Chapter 2
Past
Ragnar of the Red Rock was the troll's name, with an apt and highly respected title. A stoic and venerable fae, he had held one of the Nine Seats of the Circle on a few occasions - as many elders have - but only when requested. Ragnar wanted little to do with judgments, other than to enforce them if necessary. He was more inclined to travel far and wide, temporarily living and working amongst humans, to learn more of them. With returns to the Lore, challenges usually awaited him for claim of his mountain lair, whose caves held many fae bridges to the Verden lands.
The title, 'of the Red Rock', was granted by the Circle for the many victorious results of Ragnar's challenge combats. Facing an opponent, he would turn the ground beneath him to stone, and draw from its strength. Challengers, pummeled by hands of granite, spilt their blood on Ragnar's rocky ground. With many victories, and of elder age, the title was appropriately given.
Although trolls could range widely in size, Ragnar was of the larger variety at nearly nine feet tall, with considerable bulk. His skin, a dusty plum color, showed evidence of many fierce battles. Two small curved horns protruded from his forehead, and ears were shaped in the same fashion. Ragnars's hairless jaw and scarred nose were prominent, as was his mane of shoulder-length, rich purple hair.
Beneath that grim visage was a kind heart, only noticeable from carefully chosen words in his soft-spoken bass voice. Ragnar was well-versed in manifestation, in that he could appear in the Verden as a completely normal human, albeit a normally large version of one. In those altering guises, he traveled about to learn more of everyday people. Their passions and acts of courage intrigued Ragnar to no end.
And so it was, in the brisk early morning of late November 1988, that Ragnar had chosen to shadow a team of firemen to a call on the south side of Kansas City, Missouri. Arson fires had been set within the extensive supplies for a highway construction operation, thankfully distant from residential zones.
Ragnar watched from nearby, on the edge of the supply depot near an access road. He had just taken notice of oncoming headlights when his sense of foreboding blared into his mind. The huge troll quickly took form of a large human in a fireman's coat and helmet, let his form be seen by mundane sight, and went to go warn the approaching vehicle. He couldn't get to the car in time before it sped past him, but saw yet another set of headlights that came around the curve.
The sudden explosion was massive; two trailers of unmarked containers that held 50,000 lbs. of fuel oil and ammonium nitrate went off in one enormous blast. The six firefighters were killed instantly; dangerous debris was flung onto and over the nearby highway; windows up to a quarter of a mile away cracked or shattered; the nearest fire engine was flipped onto its side and set ablaze.
Jerry Lynch had been working third shift at his warehouse job, only to show upper management that he'd do what was necessary to move up. The hours were causing a bit of tension at home; Rose was working part-time herself, and little Brody was a handful, as some three-year-olds could be.
Jerry had been fighting the flu for the past two days; that night he'd been heaving in a bathroom stall as much as he was on the production floor. His supervisor told Jerry to go home and quelled the tall shift leader's concerns as he walked him to the office, there wouldn't be any negative reflection for it. Reluctantly, Jerry clocked out, had one more dry-heave before getting into his truck, and started for home.
He had to stop quickly at the parking lot exit when a car went shooting by. It was a sedan with a big emblem on the passenger door, only a blur because of its velocity. Jerry was surprised; traffic on that road in early morning hours was usually non-existent. He checked again for any other cars and then left the lot in the same direction.
Just around the far curve, beyond a shielding row of pines, Jerry saw the warble of emergency lights and the glow of flames up to the right at the crest of the low hill he was ascending. He caught the movement of a fireman running toward the speeding vehicle ahead, but it zoomed by before he could reach the road.
Just as the fireman turned to Jerry's headlights, the concussion of a thunderous roar slammed Jerry into his driver's door, and a huge roiling pillar of flame lit the night sky.
Momentarily stunned and blinded, Jerry jammed his foot on the brake pedal, bringing his truck to a skidding, crooked halt. The pluming mushroom of fire cast deep shadows into the gulley next to the road, where the fireman was last seen. Peering through the dust-covered windshield, Jerry detected slow and sluggish movement in the long, dead grass of the trench.
Ignoring the lurch in his stomach, he jumped out of the truck and ran to the fallen man. Jerry saw the big firefighter face down, but struggling to rise. That was when he noticed the jagged piece of rebar sticking out of the man's back.
