Bog Page 5

  Sitting between Small and Frantsum, Bog ate his fill and then some more. With a stab of guilt, he thought of his family, hoping they were eating more than grubs and mousemeat stew.

  As they ate, Small repeated his tale of Bog’s victory over the loggers.

  “Bog swept through the camp, swatting loggers left and right.” Small demonstrated with his fist, making the trolls around him duck. “With each swipe, the loggers soared through the air and into the hollow reeking of wood spirits. They released their deadly fog on the humans, leaving only rot behind.”

  The forest trolls cheered. Bog shivered at the mention of rot. The story became more exaggerated with each telling.

  Then the trolls talked of the goings-on near Thunder City.

  “Watch out,” a plump young troll said. “The Troll Hunter is taking down trolls, leaving a trail of statues and showing others how to do it, too.”

  Just like Josaya had warned. Bog shared the horror of Jeddal’s stoning and explained how the humans had used the teachings of this Troll Hunter to do it.

  Small’s eyes were fierce. “This human is a monster.”

  “I heard he destroyed three mountain trolls at once.” The plump troll shook his head. “His knife can cut through the toughest hide.”

  “He’s hunted the mountain trolls to extinction, so now he’s come here to practise his skills on us,” added another.

  “Mountain trolls extinct? Impossible.” Small snorted.

  “Where’s the Troll Hunter now?” Bog asked.

  “In Thunder City, we think.” Frantsum picked at his food. “No one even knows his scent, since he destroys any who come near. Why do you want to know?” He leaned closer, examining Bog.

  Bog shrugged. He hadn’t told Small that he was after the Troll Hunter. These trolls might think him foolish.

  When Bog could eat no more, he belched loudly and rubbed his greasy fingers clean on his stomach.

  “Did you feed well enough?” Frantsum asked.

  Bog answered with another large burp.

  Frantsum shared a toothless grin. “And you drank your fill?”

  Bog nodded. His stomach was bursting.

  “Then it’s time you pay for our hospitality,” Frantsum announced in a raspy voice.

  The trolls around them who heard let out a rowdy cheer.

  Bog’s tail became rigid. “I didn’t know this feast came with a cost.” If he’d known, he would have eaten nothing. Treasure was for hoarding, not trading.

  He glanced at Small and the other furry faces around him—some smiling, some not so friendly—wondering how to get out of this jam.

  “Of course there’s a cost.” Small grinned, showing pointed teeth with bits of meat still caught between them. He had the bones of an entire deer piled nearby.

  “We always demand a story from our guests,” Frantsum said. “It’s the only payment we accept.”

  Bog blinked. “A story?”

  Frantsum beamed. “Please, indulge an old troll. Climb onto the rock,” he gestured toward the rock platform, “and tell me a story.” He leaned back in his chair, his arms folded, his eyes expectant.

  Bog began to sweat despite the cool night air. Telling stories was Kasha’s skill, not his, and these forest trolls had unfamiliar ways. How could he ever please them?

  The calls for a story began to swell, until the noise became deafening.

  Bog’s legs trembled, making his tail vibrate. Maybe he could tell one of Kasha’s tales. The story of Ymir—his favourite. He knew the words by heart.

  “Well?” Frantsum raised his bushy eyebrows. He was just a scrap of fur and bone, yet he had such authority, such kindness. Bog didn’t want to refuse him.

  He climbed onto the rock. Shouts and cheers buoyed him up. High above the other trolls, he prayed to Ymir for strength.

  The trolls quieted, shifting in their seats, their eyes like weights on him. Bog gazed into the forest and launched into his story.

  “In the beginning, there was no rock, no sea, no sun.” The echo of Kasha’s words fueled a yearning for his family. Bog tried to shake free of it, but it stuck like a burr. “There was only a hollow so vast that your mind would spin in circles if you tried to imagine it.” Bog twirled his fingers, and a young troll who reminded Bog of Ruffan stood and began turning, until an older troll yanked him back down.

  A few trolls chuckled.

  Bog continued, his voice louder. “This dizzying space contained an icy mist and a fire too hot to hold life.”

