Bog

by Karen Krossing

  Jeddal moved to help, but Bog pushed him away.

  “I can walk in the sun,” Bog told him, “so I’m not a troll.”

  Jeddal winced. “Of course you are.”

  “And I have a tail, so I’m not human,” Bog said to his mother.

  She scowled.

  “I belong somewhere in between.” Bog untangled his thoughts as he spoke.

  “What do you mean?” asked Jeddal.

  “I need to know both of my worlds—troll and human. And I need you two to stop fighting long enough for me to do that.”

  His parents traded cold stares and then looked away.

  “Here’s what I want to do,” Bog said, before they fought again. “First, I want to go home. See my family. Heal my arm. I have a lot of questions for you, Father.”

  Jeddal nodded. “I have questions for you, too.”

  “Then I’ll meet you outside Strongarm,” Bog told his mother. “I’ll come at the next full moon.”

  A low rumble sounded from Jeddal’s chest. “No.”

  “I have to, Father. I have scent-memories of happy times with her. I need to sort out the truth. And see a human girl.”

  “Another human?” Jeddal frowned.

  “You’ll really come?” His mother kept her distance from Jeddal.

  “As long as you stop stoning trolls and tell others to stop hunting them, too.”

  His mother’s eyes narrowed.

  Bog held his breath.

  “Fine.” His mother’s eyes flickered to Jeddal before landing on Bog again. “The next full moon then.”

  Bog let out a breath, giving silent thanks to Ymir. “How’s Hannie?”

  “Who’s Hannie?” Jeddal asked.

  Bog ignored him.

  “She’s fine.” His mother nodded. “She’s with her aunt. You can see her when you come.” She retrieved her walking stick and her lantern, which she aimed at the ground.

  “Good.”

  His parents exchanged a final, guarded look. His mother broke away first.

  “See you soon, Bog.” She glanced at Bog’s arm and grimaced. Then she headed south, the lantern casting bizarre shadows as she went.

  Bog sniffed her retreating scent and then turned to Jeddal, grateful that he was warm flesh rather than cold stone.

  Jeddal’s nostrils flared. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “We have a lot to talk about.” Bog cradled his bleeding arm.

  Jeddal nodded, his eyes probing Bog’s. “I’d love to hear your story.”

  They walked together through the scrubby bushes and out of the clearing, past the rocks and trees that Bog knew with his eyes closed. Bog sniffed his way along the darkened trail, under the canopy of leaves. For the rest of the night, they’d hike north to the lakeside cave where Kasha and the youngsters would be doing their chores. Bog couldn’t wait until they caught Jeddal’s scent.

  23

  Full Moon

  The troll was solid stone. Her eyebrows were ridged into furrowed mountains. Her nose was admirably crooked. Her eyes challenged a long-departed foe.

  Under the flickering starlight of early evening, she perched on a granite outcrop that extended into a lake just east of Strongarm. Only a windswept pine clung to the outcrop—it had not been enough to protect her from the sun’s rays.

  “She’s not worn or weathered.” Bog’s fingers worried over the troll, feeling for the slightest crack or chip. A chill breeze scattered the last of the autumn leaves across the outcrop. He shivered.

  “I hope she’s whole.” Ruffan brushed pine needles from her shoulders, imitating Bog’s movements. He was an eager apprentice.

  Bog nodded encouragement and then continued to examine the troll.

  She had the bristled fur, plumed tail, and muscular stance of a cave troll. He imagined her leaving the safety of the trees for a cool slurp of lake water. Maybe it had been almost sunrise. The outcrop was long and narrow. Had she been surprised? Trapped? Was it his mother who’d forced her to linger in the sun? It had been four full moons since his mother had stopped stoning trolls, and he could still find them too easily.

  “Can you bring her back, Bog?” Hannie wound her fingers into the sparse fur on his arm.

  “Maybe.” He’d learned not to get his hopes up. He couldn’t always undo the damage his mother and her followers had done.

  “’Course he can.” Ruffan gave Hannie a friendly punch, sending her sprawling briefly before she leapt up to wrestle him.

  The two tumbled over the rock. Ruffan gripped Hannie around her middle, pinning her arms to her sides. Hannie sucked in her breath and slithered free, yanking his tail before bounding away, crowing her triumph.

  Ruffan rose, grinning. “Not bad.”

  Bog nodded, glad her wrestling skills were improving.

  The moon cast the first faint light from behind the treetops. Bog fished the Nose Stone from his rucksack just as the scent of two trolls reached him.

  His tail twitched. He scanned the edge of the woods, finding two forest trolls easily. He hoped they wouldn’t pick up Hannie’s human scent. He didn’t want trouble.

