Bog Read online

Bog scowled, slopping broth down his chin and then wiping it away with the back of his hand. “Those humans mentioned the Troll Hunter.”

  Kasha nodded. “He’s set up a den where he teaches other humans how to trick us.”

  The broth in Bog’s stomach rolled to a boil. Those humans had blasted the noise they called music at sunrise to distract them. Maybe they’d spoiled the hunt on purpose to force Jeddal and him to stay out longer. Was this trickery because of the Troll Hunter’s teachings?

  “The Troll Hunter’s den is rumoured to be near Thunder City. He’s training more hunters every day.” Kasha’s beady eyes were intense. “Within one moon, they’ll be swarming our forest worse than ever. We need to move farther north, away from them.”

  “Again?” Bog ground his fist into his thigh. “Why do we have to run away with our tails dragging every time they get close? We should crush this Troll Hunter and his followers before they cause more damage. We should—”

  Kasha slapped a hand on the stone slab, making the youngsters jump. “Did Jeddal teach you nothing? Stay away from humans.”

  “But they killed Jeddal!”

  “Will killing humans bring him back? Will it feed the young-uns?” Kasha snorted. “Don’t hoard your anger as if it’s gold. It’s not troll-like.”

  The stab of Kasha’s glare silenced Bog, yet the idea of destroying the Troll Hunter and his followers was a vine spreading tendrils. He pushed his empty bowl away.

  Wouldn’t Jeddal have defended his family?

  After dinner, Kasha got out her ointment pot, grabbed hold of Gem, and rubbed the acidic paste into the youngster’s furry hide, stretching and pulling her nose. Because of Kasha, all the youngsters would grow a thick hide and long noses—she’d even improved Bog’s stubby nose.

  Bog’s family was a mishmash of relations and orphans. Mica and Gem were twins whose parents had been crushed by a human’s car, and Ruffan’s mother had died at his birth. Jeddal was Kasha’s son, and Bog was his, although Bog had no mother that he knew of. Jeddal would never talk about her, even when Bog pleaded for a story.

  Kasha let Gem go, wiped the rest of the ointment onto her own red nose, and grabbed Mica for his treatment. “Make yourself useful, Bog.” She gave him a challenging glare. “You can do the tally.”

  Bog trundled to the family treasure chest, opened the lid, and began to check their hoard. Even though the count rarely changed, Jeddal had tallied their treasure nightly, praising the sheen of the silver and the sparkle of the amethysts. Since Jeddal had been turned to stone, Bog had added nothing to their hoard and little to their stewpot. His tail quivered.

  When Kasha finished with Mica and Ruffan, Bog was still working the tally. Kasha yanked her own nose a few more times, raked the coals, and settled on a stool beside the fire with a sigh. She’d worked twice as long on Ruffan to toughen his unusually smooth skin.

  “Story time, story time,” the youngsters chanted.

  Mica and Ruffan toppled over each other to get to Kasha’s feet, but Gem kicked them both out of the way.

  Kasha let them settle and then asked, “Which story this morning?”

  “The one about the sun!” Gem yelled. “How Grental captured the biggest ball of gold.”

  “No, we heard that one last morning.” Mica scowled. “I want to hear about Troll Mountain, where the troll queen lives.”

  “Ymir and the first trolls who walked the land!” Ruffan squealed.

  Kasha frowned, wrinkling her forehead. When she glanced at Bog, he bent over his work. He tried to keep the count, but silver didn’t seem important this morning. All the lessons that Jeddal had yet to teach him—lost. All the hunts they could have shared—gone. Bog found his hands clenched.

  “Leave that,” Kasha said to Bog, her voice raspy. “I have a story for you.”

  “For me?” Bog’s eyebrows arched.

  “Why him? Not fair!” Gem yelled.

  Kasha walloped each youngster with the back of her hand. “Tonight is Bog’s turn. Now, off to sleep with you.”

  While Kasha corralled the youngsters into their sleeping nooks, Bog stacked the silver and amethysts and shut the chest. Maybe Kasha’s story would be about the Troll Hunter or Jeddal. Either way, he knew to pay attention or risk a swatting.

