Sophie's Light, page 1
A novella
Sophie’s Light is © 2018 by Matthew S. Cox
No portion of this novella may be reprinted without the written permission of the author.
The story is presented here as a work of fiction. No similarities to any actual persons living or dead is intentional.
Cover by Alexandria Thompson - http://gothicfate.tumblr.com
Table of Contents
Toil and Trouble
A Birthday Lost
Visitation
Lost Light
Daring
Thunder
Into the Black
The Blackbirds and the Caterpillar
A Shadow of What Once Was
The Tree of Drifting Sorrows
The Wall
Fear in Fangs and Fur
Flickering Flowers
The Lake of Dawn
Ten Weeks
About the Author
Chapter One
Toil and Trouble
Fearful of making the slightest noise, Sophie crept across the room to the front door, never once taking her eyes off the troll in the corner to her left. She stood up tall and stretched to get her hands on the knob, her toes gripping the dusty stone floor. At a low groan of displeasure from the troll, she froze, trembling. Two breaths later, she turned her head and peered past a curtain of pale blonde hair at the great, grumbling beast.
He sat upon his favorite chair, a monstrosity of torn and patched brown fabric, staring into the smoking cauldron. Iridescent vapors gathered in a whorl before his misshapen face and cast a continuous flicker of random colors on the walls around him. Hairs as thick as wires stuck out of his giant nose, nuggets of hardened snot dangling like ornaments from a tree. Harsh voices murmured and howled from within the ethereal smoke. Mostly, he grunted or shook his fist at the fog, sometimes spilling ale from his giant mug. Less often, he grinned when the magical spectacle showed him something he liked.
She held her breath, waiting and watching, but the troll ignored her.
Biting her lip, Sophie pulled down on the handle until the door opened. She slipped between weathered wood and crumbling bricks, careful to keep the empty bucket in her other hand from banging. A spider three times the size of her hand crawled over her foot, its legs a jumble of poking needles upon her skin. Before she could shriek, the inky arachnid disappeared into the black grass surrounding her home.
As always, her chest grew heavy at the sight of the Forgotten Forest. The troll’s cabin occupied a tiny clearing, twisted trees with ebon leaves surrounding it on all sides. Shadows darted and flickered among the distant growth, and always, something seemed to watch her. Breaks in the canopy revealed a spread of bright stars in a sky painted with threads of deep indigo.
Creatures in the woods—goblins, bogeys, wolves, and other monsters—feared the troll and dared not venture close. As long as she stayed in the house, she would be safe from them. He terrified Sophie as well, but not as much as the monsters off in the woods did. A seven-year-old had no business being in the Forgotten Forest, so she remained with the troll. Whether she’d remain safe from the troll was another matter entirely, but at least she knew how to placate him: stay silent and do whatever he told her to.
Barely a step away from the door, she stared down at her bare feet, dingy little dress, and scrawny legs. Her pale skin and filthy white dress glowed blue in the moonlight.
“Gnashers would eat me in a single bite, an’ a bogey would stick me in the heart.”
She patted the little pocket in her dress, grateful for the lump of precious stone within. As long as she clung to that, everything would be okay.
A disjointed pathway of flat rocks led to a lone well near the edge of the clearing, its rounded stones home to a thick growth of black moss flecked with scurrying beetles bigger than her thumbnails. Those, she didn’t fear, perhaps the only creatures in the world she trusted. Despite being bugs, they only ever wanted to run away from her.
Alas, going to the well required walking closer to the clearing’s edge. She had to fetch water or the troll would get angry with her. Trolls frightened her enough as is, but angry trolls were another matter entirely. Seeking courage, Sophie reached into the pocket on the right side of her dress and grasped her crystal. She pulled it out and cradled it in both hands, an oval gem as tall as the span of her palm. Sadly, it remained clear as glass, no longer emitting the comforting light it so often did.
Her heart sank. “Why do you stop talking and leave me alone in this awful place?” She examined the crystal. “Please talk to me again. It’s so scary here.”
