Bog Page 14

  A few minutes later, she was back with silver containers for each of them. Hannie squealed. The car filled with a mix of smells, but the salty scent coming from Bog’s food made his mouth water.

  He inhaled, feeling the tug of distant memories. It was a scent he recognized. Somehow, he even knew the name.

  Bacon.

  His head began to spin, unraveling memories of his mother. A warm room filled with delicious smells. Bacon sizzling in a pan. The floral smell of his mother’s hair. How had she developed that sharp, biting odour?

  Bog was woozy with scent-memory. Who was his mother, really?

  He remembered looking over Jeddal’s shoulder, bouncing as his father walked. Leaving the cabin they’d shared with his mother. Crying out for her. Devastated at the loss of her.

  “Why aren’t you eating your bacon?” she asked. She was driving with one hand, and eating some kind of bread with the other. “Don’t you like it?”

  Bog’s stomach growled. The bacon smelled delicious.

  He took a large crunchy bite.

  The salt melted against his tongue.

  His mother smiled.

  After Bog ate, sleep took him. He tried to resist, but his eyes fluttered closed.

  He woke to Hannie shaking his shoulder. “Bog, wake up, please,” she pleaded, her voice hushed.

  He jumped, and his knees hit the front ledge of the car. “What’s wrong?” The smell of gas overpowered him. His mother’s seat was empty, the car’s hum had finally ceased, and they were parked outside a white building beside the forest-lined road. “What is this place?”

  “A gas station,” Hannie whispered. “Listen. Martinique is outside, filling the car with gas.” She pointed to the rear of the car, where his mother was pushing buttons on a machine attached to a hose. “We don’t have much time.”

  “What is it?” The worry in Hannie’s voice made him twist around to see her face.

  “We both fell asleep for a while.” Her eyes darted to his mother and back. “When I woke up I saw your mother going through your rucksack.”

  Bog’s throat constricted. “The Nose Stone?” He yanked his rucksack open and rummaged inside.

  “She put it in the big side pocket of her coat.” Hannie frowned. “But I got it back without her noticing.” She pulled the Nose Stone out from behind her back.

  Bog grabbed the Nose Stone before his mother could see. He ground his teeth. Jeddal’s life depended on this stone—his mother knew that. How could she bring Bog bacon one moment and betray him the next?

  “You did well.” Bog shoved the Nose Stone into his rucksack. “Now we have to get out of here.”

  “I can’t.” Hannie’s face tightened.

  “What? Why not?”

  “I need to see my aunt.” Her eyes welled with tears. “I remember how nice she was, and I just have to find out…” She trailed off.

  “Find out what?”

  “If she loves me.” Hannie’s face radiated hope.

  Bog’s throat clogged so he couldn’t speak. His eyes misted.

  “But what if my mother doesn’t take you to your aunt?” His voice cracked. “What if she—”

  “I have to try. Please, Bog,” she pleaded.

  They stared at each other until Bog nodded. Hannie threw her arms over the back of his chair and hugged him.

  “You know that I have to go?” His voice was gentle. “Take the Nose Stone and rescue my father?”

  “Yes.” She trembled. “Jeddal.”

  Bog buried his nose in her hair, locking her scent into his memory.

  When they pulled apart, he said, “My mother will try to follow me.”

  Hannie blinked back tears. “I’ll make her take me to my aunt first so you can have a head start.”

  “That would help.” He paused, then added, “Are you sure you want to stay?” He didn’t know what he was offering her. A life as a troll? Would his family accept her? Would Hannie even want that life?

  “Yes.” Her eyes were steady. “I think...I may be a human after all.”

  “Maybe.” Bog nodded. “But you’d still make a good troll.”

  She smiled. “You should go before she pays. She can’t leave without paying. That’s stealing.”

  “Thanks.” Bog yanked her tiny nose, wondering if he’d ever see her again, hoping she’d be safe, hoping her aunt would adore her as much as he did. Then he slipped out of the car, not caring if his mother noticed.

  Outside, his mother had connected a hose from the machine into an opening on the car. Waves of gas fumes wrinkled the air. Bog’s nose twitched at the scent.

  “Where are you going?” Her voice was gruff.

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he moved fast and low, weaving between the parked cars and gas machines, avoiding the staring humans.

