Читать книгу The Portaellen War Chronicles - C.P. Bird - Страница 9

Chapter Two

England

1920

The shooting star, that flew across the clear, crisp, night sky, caught the eye of a lone figure. A creature of the shadows. A troll.

Normauss is a troll, with questionable morals. He is a tenth generation, Fantaellen mountain troll. His ancestors once came from Wulfdaeden. They were captured and cleansed, in the Great Cleansing. More, than five hundred years ago. Normauss preferred the seclusion of the shadows, as he could move about, virtually undetected, and would only show himself, in the daylight if he had to. He was a very good tracker. One of the best.

He is built like many of the males of his tribe. Short in stature (about four feet tall) and as strong as an ox. He has an enormous head, with a dark beard, that covers his chin. Above his round, dark eyes, his bushy eyebrows protrude, and arc around the top of his eye sockets. His hair is dark, and long, and is parted in the centre, which allows it to hang, either side of his head, before touching his broad shoulders. His mouth is wide, and supported by pointed, yellow teeth. He has a brawny, hairy chest. Short, stubby, hairy legs and arms. Normal shaped, hairy feet, with two large toes on each.

Normauss’s personality, differs from his kith and kin. Fantaellen mountain trolls are a peaceful tribe, who will only use violence, if provoked. Normauss, is the opposite. He carries the mutant, evil gene. He is highly strung, unpredictable and would use his strength, to kill anyone or anything, that got in his way.

Napoleon Victory, his king and master, had not bothered to have Normauss turned. He had said that the troll did not need turning. He was already evil. His heart was already black.

Normauss, cursed out loud. He was still several miles from the portal. He shook his head, at the stupid complexities of the Portaellen portals. He hated them, so much. It hadn’t helped his mood, when the frost on the ground had appeared, and began to chill his feet. Onward, he continued though, determined to reach the portal, quickly.

Normauss had made good time, and he briefly had to stop to rub his hairy feet. They were numb with the cold. Desperately, the troll began to roughly massage his toes, to get some blood circulating through them. He was so fed up. This was mainly due to his last trip through the portal when it had been warmer. Therefore, he only wore a cotton shirt and short trousers, on this winter’s night.

The troll watched, as another shooting star flew across, the clear night sky, before it disappeared towards the horizon. Gratefully, feeling the circulation slowly returning to his feet, Normauss began to make his way, again. He was in a hurry. His king and master waited for his intelligence. The troll’s mind began to race.

The sudden stress of his situation began to instantly engulf him. Normauss began to shake violently before screaming and cursing, as he ran towards a tree and punched it.

‘Ouch!’ he screamed. The pained troll immediately regretted his impulsive response.

Shaking his throbbing hand vigorously, Normauss fell to the floor, and burst into tears. He was frustrated and angry.

Time was busy running out for him. The cold weather: primarily the frost, had slowed him down. He wished, he’d worn his boots, as he had on the previous journey. Now he cursed his own stupidity, before desperate thoughts engulfed him, once more.

‘Altoa! I am so sorry,’ he suddenly cried out, before collapsing, in a heap.

It did take him, a few moments to compose himself. When he was ready, Normauss started to walk quickly, that suddenly turned into a fast run.

The portal was several miles away and, his master waited.

‘Come on Normauss! You can do this,’ he called out. ‘I can do this!’ he told a curious fox, who watched him cautiously, as he ran past.

So, Normauss the troll, his feet now thawed out, made his way, towards the Ring of Stones. There, he would enter the portal, before exiting at Hells Point, in Wulfdaeden.

The troll wasn’t sure, how his master would use his intelligence once he had received it. It would be all part of the bigger plan.

A bigger plan, that would see the total annihilation of Fantaellen. Of this, Normauss was sure.

***

The dirty windows of Meadowlands Cottage were covered in a severe, white frost. The air was still and freezing. A silent, icy mist had descended upon the hard ground. Nothing stirred, as the weak, wintry sun began to rise, on a new dawn.

Through the threadbare curtains of the windows, the meagre rays of the sun steadily trickled through, to faintly illuminate, each and every dark corner, of the cottage.

The early light, of the new day, woke the large woman, from her sleep. Stretching and grunting, she cursed, the delicate light, as it gradually crossed the room.

Aunt Grimshaw was not happy. She never was. She hated the daylight. It repulsed her, so much.

Cursing the orange hue, on the rotten ceiling, above her head, she lay there staring. She did not want to get up. Her whole body ached.

From the side of her bed, she reached down and took hold of a broom, with an extremely long handle. Slowly, lifting it up, she shoved it, towards the ceiling. As it impacted, on to the rotting beams above, she was instantly covered in a light dusting of mould, decayed wood and spider webs.

‘Get up!’ she screamed, as the thud of the broom head, hitting the ceiling, echoed, throughout the room. She then threw the broom down hard, next to the side of her bed.

Grunting and groaning, Aunt Grimshaw, now struggled to lift her large frame, from her bed. She tried several times, before she succeeded, in finally heaving herself up.

She stood stretching, and as her body creaked and cracked, her mouth opened wide, with the first yawn, of the day. This was followed by several larger yawns, numerous groans, and countless curses.

Eventually, after deciding that she could not hear, any movement from upstairs, she lit a candle, and began to negotiate her way across, the mess on the floor, of her downstairs bedroom.

The moment, that the bedroom door creaked open, and Aunt Grimshaw appeared in the doorway, a black cat, instantly shot up into the air, as it growled and hissed at her, before it arched its back, and showed its teeth. With a look of pure terror, on its face, the cat was frozen to the spot. The feline could do no more, than quiver with fear, as he stared at the wart covered face, the colour of death.

