Bog

by Karen Krossing

  “It’s great news that the logging camp is shut down, but I still can’t believe the Troll Hunter is female!” Small shook his head and then glanced at Bog’s bag of hamburgers. “Are you going to eat those?”

  Without slowing his pace, Bog tossed the bag to Small. It had been hard enough to choke down one hamburger, just so he’d have the strength to keep walking. His mother was willing to kill any troll she found. How could he be descended from a murderer? And what should he do now—hunt his own mother? Kill her? He shuddered.

  Small unwrapped a hamburger. “So we know the Troll Hunter will try to trap us, probably try to turn us to stone. The question is: Do we set our own trap and let her come to us, or do we continue toward Thunder City, watching for her?” He shoved the useless bread back into the bag, along with the wrapping. “What do you think, Bog?”

  Bog turned from the scent of hamburgers, disgusted. “Maybe we should go after the Nose Stone.” If he didn’t rescue Jeddal, Bog would never know the truth. Jeddal held the answers to so many questions—why Bog’s mother was a troll hunter, why Jeddal had mated with her, who Bog was.

  “With the Troll Hunter after us? Maybe we should cause some trouble to let the Troll Hunter know where we are. Then we can leave a trail to a trap.” Small stuffed meat into his mouth.

  Bog picked up his pace, as if he could outrun the idea. “No, it’s too risky,” he said. “We should get the Nose Stone and deal with her later.”

  Small frowned. “I owe you a gnark, so I’ll follow where you need me to go. But why are you suddenly set on finding the Nose Stone when more trolls are being turned to stone every time the sun rises?”

  “She’s too dangerous,” Bog said.

  “Diama said the Troll Hunter can track a fish through water.” Hannie shuddered. Then she reached down as far as she could, offering Bog some brown food the size of a twig. “Try some chocolate. You’ll love it.”

  “No human food.” Bog knocked her hand away, ignoring the hurt expression on her face and the sickly sweet scent of the chocolate. Even after Jeddal’s warnings about humans, Bog had been foolish enough to reveal secrets to Hannie. He stepped over an aspen log that had been gnawed by a beaver.

  “Please, Bog? Just one bite?” Hannie pleaded.

  Bog shook his head, remembering Hannie yelling out to her father. I’m going to the Sleeping Giant with Bog. And even after we find the Nose Stone, I’m not coming back. Thanks to Hannie, the Troll Hunter knew where they were going and what they were after.

  Small juggled the bag and the hamburgers, dropping crumbs and slowing their pace. Hannie slid sideways off his shoulders.

  “Help,” she squealed, gripping one side of Small’s head while trying to hold her drink.

  Small grabbed her with a furry hand. A hamburger bun dropped out of the bag.

  “Be quiet, Hannie.” Bog scowled. “Small, you’re leaving a trail.” He pointed to the bun.

  “What does it matter? Would it be so bad if the Troll Hunter found us?” Small worked Hannie’s tiny fingers free from his left eye.

  How could Bog explain without revealing his secret? He picked up the bun and shoved it in the bag. “If we want to outsmart the Troll Hunter and rescue Jeddal, we’ll have to be wickedly cunning. No more cooking fires. No dropped buns. And we should get to the Sleeping Giant as fast as we can.”

  “It’ll take two nights to get there. How can we go any faster?”

  “Maybe we could travel by day, if we stick to the shadows,” Bog said.

  Small stopped to gape at him, his teeth caked with meat.

  Bog avoided Small’s gaze. “It’s a stupid idea. I know. I’m just…let’s get going. We can’t stand around.”

  He took a few steps up the next ridge, raising his nose to catch the scent of owl scat and car fumes. When Bog sensed that Small wasn’t following, he spun around.

  Small’s furry arms were folded across his chest. “What is it?”

  “What are you talking about?” Bog tried to keep his voice calm.

  “You won’t eat. You want to travel in the sun. What’s wrong with you?”

  “What do you think is wrong?” Bog spoke too loud. “The Troll Hunter is tracking us.”

  “Let her come. She’s only human. We’ll outwit her, and then we’ll get the Nose Stone and restore your father.”

