Bog

by Karen Krossing

“Don’t come any closer.” A rumbling growl built in his chest and throat.

  “If that’s what you want.” His mother brushed her scraggly grey hair away from her face.

  He wondered if she was really on his side—as if she’d help him rescue Jeddal. He retrieved the Nose Stone and unwrapped it, letting the cloth drop at his feet.

  Hannie appeared beside him. “What do we do?” she asked.

  “Small’s father said to place the Nose Stone on the head of a stone troll while the moon is rising in the sky.” Bog admired Small’s determined expression, his prodigious nose.

  Hannie looked up, her eyebrows bunched. “But there’s no moon tonight.”

  “It’ll rise soon.”

  Frantsum said a stone troll had to be whole for the Nose Stone to work. But what if he was wrong? Maybe the Nose Stone could revive any troll who’d been turned to stone, chipped or not. Maybe it could revive none.

  Bog gripped the Nose Stone in two hands with the jagged side down and the curved side up. As he caressed the speckled surface, a tingle started in his fingertips and travelled through to his toes—a stirring of life within the rock.

  He was infused with hope. Ymir had to make it work. For Small and for Jeddal.

  Bog approached Small, with Hannie at his heels. He climbed the boulder that was propping Small upright and then placed the Nose Stone on Small’s head with the flat side down so it wouldn’t roll off. Although it looked like a crooked hat perched on Small’s stony tufts of fur, Bog was awed by the sight.

  “Please, Ymir. Bring him back.” He held his breath for a moment before he climbed back down to stand between his mother and Small.

  The moon glowed just below the eastern treetops.

  Hannie slipped her hand in Bog’s. “When will it happen? Is it working?”

  He shrugged. “I guess we wait.” He glanced at his mother, who gazed steadily back. Then he scooped Hannie into his arms.

  They watched Small in silence. Bog willed him to change, to melt back into flesh and bone, to wiggle a finger. Something. Anything.

  He wondered if Small would be happy to see him. How would Small feel about having a half-human as a friend?

  The moon crawled above the trees, slower than ever. It was waning, just less than full with a blue-white radiance—Ymir’s partly closed eye, gazing down on them.

  When Hannie squirmed, they sat down to wait while Bog’s mother rested against the tree trunk.

  The eyes of a passing skunk flashed amber in the moonlight. Bog caught a whiff of a far-off deer. Forest life thrived around them, yet Small remained stone.

  Bog’s mother approached.

  He jumped up to face her. “What do you want?”

  She shrugged. “How long are you going to wait?”

  “As long as it takes.”

  She studied a metal disk strapped to her wrist. “It’s been almost an hour. If something was going to happen—”

  “It’ll happen.” Bog clenched his jaw.

  “It might not—” His mother reached for his shoulder.

  He pulled away. “Don’t touch me.”

  “Bog, I’m just—”

  A crack sounded behind him.

  “No,” he moaned, sure that Small’s fragile tail had broken off.

  More cracks.

  He spun around, bracing for the horror—just as Small’s statue exploded.

  Dust and rock fragments flew everywhere. Pebbles pelted them and rained down on the clearing.

  “Small!” Bog shielded his face. His blood thumped faster than a woodpecker’s beat.

  Hannie shrieked. “He’s falling to pieces!”

  Bog blinked and wiped dust from his eyes. “It’s your fault.” He narrowed his eyes at his mother.

  Then he heard a noise coming from the cloud of dust.

  Coughing?

  “Small?” Bog gripped Hannie’s shoulder to steady himself. Jeddal could be next.

  A furry arm, coated in fine brown dust, reached out from the cloud, grabbed Bog by the neck, and ripped him away from Hannie.

  “Stay back, if you want him to live.” Small squeezed Bog’s throat, making his eyes bulge.

  19

  Farewell

  Bog choked. Gagged. Clawed at Small’s arm, desperate for air. Small hated him this much?

  “Stop it! Small, you’re hurting him,” Hannie squealed.

  She beat her fists against Small’s side. Bog kicked at his shin. Small’s arm loosened briefly.

