Bog

by Karen Krossing

  “Thanks, Bog.” Small grunted, taking his share of the gum.

  They plugged their ears, muting the wood spirits’ call. As his head cleared, Bog breathed a sigh of relief. The aching hunger lessened.

  They emerged from the thicket to greet Sateen, who flowed closer. Small stepped back, a scowl on his face.

  Bog unplugged one ear, cautiously. The wood spirits had halted their call, for now, but Bog kept his pine gum handy, just in case.

  “You know what to do?” He asked Sateen in his own language, knowing she’d understand. Wood spirits could ensnare in many languages.

  She nodded, her hair flowing like a cluster of bracken fern. “We will suspend them in eternal longing.” Her voice had a deep moaning quality.

  Bog felt the too-familiar yearning again, as if a vast hole existed in his life that could only be filled if Sateen spoke more, longer.

  He banged his ear to clear it.

  Small let out a growl. He’d removed one earplug, too.

  “Once I round them up, you can torment the humans however you want,” Bog told Sateen. “Together, we’ll make sure no humans ever return.”

  Sateen bobbed up and down, saying nothing.

  “I’ll set up the gold.” Bog pushed through the undergrowth toward the clearing, removing his second earplug. He needed to be able to listen for humans.

  Small followed.

  “One troll is enough.” Bog gestured for Small to stay put. “Besides, your size will scare them.”

  Small glanced apprehensively at the wood spirits who were forming a semi-circle around him. “I guess you’re right.” He fumbled with the pine gum, pushing it firmly into both ears.

  Bog would have felt safer with his ears plugged, and stronger with Small by his side. But he needed to slip into the camp and get the humans to follow his trail to the wood spirits’ trap. And what better way to lure humans than with trolls’ gold? If only he could conjure it without trouble.

  Bog skulked soundlessly into the logging camp. He hated being out in the open, exposed under the wide sky. He crept between two tents, avoiding the pegged ropes and the circle of light cast by the single bulb over the door to the low wooden building. To one side of the building was a stone-rimmed firepit. Bog rummaged in the cold bed of coals, gathering any large chunks. Some he added to a sack he’d fashioned from birch bark and slung on a reed rope around his waist. Others he piled in a pyramid on the wooden table near the firepit. Then, with a sharp rap, he whacked the pile.

  “Flachner groor ibem tor,” he chanted, saying the charm that would turn the coal to false-gold—he hoped. He’d done it often enough with Kasha looking on.

  With a small whooshing sound, the coal began to brighten, glowing at first from within and then slowly seeping outward to transform each lump into shining gold.

  Bog smiled, pleased he’d done it on his first try.

  Trolls’ gold gleamed brighter than real gold, although it should fool the humans. After a while, it would return to its original form. By then, he prayed to Ymir, the humans would be trapped by the wood spirits.

  He worked his magic on the coals in his sack next. Then he tore a hole in the bottom of the sack with his fingernails so that smaller gold pieces would fall out, leaving a trail.

  When he was finished, the trolls’ gold glimmered on the table like a tiny false sun. And when he shook his sack, pebbles of gold fell through the hole onto the ground.

  He was ready.

  The sky was dark indigo, the sun still far from rising. Bog took a deep breath and then called out in the human tongue, thankful Jeddal had made him learn it. “Help! Troll in the camp!”

  He thumped around the clearing, weaving between the tents. Noise erupted from the closest tent.

  “Wake up, Vince,” called a male voice. “Troll in the camp.”

  A heavy thud sounded, and then Vince, presumably, began to swear. “What do you think you’re doing, Joe?”

  “Stop bellyaching and get up!” said the first man—Joe. “There’s a troll outside.”

  Tents became illuminated from inside. Sounds bombarded from all directions. Bog could hear the swish of a blanket tossed and the rustle of cloth.

  His heart pounded along with the boots coming to get him. He had to stay ahead of them. Although Small could free him if he got caught, Bog prayed to Ymir that his plan would work.

  He huddled near the wooden table where his bait lay shimmering. “Come get me,” he whispered.

  Shadowy figures appeared. Bog wanted to run, although he forced himself to linger. Better to wait until he’d baited them all.