  What could Bog say to make Small understand? His mother had learned about trolls from Jeddal so she knew as much as he did. She’d lived with a troll. She’d mothered a troll. What if she could outmaneuver them?

  “You’re right.” Bog frowned. “But I still want to get the Nose Stone first.”

  Small’s eyebrows were a furry mound. He stared as if trying to understand. “I heard you, Bog. But there’ll be no travelling by day, no matter where we’re headed,” he said. Then he hiked up the ridge, brushing by Bog.

  Hannie twisted sideways on Small’s shoulders. “Come on,” she called.

  Bog hurried after them, wishing he didn’t have to keep secrets from his friend.

  They walked as far as they could before the sun forced them to stop. Bog slept little that day, yelling out with horrible dreams of his mother blasting apart the den they’d dug for themselves, exposing them to the sun’s harsh rays.

  The next evening, the lights of Thunder City cast a disturbing glow across the sky, making the forest shadows gloomier. They marched toward the glow, watching for any signs of a trap. When the highway they’d been following south from Strongarm met a second highway, Small directed them east, parallel to this new highway, toward the Sleeping Giant.

  Trucks and cars bellowed past, belching out fumes. The lights of Thunder City were behind them now, making Bog feel as if humans might sneak up on them.

  “How many people do you think live there?” Bog gestured at the city’s glow.

  “I dunno.” Small lumbered on. He was carrying Hannie on his shoulders again. “Maybe a thousand?”

  “I’ve never seen that many trolls in one place.” The idea of a city reminded Bog of a nest of ants. How horrible to live close to so many.

  “Me neither. Seems awful crowded.”

  “I’ve been to Thunder City. It’s huge—with more people than you can count,” Hannie babbled. “My aunt used to live there, before she ran away to become a troll. She used to make chocolate chip cookies and yummy macaroni and cheese, and she always read me stories at night. Once she took me swimming and another time we went camping…”

  Bog stopped listening, concentrating on smelling instead. Too many human scents. All around. He could smell the machinery they used to hack apart trees, make more roads, and destroy troll territory.

  “According to my pa,” Small said when Hannie had finished, “the lake and the Sleeping Giant should be just south of this highway.”

  They crossed the highway once the stream of trucks and cars slowed for the night. Bog ran over the stinking tar and stone, hating the heat of it under his feet. He burst into the cover of the forest on the other side, breathing fast, and climbed a steep slope covered in balsam and pine. Branches blocked out most of the night sky, shielding them from the city’s glare. His legs shook, but he pushed on. Beside him, Small faltered on some loose rocks and then set Hannie down to make her own way up the slope.

  At the top of the ridge, the trees thinned and a water-scented wind hit Bog’s nostrils. He gasped. Beyond the last wrinkle of forest lay a vast body of water with no shore on the far side. Endless waves peaked in white crests, heaved, and then crashed back into the froth.

  “Superior Lake.” Small gaped at the view.

  “That’s a lake?” Bog inhaled deeply. “It must be an ocean.” As big as Ymir’s footprint.

  “That’s where my aunt took me to swim. It’s really cold water.” Hannie shivered.

  Small pointed east to a long peninsula that stretched out against the purple-grey clouds.

  “And there’s the Sleeping Giant.” He slapped Bog on the shoulder. “We made it.”

  The Slee
ping Giant. In a lake as vast as a sea. The noble profile of his face was a silhouette against the night sky. He rested on his back, his feet extended into the lake.

  The Sleeping Giant would spend an eternity as rock. Bog bowed his head and blinked back tears. The giant would want no one’s pity.

  Later that night, as they hiked across yet another valley, Bog scented troll. More than one. He stopped abruptly.

  Small sniffed the air. “I smell them, too.” He lowered Hannie from his shoulders.

  “Smell what?” Hannie gripped his hand.

  “Shh,” they both said.

  Hannie inhaled. “Aha,” she whispered uncertainly. “I smell them.”

  Bog ignored her. His muscles were tense, ready to fight.

  They edged forward, smelling frantically. When Bog tipped his nose high, he was rewarded with a new scent. Human—maybe from the night before. The sharp odour burned his nostrils and made him feel strangely sick to his stomach. For a moment, he could hear someone singing, soft and low.