  “Quit fighting me,” Small hissed in Bog’s ear. “I’ll get us out of here.”

  Bog’s eyes rolled back. The stars spun.

  Then Small said louder, “I’ll kill him if you don’t do what I say.”

  “You dove into the sun to protect him,” she said, her voice low and throaty, “and now you’re ready to kill him?”

  “He’s a useless half-troll.” Small snarled. His tail whipped Bog’s leg.

  “Let. Him. Go.” His mother spit out each word. “Now.”

  “Small, please…” Hannie whined.

  Small’s grip on Bog’s neck relaxed.

  Bog fell to his knees, gasping and clutching his throat. He wanted to scream at Small. Did he have to strangle him?

  “Bog!” Hannie’s face was in his, her breath raspberry-scented. “Are you okay?”

  He nodded, unable to speak.

  Hannie leapt to her feet, hands on hips. “Why did you do that?” She scolded Small. “You really hurt him.”

  “He was trying to fool me,” Bog’s mother said. “He threatened Bog because he knows that I care about him—that I might let you all escape rather than see Bog hurt.”

  Small gaped at Bog’s mother. “How did you know?”

  Bog rubbed his throat.

  “It was obvious.” His mother snorted.

  Small shook the rock dust from his fur. He swiped the back of his hand across his face as if trying to clear his muddled thoughts.

  “She’s hard to trick,” Bog said, his voice as gravelly as his mother’s. “She knows how trolls think.” He leaned on Small to pull himself up. “But thanks for trying.”

  “Thanks for bringing me back.” Small tugged him into an embrace. As Bog inhaled Small’s musky scent, hope for Jeddal’s revival budded inside him.

  Small pulled away, keeping a wary eye on Bog’s mother. “It was horrible—listening to your every word, feeling an ant crawling up my leg, but being unable to move.” He shivered.

  “You could hear us?” It must be torturous for Jeddal.

  Small nodded. “But you rescued me.” He examined Bog’s face. “You know I didn’t mean what I said—about you being a useless half-troll?”

  “I know now,” Bog whispered, blinking back tears.

  Small thumped him hard on the back. His bronze eyes were steady, warm, accepting. Bog couldn’t quite believe it.

  Hannie squeezed between them, smiling. “Can we go see my aunt now?”

  Small furrowed his shaggy eyebrows and pulled Bog aside. “We can’t let the Troll Hunter walk around free, even if she is your mother,” he whispered. “And how do we know she’s really going to take Hannie to her aunt? What if this aunt is no good?”

  “I know.” Bog shook his head. “One of us has to keep an eye on things.” He and Hannie needed to go where Small couldn’t follow. Into the sun. Into the world of humans. Bog shuddered, wondering what awaited him.

  Small studied Bog and then nodded solemnly. “Will you be safe?” He glanced at Bog’s mother.

  She was leaning on her makeshift cane. With her thumb, she tapped on a palm-sized machine that had a glowing surface. Bog wondered what she was doing, although it seemed harmless enough.

  “I think so.” Bog shrugged. He didn’t mention how nervous he was about going to Strongarm again, especially with his mother. Or about his plan to convince his mother to stop hunting trolls.

  “Of course you’ll be safe,” Bog’s mother snapped, looking up.

  But would Jeddal be safe until Bo
g could get to him? Bog left Small and his mother cautiously watching each other. He rummaged through the rubble and dust until he found the Nose Stone.

  “Are we leaving soon, Bog?” Hannie asked.

  Bog glanced at the moon, which was still rising. “I’m going to revive Hornel first.”

  Bog placed the Nose Stone on Hornel’s head and held back the branches of the fir tree so that the moon’s rays brightened Hornel’s hunched back.

  Soon, Small and his mother wandered over and began tying back the branches. It was a strange sight, seeing them work together, and Bog wondered how his mother was capable of harming Hornel one night and helping him the next.

  Hornel’s statue glowed silver in the moonlight. Bog squatted in front, with Hannie beside him. They watched and waited.

  Nothing happened.

  When the moon reached the roof of the sky, Hornel was still stone.

