The Prodigal Troll (23 page)

"Go with them, Mom," he said softly. "I'll be fine."

He pulled his hand again, very gently. And she did the hardest thing she had ever done in her life.

She let go.

lashes of bright color, a ragged line of them, stomping and shouting, penetrated the forest's net of browns and greens.

Maggot shifted his position in the tree for a better view. Pine needles pricked his bare back. The bough swayed slightly under his callused feet. Blue and yellow and white, closer, closer still, and then, leaning forward, Maggot-

Yes, the flat chest and beard were those of a man. Maggot flared his nostrils, frowned, rocked back on his haunches.

He had come down from the mountains in search of a mate. So far he'd seen nothing but men.

The man in blue stomped and shouted within a few yards of Maggot's tree. He carried a large section of log on a sash across his bare shoulder, so he must be very strong. Maggot picked his nose and flicked snot at the man's head, but the man didn't notice anything.

People were stupid. Compared to trolls.

The man passed under the tree and into open sunlight. He wore strips of white skin wrapped around his feet and tied in a knot at top. Another skin skirted his waist, with blocks of green divided by cracks of sharp blue.

Maggot peered off into the deep, unexplored forest. He'd like to find the creature that had that skin.

Maybe he should steal this man's skin and wear it to make himself stink more like people, and that would help him find a woman. Maggot had been stealing things from people for the last five or six winters, whenever people crossed the mountain passes. So he'd seen a few human women. At least he thought they were women, although who could know for certain when they were covered with extra skins and the stink of dead things.

But he had discarded his people items, the skins and blankets, because it was too hot down here in the valleys with winter's snow already melted. He'd kept only the knife and spear-the small hard leaf, the hard leaf on the branch.

As he descended the tree to follow the man, Maggot heard shouts. He pressed aside the branches just in time to see the man pound his fists on the log he carried. Birds erupted from the trees and fled away to the sky. The log resonated with a deep, full sound, a troll greeting sound, like fists on a chest. For a second, Maggot's heart leapt into his throat, a loneliness too hard to swallow.

Retrieving his spear from the pile of needles, he eased out from the evergreen's sheltering cape. He sniffed experimentally, trying to smell something besides the scent of pine. Not for the first time, he wished for the broad flat nose of a troll.

He ran to a thick stand of brush and hid. The man with the log knuckled out a rhythm more complicated than any message used by the trolls while the others chanted words in a beat that matched their step. They repeated it over and over until it almost made Maggot crazy.

"Lion, lion," he repeated with them, not knowing the word. "Ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh!"

People talked stupid.

He mumbled it again and rapped his knuckles against his chest, shaking the knife sheath that hung on a string about his neck. But for once his mimicking skills failed him. The pounding made no more sense as a message than did the words.

A quick scuttle to another cluster of trees upslope and he saw the next person in line-another man! By the time he reached the peak of the ridge, Maggot had counted four handfuls and two fingers of people, all men. Two more carried the big logs. Every fifth man, or thumb, held a large, flat disc of metal-the troll word described the taste of it-shaped like certain mushrooms. When the men tapped the mushrooms with sticks, they made a chilling ring. All the other men thrashed the brush with long branches.

Stupid men were scaring all the animals away and not just the birds. Maggot's stomach rumbled. There was little to eat here. The trees were just unfolding their leaves, sending forth seedlings that spun down to the ground like wounded butterflies, and only the smallest flowers bloomed, little white stars and tiny blue-and-pink blossoms that hung upside down.

The man beating the brush nearest to Maggot stepped cautiously, careful not to tramp on any flowers. Maybe people scared winter off this way, Maggot thought. These lands were more fertile than the high mountains and earlier in the season too. Maybe this was magic, the false-flavored nature his mother had warned him to avoid.

He decided to run ahead of the men to see if there were any women farther down the valley. He crossed the ridge, but near the bottom of the slope he saw a flash of light and dove instinctively into the cover of a thicket. Thorny branches scratched at his skin as he peered out.

