Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

" T imber!" The intense cracking from the old Phoenix tree falling to the ground deafens my long, uncovered ears. Giving it the final blow with my ax, I feel the thing sigh as if thankful to be released from its aging, crimpled body. Cutting it down was a mercy, as it stood for years, dying from within.

"There is a time for everything," I whisper part of the old prayer. It was time for it to fall.

Since my return from my last job at the Ravenstone Realm Renaissance Festival, where magic creatures such as myself and others can walk more or less freely amongst men, I have been doing my best to adjust to this new life. At the festival, with the aid of various spells and warding, all assumed my appearance was a result of makeup. I had all but gotten used to mixing in unnoticed amongst humans. It had certainly been freeing. And working with my brothers in arms there to defeat the dark creatures that sought to enter our world through an ancient void had given me all the sense of purpose I had ever hoped for.

Having returned to my village, the elders have tasked me to serve with the team in charge of the defense and care of our borders. Though I am honored beyond measure to take on this responsibility, six months filled with removing threats of falling trees, keeping out an occasional errant magical mischief maker, and settling common disputes are, in a word, tedious. I need something else.

Lately, I feel like something is missing deep inside me, like a wound that has never healed. I realize my need goes down to my very roots. I need a mate, a female I can claim as my own. Like the felling of the tree, it is time. It is past time. At forty-five years old, I should have an entire pack of children under my feet, yet I am alone still.

I stare at the tree and think about the village, my home, like a fairytale, with its beautiful little houses, white plaster, and black trim. Three stories each, with giant fireplaces to keep out the cold and kitchens worthy of a castle. All were constructed in a time of simple rules. It was a time when trolls, ogres, fairies, elves, and all the magical creatures could walk freely instead of hiding in the shadows. We would once have been welcomed in the world of men, but now we are considered monsters. In the olden times, mates were easy to come by, plentiful and ready for claiming.

It was a time when cell phones, Wi-Fi, cameras, and computers were nonexistent. But in this time of technology, we hide and guard our village from outsiders. Our kind are spread out, separated and isolated in little enclaves and villages, making mingling and meeting potential mates all but impossible.

Every potential female in this village of monsters and magic makers is partnered, betrothed, or uninterested. And even if there were other magical beings nearby, no one new can penetrate our village's circle of protection without powerful magic or permission, all but assuring neither them nor their friends would ever find mates here. This is home, and there's no village nor land more beautiful, but I fear I will be stuck here alone if I stay and will probably end up just like that tree that now lies on its side waiting to rot.

"She was a beauty." Troth, my fellow in this task and an ogre of the second rank, places his hand on my shoulder, pulling me out of my depressing reverie. "Her time was done," he says rather gruffly, if not succinctly. Of course I've spent enough time with him to know he does indeed have feelings if you dig deeply enough.

"She's stood there for over a thousand years; songs and poetry have been written about her," I reply.

"This is true. My great-grandfather sired my grandfather under that tree. It was once the custom when one wanted a firstborn son,"Troth adds. "And now she lays here, dead like the rest of us one day."

"The tree will rise again. It just needs a little rest before its new trunk climbs to the sky, and we will once more sing praises of its beauty. Maybe even more children will be made underneath its branches,"I say, looking for what hope I can find in the situation.

"If anyone can find a mate, that is," Troth mutters. He looks at me and shakes his head. This conversation is an old one between the two of us. Neither one has been able to connect with a lady of our ilk.

"Ain't that the truth. I need a mate. It is time, but there are little prospects to find one in a world that no longer accepts us. We'd be lucky to get to go out on the human's Halloween night without being chased by a band of pitchfork-wielding nutjobs.

Troth surprises me with a rare chuckle before posing a question. "Was there no one at your old job? Wasn't that a place of acceptance of the magic world? You were a hero, were you not?"

"I spent my time there taking care of everyone. It would not be proper to take advantage of my position. Besides, no one there would want a green seven-foot-tall troll. Most of them were shifters and witches, all human and small. I would break a human woman in half with just a finger, for God's sake." I splay out my large hand for Troth to see.

"Maybe, but never say never, my friend. There could be a woman who loves your big hands, ears, and nose."

"The better to smell you with, my dear." I repeat the old wolf's line in the children's tale and smile despite myself. I can't help what I look like.

"Or maybe…" My friend pauses, then winks at me. "There are other big things about you she could be looking for."

I laugh out loud at his bawdy joke. "I need a mate that will love me for me, not just in bed."

Troth nods. "Being good in bed helps, I hear. Even your cousin Sardis found a bride. And he's ugly as the day is long."

I sigh again. There is no point in this conversation. "Sardis is closer to the royal line than I am. He is born of the second generation as I am of the third. Besides, he traveled almost a thousand miles to the garden lands to find her, and even then, the bride price almost placed him in debt."

"I know you have the troll trove somewhere in these mountains. Your family is rich. They should help you propagate your line. Perhaps we all should go to garden lands." Troth puts his hand on my shoulder. He's three feet taller than me, and his arms are as thick as tree trunks and a lot thicker in the chest, but somehow, despite this and his gruff demeanor, I have found him to be surprisingly sensitive in many ways. "You and I know that our little Monitor Township will never supply us unwed males with proper mates. We will have to go somewhere else, far away. Perhaps in the old country in the north of Europe. Are you sure you cannot return to your old job and find us a couple of beauties to bring home?" He looks at me expectantly.

