7

The Nose Stone

Bog jerked awake, banging his head on the low ceiling, a disturbing vision haunting him. Kasha and the youngsters—he had to take care of them. He glanced around, confused. Then he realized he was in Small’s den, tunnelled into a sleeping burrow off the common room.

The burrow was just wider than Bog. It smelled of worms, earth, and the dried leaves that littered the floor. Bog rubbed his head and tried to find his warm spot among the leaves, cold with the evening’s chill.

In his dream, Kasha had been twig thin, collapsed near the firepit in the lakeside cave. Ruffan was holding a bowl of broth to her lips. When he tipped the bowl to let her drink, she let the liquid dribble into her chin fur.

“Has Bog returned?” Her voice was raspy.

Ruffan shook his head sadly. “Maybe tomorrow night.”

Bog propped himself up. Was Ruffan hunting well? Did they have enough to eat? Bog missed the familiar sleeping nook he shared with Ruffan, and this strange burrow just wasn’t right without the youngster’s scent.

He crawled into the common room, still distracted by the dream. Was it telling him to return home?

Not without defeating the Troll Hunter.

In the common room, Bog could see signs of wealth that he hadn’t noticed before. The wooden table was inlaid with polished stone, and the pantry cupboard was still full after last night’s feast. Even the lynx half-asleep by the fire meant food was plentiful.

Bog caught a whiff of Frantsum’s woody scent. Again, Bog hadn’t noticed him tucked into his corner near the fire, looking like a rumpled mound of earth. As Bog greeted him, Frantsum began to chuckle, which led to a fit of coughing.

Bog hurried to pour him some cold broth from a clay jug on the table, thinking how he should be caring for Kasha this way.

He helped the old troll to drink. When Frantsum recovered, he sputtered his thanks. “I still enjoy the idea of those loggers turned to rot by wood spirits,” he said with a chortle, his voice hoarse. “You’re a cunning troll, Bog.”

Bog returned the jug to the table. “I hope I’m cunning enough.”

“Cunning enough for what?” Frantsum perked up. “Why are you travelling? Where are you going? I’m sorry to pry, but…” He leaned forward. “Small is determined to fulfill his gnark, and I want to know what he’s pledging himself to.”

Bog sucked in a breath. He couldn’t avoid the topic any longer.

“Fair enough.” He tromped over to a chair at the table and sat down.

Just then, Small lurched into the room, heavy with sleep. “Good nightfall to you.” He scratched his furry belly and rummaged in the pantry cupboard.

“Good nightfall, Small.” Bog watched him pull out a gaudy blue-and-red box with squiggly human symbols on it.

“Ymir is smiling on you, Bog.” Small cheerfully waved the box. “I’m about to introduce you to the fine taste of hamburgers, courtesy of the human grocery store.”

Bog nodded. The meat inside the box did smell delicious, although it was starting to turn.

Frantsum stared at Bog expectantly.

Bog traced the woodgrain of the tabletop with his fingernail, avoiding Frantsum’s gaze. “I’m looking for someone.”

“Who? A forest troll?” Small said. He was stirring the few coals in the fireplace, adding twigs and small branches. A stream of smoke began to rise toward a hole in the roof.

“Not exactly.” Bog shook his head. “Not a troll.”

“Then…a human?” Frantsum’s eyes were steady.

Small put the hamburgers on to cook, releasing a rich scent into the room.

“Yes. I need to find the Troll Hunter—he turned my father to stone. I mean, he helped. Like I told you last night, he…he taught other humans how to trick us.”

“Not to be harsh,” Frantsum paused, “but why seek the Troll Hunter when your father is already stone?”

Bog squirmed. “To protect my family—and other trolls who may be hunted.” He tried to keep the indignant tone from his voice.

Frantsum tugged at the fur on his chin. “Not to avenge your father?”

Bog found his hands clenched and made them relax. Don’t hoard your anger as if it’s gold. It’s not troll-like, Kasha had said. “Of course not,” Bog forced through his teeth.

Frantsum nodded. “Protecting your family is a noble quest.”

Bog was relieved Frantsum asked nothing more.

He breathed in the scent of the cooking hamburgers, and his stomach began to grumble. How could he be hungry after last night’s feast?

“You’ve helped us banish the loggers,” Frantsum said, “and I want to return the favour. Do you know the legend of the Nose Stone?”

“No,” Bog began, hoping to avoid a long story. “But I did want to ask about—”

“It’s not common,” Frantsum continued. “A few forest trolls from the south shared it with me once. You might find it interesting.”

“Actually, I was hoping you could tell me where to—”

“Just listen.” Frantsum waved his pointed fingernails in Bog’s face. “This story is about a giant named Sideways. He lived in an underwater cave in Superior Lake, far to the south, near Thunder City.”

