankind would discover the Leaflings...and more importantly, the Amethyst Stone. There is much more to the Amethyst Stone than just..." At that very moment, a hush fell over the outside forest floor. The Leaflings had a way of shushing one another when danger arose. It was much like when birds sense something out of place and fly. When one flies, they all do. When Leaflings sense danger, they quietly make a hushing sound, and the closest Leafling then does the same. In this way, a wave of wind-like precaution flowed through the colony, and looked like nothing more than a cool breeze drifting over the forest floor. When danger passed, life would carry on as it had before the incident. It was simple, yet very effective.
"It's probably just that band of stupid crows again, Azir," spoke Tulas, with a frown. Crows were a common nuisance with the Leaflings, and the Leaflings tried to evade them whenever possible. They really weren't too much of a problem for an older Leafling, but they could be very dangerous to a young one. The problem with crows is that they are stupid. They have virtually no language of their own, other than a few caws and cackles, but no real distinguishable verbal skills at all. Most of the creatures of the forest have some sort of communication between them. The Leaflings had learned to communicate with many of those creatures, and had quite a relationship with most. Crows, however, were just stupid. They had a love of anything new or shiny. Their nests were full of completely useless items found on their journeys over the countryside. They just collected things or toyed with them on the forest floor, much like a cat plays with its prey. So, when crows came into contact with a Leafling, they might grab it with their sharp beak and toss it into the air ...just to see what will happen. If it makes noise, so much the better. And if it fights back a little...great! A properly delivered bite of a crow could snap a Leafling in two, so all Leaflings did their best to avoid them. Now, most adult Leaflings can overpower a crow if given the need, but some danger still impends, and Leaflings generally hushed and tried their best to look like a tree limb until any nearby crows moved on.
"Quiet!" exclaimed Azir at a whisper. "Listen closely."
There was utter quiet outside the falls for quite some time. Then, a startling squawk of a bird was heard. Shortly thereafter, a huge splash interrupted the peaceful surface of the Mirare, and Tulas and Azir raced for the entrance of the cave. As they peered from behind the falls, they saw a large black bird flopping in a panic in the center of the lake. "Stupid crow," said Tulas, with a scowl.
"No!" exclaimed Azir. "That's no crow! Summon the guards! Save him!" With a questioning look of surprise, Tulas raced from the cave and out into the light along the shores of the Mirare. "Help me!" he shouted, as he swam out into the lake. Numerous Leaflings piled in after him, creating a vine-like lifeline of hand-to-hand Leaflings. Tulas grasped the wing of the frantic bird, and with one swift pull, the line of Leaflings tugged the animal from the water in seconds. A wave of others swept the bird into the safety of the cave and stared in disbelief at the gaping wound in its chest. The bird coughed and gagged and held his wings to his bleeding breast.
Outside, the Leafling guards surrounded the entrance of the cave, with small spears shining in the sun. Many of the Leaflings from inside the cave raced outside to help the Leafling guards, and a barricade of green and brown little bodies reinforced the cave entrance. Inside the cave, another row of Leaflings was standing ready for any infiltration. Behind those, deep in the darkness of the cave, a grinding and clacking sound of wooden gears could be heard. File after file of Leaflings brought piles of wooden spears from deep within the cave. Meanwhile, a bloody and battered black bird was whaling uncontrollably.
In the far distance outside of the cave, a bewildered individual stood in amazement at what they had just witnessed. A leather slingshot fell from his hand as he stepped forward into the view of the cave. At that precise moment, twenty razor-sharp spears entered the ground at his feet as a warning.
Despite the fiery anger burning in his heart, he backed away in retreat. With a hateful growl, he carefully walked away, mumbling to himself, and wondering what in the world had just happened.
~3~
One day earlier...
The last few rays of daylight were disappearing over the mountains as a very large figure lit the kindling beneath his evening fire. The flickering fire pushed its orange glare against the bluff wall of the home of Tolokah, the Troll. He was well-known in the Deep Forest for his hateful and deceitful ways, and he was more commonly called Terrere, which is a Latin term meaning terrible. So, Tolokah the Terrible could be... and was, a very fitting name for the wretched individual that lived beneath this stone bluff in the distant edges of the forest.
Now, it is hardly fitting to tell of some of his rotten actions without first telling of the reason for his awful nature. Trolls, by most measurable means, are all disgusting and mean creatures. They are a product of a very simple, yet perplexing, trouble. It seems that the very core of every troll problem begins in troll-perpetuation. What I mean is...trolls... became extinct for a reason. It was a very calculated and long-foreknown plight that the trolls would have to face. Quite simply, there were very, very few female trolls, and even those that did exist, would rarely bare a female offspring. So every troll male, not only did without, but also connived and planned to gain himself a female. They all were constantly fighting for the love (and reproduction rights) of a female troll.
