There was, once, in time immemorial, a village in the northern lands. It had been a village as long as the men there could remember, although they must have come from the warmer, southern lands long before that. It is possible that their coming was from a time before coherent language, but that did not matter to the villagers. The main lodge was old and the huts older, but nothing outdated the circle of standing stones on the hill above the village, nor the two huge, weather-beaten, stone pillars that stood at the gate.
Many were the wards against evil placed on the village gate and the pillars. One was taller and broader at the top and the men said it was male, and after a few generations, had taken to smearing a bit of blood on it for a successful hunt. The shorter of the two massive stones was claimed by the women, who would often let their children play by it to incur protection against malevolent spirits. A century passed, and the ‘male’ stone was called Olar Daan (Wise Strength Protects Us), and the ‘female’, Kember Daan (Strong Heart Protects Us). It wasn’t many decades before children squinting at the pillars thought they could discern a face in twilight, for a moment, and a few decades following that, the heads of the families would leave a loaf of bread and turnip baked in ashes out before the pillars on the sacred night of Beltane.
Villages are villages, after all. They are small, and while they may grow, some shrink and their clans must move on. At long last, such happened to the village in the northern lands. In the twilight of that first night alone, the standing stones, which had ceased to be inanimate protectors and become two stoic trolls, looked at each other, confused. Their people had gone and they had no one to protect. The village was deserted, so there was no reason to remain.
“What shall we do, master?” the woman, Kember Daan, asked.
The man scowled and thought for a long time. “We shall go west, towards the way the sun sets, and we shall find where our people have gone. Then, we will protect them once more.”
For a long time they traveled. Many things had changed about the world, for man was now growing, and his villages were everywhere. However, the men of the northern village were nowhere to be found. This journey eventually brought the two to great western lands, and a day when they first beheld a noble.
The two simple trolls, heart and soul devoted to each other, came to the lands of the sidhe, though they did not know them, and were met by two shining knights in glory.
“Halt, in the name of Lord Didian ap Fiona! Who be thee, and from what land doest thou hail?” challenged the first knight.
Olar looked at Kember, and they both shrugged. Finally, he answered. “I am called Olar Daan, and this is my companion Kember Daan. We have traveled here from lands to the north and east.”
“What lord do you serve? What are your titles?” further demanded the knight.
Again, the trolls paused and thought. “We are for protecting,” Olar replied.
The knights nodded to each other, and so were the trolls taken to the court of Lord Didian ap Fiona to meet the high noble. Sensing the unease of his visitors, he offered Olar a position as bodyguard to him and his lady Winnoia. For Kember, he provided the position of honor guard to his cousin, Lady Lelwyn ap Fiona. Confused but contented, the two trolls agreed to serve their nobles, pleased that such duty kept them in the same court so they would not be apart. This is how Kember Daan first met a Lady, and Olar, a Lord.
“You, troll, what is your name?” asked the lady Lelwyn.
“I am called Kember Daan, my lady.”
“Such an odd name! Why are you called this?”
“It means to the people, Strong Heart Protects Us, my lady,” answered Kember.
The lady pursed her lips and her noble forehead ridged. “Your name does not flow in harmony. I think I shall call you…Bridgit Steadheart. ‘Bridgit’ means strength and purity and is one of the goddesses of the mortals, and ‘Steadheart’ means that you’re, well, strong of heart.”
“As you wish it, my lady.”
Life went on as it has been known to do, for this was before the Shattering, and time did not much matter to the Fair Folk. However, the gates to Arcadia began to become difficult to open. Many common seers proclaimed that a dark time was approaching, and began to learn to wear mortal skin in preparation for this. Among the court of Lord Didian ap Fiona, his guard Olar Dann was one of the first to try this strange new practice. This is why, when the Shattering came, poor Olar wore the body of a mortal boy, for you see, he was now a childling.
