The Prodigal Troll (22 page)

She pried with her fingers until the dead animal's jaws cracked. She stopped screaming as she dropped it to the ground and swiveled around to answer the next attack.

If any of the other wolves had charged in, they could have pulled her down and killed her. She saw now that they hadn't only because Maggot had held them away. His footprints formed a protective circle around her, and he stood poised with his spear raised. Half a dozen animals bled from cuts to their necks and faces.

"Step away from the dead one slowly," said Maggot, his voice as sharp as his weapon.

She did exactly as he told her. They were scarcely out of arm's reach when the dyrewolves surrounded their dead companion, licking at the bloody snow and baying.

"Keep moving, faster now," Maggot said tersely. "If you pack snow on the wound as you go, it'll help."

She noticed the blood pouring down her arm. Something felt wrong with the bone. Numbness stiffened her fingertips. Without slowing down, she scooped up handfuls of snow and packed it as Maggot told her, clamping her good hand down tight on top of the wound. It eased the burning and stanched the bleeding. She found it difficult to walk on two feet, but she shuffled along until she found and followed the deep trails in the snow made earlier by the other trolls.

She'd never felt so close to her own death before. She trembled from it, and yet, as they left the dyrewolves behind and climbed the low rise between two peaks to descend into the larger valley, it all seemed unreal, something that had already happened in the distant past. She was changed, but she did not know how or why.

"Have you fought them before?" she asked her son. "Alone?"

Maggot smacked his lips once. Yes, but it was a small meal, nothing.

Her son was covered by many scars. How had he been changed? She felt faint-headed, apart from herself, as though she floated over the snow.

They entered the sacred glade with its circle marked out by thirteen boulders. The other trolls saw Windy's wound and crowded around to hear how it had happened. While she told them about the dyrewolves, Maggot circulated and spoke to Rocky and her mate, and to Blossom and Scabpicker and all the other trolls whose votes he hoped to win.

"Let's start," Ragweed shouted.

"I'm ready whenever you are," Maggot said. "You want to be First, so you should go first."

Ragweed scowled, unsure if he had just been insulted. Windy sat down as he trotted around inside the circle of stones, trying to impress the other trolls. He was still handsome, she reluctantly admitted to herself. His gray skin looked exceptionally rocklike against the white snow.

"Look!" Maggot pointed. "He's running in circles! And that's who you want for a leader?"

Ragweed swerved, rushing at Maggot, rising up to his eight and a half feet of height and pounding his chest. Maggot straightened up as tall as he could stand and stretched out his arms as if to pound on his chest. While Ragweed paused for the challenge, Maggot dropped without warning to four legs and ran around the circle. He didn't go more than a quarter of the way before he stopped to scratch his ass. It was a perfect imitation of Ragweed. Windy wasn't the only one to burst out laughing.

Ragweed laughed along with them, until his brow drooped with belated recognition. "Hey!"

Maggot stood up straight again. "Are we here to vote or wrestle? I can't tell by the way you're acting so far."

"That's enough," Laurel said. She was now the oldest female in the band, and a former First. "Both of you have ideas for what we should do about our problems. Ragweed, maybe you should begin. Tell us why we should vote for you to be First of the band."

Windy shook her head, squeezing fresh snow on her arm to ease the pain. Maggot had ideas for the good of the band-not Ragweedand he had talked about them often while Berry, the previous First, died of the yellow water. Ragweed opposed everything Maggot said, more out of habit than for any other reason. Somehow they'd ended up as the two candidates for First.

Ragweed paced, then paused, then squatted and looked each troll in the eyes. "You all know me," he told them. "I was born in this band and I've lived here all my life among you."

How conveniently he'd forgotten their six years of wandering, thought Windy. But he smelled earnest. He'd always had a charismatic fragrance.

"We've faced a lot of problems," Ragweed continued. "Some of you are as old as me. You remember back when we were little trollings, there were fifty, sixty trolls in this band. The mountains were ours. We found every bit of carrion, every calf and fawn that went unprotected. Vote for me and I'll bring those days back. We'll make things like it used to be, when the caves were safe for children and the land was ours to scavenge."