Sophie clutched the gem to her heart. Whenever her light spoke, it took the fear from the air and made having to live with a troll not so bad. The voice gave her hope that she wouldn’t need to stay with the smelly troll forever. But all too often, the light went out and left her alone. She stood motionless listening to the susurrus of huge insects emanating from the forest around her.
The troll bellowed something at his vapors and the familiar thud of him pounding a fist on his chair arm followed. Whatever he saw within those mists had angered him. She tried to stay out of sight whenever that happened so he didn’t punish her for whatever the magic did wrong.
With a gasp, little Sophie hurried down the trail to the well, her feet pattering on the multicolored stones. If she didn’t get back inside before he noticed her missing, he would become angry. Eyes blinked on—glowing slivers of yellow, white, and red—among the darkened trees surrounding the clearing as she padded the twenty steps to the well. Whispers and rasps of evil laughter drowned out the chorus of bugs.
She kept her head down, watching her feet flash pale against the rough-hewn stones, until she reached the well. Shivering with dread, she tossed her rope-handled bucket over the dangling hook and let it unspool into the depths. Sophie grasped the cold, wet stone and leaned up on tiptoe, peering down at the bucket, soon out of sight in the dark―falling… and falling… and falling.
Sometimes, she expected the bucket would drop forever, never reaching the bottom, much like she would never escape this forest. The villagers told stories of how the Forgotten Forest claimed souls, and those who entered would be forever lost―even as ghosts.
Splash.
Relieved, Sophie darted around the well and climbed up on the little stool the troll had made so she could reach the crank handle.
The cabin looked small from the outside, so tiny it didn’t appear possible the troll could even fit inside it. The black walls curved at an odd angle, wider at the top than at the bottom, with a jutting, pointed violet roof and a jagged chimney that always breathed smoke. If not for what lived in the woods, the house much smaller on the outside than inside would’ve given her nightmares. Alas, she already had plenty of scary dreams filled with monsters. Her head had no room for more, so she could not be afraid of an eerie house. She’d given up trying to understand the miniature cottage with the giant home inside it. Everything in this place had magic, even mean old trolls and their houses. Well, almost everything.
Sophie didn’t have magic. Only her light. And it had gone dark.
Snaps and thumps in the woods approached from behind. An urgent whimper leaked out her nose as she worked the crank with both hands, bending at the knees and pushing with her legs, her entire body involved in the task of hauling water up from the depths. The stepstool wobbled from her frantic effort, her soles slipping over its mossy, damp wood. At any second, it could slide right out from under her and send her plummeting down into the well like the bucket.
A whispering gurgle made her look back over her shoulder at a pair of goblins, dark silhouettes with glowing yellow eyes and drooped, pointy ears. Both creatures chuckled, exposing bright triangular white teeth in wicked, murderous smiles. The round-bodied creatures, not much taller than her, clung to the trunk of a tree at the edge of the clearing, snapping their teeth.
“Stay away,” she whispered, still working the crank. “You’re not allowed out of the woods or the troll will get you.”
One stepped forward, creeping closer on stubby legs, its greedy stare fixed on her. She understood well that shadow goblins loved to eat children like her. Their fat heads and barrel chests swelled together, seemingly without the aid of a neck. Spindly arms reached for her with sharp claws. Every inch of the creature except for its glowing eyes and awful fangs consisted of darkness.
The handle stopped with a hard clank, startling a yelp out of her. Both goblins froze at the noise and eyed the cabin’s door. She glanced at the bucket dangling on the hook. As soon as she grabbed it, the goblins ran at her.
Sophie screamed and jumped off her stepstool, clutching the bucket’s coarse rope handle in a two-fisted grip. The heavy weight slowed her down to a determined trudge. She couldn’t run without dropping it, but she couldn’t dare forget the water or the troll would be angry. The goblins raspy chattering drew closer and closer as she neared the house. Water sloshed, splashing over the sides, soaking her dress. She grunted and struggled to move faster.
