Dante's Heart
ANDREW HALLAM - Chapter 1
Few people know that trolls are not born trolls. They become trolls.
Some men (and sometimes women, but usually men) become, well, trollish.
It’s not always because they’re evil, though the Great Troll of the
Northern Marches, Bertilak the Black, has done nothing good for a
troll's reputation. No, many become trolls from lousy manners and eating
habits not fit for human company. Some began as knights guarding a
strategically located magical bridge and demanding answers to riddles of
passers-by for so long that they forget what it was like to be human in
human company. That’s why so many trolls guard bridges or paths through
dark, magical forests. It’s their job and they aren't about to leave it just
because they’re a bit trollish.
Others go off to war or sail around the world and then return from dark
adventures that have bent their minds, so that they aren't quite human
anymore. A large number are caught in curses they can’t shake. But
whatever the apparent cause, people become trolls simply because they
no longer fit in. It’s more about a shift in perspective. Guarding magical
bridges and obsessing over the next riddle you’re going to tell, or going
off to war, or being cursed takes a toll on the mind. It makes for crude
manners, a short temper, an intense desire to be alone. Taken to
extremes, a physical change follows from the mental.
Troy had not become a troll because he guarded a bridge (though he did
like a good riddle now and then) or because he went off to war or took to
ship, or even because he labored under a heavy curse. No, for Troy, it
had been different. People had laughed at him because of his bulbous
nose, his ridiculously big feet, his slow, ponderous way of speaking. They
had been afraid of him because he could wrestle a bear with his bare hands
and throw head-sized rocks the way others throw pebbles. He had turned
to books so that he could forget the lewd jokes people made about him,
jokes about men with big noses and feet. He took to writing so he could
ignore the looks of horror and unthinking fear that pretty young women
cast his way. He took to the woods because the trees and the rocks and
the caves and the animals did not doubt his intelligence or the kindness
that hid behind his mean face.
Then he woke one day to find his nose a really big troll’s nose, his feet
really huge troll’s feet, his voice a really slow and booming troll’s voice. To
say nothing of his tough, tree-bark hide and great troll-strength. He still
got mad about it sometimes--though baking tasty troll pastries and serving
them to his monster friends helped a lot, and he would always have his
books and his important work on hobbits and Rings.
So Troy knew a thing or two about humans-turned-monsters. Some even
said he was quite wise on the matter. He swallowed the last of his
cinnamon roll and took a sip of his coffee (he preferred coffee in the
morning while reading the morning edition of The Dark Forest News; tea
was for tea-time). He cleared his throat and said, “You’re the first man to
change into a dragon in a long time, you know.”
Andrew blinked his surprise. Trolls. They always said the most
bewildering things. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Troy licked the cinnamon-roll frosting from his fingers and cleared his
throat. “Clashing values. Liberal guilt meets unreasoning dragon-greed. In
the good old days, dragons didn’t have to worry about who was starving,
who suffered from atrocities of war, who would save the kraken of the
deep from extinction, nevermind who would pay for it all. These days, we
have education. It changes everything. Are you going to eat that?”
Back to Andrew, Page 3 Next page
Few people know that trolls are not born trolls. They become trolls.
Some men (and sometimes women, but usually men) become, well, trollish.
It’s not always because they’re evil, though the Great Troll of the
Northern Marches, Bertilak the Black, has done nothing good for a
troll's reputation. No, many become trolls from lousy manners and eating
habits not fit for human company. Some began as knights guarding a
strategically located magical bridge and demanding answers to riddles of
passers-by for so long that they forget what it was like to be human in
human company. That’s why so many trolls guard bridges or paths through
dark, magical forests. It’s their job and they aren't about to leave it just
because they’re a bit trollish.
Others go off to war or sail around the world and then return from dark
adventures that have bent their minds, so that they aren't quite human
anymore. A large number are caught in curses they can’t shake. But
whatever the apparent cause, people become trolls simply because they
no longer fit in. It’s more about a shift in perspective. Guarding magical
bridges and obsessing over the next riddle you’re going to tell, or going
off to war, or being cursed takes a toll on the mind. It makes for crude
manners, a short temper, an intense desire to be alone. Taken to
extremes, a physical change follows from the mental.
Troy had not become a troll because he guarded a bridge (though he did
like a good riddle now and then) or because he went off to war or took to
ship, or even because he labored under a heavy curse. No, for Troy, it
had been different. People had laughed at him because of his bulbous
nose, his ridiculously big feet, his slow, ponderous way of speaking. They
had been afraid of him because he could wrestle a bear with his bare hands
and throw head-sized rocks the way others throw pebbles. He had turned
to books so that he could forget the lewd jokes people made about him,
jokes about men with big noses and feet. He took to writing so he could
ignore the looks of horror and unthinking fear that pretty young women
cast his way. He took to the woods because the trees and the rocks and
the caves and the animals did not doubt his intelligence or the kindness
that hid behind his mean face.
Then he woke one day to find his nose a really big troll’s nose, his feet
really huge troll’s feet, his voice a really slow and booming troll’s voice. To
say nothing of his tough, tree-bark hide and great troll-strength. He still
got mad about it sometimes--though baking tasty troll pastries and serving
them to his monster friends helped a lot, and he would always have his
books and his important work on hobbits and Rings.
So Troy knew a thing or two about humans-turned-monsters. Some even
said he was quite wise on the matter. He swallowed the last of his
cinnamon roll and took a sip of his coffee (he preferred coffee in the
morning while reading the morning edition of The Dark Forest News; tea
was for tea-time). He cleared his throat and said, “You’re the first man to
change into a dragon in a long time, you know.”
Andrew blinked his surprise. Trolls. They always said the most
bewildering things. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Troy licked the cinnamon-roll frosting from his fingers and cleared his
throat. “Clashing values. Liberal guilt meets unreasoning dragon-greed. In
the good old days, dragons didn’t have to worry about who was starving,
who suffered from atrocities of war, who would save the kraken of the
deep from extinction, nevermind who would pay for it all. These days, we
have education. It changes everything. Are you going to eat that?”
Back to Andrew, Page 3 Next page
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