Chronicles of a Rock Troll: New Beginning



  Chronicles of a Rock Troll:

  New Beginning

  by Jacob Donley

  www.jacobdonley.com

  © 2014 by Jacob Donley

  Cover art designs by Kayla Curry

  www.thepepperpress.blogspot.com

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious.

  Any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank my family and friends who have had the faith in my ability that has helped drive me to continue writing, even when it all seemed for naught.

  I

  Car’Al looked down at the pool of water. His reflection stared back at him. His broad flat, green, scaly face was there. In that reflection, he saw more than just another teenager. He saw more. Yes, all rock trolls looked like him. Yet, he was still considered strange by all of the others of his kind. He was sixteen and already an outcast among his peers. He had never liked the games they played as children, torture the human and skin the elf. It was just one of many examples of why he didn't fit in with the rock trolls of his village.

  He felt like he had been born amongst the wrong people. He didn’t know where he would fit in, but it definitely wasn’t here. Above all else, when Car’Al looked into the pool of water and saw his own reflection, he saw the difference. It wasn’t in the features of his face. It was in his eyes. The eyes lacked that cold indifference. It was that lack of feeling for anything not rock troll that caused the rift between Car’Al and the members of his tribe.

  The rejection didn’t stop with the kids his age or even the other members of the tribe though. His father did his best to put on a good face, but Car'Al could tell that he was disappointed that his son wasn’t a better example of a proper troll. Day after day, he heard the lectures about being a proper rock troll.

  “Rock trolls don’t care about humans. They are puny and weak, worthless in our eyes. Elves are dainty creatures that frolic all day in the woods. You shouldn’t spare a second thought for them either. Dwarves, on the other hand, mine the earth like us, but they are so small that you could step on one without noticing. They are ants among squabbling mice in our eyes.” His father went on like this for hours sometimes.

  Car’Al felt something strike the back of his head. Reflexively, he put one hand down into the pool of water to brace himself. His reflection scattered as his hand broke the surface. The other hand went up to the back of his head. He turned to see three other teens standing there. Each had a large stone in his hand except one, who pointed at him, laughing.

  “What did you do that for?”

  “You’re a freak. I don’t need a reason to throw stones at a freak,” said the teen, obviously the leader who had thrown the stone. The teen laughed and looked at his two companions standing to either side, watching them laugh with him.

  Anger rose up in Car’Al. He could feel the familiar temper he always did his best to maintain begin to boil in his head and chest. The burning of it ran through his limbs as his hands began to shake. Hassen, the boy who threw the stone, was his worst instigator. He always picked on him every chance he could get. His father was the village chief, and he took every advantage to make Car'Al's life miserable. Car’Al had never retaliated, knowing that if he did, he would get into a lot of trouble. However, his dark mood had met a breaking point. One thrown stone and taunt too many.

  “Look at the freak pouting. He’s going to cry like a human baby!”

  Car’Al could stand it no more and charged, taking a direct path toward Hassen. His smile dropped away as Car’Al dropped his shoulder into his chest. Hassen flew backwards ten feet before hitting the ground hard and sliding. Car’Al immediately pounced on him and began punching him in his broad, flat face with all his might. Every punch was a ridicule directed at him, every mean spirited look, and every sneer that had cut into his heart. The other two teens had dropped their stones and were grabbing at Car’Al's arms in vain, trying to pull him off. Car'Al never felt them. He felt fury. He felt rage. He felt shame and pain. The years of feeling alone and without direction was being funneled into the anger driving his fists into Hassen's face.

  Car’Al reached back to punch with every ounce of strength that was in him, when a strong hand grabbed his arm and flung him backwards. He rolled across the ground for a few feet before stopping. He looked up and saw Torgin, the village chief, glaring down at him.

  "Stay,” he said, before turning to inspect his son. After a quick inspection of the young troll, Torgin said to the other two teens, “Take him home to his mother to get him cleaned up and have the healers see to him.” They picked him up, flung Hassen’s arms over their shoulders, and slowly dragged him away.

  Torgin turned to Car’Al, “You nearly killed my son,” he said, his lips nearly quirked to a smile.

  “He was calling me names and throwing stones at me. I snapped. I’m sorry.”

  Torgin's smile slowly melted away, replaced by a sneer, “You finally start acting like a proper rock troll and the first thing you do is apologize for it? There is no hope for you. You have wasted your entire life trying to deny what you are. I can think of only one thing to do with you.” Torgin turned away from Car’Al. “Tonight we will hold the banishment ceremony to complete your shame. I’ll send the elders to inform your father. Go home and await the elders and myself.” He turned and walked away, leaving Car’Al standing there in shock and dismay.

  Banishment. He couldn’t believe it. He had nowhere else to go. As much as he hated this place, it was his home. He didn't know anything else. He had never been more than five miles from the village in his life. A vision of his father popped into his head. He wondered what he was going to say when he found out.

  It was inevitable. It was part of the process, actually. He thought about not going home at all, about just taking off into the mountains and the surrounding forests, but he dismissed the thought at once. That was a pointless line of thinking. If he did that, they would just hunt him down and drag him back, kicking and screaming if they had to. The ceremony had to be performed to insure the proper amount of shame was placed on the one being banished. Besides, if he ran away, his father would be shamed, and as much as his father annoyed him with his constant reminder of proper rock troll behavior, Car’Al still loved him. He turned and began to walk toward his home. He walked very slowly, not looking forward to the conversation he was going to have with his father.

  II

  When Car’Al walked into the small, stripped, timber hut he called home, it was empty. Apparently, his father had already been informed. He had already begun to distance himself from the shame that Car’Al had brought upon the family. He thought that he might have found his father waiting for him, waiting and wanting to provide him with advice about the world. It was too much to have hoped for. He loved his father, but he wasn't sure that the feeling was mutual, more like a father putting up with an annoying pet. He went to his room and began to pack up some of the more important things into a tough leather pack.

  He stopped rummaging through his effects when a hilt poked out behind a stack of rolled up parchments. It was his sword. It was the only gift his father had given him that truly showed any affection. The normal weapon for a rock troll was a double headed ax, a spear, or a spiked club. But, his father had made a sword for him when he asked. At the time, Car'Al figured if he was forced to have a weapon then it would be of his choosing. His father had crafted a wonderful specimen.

  The blade was a full pace and a half long and started an abrupt curve a hand’s width from the end, resembling a short hook with a slicing edge on both sides where it slowly roun
ded back. It was a formidable weapon, not that Car'Al had ever expected to really use it, but he had practiced with it. He thought he had become quite good with it, in fact. He picked up the blade still in its half sheath, pulling the strap over his head; he tightened it, positioning the hilt over his right shoulder.

  He was just finishing up the final touches on his packing, tossing stores of dried food into the pack, when the door opened and six old, willowy trolls entered with Torgin.

  “Are you ready to fulfill the shaming ceremony?” asked Torgin gruffly.

  Car’Al nodded, pulling on his pack. He walked out of the hut, following the elders and proceeded to the council area, a large arena carved out of the mountain with stone bleachers and a podium at its head. He was led to the ramp that led down to the arena, while the elders and Torgin proceeded to the long bench to the right of the stone podium that rested high above the arena floor.

  Car’Al looked up at the stands. Trolls filled the arena, jeering and throwing things down to the floor. He trembled, waves of nervousness almost making his knees buckle. With steely determination, he lifted his chin high into the air and tightened his knees, refusing to show weakness. A loud banging noise, emanating from the bench where the elders sat, silenced