Grendel Park

The streets were quiet tonight, the only sound, Sahara’s footsteps against the cracked pavement. It was not the peaceful stillness of a warm summer evening, nor the blanketed silence of a frosty winter day- but rather the ominous hush that only presents itself prior to a storm. Yet, a glance at the sky revealed no clouds and there was not so much as a breeze to carry the incoming scent of rain. And still, Sahara rubbed her arms as if to ward off the anticipated chill as she continued along the dimly lit side streets, careful to avoid pockets of complete darkness. You never knew what lie hidden in the shadows, the reek of sulfur and the coppery tang of blood more than enough to push people into the perceived safety of the light. Sahara did not consider herself an exception.

She told herself that she was running late. That the urgency that propelled her steps was the result of timeliness rather than the charge coating the air, making her feel as if she were being watched, followed. It was impossible. No one knew what she carried in the bag slung across her back, not even her. The package had been left at her door this morning. An unremarkable thing wrapped neatly in course brown paper, not so much as bulge to identify its contents.

In fact, it would have been wholly inconspicuous if not for the note under her name, neatly sprawled in red. It had held a single line of text: Grendel Park. 11:00 PM. Deliver or Death. Sahara would have dismissed it as a prank, had it not been for the ribbon that bound the package- her daughter’s. The same ribbon that had gone missing at school yesterday. A single umber hair woven through it, the signature of the witches. It meant they had another strand of her daughter’s hair and could and would do a targeted spell if she did not comply. She knew the threat of death was not against her alone, they had showed they could get to her family.

So, like any reasonable human would do, she shoved the package in a backpack and stored it in the broom closet for the day. It was the safest place for it since neither children nor husband went snooping in the cleaning supplies. She had planned on leaving at ten, allowing herself plenty of time to get to the park, but her children had insisted on story after story before bed. She hadn’t gotten out the door until nearly a quarter til’ eleven, and in her rush, forgotten a very important detail. A detail she did not remember until she reached the base of Grendel Bridge, which was the only entrance into the park.

Grendel Bridge was a troll bridge.

Now troll bridges, much like toll bridges, required payment to cross. However, trolls often required their funds to be paid in flesh or jewels, the shinier the better. Seeing as she had no desire to part with so much as a hangnail, and being that it was a rare occurrence when a troll would settle for less than an arm for a snack, nor did she happen to have an egg-sized diamond in her pocket- Sahara considered herself well and truly in a bind.

Angry troll or angry witches? Decisions, decisions. Trolls were big but they were slow. She might make it across without being eaten. However, she knew for a fact that the witches carried out their threats and therefore the death they promised was imminent. Thus, she took a deep breath and charged over the bridge. Her steps like thunder against the rickety wood. She prayed to the Goddess that a foot would not fall through one of the soft rotting boards as she ran. She would be dinner for certain.

It turns out that she should not have been so specific with her prayer. Though her feet were sure and did not plunge through any planks, she did not ask the Goddess to grant her safety from the tidal wave that crashed over the bridge moments later, intent on dragging her with it to the murky water below. She clung to the abrasive rope, feet scrambling for purchase against the now slick panels and sputtered her way back to the middle of the bridge. It was too late though. Where there were waves there were trolls not far behind. She felt the dip and sway as another, much larger occupant, joined her.

“Good eve, Grendel” she called, not bothering to ask the Goddess for any more favors this night. She was in a tricksy mood and that did not bode well for answered prayers.

“Human. Cheat. Thief. You try to steal across my bridge” he roared, his breath a mixture of sewer water and raw meat, a splinter of bone still stuck between his teeth.

Fighting off the urge to gag, Sahara strutted right up to the being that was easily twice her stature and tenfold her mass. How the bridge supported his weight was a magic only trolls possessed.

“Sir troll, you have named me thrice and yet only one held any truth. Though a human I admit to being, freely, a cheat and a thief I am not” she jabbed her finger into his soft belly, not able to completely hide the grimace as her finger came away coated in slime. “Apologize now or the gift I have brought you will never be given”.

He hesitated, unsure what to do with a human who was not whimpering on the floor or wetting themselves in terror, but brazenly poking about and insisting on an apols.

Sure, Sahara realized that throwing ultimatums at a being that could eat her in a handful of bites may not have been her brightest moment, but when cornered, she got brash. A remnant trait of another life, back when she had the ability to back it up. It was too late to back down now anyways. If she showed any weakness, he would be on her like a witch on a firstborn.