Already has the tale been told of Olar and his sword, of the killing of his Lord by a treacherous noble and the theft of his lady through the trod, never to reopen. What sorrow that such tales were common in that time when the Dreaming was clove, and ceased to answer the pleas of its dying children. What had not been told is what happened after.
The little boy troll who was Olar Dann, ran though the forest, now unarmed, searching for his love, Kember. On the way he found other ‘changelings’ who had used the mortal trick to safe themselves, and he heard the death cries of many caught unawares as Banality swept the world and erased them. Finally, he came to the hollow of a huge tree. Within a tight knot of Glamour was Kember Dann, fear for once showing in her deep, beautiful eyes.
“My love, help me!” she cried.
The boy feverishly searched the clearing but could find no thing to aid him. Moment by moment, the Glamour eroded and Kember came ever closer to the final dissolution of soul. Tears ran down the face of the child who was Olar Daan.
“I call on the power of the Dreaming! If ever you could hear me, so hear me now! By all that is still good in the world, if you can, please save my love!”
It had been an act of desperation, for, what mortal who daily uses the name of God expects to be heard, let alone answered? The Tuatha De Dannan had not yet fled the mortal world for good, and they heard the prayer of the little boy troll. And they answered.
“What wouldst thou have us do, Olar Daan?” boomed the voices from beyond, in chorus.
Startled, Olar looked skyward. “I do not know what is happening now, nor do I know what can yet be done. Thou art wiser than I!”
“Wouldst thou have us save your love, even if she be your love no longer? Even if she remembered nothing? Even if thou wouldst continue to leave her before she had grown? Of all this, wouldst thou still have her be saved?”
“Yes,” whispered the sobbing troll, who fell to his knees.
“So be it done!”
Agony burned the boy as a frightful whirlwind encircled him and tore off one of his mortal arms. Through the red haze of pain, he watched Kember’s sanctuary of Glamour crumble, and in its place, when all settled, was a squalling mortal babe. In relief, Olar knew her soul rested within the child. Bandaging his arm as best he could, the little boy troll picked up the infant, who settled and sighed in his embrace, and walked out of the woods.
So are woven the dreams we dream. So did Olar Daan ever after find and train his lost love, who remembered only the name Bridgit Steadheart and remembered nothing else from life to life. Gradually, time wore on the memory of Olar, so that he had forgotten the village of the northern heights, though he knew they had both come from the same place. From life to life he followed her, though she was unable to love him, and he vowed he would love her for all time until the dread curse be lifted.
With a screech, the nasty little girl hit the ground, landing butt-first on the fading 4-Square markings. Ignoring her, Theresa helped Chrissa up from the dirt.
“You jerk!” Carol Kune, grande dame of Cumberland Gap Elementary School first grade class #3, shouted, and launched herself at the bigger girl.
Theresa’s hair was too short to be pulled, and she quickly stepped aside when Carol went for her face. With her cronies cheering her on, she charged again, but Theresa aimed an even kick at her left knee, which tripped her and sent the furious clique-leader sprawling across the blacktop.
“Why don’cha pick on someone your own size and leave little Chrissa alone?”
“Y-you big, ugly…monkey! I’ll fix you, I’m telling!” and Carol, followed by her entourage, prissed off to find a schoolyard monitor.
Chrissa wiped the tears from her unseeing eyes. “Thanks, Theresa, but you shouldn’t have gone and done that. Carol’s gonna tell, and you’ll get in big trouble!”
Shrugging and grinning, Theresa guided the blind girl’s hand to her tapping-stick, which had been thrown across the blacktop. “Aw, don’t worry, I’m not scared of her. How come they were picking on you anyway?”
For a moment, Chrissa fiddled with the cloth handle of her stick, then whispered, “I was playing on the swings.”
Everyone knew that Chrissa wasn’t supposed to ‘play rough’ at recess, and that included the swings, see-saw, monkey bars, and Big Toy.
“You know the nurse said you can’t, you could get hurt!”
