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A Troll Tale

A Story from the World of Carthage

By: Sheila Buck and Katherine Hamilton

She had finally received her retirement. Her Master had just informed her that she would be leaving in the morning for her trip to Troll City. ‘I am so happy,’ she thought; she rushed straight home to pack the few belongings that she planned to take with her on her journey. As she entered the big rust-colored barn and climbed the ladder to the hayloft, her two grandbabies stopped playing in the lower level to watch.

She didn’t own much, but over her years of service, she collected a few small things that sparked her interest. She was odd in that. Most trolls didn’t have anything but the ragged clothes on their backs. She picked up the mirror that her Mistress had thrown away. It had a crack down the center, but other than that it was fine. She glanced at herself as she was getting ready to wrap it up in an old dress.

Her brown eyes stared back at her. Her face had many wrinkles and her hair had gone completely white. ‘I got old,’ she thought as she looked at her face. She sighed and finished wrapping the mirror in one of her dresses. She set out her best dress for the morning, and packed her one other dress with her mirror in the sack. The dresses all had holes in them, but they were the best she had.

She looked around the small room to see if there was anything else to pack. Her eyes wandered across the bare wooden walls and over the small pile of hay that was her bed. Her ratty old blanket lay in a heap on the hay. It had many holes, and smelled of mold, but it was hers. She thought about packing it, but decided it was better to leave it to her grandbabies. It wasn’t much, but it would help them stay warmer in the winter.

When she had finished packing and turned to leave the room, she noticed her two grandbabies standing in the doorway. They each had tears in their eyes. Their round faces, dirt and all, looked up at her with questions in their eyes. Mud Pie, her granddaughter, said to her, “Why are you putting all your stuff in that sack, Grandma?” Her grandson, Swamp, did not say anything because he was unable to talk.

She was starting to feel very sad. “I am going to Troll City,” she told them. “I hate to leave you, but I have worked so long and so hard. It’s time for me to go. Your Momma will take good care of you after I’m gone. I promise.” She wanted to make sure they knew that they wouldn’t be alone, and that they might see each other again someday.

She sat them down with her on her pile of hay. One little troll on each side. She put a small arm around each of them and said, “I am 35 years old. That makes me a very old troll. Since I could walk, I have worked very hard for our Master and our Mistress. I have cleaned and even done a bit of cooking. I have worked hard in the fields. Now I am done with all of the hard work. I am ready to leave this place and live the rest of my life in Troll City.”

She moved her hands down to each of the children’s backs and started to rub each. “You have heard the wonderful stories spoken of Troll City. Do you not want to go there someday?” Both of the children shook their heads yes. “Would you like it if I told you a tale about the city?” They nodded. She hoped that her tale of Troll City would make her leaving easier for them.

“Many years ago, long before I was born, there wasn’t any place for old trolls to go. Instead, we worked for our Masters until we fell over dead, or until one of the Mukesh raids on the town took us away, never to be seen again. This was a sad thing for the trolls because we didn’t get to have any fun before we died. It was just work, work, work, and more work.”

She glanced down at her two grandbabies, looking up at her with wonder in their eyes. They couldn’t remember the time of the raids. She knew that this all must seem so strange to them, to think that their cozy barn, so close to the main house of their Master and his Mistress, could be anything but the safest place in the world. She remembered thinking the same things when her mother and grandmother had told her these same tales.

“The Mukesh were big and mean and hairy, and they took little trolls, and even little Masters and Mistresses, out into the woods. My grandmother told me that her grandmother said you could hear them screaming as the ogres dragged them up the mountains and down into the caves where they live. All the Masters had been trying to find a way to stop the ogres from coming into the village and taking their babies.”

“Tell us about Sludge, Grandma, please?” asked Mud Pie. Swamp nodded vigorously on her other side. She smiled at them, exposing the few brown teeth she had left. Sludge was a tale they had grown up with.

“Sludge was one of the first trolls to go to troll city. He was not a big troll, or a very small troll, either, but just an average troll,” she continued. “His mother and father raised him to be a hard worker, but he made a lot of mistakes. He always tried his hardest. He worked for the same Master that his parents had worked for, and he was a kind Master. When trolls got old, he would send them out to a corner of the far field, where there was a hut for them, and they were allowed to rest there until they died. Sludge saw his parents grow old, and then said goodbye to them when it was time for them to move out to the hut in the field. Sludge decided one day that if he could do all the tasks that his Master could set for him, without being asked, maybe his Master would let him go and visit his parents. He hadn’t seen them in a long time, and he missed them. The raids from the ogres had been bad that year, and he was worried about them. He wanted to make sure they were okay. So for a long time, Sludge worked as hard as he could, doing every chore he could think of. Then Sludge went to his Master and knelt before him and asked to go see his mother and father.”