  Kasha crooned a few songs to settle the youngsters and then joined Bog by the fire. Together, they stared at the glowing, black-hearted coals, until the rustling and whispers of the youngsters faded. How many times had Bog listened to Kasha and Jeddal’s fireside murmurs from the sleeping nook he shared with Ruffan? Now, he’d taken Jeddal’s place.

  “We trolls have a long history,” Kasha finally began, “but each one of us has a tale, too. This tale is for you, Bog.” Kasha’s mouth was grim. “I saved the telling until the time was right.”

  Bog nodded, trying to keep focused on Kasha’s story. Tendrils of smoke disappeared up the flue.

  “Here’s how it goes.” Kasha voice was solemn. “As a young troll, Jeddal set out from home one evening. He’d been hunting on his own for some time since his father, my mate, had been killed by humans near the village of Strongarm.” Kasha’s black eyes were fierce.

  A familiar squeeze tightened Bog’s chest. Tomorrow night he’d hunt the humans who tricked Jeddal. He could pick up their trail at Jeddal’s statue—maybe it would even lead to the Troll Hunter’s den. It couldn’t be wrong to protect his family.

  “Jeddal melted through the bushes, so quiet a hunter was he. He slid through pine and poplar like a worm through the earth, undetected by even the owl’s keen eyes. That night, he found himself gliding parallel to a humans’ road through our forests. The humans were using the road to trade between Strongarm and Thunder City, down in the south. Rutted and pitted was this road, with branches overhanging. Yet the poor state of the road gave Jeddal an idea. He would drag a log across it, forcing the humans’ metal machines to stop. Soon, the humans would abandon the road, leaving us trolls in peace.”

  “I hope he blocked the humans,” Bog muttered. He wanted a tale of sweet justice or no story at all.

  Kasha nodded. “He didn’t even need to find a log. That old road had done his work for him. You see, Jeddal found an overturned metal machine called a truck,” she continued. “He could smell it first—three humans and poisonous gasoline on the forest floor. The truck was boxy and large, the back filled with useless vegetables.”

  Bog scowled. Only Ymir knew why humans wanted to eat vegetables.

  “When he got closer, he saw that a gaping hole in the road had tipped the truck, tossing two human men onto the nearby rocks, killing them. But Jeddal could hear the third human moving. So he jumped over, clearing the truck easily, to where he could hear the groaning of that last horrible human.”

  “Jeddal always was a good jumper,” Bog said. He’d been good at most everything.

  “The last human was a female. And this is what I know of her: She was pretty, not like most humans. She had a bumpy nose, coarse skin, and dark hair as wild as the wind. Her teeth were nicely gapped, although flat. Jeddal told me later that she could laugh like the tinkling of gold coins and skin a hare faster than he could. Yes, those two got to liking each other—a troll and a human, if you can believe it. After they got through the first few moments.”

  Jeddal—friendly with a human? Bog couldn’t imagine it.

  “Because what Jeddal saw when he swooped over was this bedazzling human female, a jewel herself, lifting the truck off her own legs, which were pinned underneath.”

  Bog snorted at Kasha’s exaggeration. No human was that strong.

  “And Jeddal was so startled to see a human with more strength than a fly that he stared. Maybe she’s a troll, he thought, although it turned out that she was human, through and through.

  “One thing I’m sure you learned from Jeddal,” Kasha waggled a finger at him, “is to use the advantage of surprise. He always taught that one first, since he messed up on it this terrible time. While Jeddal stood with his mouth
agape, the human female took charge. She rolled out from under that truck, grabbed a metal bar that had come loose, and knocked his legs out from under him.”

  More exaggeration. As if Kasha wanted him to be impressed by this human.

  “Well, imagine Jeddal’s surprise to find himself on the ground because of a human,” Kasha continued. “He scrambled to his feet, awkward and clumsy, and found this human female on her feet, too. She was standing tall with a gun at her shoulder, propping herself against the side of the truck on two broken legs.”

  Impossible.

  “Now, Jeddal couldn’t believe a human had bested him,” Kasha continued. “He was so amazed that he laughed outright, while that female was aiming a fool gun at him. Jeddal laughed until the tears wet his fur, and that human stared back at him, pointing the gun, until she began to laugh, too.

  “That’s the story of how Jeddal met a human. Martinique Bottom, her name was. And those two became close, quite close. In fact, Martinique Bottom was,” Kasha shot him a piercing look, “your mother.”

  “No!” Bog stood, roaring.

