Bog

by Karen Krossing

  “Agreed.” Bog nodded grimly. “Let’s search.”

  They organized into a row an arm’s-length apart and then hiked from the top of the hill toward the water, searching for the stone with three mouths.

  Bog tried not to get discouraged when they reached the waves lapping against the shore.

  “Let’s move east and try again.” He growled.

  They scurried back up the hill, scanning for any sign of the entrance. Human voices echoed across the bay. Was his mother on the Sleeping Giant right now, looking for the Nose Stone?

  Over and over, they traipsed in parallel tracks up and down the hill, moving slowly eastward. They pushed through prickly shrubs, stepped in moose droppings to disguise their scents, and examined rocks coated with lichen. Nowhere did they find a stone with three mouths.

  When the hillside finally sloped into a ravine, they fell, exhausted, against a moss-covered log.

  “Ymir, where is it?” Bog whispered to the moon.

  “We’ll find it.” Small thumped his back.

  Bog stiffened, letting the pain of the blow flower and then die away.

  “I’m tired.” Hannie sighed. “My legs hurt. Can we eat now?”

  “Not yet.” Bog got to his feet. “We need to keep searching.”

  “I don’t know, Bog. Soon we’ll have to stop for the day.” Small lurched upright, startling a nearby flying squirrel, which glided away with limbs spread.

  Bog scowled at the eastern sky, which was just starting to lighten.

  They ventured onto the Sleeping Giant to find shelter. Although Bog doubted that the tunnel entrance could be found among the cliffs, he couldn’t help searching as they went for the stone with three mouths.

  On the western side of the Sleeping Giant, they found a cliffside cave with a majestic view of the lake. Reluctantly, Bog agreed to stop. Red-orange sunlight dominated the eastern sky.

  They caught a few deer mice for dinner, which Hannie refused to eat unless they were cooked. Small insisted they could risk a tiny fire, since they were isolated. Bog wondered if they should chance it.

  Once the fire had been stamped out, Bog sat alone at the mouth of the cave, contemplating the purple shroud of the western sky. A white-throated sparrow sang on a nearby branch, welcoming the morning sun. Bog growled at it, startling the bird into flight.

  He couldn’t stop worrying that they’d never find the entrance to the mine.

  What if the Nose Stone was just a story? What if the Sleeping Giant never had it?

  What if Bog’s mother destroyed it?

  He might never get Jeddal back. He might be left with a mother who hunted trolls.

  The sky lightened to a pale grey-blue, but Bog wasn’t sleepy. He retreated farther into the cave, where Small lay propped against a sloping rock. Hannie was curled in his lap with her troll doll tucked under her chin, already asleep.

  “We should talk,” Bog said.

  “We should sleep.” Small yawned and shut his eyes. His furry arms were draped around Hannie.

  “Just listen.” Bog thumped Small hard enough to keep him awake. “We’ve searched everywhere on that hill for the entrance. Maybe it’s not there. Hornel’s story could be wrong.”

  Small nodded sleepily.

  “I know the mine tunnels were flooded long ago, but maybe we should search for the Nose Stone on Silver Island.”

  “Yeah, that makes sense.” Small tilted his head to one side. “We could also take care of the Troll Hunter, while we’re there. Hornel said she’s on the island.”

  “No,” Bog said quickly. “I think we should avoid the Troll Hunter, if we can. She’s really clever. We might need more help to defeat her.”

  Small snorted. “Why? Humans aren’t so smart.”

  “That’s what Jeddal said. But Hannie’s not dumb. And the Troll Hunter is supposed to be smarter than most humans. She’s managed to do enough damage anyway. She might know more about trolls than we expect.” If only he could tell Small the whole story.

  “You think humans are just pretending to be dumb?” Small asked.

  “Maybe. But this Troll Hunter is cunning. You know she’ll be setting traps for us—maybe guarding the way into the mine.” Bog couldn’t forgive himself if something happened to Small or Hannie.

  “Yeah.” Small’s bronze eyes glimmered. “She wants Hannie back, and she wants to stone us.”

  Bog nodded. “We have to be smart. Get the Nose Stone and get out. We can deal with her later, when the Nose Stone is safe.”

