Boots and the Troll

Boots and the Troll

Once, in a Norwegian valley between dark fir trees and a lake, a poor man lived with his three sons. After their father died, the two older brothers decided to seek their fortunes at the royal court.

“You stay here,” they told the youngest. “All you know how to do is sit by the hearth and poke about in the ashes.”

That was why they called him Ash Lad. But he took no offense.

“We’ll see what turns out to be useful,” he said.

His brothers took the good clothes and the things that were light to carry. All that remained for the youngest was an old wooden trough for kneading dough.

“What do you want that for?” his brothers laughed.

“I don’t know,” the boy replied. “But it’s sturdy. It may come in handy.”

He hoisted the trough onto his back and set out, too.

The older brothers quickly found work at the royal palace: one helped the coachman, the other the gardener. At first, no one wanted to hire the youngest.

“There are no jobs,” they told him.

But he offered,

“I can carry water, chop wood, scrub pots, and do all the things other people don’t like.”

The cook looked at him and waved a hand.

“All right. Just don’t be lazy.”

The boy was not lazy. He worked quickly, joked with the cooks, helped the servants, and never walked past a job if he saw that someone’s hands were full.

Soon, everyone at the palace liked him.

His older brothers did not like that at all.

Directly opposite the palace, on the far shore of the lake, a troll lived inside a rocky mountain. Seven silver ducks swam near his home. They shone so brightly in the sunshine that they could be seen from the royal windows.

The king had admired them for a long time.

One day, the older brothers told the coachman,

“Our younger brother has been boasting that he could easily bring the king those silver ducks.”

The boy had said nothing of the kind. But the words reached the king.

“They say you can get seven silver ducks,” the king said.

“They aren’t saying it, Your Majesty. They’re making it up,” the boy replied.

“Still, I’m curious whether you can.”

The boy was quiet for a moment.

“Give me some rye and wheat. I’ll try talking to the ducks.”

He poured the grain into that same old trough and carried it to the lake. Suddenly, he understood why he had brought the heavy thing all that way.

The trough floated beautifully.

“You see,” the boy told it, “you’ve become a boat.”

He crossed the lake, scattered grain along the shore, and softly called the ducks. The silver birds came closer and closer, until all seven hopped into the trough.

The boy pushed away from the bank.

Halfway across, the troll burst out of his cave.

“Hey!” he thundered. “Did you take my silver ducks?”

“I did!” the boy answered honestly.

“Will you come back?”

The boy thought, then shouted,

“I very well might!”

The king was delighted with the ducks. The brothers grew even greener with envy.

A few days later, they whispered to the coachman again,

“Our brother said he could bring the king the troll’s quilt. It has a gold patch, a silver patch, then another gold one and another silver one.”

The king summoned the boy.

“Did you promise that, too?”

“No,” the boy sighed. “But I’m beginning to guess who made the promise for me.”

He thought for three days. Then he crossed the lake in the trough again.

Outside the troll’s cave, a wonderful patchwork quilt hung in the sun. It shimmered with gold and silver. The boy waited until no one was in sight, took the quilt down, and quickly paddled back.

The troll ran to the shore.

“Did you take my ducks?”

“I did!”

“And now my quilt?”

“I did!”

“Will you come back?”

“It looks that way!”

The king was thrilled. The boy was given a better job and a little room closer to the kitchen.

But his older brothers still could not leave him alone.

For the third time, they said,

“Our brother boasted that he could bring the troll’s golden harp. It is so magical that a sad person who hears it remembers how to be joyful.”

When the boy heard the new order, he shook his head.

“This time will be harder.”

He took a little iron nail, a birch stick, and a piece of a wax candle. Then he crossed the lake and walked near the cave.

The troll saw him at once.

“At last!” he thundered. “You’ve come yourself!”

He caught the boy by his collar and carried him into the cave.

“You’ll sit in the storeroom until I decide what to do with you. My ducks have vanished, my quilt has vanished, and now you’re prowling around my harp!”

