Cronch, cronch. The fairies stomped on their cereal.
“There goes breakfast. We can no longer be champions.”
“But we’ve got to win. Those trolls have gloated over us long enough.”
Kel took a deep breath. A whiff of cinammon and a dash of pixie dust. Everything smells normal. Kel could always tell if something smelt off.
She fluttered over to the next bowl, the big one at the end of the table. Her wings made a buzzing sound, all for extra speed and to carry her a little further.
“Who has cereal with goose milk anyway? These creatures are weird.”
The fairies sped up their stomping. They needed to be done with this last bowl so they can leave work early and start preparing for the race. It was a spirited day in Glasoritz. The townsfolk gather every leap year for the book race. The trolls have always won, claiming the swamp territory just outside town for a century now. The Glasoritz swamp has been known to be rich with minerals. Its maggots gold and glowing, its mud smooth and luxurious on the skin. Everyone dreamed of taking a dip in the swamp, to bathe in the essence of pine and slather precious mud on their bodies. Even the geckos from the swamp taste better, fresher, more tender.
The Glasoritz fairies are an esteemed clan. Known for their vineyards and dainty stomping. They recently expanded their business into making American breakfasts with organic cereal and milk from the famous goose that lays golden eggs every fortnight. That’s how the Glasoritz fairies came into money and the luxurious ways that have grown on them.
No one has seen the trolls since the last race. Trolltales were often told as bed time stories, describing the trolls as an agile, long-limbed bunch with isoceles triangles for heads. They were made out to be witty and violent in these childrens’ stories, often stealthing and using brute force to get what they wanted. And these trolls always want more crackers and mud.
The race course was set. A hundred books scattered and hidden in the depths of the Glasoritz dungeon. The participants shall defy all odds of time and milk currents on race rats, and gather as many books as they can.
Kel fastened herself to her rat as a troll stared down at her.
“How does one do this? Do I hold the rat by its ear? How will it know when to start and stop?” asked the troll.
Kel looked up at the triangular face looming over her. Those eyes, and that voice. She knew it from somewhere. It had a familiar polite ring to it. Each consonant articulated to just the right amount. So much so that one could tell this was no ordinary troll. Perhaps a representative sent from one of the elite families, the direct descendents of old Glasoritz.
“I read the guide book cover to cover and it told me nothing about rats nor books. What a mystery. Ooh, a puzzle!” said the troll.
“Pardon me, I’m being rude. The name is Zeik. It’s my pleasure and honor, madam…”
“Kel, just Kel is fine.”
“Nice to meet you Kel. I must say, it’s a bad habit of mine you see, thinking out loud.”
“No bother. Here, first you mount the rat, or balance your feet on it, whichever feels better. Then you hold on to its whiskers and tug at whichever direction you’d like it to turn. Kick once for go, twice for stop.”
“Thank you Kel. You’re a kind one. They say you don’t meet many nice fairies these days. You must be a rare find. My cousin’s always going on about how snobby the lot of fairies are now that they’ve found that golden goose.”
Kel smiled. Trolls were not known to be friendly, but Zeik seems to be a great conversationalist. She actually found herself enjoying their chat. She had always been curious about trolls, much to the dismay of her family. She had so many questions. They thought her too dumb and naive to bother entertaining.
“They called it Goose. How original. Fairies can be pretty uptight even among our own kind. It’s always a competition of who’s better. It’s no fun even with all this pixie dust at our disposal anymore. I prefer playing with the rats. They’re more down to earth and they roll in the puddles with me.”
The horn sounded and the race began.
“Hey, want to team up?” asked Zeik.
“Don’t listen to the troll Kel! They’re full of trickery! They’ll kill you!”, Kel’s sister shouted as she dashed by on her race rat.
Kel looked down in embarrassment. Zeik and her are the only ones left at the starting line now.
“I guess it could be fun. We’re already at a disadvantage anyway,” said Kel.
“Yippee! Here we go!” shouted Zeik.
They galloped together into the dungeon entrance, down the race course, keeping their senses alert for signs of books and secrets. As they stopped in a corner to check their bearings, they compared their maps and strategized.
“It’s an old dungeon built by my ancestors. They’ve sealed passages with riddle spells and rhymes, so there are paths that are not even on this map that are connected to the core race route,” said Zeik.
“Do you know where they are?”
Kel felt a rush of excitement bubbling in her. Zeik gave a nod and grinned.
“Lead the way then!”
They chatted away as they sped through the race course, winding in and out of tunnels, boosting each other up high jumps, skipping ladders and bridges just because they can.
Kel heard Zeik’s double kick and reigned in her rat too.
“It’s somewhere here,” Zeik said.
They dismounted their race rats and looked around for clues, for anything that might reveal a hidden spot for a book.
“Hey, do trolls really like crackers that much?” Kel asked.
“I guess so? But we call it chips. No one says ‘crackers’ in the swamp,” replied Zeik as he tapped on the walls, listening out for any hollow parts. There was a click.
“Hey Kel, over here,” he called out.
They pushed on the wall together until they couldn’t anymore. Silence.
“I guess it was nothing,” Zeik sighed.
Then a loud thunk followed and the pair started to sink into the ground.
“What is happening Zeik? I can’t feel my legs!”