  He hunched over the gold, as if protecting it. They hadn’t heard him rummaging around their firepit, and they wouldn’t smell him either. The useless humans would have to rely on sight. It would take them ages to find him under the night’s cloak.

  Bog counted twelve humans so far. They were using flashlights to aid their eyes. Any moment, one would spot him, and the race would begin.

  His muscles quivered, ready for flight. He had to trap as many as possible to make his plan work.

  “Can you see anything, Vince?”

  The ones called Joe and Vince were out now—the first to wake and last to emerge. Bog listened to his quarry, peering into the darkness. One human had even come out from the building. About twenty in all.

  “Can’t see no troll,” said Vince.

  Vince was a gangly man with lazy movements. Beside him, Joe was a runt with a disgustingly strong odour.

  Ignoring the stench, Bog took a long breath and snarled, deep and throaty. It filled the logging camp—between the tents, under the scattered tables—and rumbled out to the rim of trees.

  “What was that?” said a new voice.

  “This is some joke,” Vince yelled. “Get away with you, whoever you are.”

  “Sounds real to me, Vince.” Joe’s voice had a tremble in it. He hung behind Vince’s skinny frame. “Too bad the Troll Hunter ain’t here.”

  Yes, it was. Because then Bog could ensnare him, too. Bog filled his lungs and snarled again, louder this time. He shifted his arms so the gleam of the gold escaped. When a flashlight pinned him in its beam, he squinted.

  “There! I see him.”

  “He’s got gold!”

  “Gold?”

  “Let me at him.”

  Their lights burned. Bog slumped one shoulder, painted on his stupid mask, and glanced around sluggishly, as if just realizing others were near.

  “Don’t be a fool! He’s dangerous.”

  “Naw, he’s just a small one.”

  “Surround him! Get the gold.”

  “It ain’t real. Only silver around here.”

  “Sure looks real!”

  Several more flashlights locked Bog in their glare. He could only peer through his lashes; his eyes were sharp with pain. The lights crisscrossed around, above, on him. He was eager to flee the closing net.

  The humans drew nearer. Bog slackened his jaw, let out one last snarl, scooped up as much gold as he could carry, and began a loping run toward the woods.

  “He’s taking the gold!”

  His back was exposed, his body tight, waiting for the impact of some kind of weapon. He hoped a gunshot couldn’t puncture his half-human hide. He ran, fueled by fear and exhilaration. He could still hear the humans arguing about whether to gather the remaining gold or go for him. With one elbow, he bumped his sack, still strapped to his waist, so that some gold pebbles fell in a trail behind him.

  “He’s dropping more.”

  “Let’s get him!”

  Bog pushed into the dark forest like a rock plunging into water, drawing them after him just as he’d planned. Bushes tugged at his fur. Branches scraped his arms. He crashed through everything in his path, his fur clumping with sweat, his eyes still aching.

  Bog ran madly, fiercely, through the trees toward the hollow that Sateen had chosen. He hoped all the humans were following, but he didn’t look. He wasn’t going back for anything.r />
  He passed through the hollow without stopping, hardly daring to glance at the floating wood spirits who were ready to trap the humans. His breath came in gasps. He struggled for air. When he was far enough away from the hollow, he collapsed beside a log. Only then did he realize how daring he’d been—partnering with wood spirits and surrounding himself with humans when only three had outsmarted Jeddal.

  He grasped his sides, breathing fast and shallow. Whenever they’d encountered humans on their hunts, Jeddal had always sheltered Bog with his body, even hiding him in the undergrowth as a youngster. Now, Bog wondered if Jeddal had thought him too weak to do much good. He wished Jeddal could see him now.

  When he caught the scent of Small, coming toward him, Bog managed a smile.

  “I hope the wood spirits get them,” Bog said, still breathing heavily.

  Small sat on the log beside him. He nodded nervously. They secured the pine gum in their ears and waited. Would the wood spirits do their part?

  Bog could smell humans and forest rot, wood spirits and gasoline. After ages of wondering, weakened without his sense of hearing, he and Small circled back to the hollow, leaving the mostly empty sack of trolls’ gold behind. Had his plan worked?