  Hannie jumped out of the car and planted herself in front of his mother.

  “When can I see my aunt? Can I use your cell phone to call her? How much farther to Strongarm?” Hannie assaulted her with a barrage of chatter.

  “Bog!” his mother called. “Come back.” Her voice had a desperate pitch.

  He raced across the highway without a backward glance.

  “Bog, please!” his mother yelled. “I can’t lose you again.”

  Bog kept running. His scent-memories of her might be sweet, but she’d never stop hating Jeddal.

  He plunged into the cool green of the forest on the other side of the highway. When the undergrowth thickened, he ripped off the hooded shirt, leaving it under a pile of rotting leaves. He tucked the sunglasses into his rucksack.

  After he covered his tracks by wading through a forest stream, he aimed for the clearing where Jeddal waited to be freed. It was maybe two days and nights of walking. With his mother on his tail, he’d have to do it in less.

  21

  The Clearing

  Throughout the day and into the night, Bog sniffed the breeze for his mother’s scent, but if she was following him, he couldn’t smell her. When day broke, he put on his sunglasses, thinking about her stealing the Nose Stone and his confusing scent-memories. Maybe she hated Jeddal more than she cared for Bog.

  He found a hole to sleep in when the sun was at its hottest. He should have pushed on, but he couldn’t go another step without a quick meal and a rest. As the sun beat down, he caught a few fish in a lake dotted with lily pads.

  Bog ate in a hurry, saving a little for later. When he packed the remaining fish in his rucksack, he discovered Hannie’s troll doll. Maybe Hannie didn’t need it any more. Or maybe she thought Bog needed it more.

  He lay down to sleep with the doll beside him that day, pondering what it meant to be human and what it meant to be troll. Once he’d known, but now he wasn’t so sure.

  On the third evening of walking, Bog recognized a hump of rounded rocks with crevices lined with lichen. The sun was just setting, casting brilliant streaks of pink across the sky. Nearby, where a thick-leafed creeper fanned over the rocks, he and Jeddal had once discovered a warren of hares.

  Bog picked up his pace, estimating that the moon would rise just after the stars speckled the sky. If he moved fast, he should reach Jeddal before moonrise.

  He hadn’t smelled a human since yesterday, so he was fairly certain no one was on his trail. Still, he kept his nose to the wind, in case anyone approached.

  As he neared the clearing, Bog had a sudden dread that he’d find Jeddal’s statue cracked, but he forced the thought aside and hurried on.

  When Bog stepped through the cedars into the clearing, he was out of breath and his side ached. Starlight danced across the open space, lighting the low scrub bushes and the rocky ground. The large bulk of Jeddal stood where Bog had left him, still smelling of stone.

  “I’m here, Father.” He rushed over, hoping Jeddal could hear him. How horrible to be trapped in stone, caught between life and death.

  Jeddal was covered with bits of leaves, twigs, and even bird droppings. Bog’s hands shook as he brushed Jeddal o
ff, searching for any chips or breaks.

  None. Not that Bog could see anyway. He checked twice, his heart thudding. Jeddal seemed unharmed. Bog sighed, although his stomach remained clenched.

  Soon, the eye of Ymir would show itself. The giant eye that would bring Jeddal back to life. It would happen. It had to happen.

  He dug the Nose Stone from his rucksack, thinking of Small and Hannie. He planned to tell Jeddal about them—how a forest troll and a human girl had helped a half-breed. Bog could almost picture the telling. Maybe Jeddal could meet Small and Hannie one day.

  An owl hooted, startling Bog. He glanced at the treetops where the moon would first appear, checking for a tentative glow, but the sky was still dark. Gingerly, he stretched up to place the Nose Stone on Jeddal’s head. He rubbed his nose against Jeddal’s stone one and stared into his fierce eyes, willing them to move. Then he squatted on his haunches. He had to believe that Ymir’s magic would wake within the Nose Stone and right what was wrong.

  Only a few clouds dotted the sky. The tops of the trees began to glow white with moonlight, brightening Jeddal’s nose and cheek, leaving one side of his face and his eyes darkened.

  Still in a crouch, Bog waited, willing Jeddal to move, until the moon rose above the trees and then higher among the stars.