With each step closer to the cabin, the goblins quieted their greedy whines more and more, afraid of drawing the troll’s ire. One lost control of himself and shrieked a battle cry, diving at her with a grab. The creature landed on its chest, one leathery hand clamping around her left ankle. Driven by pure panic, Sophie dragged herself forward, the goblin latched on like a ball and chain. It raked its claws at the dirt, trying to stop her, but she refused to quit, pulling the little monster along three more steps to the tiny house’s little porch. The t roll bellowed inside, irritated by whatever the glowing fog had showed him.
The goblin holding her ankle abandoned his grip, shrinking away with a frightened gasp. After a second, the mean-spirited thing yanked on her hair and laughed when she cried out in pain. Another bellow, a loud, furious roar, made the whole house shudder with a deep crash, likely the troll slamming both fists down on the armrests of his chair, enraged by the mist. Both goblins shrieked and scampered back to the trees, emitting a high-pitched, terrified chittering.
Sophie collapsed against the door and let all the air out of her chest in a heavy sigh. She twisted her foot about, checking for cuts around her ankle from goblin claws, but found nothing worse than a handprint of dark ichor.
Once she caught her breath, she stretched tall to reach the door handle and went back inside, lugging the water across the huge main room to the table in the center. She left it on the floor for later, and crossed to the back wall. Another stepstool waited by the cabinets, allowing her up to reach the stone sink, where a towering mound of dishes stretched many times her height into the air. Whenever she looked up at the swaying stack, it seemed to be taller, yet it never quite touched the ceiling. She couldn’t quite remember the troll eating so much, but he must have or the dishes would not have been there, dirty, waiting for her to wash them.
Head down, she plucked another plate from the mound, thrust it into the painfully hot water, and scrubbed. Sudsy froth lapped at the sink edge, dribbling over and falling on her feet. It took forever to scrape away the crust from one plate. The troll’s appetite for food knew no limit, surpassed only by his thirst for ale. If she didn’t toil away at the stove making his stew, she scoured dishes.
Sophie held the plate up to the feeble firelight, making sure not one speck remained. That mistake she did not want to repeat. Badly cleaned dishes got her shaken and screamed at. The last time the troll found a speck of grime on a plate he took from the cabinet, he accused her of being sloppy on purpose. However, that punishment hadn’t been as bad as the time she had dropped ale. Her head still hurt from that, and it had been a long while since he had hit her. She set the clean plate aside and added a few more drops of pink potion from a nearby bottle, increasing the glowing froth in the dishwater.
Hour after hour, plate after plate, little Sophie toiled, heartsick that her crystal had stopped talking. Her only break from the hot water came in carrying a stack of plates over to the cabinet. She set them on the counter, dragged her stepstool over to climb up, and, kneeling upon the counter, hefted the plates into the cabinet. The magic in the cabinets kept them from ever becoming full, no matter how many dishes she stuffed inside.
Sophie frowned at hundreds of identical plates, wondering why the troll didn’t have magic to clean them. It didn’t make sense, but wasting time wondering such things wouldn’t help her, so she climbed down to the floor and dragged her stepstool back to her place at the sink.
Chapter Two
A Birthday Lost
“Girl!” bellowed the troll.
Sophie gasped and jumped down off the stepstool, slinging her hands at the air to dry them, and scurried to the side of the troll’s favorite chair, halting next to a knee taller than her. His sallow blue-grey skin gave off the sour smell of spoiled milk and rotting ale laced with an ashy horribleness she had no name for. A ring of fur at her eye level encircled the tops of his thick leather boots covered in buckles and straps, so weathered his toes poked out the front. Shaggy fur pants with a row of little skulls down the seam smelled like a dog left out in the rain for weeks. A tunic of brown burlap covered his swollen belly, a loose zigzag of black cord at the neck.
He waved an enormous wooden mug at her before throwing it off to the side, where it joined a pile of empty mugs in the corner. “Another.” The troll’s voice rattled her bones. Lopsided eyes the size of tomatoes squinted at her, one eyelid adorned with a giant wart.