  Frantsum smiled. Bog was relieved Kasha’s words satisfied him.

  “In the shimmering vapour where frost met spark, the first life formed.” Bog paused, his arms outstretched. “This was Ymir, the frost giant—father of us all.”

  The crowd was still, taut with listening. Bog lifted his chin.

  “Ymir was as wild as the mountains. Fiercer than a tempest. His breath was an icy blast.” Then he said to the young troll who had spun in circles, “You would tremble before him.”

  The youngster roared. “I wouldn’t be afraid.”

  Bog’s tail wagged. Small chortled and then reached a long furry arm across the table to give the youngster a wallop.

  “While Ymir slept, the race of frost giants sprang from his armpit. The world was fresh and new, trembling with life.”

  Shouts erupted from the crowd. Trolls stamped their feet and cheered.

  “But this was not the only life to be formed from mist and fire.” Bog’s voice was a warning. “A smaller, weaker race took shape. They called themselves gods.”

  The crowd booed.

  “The greatest of these gods was Odin, the Terrible One,” Bog yelled, shaking his fist. “Odin and his brothers became jealous of Ymir’s strength and courage. They pierced his hide until blood ran from his wounds, drowning most of Ymir’s children.”

  “Murderers!” someone called.

  “They were the first to kill.” Bog nodded grimly. “From Ymir’s skull they fashioned the sky. From his flesh the earth. From his bones the mountains. From his blood the sea.”

  “The body of Ymir is all around us!” another shouted.

  “Yes.” Bog’s eyes misted over, as they always did at this part. “While the earth was still soft and alive with Ymir’s last heartbeats,” his voice was reverent, “a miracle happened.”

  The trolls became motionless, waiting as if they knew what was coming. Bog realized his story was familiar to these trolls, and the thought brought him closer to them. “As Ymir died, trolls sprang fully formed from his feet. It was a final gift from Ymir. A gift of hope for the world.”

  The clearing exploded with noise, as trolls stomped, howled, bellowed. Bog felt a rush of power. Like he could take on anything, even the Troll Hunter. High on this rock with the dark forest around him, he was so much more than a weak half-human.

  When the racket faded, Bog spoke. “When Odin became jealous of the trolls, he created his own creatures to inhabit the land. He called them humans,” Bog paused as the crowd jeered, “giving them souls that live forever, rather than letting them become one with Ymir upon death.

  “Odin and his brothers ruled over the humans, who worshiped them. Then Odin cast a powerful magic upon all giants and trolls. He fashioned the sun to keep Ymir’s offspring at bay. A sun whose light could turn giants and trolls to stone. This was Odin’s curse.” Bog paused, as Kasha usually did, letting the horror of the moment sink in. The trolls were with him—he could feel it. They hardly twitched, waiting for Bog’s next words.

  “Eventually, the gods and giants faded, but trolls and humans spilled from the northern mountains to inhabit the world.” Bog spread his arms. “Mountain trolls, forest trolls, cave trolls—they adapted to life in different places. But all trolls spring from the original life—Ymir, the frost giant.”

  Bog punched the air. The crowd did, too. Bog saw an ocean of fists.

  “Ymir! Ymir!” they chanted.

  Then Bog caught sight of the human girl. She was sitting
with the elderly troll, who was grooming the girl’s hair and not even paying attention. A fierce cloud gathered inside Bog. As he stared, the girl locked eyes with him. She shook her fist and yelled Ymir’s name.

  How dare she listen to troll stories and learn their language! Jeddal had said, Never let humans know anything about you. You never know when they’ll use it against you.

  “We know that one night,” Bog said, tearing his eyes away from the girl, “humans will destroy themselves through evil and foolishness. Then trolls will take their rightful place as rulers of the mountains, lakes, and forests that are the body of Ymir. We will not be limited to the darkness, but will rule both night and day.”

  Bog bowed. The forest trolls exploded once more. He made his way down off the rock and among the beaming furry faces, as many hands patted his back and many fists punched the air.

  When Bog had found his way back to his seat, Frantsum said, “That was worth a meal.” He grinned, showing his missing teeth.