Bog crossed his arms and tried to pay attention.

“Sideways was peculiar,” Frantsum’s voice crackled, “because he made friends with a group of humans. For some fool reason, he believed these humans were different than most. Upright like trees.” Frantsum rolled his eyes.

“Is this the one about—” Small began.

“Shush.” Frantsum cut him off with another wave of his hand. “Sideways told these humans dangerous secrets. He even shared his hoard with them.” Frantsum shook his head. “Unthinkable, isn’t it? He shared his treasure in exchange for a favour.”

Bog nodded, unsure where this story was headed.

“For his part, Sideways told them where to find a vein of silver in a series of caves on an island in Superior Lake. In return, he asked them to hide a most valuable treasure within one of those caves, where his big hands couldn’t reach. He had those humans conceal the blessed Nose of Ymir—safe from thieves. Not the whole nose—that would be too massive to hide anywhere—but just the nub, warts and all.

“These humans lived well, becoming known for their silver ornaments. Soon, other humans wanted the silver, too. They sent a scout to learn the location of the mine. When the scout discovered it, he gathered the largest pieces he could carry and then set off for home.” Frantsum lowered his voice. “But on the way, he was set upon by three other men, who forced him to reveal the source of the silver.

“At once, the men headed for the mine by canoe, singing loudly about the riches they’d enjoy. Their noise alerted Sideways. As they approached the mine entrance, Sideways rose out of the water, causing a mighty wave to batter the shore. But, in his haste, Sideways didn’t realize it was almost sunrise. He emerged from the lake as the sun rose above the hills.” Frantsum grimaced.

Bog gritted his teeth as the whole terrible moment with Jeddal came crashing back. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Just wait.” Frantsum raised both hands.

Small was motionless, listening. The hamburgers sizzled and smoked.

“The sun, in her wretched glory, turned poor Sideways to stone, and he fell with a mighty splash into the lake.” Frantsum slapped a hand on his thigh. “And there he rests to this night—on his back in the water, majestic in death.”

Bog blinked hard, trying not to think of Jeddal.

“Sideways was desperate to protect the Nose Stone.” Frantsum spoke in a hushed tone, leaning forward, his eyes searching Bog’s. “We all know how sacred a nose is, how it tells so much about a troll.”

Bog raised a hand to hide his own blunt nose.

“But Ymir’s Nose Stone had special properties—the power to revive a giant or troll who has been turned to stone.”

“What?” Bog’s legs began to tremble. His hand fell.

“When placed on the head of a stone troll while the moon is rising in the sky, the Nose Stone will make them flesh again. But the troll must be whole, not a chip missing.” Frantsum leaned back, a satisfied look on his face. “That’s what made me think of you and your father.”

Jeddal. Could Bog save him? His head reeled. “Is…this true?”

“I’m not sure how much is truth and how much is rumour.” Frantsum shrugged. “Many have searched for the Nose Stone, but no one has found it. The story goes that you can still see the mine entrance on Silver Island at the foot of the Sleeping Giant. Humans unearthed the silver until the lake took revenge, filling their tunnels with water. The Sleeping Giant guards his treasure well—although some say he showed those humans a hidden entrance into the mine from the mainland shore.”

“You never mentioned the hidden entrance before.” Small flipped the hamburgers onto a platter, one by one.

“Didn’t I?” Frantsum scratched his chin. “The talk is that the hidden entrance looks like a stone with three mouths, and the middle mouth leads to the mine. But no one can find it. Maybe it’s overgrown. Maybe it collapsed. Maybe it never existed.”

“Hamburgers for everyone.” Small placed the platter piled high with disks of meat on the table and then smacked Bog hard on the shoulder. “So what is our quest—Troll Hunter or Nose Stone?”

The scent of the hamburgers choked Bog. He would rather save Jeddal, yet was it possible?

A mythical stone underneath a lake. It was too ridiculous to hope for. Yet Ymir’s nose had to be somewhere.

Bog’s hands were shaking and his stomach was too tangled to eat. Small watched him, waiting. Frantsum hobbled over to the table, his eyes fixed on the meat.

Bog pushed back from the table, unsure what to do. If he didn’t try to rescue Jeddal, he’d regret it forever. But what if the Nose Stone was just a story? The longer the Troll Hunter was alive, the more trolls would suffer. He’d already delayed his quest by taking down a logging camp and feasting with forest trolls.

“We need to stop the Troll Hunter first,” Bog said to Small’s questioning face. “Then we can find the Nose Stone.” If it existed.

Small let out a whoop. “We’re hunting us a Troll Hunter.” He smacked his fist on the table, rattling the platter.

Frantsum frowned. “May Ymir guide you well.” He sank his few remaining teeth into a hamburger.