“Sludge was very nervous, because he didn’t think anyone had ever asked this of his Master before. He was not surprised when his Master replied with, ‘No, Sludge. You may not go visit your parents in the outer field.’ This made Sludge very sad, and he began to get up and leave when his Master told him, ‘I know you have worked your very hardest for me Sludge. I would allow you to visit your parents, but they are not there. They didn’t survive the winter.’ Sludge began to cry.”

“The Master rubbed his back. ‘However,’ he said, ‘the other Masters and I have devised a way to stop the Mukesh raids, and have created a new place outside the town.’ Sludge did not know what to think about this turn of events, but knew it wasn’t his place to question his Master. ‘Sludge,’ said his Master, ‘You have worked very hard for your whole life. We have created a city for trolls to go when they retire. A place where all trolls who work hard all of their lives can go, and live out the rest of their days in peace. A place where we Masters do not go.’ Sludge was very excited. After all, his Master had seen how hard he worked and now his Master was going to reward his hours of struggle. A whole city of just trolls! Troll City sounded like a wonderful place to Sludge.”

“Soon after, Sludge and a few other trolls whose Masters felt had worked very hard for their whole lives, climbed into the wagon that the Masters had made just for the trip. One of the Masters climbed into the seat to drive them, and they rode out of town.”

“Troll city is such a wonderful place, with games and mud pits, and lots of trolls to play with. There are no Masters to yell at them, and no extra chores to be done. It is so wonderful there, that once we get there, we never want to leave. And that, my little ones, is why trolls don’t come back from Troll City. We just wait there, knowing that we have taught all of you young ones well, and that you will work hard. That way, one day, you can come join us there, and we will all be together again. You will work hard, right? So you can come be with me again?”

Mud Pie and Swamp both nodded. “We will, Grandma, we promise. Don’t we Swamp?” said Mud Pie to her brother, who nodded even harder and fell right off the side of the hay pile. He looked sheepishly up at them, and they both chuckled at him.

“Okay then, little ones, scat with you so I can finish packing and get some sleep. It is a long journey to Troll City, and I want to be awake to see the whole thing.” She swatted them on the butts and sent them out the door.

The next day dawned bright. The sky was blue and the birds were chirping. She had gotten a wonderful night’s sleep and was looking forward to the trip. She gathered up her ratty old sack from the corner of the small room, thinking to herself, ‘Goodbye, room, you have served me well,’ and she turned and left her little space for the last time.

Mud Pie and Swamp were already at the table when she went out to the little open area they used as a kitchen. “Good morning,” she said to her youngest family members. “Are you up to see me off?” They nodded, and Mud Pie’s eyes started to get damp. “No tears, now,” she told them. “This is a happy day for me, and I won’t have you making it all mushy.”

“Yes, Grandma, we’ll be good, we promise. We’ll miss you, though.” Mud Pie and Swamp came around their little table and hugged her as tight as they could. She rubbed each on the back and held them tight for a moment.

“Okay, you two, help an old troll carry her things outside.” She gave each a pat on the head as they went to get her bag from the doorway where she had left it. They each picked up one end and started toward the big front door. She followed them outside, into the bright light of day. It was a big difference from the darkness inside. She hoped that the barn would be a good home for her babies, and her baby’s babies, and their babies after them. There would be more room now, and Swamp and Mud Pie could stop sleeping in the kitchen corner and move into her old room. Even if the walls were just old boards with knotholes in them, her old hay pile, with her old blanket, was better than the floor.

She stood by the road with her bag at her side, waiting for the wagon that would come to pick her up. It wasn’t long before she saw it coming down the street, pulled by an old mule wearing a straw hat. Its big ears poked out of holes on each side. The cover over the wagon was painted with pictures in bright red, showing trolls playing games and having fun. ‘It looks very grand,’ she thought. Trolls only got to ride in a wagon once in their whole lives, and she was looking forward to it like she had never looked forward to anything before.

The Master driving the wagon stopped it in front of her, and the shorter Master riding with him got down to help her up into the back of the wagon. She sat next to another troll on one of the long benches that ran the length of the wagon, and the short Master slid her bag to her, which she tucked under her seat. She waved to her grandbabies through the doorway in the back until she could no longer see them.

