Bog

by Karen Krossing

  Small rescued the hat and coat and then eyed Bog. “You’ve never been in a town before, have you?”

  “Of course not. Why would I want to?”

  “A lot of humans live there. More than you’d expect. If you walk through a town without wearing clothes, they’ll attack. That’s why we always disguise ourselves until we make the trade.”

  “If I wear that plastic thing, they’ll smell me coming.”

  “Humans can’t smell so good,” Hannie said, beside Bog now. “And you’ll look cute, even though it’s not raining.” She reached up and patted Bog’s arm.

  He yanked away. “Don’t touch me! Never touch me!” He ignored Hannie’s withered look. “Isn’t there another way to trade?” he asked Small.

  “This is the best way.” Small offered the clothes once more. “Just take her in and see what you can get for her.”

  “I’ll help you get stuff,” Hannie announced, “but I’m not going back to my dad. I heard you talking last night. You want to find the Troll Hunter and then visit the Sleeping Giant, right? I can help you. I know I can.”

  “You were supposed to be asleep.” Bog growled.

  “I was just pretending. What’s a Nose Stone? Who’s Jeddal?”

  “None of your business.” Bog let his voice rise, hoping to scare her. “And you’re not coming. You’re going back to your father and you’re never returning to the forest troll camp again. Do you understand?”

  Tears welled up in Hannie’s eyes. “I’d rather stay with you.”

  It took a while for Small to calm Bog and Hannie down. He convinced Bog that he needed to tolerate the clothes long enough to work their plan. But Small couldn’t convince Hannie that she had to stay with her father.

  “I’m coming with you.” She pouted, her arms folded across her chest.

  Finally, Small whispered to Bog, “She’ll probably go easily once she gets home. They always do. Just leave her there. We’ll be gone before she notices.”

  They packed the last of the broth and meat as the sun set. Then they set off for Strongarm. Small shadow-slipped through the forest. Bog and Hannie hiked straight down the road that led into town.

  In the rain pants, coat, and hat, Bog was stiflingly hot. Sweat trickled down the inside of the plastic and soaked his matted fur. His tail was squished uncomfortably down one leg of the pants, and he wanted to twitch it free.

  “Why do humans wear this stuff?” he muttered.

  At least his feet hadn’t fit the human shoes, although the pants covered most of his feet.

  The trees began to thin. Trimmed grass replaced the forest undergrowth. The road became smooth tar and stone, rather than rough dirt. Too flat. Unnatural. The road held the sun’s warmth, heating the bottom of Bog’s feet. He stepped lightly, although his pants made a swishing noise as he walked. Hannie’s shoes flapped against the road.

  Had Martinique Bottom dressed Bog in clothes? A disturbing idea. He studied the surrounding landscape, trying to force a memory of where he’d once lived with his parents. In a cave near Strongarm? Not in a building, he hoped.

  The clouds blotted out the stars. Bog couldn’t believe he was walking into Strongarm, dressed as one of them. He wanted to trade Hannie as fast as possible.

  Hannie chattered beside him, scampering to keep up. “I’ve been gone for days and days now. Last time, my teacher was the only one who noticed I was gone. She always asks questions about my dad, but I don’t answer in case he gets mad. And every day she wants me to do math, but the numbers get stuck inside my head—”

  “Quiet,” Bog said. “We don’t want to be noticed.”

  “Okay, I’ll be quiet, Bog. You can count on me.” She shut her mouth, nodding eagerly.

  He doubted it would last.

  More and more buildings appeared, and signs with strange markings that he couldn’t decipher. Bright lights on tall poles illuminated everything, blinding Bog to the nuances within the shadows. Moths and other insects swarmed the lights, confused by the human-made moons.

  Bog felt just as lost. The buildings were everywhere. Short wooden ones and much taller stone ones. He could smell hundreds of humans inside. The reek was almost overwhelming. Small had been right. It was no place for a troll.

  His throat tightened. He sniffed behind to make sure they weren’t being followed. Was Small nearby? He couldn’t smell him. Maybe he should turn back.

  Then a car appeared ahead of them, its lights blinding. Within moments, another approached from behind. Bog’s hands grew clammy. His knees locked. Was a pack of troll hunters surrounding him? He could imagine what they’d do to him.