  The mouldy scent grew stronger as they approached, a cross between sugary sap and rotten wood. The bodies were encased in a large, glowing, greenish fog—humans floating horizontally in the dip in the forest, gently nudging branches, gripped in deceivingly peaceful poses.

  “It worked,” he called loudly to Small without removing his earplugs.

  Small shivered. “It’s not natural,” he bellowed back.

  Bog nodded.

  They stepped between the suspended bodies, avoiding touching them. When Bog brushed against one accidentally, he felt the fog invade like slivers, stabbing and freezing. He jerked his arm away.

  “Where’s Sateen?” he yelled. He wanted to know if all the humans had been caught, and then he wanted to escape.

  Small shrugged and glanced around. “Let’s get away from here.”

  Bog held up a hand. “After we finish with Sateen,” he shouted.

  Small opened his mouth to reply as Sateen drifted through the crowd of suspended bodies. Bog warily removed one earplug when she began to speak in troll talk.

  “I kept my part of the bargain. You promise me that no humans will come here again?” Sateen’s pale green face glowed the same colour as the fog around the humans. Bog could see through her to the bodies and branches behind. He felt the pull of her voice and stepped back.

  “Do what I say and none will return.” He made his voice sound confident, even though he wasn’t. “Release one human tomorrow night. Make sure he’s well enough to return home to tell the tale. Then let loose another the next night. Three at the most—you can keep the rest.”

  “I still don’t understand why we should release any.”

  “They’ll warn others not to come here.” Bog hoped the horror of the wood spirits would scare away any more humans—keep them out of the forest and away from his family.

  Sateen nodded. “A wise plan. I will release two humans, once we’re done with them.”

  “Don’t wait too—” Bog began.

  But Sateen was leaning into the nearest body, pushing her face full into the fog. It was the man called Vince. His eyes were half-closed in a dull trance. He had one arm under his head as a pillow, and his legs were entwined. When Sateen began to exhale, more green fog gusted from her mouth and enveloped him. His eyes widened and an expression of terror gripped his face. As the fog whirlpooled around him, the mouldy scent grew even more powerful.

  Bog could hardly watch as Vince’s skin slowly darkened and thickened into rotting wood. He felt dizzy. Sickened. This wasn’t the glorious moment of triumph he’d expected.

  Maybe even humans deserved better than this.

  Small tugged his arm. “Let’s go.”

  Plugging his ear, Bog backed away with Small, careful to avoid touching any bodies. They needed distance between them and the wood spirits before they found a place to rest for the day. Then Bog needed to destroy the Troll Hunter.

  6

  The Body of Ymir

  “He’s a cave troll!”

  “Why’s he here?”

  The forest trolls stared. Bog wanted to shrink into a hole in the ground. If they knew he was half human, they’d chase him away, for sure.

  “This troll is a hero.” Small’s shout halted every troll within hearing distance. “Bog has saved us all.”

  Every eye was on Bog. Every nostril took in his scent. He tucked his tail against his leg for comfort and then flicked it away, embarrassed. It had taken a night and a half to reach Small’s settlement, and it had rained most of the time. Now, the sky was cloudless, although the faces of these forest trolls were as unfriendly as a thunderstorm.

  Small climbed onto a rock platform that jutted into an open space beneath giant evergreens. Nearby trolls scrambled toward the rock. More forest trolls appeared as if from nowhere, until Bog noticed holes in the earthy hillsides carefully hidden by bushes or rocks. These forest trolls clustered their homes into a tight knot.

  “Let me explain about this cave troll,” Small yelled, and he launched into the story of how Bog had pulled Small from the path of a truck and then partnered with wood spirits to frighten the loggers from returning.

  Bog sniffed the crowd uneasily. A troll mother, smelling of milk, carried a baby in a birch-bark basket on her back. A troll with the odour of dung pulled a large cow by a rope leash. These trolls had only one head each, and they were as furry as Small, although they were closer to Bog’s height.

  As Small shared his tale, the faces began to change. Bog found it hard to read their expressions beneath all that fur, but he sensed a shift. Maybe they wouldn’t run him out of the settlement. Several trolls edged closer to the rock platform, not with fists raised, but with words of celebration.

  “The loggers are gone!”

  “Hurray for Small!”

  As if Bog had nothing to do with it? He scowled, feeling unwelcome and foreign.