This single problem could be studied by every psychologist in the country for years. Every action affects the next, and strong repercussions followed every troll movement. For instance, imagine being one of the desired females. Whatever you desired, would be fought for, and if you did not receive it from one male...another would be standing in line, begging for your hand. No marriages lasted, and of course, females were expected...and forced...to bear young to perpetuate the species. Often times, females would have eight or ten young male offspring with one male, and switch spouses to try to give birth to a female.
It was a life-long feverish attempt to procreate life...and it caused deep aggression with all walks of troll life. There was simply no love or affection, what-so-ever. There was only a perpetual attempt to save troll-kind, and hate and loneliness and despair followed every troll. Males would tarry off into the forest to live their lonely lives, and females battled the age-old question of what male could give her the most during her long and pregnant life. It was a life none should be forced to endure, and yet it happened.
Great battles were fought over females, and many male trolls simply would rather die fighting for the hand of a female than face a life alone. Some young males were even forced by the elder trolls to mate with their own mothers... to try to increase the genetic possibilities of producing a female offspring. It was really a horrid existence for most trolls. Eventually, these very large and immensely strong beings that once could have been the leading race of the world...left the face of the earth forever... but not before causing great havoc. Their bitterness ate at the very core of their souls for so long, that these creatures hated and battled everything in their path. Unfortunately for the rest of the world, they were also fairly intelligent beings...and, intelligence and anger can be devastating to behold.
* * *
The very name, Tolokah, would strike fear in the hearts of many. Even in the cities of man, that name could put fright in the heartiest of warriors. Thankfully, Tolokah had little business in the cities of man. He loathed the sight of humans, but did tolerate their being when he needed something from their far-more-civilized communities and lavishly-built homes and businesses. Even their politics and religion intrigued him, but his jealousy of man's perfect lives disallowed all but a little communication with them. He would stoop to their level when he needed something, and toss them aside if they should push themselves upon him. He had killed more men than he could remember, and cared not to try. They were barely worth his effort to kill...and he made no bones about. Give me what I want... and you might live. He was quite used to getting his way. Thankfully, he never developed a taste for human women. That would have become a disaster beyond account.
By now, Tolokah had his feet propped up, and he was leaning back against the stone wall of his bluff. By his side, sat a very large stone jug. He had numerous ones just like it, stacked safely along the base of the bluff wall. Inside these many jugs was a concoction he had made himself. It was known as troll-wine, but it was really more of a very strong fruit whiskey. Nearly all trolls love their wine, and Tolokah was no exception to the rule. His nights were spent delving deeply into his jugs of wine and desperately trying to find a way to capture the heart of the one and only female he had ever known (besides his own mother).
The female of Tolokah's dreams (and at least one hundred other male trolls) was and older woman by the name of Meilan. Now, despite the fact that she was a troll, she was quite beautiful. Troll women did not generally look as troll-ish as their male counterparts. Most were better than seven feet tall, and they carried their strong, but slender build with a very sensuous heir. Now, their attitudes were equally rotten to those of the males, but their looks were quite different. They were very much like hot, Neanderthal chicks...with an attitude. Other than their remarkably strong arms, they looked quite human, and Meilan was the perfect specimen. She had very long, flowing black hair that hung well below her well-defined breasts, and her shapely hips gave every male a reason to fight for her hand. She had already given birth to six young males, but none had blemished her appearance in any way. She was still very desirable, despite the scarceness of other females. And, like clockwork, every twelve months she would give birth...with whomever male she chose.
Tolokah sat as he always did...angry almost to the point of tears, and drunk as an in-port sailor. Although most would never have guessed it, he was really a deep individual. He would hum little songs he had written for Meilan, although he never believed she would ever hear them. No one ever saw the complexity in Tolokah's make up. As with most individuals from all walks of life, those tender sides rarely show themselves, and the rough and tumble ways shine because of their ease-of-display. Tolokah could have been a great individual, but his bitterness never failed to dominate. Still, there were times when old Terrere wasn't so terrible. When the wine was flowing, and he truly longed for Meilan, some of the sweetest poetry flowed from his tongue. One of his lovely verses follows:
Cast upon the air,
Flows flawless brunette hair
And wafts its scent divine
Upon this skin of mine...
On skin of mine.
I would build for thee
Halls of tranquility.
and tend your every whim
To steal you neigh from him.
Neigh from him.
I would place you high above...
on pedestal made of love.
And move mountains made of sand,
Just to gain your hand.
To gain your hand.
These words are just a piece of many, many strands of long-winded and heart-felt words he had written for her. Each night, he would hum and sing, curse and growl, and drink himself into oblivion. It's a sad tale, and without a doubt, poor Tolokah had reason for his bitter anger. But reason does not make his deeds right...it only makes them more understandable. His deeds were not only sorrowful...but also detestable.
So goeth the plight of a troll.
And as the last few embers of his fire dwindled down to ash, Tolokah drifted into sleep. As he tossed in drunken slumber, he mumbled a few crude words..."Some day soon, my dear...my pretty." And that was all for the night.