  “You could be right.” Small stretched and then settled back against the rock.

  Bog stared at the purple sky outside the cave, willing the darkness to return. “We’ll start for the island at nightfall.”

  Bog woke to a storm brewing over the lake. Thunderous grey clouds mushroomed toward the Sleeping Giant. Waves ran before the storm-front, swelling until their edges were torn white.

  They turned inland, away from the wind that ripped at their fur and hair. Bog sniffed the air for his mother’s scent—the sharp, biting smell that had penetrated his flesh like a wound.

  They hiked farther south, heading for Silver Island at the feet of the Sleeping Giant. When the rain began, it chased the animals into their dens. Bog sloshed through muddy leaf scatter, soaking wet and shivering.

  They avoided the few humans huddled under tarps and poking at the remains of campfires. Most often, the humans were snoring inside brightly coloured tents.

  Near the end of the night, the rain stopped, although the trees continued to drip. They climbed down the Sleeping Giant’s feet to the flat tip of the peninsula and skirted a few houses huddled among the trees near the lake. Bog felt as if someone were following him, or watching him. As they slipped past one building, his mother’s sharp scent scorched his nostrils and carved into his memory, bringing up the sound of his mother singing, a cold wind rustling the leaves above him, the nauseating smell of roasting vegetables.

  “She’s been here,” he said, banishing the scent-memory from his head.

  Small tipped his furry nose high. “Uh-huh. Passed this way a while ago.”

  Bog inhaled again, trying to pinpoint her trail.

  “Is it her? The Troll Hunter?” Hannie gripped Small’s hand.

  Small nodded, placing a finger over her mouth.

  “She went that way.” Bog pointed toward one of the houses. “Maybe she’s asleep inside.” He shuddered.

  The sky was just starting to lighten. Bog wanted to get to the water’s edge, maybe even find a way onto the island before they needed to find shelter.

  They continued toward the water, avoiding a road that snaked between the houses. The trees and undergrowth hid them, although the rock-encrusted ground made sneaking difficult for Hannie.

  “Careful!” Bog scolded her when she slipped, trapping her foot in a hollow under a large boulder.

  As Small pulled Hannie free, the wind shifted. Bog smelled the sharp, biting scent again. Blood pounded in his ears as he refused a new scent-memory.

  “Get down,” he whispered, but Small was already yanking Hannie behind the bush where Bog squatted.

  A human with bushy hair stood about three hundred paces away on a wooden landing that extended into the lake. Bog choked in a breath. His mother. In the flesh. What should he do?

  Out on the water, lights shone like twinkling stars, bobbing on the waves, moving closer. A buzzing sound grew louder.

  “Is that a—” he began.

  The boat roared louder than a car. Bog and Small covered their ears until the roaring stopped, leaving the boat drifting toward the landing. One human sat in the boat.

  “Noisy human,” Bog hissed. His ears were still ringing.

  Small nodded, rubbing his ears.

  “What?” Hannie hadn’t covered her ears at all.

  “Be quiet,” Bog whispered.

  “Any luck?” A husky female voice called from the landing as the boat neared. His mother’s voice. A wave of nausea rolled thro
ugh Bog.

  “Naw.” A man’s voice echoed over the water from the boat. “The diver can’t get into most of the old mining tunnels. They’re filled with rubble and the cribbing’s destroyed. Maybe if you could be more specific about what he’s looking for…but a rock shaped like a nose?” He shook his head. “Impossible.”

  “What’d he say?” Hannie crawled onto Small’s shoulders.

  Bog clenched his jaw. “They’re searching for the Nose Stone.”

  “Over on Silver Island,” Small added.

  “Oh!” Hannie’s grey eyes grew wide.

  “…and I need you to keep searching,” Bog’s mother said. “It has to be somewhere on that island.”

  Bog whispered to Small. “We have to find the Nose Stone first.”

  A rustling noise came from behind them.

  “What’s that?” Bog hissed. Were humans closing in from downwind, surrounding them?

  Small set Hannie down and got ready to pounce. Bog raised a fist to pound whoever came through the bushes.

