V
954 Words
VI FORCED MYSELF TO breath deep and relax. Just thinking of trolls again was a little much. I sat back against the wall behind that narrow bunk, and pulled one knee up to hold onto. My jeans and hands smelled of milk and cow, my boots smelled of chicken yard. But both milk and eggs were now cooling. I'd need to work them along, but for now, I could just take some time to digest all this morning's events.
Taking stock - I was sitting in the old bunkhouse, with a fairy tale creature who said he was a male wood nymph. It seemed that together, we had vanquished a troll by turning him into a cloud and having said cloud be whisked away into the atmosphere.
The nymph, who calls himself "Trimble" claims to have a broken leg, but it will heal in a few more days. Days. And I'd seen him change from a full-sized human down to a pint-sized creature with pointy ears.
It was only the milking and egg-gathering that had been usual this morning.
Now I was supposed to swallow that I had some special gift for all this. Inherited from some unknown genetic line.
"You are a piece of work." I told Trimble. "Just what gives you the right to come in here with your troll, smash my gate, put my life in danger, and now say that I'm some sort of super human with all sorts of fairy tale enemies coming to attack me?" I was pissed now. The shock must have worn off.
Trimble used his arms to scoot up to the head of his bunk, pushing the pillow behind him. "Beth, wait. You're right to be upset. But consider that you may just be in denial of your own gifts."
"Denial, hell!" I clenched my hands into fists. And then stopped. He did have a point. "OK, you're going to have to help me prove it to myself. Powers, huh? Anything I can do right here and now, just from where we sit? Proof - that's what I need." I was trying to calm my self, breathing more slowly.
"You're right again. I'm sorry to come to you under these circumstances. And I was surprised at your abilities as you were. It's not like we are given a map to find people like you." He smiled slightly. "Even though I couldn't have asked the gods to put them into a prettier package."
Oh, great, now this pointy-eared creature was flattering me. Next he'll be making a pass at me. "Look, bud. I don't care where you came from or why, and I'm not your next conquest, in your pint size or human size. Let's stick to the point. Proof. Show me." I pointed my finger at him as I frowned.
Trimble pushed the finger over to the side with one hand. "Careful, that thing is more loaded than you understand right now. Especially when you are pissed off. Again, you deserve to be upset."
He looked around the small bunk room and noticed my potting efforts. "What's in the pots?"
"Just some marigolds. Thought they'd sell well in pots at my little roadside stand."
"OK, Beth. Point that finger at one of the pots. Take a good look at the one you're looking at. Remember how they are supposed to look like when they are fully grown. Close your eyes."
I did.
"Now shift that picture into real life, get the idea of a potted plant fully grown in front of you, right inside that pot. And then turn your belief into action, like it's always been real. Here, I'm going to touch your arm and help you get that feeling."
I felt a light touch on my arm and the feeling of real marigolds flowering, with the smell and other sensations beyond just our five senses. And something shifted.
I opened my eyes. Right where I was pointing, a full-grown marigold with orange-red blossoms was blooming in that pot. And some sort of sparkly stuff dissipating around the edges of it.
My mouth was open. Gob-smacked. "You're kidding."
"No, Beth. That was you. Go ahead, get up and touch it."
I did. The plant was completely real, and hadn't been there last night when I planted the seeds. I touched the soil. It was damp and spongy. "How long does this last? This isn't plastic or something fake. It's real."
Trimble put his arms back behind his head again. "As real as you are pretty, Beth."
I turned from the plant back to him. "You are a piece of work, bud. I don't know how you are pulling this off, but I know your type. And I can just as easily call the paramedics on you and have you removed for observation in one of their hospital wards."
Trimble just smiled at me. "You might not actually know my type. Sure, I like to flirt, but I assure you that I'm keeping it light so you can take the next step in your training. Because whether you are ready or not for what's coming, everything you know has changed. 'Forewarned is forearmed', but untrained can result in a painful death for both of us." He wasn't smiling now.
I considered what he said, and what I'd done with his help so far. A troll I wasn't able to see before, completely vanished. A potted plant instantly grown. And I was talking to yardstick-tall creature with pointy ears who wanted me to master this stuff. Before I got both of us killed from my own naiveté.
The picture of that smashed gate came to mind, and the huge depression in the ground that made me get up and run after an "earthquake" had dropped my feet out from under me.
It wasn't a hard choice.
"OK, I'm in. How do we start?"
- Writer