  The cars sped closer. Hannie’s tiny fingers tugged at his sleeve, pulling him sideways.

  “Don’t stand in the middle of the road.” Her voice was shrill. “Do you want to get run over?”

  Bog stumbled after her. Both cars slowed beside them, rumbling like thunder. Music throbbed from one—a reminder of the puny man with the noise box. Bog pulled away from Hannie, covering his ears. His head threatened to burst apart.

  “Stay off the road,” a man called through the racket, speaking in the awkward human language.

  They know, Bog thought. They’re coming for me.

  “You think it’s gonna rain, buddy?” came another voice, followed by jeering laughter.

  “Leave him alone!” Hannie yelled.

  Then the noise began to fade. The cars were pulling away, leaving their stench behind. Bog freed his ears. His breathing was quick. He tried to calm down, telling himself that he was safe, for now.

  “What were you doing?” Hannie gaped. “Why did you stop on the road?”

  “Too loud,” was all Bog said, turning from her. “Where’s your home?” She saved him from those cars, much like he’d saved Small. Did he owe her a gnark? Impossible.

  “Up ahead.” Hannie gave him a puzzled look.

  They hurried past darkened buildings. Only a few windows were lit up. Bog skirted the pools of light from the streetlamps, cowering at the slightest noise.

  “That’s where I went to school.” Hannie pointed to a brick building, forgetting her promise to be quiet. “My teacher was Mrs. Phelps. She has puffy blonde hair. But I don’t belong there because I’m really a troll. That’s why the kids made fun of me.”

  Bog tried to block out her chatter.

  “There’s the food store I told you about,” Hannie continued. “I buy white freezies there when I get money. White freezies taste like all the other flavours put together.” She pointed down a road with smaller buildings. “We go this way.”

  Bog’s stomach churned his breakfast. The town seemed endless. How could there be enough stone, wood, and metal to make so many buildings and cars? He thought about Hannie rescuing him from those cars, and suddenly he wanted to leave his mark in this vast human town, just to prove he could. He paused beside a street sign on a tall metal post.

  “Stop,” Bog ordered Hannie.

  He pushed against the post, straining every muscle in his body. The post slowly bent toward the road.

  “What are you doing?” Hannie asked. “Why are you breaking that sign?”

  Bog pushed until the sign was twisted into the road where it would block a car. Then he smacked the post, saying the words to shape-shimmer it. Both the sign and post became invisible. Bog smiled.

  “Where did it go? How’d you do that?” Hannie gaped. “You sure are strong.”

  “Which way did you say your home was?” Bog felt ready to face her father.

  “This way.” Hannie pointed. “Can you teach me how to do that?”

  “Come on.” Bog set a faster pace. He’d be rid of her soon.

  They hurried down streets and between buildings. Bog tried not to imagine swarms of troll hunters suddenly emerging from a darkened building, or more cars coming at him.

  “Here’s my house,” Hannie announced.

  Bog stared at it, uneasy about entering a human’s den. Hannie dug her troll doll out of her rucksack an
d clutched it to her chest. The house was smaller than others on the street, with a black roof and white wooden slats covering the outside walls. The windows were dark except for the large rectangular one. A bluish light flickered from it.

  “He’s watching tv in the living room.” Hannie’s voice trembled. “Be careful.”

  tv? Living room? The way she said be careful made Bog wonder what he was walking into. But he’d come this far, so he marched up the concrete walk, climbed the wooden stairs, crossed the creaky porch, and banged open the door with his shoulder.

  The room reeked of sour fruit. A glowing box in the far corner buzzed with human nattering. A table and chairs filled half the room. And one large man was scrunched down in a cushioned chair.

  The man was almost as big as Bog. His nose was pitiful—small and flat in his rounded, startled face. He was wearing a white shirt and grey shorts, and his smell nearly knocked Bog flat. This man was the source of the sour-fruit smell. Several bottles on the floor beside his chair stank of it, too.

  “What the…?” The man stood, wobbling slightly. The muscles in his arm flexed and rippled as he made a fist. “You sure are one ugly troll.”

  Bog panicked—the man knew he was a troll—and then recovered. This man was just a human. Bog could do this.