  Hornel emerged from the undergrowth, with his pathetic nose and scrawny body. “Did you kill the Troll Hunter yet?” he asked loudly, his voice carrying through the bushes toward the lake.

  Small shushed him. Bog stiffened.

  His mother’s head swiveled toward the bushes where they crouched. “Did you hear that?” she asked the man.

  Bog glared at Hornel, who shrank away from him.

  “It could just be Larry,” said the man.

  “I’d better check it out.” Bog’s mother headed toward them. “We may have visitors.”

  Bog couldn’t breathe.

  Small was up first. “Run,” he whispered, scooping Hannie into his arms and then hurtling farther into the undergrowth, back the way they’d come.

  Bog raced after Small, dragging Hornel with him.

  They got halfway between the houses and the lake, in the deepest part of the brush, when the ringing of a bell slammed through Bog’s head. He stifled a scream.

  Hornel curled into a ball.

  Small dropped Hannie and grabbed his ears.

  Bog stumbled away from the sound, his fingers shoved deep into his ears. He tripped and spun sideways to glimpse his mother moving through the trees, swinging a large handbell back and forth.

  The same tactic as the puny man with the noise box.

  Bog’s hands itched to get at her, claw her, stop her, punish her for what she’d done to Jeddal and so many other trolls.

  The ringing stopped.

  Bog released his ears.

  His head still pounded, his ears throbbed. He could sense his mother walking away from them now, farther west. He shadow-slipped behind a tree with Hornel, who shook like a leaf in a storm.

  “What were you thinking?” Bog whispered. “I sent you away to keep you safe, to keep us all safe.” His fingernails dug into his palms.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” Hornel grimaced. “I just wanted to help. I was lonely. I couldn’t sit there and do nothing.”

  “So you followed us?”

  “No. Since you were looking for the Nose Stone, I came after the Troll Hunter. When I smelled your scent, I—”

  “Where’s Hannie?” Small stumbled toward them.

  A twig cracked nearby.

  “I’m down here!” came a faint voice.

  Hannie had slid into the hollow under the boulder where her foot had been trapped. As she tried to climb out, pine needles and leaves gave way at the hollow’s edge. She slipped farther underground, her fingers scrabbling for a hold.

  “Get me out!” Hannie whimpered softly.

  Small tried to lift the boulder out of the way, but it wouldn’t budge.

  Bog glanced around, searching for his mother, who was nowhere in sight. Then he joined Small, struggling to lift the boulder free. Hornel just watched them, gripping his tail in his hands, his nose drooping.

  Small grunted as they managed to slide the boulder away to reveal more than just a hollow. Bog gaped at the wide stone entrance to an underground cavern—an entrance with three wide openings and jagged rocks like teeth enclosing the middle mouth where Hannie still struggled to climb out.

  “The tunnel!” Bog pointed. It had to be.

  Hornel gasped. “You found it! Out here. But I thought…I can’t believe it.”

  Small lifted Hannie out with one arm, his tail extended for balance. “Bog, this human is a good-luck charm.”

  Hannie clasped onto Small. “Did I do a good job, Small? Did I? ’Cause I try to. I really do.”

  “Who’s there?” Bog’s mother called in human talk, just as Bog caught her scent on the breeze. “Is that you, Larry?”

  Bog’s fur stood on end.

  A panicked look crossed Hornel’s face. “This is my fault.” He pushed Bog toward the tunnel. “Go find the Nose Stone. I’ll throw her off your track.”

  “No,” Bog whispered. “It’s too dangerous. Stay with us so we can—”

  “That’s the tunnel?” Hannie asked.

  “Quiet,” Bog and Small both said.

  “I have to do this,” whispered Hornel. “May Ymir guide you.” He disappeared into the undergrowth.

  A shiver crawled up Bog’s spine, settling in his shoulders. “And you.”

  Bog prayed to Ymir that Hornel wouldn’t end up like his family. Then he dove into the cavern, with Small and Hannie scrambling after him.

  14

  The Tunnel

  With hands outstretched, Bog made his way deeper underground. He could hear Hornel pushing noisily away through the undergrowth outside the cavern, the rustling and footsteps growing fainter.

  Bog flicked his tail. They’d escaped—for now. But would Hornel?

