How to Cross a Bridge

Bri had been having a pleasant dream. She couldn’t remember what it was, but she groaned when she saw her brother’s sandy brown hair and green eyes staring down at her. This had naturally upset her; him prodding at her nose with a shoot of grass had added to her irritation. She became even more upset when Jud explained that he had followed Big Black all the way to the river and the mysterious old stone bridge that no one in town had built or used, as it led to the mist and the moors. “You’re sure she went over the bridge?” Bri wasn’t sure which fact she was more upset about; that he didn’t wake her up as soon as the horse pushed open the gate, or that he hadn’t simply brought the beast home. They could point fingers at who was supposed to secure the gate later, mainly because it was her, but Bri was sure she had. She didn’t wait for Jud to answer, instead running off through the field she had been napping in rather than weeding.

Jud took a deep breath as he finally caught up to his sister’s frantic pace. She still had some grass in her black hair and was tapping her bare foot on the riverbank, obviously not impressed with his lack of speed. They both wore faded blue shirts and brown trousers. Their family kept the nice dresses and suits for special occasions, like grandpa’s and grandma’s birthdays. “Of course I am sure. I saw it with my own two eyes,” he gasped, doubling over to knead out a stitch from the run.

“Come on then, we have to go get her,” Bri stopped tapping her foot and took a step towards the bridge.

“We can’t go over the bridge,” Jud looked at his sister as though she had lost her mind. “There could be fairies, or worse.”

“Mom and dad are going to be worse if they come home from Mr. Gram’s apple picking day and Big Black is gone. Besides, I have never seen a fairy and neither have you, they could be nice or imaginary.” Bri walked more determinedly across the stone arch at the center of the bridge and back down towards the other side of the riverbank. Her bravery gave Jud courage and he began to take timid steps behind his sister.

Gort had one job and one job only; to ensure that no one from the village crossed the bridge. Gort was a troll and considered himself good at his job. In fact, he was so good at his job that not one person from the village had ever crossed the bridge. Although, it should be noted that due to the stories about the tricky fairies and the other worse things, like Gort, no one had ever thought about crossing the bridge. Still Gort had a one hundred percent success rate, of which he was exceedingly proud. 

The troll’s big ears heard them first, which made him blink in surprise; he hadn’t heard footsteps on the bridge in as long as he could remember. The smell of human wafted toward his bulbous nose, whose girth along with his massive jaws made up much of his face. He climbed up from his home under the bridge, stopping in front of the children that dared to cross. They took in his gray eyes hidden beneath a single heavy, dark-blue brow. This matched his matted but long, blueish hair that draped about his shoulders. He wore a simple bull hide around his waist and had only three digits on each of his hands and feet. Hunched over to face them, he had a plump belly but strong arms and legs, each as thick as the trunk of an old oak tree. “You are not allowed across this bridge,” his spittle showered the two like a rainstorm, his right hand gripping firmly to a gnarled cudgel, easily the size of Bri. 

“Right, we will be going.” Jud turned before he had even finished the sentence, making his way back off the bridge.

“After we get our horse,” Bri clarified, wiping some of the droplets of saliva from her face and flicking it from her fingers. “This is a bridge after all and what good is a bridge if you aren’t allowed to cross it?” She motioned for her brother to join her, which he did. Both children were almost across, standing at the very end of the stone slabs that made up the bridge.

The question was rational and caused Gort to stop and think. Did this mean that what he did was pointless unless someone crossed? So, was he not good at his job if he didn’t let people cross? But his job was to not let people cross and yet, bridges were supposed to be crossed. Jud and Bri exchanged glances as Gort stared into the distance, obviously trying to solve some existential crisis. Bri took a step towards the large, yellow-skinned monster; he did not respond. She took another hesitant step, planting her foot firmly on the dirt path as she still received no response from the troll.

“What are you doing?” Jud dared to whisper. Bri did not respond, but simply motioned for her brother to follow. Despite his better judgment telling him to turn around and leave, he followed. 

Gort simply could not fathom which made him better at his job; was it not letting people cross the bridge or letting people cross the bridge? Why even build a bridge if the fairies didn’t want people to cross? But then why tell him to guard the bridge if they intended for people to cross? Time passed, but time meant nothing to trolls, so Gort did not notice. 

A loud whinny and snort finally broke the troll free of the conundrum. He saw the two children standing on the stone slab at the end of the bridge, accompanied by a skittish, large black horse. “I will eat you and your horse for crossing my bridge!” Gort lifted his club to make good on his threat, the time for thinking was over.

Jud didn’t know what to do, so focused on trying to calm down Big Black. Bri stayed calm, clearing her throat and motioning to their feet, which were firmly on the stone of the bridge.

Gort stopped and blinked, puzzled. “You not cross bridge?” The troll was confused. They must have crossed the bridge because they had their horse, but they stood in about the same places.

“Of course not,” Bri said with a believable smile. “Like I said, we would leave as soon as we had our horse. Lo and behold, we do, so we shall leave.” She turned and motioned for Jud to start walking. Her brother needed no encouragement and marched off the other side of the bridge. Bri gave a slight wave as she stepped from the stone to the dirt, receiving a slightly baffled wave back from Gort.

Gort had one job and he was good at his job. To this day, not one person from the village has ever crossed his bridge.