Page 4 of A Light So Blinding
Bjorn’s world had narrowed to pain and relief. That was all. There was nothing else in his life. He lived for the brief moments when no one was watching him, when he could feel like himself again, or even allow the hope in his chest to build.
They would come back for him. They’d promised.
Ragnar was the most trustworthy troll he knew. He’d been a dear friend for many years, and more than that, he’d been the man to come and find him. After all the years Bjorn had spent in this place, after all that he had destroyed within himself, the other trolls had found him.
All he had to do was stay true to who he was. He had to remember that he was a person. He was not just the Bull who killed anything and anyone who was put in his way. He was Bjorn, son of Dag the Destroyer. He had a family, a life. There were memories in him that were gentle. He knew what it was to be a good man.
Even if the humans didn’t want him to be.
The games had changed since Ragnar had escaped. King James now knew there were ways out of his labyrinth, and he wasn’t happy about it. But it had given the humans an excuse to change every rule and fight. After all, the labyrinth had been about the spectacle.
Which was why Bjorn had been dragged out of his cell and out here. It used to be that the trolls had only walked past these rooms before they’d entered the labyrinth. Lavish, lush rooms where the humans had eaten and drank before he’d be forced to kill his own people. Now, the trolls were within them.
Someone had installed hooks in the ceiling and floor. The humans had figured out how to create impressively strong chains that even he could not break free from, which were wrapped around his wrists and forearms, stretching his limbs far over his head. Then they chained his legs to the ground, sometimes allowing him to stand, other times in a kneeling position so he was at chest height for the noblemen of this kingdom.
Today, they had him standing. Specifically, because the moment he’d walked in, an announcer had declared, “Today we have a feast for your senses! The Bull is here, and you are allowed to touch as much as you wish!”
He’d had to grit his teeth. He ground his teeth so hard his tusks ached, and his hands gripped the chains with such force he thought the metal would bite through the flesh of his palms. He didn’t want them to touch him. He hadn’t fucking said they could do that.
But then they swarmed him. Disgusting humans with their greedy hands and their wide, staring eyes. It was mostly women at first, their hands sliding over his chest and down his stomach.
“Look at how big he is!”
“I’ve never been this close to a troll before.”
“Green skin! Can you imagine? Having skin like this always? He looks like a frog up close!”
Over and over, they remarked on his body without ever looking up into his angry eyes. Rage dotted throughout his vision, sparks of red that warned he was losing control. It was how he had lived this long. Bjorn had a rage inside him that ate him up but promised he wouldn’t have to remember any of the horrible things he had done.
His father had the same beast, as had his grandfather and all the other men who had come before him. Legendary warriors with a demon that lived inside them.
It whispered into his ear that he could kill every person in this room. All he had to do was jerk these chains. Surely they weren’t so strong that they could hold a troll like him. But he held himself together, because though these human women wished him harm, he had not lost himself so thoroughly that he would harm them.
And then the men came closer. They held drinks in their hands, the acidic scent biting at his nose. One of them, a man with a twisted mustache, tapped him on the side. “Do you think these muscles are from fighting? Or are all trolls born so disgustingly... toned?”
“I think it’s the fighting. No man would be born like this without a life of hardship. Unless all trolls live in hardship.” The man beside him sipped at the alcohol, his greasy hair sliding out of its careful curl at the top of his head. “Do you think they could be useful in the fields? We could make them pull the carts with the cattle.”
They chuckled before turning away from him, and all that rage threatened to bubble up again. They really only saw trolls as monsters or beasts who had no reason or thought.
And then came the next. A nobleman Bjorn recognized. This man was always at every single fight, no matter how often theywere held. He was an older man with white hair, and he had a son who had eyes just as harsh as his own. But this time it was just him. He held a plate of food in his hands, and the smell made Bjorn’s mouth water.
How long had it been since they’d fed him? He couldn’t remember. All he knew was that he shoved food into his mouth whenever it was offered.
“A beast like you deserves to be tied up,” the man said, lifting his steak knife from his plate. He placed the blade against Bjorn’s ribs and looked right into his eyes. “Does it shame you that I could kill you right now? No one would care, troll. We’d all just laugh as your blood ran out.”
Rage burned through Bjorn so white-hot, it was hard for him to think. He couldn’t remember their language right now, only his own language. The one they called the black tongue. “I would sooner kill you, human, than allow that tiny blade to be the one that ends me. You have no idea what I could do to you.” He tugged on the chains around his wrists, hard.
The man took two large steps back, creating space between them at the cracking noise that filled the room. While the chains held, Bjorn was too far gone. He raged at the man, spitting insults and swears at the human who thought he was worthy enough to fight a troll.
The metal bit through his wrists, just as he’d feared it would. But he wasn’t even aware of the pain as he pulled and tugged at them. If he had to rip his own hands off to get to that idiotic creature who stood before him, then that was what he would do. Blood dripped down his forearms, landing on his shoulders and face. The scent enraged him even more.
He could see nothing but the prey that stood before him. A man who had claimed to have such bravery and yet refused to stand close enough for a drop of Bjorn’s blood to land on him.
He would make sure this man died screaming in pain. He would rip out his intestines and watch the man’s features as he stared down at his own guts. Only then would Bjorn feel peace.
The man who would soon die said, “Look at him! With just one threat, he goes into a rage. It’s no wonder he’s the king’s favorite fighter. Don’t you think?”
Another voice barely broke through Bjorn’s anger. “They are all like this, Harwick. Must you toy with them?”