He paced again. "Now, if you don't want to vote for me, you can vote for Maggot. I'd say that he's as ugly as a possum, but that'd insult the possum." Laughter, to that. "The worst thing is that he's the size of a trolling, and he still follows his mother around like one, and she covers him up funny."

More laughter at that.

Ragweed glanced over as if expecting Maggot to attack him for these insults, but her son stayed motionless. What was wrong with him? He ought to be roaring his disagreement. She swallowed a handful of snow to wet her parched throat.

"Vote for me," her former mate concluded. "Because I'm the real troll. Thank you."

Three or four of his strongest supporters cheered madly and pounded their chests in challenges directed at Maggot.

Windy sniffed worriedly. To her, Maggot smelled wonderful, unique. But to the others he would smell foreign, not like himself but like a strange band of people because of the things he carried. Seemingly oblivious to this, Maggot bounded over to one of the boulders and climbed on it to make himself taller.

"Vote not with your eyes, but with your bellies," he began, and Windy's spine shivered like a reed. Maggot had trained his voice to make it deep and resonant like Ragweed's. "Ask not who looks more like you, but who has done more for you. Ragweed is a handsome troll, and I admit that I am skinny, frail, and small. But you're not looking for a mate, with the beauty of a mate, but for your First, and I have been the first to serve you all. Who brings you more mea-"

He jumped as a ball of dung sailed by the spot where he stood. Cliff and Ragweed's other supporters hooted and waved their bottoms at him. Laurel sprinted over on her knuckles. "We'll have none of that now! "

"No muck-slinging!" old Stump shouted, and it was taken up as a general cry. One more ball of dung was hurled halfheartedly, but no more was needed to ruin the rhythm of Maggot's speech. Windy could cry. It would be a close vote under the best circumstances, but now ...

Maggot pointed to her. "Ragweed says that I stand beside my mother, and that is true! I'll never deny it. Tonight as I came to this place, dyrewolves attacked my mother-you see the teeth marks on her arms. But I stood by her to protect her and I will also stand by all of y-"

"Aw, he bit her arm himself," cried Ragweed.

Maggot turned and bared his teeth at him, then mocked his own small mouth. They'd seen her wound, so a few trolls laughed. But inside, Windy cringed. Her son's unimpressive mouth would lose him votes. Trolls voted for big teeth. He was emphasizing all the wrong things!

But Maggot continued. "Ragweed says he's going to give you more food, more fruit. How? People come into the high valleys, eating everything and destroying the caves where we sleep. I've walked across these mountains, from the head up north to the southern tail, and I've seen whole bands vanish in the space of a few years. Who last heard word from the Blue Peaks band? Or the Sinking River band? If we don't want to disappear like the others, without a trace, we need a plan."

The trolls looked around, like someone seeking better-tasting food.

Windy shifted fretfully. It was the truth! Maggot told the truth, but the trolls didn't want to hear it. He was losing them.

"What is Ragweed's plan?" Maggot asked. "He promises you that everything will be like it was. If he promised to grab the sun in his fist and move it backward across the sky, would you believe him?"

He'd lost them! Windy groaned aloud, and when the others looked at the noise she grimaced and held her injured arm. But you couldn't mention the sun before an election, you just couldn't! She'd thought her son was smarter than that.

"If you elect me First, I will not lead you back but forward. I will take us and join up with the remaining trolls at Blackwater and Sulfur Springs. Together, we can make one large band again and there will be mates for everyone and children will be born. I will teach you to make weapons, to hunt down the food we all must have. And I will lead you against the people who trespass-"

"Can we vote now?" one of the trolls asked. Others took up the call. Truthfully, thought Windy, most had probably made up their minds beforehand. Laurel called for the vote. Hope soared in Windy's breast when she counted the hands. Ragweed only got seven votes. Then Laurel called Maggot's name and four arms went up-hers, Rocky's and her mate Skeeter's, and Stump's. The vast majority of trolls had lost interest long before and when the vote was called they wandered away to roll in the snow or dig in it for things to eat. Maggot saw the number of hands up and didn't even vote for himself. Instead he jumped up on one of the boulders, drumming the death tattoo on his chest.

