into my face and square my hips as I look at them. Stretching the muscle that remains madly sore from the last use. I reach for the troll nearest to my mind. There isn't a wall or anything else there for me to knock on or knock down, even. No. I just waltz right into their thoughts as if they are already my own.
Rain. Rain. Rain. Their thoughts chant. I hardly weigh the options before I can feel the force of the truth behind the thought and blurt the word out loud.
“Rain,” I say, then press my lips together and pray.
They both blink.
"Very good. On to the next," one starts.
The other offers the next riddle. “What goes up, up, up and brings us down, down, down into the ground.”
At least that somewhat sounds rational.
“Aging,” I say quickly before realizing how morbid that truly is. Lincoln shuffles beside me.
Don't say it too fast or they'll make you answer more just to challenge your intelligence. Lincoln scolds.
My fault. Must be a rookie mistake. I've never dealt with trolls before. This is like some god awful cartoon come to life, it hardly feels real.
"Thank you," they say together and give a nod. "That is correct."
"Try another,'' The troll on my left says. I swivel to give it my entire attention. “I have a face, two hands, and never miss a meal.”
This guy, Lincoln answers so sarcastically within my mind that I have to close my eyes slowly not to roll them right in his face.
Seriously?
His rumble of laughter echoes through my thoughts before he says,Just trying to give you pause to really make it seem like you’re thinking these things through.
And to annoy you just slightly.
This is the most normal riddle of them all. The answer to the riddle sits inside their heads. So does their churning thoughts that suggests that they want to think up something else to test my wit. Lincoln's right. I spoke too fast and they think I'm so smart that they should test my intelligence.
“Um…” I dawdle a bit. But really I’m not obnoxious enough to suggest Lincolns joke so I drag out that uncertainty a bit longer. “A face, two hands and never misses a meal…” I repeat to myself like I haven’t heard their answer almost immediately. “Is it… No that doesn’t make sense.” My teeth sink into my lower lip and I can see they’re very pleased to have stumped me. “It… is it a clock?” I ask with more hesitation that just makes the even more pleased.
The trolls remain silent for a minute. Long enough that I glance back at Lincoln, curious if maybe I picked the wrong information from their mind. Lincoln stays focused on the trolls until they finally say.
"Correct." They topple to the side like before and begin rolling toward the palace finally.
Finally.
We follow as a group in silence. I can feel the watchful stare of every statue on my skin. No, I remind myself, not statues, trolls. All of the trolls watch us with the same stone-like stare.
"Are they all trolls?" I ask quietly.
"Yes. Oh, wait—” Lincoln points to a figure painted in a much lighter color, almost so pale it matches the snow. "That one is actually a statue."
"Look again," Johanna winks.
My head has never turned so fast in my life. I grab onto Lincoln as we both look back at the small figurine. To me it looks like a tiny cherub, a chunky toddler with sprouting wings and a bow and arrow strapped across it's back. Possibly even comparable to the idea of cupid.
None of those things are real. Right? Lincoln would know. Right?
My eyes widen as the small cherub statue strings a bow in its quiver and points it at us as we walk by. Its eyes glow a dangerous red though I swear they had been white like the rest of its body before.
"What is that?" I hiss.
Ziko's face has gone near slack, color draining from his cheeks. "I… I don't know."
"I'm going to write that down for the history books."
I keep eye contact with the little white demon, or so I was starting to guess by the cruel look that is twisting its features, until the large white doors swing open. Inside the grand building it's just as colorful as the details on the outside. Checkered patterns and swirling designs accent every corner, most made colorful by the same messy paint outside that gives the place a do-it-yourself feel.
The trolls roll onto the floor, clattering