* * *
Tolokah woke as usual...his mouth was dry and his head hurt. He had no appetite, but knew that by noon he would be quite hungry and ready to start the whole process once more. He picked up his leather sling from the stone beside him and slowly meandered his way through the forest, looking for something edible to shoot. Tolokah was a deadly shot with his sling. He could toss a rock with absolute precision, and kill nearly any small animal with one blow. Rabbit was one of his favorites, but he would settle for anything that wiggled when squeezed. Birds were a delicacy when they could be found, but most scattered far before his bulky feet could plow through the forest floor. He wasn't exactly light on his feet, and hunting was a day-long challenge for him. Thankfully for him, he was a great aim, and that made up for his lack of quiet stalking. He was still a formidable hunter.
After a few failed attempts at a barking squirrel, Tolokah continued his search farther south than usual. He could see a few crows flying in the far distance. He could really enjoy a finely-cooked crow from his fireplace. Despite the old adage, crow wasn't all that bad to eat, and Tolokah could almost smell the warming meat on his roasting stick. "Yeah," he said, "south we go."
After a few miles of southward travel, Tolokah came upon three black birds high up in the tall branches of a sycamore. They appeared to be more interested in something below them, and they chattered back and forth between themselves in a way that allowed Tolokah to creep far too closely. His eye was fixed upon one particular bird that was considerably closer than the rest. The bird's gaze was focused solely on the other two and the movement below them near a beautiful small lake. As the bird continued to focus below himself, Tolokah placed a very sharp and weighty stone into his leather sling. Ordinarily, these birds would have taken flight at the quiet sound of the swirling strands of leather spinning below them, but their interest was held elsewhere. Tolokah took careful aim, as he wound up his shot. Faster and faster his stone swirled. As the old black bird refocused on the happenings below, Tolokah released his grip of one of his strands of leather...releasing the stone with remarkable speed. Within a second, the bird fell backward from its perch and flailed uncontrollably downward into the pool of water. Its companions jumped in startled dismay and flew cautiously overhead and watched their leader plunder into the cold clear water. As they circled in frantic dismay, they watched as an unbelievable occurrence unfolded before their eyes. The floor of the forest swept toward the lake with a wave of motion. A raspy call of some sort echoed through the valley. Within seconds, the leader of this band of secretive birds was swept into a waterfall by this wave of greenery, and disappeared from sight. Almost simultaneously, Tolokah stepped forth to view the same occurrence. Spears flew through the air, and a deafening hush spread over the forest...and a very suspicious troll quietly crept away. And as two black birds flew solemnly overhead, the greenery below them came to a screeching halt...and the forest floor became dead-quiet.
~4~
Within the confines of Great Falls Cave, the groups of Leafling fighters were beginning to disband. Quite some time had passed, and Azir was growing impatient with the incessant questions and constant prodding for information from the Leafling guards. "Leave us," commanded Azir, "I will call you if needed. Tulas...send word to the sentinels... man their posts until further notice. Keep all young ones within the confines of the Mirare. I should like to be alone with the bird...at least until we can make certain of its intentions."
Tulas reluctantly did as he was told, and waited patiently outside the entrance to the cave for further instructions. Tulas was both head of the sentinel guard and spiritual leader for most of the younger Leafling children. The older Leaflings, of course, preferred to speak with Azir when possible. But, as time passed, old Azir was less and less available for lessons, and more commonly than not, chose to let Tulas take the reins. Despite some odd comments from many older Leaflings, young Tulas was becoming a stronghold in the community, and did his best to conduct himself in an appropriate manner. He was approaching the spiritual age of five years. Adulthood in Leaflings happens at about two years of age. Those two year-olds are much like the teenagers of man's prodigy. So, by now, most of you have discerned that Tulas' son, Kimbli, was just approaching this tender age. He was well-beyond his first year, and had moved much further along in his studies than most his age. He was a product of a loving parent...as most truly strong students are, and conducted himself in a knowledgeable and confident way. He was the well-behaved, well-educated, and well-spoiled youth of Tulas the Knight. He was well-loved, but also held in a jealous regard by some of the Leafling youngsters. They all admired his strong and intelligent demeanor, yet fantasized about the lofty position that he would someday hold. Someday, he would be the Leafling equivalent to a prince. He would be heir to the throne of Tal Kator, and everyone here knew it.
After a few hours of Azir consoling this bird, it finally calmed down some and Azir was able to discern a few odd ramblings from it. Most of its speech was a series of gurgling sounds and sharp whistles, and it took Azir quite a while to make any sense of what the bird was trying to say. Azir could communicate with most birds quite fluently, but this bird's speech was different from that of any of the large birds he had come in contact with in his long life. Finally, Azir spoke, "You appear to us as a crow."
The bird appeared disgusted with the term crow, and even made a nasty coughing sound followed by a crudely spoken word, "Alck! Crow! Alck!"
"Alright," said Azir, "then what are you..."