  “It’s him! I know it.” He heard one forest troll say. “I swear on the bones of Ymir.”

  “The Keeper of the Nose Stone?” the second troll added. “What a story this will be!”

  “I hear he can walk in the sun. He even tamed the Troll Hunter. He must be descended from Ymir himself.”

  Bog shook his head, amused. These trolls seemed more interested in him than Hannie.

  Trolls everywhere had heard about the Keeper of the Nose Stone, and some had sought Bog out, asking for help reviving a troll turned to stone. Bog refused no one, since the Nose Stone wasn’t for hoarding. In between, he roamed the wilderness, hunting for trolls to revive. He’d found plenty near Strongarm, where his mother used to hunt.

  “Do you think the Troll Hunter did this?” Ruffan glanced around, his chin trembling.

  Bog ruffled his fur. “She stopped hunting trolls, remember?”

  Ruffin nodded.

  Bog balanced the Nose Stone on the head of the troll. The moon peeked over the trees, shining Ymir’s light down upon them.

  Bog shooed the youngsters back, hoping the magic would work.

  As the moonlight pierced the darkness, Hannie, Ruffan, and the forest trolls stilled. Bog could feel their eyes on him.

  The moon rose higher. It was mostly full, reminding Bog that tomorrow evening he’d have to meet his mother. It’d be his fourth full moon with her. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but he forced all thoughts of his mother aside and focused on the stone troll.

  Sometimes a troll would burst free of the stone all at once. Other times a troll would emerge slowly, like a grouse chick pecking out from an egg. With this troll, the stone began to flake off like chips of bark from an old pine. Slivers of stone fell, making the forest trolls gasp, and Hannie and Ruffan danced in celebration.

  “I told you it would work.” Ruffan yanked Hannie’s hair. “Didn’t I tell you?”

  Hannie thumped Ruffan in the stomach and then leapt into Bog’s arms. “You did it again, Bog.”

  “Did you see that?” One of the forest trolls whooped. “We have to tell the others.”

  They bounded off through the forest, arguing over who would tell first.

  Bog grinned down at Hannie and then peeled her off so he could welcome this cave troll and collect the Nose Stone. Others would need its magic.

  When the cave troll was steady on her feet, the youngsters and Bog returned to the cabin Hannie shared with her Aunt Rachel, who had moved back to Strongarm to be with Hannie. Their cabin was tucked into the pine forest east of Strongarm—close to troll territory, as Hannie had insisted. Although Jeddal and Kasha still wished Bog would stay away from Strongarm and his mother, they tolerated his visits to see Hannie.

  Inside Rachel’s cabin, they followed the sweet aroma of cooking meat to the kitchen, where Small and Rachel were making a late bre
akfast for the trolls and dinner for the humans.

  Small visited whenever Bog came to Strongarm, and sometimes he brought Diama to see Hannie. He loved Rachel’s kitchen; so far, he’d roasted chicken in the oven and fried ham on the stove. Tonight, Rachel had taught him to make something called pot roast, which tasted as good as it smelled.

  “I’ll have to make this for Frantsum.” Small licked his lips.

  “Just wait until you try meatloaf.” Rachel’s eyes shone.

  Rachel had the same pale hair and grey eyes as Hannie. Small liked her because she was a good cook. Bog liked the collection of wooden troll dolls she’d carved with Hannie.

  They talked late into the night, until Hannie and Rachel couldn’t stay awake any longer. At sunrise, Bog, Ruffan, and Small tucked into the darkened basement for the day, while Hannie and Rachel got ready for school and work in town.

  Bog fell asleep to the sound of Small’s snores.

  When he woke, it was late afternoon. He rose without disturbing Ruffan and Small. Hannie and Rachel weren’t back yet. He ate some leftover pot roast and then tugged on a large shirt and bulky pants that didn’t flatten his tail. He hiked out to meet his mother by the main road—where they’d arranged to meet just before sunset. Even though she’d vowed not to hurt any more trolls, he didn’t want her near Ruffan or Small, especially during daylight.

  The sun was just above the treeline, so Bog slipped on his sunglasses. His mother waited at the end of the lane, outside her car. Her grey hair was cut short now, and her smile seemed genuine.

  They nodded awkwardly and said hello without yanking noses. Bog had learned that he liked most other humans better than his mother. Still, he was willing to meet her if only to prove that not all trolls lied like Jeddal had.

  “Where are we going tonight?” He rubbed his arm where the scar from the knife showed through his patchy fur. It had healed, but it ached sometimes, especially when he was with his mother.

  “I thought we could go to a grocery store,” she said. Her eyes darted to his scar and then shifted away.

