Green vapors shielded Manti as she crawled unnoticed through the bog’s grasses toward Zote. Gathering strength, the witch rose up close to the ranting troll and whispered into the mist. A trustworthy breeze carried Manti’s whisper to Zote’s tangled ears. He stopped still and listened to mesmerizing murmurs churning in the mist. The murmurs, swelling into a commanding voice, told him the ancestral note for Mt. Grieg was not with Odin but hidden in a nearby haystack.
Zote’s eyes, wild with greed, scanned the lake’s edge. He soon spotted the bulky stack of hay in which his now confused mind believed the note lay. Dazed by the smoke from the fox dung and Odin’s irritating music, Zote forgot about Laelia. His only thought was of Mt. Grieg and its crystals. He dashed to the haystack and forced his way into its warm, rotting center. As he dived in, sparks flew from his flint earrings.
Thrashing with twists and turns, ranting and raving, he blindly tumbled all over himself searching for the note. It was not there. Anger consumed Zote. His temper and frenzied movements caused even more sparks to fly. In his rage, he did not notice the strong aroma of methane gas that the sparks from his earrings ignited. The haystack exploded into a blazing bonfire.
Howls escaping from the burning haystack turned into a series of barks and yips, like that of an injured animal. Trapped, Zote begged for help. Manti, with great difficulty, bent low and reached out to grab one of Zote’s huge hands. Without thinking of their own safety, Odin and Laelia rushed over to help; they pulled and tugged until they set Zote free of the flames.
The giant troll lay on the damp moss, burned and beaten; no longer was he the fearsome bog troll. When Zote opened his eyes and looked into the face of the red-headed troll, once again his temper flared into cries and gurgling rants. Comforting words from Manti brought him to a point of self-control; he settled down and listened to the tranquil voice of the witch. Manti pulled off her ring of carnelian stone and, with some difficulty, placed it on his smallest finger. The reddish-orange gem carried an energy that stilled his blood and calmed him. He remained motionless as Manti searched her pouch for the healing salve made of dried troll finger mushrooms.
Laelia picked soft lamb’s ear leaves and carefully wiped snot off Zote’s singed beard. As she wiped his face clean, he studied her face and tried to speak. She told him to lie still while she and Manti gently applied the powdered bark of the white-flowered mimosa tree. Rich in tannis, the powder eased his pain and stopped the bleeding. Together they applied the sorcery of the bog’s plants to Zote’s wounds.
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Zote felt the magic in Manti and Laelia’s gentle hands as they moved over his skin. Their touch radiated energies of kindness that melted into his bones. Humbled by their care, Zote’s entire being felt a strange and previously unknown sense of love. His dull mind seemed to understand that this act of goodness was more valuable than all the precious stones he had convinced himself he must own. The wealth of Mt. Grieg now appeared worthless. Compassion ran deeper than greed.
Tree leaves stirred, excited by the bold wind that rose up and over the woods. The treetops swayed back and forth, creating a cool breeze that blew across Zote. The coolness and Manti’s potions further soothed his burned skin. Overhead, within the branches of a tall white spruce, sat a gray owl. Round yellow eyes watched Zote. In time, as if satisfied, the owl drifted off with the green mist.
After applying their powders and magical mushrooms, Manti and Laelia assured Zote he would soon be well. All the while Manti watched the little troll’s behavior and was impressed with her knowledge. The albino witch knew Laelia was a bog witch like herself and was certain a kinship would grow between them.
When Zote began to feel his strength return, he stood up ready to travel back to his home. Laelia, drawing on her courage, told the fearsome troll he should no longer live in the ethylene-laced catacombs, which was akin to being buried alive. He kept silent for some time as his slow mind took in this new thought. Zote had lived in these horrid caverns most of his life and was reluctant to leave the only home he had ever known. Amal knew of nearby caverns that were empty and free of gas vapors. He described the deep tunnels and promised many huge snails crawling slowly and stickily along the damp walls. Fleshy and mild-flavored snails roasted with bites of the small mice that dug their little homes throughout the cave were a certain source of food. Zote agreed to follow Amal to the new caverns.
Meanwhile, Odin gathered wood for a small fire. On a hot, flat stone, white curled grubs bubbled and browned. They all agreed that the cooked grubs tasted like chestnuts. Content with full stomachs, Laelia, her rescuers, and Zote started out for his new home. The caverns were located exactly as the young troll promised and included a spring of fresh water at the tunnel’s opening.
The six new friends stood outside Zote’s cave and bid a fond farewell.
Zote’s salty tears ran down and stung his burned face while his gruff voice lamented his sorrow. He would never again pursue the majestic mountain’s wealth. The bog took on a new meaning; its healing plants saved his life and he would do all he could to protect them. Zote asked if they would think of him with kindness and visit his cave. They promised to return some day as they parted company. The five companions left to find their way back to Manti’s mystical bog.
Zote, now alone, stumbled into his new cavern. Its chamber’s silence was broken only by the rustling sound of a python slowly drawing its coils along the stone floor, its forked-tongue delicately tasting the air. Zote would have plenty to eat, but then again, maybe not.