The troll locked him in and left his daughter to guard the door.

A day passed. Then another.

The troll’s daughter brought the boy food and asked each time,

“Have you decided to admit why you’re doing all this?”

“Yes. The king demanded it, and my brothers deliberately put the ideas into his head.”

“What a strange family you have,” she said.

“I can’t argue with that.”

The boy noticed that the door’s lock was old. When the troll’s daughter slipped the key through a little opening, he secretly used the nail, the birch stick, and the wax to work out the shape of the mechanism.

By the third day, he knew how to slide the bolt aside.

“May I show you a kitchen trick?” he asked the troll’s daughter.

“What kind?”

“You only need to bring a big bowl and a towel.”

She opened the door. The boy began explaining how they covered dough with a towel at the palace, in such a funny way that the troll’s daughter laughed and turned away for a moment. The boy darted out of the storeroom. But instead of pushing her or fighting, he simply shut the door from the other side.

“I’ll ask your father to let you out soon!” he promised.

The golden harp hung inside the cave.

The boy touched a string.

Ting!

The sound was so clear that even the stone walls seemed brighter.

He took the harp and ran to the lake.

When the troll returned, his daughter was already shouting from the storeroom,

“Father! He’s escaped!”

The troll opened the door and rushed to the shore.

The boy was already in the middle of the lake.

“Did you take my ducks?” the troll roared.

“I did!”

“My quilt?”

“I did!”

“And my golden harp?”

The boy raised the harp above his head.

“Yes!”

The troll was so angry that he stamped his foot. Ripples spread across the water by the shore.

But suddenly, the boy stopped paddling.

“Listen!” he called. “I’ll return the ducks and the quilt.”

The troll fell silent.

“What?”

“They’re yours. The king wanted them, and I was foolish not to argue. I’ll return the harp, too, if you ask. But first I want to finish the task and show that my brothers can no longer control me with their made-up stories.”

The troll scratched his shaggy head.

“You’re a strange thief.”

“I’ve realized that myself.”

“And will you really come back?”

The boy smiled.

“I did warn you three times that I would.”

At the palace, he played the golden harp. The melody was so warm that the cook stopped being angry about a burnt pie, the stable boy forgot his wet boots, and the king suddenly laughed louder than he had in years.

Then the boy set the harp on the table.

“Your Majesty, I have completed all three tasks. Now please hear me out. The ducks, the quilt, and the harp belong to the troll. My brothers lied when they said I had boasted, and you sent me to take someone else’s things.”

The hall grew quiet.

The king looked at the older brothers.

They lowered their eyes.

“Is this true?” he asked.

“It is,” they muttered.

The king blushed.

“So I, too, believed what I heard without checking.”

The next day, the royal servants carried the silver ducks and the patchwork quilt to the lake. The boy himself crossed to the troll with the golden harp.

“Here are your belongings,” he said.

The troll took the ducks and unfolded the quilt, but he did not take the harp.

“Keep it.”

“Why?”

“Because you came back when you could have stayed away. And my daughter said you didn’t hurt her when you escaped. Let the harp remind you: cleverness is only good when you also have the courage to put right what you have done.”

The boy bowed.

When he returned to the palace, the king offered him an important position. The older brothers expected revenge, but the youngest said,

“Let them work beside me. Only from now on, each of us must answer for his own words.”

In time, the boy became friends with the king’s daughter. She had long watched how he worked, laughed with the cooks, chose not to take revenge on his brothers, and returned the troll’s belongings. They talked a great deal, walked by the lake, and one day decided they wanted to be together.

The golden harp played at their wedding.

On the far shore, the seven silver ducks swam and glittered in the sunshine.

They say the troll listened to the music from his cave, too. When anyone asked whether he missed his harp, he grumbled,

“I do. But sometimes a good story is worth more than gold.”

And he hid his smile in his beard.

May this story leave a little light in your heart ✨