  “He fooled the Troll Hunter once,” Small whispered, as if he’d read Bog’s mind. “He can do it again.”

  “I just wished he’d gone home or somewhere else that’s safe. Why does he have to act the hero?”

  “For the same reason you do?” Small said.

  The fur on Bog’s back prickled. Maybe scrawny Hornel had something to prove, too.

  The cavern was cool, moist, and soothingly dark. Once Bog’s eyes adjusted, he could see a cave spider with long arched legs suspended in midair. He felt millipedes scurrying past his feet. A breeze gusted from the opening toward the back of the cavern. A good sign.

  Bog followed the breeze, hoping it would show them the way through the rock. With Small’s bulk, the space was cramped. Hannie was surprisingly quiet—maybe she finally understood the danger.

  The cavern lengthened into a tunnel, leading deeper underground. Bog sniffed the breeze for the departing scent of Hornel and his mother. They were even farther off now.

  His bristled fur relaxed. Maybe Hornel could escape the Troll Hunter. Maybe this darkness would lead to the Nose Stone.

  The tunnel grabbed the wind from outside and twisted it into tiny whirlpools before thrusting it farther underground. Only Hannie was having trouble negotiating the uneven rock. He heard her stumbling, and even grunting.

  “I can’t see,” she whispered. “Where are you, Small?”

  Bog sensed Small turning sideways and then heard the swish of his tail.

  “Grab on,” Small said.

  “Where?” Hannie struck some body part against rock.

  More swishing.

  “Got it.”

  “Good. Now hold on.”

  When Bog could no longer see much, he felt in his rucksack for a candle and then used Jeddal’s flint stone to light it. He held the candle in front, sheltering it from the wind with his chest. Centipedes darted away from the light. Cave beetles scuttled into shadowy crevices.

  The tunnel became a steep natural stairway of rock enclosed between narrow walls that just fit Small. The roof was low, too, so Small hunched over, scooping up bugs to snack on as he went.

  “The Sleeping Giant would never have made it through here,” Small whispered.

  They crept forward. Bog could smell water ne
arby—and hear it trickling through rock. When he began to doubt the tunnel would lead anywhere, the candle lit up a stone archway.

  “Look!” His voice bounced off the curved rock.

  He stepped through the archway, holding the candle high. An underground chamber sparkled with an eerie light. Streaks and pinpricks of light speckled the walls.

  “Oh!” Small gasped.

  “Where’s the light coming from?” Hannie asked, her voice pitched high.

  “It’s silver,” Bog said, “reflecting the candlelight.”

  Wiry veins of silver ore snaked everywhere, catching the light in intricate patterns. It had been chipped away in places, perhaps by the Sleeping Giant’s human partners. Farther in, the cave floor was flooded with water. A small underground stream sloshed and gurgled through the cavern and probably to the lake beyond.

  “Sounds like Small’s stomach after he eats.” Hannie giggled.

  “Do you see the Nose Stone?” Bog scanned for it. They had to find it. Jeddal’s life depended on it.

  “No. Let’s go farther in,” Small said.

  They plunged into the cold water, which slowed them down, tugging at Bog’s legs.

  Toward the far end of the cavern stood a rough stone pillar about waist high for Bog and thigh high for Small.

  Hannie’s eyes widened. “Is that what you’re looking for?”

  Bog waded closer. Could it be? Please, Ymir, let us find it.

  Silver lumps were arranged in a circle on the flat top of the pillar. Bog moved the candle closer, and the light reflected off the lumps.

  Only then did he see it. In the centre of the circle—a place of honour. A plain grey stone.

  Bog sucked in a breath.

  “I can’t believe it.” Small shook his head.

  “Let me see.” Hannie splashed beside them.

  Small hoisted Hannie, holding her under her armpits. She gasped. “Is that the Nose Stone?”

  “I think so.” Bog glanced at Small, who beamed. Could they really bring Jeddal back to life? He trembled, imagining the moment.

  Hannie leaned forward. “Can I touch it?” She reached out a hand.

  “No.” Bog slapped her hand away. His voice echoed through the cavern, startling Small, who lost his grip on Hannie, dropping her in the water.