  Bog stretched his cramped muscles and rose to his feet.

  “It’s not going to work, is it?” Hannie asked.

  Bog glanced at Small, who shook his head.

  “No, it’s not,” Bog said.

  Bog touched his nose to Hornel’s stone one. Then he removed the Nose Stone.

  “Small,” Bog said. “Come here. Bring your rucksack.”

  Small retrieved his rucksack from the edge of the clearing where he’d abandoned it and then lumbered over.

  Bog positioned himself so his back was to his mother and spoke just loud enough for her to hear. “You take the Nose Stone. Keep it safe.” He winked at Small. Then Bog tucked the Nose Stone into his own rucksack.

  Small hesitated and then nodded. “If you’re sure that’s the safest place for it.”

  “I’ll come for it later,” Bog said, hoping Small understood. He needed to keep the Nose Stone with him since Small didn’t know where Jeddal was. He planned to duck out as soon as he could and head for Jeddal.

  “Take care of her.” Small gestured toward Hannie.

  “You know I will.” Bog and Small yanked noses. “Take care of yourself.”

  “You as well.”

  When Small yanked noses with Hannie, her bottom lip trembled. She sobbed and then leapt into his arms, wrapping her legs as far as she could around his waist and burying her face in his neck fur.

  Eventually, Small untangled from Hannie. He cast a suspicious look at Bog’s mother, holding her gaze for a long moment before he walked into the bush, heading north. Bog and Hannie watched until Small reached the crest of a hill and then disappeared. Bog bid him a silent farewell, imagining him returning home to Frantsum and the rest of the forest trolls, telling stories of their adventures and feasting under the stars.

  “Let’s go,” Bog said to his mother. “Before I change my mind.”

  20

  The Human Machine

  Bog’s mother hobbled over roots and stones, leaning on her walking stick. She led them through the forest to a rutted dirt road. When Bog saw the car, as blue as the daytime sky, his heels dug into the earth.

  “I’ll never get in a human machine.” The oil-and-metal scent burned the inside of his nose. He backed against a tree trunk.

  Hannie gripped his hand and tried to tug him forward. “Please, Bog? Just once? We could get to my aunt faster.” Her grey eyes were huge. “I’m tired of walking.”

  “I don’t care how long it takes—” Bog stopped, thinking of Jeddal’s statue, exposed and vulnerable. Could he reach Jeddal faster with this car?

  “I’m not walking to Strongarm on a sprained ankle.” His mother opened a door to the car and a light popped on inside. “We can be there by midday.” She gestured for him to climb in.

  Bog squinted and looked away. The eastern sky was still dark, although the sun would soon rise. Could a car travel all the way to Strongarm—a distance that took days to walk—by midday?

  Bog’s mother edged closer to the open door. She re-adjusted her weight to her good leg and used her walking stick to reach into the car and press a button. The light turned off.

  “How did you—” he began.

  “Get in.” She tapped her walking stick against his legs.

  Bog glared at her and then climbed into the front of the car. His knees pressed against the ledge before him, which was dotted with mysterious buttons and dials. His mother’s sharp scent combined with a strange plastic smell to create a sickening blend. She shut the door, trapping him.

  Hannie scrambled into the back seat of the car, dropped her pink rucksack, and hung over the back of his seat.

  “Thank you so much, Bog.” Her voice was loud beside his ear. “I know you’re going to love my aunt.”

  Bog’s mother slid into the seat beside him and tucked her walking stick on the floor next to her door.

  “I thought my aunt forgot about me, but now she’s come back.” Hannie was in such a rush to talk that she stumbled over her words.

  Bog hugged his rucksack until he could feel the bulk of the Nose Stone through the leather. One ride in a car would be worth it to save Jeddal.

  “She used to sing to me. I liked the song about the baby sleeping in the forest.” Hannie’s voice pitched higher. “I hope she remembers it.”

  The car roared to life and then jerked forward. Bog braced himself as his stomach lurched.

  His mother pressed a few buttons. His window magically slid down a crack. It startled him, but he was grateful for the fresh air.

  Trees began to slide by, rushing faster as the car gained speed.