Chrissa started to cry again, softly. “I know, I…I just wanted to try it, only once. I-it felt like flying. You won’t tell, will you?”
The swings were one of Theresa’s favorite recess occupations, and the little girl was right; it did feel like flying. She liked to pretend that she was soaring through the air in some magical, sparkling land. The last few days, even, everything seemed so much more colorful and real. Who knew what Chrissa saw, behind her dark eyes?
“I won’t tell, I promise.”
“Cross your heart and hope to die?” Chrissa asked doubtfully.
“Stick a needle in my eye,” Theresa answered. They both giggled, and followed the ‘magic’ tapping-stick towards the field.
“There she is, Miss Jones!” And suddenly, Carol Kune, the entire 9th armored division of first grade girls marching with her, and the pretty young schoolyard monitor were upon them. “She pinched me and kicked me and pulled my hair!” The crowd nodded and added a few ‘yeah, I saw’s.
Miss Jones sighed, her face stern. “Theresa, did you do that? Be honest.”
“But I had to, they were picking on Chrissa, and, and that’s no fair ‘cause she can’t see!”
With mock shock and an air of hurt righteousness, Carol put her arm over Chrissa’s shoulder. “It’s mean to lie like that, Theresa Spikol! Everyone knows that me an’ Chrissa are best friends,” Again, the crowd nodded and agreed, “and if you can’t prove it, that means you’re lying.”
“B-but…” Theresa was about to prove it beyond a shadow of a doubt, but then she remembered her promise and just hung her head.
“I guess you’re going to have to go to the Principal’s office then, and he can sort everything out.” Miss Jones said, while everyone hooted “ooooh!” accusingly. Carol grinned cruelly and stuck her tongue out. For a split-second though, it had seemed as though there’d been a tiny lizard with butterfly wings about to bite the tongue, but then it was gone.
Fighting angry tears, Theresa shoved her hands into her pockets and started towards the building. The Principal, Principal Buildeman. Buildeman the Bogeyman, the older kids called him, and said he ate first graders for lunch. They said he could tell your parents to take away TV and dessert forever, tell the Tooth Fairy and Easter Bunny to skip your house, and tell Santa every year that you were naughty, not nice.
As she was thinking of ways the school could disappear before she reached the office, Theresa was beaned in the back of the head by a kickball. Colors, bright and wonderful, swam in front of her eyes.
“Sorry!” one of the older boys shouted as he shot past her to retrieve the ball.
Dazed and dizzy, she reached the door and stumbled inside. The hallway was cool and dark compared to outside, in fact too cool and dark. Theresa rubbed her eyes, seeing for the first time that some of the hall looked like a castle. She was still new to the big building, but…?
“Was that always there?”
As she crept closer to the office, the stones and statues became clearer, and she heard the little flying lizard following her. Now that she paid attention to such things, Theresa noticed lots if funny little creatures moving around here-and-there. This is like something out of a Disney movie, she thought, and startled when she saw the office door.
It was thick, smooth wood bolted with metal, and steam seeped from beneath it. Timidly, Theresa opened it, surprised that she didn’t have to stand on tip-toes like she had the week before to fetch the nurse because Billie Sims barfed. No one else was in the office, so she turned down the short hall that led to the Principal’s office. The statues here were all scary; big birds, lions with wings, and dragons. About to pee her pants in fear, Theresa peeked around the corner of the open door.
There didn’t seem to be a big horrible monster, just a tall man with dark gray hair sitting at the desk and writing. He looked up and nodded to her, eyes surprised. Theresa crept into the office, not wanting to do any ‘kid thing’ to make the Principal upset, like slouching, having her hands in her pockets, or say “ain’t” or “hey”. He just seemed like a man you should be polite to, like a king or something.
She sat down in the big chair facing the desk, marveling that her feet were almost touching the floor.
“Well then, what’s your name?” he asked kindly, but in a big voice.
