Once, there lived a small village. It was a modest village, with a population of less than five hundred people. And this village was situated by the side of a wide river, providing the village inhabitants with a plentiful supply of clean water to drink. The villagers had also constructed a beautiful stone bridge that stretched across the river so they could come and go as they pleased.
One day, one of the children of the village traveled beneath the bridge to play, and when he got down there he let out a shriek. His mother came running, and when she got down there she saw it: a terrifying water troll had been living beneath the village’s bridge. She gathered up her son and rushed back to the village, where she informed the rest of the townsfolk of what she had seen.
This sent the villagers into an uproar. People were yelling at each other about what should be done about the troll, whether they are really as vicious as the legends say, and whether it really is true that they like to snack on children. Suddenly, the village leader called out for silence, and in turn the town square went quiet. She declared that the village will attempt to befriend the troll. Murmurs immediately erupted throughout the crowd. She then declared that this decree could not and would not be negotiated. Many of the people of the village agreed with the leader: there was no reason not to trust this troll. After all, as the woman had said, her son discovered the troll first, and it would seem the troll was not aggressive towards him nor his mother. Besides, who were they to question their village leader? However, under the cover of the darkness of night, some villagers began talking. They did not trust this troll, and they were going to do something about it.
So, this group of rebels sent out one of their own, one of the village’s best hunters, to go hunt and kill the troll. The plan was for her to go out and kill the troll, and then afterwards meet the group at an agreed upon location so that she could be hidden, lest she fall under the wrath of the village leader. So, she set out, and the group waited. They passed the time first by sharing legends they had heard of trolls in the past, then slowly conversation moved to other topics. They talked and talked until night fell, and still there was no sign of the girl. So, two of the group members went out in search of the girl, and the other two stayed in case of her return. The two that stayed waited anxiously for news before slowly giving way to slumber. Eventually, they were awoken by their comrades, only to be informed that they had found no sign of the girl. Frightened and dismayed, the villagers returned to their homes, praying the girl would return. As the leader continued to send villagers out with offerings to the troll, the rebels began to grow suspicious of her. Perhaps she had something to do with the disappearance of their friend. And if it were not the leader who had done her in, then it was certainly that troll. So, the members began to talk to other villagers, and those villagers began to talk with other villagers, and, soon enough, almost half the village now opposed the friendly relations being made with the troll. Over time, the girl who was lost became a martyr to these people. Portraits were painted of her and hung in places where they would meet. They waited for the perfect time to strike, for when its mask would slip and it would reveal itself as the killer it really was.
Just as this faction was growing larger than ever, the village finally convinced the troll to be its ally. Still, the troll preferred to stay in its spot beneath the bridge. Villagers would bring the troll fruit, and in return the troll would give the villagers fish. As spring turned to summer, the village decided that it would throw a festival to celebrate the new season, and the bountiful fruit harvest that came with it. All of the villagers gathered outside the village, dancing and eating delicious, ripe fruit. Hearing the cheering and music, the troll emerged from beneath the bridge to join in on the fun. It began to dance along with everyone, and its stomping attracted the attention of the crowd. The rebels had had enough. Some of them started yelling at the troll, telling it that it was a danger to the village, and trying to convince the rest of the village as well.
Something other than the troll had heard the commotion, too. Within a nearby cave, a serpentine monster heard voices, and smelled food, and its stomach growled. The creature emerged, eyes glowing and mouth foaming, and struck down the stage on which a band was performing for the village. Next, it locked its eyes on the village leader, unaware of the situation. The troll, seeing the monster lunge toward her, jumped out in defense and stopped it. The troll let out a mighty roar, picked up the monster, and threw it off into the distance. If the monster was not dead, then it was certainly scared away.
Then, the troll collapsed, revealing a deep gash formed by the monster on its back. The people of the village begged the troll to wake up, but it was no use. The festival ended not with a celebration of life, but with the mourning of a lost friend.
That night, one of the villagers ventured under the bridge to place some flowers she had picked, in remembrance of the troll. She had wanted the troll killed, and was now racked with guilt over his sacrifice. Only, when she arrived, she found something there that she never would have expected: a baby troll, waddling about in the dirt by the river. She decided the best thing to do was to bring it home. And when she arrived, the baby raised its arms, but not towards her. She turned to see what the baby was looking at: the portrait of the missing woman she had hanging on her wall. The baby made grabbing motions with its hands, and said “mama.”
Back