The Book Of Lost Things

He approached the troll on the left. It was slightly taller than the other, and smelled slightly better, which wasn’t saying much.

David took a deep breath. “If I asked the other troll to point to the right bridge, which bridge would it choose?” he asked.

There was silence. The troll knit its brow, causing some of the sores upon its face to ooze unpleasantly. David didn’t know how recently the bridge had been constructed, or how many other travelers had passed this way, but he got the feeling the troll had never been asked that question before. Finally, the troll seemed to give up trying to understand David’s logic and pointed to its left.

“It’s the one on the right,” said David to the Woodsman.

“How can you be sure?” he asked.

“Because if the troll I asked is the liar, then the other troll is the truth teller. The truth teller would point to the correct bridge, but the liar would lie about it, so if the truthful one would have pointed to the bridge on the right, then the liar would lie about it and tell me that it was the one on the left.

“But if the troll I asked has to tell the truth, then the other is the liar, and he would point to the wrong bridge. Either way, the one on the left is the false bridge.”

Despite the approach of the wolves, the presence of the bewildered trolls, and the shrieking of the harpies, David couldn’t help but grin with pleasure. He’d remembered the riddle and recalled the solution. It was like the Woodsman had said: someone was trying to create a story and David was a part of it, but the story was itself made up of other stories. David had read about trolls and harpies, and lots of old stories had woodsmen in them. Even talking animals, like the wolves, cropped up in them.

“Come on,” said David to the Woodsman. He approached the bridge on the right, and the troll standing before it stepped to one side to allow David to pass. David put a foot on the first of the boards and held on tight to the ropes. Now that his life depended on his choice, he felt a little less certain of himself, and the sight of the harpies gliding just beneath his feet made him even more anxious. Still, he had chosen, and there was no going back. He took a second step, then another, always keeping a grip on the rope supports and trying not to look down. He was making good progress when he realized that the Woodsman was not following. David stopped on the bridge and looked back.

The forest was alive with wolf eyes. David could see them shining in the torchlight. Now they were moving, emerging from the shadows, advancing slowly on the Woodsman, the more primitive ones leading, the others, the Loups, staying back, waiting for their lesser brothers and sisters to overpower the armed man before they approached. The trolls had vanished, clearly realizing that there was little point in discussing riddles with wild animals.

“No!” cried David. “Come on! You can make it.”

But the Woodsman did not move. Instead, he called out to David. “Go now, and go quickly. I will hold them off for as long as I can. When you get to the other side, cut the ropes. Do you hear me? Cut the ropes!”

David shook his head. “No,” he repeated. He was crying. “You have to come with me. I need you to come with me.”

And then, almost as one, the wolves pounced.

“Run!” shouted the Woodsman, as his ax swung and his knife flashed. David saw a fine spray of blood fountain into the air as the first wolf died, and then they were all around the Woodsman, snapping and biting, some trying to find a way past him to pursue the boy. With one last look over his shoulder, David ran. He was still not quite halfway across the bridge, and it swung sickeningly with each movement that he made. The pounding of his feet echoed through the gorge. Soon, it was joined by the sound of paws on wood. David looked to his left and saw that three of his pursuers had taken the other bridge in the hope of cutting him off on the far side, for they could not find a way around the Woodsman, who was guarding the first bridge. The creatures were gaining ground quickly. One of them, a Loup bringing up the rear, wore the remains of a white dress, and droplets of gold dangled from its ears. Saliva dripped from its jaws as it ran, and it licked at it with its tongue.

“Run,” it said, in a voice that was almost girlish, “for all the good that it will do you.” It snapped at the air. “You’ll taste just as good on the other side.”

David’s arms ached from holding on to the ropes, and the swaying of the bridge made him feel dizzy. The wolves were already almost level with him. He would never make it to the other side before they did.

And then some of the slats on the false bridge collapsed, and the lead wolf plunged through the hole. David heard the whistling of a harpoon, and the wolf was speared through its belly and yanked toward the trolls in the canyon wall.