The wounded man initially spoke in a strange foreign language through gritted teeth, but soon switched to English and implored Jerry to pull the metal out. The fireman's coat hid any bleeding, and Jerry was sure he didn't want to see the metal stabbed into the huge man's flesh to begin with. He knew all sorts of emergency vehicles would arrive very shortly, and would simply flag someone down then. That was his plan, anyway.
Then the big man turned his head to Jerry, and their eyes made contact, grey to luminescent blue. At the fireman's second request to remove the puncturing rebar, Jerry felt compelled to grant his request. Nearly a foot of imbedded metal slid out of the wounded man, and Jerry expected a gush of blood to follow, but the heavy coat must have hidden that as well. Surprisingly, the fireman sat up and turned to meet Jerry's stare again.
Ragnar of the Red Rock found himself in a human's debt; not from courage, but rather compassion. He trembled with pain, but managed to swallow it down in order to signify his duty of obligation. "Your name, sir?" he asked.
Jerry kept a hand on the huge man's shoulder to steady him while he kept looking for anyone to signal. "Jerry - I'm Jerry. You just hang in there, pal. Help's on the way, okay?"
Ragnar leaned forward on one hand as he felt the burn of expended energy, willing himself to heal the grievous wound. With a clenched jaw, he said, "Thank you, Jerry. I am in your debt, more than you know."
The rebar was machine-pressed metal and not hand-wrought, and so it wasn't lethal to any fae. However, contact with iron of any sort prevented Ragnar's ability to remove his presence from human sight; he couldn't escape the scene unnoticed with an iron rod speared through him. Not to mention that the explosion-propelled projectile had done serious damage and he couldn't heal around it. The lanky human had done Ragnar a great service.
Jerry leaned down to him, concerned, and not a little surprised - the fireman was doing pretty well for having a metal rod slammed through him. He thought maybe the guy was in shock or something. "Don't worry about it, buddy. Hey, don't move around too much, okay? Just hold still 'til we can get someone over here."
The wound receded from a stabbing burn to a deep ache. "Jerry, I must repay your selfless act. I am honor-bound."
"Look, really, it's nothing. Just right time, wrong place, ya know? Besides, you guys are the heroes. Running into burning buildings, saving people... I don't think I could do it."
"And yet, you just did."
They grinned at each other in the glow of the lowering flame. "Okay, maybe," Jerry replied, "but stop with all that debt and repaying me talk, alright? I'm just glad I could help. Now just keep calm, big guy; we'll get you some better help in just a minute."
Ragnar found himself in a perplexing situation. He needed to satisfy the serious debt, but the tall, lanky man politely refused any recompense. A debt unpaid would cost the troll loss of honor, especially when owed to a human. He then looked intently at Jerry, enchanting him once more. "Jerry, do you have a family?"
"Yes," the human responded immediately, "a wife and small child."
"Good. You will go to them now, and forget that we have ever met. You were past this location when the explosion happened, and all you want to do is go home and rest."
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br /> Jerry nodded numbly. "Yeah, I need some sleep." He got up and slowly returned to his truck.
With the wound only a tingle at that point, Ragnar removed himself from mundane sight and climbed into the bed of Jerry's truck.
Jerry drove home cautiously. He parked in the driveway of his duplex fifteen minutes later and crept in quietly. Ragnar followed the human up to the door and mentally noted the address. Without an offer to enter, he was unable to do so of his own accord, and would have to linger near their home.
Two days later was unseasonably warm, and Rose took little Brody - just year away from starting kindergarten - out on the large back porch to let him play while she caught up with a book. When the phone rang inside, she made sure the gate leading to the backyard was locked before she ran in to answer.
Immediately after, Ragnar reached over the railing of the porch, placing an unseen hand over the jacketed chest of Jerry's child. The troll quickly murmured, "What the father would not receive, I give to the son. With the influence of the Lore, and by my own fae offering, I grace this child with a measure of my essence and gifts. Let it serve him well until time claims him. This is freely given by Ragnar of the Red Rock in reward. Let it be done and so."
Brody looked up with curious, light eyes in the troll's direction. Then Rose returned to the porch with cordless phone in hand, and little Brody returned to his plastic container of Legos. Ragnar smiled serenely down on the child before finally departing, his honor intact.