Bog

by Karen Krossing

  Hannie squealed, splashing and spluttering.

  “Sorry. You all right?” Small hoisted her out of the water, dripping.

  Hannie climbed up Small’s chest by grabbing onto his fur. She settled on his shoulders and frowned at Bog. “What did you do that for?”

  His stomached knotted. “The Nose Stone. It’s special. You shouldn’t touch it.” It had been in the hands of humans for too long.

  “Why not? I found this place.”

  Small nodded. “She’s right.”

  “Yes, but…” She wasn’t worthy.

  Then Bog realized he didn’t deserve to touch the Nose Stone either.

  Silence fell over the cavern, except for the gurgle of the stream.

  “Should we…take it?” Small finally asked.

  “You get it,” Bog said. Small was a full troll.

  “No,” Small said. “You do it. For Jeddal.”

  For Jeddal.

  Bog nodded, grateful for his friend. Then he reached for the Nose Stone, lifting it with both hands.

  The Nose Stone was as big as Bog’s hand with his fingers extended. It was cold. Heavier than he expected. Mottled with shades of grey and flecks of off-white. One side was rounded and mostly smooth with a few warts, while the other was bumpy where it had broken off.

  A tingle ran through Bog. He could almost feel the pulse of Ymir’s blood in the rock, his magic seeking a home. He held Jeddal’s chance for life in his hand.

  On the pillar, where the Nose Stone had rested, a simple image had been carved into the rock. One large figure, perhaps the Sleeping Giant, reached out to a smaller tailless one, maybe a human. The carving was only a few lines, but it was enough for Bog to be sure this was the Nose Stone.

  His skin warmed.

  He could return to the clearing where Jeddal stood. He could free him from stone. He could help other trolls who’d been turned to stone.

  Bog might be half human, but he could make up for what humans had done to trolls.

  Small picked up the largest silver lump and gave it to Hannie. “For finding this place.” He grinned. “It’s time to start your own hoard.”

  Hannie gaped. “Oh, Small! I’ll keep it forever. Bog, look. See how it sparkles? It’s so pretty.”

  Both Bog and Small smiled. Small packed his rucksack with silver ore. Bog wrapped the Nose Stone in a cloth to keep it from chipping and then placed it at the bottom of his rucksack.

  With Hannie admiring her lump of silver ore, they waded back the way they’d come. Bog and Small shook the water from their fur. They headed up the tunnel toward the entrance, leaving wet footprints behind them. With the Nose Stone in his rucksack, Bog felt as if he could tackle anything.

  When they emerged from the tunnel, Bog hesitated. He saw no sign of his mother or Hornel—who had better be tucked into a makeshift den. The clouds had cleared. The sun was rising over the tips of the trees on the low eastern side of the Sleeping Giant. The distant settlement was quiet. Waves crashed on the shore of Superior Lake. Morning songbirds twittered.

  Hannie squinted and yawned, shivering in her wet clothes.

  “We need shelter fast. Maybe we should sleep there?” Bog jerked his head back at the tunnel.

  Small studied the brightening sky and the shadows that still gathered under the trees. “I’d rather put some distance between us and the Troll Hunter. That opening is too exposed now.”

  “Agreed.”

  They shadow-slipped through the bushes and ferns, skirting a clearing where the first shafts of sunlight chased the darkness away.

  “I saw a place earlier that should be large enough.” Bog shielded his eyes from the too-bright beams. “Hurry.”

  He startled when he saw a figure standing ten paces away, on the edge of the clearing. Then he realized it was Hornel.

  “Hornel! You’re all right.” Bog headed toward him—until his mother’s sharp odour sent a surge of horror through him.

  He couldn’t swallow. He couldn’t exhale. Her scent evoked a new memory of a warm hearth made of bricks, dancing firelight, his father’s deep laughter mixing with his mother’s.

  He shook his head, refusing to remember.

  “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  He heard her gravelly voice, speaking in troll.

  She stepped out from behind Hornel. The Troll Hunter. Martinique Bottom. His mother.

  He glared at Hornel—at the weak wobble of his nose.

  “I’m sorry.” Hornel hung his head. “I tried. Really, I did.”

