2

Mousemeat Stew

Eight nights since Jeddal had been turned to stone.

The moonlight sliced through the swaying branches, making dappled patterns on the lichen-covered rocks. Bog searched every boulder for a nose or a twisted mouth, mourning the ancient stone trolls he’d always passed without ever thinking of the grieving families left behind.

Every step through their hunting grounds was a torment. He prodded the dead coals in the pothole where he and Jeddal had sometimes cooked a quick meal. He skirted the clearing where Jeddal’s statue stood, replaying that horrible sunrise in his mind. If only they’d fought the humans after first catching their scent. If only he’d watched the puny man more closely.

Bog navigated the darkness, his chest aching. When he smelled a grouse hiding in the leaf litter, he remembered the youngsters’ hungry bellies and Kasha’s empty stewpot.

He slipped closer to the bird. Even in the shadows, it couldn’t hide from him. He could see the crested head, although the bird’s scent and pattering heart also gave it away. What a slow-witted bird. Impossible to miss.

Just like those humans should have been. First, their gas-snorting machines called cars invaded the forest. Then, their guns killed the big game. Now, their troll hunters destroyed families.

A gust of wind stirred the canopy of leaves. Bog edged toward the spot where the grouse hid without making a sound.

If only he could rid the world of troll hunters.

He stubbed his toe on a fist-sized rock that tumbled through last-season’s leaves like a squirrel on a chase. The grouse burst upward, exploding through the undergrowth with a thunderous flapping of wings.

Bog lurched after it, stumbling over the rock he’d kicked. The grouse flew straight up, its tail fanned out. Bog snatched a fistful of tail feathers as it arched out of range.

His stomach twisted as if mangled by some vicious animal. He couldn’t even get close to his prey. All he could do was hound the woods, brooding about Jeddal.

Enough. Although the sun was still hidden, he set his feet toward home. Maybe he could find some grubs along the way. His fists clenched and his tail dragged against the ferns.

As Bog neared the darkened entrance to the cave, Ruffan’s furry head popped out.

“Get inside.” Bog growled. “There may be troll hunters about.”

Ruffan’s eyes examined Bog’s empty rucksack and fistful of grubs before he dove back into the tunnel, calling, “He’s only brought crawlies again.”

Bog hunched through the low tunnel, cursing. When he entered the fire-lit cave, he snarled at Ruffan, who tumbled away from the warning swat of Bog’s hand and then rolled over Mica and Gem, who pushed him toward the fireplace.

“Yow!” Ruffan cried, holding his singed tail.

Then Mica pinched Gem, and she pinched him back.

Kasha whacked the three youngsters with a wooden spoon. Like any good grandmother, she ruled with a will of iron. She could also magic up trolls’ gold out of a handful of coals, carve skis so they glided smoothly over the snow, and tell a story better than anyone Bog knew.

If only he’d brought her more than grubs.

With a sharpened fingernail, Kasha sliced the last of the mousemeat and threw it into the iron pot suspended over the fire. Her black eyes travelled to the pile of squirming wormlike creatures Bog deposited on the hearth.

“Wash for dinner, Bog.” She turned back to the pot, the grey-white fur on her back standing on end.

Bog hung his head.

Ruffan, Mica, and Gem began to play a game on the floor, tossing stones into circle targets and negotiating trades. In a basin near the three tiny sleeping nooks, Bog tried to wash off the human stink that seemed to cling to his hide, even though he hadn’t been close to a human in eight nights. By the time he finished, Kasha had set dinner out on the stone slab. Bog took his seat on a side bench, glancing at Jeddal’s empty place at the head of the table.

For dinner, Kasha served mousemeat stew with mugs of watery broth to wash it down. Mica and Gem stuffed the stew into their mouths with both hands, but Ruffan was too delicate, holding his meat in two fingers and chewing with his mouth closed.

“Eat nicely, Ruffan,” Kasha ordered, her white eyebrows like two stiff brushes.

Bog chewed steadily. The meat tasted bland. He finished his small helping before his stomach was full.

“I’ve heard talk.” Kasha frowned at Bog. “Josaya was by.”

His ears twitched. Their closest neighbour rarely ventured into their territory. “What did she want?”

“She said, ‘Beware of a new human in the area. The Troll Hunter,’” continued Kasha. “He’s stoning trolls everywhere.”

The youngsters listened with wide eyes.

Bog scowled, slopping broth down his chin and then wiping it away with the back of his hand. “Those humans mentioned the Troll Hunter.”

Kasha nodded. “He’s set up a den where he teaches other humans how to trick us.”

The broth in Bog’s stomach rolled to a boil. Those humans had blasted the noise they called music at sunrise to distract them. Maybe they’d spoiled the hunt on purpose to force Jeddal and him to stay out longer. Was this trickery because of the Troll Hunter’s teachings?

“The Troll Hunter’s den is rumoured to be near Thunder City. He’s training more hunters every day.” Kasha’s beady eyes were intense. “Within one moon, they’ll be swarming our forest worse than ever. We need to move farther north, away from them.”