  Hannie peeked around Bog’s leg. “Go get him, Bog,” she whispered.

  “You back?” The man sneered at Hannie. “I thought you were gone for good this time.”

  Bog just wanted to dump Hannie and leave, but Small was counting on him to trade. In one quick movement, he snatched Hannie up by her rucksack and dangled her out front. “Tell me where to find the Troll Hunter or she gets hurt.”

  Hannie yelped and then shook her doll at her father. “You’d better answer him!” she yelled. “He’s meaner than the last one.”

  “How should I know where the Troll Hunter is?” The man scowled at Bog. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell the likes of you. I don’t care how many of you no-souls get killed. Now get outta my house.”

  He came at Bog, fists ready.

  Bog dropped Hannie.

  She thudded to the floor and scuttled out of the way.

  Bog’s heart hammered in his chest. Ymir, help me, he thought.

  10

  Rescue

  Hannie’s father barrelled closer, limping slightly. Bog’s blood pounded.

  “His knee! Get his knee!” Hannie yelled from beside the glowing box. “He hurt it at work before he got so—Bog, watch out!”

  Bog let the rain hat slide off his head. He dropped one shoulder and twisted so it collided with the man’s chest. The blow vibrated through Bog’s body and he stepped back, although he refused to flinch. He saw surprise in the man’s eyes, just before Bog jerked his fist up into the man’s chin, the movement ripping the sleeve off his raincoat at the shoulder. The man gurgled as his head flipped up. Bog then kicked the man’s weak knee. The man let out an ear-splitting yell and then collapsed backward onto the floor. Bog heaved a breath and yanked the torn sleeve from his arm, grateful to have it off.

  Hannie scrambled to her father, her hands and knees slipping on the dusty wooden floor. “Dad?” she called, a catch in her voice.

  He didn’t move. Bog wondered if Hannie would cry, but she began clawing at the side of her father’s shorts.

  “What are you doing?” Bog’s every muscle was taut, ready for the man to rise.

  Hannie dug in her father’s pocket until she smiled triumphantly, withdrawing a wad of useless paper wrapped in a tight roll.

  “What good is that?” Bog snorted.

  “Money.” Hannie trilled like a songbird announcing the sunrise. “For Small.”

  “Oh.” She was quick-witted, for a human.

  Then a muscled arm snaked from behind Hannie and wrapped around her middle.

  “Steal from your own kin?” Her father’s twisted face appeared over her shoulder. “I always knew you were no good!”

  “Catch, Bog!” Hannie threw the money roll.

  Bog snagged it in mid-air and shoved it deep into the pocket of his rain pants.

  “Why you worthless brat!” her father bellowed, squeezing her in his hold.

  Hannie squealed, struggling to free herself.

  Bog stumbled backward, trying to ignore the urge to rip the man’s arm off Hannie. Rescue a human? Ridiculous. Bog ducked through the doorway and onto the creaky wooden porch, letting the door swing shut.

  “Bog! Don’t leave me!” Hannie cried from inside the house.

  He headed down the porch steps. Even if her father was a vile creature who didn’t care for his young, it wasn’t Bog’s concern. He couldn’t owe Hannie a gnark.

  A crash from the house made Bog spin around.

  “Hannie!” He howled into the night and then wished he hadn’t.

  Bog found himself racing back to the house. He banged the door open so hard that it lodged itself in the wall.

  Hannie trembled behind the box, her pink rucksack still strapped to her shoulders. Hannie’s father stood by the table and chairs, glowering.

  “I told you to get out,” her father bellowed at Bog. His neck was knotted cords of muscle. His face a sweaty, gleaming mass.

  Hannie’s eyes darted between them.

  “Leave her alone.” Bog stretched to his full height, growling.

  Hannie’s father picked up a chair and threw it at Bog’s head.

  Bog swatted the chair, forcing it off to the side. It smashed into the corner of the wall and broke apart. Before Bog could attack, Hannie’s father was in his face, smashing a bottle over his nose. Mucus filled Bog’s nostrils until he could smell nothing. He snorted in the phlegm, ignored the flowering pain, and focused only on his target.