  Half breed? Half a troll? It wasn’t true. Jeddal, greatest of trolls, was his father. His nose was long and bent. His ears floppy. His treasure chest full.

  But Kasha’s steady eyes told him that she spoke the truth.

  “That’s why you’re smaller, your tail so short and your nose blunt,” Kasha said. “Your mother was a human.”

  “She couldn’t be!” Bog smashed a fist into the cave wall. A trickle of pebbles fell from the spot.

  That’s when he noticed the youngsters, their heads poking through the archway into the common room, Ruffan’s hand over his mouth, the twins silent and gaping. Bog turned from them, hating their eyes on him.

  “Back to your burrows,” Kasha ordered.

  The youngsters scurried out of sight.

  Kasha shook her head. “With all your anger at the hunters, I had to tell you, Bog. Each of us is upset about Jeddal, but you’re ready to hunt humans instead of staying where you belong. That much rage—it’s not natural for a troll. It’s the human in you coming out.”

  He held his head in both hands to stop the cave walls from spinning.

  “Your father couldn’t stand your mother’s rages—vicious as a weasel when she didn’t get her way. He said they fought over where to live, how to raise you—everything. Still, he lived near Strongarm with that human for more than two summers. Until she did the unspeakable.”

  “What did she do?” How horrible could his mother be? And what did that make him?

  Kasha shrugged. “Jeddal would never say. I only know that he took you away to shield you. So you wouldn’t become like her.”

  Bog moaned, his head still swimming. How could Kasha even accept him—a half-human?

  “Don’t go chasing after the Troll Hunter or his followers,” Kasha pleaded. “It’ll only end badly. Learn from Jeddal’s mistakes.”

  “I have to protect the family, even if it means killing the Troll Hunter.” Bog tried to still the tremor that shook his whole body. He would track the humans who’d tricked Jeddal and find the Troll Hunter, too. And he’d destroy them all.

  Kasha glared. “Honour Jeddal’s wishes and stay away from humans. You don’t want to become like them. Remember when Jeddal—”

  “No more stories.” Bog cut her off. Didn’t she understand that it was because of Jeddal he had to go? He had to show that he was a worthy son, and now a worthy troll. “I’ll leave when the sun sets.”

  3

  The First Step

  The next night, Bog stood with his back to the cave, his feet aimed south. Everyone had gathered to see him off. On his left, Kasha contemplated the forest, her mouth set in a stony grimace. On his right, Ruffan gripped Bog’s hand, his whole body shivering. Mica and Gem were wrestling with each other beside Kasha’s feet.

  The cool, damp smell of the cave wafted from behind, along with the lingering scent of the broth and grubs they’d slurped for breakfast. Bog released Ruffan’s hand, preparing to take the first step that would lead him away from home. Away from Kasha and the youngsters. Away from the places that brought back painful memories of Jeddal.

  His feet wouldn’t budge, although he knew he had to hurry. Every moment he hesitated meant that another troll hunter would be trained, and another family would suffer. But he had to make peace with Kasha first.

  “Kasha, listen,” Bog began, hoping she’d bless his leaving. “I’ve been a useless hunter anyway. And Ruffan’s a good mouser and snaker. He needs to get out of the cave.”

  “Oh, yes.” Ruffan leapt to Kasha’s side. “Could I hunt, please? I caught a grouse once.”

  “Go, if you must, Bog,” she rumbled low in her throat, ignoring Ruffan. “Just don’t expect me to like it.”

  A pain shot through Bog’s upper body, as if a slash of sunlight had cut across his flesh. Kasha didn’t understand. He wasn’t abandoning his family; he was proving he was worthy of them.

  The sun had just set behind the trees, leaving a red-orange scar fading in the western sky. The eastern sky was clouding over. Only a patch of stars flashed like fireflies between the swaying branches.

  A muddy footprint marked the stone before his feet. As large as Kasha’s stewpot, the footprint must be one of Jeddal’s. Soon the rain would wash it clear and fall like tears over the stone statue of Jeddal.

  Bog resettled his rucksack on his shoulder and cast another glance at Kasha. When he saw the hard edge to her mouth, he pulled his feet free of the roots that bound them.

  “I’ll be off now.” Bog nodded to Ruffan. “Hunt well.”