“A-Theresa Spikol, sir. I’m in Mrs. Lewis’ class, f-first grade class #3, sir.”
The Principal nodded again, one hand on his chin, idle scratching the short, dark gray beard. “I see. And what’s the name of your little friend there?” He motioned to her shoulder, where the tiny lizard was sleeping, wings folded, buzzing contentedly like a purring cat.
“You can see him too?”
Then, the Principal smiled widely and winked, which made Theresa smile too. “Things look really different today, don’t they? Things you never noticed before?”
She nodded eagerly, almost forgetting to be polite, “Yeah! Like the castle, and the colors, and all the new animals!”
“I’ll tell you what, how would you like to come to the after-school club today? Your teacher, Mrs. Lewis, is in charge and she’s got a lot of important things to tell you. I can call your mom to let her know you’ll be on the late bus today.”
“Ok, I guess so, but you can’t call my mom. She’s in Pittsburgh at work,” Theresa replied, “my Grammie takes care of me because my dad went to jail because he was very, very bad, she says.”
“That’s too bad. But you know what? You’re a very smart little girl, so I want you to think hard for a moment. Think about your name, do you have another?” the Principal inquired causally, as a huge purple dog bounded into the room, sniffed her, then sat at his feet.
“My name is Theresa Ellen Spikol. But, but I think it’s also Bridgit…” her voice sounded older, as her mind got lost in a sudden fog, “Bridgit Steadheart of county…of county…it’s no good, I can’t remember anymore.”
“You’ve done fine, Bridgit. Mrs. Lewis was right to send you to talk to me.”
Theresa sat up straight as she suddenly remembered why she was there. “Mrs. Lewis didn’t send me, sir. Miss Jones did because I kicked Carol Kune for picking on Chrissa.” Now she’d done it for sure, and now he’d probably yell and turn into a monster.
His brow furrowed slightly. “Chrissa Hoffman, the blind girl? Why was Carol ‘picking’ on here?”
She was about to cry, she knew it, but Theresa kept talking, “I can’t tell you, sir. I promised Chrissa I wouldn’t. S-so you can call my Grammie or throw me in prison, I guess, ‘cause if you can’t prove it, it must by a lie.”
To her surprise, the Principal handed her a Kleenex and a little wrapped taffy from the dish on his desk. “Keeping promises is very important, Bridgit. I’m proud of you.”
He scribbled for a few minutes on a piece of paper, folded the note, and handed it to her. “Give this to Mrs. Lewis when you return to class, and I’ll see you later.”
As Theresa left the office, she heard the PA system crackle to life. “Carol Kune please report to the office immediately!” She allowed herself a brief, gloating grin before skipping down the castle halls back to class, flying lizard chirring and humming behind her.
Baron Kelvin Trembain watched the new troll leave. Mrs. Lewis, an Eshu who taught first grade, had mentioned she had a potential Kithain in her class, and he was pleased to see she was correct. Perfect timing too, as Meadowdale had joined the duke’s new quest, and the freehold could use another knight in a few years. He started dialing Olar Daan’s work number, happily looking forward to telling the grump he had a new pupil.
“My lord?” the young woman at the door rumbled respectfully.
The older man smiled. They all still called him that, even though that young upstart Fionna duke had almost given his barony to some mal-titled yes-man. True, he was old now, well into his grumpdom, but Kelvin Trembain ap Gwydion had a few years left in him yet.
“Come in, Bridgit. Please have a seat.” It was merely a formality, for the wilder troll’s frame would hardly fit in the chair.
“Thank you, my lord. You know why I’m here, then?” Bridgit Steadheart, age 17, 6 feet 2 inches in her mortal seeming and over 7 feet in her fae main had become a model troll, and he was proud of her.
“Your grandmother needs nursing care, and you’re being sent to your aunt and uncle in Philadelphia, yes?” She nodded gravely. “Sneezles told me. I know, I know, that little pooka’s been trouble for you, but I must say, his behavior has improved of late.” There was silence in the room, for a moment. “You will be missed here.”