A second line of silent people in drab clothes carried spears with the points thrust out in front of them. They stood closer together, angled toward the noisy log-and-mushroom men.

Maggot crouched his way along behind them, counting. There were more people here than in the largest troll band! And they were all men. Picking up a pinecone, he winged it at the back of the last man in line. The man's head snapped forward. He reached over and shoved his neighbor while Maggot grinned and backed away.

His stomach gurgled a second time. He escaped the closing jaws of these two lines of men and went off to find something to drink, maybe even something to eat, before he continued his search for a mate.

He jogged through the woods until the noise of the thrashers was faint, far behind him. He found a trickle of water and followed it down the hillside where it joined a stony brook that soon dropped over a steep incline. Maggot paused on a jutting rock at the hill's lip and looked at the stream's low, looping crawl toward a pond in the meadow. One dot of dark blue flitted across the sunlight, chased by another toward some distant nest. Maybe he would find fresh eggs here.

At the edge of the woods, beside the stream, he noticed scat. Bigtooth scat, from the size and shape of it. Dusty white-several days old at least. He bent and sniffed. It didn't smell fresh. Still, with a bigtooth in the area he would have to be much more careful about where he denned up. Though he might get a chance to steal fresh carrion.

He bent on hands and knees by the cool, clear pond. In his head, Maggot had always seen himself as a version of his mother, as a troll. The twig-nosed, nut-mouthed, shaggy-headed face in the water still surprised him. He brushed his hair over his embarrassing high forehead before a woman saw it.

Maybe if he spent more time among people, he'd start to see himself like them but find a troll in his reflection instead.

Before he could kiss his image to sip the water, he heard voicespeople coming. He snatched up his spear and hid in the undergrowth while three people entered the meadow.

His breath caught in his mouth. His knees wobbled.

One of the people was a woman!

He straightened, inhaled, and leaned forward uncertainly.

She had saggy breasts, somewhat like a woman, and a round, smooth-skinned face like a woman. But her hips narrowed like a man's. Sunbright loops around her neck and similar bands around her arms echoed those the men wore. Her skin was as black as polished rock and her hair was fog-colored like an old troll's bristle.

Maggot puffed out his cheeks and exhaled. He'd hoped women would be, well, he didn't know. More attractive.

The two other people were men. The younger had skin a soft brown color, with hair as black and thick as Maggot's. He was tall and lean, like Maggot, and had even less hair on his chin. The third man was bearded, pale like Maggot, his brown hair pulled back and twined like vines. Though not as tall as Foghair or the boy, his shoulders were broader and he looked stronger. Other men, carrying spears, joined them.

The bearded man studied the meadow carefully, following the edge of the pond over to the stream. When he found the bigtooth scat, he motioned the others over to investigate. He must be the First, Maggot decided. Even Ragweed, who was not an especially good First, looked at things and brought them to the notice of other members of the band.

They were very excited by the smell, or sight, of the scat. They talked very quickly, gesticulating and pointing in the direction of the noise made by the log-and-mushroom men. The men with the spears made jabbing motions at the scat. So even people were wary of bigtooths. That showed some intelligence.

Foghair lifted the horn to her mouth and blew a series of short, clear notes. A few moments later, the clamor on the hillside shifted direction.

Then they filled their water bladders and spoke quietly among each other until they were interrupted by a crashing noise on the hillside. A whitetailed deer burst from the woods and froze, looking back toward the din of the log-and-mushroom men. Three more deer emerged from the trees and traipsed to a halt.

The boy tapped his chest. The bearded man, First, gestured to one of the spear carriers, who passed his spear to Boy. Boy skipped forward and flung his spear into the air-

Maggot blinked, having never used one as more than a long arm with a claw on the end!

-which fell into the flank of the nearest deer. It bleated pain, collapsing as the other three scattered. The deer staggered up and dragged its rear legs in a circle, the spear bouncing wildly. One of the spear carriers rushed forward and put the animal down with a second thrust through the throat.