  15

  Dawn

  Bog’s mother stood at the edge of the clearing in the first brutal rays of sunlight. Her hands were planted on her hips. Her scraggly hair glowed like white fire. Insects buzzed through the beams of sunlight and danced across the clearing to the shadows where Bog clustered with Small and Hannie.

  Bog sniffed the breeze for other humans or trolls, his muscles taut. Just Hornel—the useless one—huddled in front of Bog’s mother in the shade of a fir tree.

  Bog’s fur stood on end. Did his mother know who he was? Would she tell Small? He flicked his tail, his nostrils flaring. He didn’t want to fight his mother, but he couldn’t let her hurt anyone else.

  “Get the girl,” his mother ordered Hornel, speaking in troll language.

  Hannie yelped and hid behind Small, who let out a warning snarl.

  “No!” Bog yelled, his chest suddenly too tight.

  “She promised to let us go, if we give up the girl,” Hornel whined.

  Small growled. “And you believed her?”

  Bog’s head spun. A few moons ago, he’d have thought it a proper trade, but now…how could he trust his mother to care for Hannie? How could he trust her to let them escape? “The girl stays with us.” He glanced at Small, who nodded.

  Hornel eyed the sun and Bog’s mother, his feathery tail shaking. “We have no choice!”

  Bog scowled. “This isn’t the way, Hornel.”

  “Well, I say it is!” Hornel dashed forward.

  Bog lunged for him, but Hornel was agile for a weak-nosed troll. He darted between Small’s arms, dodging his deadly fingernails.

  Hannie shrieked.

  Hornel gripped her by the middle and tugged her toward the clearing.

  “Don’t let him take me!” She thrashed.

  Bog and Small sprang after them as Hornel pushed Hannie toward Bog’s mother.

  “I can’t!” Hannie cowered as if the sun’s rays could hurt her.

  Bog’s mother reached into the shadows and yanked both Hornel and Hannie into the sunshine.

  “No!” Hornel raised his hand.

  Hannie screamed, skidding along the rocky ground.

  Breathing hard, Bog and Small halted at the edge of the clearing, their toes on the jagged line between shade and sun.

  A crackling sound came from Hornel.

  Bog gasped.

  Small growled.

  Then Hornel was stone, his eyes scrunched shut, his body crouched—every horrible detail perfectly preserved.

  Just like Jeddal.

  “That’s better.” Bog’s mother grimaced, as if the sight of the statue sickened her.

  “How could you?” Bog roared. Small howled in outrage. Hornel was reckless and naïve, but he hadn’t earned this fate.

  Bog’s mother gripped Hannie by the arm and pulled her upright. Hannie hollered and kicked, but his mother wrapped one arm around Hannie’s chest.

  “Don’t worry,” she said to Hannie in human talk. “I’ll get you back to Strongarm.”

  Hannie’s eyes became hollow, black pits. “Please,” she whispered. “Don’t take me back there.”

  “Let her go.” Bog couldn’t bear the look in Hannie’s eyes. He rocked back and forth, wishing he could dive into the sun to rescue her. No one deserved a father like Hannie’s.

  Bog’s mother ignored him, struggling to keep hold of Hannie with one hand. She snapped off several of Hornel’s fingers, tossing them to land in the leaf litter
at Bog’s feet.

  “A remembrance of your friend. You’re next.” She retreated farther into the clearing, taking Hannie with her.

  “Never.” Bog growled.

  A smug half-smile played across his mother’s face. “I only need to hold you here a few minutes longer. The sun will do my work for me. Unless you want to run off and leave Miss Hannie Vincent? Why do you want her so badly?”

  “I’m a troll. I belong with them. Let me go,” Hannie whimpered. She pulled free but his mother grabbed her by the upper arm.

  “They brainwashed you?” Bog’s mother frowned. “Don’t worry. I know people who can help.” Then to Bog and Small, she said, “Now, hand over your sacks.”

  “Why?” Bog gripped the strap of his rucksack. He didn’t dare look at Small, praying that Ymir would somehow protect their treasure.

  His mother’s eyes were beady. “I know you came here searching for the Nose Stone. Did you find it?”

  “We found a cave,” Bog held out his empty hands, “but no Nose Stone.”