“I will miss being here, my lord.” Bridgit fought to retain her composure before the sidhe. The freehold had been like a second home to her, and now, having to leave it was tearing her apart.
“Do you remember the day of your Chrysalis? You came in here chattering about chimera then went skipping away.” The old lord smiled again.
“That was…a long time ago, my lord.” In fact, Bridgit remembered every moment of that day, but she felt foolish at having behaved so in front of a noble. “I will write to all of you, and try to find a noble lord to serve in your stead. The time I’ve been here has been wonderful, and I’m grateful to the kindness everyone has shown me, especially you, my lord.” She turned to leave.
Kelvin Trembain rose. “Squire Bridgit, wait.” The silvered steel rasped cleanly as he drew his ornate sword. “You have worked hard to protect this freehold and the Kithain within since the Undoing of Olar Daan. If not for you, many would have been injured or even killed by that Gray Griffin. Kneel before me.”
Honored by his gesture, the troll lowered to her knees, now eye-to-eye with the sidhe. She bowed her head as the blade lightly tapped one shoulder, then the other.
“I knight thee in the name of House Gwydion and Arcadia in all its glory! Arise, Dame Bridgit Steadheart, and swear to serve your house until your final days!”
“I swear it, my lord! I take an Oath this day in humble service to House Gwydion, that its members might be protected by my actions, and served well by my council. On my honor and that of my line, may my strength fail me should ever I break my word, betray my Oath, or raise a hand against a member of this noble house.”
Bridgit left the office before the fatherly lord could see her crying.
Lizzerbee, the little butterfly-winged lizard, perched on his friend’s back, chirring cheerfully, and licking her ear with his slender tongue. She had been curled up in her bed for two whole days. Huge tears wet her pillow and she didn’t speak except when she slept, and that was a mournful mumbling. Something was wrong, her kind didn’t behave this way. It was time to get up and do things, it was not time to be miserable. Worried, he gracked at the black kitten curled up at her feet. The cat couldn’t see or hear him, but it somehow knew he was there, and looked up, alert. Lizzerbee sighed, a whiff of peppermint-smelling breath went by Bridgit’s ear, and she stirred slightly.
“Why?” the massive troll whispered, “why did she do this? Was it my fault? It’s all gone and done.”
The black kitten leapt over her feet and curled up by Bridgit’s stomach, purring and nuzzling against her mistress. Mistress was sick, sick because the One with the Bright Smile wasn’t here, and she wasn’t coming back.
“Stupid Ellie! She’s not so great!” she growled, and gored the pillow with her horns, “she doesn’t really love him. It’s just a phase, and then, and then she’ll…”
Roaring with anger and anguish, Bridgit rolled from the short bed, grabbed her sword from against the wall and swung it in a wide arc. A flannel shirt hanging from the ceiling fan was knocked to the floor, but not ripped. The chimerical weapon didn’t have to power to affect it. Ashamed of her outburst, she fell to her knees, but being there, with her sword, reminded her abstractly of the day she was knighted, and left Cumberland Gap Freehold. It reminded Dame Bridgit Steadheart that she’d sworn an Oath.
When the world pulls at you, don’t fall into it! Olar Daan, a grump troll had once told her, Your Oaths are what keep you going. When you have nothing left to live for, live for your honor!
“Yes. Honor.” She’d spoken out loud as she stood. “There is much to do. I will offer my services to the nobles once more. I’ve tarried too long in these mortal trappings. Time for a shower!”
Galvanized, she walked into the bathroom of her small apartment and closed the door. Lizzerbee hummed happily from the front room as the kitten tried to pounce on the steam that seeped under the bathroom door. Everything would be all right again, he knew. And it sounded like he’d soon be seeing more of her kind, and if he was lucky, more of his kind too.