“Again?” Bog ground his fist into his thigh. “Why do we have to run away with our tails dragging every time they get close? We should crush this Troll Hunter and his followers before they cause more damage. We should—”

Kasha slapped a hand on the stone slab, making the youngsters jump. “Did Jeddal teach you nothing? Stay away from humans.”

“But they killed Jeddal!”

“Will killing humans bring him back? Will it feed the young-uns?” Kasha snorted. “Don’t hoard your anger as if it’s gold. It’s not troll-like.”

The stab of Kasha’s glare silenced Bog, yet the idea of destroying the Troll Hunter and his followers was a vine spreading tendrils. He pushed his empty bowl away.

Wouldn’t Jeddal have defended his family?

After dinner, Kasha got out her ointment pot, grabbed hold of Gem, and rubbed the acidic paste into the youngster’s furry hide, stretching and pulling her nose. Because of Kasha, all the youngsters would grow a thick hide and long noses—she’d even improved Bog’s stubby nose.

Bog’s family was a mishmash of relations and orphans. Mica and Gem were twins whose parents had been crushed by a human’s car, and Ruffan’s mother had died at his birth. Jeddal was Kasha’s son, and Bog was his, although Bog had no mother that he knew of. Jeddal would never talk about her, even when Bog pleaded for a story.

Kasha let Gem go, wiped the rest of the ointment onto her own red nose, and grabbed Mica for his treatment. “Make yourself useful, Bog.” She gave him a challenging glare. “You can do the tally.”

Bog trundled to the family treasure chest, opened the lid, and began to check their hoard. Even though the count rarely changed, Jeddal had tallied their treasure nightly, praising the sheen of the silver and the sparkle of the amethysts. Since Jeddal had been turned to stone, Bog had added nothing to their hoard and little to their stewpot. His tail quivered.

When Kasha finished with Mica and Ruffan, Bog was still working the tally. Kasha yanked her own nose a few more times, raked the coals, and settled on a stool beside the fire with a sigh. She’d worked twice as long on Ruffan to toughen his unusually smooth skin.

“Story time, story time,” the youngsters chanted.

Mica and Ruffan toppled over each other to get to Kasha’s feet, but Gem kicked them both out of the way.

Kasha let them settle and then asked, “Which story this morning?”

“The one about the sun!” Gem yelled. “How Grental captured the biggest ball of gold.”

“No, we heard that one last morning.” Mica scowled. “I want to hear about Troll Mountain, where the troll queen lives.”

“Ymir and the first trolls who walked the land!” Ruffan squealed.

Kasha frowned, wrinkling her forehead. When she glanced at Bog, he bent over his work. He tried to keep the count, but silver didn’t seem important this morning. All the lessons that Jeddal had yet to teach him—lost. All the hunts they could have shared—gone. Bog found his hands clenched.

“Leave that,” Kasha said to Bog, her voice raspy. “I have a story for you.”

“For me?” Bog’s eyebrows arched.

“Why him? Not fair!” Gem yelled.

Kasha walloped each youngster with the back of her hand. “Tonight is Bog’s turn. Now, off to sleep with you.”

While Kasha corralled the youngsters into their sleeping nooks, Bog stacked the silver and amethysts and shut the chest. Maybe Kasha’s story would be about the Troll Hunter or Jeddal. Either way, he knew to pay attention or risk a swatting.

Kasha crooned a few songs to settle the youngsters and then joined Bog by the fire. Together, they stared at the glowing, black-hearted coals, until the rustling and whispers of the youngsters faded. How many times had Bog listened to Kasha and Jeddal’s fireside murmurs from the sleeping nook he shared with Ruffan? Now, he’d taken Jeddal’s place.

“We trolls have a long history,” Kasha finally began, “but each one of us has a tale, too. This tale is for you, Bog.” Kasha’s mouth was grim. “I saved the telling until the time was right.”

Bog nodded, trying to keep focused on Kasha’s story. Tendrils of smoke disappeared up the flue.

“Here’s how it goes.” Kasha voice was solemn. “As a young troll, Jeddal set out from home one evening. He’d been hunting on his own for some time since his father, my mate, had been killed by humans near the village of Strongarm.” Kasha’s black eyes were fierce.

A familiar squeeze tightened Bog’s chest. Tomorrow night he’d hunt the humans who tricked Jeddal. He could pick up their trail at Jeddal’s statue—maybe it would even lead to the Troll Hunter’s den. It couldn’t be wrong to protect his family.

“Jeddal melted through the bushes, so quiet a hunter was he. He slid through pine and poplar like a worm through the earth, undetected by even the owl’s keen eyes. That night, he found himself gliding parallel to a humans’ road through our forests. The humans were using the road to trade between Strongarm and Thunder City, down in the south. Rutted and pitted was this road, with branches overhanging. Yet the poor state of the road gave Jeddal an idea. He would drag a log across it, forcing the humans’ metal machines to stop. Soon, the humans would abandon the road, leaving us trolls in peace.”