  “You, too.” Ruffan wiped a hand across his watery eyes.

  Mica and Gem became strangely motionless. Gem had a beefy arm wrapped around Mica’s neck and Mica had a hold of Gem’s ear—a solemn pause in their fight, in his honour.

  “I’ve one bit of magic for you.” Kasha stepped forward. She shoved Jeddal’s flint stone into his rucksack to join his jug of mousemeat stew and jug of broth.

  It was magic, of a sort. Like carrying Jeddal with him. “Thanks.” He tugged Kasha’s nose affectionately.

  “We’ll be heading farther north,” she said, “to the lakeside cave where we camped two summers ago. If it’s occupied, we’ll be nearby. Do you remember the way?”

  He nodded, wishing they didn’t need to flee.

  “Be cunning, Bog.” A cloud of flies whirled above her head. She yanked his nose to say goodbye.

  “I will.” He rubbed noses with the youngsters and then clumped over the rippled stone and into the bush. Behind him, Mica and Gem grunted as they resumed their wrestling match.

  “Come home to us.” Bog heard Kasha’s whisper even with the growing distance between them.

  He didn’t look back.

  The forest coated the land like a rumpled blanket over the bones of an old troll. Bog travelled by scent through the darkest undergrowth and then tromped over the rocky ground of the clearing toward Jeddal.

  A half-formed snarl remained trapped on Jeddal’s lips. His motionless eyes unnerved Bog. He touched Jeddal’s stone nose. It was cold. Unyielding.

  Bog’s fingernails dug into his palms. His eyes brimmed with tears.

  “Goodbye, Father.” He rubbed his eyes to clear them and silently vowed to make Jeddal proud. Then he inhaled deeply, alert for the humans’ scent trail.

  He picked it up near the south edge of the clearing. It was fading, but still strong enough to point the way. After a final glance at Jeddal, Bog plunged into the forest, following the foul humans who’d lured Jeddal into the sun.

  Their trail meandered between rocky mounds and then ran parallel to a narrow stream. When it circled the crumple of wood that was his great-grandfather Mithanen, Bog had no time for a visit. When Mithanen had been alive, the old troll had bounced Bog so hard on his knee that he’d launched Bog into the air, shrieking and laughing. Unlike Mithanen, Jeddal wouldn’t have the honour of old age, with moss sprouting
from his fleshy ears. He wouldn’t shrink and warp until the night he became so ancient that he’d walk into the forest to twist into a sculpture of boughs, limbs, and twigs. Jeddal had been turned to rock before his life was even half over.

  Bog ploughed into less familiar territory. He lost the trail once, but picked it up again after circling the area twice. When he detected the mouldy odour of a couple of wood spirits, he gave them a wide berth to avoid the lure of their siren-like call. You only hear a wood spirit’s call once, Jeddal had said. Too many trolls had been turned to forest rot—fuel for the wood spirit’s trees.

  In the distance, a wood owl hooted. Frogs called from the nearby pond. The scents of chipmunks mapped their recent trails. Bog smelled no trolls nearby, which suited him fine. He’d rather sleep in a hole during a hurricane than stumble into another cave troll’s home for a violent welcome. Even worse than cave trolls, he’d heard that western mountain trolls grew larger and meaner. And northern trolls, who could have up to twelve heads, were tough enough to survive shortened nights in the summer.

  The scent trail continued south into human territory. It probably ended at Strongarm—the closest town. He vaguely knew the way, although he’d never been.

  Jeddal had, of course, with Martinique Bottom.

  Bile rose in his throat. Oh, Ymir, how had Jeddal tolerated a human? How had he tolerated Bog? It was a mockery. Jeddal turned to stone by humans while his own son was half human.

  Bog’s hands became fists. He wanted to smash the biggest boulder he could find into a mountainside. He wanted to rip the tallest tree out of the ground and hurl it across the ocean. He wanted to—

  He stopped, his feet on the edge of a dirt road made by humans. The stench of oil filled his nostrils. He wanted to retch. Was he so stunned that he forgot to pay attention to where he was going? Could he not smell oil before he stepped on it?

  Bog stood, transfixed. Maybe he was as dumb as a human. And as weak as one.

  He sniffed around for the humans’ trail.

  Gone.

  He flicked his tail back and forth. Maybe they’d travelled away in one of their metal machines.