No one paid him any attention.

Laurel declared Ragweed the winner. Three or four of his supporters hollered and cheered. Cliff danced wildly around the circle. Windy rose and went over to thank Rocky and Skeeter.

"If anyone could think past tomorrow's darkness," Rocky said, "they'd know that everything Maggot says is true."

Her husband was the last known survivor of the Blue Peaks band. He shaped his lips in agreement. "I'd say we should go elsewhere, but this is still the best band and our best hope."

"These are hard years," Windy told him. "But daylight is always followed again by darkness. Things will get better."

Stump came over and started to groom her. "How's the arm?"

"It hurts."

"We'll take care of you," he rumbled. "Your son's a good troll. I've always said that."

"I'm very proud of him."

Stump exuded a sprit of musk, testing the air to see if she'd respond. His interest surprised her. He examined her arm. The worst bleeding had stopped, but the numbness reached way down into the bone. "Yep," he told her. "We'll have to keep you fed, take good care of that."

"It'll be fine." She pulled her arm back and hid it behind her. She musked a bit into the air as well. Not because she was really interested-because she wasn't, she was too old for that foolishness and had spent too many years alone with her son. But she didn't want Stump to feel bad. When he started grooming her again, Rocky giggled and Skeeter shushed her. Feeling embarrassed, Windy looked around helplessly for Maggot and saw Ragweed's supporters chasing him away.

"You weren't baiting him again?" she asked when Maggot came and squatted down with them.

"I wanted to wish him good luck," Maggot said. "But he doesn't want it."

Rocky sensed his agitation and picked considerately through his hair. "In the spring," she said, "people will see how bad their decision was. We'll have another vote."

"Perhaps," Maggot answered. His face was wistful, sad. He wore a smile that was less his than the skins that covered him. "Listen, I didn't say anything earlier because I was saving it for the feast when I won. If I won. But it's better this way, because there's more for the four of you."

Skeeter licked his lips. "What is it? Another humpback?"

"People," Maggot said plainly. "A small group crossing from the southern pass. I don't know if they got lost, or what, but the blizzard trapped them, made it hard for them to move. I buried the bodies under their stuff and pissed all over it."

Stump grinned from ear to ear. "Where are they? Let's go!"

"Follow the wind, down the rocky river, where it passes between the tall stones. There's a glade of chestnut trees there." He smiled at Stump. "If you can't find the meat, you can always eat the chestnuts."

"I know that spot," Rocky added enthusiastically. "There's a deep rock ledge down there, along the river. We can spend the day sleeping there and eat again tomorrow night."

The other three stood up and left at once. Windy rose also, and black dots swam suddenly before her eyes. When they cleared, she noticed Maggot sitting still. "Come on," she said.

He stuck out his tongue. "Would you ever eat the flesh of another troll?"

"No!" Something was wrong with him, to make him so stupid. Trolls buried their dead away from light, so that they could pass through the hot day of death and enter again into the long sweet night of life.

Maggot came over and sat beside her. "So will I never eat people flesh." He paused, picked at her skin one more time. "I'm people, Mother. I'm not a troll."

"You're a good troll!"

"I've tried hard. You saw that tonight. I'm a better troll than Ragweed in every respect, but one. I'm not a troll."

Sharp pain shot all the way up her arm into her chest. "What will you do?"

"Go down to the western valley where I was born. I've studied people for years now, as they passed through the mountains. Maybe I can learn to be like them. Maybe find a band that I can join."

Ah, so that's it, she thought. Maybe it's for the best. She took his hand in hers, and walked up out of the stone circle. "We'll go downstream with the others," she told him. "We'll sleep overday under the rock ledge, and tomorrow we'll continue on our way."

He tried to pull his hand free; she gripped it as tight as an old root wound round a rock.

"Mom?"

"Yes."

"Mom?"

"Yes."

"Mom, this is something I have to do alone. You need to stay here. This is where you belong."

Stump reappeared on the edge of the hill. He spritzed an odor of worry for her. He was very kind. When he saw she was all right, he gave off another musk.

Maggot had never once given off the proper musk, had never once said that he loved her. And yet she knew that he did, that he always would.