  He wouldn’t let Jeddal down. Maybe he could shape-shimmer the Nose Stone to keep it safe, but that wouldn’t help for long. He could think of only one way to stop her, and it sickened him.

  “I never trust a troll.” His mother scowled. “Give me your sacks—slowly, one at a time. I’ll check for myself.”

  With a warning glance at Small’s pinched face, Bog slid his rucksack off his shoulder and held it out toward her.

  “Toss it at my feet.” His mother edged forward warily, avoiding Hornel and dragging Hannie along beside her.

  Bog calculated the distance left between them and devised a plan. He’d dive into the sun, trapping her under his bulk as he turned to stone. Small could hide Hannie somewhere safe, and then return at night to revive him with the Nose Stone. If his statue didn’t crack. If the Nose Stone worked its magic.

  Bog dropped his rucksack beside Hornel’s severed stone fingers. Then he dove into the sun at his mother.

  16

  Into the Sun

  Small yelled as Bog sailed through the air.

  Hannie wailed.

  His mother’s eyes widened. She pushed Hannie to the side.

  Bog thudded into his mother, knocking her to the ground, cheek to stinking cheek.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for his heart, his blood, his flesh and bone to turn to solid rock.

  This was it. He’d join Jeddal as stone.

  “No!” Hannie screamed.

  Could stone hear?

  He took a breath. The air was warm in his lungs. His mother’s stench was worse up close.

  He opened his eyes to blinding brilliance, like a thousand piercing pine needles. He squinted, eyes watering. He couldn’t see, but he could feel his mother squirming under him.

  How was he still flesh and blood? Sunbeams beat down on his back, legs, arms, head.

  His mother pushed him off. Veins throbbed at her temples.

  He scrambled away from her and rose to his feet.

  From the shadows, Small gaped.

  Hannie raced to Bog and clamped on. “You’re okay! Oh, I thought…” Then, for once, Hannie was speechless. She buried her face in his grey chest fur and sobbed.

  “What are you?” his mother asked.

  But Bog couldn’t tear his eyes away from Small’s face. Tawny fur framed the dropped-open circle of his mouth. His eyebrows were wooly mountains high on his forehead.

  Small shook his head and backed up several paces.

  Bog’s cheeks burned.

  The sun warmed his fur, his hide.

  His diluted blood forced him to live.

  He was a hopeless failure of a troll.

  “Impossible,” his mother was saying. “No troll can resist the sun. Tell me how you did it.”

  Bog ignored her. “I’m sorry, Small.” How could he explain, after keeping the secret for so long? He tucked his tail between his legs. His eyes filled with tears.

  Hannie wormed her fingers into his fur as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

  Small’s mouth closed into a tight line. His nose grew rigid.

  “I tried to…” Bog began again, struggling to find a way to help Small understand. Then he blurted, “She’s my mother.” He pointed at her. “I’m half human. I…I couldn’t tell you.” He hid his face in Hannie’s forest-scented hair, unable to watch Small’s reaction. “Forgive me.”

  A heavy silence fell over the clearing.

  Bog squeezed Hannie.

  “What?” She squirmed free of his arms. “You’re what?”

  “It can’t be.” He heard the disbelief in his mother’s voice. “He said you were dead.”

  He turned to his mother, who was circling behind him, as if trying to see him from all angles.

  “Patrick?” she whispered.

  That name. He’d heard it before. The memory came like a slap to the face—his mother sing-songing his name as she rocked him to sleep in her arms. How could his memories of her be sweet?

  “No,” he roared. “I’m Bog.”

  “I can’t believe it. You’re alive?” She smiled briefly before her skin flushed. “He said that some rogue forest trolls killed you while I was in town. That liar! That monster!” Her neck muscles corded, eyes slit, lips curled back. “This isn’t over,” she hissed. “I’ll trap him. And when I do—”

  “No.” Bog snarled. Not Jeddal. This had to stop.

  “He stole you from me. All those years—lost.” With her mouth twisted and her eyes shooting fire, she was the monster, not Jeddal.

  “You’ve hurt enough trolls!”

  “Don’t you see? He kept us apart! He did this to us!” His mother’s smile was cruel. “Now, give me the Nose Stone.”