  Jeddal was still stone.

  “It can’t be,” Bog muttered. By the power of Ymir, this had to work.

  Bog kneeled on the rocky ground, his eyes never leaving Jeddal.

  Maybe it was because the moon was waning. Or because Ymir’s eye was only half open. Maybe the moon needed to be full. Maybe the moon had to be higher in the sky.

  “I’ll try every night,” he promised Jeddal. “When Ymir’s eye is wide open and when it’s closed. When clouds blind the moon and the sky cries with rain.” He lowered his eyes, whispering now. “I’ll never give up.”

  Bog slumped.

  A crack sounded.

  He jumped to his feet.

  More cracks, crowded together.

  Bog whooped, not caring who or what heard.

  Hairline fractures snaked over Jeddal as if they were alive, widening into larger cracks. Bog worked his fingernail into a gap on Jeddal’s chest and pried a section loose.

  A small, flat rock flipped off. Underneath was grey fur, and a small dot of greenish-red blood where Bog had sliced too deep with his fingernail.

  “Father?” He’d never been so happy to see Jeddal’s blood.

  The statue was splintering apart now. Rock tumbled around Bog’s feet, and he stepped back, grinning. Odin’s curse may have turned Jeddal to stone, but Ymir’s promise could bring him back.

  A burst of rock and dust forced Bog to shield his eyes. When he could look again, Jeddal stood—furry, dusty, and blinking.

  “Father!” Bog squealed like a youngster.

  He rushed forward and received a cuff to the head.

  “That’s for cutting my chest.” Jeddal growled.

  Bog laughed, and they wrestled until the struggle became a tight embrace. They fell apart, grinning.

  “I don’t know how you did it, son.” Jeddal flicked Bog with his tail. “But you always were a clever troll.”

  Bog’s cheeks hurt from smiling. Just being with his father, wrestling with him, felt so right, even if Jeddal seemed less agile than before. Bog hoped he’d enjoy the honour of old age, just like Mithanen had.

  “I’ve so much to tell you,” Bog began, picking up the Nose Stone from the rubble.

  “Does it have anything to do with that fresh scar on your nose?” Jeddal said admiringly.

  Bog nodded. It was agony—wanting to share everything at once but not knowing how to start. He had so many questions.

  Jeddal stilled him with a look. His fur bristled. “I know that smell,” he whispered. His tail twitched.

  Bog sniffed the air and then stiffened. His mother! How could he be so careless? He should have been smelling for her.

  He shoved the Nose Stone into his rucksack, cursing. “It’s my fault…” he began. He hoped Hannie was safe.

  Bog’s mother pushed her way through the brush into the clearing, leaning on her walking stick for support. Jeddal snarled and cast a protective arm across Bog’s chest.

  “I’ve finally found you, Jeddal,” she said in troll talk. Her face hardened. “And our son.”

  The fur on Bog’s back prickled. “Don’t hurt him.” He growled.

  “You know her?” Jeddal glanced at Bog.

  “We’ve met. She’s been hunting trolls. So much has happened…” How could Bog explain how dangerous she was?

  His mother glared at Jeddal. “You taught our son to hate humans, even his own mother. You failed him in so many ways. He belongs with me now.”

  “Never.” Jeddal’s body went rigid, poised to jump at her.

  “I’m not asking for your permission.” She dropped her walking stick. “He’s coming with me.”

  “You’ll have to kill me first!” With a deafening roar, Jeddal dove for her.

  “No!” Bog bellowed, plunging after him.

  22

  Into the Fray

  Bog’s mother whipped out a tube-shaped lantern and switched it on, blasting a beam of light into Jeddal’s face. With an unearthly yell, Jeddal threw one arm over his eyes. Bog’s mother shuffled aside, and Jeddal landed on his stomach in the rocks and dirt, his tail crumpled.

  Bog smacked the lantern out of her hand, his eyes burning from the glare. The lantern rolled on its side, casting an eerie light onto the rocks.

  “I told you not to hurt him.” Bog helped Jeddal up, his arms shaking. He’d only seen his father fooled by humans once before, and it had ended with him turned to stone.

  Bog’s mother laughed, low and throaty. “I’ll only give him what he deserves.”