‘It’s me, you stupid cat!’ she hissed. ‘Look!’

The cat did not know what to do. So, it chose flight. Off it ran, as fast, as its little legs, would carry it. Screaming at the top of its voice, as it shot past, the large woman, in the doorway, and up the stairs.

‘You’ll come back when you want feeding!’

***

Josh stirred from his sleep, as a result of the commotion and the raised voice, from downstairs. Half asleep, the young boy, looked around the room. He could see his breath, as he breathed. He shivered. It was so cold.

From the corner of his eye, he unexpectedly watched, as the bedroom door, creaked open slightly. He, then heard a scurrying, across the wooden floor.

As, he looked at the foot of his bed, Josh saw Samson, his aunt’s black cat, as it suddenly jumped up and landed in an undignified heap, onto his thin, threadbare duvet.

‘Ouch!’ cried Josh.

Samson had dug his claws, into the young boy’s, bony legs. The thin duvet offered very little protection, as the black cat, stared at him, with a startled expression, etched on its face.

‘Get down Samson. You’re hurting me.’

With the brush of his arm, Josh managed to persuade Samson, to leave his bed. The cat jumped and then fled, under a chest of drawers, in the corner.

Josh pulled back his duvet, shivered, and climbed out of his bed. As the pale, gaunt looking boy, shuffled towards a pile of clothes, on the floor, he coughed.

Quickly, so as not to feel the cold, he took off the rags, that his aunt called nightwear. His thin, bony body shivered, as he hurried to dress. He then washed his dirty face, with freezing water, from a bowl on the dresser, before running his wet fingers, through his unkept hair, to tame it.

With the first signs of a new day, coming through the ice-covered windows, Josh knew that his aunt, would be screaming out, his and his sister’s name, any moment now. She had obviously, startled Samson again. Just like she had done, for the countless mornings, ever since she had changed.

Josh needed to wake his sister.

‘Maddie. Wake up,’ he called softly.

‘I’m already awake,’ whispered a croaky voice.

‘Right, you two!’ Bellowed a voice from downstairs, ‘Time to get up! Did you not hear, your alarm call?’

A door suddenly slammed downstairs. Presently, there was a pounding on the floor, right below Josh’s feet. This was followed, with the abrupt opening of the same door downstairs.

‘That’s your alarm! Again! You have two minutes!’ The last three words were now screamed, before Josh and Maddie felt the door slam, once again, through their floorboards. ‘Now move it!’

Brother and sister quickly embraced. A small discreet tear ran down the little girl’s face. She tried to hide it, but her brother knew.

‘Don’t cry Maddie,’ he whispered softly.

‘I’m not,’ she cried out defiantly. ‘I’ve got something, in my eye.’

There was no holding back the tears, for the little girl. She felt so desperate, so lonely, despite her twin brother, being there. With the tears, streaming down her pale, dirty face, Maddie, tried desperately to compose herself. She hated to show weakness, even at her young age.

‘I miss father, so much,’ she suddenly said.

‘So, do I,’ replied Josh.

‘Especially today. It is our birthdays’ today? Right Josh?’

‘It is Maddie.’ Josh smiled at his sister, as he stroked her long, unkept, blonde hair. ‘Happy tenth birthday, Maddie.’

‘Happy tenth birthday, Josh.’

Josh knew that it was their birthdays’ today. Despite the removal of a calendar and clocks, from the cottage, he had put notches onto a piece of paper, as the sun had risen, and then gone down, on each and every day.

They had been only babies, when they had been put under the guardianship, of their aunt. Their father used to visit regularly. When he came, he had told them wonderous tales, of his adventures, and he always had a gift for them. He also told them, of their mother, when they asked. Neither child, had known their mother. She had died suddenly when they were born. Their father, always chose to change the subject, when asked when and how. Their father’s visits became less frequent, as time passed. Not since the day, after their ninth birthday, had he last visited them. And it wasn’t long after, that last visit, that their aunt changed.

For many years, she had been a loving and attentive lady. She had cared for the twins, as if they had been her own children. Her appearance, and that of the twins, was always immaculate. She lived by the virtues, of godliness and cleanliness.

Since their father’s last visit, her niece and nephew, had seen a dramatic change in their aunt’s personality, and general appearance. For someone, who had been a loving, caring person, it had been a quick and severe change. And, it was the twins, who bore the brunt, of that change.

‘Come on Maddie. You must get dressed. Before, the dragon screams at us again.’

Quickly, his sister dressed, as Josh tried coaxing Samson out, from below the chest of drawers. The frightened cat was having none of it.

The twins heard the kitchen door swing open, and the heavy footsteps, of their aunt, across the hallway. Josh and Maddie, stared at each other, and waited for the bellowing voice, to scream at them.

‘Get yourselves down here!’ roared their aunt. ‘Sharpish! Otherwise, there will be no supper tonight, for either of you!’

The kitchen door, instantly slammed.

‘What! No watery soup and mouldy bread, for supper,’ cried Josh sarcastically.

This bought a smile, to his sister’s face.

‘Come on,’ Josh started. ‘Before, she takes away the lumpy gruel, for breakfast, as well.’

Both children chuckled to themselves, as they closed the door, to their bedroom behind them. Whilst they made their way, quickly across the dank and dark landing, towards the stairs, they noticed, that the air had become thicker. Neither child, now smiled.

In the kitchen, their aunt waited. At her feet, were two metal buckets, filled with hot water, and a scrubbing brush, for each child. On the fire, a thin, but lumpy, liquid boiled. The sickly smell filled the kitchen.

Only, after countless chores, could breakfast be eaten. A breakfast, that neither child, relished.