the side of the gorge as well. Here Rosa halted them.
“Stand back, and don’t do anything,” she cautioned, and putting two fingers into her mouth gave a peculiar, shrill whistle.
The sound echoed down into the gorge. A few birds flew up out of it, startled by the noise, but for a moment nothing else happened.
Then . . . another sound altogether echoed up out of the depths of the gorge. It sounded like . . . rocks scraping together. Giselle cocked her head to one side and glanced over at Rosa. Rosa gazed at the gorge, not at all alarmed, but as if she had been expecting this very thing.
After a few moments of this, something came up over the edge. It looked like a huge rock . . .
...no, it looked like a huge head . . . and she nearly jumped out of her skin as she recognized it from tales and Rosa’s book.
Holy Mother of God! It’s a troll!
“Jumpin’ Jesus . . . what the hell?” Cody said, but not terribly loudly, though he had one hand on the pistol he always wore, though what use a little lead slug would be against a troll Giselle could not imagine.
But Rosa was practically skipping toward the creature, a huge smile on her face.
Well obviously . . . this is what she wanted us to see.
“Pieter!” she cried, as the troll heaved the last of his bulk up over the edge of the gorge, and simply stood there, grinning at her. “Pieter, it has been too long!”
The troll looked like nothing more or less than a statue hewn roughly out of granite, with a little moss for hair. It had a huge bulbous nose, and when it smiled, even its teeth looked like two rows of rocks. It was clothed, more or less, in a shapeless garment that looked as if it had been made out of bark.
“Greetings, Red Cloak,” the creature rumbled. Its voice sounded like rocks tumbling down a hillside, and yet, somehow, Giselle could understand it. “Pieter has been very, very good. Pieter has not frightened anyone, and Pieter has only eaten goats Pieter got from Pieter’s own flock.”
“You have been good!” Rosa exclaimed. “Pieter, these are my friends. This is Giselle,” she continued, waving her hand at Giselle. “And this is Cody.”
“Friends of Red Cloak? Hunters?” the troll asked. He raised his head a little, and stared at them, eyebrow slowly rising.
“No, not Hunters, but they have Power.” Rosa gestured to the two of them to come closer to the troll. Trusting her friend completely, Giselle stepped right up, close enough to touch the creature. Cody was a little more wary, staying the length of the troll’s arm away. From close up, the troll was . . . somehow less intimidating. She shouldn’t have been able to make out an expression on his rocky face, and yet, she could. It was benign. She would have said, gentle, if she hadn’t been standing underneath a towering form that was at least four times as tall as she was.
“Remember that I said that you couldn’t always tell if an Elemental was good or bad? Pieter is a case in point. Most trolls are incredibly dangerous. Pieter, on the other hand, has been an ally of the Bruderschaft for centuries.” Rosa patted Pieter’s hand, which lay on the ground beside her and was nearly as big as she was. Pieter’s arms were very much longer than his stubby legs, so as he stood there, his hands were palm-down on the ground.
“Pieter is old,” Pieter agreed, nodding slowly. “Pieter guards the bridge. Pieter keeps bad things from crossing.”
“Trolls are traditionally found around bridges, and usually demand a toll of something living to cross it,” Rosa continued. “Pieter, on the other hand, has been a shepherd for as long as I am aware. The Brotherhood brings him goats, or sometimes he buys them when he needs to replenish his herd. When any of us gets into trouble around here, and we’re being chased, we lead our pursuer here, to the bridge, and Pieter usually makes short work of them.”
“Pieter guards the bridge,” Pieter agreed.
“Can I touch you?” Giselle asked, fascinated.
Pieter nodded and made a vague noise; there were no words in it, but the general tenor was that he was fine with being touched. Giselle reached out and touched his hand. It felt exactly like sun-warmed rock. “Are you made of rock?” she asked, looking up into his craggy face.