Landsbyen -Into the North- An Epic Poem 86

“Have you noticed the pounding against the opening of the cavern,” Lumi asked him? “I have,” Joulupukki responded. “Whatever it is seems to be trying to force their way in. I would say they are throwing large rocks or small boulders.” “I tried to see what is out there, but I only see stones that occasionally move. Bréagán seems oblivious to them.” A very loud crash sounded against the side of the cave, shaking the walls and ceiling. A muffled scream echoed from the back of the cave and they turned to see Jessica leading Bréagán toward them. “Are you well,” Joulupukki asked Jessica and she nodded. “Sorry for the scream,” she said blushing. He smiled. “Bréagán, what makes that noise?” “Uh, noise?” “Yes, the pounding against your walls. Is it a beast trying to destroy you? Can we help you?” Bréagán cocked his head slightly and listened. “Oh, the pounding. That is nothing. Do not worry, they come every five or ten years.” “Who are they, what do they want?” Lumi inquired of the Elf. “They want to eat me he said casually. I guess it has been a difficult season. I think it has only been three years since last they came. They must be hungry.” “Eat you!” Jessica said in surprise. “What are they?” Joulupukki rephrased the question. “Trolls..., Rock Trolls, Stone Trolls, Snow Trolls, North Trolls, call them what you will. It was the human tales that named them. They do not look past their own families and know nothing of what makes them different from others of their kind. They only know that they are hungry and I am the only food around. Don't make the mistake of thinking that I have an affinity for these creatures. They are nasty, violent beings who are so intellectually dense that their stone hides are more pliable than their brains. However, I do sometimes feel sorrow for their plight. There are few of their kind left in the world, if I had to guess, they will all be gone in the next few generations. They do not have the capacity to adapt to our changing world. In fact, look at the back of the cave.” He pointed at the glow. “Just beyond the mound of ice that you see is a second entrance. From the outside you will see an overhang of rock. For any of us a large opening can be seen laying just below it, but the taller Trolls have to bend over to see it. They brush at their hairy legs when they feel the warm breeze that comes from within the passage, but in two hundred years or more not one troll has ever bent down to look. I stopped blocking that entrance after their first few visits even though the trail they use takes them past it every time.” Bréagán laughed, “they are certainly not very bright.” “Are they the ones who create the magic I feel outside,” Joulupukki asked? This question seemed to take Bréagán by surprise. “You can sense their magic?” His expression changing to excitement. “I have tried for many, many years to catch a glimmer of their magic and a glimmer is all that I have felt. Can you truly feel the energy that they produce?” Joulupukki gestured that he could. “It is very different than anything I have ever sensed. They do not seem, so much, able to use it, as it simply seems to be a part of them.” “I would agree. They are probably not aware of it at all. I don't think their minds are capable of wielding it, as such, but it is a dormant magic that springs to life when they need it. It is how they camouflage themselves as boulders or mounds of snow during the winter. It is what gives them unusual strength. I have never known anyone who could feel their magic.” “Joulupukki is not an ordinary elf,” Lumi was quick to point out. “No, it seems not,” Bréagán took a long studied look at Joulupukki. “You said you are son to Erlenkönig and he is gone, does that make you the King?” “For now,” Joulupukki responded. He noticed the strange look that Lumi gave him. He would have to tell him soon. “What happened to Rian,” Bréagán asked? Lumi responded first, as he usually did when someone asked Joulupukki personal questions. “He trapped him in the crystal in Erlenkönig's staff.” An impressed look slowly moved across Bréagán's often clouded vision. “That, somehow, seems appropriate. You must be powerful.”