The Troll Child

In the old days of St. Olav little kids were warned of wandering in the night for fear of wild trolls. Back then, it was illegal for anyone to “sit out” by the stones, “and wake the trolls”, and anyone found to do so would’ve been tried for witchcraft and divination, and would face terrible punishment. 

Edda had never before ventured into the wilderness past nightfall. She was a good girl and a smart girl, and good smart girls knew to stay at home after dark. Yet, as the sun sank low and the shadows grew long, Edda told her mother that she would retire to bed, and instead put a straw doll beneath the covers and snuck out of the home, carrying a small lantern and a baby basket. 

It is said that trolls are cannibals, who eat children and pick the meat from their teeth with what remains of their bones. It is said trolls can take away a child’s heart and replace it with mud and stone, and drive the child to do all manners of wickedness. And it is known by all that they are exceptionally cruel to those of warm blood and soft flesh. Edda shivered beneath her cloak, but pressed on, climbing between pale boulders that piled high into the mountain. In the flickering light of her lamp, the crags cast shadows like laughing faces, which beckoned her - “come near, come far, come further yet, come near our dwelling between the clouds beneath the earth.”  

Edda showed no fear, and blindly stepped between the pathless stones. She knew that by this point, even if she tried to turn back, she would be lost. She climbed past the mist and through the clouds. In the fog, her lamp was of no use, and she could not tell the bottom of a slope from the end of a cliff. She trusted that she would not fall, for she could feel the earth shift beneath her, stones rolling back and forth to grant her safe passage. As she had hoped, her presence must’ve piqued the troll’s curiosity, and at the very least, they will guide her to their hall and allow an audience with the three monstrous brothers who were known to rule this mountain. 

The wind giggled between nooks and crannies, shrieking in dangerous delight. Finally, Edda stopped walking when a large pile of stones blocked her path. She thought to herself, “This must be a burial mound, where Trolls are known to keep their secret doors and hidden treasures– by the bodies of old heroes that they had slain.” She inched just a bit closer to look between the piled stones, and there, she saw six eyes - three pairs of two that reflected from the mound like gems. 

Politely, she stepped back, and straightened her apron dress. In the dimming light of the lamp, which would soon go out, she fished out three items from the basket and laid them on the ground. A piece of dark bread. A skin full of sheep’s milk. And a strange, yellow lump. This lump, she had bought using all of the inheritance left to her by her late father, which was meant for her dowry, from a strange old beggar woman. This woman, who had a back bent like a swan’s neck, promised the girl that this was genuine Trollcat butter. Meaning, this was milk suckled by a witch's familiar and spat out as the richest, most coveted butter there ever was. Edda hoped that this offering would please the trolls, or at least satisfy their hunger long enough for her to speak her bargain to them. 

 “Before you is bread made of the year’s tallest harvest, milk from our fattest sheep, and butter churned from a witch's trollcat familiar - the best and richest feast. Of my own volition, I will turn off the light so you may move freely, and then, we will speak.” She threw her lantern to the ground, the flame flashed its final roar, and was then completely gone. Immediately, she heard the horde scuttle around her, poking at her legs, pulling at her cloak, though she could not see a thing. She grounded herself firmly, betraying no emotion, though truthfully, she had never been so scared. Once her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and the blue light of the moon found its way between the clouds, the feast had all been eaten, and three large figures stood in front of the mound. 

The first troll, tall like a young ash tree, spoke with a soft voice:  “You will follow us into the fortress inside the mountain, where there are many jewels.” Edda knew the fate of those who entered the mountain fortress, and thus said “ I will not.” 

The second troll, tall like a silver birch, spoke resentfully, in a scathing tone: “You will lend us your form, so we may walk freely in the sun.” Edda knew the fate of those who gave their form to the trolls, and so responded “I will not.” And before the final troll, the eldest one who was tall like an ancient spruce, could make his final offer, Edda spoke her bargain. 

“I will ask you three questions, and if you can answer one of them correctly, you can kill me where I stand. But, if you are wrong three times out of three, you will grant me one favor." 

The trolls looked amongst themselves, considering the offer. They decided to play along, for they were curious to hear the riddles, and were confident that their decades old wisdom should suffice to outsmart a silly little girl. It is also true that a Troll’s word is not entirely binding, and if they did not like Edda’s riddles, they could just eat her anyways. 

 “Very well”, said the eldest troll, with a voice that had seen seedlings grow into trees, and trees die of old age, many times. 

Edda turned to the youngest troll, and took out a shawl from the baby basket. “To whom does this belong?” 

The small troll felt the soft cloth, and responded “This shawl belongs to me. I was cradled in it as an infant, by the humans who cared for me, thinking I was their own.” The young troll spoke with fondness, as he recalled warm nights by the fire that comforted him even though he had moss for veins and skin of stone. Edda disagreed. 

“No, this shawl does not belong to you. Two more tries to go.” 

The youngest troll was furious, and resolved to kill the girl once the riddles were done. Edda then turned to the second eldest troll. She looked inside the baby basket, now almost entirely empty, and after a moment, found what she was looking for. She handed the troll a small piece of a broken broomstick. 

“To whom does this belong?” 

The moment the troll saw the broom stick, he knew the answer without a shred of doubt. “This stick belongs to me, for it was broken over my head as an infant when my human parents realized I was not their own.” The troll spoke with fury, for he recalled the human’s disapproval of his crying, of his hunger and of his face that made them cruel enough for the trolls to hear his cries and take him back to the cold. 

Easily, and nonchalantly, Edda said “No, you are wrong.” 

And in his grief, the second brother resolved to kill her once the riddles were done. Finally, the girl turned to the eldest brother, and handed him the now empty baby basket, decorated with twigs and rosemaling. The eldest troll smelled the basket, and knew immediately to whom it belonged, but did not want to answer, for fear that then he would have to kill the girl. 

“The basket, the broom and the shawl all belong to the son of the troll in front of me, who had been left at my mother’s doorstep, for he is the only male heir left to our house. But at present, I am afraid he is soon to die, for no warmth reaches him, and no food satisfies him, and day by day he grows weak. And since none of you have answered my riddles correctly, I will now demand my boon- give me the means to care for your tot, for this much you owe to me.” 

 From the mound, the trolls brought forth the ancient horn of infinite drinking. Edda thanked them politely, but before she left the eldest troll told her to stack as many stones as she could into the basket and take them with her. Although this was a time consuming task, and although the stones were heavy, Edda agreed, for she still knew to fear the trolls. By the time she was done, dawn had nearly reached the mountains, and Edda had to say her farewell. In the early light, she saw all manner of strange sediments - bulbus and sharp and mountain shaped- which she was certain, yesterday night, were not there. Still, she did not stop, and carried the heavy basket all the way home. There, she opened the basket, and discovered that all the stones had been transformed into gold. And when she gave the crying child water from the infinite horn, he soon began to grow healthy and strong. 

And thus Edda and her mother and her brother all lived happily ever after, or at the very least, as reasonably happy as anyone might be.

Image: The Troll and the Boy by John Bauer