The Boy Who Tricked the Troll

Once there was a boy who lived on a small farm at the edge of a moor. He was not big, not strong, and not especially obedient, but he was quick of thought. His name was Kári, and his mother often said his mouth ran faster than his feet.

One autumn day she sent him up into the hills to look for a lost ram. The weather was clear when he set out, but on the moor a day can turn to night before one can turn back. Fog rolled down from the mountain, grey and thick, and soon Kári could barely see his own staff before him.

He called for the ram but got no answer save an echo.

Then he heard another sound. Not bleating. Breathing. Heavy breathing, as though someone were blowing through a cave-mouth.

Kári turned slowly. Behind him stood a troll. It was huge, shaggy, with a nose so long its shadow lay across its chest. Its eyes were yellow-brown and hungry.

"What are you doing on my moor?" asked the troll.

Kári swallowed. "I'm looking for a ram."

"I found a boy," said the troll. "That's better."

It seized Kári between two fingers and carried him like a small sack to its cave. Inside stood a great pot over a fire, and the smell told Kári that no berry soup was being cooked there.

"I'm going to eat you tonight," said the troll.

"That would be a shame," said Kári.

The troll paused. "Why?"

"I'm so small," said Kári. "You'll be hungrier after me than before. But if you let me find the ram first, then you'll get both me and the ram."

The troll scratched its head. It had not thought of that.

"Ram is good," it muttered.

"Very good," said Kári. "But I can't find it bound here."

The troll took a rope and bound it round his waist. "You won't go far."

Kári walked out of the cave with the troll behind him. The fog was still thick. He saw a large stone, and then he had his first idea.

"My ram is strong," he said. "If you mean to catch him, you'll need to show me you're stronger."

The troll laughed. "I'm the strongest on the moor."

"Can you squeeze water out of this stone, then?" asked Kári, taking out a small piece of white cheese his mother had put in his pocket. He hid it in his palm along with a stone.

The troll took a large stone and squeezed. Nothing happened, except that its fingers turned grey with dust.

Kári took his "stone," squeezed the cheese, and whey ran between his fingers.

The troll stared. "You're strong for such a small man."

"I told you," said Kári. "But strength isn't enough. My ram is clever too. Can you throw a stone so high it never comes down again?"

The troll took a boulder and threw it. It flew high, vanished into the fog, and came down with a crash that shook the ground.

Kári took a little bird from a bush where he had hidden it, for the bird had tangled its foot in the heather. Kári had freed it earlier in the day. Now he let it go from his palm.

"Watch," he said.

The bird flew up and vanished into the fog.

The troll waited. Nothing came down.

"This isn't fair," it muttered.

"No," said Kári. "The moor is rarely fair."

The troll had grown a bit unsure by now. Still, it was hungry.

"Now into the pot," it said.

"Wait," said Kári. "If you eat me without washing me first, you'll get earth and fog with me. It tastes bad."

The troll sniffed him and nodded. "Earthy boy."

They walked to a brook. The water was cold and the current strong. Kári saw that the rope around his waist hung loose in the troll's hand.

"You need to wash me well," said Kári. "Mother says I'm terribly dirty."

The troll bent over the brook. Kári pretended he meant to wash himself, but quickly tied the rope instead around a large stone in the bank.

"Now you may pull me up," he said, and jumped himself behind another stone.

The troll pulled. The stone didn't budge.

"You're heavier than you look!" it roared.

"I told you I wasn't an ordinary boy," Kári called.

The troll pulled again, with all its might. Then the stone suddenly broke loose from the bank and rolled into the brook. The troll lost its balance, fell forward, and crashed into the water with such a noise that the fog tore apart.

Kári ran.

He ran down off the moor, over heath and stone, until he saw the lights of his farm. The ram stood there calmly by the home-field fence, as though it had never been lost at all.

Kári's mother met him with anger in her eyes and relief on her face. "Where have you been?"

"Teaching a troll to think," said Kári.

She was about to scold him, but then, far up on the moor, came an angry roar and a splash in the brook.

After that, Kári went less often alone to the moor. But when he did, he always had a bit of cheese in his pocket.

For one never knows when one might need to squeeze water from a stone.