  His parents faced off against each other, with Bog between them.

  He glared at his mother. “He doesn’t deserve to die just because you’re angry.”

  “Angry? I’m more than angry.” She balanced her weight on her good leg. “He faked your death! Stole you from me! How is that right?”

  “Was it right to force us to live in a cabin for years?” Jeddal swished his tail. “To make Bog dress in human clothes? To refuse to let him hunt with me? You would have taught him to hate the troll way of life—to hate himself.”

  “I did what was best for Bog.”

  Jeddal snorted, pacing back and forth, snaking closer to her. “Then there was that early morning when we came upon a troll family in a forest glen. Did she tell you what she did to them, Bog?”

  “No, Jeddal, you’ll only feed him lies—” his mother began.

  “Your mother,” Jeddal snarled, “turned the two youngsters to stone, right before your eyes!”

  “They were threatening Bog!”

  “They only wanted to play!”

  Bog’s head spun. He didn’t know who to believe.

  Jeddal lunged for Bog’s mother again.

  “Stay back.” Bog put a hand on Jeddal’s chest and tried to push him away, but he just leaned in, growling over Bog’s head at her.

  “You have no right to judge me, Jeddal.” His mother’s arm flew to her jacket, and pulled out a crude knife with a yellowed blade. She pointed it at Jeddal. “I protected Bog then, and I’ll protect him now.”

  Jeddal laughed. “You once pulled a gun on me. Now a foolish knife?” He slipped sideways away from Bog, fingernails extended toward her.

  “Stop it! Both of you.” Bog tried to wedge between them again, but they wove around him.

  “I’m no fool, Jeddal. But you may be.” The lantern lit his mother’s face from underneath, making her hollowed eyes menacing. “This is no ordinary knife,” she said. “I fashioned it from the fingernail of a gigantic mountain troll, so it’s strong enough to puncture even your hide. I’ve dreamed of destroying you for years.” His mother slashed at Jeddal.

  “Don’t!” Bog gasped. He couldn’t lose Jeddal again.

&
nbsp; Jeddal ducked under the knife, twisting to swipe at her with his fingernails.

  His mother jerked out of the way, stumbled over her walking stick, and then righted herself. She drove the knife toward Jeddal again.

  “No,” Bog wailed, jumping in front of his father. The knife plunged deep into Bog’s forearm.

  He screamed.

  “Bog!” Jeddal howled.

  His mother yelped and released the knife. “I didn’t mean to…”

  Pain spiked up Bog’s arm in pulsing waves. Greenish-red blood oozed from the wound and dripped onto the rocky ground. He yanked the knife free, screaming again.

  “Look what you’ve done.” Bog brandished the knife at his mother.

  She clamped a hand over her mouth.

  “I always knew you’d hurt him somehow.” Jeddal got ready to spring at her.

  Bog swung the knife toward Jeddal. “Leave her alone.”

  Jeddal’s eyes widened. He backed away.

  Bog’s arm throbbed. He felt light-headed. “When you two fight, everyone gets hurt—trolls, humans, total strangers.” He threw the knife as far away as he could. It landed in the bushes beyond the cedars. He hoped no one ever found it.

  “It’s her fault—” Jeddal began.

  “You both played a part in this.” Bog cradled his bleeding arm against his stomach, trying to slow the blood with his fingers.

  “But, Bog—”

  “No, Father. You mated with a human and stole the child you had with her. Then you refused to talk to me about my mother.”

  “I was protecting you.”

  “From my human side?” Bog spit out his words. “I have a right to know who I am.”

  Jeddal glanced awkwardly at the ground.

  “And you…” Bog turned to his mother. “You only care about revenge. How could you hurt innocent trolls—try to kill my own father—and expect me to see you as anything other than a monster?”

  His mother frowned. Her grey hair lay plastered against her damp face. Her neck muscles were taut ropes.

  Bog swung his rucksack from his shoulder, keeping an eye on them both. “Odin’s crime started it all,” he said, rummaging in his rucksack for something to slow the bleeding of his arm. “When he murdered Ymir, he began the hatred, fighting, battles won and lost. When does it end?” He pulled out the cloth he’d wrapped around the Nose Stone and tied it over his wound, grimacing. “When will you stop fighting?”