  “I told you, I don’t have it.” Bog crouched, ready to jump at her. Then he sensed movement behind him. Was Small about to attack him? After all, Bog was a liar.

  He spun around. A shadow flitted over him. Small was soaring flat out, turning to stone already, his tail a flag of courage. Before Bog could try to stop him, Small fell onto his mother, using Bog’s own strategy better than he ever could.

  They slammed into the ground. A crash shook the forest floor, silencing the morning songbirds. Bog’s mother lay on her back, her legs pinned under solid stone, her feet jerking.

  “Small!” Hannie yelped. She crumpled against his side, at his mother’s feet.

  Bog couldn’t speak.

  His head screamed.

  Small lay slantwise across his mother’s stomach and legs, staring blindly at the rocky ground. His arms were by his sides; he hadn’t even tried to cushion his fall. Above him, his tail was a stony plume, fur quivering as if it might crumble into dust at any moment.

  “Get…it…off,” his mother moaned. She rose on one elbow and struggled to pull free of Small’s bulk. When she couldn’t budge, she collapsed backward.

  “Oh, Small!” Bog bent down and stroked the rocky tufts of fur on the back of Small’s head. If only his mother hadn’t confronted them. If only she hadn’t come after Hannie and the Nose Stone.

  His mother lifted her head to peer at him over Small’s shoulder. “Patrick. Help me,” she pleaded.

  “Don’t talk to me.” Bog growled.

  “But I’m your mother!”

  “Don’t call for help. Don’t move. If you try to break off one piece of him, you’ll regret it.” Bog steeled himself against her. Small knew he was half human, and he still honoured his gnark. Bog had to keep him safe until the moon rose.

  The sun was a burning disk against a piercing blue sky. Hannie was still weeping. Bog watched his mother’s eyes fill with pain and then close. Her hands went limp.

  Bog circled Small to stand next to his mother’s head. Then he crouched down, watching her chest swell with each breath.

  He should silence her for good.

  Destroy the Troll Hunter, just like he set out to do so many moons ago.

  But he turned away, shaking.

&nbs
p; He might be a fool, but he wasn’t a monster. Not like her.

  He crossed into the shade. He collected his rucksack from the leafy mulch where he’d dropped it. He felt for the Nose Stone, safely wrapped in cloth. Then he headed back into the clearing. He couldn’t help flinching when the sun’s rays hit him again.

  Bog dug a length of cedar-bark twine from his rucksack and bound his mother’s wrists together, hating the feel of her furless hide. Then he pulled Hannie off Small, and retreated a few paces.

  “We can help him.” He stroked her hair. “We’ll guard him all day.” Endure the company of his mother. “When the moon rises, we’ll revive him with the Nose Stone.”

  “Small would like that.” Hannie whimpered, her tears steady.

  Bog nodded, holding her close, her slight weight like nothing in his arms. As the sun brightened, he calculated when the moon would rise. He sat back on his haunches, watching the undergrowth for any sign of humans and keeping an eye on his mother.

  17

  Sunwalker

  The daylight blinded.

  Slivers of sunlight trapped on dew-dropped grasses were like quartz cutting into Bog’s eyes. Tears dampened his cheeks.

  Bog squatted in the clearing, only about three hundred paces from the human settlement, his back to the broken statue that had once been Hornel. The forest leaves were a staggering display of green. Startlingly red raspberries dotted the thickets. His muscles twitched. Sweat streamed under his fur against his hide.

  He fought the urge to flee to the shadows. Instead, he kept a wary eye on his mother, still passed out under Small, probably stunned by the blow when she fell. He half-expected her to rouse, break her bindings, hurl Small’s weight off her, and come raging at him.

  Or maybe a horde of angry humans would burst out of the forest, ready to kill. Was anyone wondering where the Troll Hunter had gone? She seemed to work alone, trust no one, and betray everyone.

  He tried not to think about what to do with her once he revived Small—if he could revive Small. She was a vile creature. He refused to be like her. But if he let her go free, would she go after other trolls—after Jeddal’s statue?

  Hannie slept restlessly in Bog’s arms, her damp clothing gradually drying. When she dropped her wooden troll doll, he returned it to the clutch of her fist. Her hands were tiny, with soft furless skin as pale as moonlight. Her closed eyelids were water-lily petals.