“So let’s hear it then” she said, taking short breaths through her mouth to keep from choking on the foulness he emitted.

Grendel let out an impatient huff.

“This is my territory. There is no gift, no payment I will take for your impertinence here tonight. You will not leave this bridge alive” he declared.

Sahara managed not to let her knees buckle and though she knew he could smell her fear, she did not let it show by expression or tone.

“That is the second death threat I have gotten today” she went on conversationally, “surely I can’t take them all to be fact. If I did, I would be curled in a corner, frightened of my very own shadow”. She shrugged her bag off and knelt down to unzip it.

“Why don’t I show you what I have brought, and you can decide whether or not to kill me from there?”

When he made no move to devour her in his massive maw, she took that as assent and pulled out the small package, still neatly wrapped in brown paper. The only difference, her daughters’ ribbon and hair were in the bin at home, a pile of ash, no longer able to be used against her.

“What is it?” Grendel demanded, a hint of curiosity gleaming in his eye.

“A very special item. I was instructed to bring it to the park tonight, an errand for the witches”. Though, as much as she had thought on it today, she could not determine who she was delivering it to. “However, they threatened me, threatened my daughter. I see no need to do their bidding and have instead brought it to you”.

Sahara knew she would face the wrath of the witches for this. That was a problem for the immediate future though, assuming she was granted an immediate future.

Grendel was conflicted. She could see the battle of bloodlust and greed war across him. He could not kill her and then claim the package, for a gift to a troll had to be freely given. That is not to say he could not simply eat her afterwards, but then his reputation would be ruined. Fun fact- people tend to be less inclined to bring gifts if they know they’ll be troll fodder anyways. It would be bad business.

She knew the moment he decided to accept her offer because he extended his claw tipped fingers and made a “gimme” motion, a sequence of rapid closing and opening of one’s hand. A motion her children had made her abundantly familiar with. Unlike with her children though, she did not scold, did not ask him to use his “big boy” words. She simply placed the brown parcel in his oversized mitt and watched as he shredded the packaging with ease.

Sahara gulped; glad those claws were focused on the wrapping paper rather than unwrapping her. She debated making another run for it, but she was too invested. She had to know what the witches had forced her to carry, had to know why they had singled her out. She had been unwilling to chance a spelltrap by opening it earlier, but had no such reservations about letting the troll take the same risk now.

He pulled out a velvet cloth, and inside lay a bronze goblet, faded by age and dented to the point of misshapenness. Grendel smiled toothily and this time she did shudder.

“Goblin shite!” she cursed, not even bothering to lower her voice. She was dead, dead, dead. Might as well just jump into the troll’s belly and be done with it. However, her fear for the troll was spent. She had bigger problems now.

“Grendel, wait!” she pleaded, begged, as real terror flooded her. She could not let him leave with the goblet. Like a troll could not take a gift by force, once a gift was given, it could not be taken back- by anyone. Ever.

He did not wait. Simply jumped over the bridge and down into the sludgy waters below. Sahara barely had time to grab the knotted rope before another wave swept over her. After all, accidental drownings could not be attributed to a troll breaking his word.

She stumbled away from the edge when the water finally receded and numbly made her way to the opposite end and toward the park. She had no plan, no excuse, no way to explain to whoever it was that she was meeting that she had just given away the only item in the world that could turn a member of a magical species- fully human. A powerful weapon. She should know. She’d drunk from it a decade ago and transformed herself from an elven princess into the human she was today.

She knew why she had been singled out. It wasn’t about the delivery whatsoever. It was a message. Her father, the King of the Fey, had found her. She had drunk from the Mortalis Chalice in order to hide from him, to blend into the human world, to escape from his plan to marry her off to some boggart of an elven prince. A dark elf.

The note she had left him, under the goblet, had stated: I choose mortality over marriage. Death over binding to the Dark Prince. It would seem her father was making his best efforts to grant her her parting shot at him. For the witches would surely kill her over this. And though Sahara could accept her own death, knew it was coming from the moment she gave up her immortality, she could not accept the same for her daughter. For her family. For now, she only had one thought on her mind, one thought that allowed her to push away the fear that had been steadily trying to overwhelm her.

I have to kill the king. I have to kill my father.