  “No, it was Bog who—” Then Small was besieged.

  They swarmed Small, whacking his shoulders, yanking his nose, stroking the fur on his back.

  So many trolls. So many smells. Bog looked around for a retreat from the gathering throng. Then he scented the human.

  He growled, deep and low, scanning the crowd until he found its source. A girl child? In Small’s settlement?

  She was sitting on the knee of an elderly female troll and watching him. The girl was tiny, but old enough to cause damage. Bog’s fingers curled into fists. Even if these forest trolls couldn’t accept him, he could still rid them of a human.

  He pushed through the trolls and strode toward her, snarling.

  The girl cowered.

  The elderly troll shielded the girl with her body. “Stay away!” Her eyes were stabbing thorns.

  From behind Bog, strong hands snaked around his chest and pulled him back. He inhaled Small’s scent.

  “No, Bog!”

  Bog ripped Small’s arms off his chest and spun around. “She shouldn’t be here. She’ll only make trouble.”

  Small’s eyes held a twinkle of amusement. “You don’t understand. We keep her for trade,” he said. “The fool humans trust us when we return their kin undamaged.”

  The words took a moment to sink in. Bog had heard that mountain trolls used to eat humans, but trade them? He frowned. These forest trolls had disturbing habits.

  Small laughed. A few others joined in. Bog’s ears grew hot.

  “You have much to learn about how to deal with humans,” Small said. “Come on. Meet my pa. Let us handle the girl.”

  Bog trailed Small, relieved to leave the crowd, although he couldn’t resist a last glance at the girl, who was nuzzled into the troll for comfort. Had Martinique Bottom coddled him like that? He shuddered. Although Kasha would say that any youngster deserved proper care, Bog
couldn’t help but be repulsed by this girl.

  Small ducked into an entrance to an underground cavern, large enough to fit even him. The room they entered was a common area with well-worn rocks to sit on and a wooden table and chairs at one end. Simple, like at home, but with an earthy smell. A few coals glowed in a stone hearth, barely lighting the room. Bog could smell the remains of a delicious stew—probably grouse—and his stomach growled. A tawny-grey lynx with tufted ears wove between the table legs. As Small lumbered toward the table, ducking his head to avoid dangling roots, the lynx leapt out and pounced on Small’s foot.

  Small’s laughter echoed off the walls. He scooped up the lynx and rubbed under its chin. It purred against his chest.

  “Sit down,” Small said.

  Bog sat, savouring the comfort of the curved stone, well-fitted to his back.

  Small waved at a bulky lump of rags in a corner. “Meet my pa, Frantsum.”

  Bog inhaled a faint scent of troll, masked by the smell of stew. The corner was in shadows, but he gradually made out the wrinkled features of an ancient troll.

  “Just the two of us now,” Small said, “but we get along fine.”

  Small’s father must be almost ready for his final walk in the forest. He already had the scent of wood about him.

  “Greetings, Frantsum.” Bog shifted uneasily, hoping he’d be accepted.

  “Good nightfall, Bog. I heard your name shouted outside.” Frantsum’s voice crackled with age. “If my son is praising you from the rock ledge, you must be a hero worthy of a feast.”

  “Uh, thanks.” A feast to honour him—now that was unexpected. “I’m hungry enough to eat a whole bear.” Bog stifled a yawn. The noises from outside the cavern still bombarded him. So much had happened in the last few nights. Although Bog wished he could return to his own cave for a quiet night of stories, he was determined to carry on with his mission against the Troll Hunter.

  “Our hero’s tired,” Frantsum croaked. “Small, find him a place to rest while we arrange the celebration. We’ll show these trolls what a hero looks like.”

  The celebration turned out to be disturbingly huge, with more trolls together than Bog had ever seen. They gathered in the clearing under the rock platform where Small had announced Bog’s triumph. Under the half-closed eye of the moon, trolls brought stools, stumps, anything to pull up to the long wooden tables strung together. And the food piled on those tables! Bog’s nose twitched. He’d never smelled so much meat at once. Porcupine and fox. Barbequed mice on skewers. Roasted chicken, stolen from humans. Boiled goose eggs. Bowls of rich, steaming broth.