“I hope he blocked the humans,” Bog muttered. He wanted a tale of sweet justice or no story at all.

Kasha nodded. “He didn’t even need to find a log. That old road had done his work for him. You see, Jeddal found an overturned metal machine called a truck,” she continued. “He could smell it first—three humans and poisonous gasoline on the forest floor. The truck was boxy and large, the back filled with useless vegetables.”

Bog scowled. Only Ymir knew why humans wanted to eat vegetables.

“When he got closer, he saw that a gaping hole in the road had tipped the truck, tossing two human men onto the nearby rocks, killing them. But Jeddal could hear the third human moving. So he jumped over, clearing the truck easily, to where he could hear the groaning of that last horrible human.”

“Jeddal always was a good jumper,” Bog said. He’d been good at most everything.

“The last human was a female. And this is what I know of her: She was pretty, not like most humans. She had a bumpy nose, coarse skin, and dark hair as wild as the wind. Her teeth were nicely gapped, although flat. Jeddal told me later that she could laugh like the tinkling of gold coins and skin a hare faster than he could. Yes, those two got to liking each other—a troll and a human, if you can believe it. After they got through the first few moments.”

Jeddal—friendly with a human? Bog couldn’t imagine it.

“Because what Jeddal saw when he swooped over was this bedazzling human female, a jewel herself, lifting the truck off her own legs, which were pinned underneath.”

Bog snorted at Kasha’s exaggeration. No human was that strong.

“And Jeddal was so startled to see a human with more strength than a fly that he stared. Maybe she’s a troll, he thought, although it turned out that she was human, through and through.

“One thing I’m sure you learned from Jeddal,” Kasha waggled a finger at him, “is to use the advantage of surprise. He always taught that one first, since he messed up on it this terrible time. While Jeddal stood with his mouth agape, the human female took charge. She rolled out from under that truck, grabbed a metal bar that had come loose, and knocked his legs out from under him.”

More exaggeration. As if Kasha wanted him to be impressed by this human.

“Well, imagine Jeddal’s surprise to find himself on the ground because of a human,” Kasha continued. “He scrambled to his feet, awkward and clumsy, and found this human female on her feet, too. She was standing tall with a gun at her shoulder, propping herself against the side of the truck on two broken legs.”

Impossible.

“Now, Jeddal couldn’t believe a human had bested him,” Kasha continued. “He was so amazed that he laughed outright, while that female was aiming a fool gun at him. Jeddal laughed until the tears wet his fur, and that human stared back at him, pointing the gun, until she began to laugh, too.

“That’s the story of how Jeddal met a human. Martinique Bottom, her name was. And those two became close, quite close. In fact, Martinique Bottom was,” Kasha shot him a piercing look, “your mother.”

“No!” Bog stood, roaring.

Half breed? Half a troll? It wasn’t true. Jeddal, greatest of trolls, was his father. His nose was long and bent. His ears floppy. His treasure chest full.

But Kasha’s steady eyes told him that she spoke the truth.

“That’s why you’re smaller, your tail so short and your nose blunt,” Kasha said. “Your mother was a human.”

“She couldn’t be!” Bog smashed a fist into the cave wall. A trickle of pebbles fell from the spot.

That’s when he noticed the youngsters, their heads poking through the archway into the common room, Ruffan’s hand over his mouth, the twins silent and gaping. Bog turned from them, hating their eyes on him.

“Back to your burrows,” Kasha ordered.

The youngsters scurried out of sight.

Kasha shook her head. “With all your anger at the hunters, I had to tell you, Bog. Each of us is upset about Jeddal, but you’re ready to hunt humans instead of staying where you belong. That much rage—it’s not natural for a troll. It’s the human in you coming out.”

He held his head in both hands to stop the cave walls from spinning.

“Your father couldn’t stand your mother’s rages—vicious as a weasel when she didn’t get her way. He said they fought over where to live, how to raise you—everything. Still, he lived near Strongarm with that human for more than two summers. Until she did the unspeakable.”

“What did she do?” How horrible could his mother be? And what did that make him?

Kasha shrugged. “Jeddal would never say. I only know that he took you away to shield you. So you wouldn’t become like her.”

Bog moaned, his head still swimming. How could Kasha even accept him—a half-human?

“Don’t go chasing after the Troll Hunter or his followers,” Kasha pleaded. “It’ll only end badly. Learn from Jeddal’s mistakes.”

“I have to protect the family, even if it means killing the Troll Hunter.” Bog tried to still the tremor that shook his whole body. He would track the humans who’d tricked Jeddal and find the Troll Hunter, too. And he’d destroy them all.

Kasha glared. “Honour Jeddal’s wishes and stay away from humans. You don’t want to become like them. Remember when Jeddal—”

“No more stories.” Bog cut her off. Didn’t she understand that it was because of Jeddal he had to go? He had to show that he was a worthy son, and now a worthy troll. “I’ll leave when the sun sets.”