Story Hunger: Short Fantasy Tales About the Power of the Word
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Story Hunger - Ruth Nestvold
author
STORY HUNGER
Short Fantasy Tales About the Power of the Word
by
Ruth Nestvold
Copyright 2012, 2013 by Ruth Nestvold
Cover design by Char Adlesperger of Wicked Cover Designs
First Electronic Edition 2013
The Magician of Words
was originally published in Daily Science Fiction, 2012
The Troll Who Sang
Pigalle was a very exceptional troll under a very unexceptional bridge. It was dark and dank beneath the single arch where he lived, and the bridge did not lead from much of anywhere to much of anywhere else.
And yet, Pigalle's bridge was the most popular in the Land of the Rose Knights, renowned from the Ivory Mountains to the Sea of Pennies. For while he was round and hairy, as is any troll, Pigalle could sing.
Oh, could he sing.
Evenings, when the troll was no longer in danger from sunlight, Rose Knights, priests, and tinkers called him out from under his bridge to hear his fine tenor, a voice with the sweetness of sugar and the warmth of a fireside. Mages, maids, and tailors came even when they had no need to cross over; they came just to hear his songs. Pigalle could pluck words and music out of air and make beauty out of nothing.
Pigalle, I need a song for a funeral, for my aunt who died before her time, a generous, happy woman who made all who met her love her.
And the troll sang of wings rustling away, silent as falling leaves, circling above like an invisible eye; sang of the tears of those left behind to endure the pain of missing; sang of the beauty still to be found in a rose-purple sky at sunset.
Pigalle, I need a song for a child who has retreated into himself and no one knows why.
And the troll sang of garden gates for climbing and the colors and smells of summer; mud fights and chases and the rabbit under the hedge.
But most of the songs people asked for were love songs.
Pigalle had no experience of love — he was just a troll under a bridge, after all — but the people who asked for the love songs left with tears in their eyes and smiles on their lips. Pigalle, left alone once more, wondered at the eddies of such emotions, lingering long after the people were gone. When he reached out to try and grasp what the others felt, all he found was air.
One mild summer evening, a party of Rose Knights with surcoats in orange and red passed the bridge and stopped for a song. An Orange Knight requested a bawdy tune, but as he spoke he was not looking at Pigalle, he was looking at a young female knight dressed in scarlet. The troll sang as he always did, making beauty out of bawdy, singing of soft shapes and pleasing lines, balm to the touch and wonder to the eye, as the cheeks of the Scarlet Knight began to resemble the color of her tunic. She ran away from the fire