  Bog smiled so wide his cheeks hurt. Then he rubbed Frantsum’s nose with his own, like he would an old friend’s.

  7

  The Nose Stone

  Bog jerked awake, banging his head on the low ceiling, a disturbing vision haunting him. Kasha and the youngsters—he had to take care of them. He glanced around, confused. Then he realized he was in Small’s den, tunnelled into a sleeping burrow off the common room.

  The burrow was just wider than Bog. It smelled of worms, earth, and the dried leaves that littered the floor. Bog rubbed his head and tried to find his warm spot among the leaves, cold with the evening’s chill.

  In his dream, Kasha had been twig thin, collapsed near the firepit in the lakeside cave. Ruffan was holding a bowl of broth to her lips. When he tipped the bowl to let her drink, she let the liquid dribble into her chin fur.

  “Has Bog returned?” Her voice was raspy.

  Ruffan shook his head sadly. “Maybe tomorrow night.”

  Bog propped himself up. Was Ruffan hunting well? Did they have enough to eat? Bog missed the familiar sleeping nook he shared with Ruffan, and this strange burrow just wasn’t right without the youngster’s scent.

  He crawled into the common room, still distracted by the dream. Was it telling him to return home?

  Not without defeating the Troll Hunter.

  In the common room, Bog could see signs of wealth that he hadn’t noticed before. The wooden table was inlaid with polished stone, and the pantry cupboard was still full after last night’s feast. Even the lynx half-asleep by the fire meant food was plentiful.

  Bog caught a whiff of Frantsum’s woody scent. Again, Bog hadn’t noticed him tucked into his corner near the fire, looking like a rumpled mound of earth. As Bog greeted him, Frantsum began to chuckle, which led to a fit of coughing.

  Bog hurried to pour him some cold broth from a clay jug on the table, thinking how he should be caring for Kasha this way.

  He helped the old troll to drink. When Frantsum recovered, he sputtered his thanks. “I still enjoy the idea of those loggers turned to rot by wood spirits,” he said with a chortle, his voice hoarse. “You’re a cunning troll, Bog.”

  Bog returned the jug to the table. “I hope I’m cunning enough.”

  “Cunning enough for what?” Frantsum perked up. “Why are you travelling? Where are you going? I’m sorry to pry, but…” He leaned forward. “Small is determined to fulfill his gnark, and I want to know what he’s pledging himself to.”

  Bog sucked in a breath. He couldn’t avoid the topic any longer.

  “Fair enough.” He tromped over to a chair at the table and sat down.

  Just then, Small lurched into the room, heavy with sleep. “Good nightfall to you.” He scratched his furry belly and rummaged in the pantry cupboard.

  “Good nightfall, Small.” Bog watched him pull out a gaudy blue-and-red box with squiggly human symbols on it.

  “Ymir is smiling on you, Bog.” Small cheerfully waved the box. “I’m about to introduce you to the fine taste of hamburgers, courtesy of the human grocery store.”

  Bog nodded. The meat inside the box did smell delicious, although it was starting to turn.

  Frantsum stared at Bog expectantly.

  Bog traced the woodgrain of the tabletop with his fingernail, avoiding Frantsum’s gaze. “I’m looking for someone.”

  “Who? A forest troll?” Small said. He was stirring the few coals in the fireplace, adding twigs and small branches. A stream of smoke began to rise toward a hole in the roof.

  “Not exactly.” Bog shook his head. “Not a troll.”

  “Then…a human?” Frantsum’s eyes were steady.

  Small put the hamburgers on to cook, releasing a rich scent into the room.

  “Yes. I need to find the Troll Hunter—he turned my father to stone. I mean, he helped. Like I told you last night, he…he taught other humans how to trick us.”

  “Not to be harsh,” Frantsum paused, “but why seek the Troll Hunter when your father is already stone?”

  Bog squirmed. “To protect my family—and other trolls who may be hunted.” He tried to keep the indignant tone from his voice.

  Frantsum tugged at the fur on his chin. “Not to avenge your father?”

  Bog found his hands clenched and made them relax. Don’t hoard your anger as if it’s gold. It’s not troll-like, Kasha had said. “Of course not,” Bog forced through his teeth.