She nodded and hurried back across the house. An alcove to the right of the sink and the endless stack of dirty dishes led to a short corridor and another large chamber. The far wall of the stone room bore the face of an enormous cask with a spigot high off the ground. Sophie rushed to a huge pile of empty wooden mugs in the corner and grabbed one before scrambling up a ladder to the spigot, several times her height off the ground. She raised her right foot one rung higher than her left, balancing the mug with practiced ease on her thigh while reaching up to turn the faucet on. She had fetched his ale so often, she no longer even worried about falling.
The ladder used to scare her, but she feared disobeying the troll more.
When the mug neared full, she cut off the faucet and waited for the last dribbles to stop. Clutching the mug to her chest with one arm, she made her way down the ladder to the floor and fast-walked into the house. She didn’t dare run with a full mug anymore. Dropping ale had gotten her smacked so hard it sounded like thunder. She’d flown across the whole room and crashed into a bookshelf. He’d hit her with so much force the sound of a tremendous boom seemed to happen a little while after she crashed to the floor.
He’d also punished her for breaking the shelf.
She halted beside the enormous chair and held up the mug with both hands. The troll swiped it from her grip, but before she could take a step away, he grabbed her. His enormous hand swallowed her noodle of a left arm, each finger as big around as her bicep and tipped with cracked, yellow fingernails as thick as dinner plates. She bit back a scream and twisted up on tiptoe to lessen the ouch of his grip.
“What took so long?” grumbled the troll. Hot breath full of sour ale and rotting garbage made her hair wilt.
The slightest squeeze would break her arm again.
“I-I d-didn’t w-wanna spill any,” said Sophie in a small voice. “Y-you told me never to s-spill any. I didn’t forget. I won’t spill ale ever again. I promise.”
“Mmm.” The troll continued holding her while taking a swig. In a few gulps, whatever mood had come over him faded, and he let go.
Sophie fell on her butt and scooted back before scrambling upright and running to the sink. She toiled at the dishes for an age more, cleaning dozens of plates, bowls, and mugs, yet the enormous chimney of flatware grew no smaller.
“The floors are filthy,” bellowed the troll. “And time for another drink.”
She ran to fill a mug from the pile, trying to bring it to him faster without spilling or falling. Once the troll had his brew, she grabbed the old, half-broken broom and made her way around the house. Within the hour, she had gathered up a mound of silt as big as a housecat and still had half a dwelling left to sweep.
The voices in the fog rose into a distorted cheer, causing the troll to stick his hand into the mist, working magic. She didn’t look, not at all interested, and feeling it best to stay as far away from him as possible. Sophie liked the troll much more when he lumbered off to his bed and fell asleep. She cleaned the other end of the room and worked her way down the hall to the troll’s bedroom door, coaxing all the dust back into the same pile near the house’s only exit. No matter how often she swept, she always managed to collect a ton of dirt.
“Oh, silly floor,” she whispered, then huffed. “Where does all this dirt come from?”
Sophie pressed her foot into the bristles, grunting with the effort it took to shove such a massive pile out the front door. Once she whisked the last of it outside, she sagged in the doorway, winded. Legs aching and body sore, she leaned on the broom to rest a moment.
Faint buzzing accompanied a brilliant point of light racing toward her from the trees. An insect the size of a grape zipped into her face, hovering before her right eye. At the painful brightness, Sophie cringed and swatted at it, but the firebug ignored her protests and darted over to her left eye. As fast as it had arrived, it rocketed off to the trees again, leaving her vision full of glowing and dark splotches.
“Stop that! I don’t like it when you do that!” Sophie glared after the fleeing creature. “Why do you keep hurting my eyes?” Oh how she hated that annoying bug that tormented her so often.
She had once considered asking the troll why the firebug kept pestering her, but couldn’t find the courage. Better she spoke as little as possible. Best if she only made noise when he expected a direct response to a question she couldn’t answer with a nod or a shake of the head.