She looked at the troll next to her. He was one of the trolls who worked for the Master just down the road. She had seen him before. He was even older than she was. Her brow furrowed in thought. ‘Stump, that’s his name,’ she finally remembered. She had walked with him once or twice to the market that had been in the center of town. Her Master’s house had been just on the edge of town, and Stump’s place had been just a bit closer. He had been nice enough and sharing the walk had made it go by faster.

As the wagon rolled out of town, she and the other trolls began to talk about what they wanted to do first when they got to the city. They were all happy to finally be on their way, and there was a lot of smiling and laughing. They watched out the back of the wagon as trees and the road fell behind them. They talked and played hand games for what seemed like hours. Some of the trolls started singing and soon they had all joined in. They sang songs they had grown up with and some news ones they had learned or made up as they got older.

After a while, they ran out of stuff to say and, even though she tried not to, she dozed off. When the wagon started the climb into the mountains, a bump woke her up. As the road climbed, it got rougher. There were trenches in the road from where water had run down it. All the trolls had to hold on tight, so they wouldn’t slide out the back.

Afternoon turned into evening as the wagon neared the end of the trees. The driver pulled off the road and into a cleared space. She got very excited, because she knew they were there. The trolls all climbed out of the wagon, feeling very young and full of energy. They began talking excitedly all over again, and the air was full of anticipation.

To one side of the flattened place there was a wooden fence, set in a circle. The fence was made of rough-hewn boards with posts set into the ground. Spaces between the boards showed there was nothing inside. There was a gate facing the road made of the same boards, with leather hinges. The latch was nothing more than a leather strip, with a big metal ball hanging on the end that went into a wooden catch on the fence post.

In the ground near the fence, was a big wooden post with a cross bar on the top. It had a big circle of flat metal hanging from it. The gong looked to be made of brass. A strip of leather with a metal rod attached to the end was nailed to the post. The Master who had driven the wagon went to stand by the pole, and the short Master told the trolls they needed to wait in the fence until the other trolls were signaled to come for them. She was a bit confused. She had expected to see other trolls when she got off the wagon, but there was no one to be seen.

The short Master herded the trolls into the fence and shut the gate. ‘Why does the gate need to be shut,’ she wondered. The thought passed as the other Master lifted the metal rod and used it to hit the gong. The sound was very loud in such an empty place. As soon as he finished, the Master dropped the rod and walked back to the wagon. The short Master had already climbed back up and they turned the wagon and headed back down the road.

She shoved her way to the gate and pressed her face against the wooden slats. The encroaching darkness made it harder to see. As the wagon rolled out of sight, she saw something moving up the hill from them. ‘That doesn’t look like a troll,’ she thought. As it got closer, other trolls noticed it, too. Then one of the other trolls screamed.

She stood frozen, unable to make a sound, as the ogre came up to the gate. Behind him several others were coming. He was so big. He had animal fur all over his legs and bones tied around his waist. The others were dressed very much the same. They all had holes in their trousers, and they were all very ugly and mean looking. As the ogre reached for the latch on the gate, she glanced at the gong. ‘The Masters called them,’ she finally reasoned to herself. ‘They lied to me, to us. Why would they do this?’

The ogre opened the gate, grabbed the nearest troll, and tucked her up under his arm. The poor girl was terrified, and kicked and screamed and bit and pulled at the bulging, hairy arm that held her, but it did no good. One by one, they were all scooped up by the ogres and carried off to the caves.

Inside, they put all but three of the trolls into a small dent in the wall, and a rock was rolled in front of it. She looked at the other two, trying to figure out what would happen next. The cave was dark, and smelled of rotten meat and excrement. One of the ogres held up a smoking torch and motioned to the others to follow.

The ogres carried them deeper into the cave. At the back of the cave a large ogre woman was waiting. She had big, pointed sticks, and a fire burning. Tears rolled down the little trolls’ faces as two of them watched the ogress put one of the sticks into the mouth of the first troll and push it all the way through his little body. She lifted him up on the stick and set him over the fire to roast.

A horrible taste rose up into her mouth from her stomach. The ogre arm holding her had begun to loosen and she had the sinking feeling she would be next. Warmth spread between her legs, and the pee dripped from her feet. She tried to fight the big arm that held her as the ogress came toward her with another of the sticks, but it was useless.

The ogre set her on her feet, his grip nearly crushing the bones in her arms, and another one pried her mouth open. She tried to scream, but the awkward angle they were holding her head at made it impossible. The ogress came closer with her big pointed stick. All she could think about was her grandbabies; how everything they had ever known was a lie. Blood poured into her mouth as the point of the stick went through the back of her throat. She had never known that blood tasted like copper coins. She could feel the stick as it went down through her throat and into her belly, then the pain drove all thought from her head.