  A scent-memory? Bog shook his head to clear it. “Do you smell—”

  “Yes,” Small whispered.

  “What?” Hannie tugged Small’s fur.

  Then they saw it. In a clearing surrounded by pine trees. A whole family of forest trolls turned to stone.

  Bog fell to his knees. “No!”

  Hannie let out a wail and ran to the trolls. “What happened?”

  Bog shook his head, stunned. If it had been a trap, it had worked too well.

  Two youngsters, a large male, and a smaller female. The statues were fresh—not worn by rain—and they still emitted a faint scent of troll. Worst of all, each statue had been broken—a nose, an ear, or a hand snapped off—and stone body parts lay in the pine needles at their feet.

  The Nose Stone could never revive them.

  Bog struggled to his feet. A tremor began in his thighs and spread until even his teeth were chattering. These statues were a message. Some human had broken them on purpose—Bog could smell the human’s fading scent. A human who knew about the legend of the Nose Stone.

  Then Bog smelled another troll approaching, behind them, moving through the bushes.

  Before Bog could react, Small jumped between him and the rustling leaves.

  “Let me handle it,” Small whispered.

  The branches swayed. Small lunged into the undergrowth.

  Hannie shrieked.

  Small dragged out a puny forest troll with a feathery tail who looked older than Ruffan but twice as scrawny.

  “I’m a friend! A friend!” The troll bellowed. “My name is Hornel.”

  Small wrestled him to the ground and sat on his chest. Hornel struggled uselessly.

  “Let him up,” Bog said, feeling sorry for Hornel. “He doesn’t look like a threat.” With his tiny nose, Hornel was a pathetic troll.

  Small studied the troll. “I guess you’re right.” He got off Hornel and then helped him up.

  “Sorry, friend,” Small said.

  Hornel looked ready to cry. Bog offered him a swig of water.

  “What happened here?” Bog asked gently. This troll might be a brand-new orphan.

  “I…can’t talk yet,” Hornel whimpered. “I need a mouse…to…to soothe my stomach.”

  Bog and Small exchanged a look.

  After they caught a mouse and Hornel devoured it, he began to speak. “The Troll Hunter did it.” Hornel’s hands trembled and his eyes darted back and forth. “She took my whole family.”

  Bog swallowed hard. That sharp odour had held a scent-memory. His mother had done this to innocent trolls.

  “She’s been attacking trolls in the area, trying to find the cave troll who kidnapped a human girl.” Hornel looked pointedly at Hannie and then Bog. “She thinks you’re searching for the Nose Stone.”

  “What do you know about the Nose Stone?” Bog tried to keep his voice calm, even though his insides boiled like white water.

  “There’s a local story. Everyone around here knows it. But the Troll Hunter only knew that you were looking for the Nose Stone, until she forced Pa to tell her what it is. That’s why she came after us…for the story…” He sobbed, picked up an ear-shaped rock, and tried to fix it back on the largest stone troll—likely his father. “She’s evil. If you’d seen her, you’d know. She enjoyed turning them to stone, and she’ll do it again. I only survived because I hid from her.”

  “I’m sorry.” Bog wondered what other horrors his mother was capable of. “She probably set a trap for us, and now your family…”

  The troll wiped his eyes. “It’s not your fault. Everyone knows you’re a hero.”

  “A hero?” Bog shook his head.

  Hannie cheered. “I knew he was.”

  “You destroyed a logging camp and stole a human right from her den.” Hornel gave Hannie a cautious sniff. “But what I don’t understand is, why did you kidnap her?”

  “They didn’t kidnap me,” Hannie said. “I’m a troll.”

  Hornel glanced from Bog to Small.

  Small shrugged.

  Bog leaned close to Hornel, whispering, “She’s been…useful.” Most of the time.

  “Like a guide?”

  “Not really. More like—”

  “A spy,” Small interrupted. “She tells us human secrets.”

  As long as she didn’t share any more troll secrets. “Tell me about the Nose Stone,” Bog said to Hornel, who was studying Hannie warily. “Is it real? Why hasn’t anyone found it?”