  “That’s where they give out boxes of meat, right?” So far, his mother had shown him a park, where humans went to explore a tame version of a forest, and Hannie’s schoolyard at midday, where youngsters laughed and played much like young trolls. Bog was getting used to having humans around, although he was still jumpy near large men who smelled like Hannie’s father.

  “Grocery stores sell meat—you have to pay for it. They also sell vegetables.” His mother grinned as Bog turned up his nose. “You could pick out what you want to eat.”

  “I already ate. Can we go see the police instead?” Bog had been curious about the police ever since his mother had told him about them.

  “We could go to a police station. Why?”

  He shrugged. “If I explain that trolls aren’t a threat, maybe humans and trolls can share the forest.”

  His mother raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know if the police have time to listen. They’re busy enforcing the law.”

  Bog frowned. Maybe she didn’t want trolls and humans to get along.

  “But I have another idea,” she continued quickly. “Why don’t we talk to my friend who works for a news agency in Thunder City? We could maybe drive down there and share your story. She might put it in the newspaper or on tv.”

  Bog remembered the glowing box in the restaurant where he’d first seen his mother. He’d since watched tv inside Hannie’s cabin, but he’d never seen anyone else he knew on it. “Would a lot of humans hear my story?”

  “Maybe the whole world.”

  “You mean the whole human world.”

  “I suppose so.” She nodded.

  Bog opened the car door. “Let’s do it.” The city might be crowded and the car ride long, but maybe he could convince humans that trolls weren’t the monsters his mother had made them out to be.

  Bog’s mother drove slowly so his stomach didn’t lurch with the bumps. He pushed his sunglasses up higher on his nose and cracked open the window to inhale the crisp autumn air.

  Author’s Note

  These events take place north of Lake Superior in Canada. Although Thunder City and Strongarm are based on real places, some features have been altered to suit the story. The rugged wilderness north of Lake Superior includes vast forests, countless lakes, moss-covered rocks, and the towering remains of ancient mountains. The Sleeping Giant stretches into Lake Superior with the ruins of a flooded silver mine at his feet on Silver Islet. Boulders lie in pine forests as if thrown, rock formations look strangely like craggy old trolls, and large unexplained footprints appear in muddy riverbanks. These features have sparked stories about trolls and giants, like the Ojibway legend of the Sleeping Giant, which I have respectfully adapted. The tale of Ymir, Odin, and the origin of the world is based on Norse mythology.

  Acknowledgements

  Many readers helped during the writing of Bog, offering insights into troll behaviours. Thanks to Pat Bourke, Anne Laurel Carter, Lena Coakley, Patricia McCowan, Mahtab Narsimhan, Karen Rankin, Sarah Raymond, and Erin Thomas. I bestow upon each of you the title of honorary troll. You have truly learned to think like one.

  It was a pleasure to work with the enthusiastic team at Fitzhenry & Whiteside. To my editorial duo, Cheryl Chen and Christie Harkin, I affectionately yank your noses. Not only did you “get” Bog, you helped me understand him better. A million thanks for your passion and dedication.

  Thanks also to the Ontario Arts Council and the City of Toronto through the Toronto Arts Council, who generously provided financial support and encouragement during the writing of this book.

  And finally, to my family—Paige, Tess, and Kevin—I offer up a jug of broth in hearty salute to your patience as I wrote and re-wrote this book. You sat in dark caves with me, debated troll habits, and left me alone to write. You are high-calibre trolls—each one of you—for which I’m forever grateful.

  Copyright © 2014 Karen Krossing

  Published in Canada by Fitzhenry & Whiteside

  195 Allstate Parkway, Markham, Ontario L3R 4T8

  Published in the United States by Fitzhenry & Whiteside

  311 Washington Street, Brighton, Massachusetts 02135

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews and articles. All inquiries should be addressed to Fitzhenry & Whiteside Limited, 195 Allstate Parkway, Markham, Ontario L3R 4T8.

  www.fitzhenry.ca godwit@fitzhenry.ca

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  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Bog

  ISBN 978-1-55455-315-0 (Paperback) | 978-1-55455-871-1 (ePub) | 978-1-55455-870-4 (ePDF)

  Data available on file

  Publisher Cataloging-in-Publication Data (U.S.) Bog ISBN 978-1-55455-315-0 (Paperback) | 978-1-55455-871-1 (ePub) | 978-1-55455-870-4 (ePDF)

  Data available on file

  Fitzhenry & Whiteside acknowledges with thanks the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Ontario Arts Council for their support of our publishing program. We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund (CBF) for our publishing activities.

  Cover and interior design by Daniel Choi

  Cover illustration by Félix Girard