  Frantsum nodded. “Protecting your family is a noble quest.”

  Bog was relieved Frantsum asked nothing more.

  He breathed in the scent of the cooking hamburgers, and his stomach began to grumble. How could he be hungry after last night’s feast?

  “You’ve helped us banish the loggers,” Frantsum said, “and I want to return the favour. Do you know the legend of the Nose Stone?”

  “No,” Bog began, hoping to avoid a long story. “But I did want to ask about—”

  “It’s not common,” Frantsum continued. “A few forest trolls from the south shared it with me once. You might find it interesting.”

  “Actually, I was hoping you could tell me where to—”

  “Just listen.” Frantsum waved his pointed fingernails in Bog’s face. “This story is about a giant named Sideways. He lived in an underwater cave in Superior Lake, far to the south, near Thunder City.”

  Bog crossed his arms and tried to pay attention.

  “Sideways was peculiar,” Frantsum’s voice crackled, “because he made friends with a group of humans. For some fool reason, he believed these humans were different than most. Upright like trees.” Frantsum rolled his eyes.

  “Is this the one about—” Small began.

  “Shush.” Frantsum cut him off with another wave of his hand. “Sideways told these humans dangerous secrets. He even shared his hoard with them.” Frantsum shook his head. “Unthinkable, isn’t it? He shared his treasure in exchange for a favour.”

  Bog nodded, unsure where this story was headed.

  “For his part, Sideways told them where to find a vein of silver in a series of caves on an island in Superior Lake. In return, he asked them to hide a most valuable treasure within one of those caves, where his big hands couldn’t reach. He had those humans conceal the blessed Nose of Ymir—safe from thieves. Not the whole nose—that would be too massive to hide anywhere—but just the nub, warts and all.

  “These humans lived well, becoming known for their silver ornaments. Soon, other humans wanted the silver, too. They sent a scout to learn the location of the mine. When the scout discovered it, he gathered the largest pieces he could carry and then set off for home.” Frantsum lowered his voice. “But on the way, he was set upon by three other men, who forced him to reveal the source of the silver.

  “At once, the men headed for the mine by canoe, singing loudly about the riches they’d enjoy. Their noise alerted Sideways. As they approached the mine entrance, Sideways rose out of the water, causing a mighty wave to batter the shore. But, in his haste, Sideway
s didn’t realize it was almost sunrise. He emerged from the lake as the sun rose above the hills.” Frantsum grimaced.

  Bog gritted his teeth as the whole terrible moment with Jeddal came crashing back. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Just wait.” Frantsum raised both hands.

  Small was motionless, listening. The hamburgers sizzled and smoked.

  “The sun, in her wretched glory, turned poor Sideways to stone, and he fell with a mighty splash into the lake.” Frantsum slapped a hand on his thigh. “And there he rests to this night—on his back in the water, majestic in death.”

  Bog blinked hard, trying not to think of Jeddal.

  “Sideways was desperate to protect the Nose Stone.” Frantsum spoke in a hushed tone, leaning forward, his eyes searching Bog’s. “We all know how sacred a nose is, how it tells so much about a troll.”

  Bog raised a hand to hide his own blunt nose.

  “But Ymir’s Nose Stone had special properties—the power to revive a giant or troll who has been turned to stone.”

  “What?” Bog’s legs began to tremble. His hand fell.

  “When placed on the head of a stone troll while the moon is rising in the sky, the Nose Stone will make them flesh again. But the troll must be whole, not a chip missing.” Frantsum leaned back, a satisfied look on his face. “That’s what made me think of you and your father.”

  Jeddal. Could Bog save him? His head reeled. “Is…this true?”

  “I’m not sure how much is truth and how much is rumour.” Frantsum shrugged. “Many have searched for the Nose Stone, but no one has found it. The story goes that you can still see the mine entrance on Silver Island at the foot of the Sleeping Giant. Humans unearthed the silver until the lake took revenge, filling their tunnels with water. The Sleeping Giant guards his treasure well—although some say he showed those humans a hidden entrance into the mine from the mainland shore.”