  “Oooh.” He held his stomach. Closing his eyes only made it worse.

  “Bog?” Hannie said. “What’s wrong?”

  He pointed to the rapidly moving earth, sky, and forest.

  “But it’s like flying.” Hannie spread her arms wide.

  Their pace increased alarmingly when they turned onto a road paved smooth with tar and stone. Bog pressed against the window and stared at the blur of trees, rocks, and sky until his eyes watered. The whole car shook. He wondered what kind of magic could make a machine go so fast.

  Eventually, Hannie fell asleep in the back seat, her belly rumbling. The car swayed over the bumps in the road, carrying them closer to Strongarm. When the sun rose, Bog squinted, twisting in his seat to face away from the light—toward his mother.

  Bog’s mother reached into a compartment between them.

  “Put these on.” She held out a plastic object.

  “I don’t want it.” Bog pushed it away.

  “Don’t be a fool.” She held them over his eyes.

  The blinding sunlight dimmed.

  “You made the dark come!” He felt the thing on his face.

  “They’re sunglasses. They filter the sun’s rays. You used to adore them when you were little.” She showed him how to hook the sunglasses over his ears.

  Bog didn’t want to wear anything human, but these sunglasses were wonderful.

  He stared past his mother out the window, watching the land and sky fly by faster than he thought possible. They passed under shady cliffs of ancient rock and then burst back into the light that blinded him in spite of the sunglasses. Bog was exhausted by the constant motion, the hum of the car, and the assault of sunlight, but he couldn’t sleep with his mother around.

  He watched her push pedals on the floor with her good foot. She seemed to be guiding the car around corners with the wheel in front of her. Although he was curious about how the car worked, he had more important questions for her.

  “Tell me about the police,” he said.

  His mother smiled. “What do you want to know?”

  “Do they shut down all the logging camps?”

  “No. Only the illegal ones.”

  The car went over a bump. “Illegal.” Bog held his stomach. “What does that mean?”

  “It means against the law.”

  Bog wrinkled his nose, confused.

  “We have rules—called laws—that everyone must follow. Humans are allowed to log, but the laws state how much anyone can cut at
once in any one area. The logging camp you found was operating against the law. If anyone breaks a law, they can be arrested by the police.”

  “Arrested means captured?”

  “Sort of. People who break the law may have to pay a fine or go to jail.”

  “Like Hannie’s father? You said he’ll be locked up.”

  “Yes. Why do you care about all this?”

  He ignored her question. “Do the police have laws about killing humans?”

  “Of course.” She snorted.

  “Do they have laws about killing trolls?”

  Her face reddened. “No.”

  “Maybe they should.”

  His mother was silent for a moment. Then she said, “Bog, I care about you. I want you to—”

  “If you care about me, you’ll never hunt another troll again, especially Jeddal, and you’ll stop teaching other hunters how to destroy us.” Bog’s nostrils flared.

  His mother’s knuckles went white on the wheel. “Forget about trolls. I’m your family now. You should stay with me.”

  “Never.”

  “But, Bog, you can walk in the sun! You don’t belong in the shadows. Hannie belongs with humans, and so do you.”

  Bog shook his head and stared stonily out the front window.

  The car slowed. The squeal of grinding metal cut through his head.

  He covered his ears, but Hannie didn’t even wake up. “Why are we slowing down?”

  “There’s a restaurant up ahead. Even if you don’t want to come in, you’d better put on some clothes.”

  He grimaced. “I’ll stay in the car.” He pulled on a hooded shirt. Once again, he needed to hide who he was.

  When the car stopped, Bog nudged Hannie, relieved to have an excuse to wake her.

  “Bog? Are we there yet?” She was groggy with half-open eyes.

  “We’re getting some food,” he said. “What do you want?”

  Hannie perked up, rattling off a list.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” his mother said. Then she asked Bog, “And you?”

  He hunched low in his seat, wary of the parked cars around them. “Not hamburgers.” His stomach was still queasy. He doubted he could eat anything.

  “I think I know what to get you.” His mother turned off the car and headed into the restaurant.