  Bog charged into the man with his full weight. He struck a blow to the man’s face with his head. His hands searched for a grip. The man’s skin was slick with sweat, slippery and smooth. Bog latched onto one leg and arm while the man was still dazed from the blow. He lifted the man into the air, spinning as he grappled with the weight, his tail jammed into his pants, unable to help him balance. He swung closer to the large front window and heaved the man through it. The glass shattered into the night as the man tumbled onto the porch.

  Somewhere outside, a dog began to bark.

  Hannie raced outside to where her father lay. Bog followed. Her father blinked and tried to lift his head. His nose was bleeding. Blood dribbled from small cuts on his arms and legs.

  “You mean, mean man!” Hannie shrieked. “You’re not my dad anymore. I’m leaving. I’m going to the Sleeping Giant with Bog. And even after we find the Nose Stone, I’m not coming back. Not ever!”

  “No!” Bog roared. He’d rescued her for this?

  Lights popped on in the next house, illuminating the grass and street.

  Bog squinted. More lights from other houses. The sound of voices and footsteps. Where was Small?

  He stumbled down the stairs and onto the grass. Hannie pursued him like a wolf to its prey.

  “Bog, wait! I’m coming, too. Don’t leave!”

  “No!” Bog spun around, wondering which way to run.

  A long wail pierced the night. Painfully loud, even from a distance.

  Hannie gasped. “The police are coming.”

  “Small!” Bog called, lurching onto the road. The lights from the windows hurt his eyes. His ears throbbed with the wailing noise. His nose ached more than he thought possible.

  He staggered away from the source of the sound. Lights hit him from behind. He glanced back. His eyes watered at the flashing red-and-white beams from an approaching car.

  “Bog!” Hannie was still calling, following.

  “Can’t see.” Bog swiped at the tears, stumbling forward. The sounds and the lights confused him. His nose throbbed. He spun sideways away from the car and loped toward a murky passage between two houses.

  “Please, Small,” Bog pleaded to his absent friend. “Don’t let me be caught like this.”
r />   “Run! This way, Bog!” Small’s voice. Finally.

  Bog turned, not sure where Small was or when he might smack into a tree or building. His eyes still streamed. His head pulsed. He jogged after Small’s scent the best he could with his injured, stuffy nose, stumbling over roads and grasses, smashing through bushes, straining to hear the padding of Small’s feet over the wail of the car. He tore the rest of the raincoat from his back and scuttled faster in the clumsy pants.

  Moments later, he caught a whiff of the forest—the scent of pine and balsam, of decaying leaves and new growth, of squirrels and mice. The wailing was farther away. Bog’s ears slowly stopped ringing.

  Bog welcomed the darkness, shadow-slipping with Small among the rocks and trees until all human sounds and scents were indistinct, except for Hannie’s. He glanced back to see her trailing, her rucksack slung over one shoulder.

  Finally, Small halted. “You all right?” He wasn’t even short of breath after the run.

  Bog nodded, crumpling against the trunk of a birch, wiping his eyes and nose. He felt his nose for damage. It was swollen and tender.

  “Sorry about that.” Small leaned over to examine Bog’s nose. “I never expected it would get rough. I was trying to keep an eye on you, but I couldn’t stay close without being seen.”

  Bog shrugged Small away. “I’m fine.” He wrenched off the rain pants. The roll of money fell between him and Small. Bog picked it up and handed it over. “At least we got this.”

  “Really? The plan worked?” Small tossed the money in the air and then caught it again, just as Hannie stumbled through the undergrowth, breathing hard.

  “Sort of.” Bog inhaled a wad of phlegm, tasting blood.

  Hannie fell to her knees at Bog’s feet, scrapes all over her arms and legs. “Oh, Bog, thank you, thank you, thank you for rescuing me. No one has ever helped with my dad before. You’re a hero. I’m so glad I’m coming with you.”

  Bog stepped back. “You’re not.” After what he’d endured, any gnark he might have owed her had been paid.

  “But you can’t send me back. My dad’s awful mad now. I’ll do anything. Really. I can be good. I helped get the money, right? Please? I’ll leave you alone. I’ll never talk to you. I’ll never touch you.” Hannie wiped a hand across her watery eyes. “Please, Bog, I don’t want to go back.”