"It is off season, and there are few there at the moment, except maybe a few witches and minimal grounds crew."

Troth rubs his square, hairless chin with one large, meaty hand. "Witches, you say?"

"Yes," I reply, staring at the phoenix tree as a new sapling forms on the ruined bark. "They stay to maintain the shield around the place, just in case."

"You should tell me the story about it sometime."

"Not right now. Why do you ask about the witches?"

"They say witches can make powerful spells."

"Yeah, so?"

Troth seems reluctant to say more.

"Come on. Out with it."

"Fine, maybe they could make a spell to bring us some ladies."

I chuckle. "So under that tough exterior, you just want to settle down too, huh?"

"All ogres need a mate. It is the way of things," he says defensively.

I hum as I walk away from the regenerating tree, its new trunk spouting tiny branches. "I don't think witches weave spells like that lightly."

"Maybe not, but if it is possible, perhaps it is worth a shot." After a beat, he exclaims, "Wait!" Troth slaps his head dramatically with his hand. "Isn't there a witch living in the village right now? Tabitha, I think is her name. We must go see her."

"I do not want to bother the village seer with my lack of prowess."

"It has nothing to do with prowess. There is no opportunity here." Before I can respond, he is already heading back toward the path.

He's not wrong in this instance. I need help to fill the hole inside me. With trepidation and curiosity, I follow him. We make our way through the forest and toward town, my face flaming red with the thought of what we will ask this crazy woman. But now, I am willing to try anything, no matter how absurd.

We weave through the streets until we cross to the other side of the village and enter the darkest forest area. After a short time, we emerge and come upon a small lake, where Tabitha keeps her little witch cottage behind small copses of trees.

A bell rings around us as my large boots step on her welcome mat. The door to the little brown thatched-roofed cottage swings open. The small and fire-headed Tabitha is waiting at the door, her tiny foot tapping on her clean wooden floor.

"You're late," she says, looking at a sundial around her neck. "We've been waiting for you for the last fifteen minutes. Hurry up and get in here. I am about to start."

Confused, Troth and I duck our heads and try to suck in our oversized bodies as we squeeze through her narrow doorframe.

"Wait, but—"

"Oh, hush, just get in here, I've been expecting you both," she says dismissively.

Once in, I look around and see the rest of the unmated males sitting in oversized chairs around her spacious living room. Three others sit staring at her as she places red candles before each of them. I recognize my neighbor, Sammy, the dedicated single dad sasquatch; Kaldor, our resident intellectual minotaur; and Thorne the orc, who seems dead set on turning around the orc stereotypes that pervade even the magical world. And of course, myself and Troth.I can't help but think we make a rather motley crew.

We sit dutifully in too small, overstuffed chairs. As the tiny witch lights each candle before us, she starts chanting in a tongue I do not recognize. I look around the room to see if anyone else understands, but each face is as confused as mine. Then Tabitha glides from one to another, handing each of us something from a bag off her small coffee table. I do not see what she gives the others, but she smiles when she comes to me last.

"You are first," she says, handing me an emerald-green scarf. "You should go now." Before I could ask Troth what she gave him, Tabitha grabs my arm with her tiny hand, with a strength not possible for a woman her size, pulls me out of the chair, and pushes me out her door.

"What is happening?" I ask her, rubbing my arm.

Piercing me with her bright green eyes, she smiles, showing perfect pear-like teeth. "You must prepare your house now."

"How?" I ask, puzzled.

"Well, clean it, for one thing. A mate will not like how dirty it is. Stop wearing your boots in the house, for goddess's sake. Make your bed up with clean, washed linen. And clean out your bathtub!" she says pointedly. "And remember, every threat does not need to be crushed like a bug!"

What the hell is she talking about?

With that, she closes her door, leaving me outside, bewildered, holding the silky green scarf.

For three days, I have been waiting for something to happen. I did as Tabitha directed. The bed is fresh, and the bath is clean.

"You're first," the witch told me. Yeah, right. The scarf sits on my table, useless. Every time I look at it, I feel more foolish for even believing something might just happen. I should throw it out. That little bit of hocus pocus did not impress me one bit. No wonder that witch is not mated; she is crazy. I toss the scarf into the trash. Then I hear the alarms of an intruder go off. Someone has breached our borders.

The bang on the door is hard and fast. Sammy's son, the bigfoot youngling Whisper, stands at my door. "Someone has broken the magical wards and is threatening the village! The elders sent me to come and tell you!"

Of course. I'll go out there and take care of it.

As I open the door of my home wider to leave, a gust of wind picks up the scarf and blows it into my face.

"Dammit," I sputter, pulling it from my large, bulbous nose. "Get off me!" I shove it into my pocket. I'll throw it out later, I figure as I grab my club. "Thank you, Whisper. I will handle it."

With that, I head out, swinging my club a few times to warm up. Whoever dared to break through the spells guarding this village will be sorry.