  “Of course it’s real. It’s just impossible to get to. It’s hidden underground on an island. Silver Island, it’s called.” He pointed toward Superior Lake. “That’s where the Troll Hunter went. She wants to destroy the Nose Stone.”

  Bog’s jaw tightened. If he didn’t find the Nose Stone first, Jeddal could be stone forever. Why had he waited so long to go after it? “What do you mean impossible to get to?”

  Hornel glanced nervously at the scrub bushes as if he expected the Troll Hunter to leap out of them at any moment. “Some humans built a wall around the island with tunnels down into the rock to mine the silver. They took most of the silver, before the mine shafts were destroyed by the lake. At least, that’s what my pa told her.”

  “Just like Frantsum said.” Small nodded.

  Bog tried to stay calm. “Did your pa ever mention a secret entrance?”

  “Yes. But he didn’t tell the Troll Hunter about it.”

  “Good,” Bog said. “Did he know where the entrance is?”

  “Pa said it was on the highest peak around the bay. That one, over there.” Hornel pointed to a hill farther east, his hand still shaking. “He said the entrance looks like a stone with three mouths. He spent a lot of time on that hill, searching for it. But he never found it.”

  Small’s face fell. Bog’s muscles tightened. Maybe they were chasing a phantom.

  “Thanks, Hornel.” Bog patted him on the shoulder, more gently than Small would have. “You’re a cunning troll and a good friend. Do you have a den to go to? Any family nearby?”

  “No.” Hornel’s chin trembled. “But I’m old enough to take care of myself.”

  “Then I want you to leave here. Go far away, where the Troll Hunter won’t find you. I don’t want any more stonings.” Bog’s nostrils flared, taking in his mother’s scent.

  “Or I could go with you. I’d be a good guide,” Hornel pleaded.

  “It’s too risky. I need to know you’re safe.”

  “But I know the way to—”

  “We’ll be fine.” Bog swished his tail.

  “All right.” Hornel’s shoulders slumped. “Good luck, Bog. May Ymir’s eye shine on you. I hope you find the Nose Stone and kill the Troll Hunter.”

  Bog stiffened. Was there no other way to stop his mother?

  “Those are harsh words for a troll,” Small said.

  Hornel gestured toward his family, his eyes misting. “A monster like her doesn’t deserve to live.”

  “I suppose.�
�� Small nodded grimly.

  Hornel yanked noses with them, although he refused to go near Hannie, who pouted. He lingered over his family, touching his stubby nose against each one. Then he scuttled away.

  “I want you to leave, too,” Bog told Small. “Take Hannie with you.”

  “No.” Small’s eyes glinted in the moonlight.

  “I can’t be responsible for any more stonings. If the Troll Hunter finds us…” Bog’s throat tightened.

  “I can’t leave you.” Small put a hand on Bog’s shoulder. “I want to see this through.”

  Bog turned from the fierce glow on Small’s face. Would Small still help if he knew Bog’s secret?

  “I’m not leaving either.” Hannie stomped her foot. “I can help. I’m good at lots of things.”

  “Fine.” Bog nodded. “Let’s find the Nose Stone before the Troll Hunter destroys it.”

  13

  The Giant’s Secret

  They hurried to a forest-covered hill on the shoreline, just west of the peninsula that was the Sleeping Giant. The smell of humans on the breeze made Bog jittery.

  “Is this the highest point in the bay?” He peered at the silhouette of land against the glow of scattered starlight.

  “I can’t tell.” Small pushed back the branches of a balsam fir for a better view.

  They were close enough to the Sleeping Giant that his shape was too massive to take in.

  “I think it’s higher over there.” Hannie pointed to the tree-topped cliffs that formed the western side of the Sleeping Giant.

  “The entrance to the mine can’t be on the Sleeping Giant.” Bog frowned at Hannie. “When the humans hid the Nose Stone, he wasn’t stone.”

  “Maybe he’s lying on top of it.” Hannie grabbed his tail to steady herself on a wobbly rock. “That’s why no one can find it.”

  Bog jerked his tail free. “Where was the highest point of land before the Sleeping Giant was turned to stone?” He said to Small.

  “From here, this hill looks the highest,” Small said.