Troll Epidemic
or How To Cure Thievery

A few years ago I let Minta in on my barrel-bank heist [see “Terrible Liar”], and the troll that very rarely laughs did indeed do just that when I described Lisbet’s straight face at my juvenile prevarications.

As an aside: Hearing a troll laugh is not a pleasant experience. Trolls were not made to laugh—just like German is a language that (in my opinion) was not meant to be sung. They smile a lot, though, trolls do. When happy they show two broad rows of (usually) yellowish teeth, and their eyes tend to glitter (and they breathe in a lot), but few things make them laugh and those things are mostly of the slapstick variety—someone falling flat on their behind, or getting chased out of the cave by their wife, stuff like that. Or falling in the river (especially since trolls hate what they call drown-water, and even hold death preferable to being immersed in the stuff), stuff like that. But when they do laugh, the sound is that of medium-sized stones rolling down a rocky slope, though not as loud perhaps. Or, like a very, very large cat purring, very slowly: maybe that’s better. Still, not pleasant. Cats are supposed to be small.

I have heard Minta laugh only a handful of times, and this was one of them.

“Not stupid, Lisbet,” she pointed out once the purring had come to a rest (i.e., ground to a rocky halt).

“Not even vaguely,” I agreed.

“Did you ever see that movie?” [Twenty Thousand Leagues Under The Sea] she then wondered.

“Ah, you would ask. Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. About thirty years later.”

“Was it as good as the poster promised you? Meet your expectations?”

I had to admit: “No, not really.”

Then, as the thought occurred to me—no censor around at the moment—I asked her, “Do you guys have trouble with kids stealing, you know, like I did—like humans do?”

“You guys?”

“Yes, you troll guys.”

She frowned a little and thought about that for a short spell, then said, “We used to, once upon a long time ago.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“This was a long, long time ago,” she said after a long inhale, at which point I shut up and just waited: for here came another story, I could tell, and I just loved her stories.

She took a long look at me and saw me good and ready for the feast. “A long, long time ago,” she said again, “taking what did not belong to you had grown into an epidemic problem among us.”

And this was the story Monta told.

:

This all took place about eight thousand seasons ago, long before I was born. Vittra—a tall, widowed troll woman, still a legend among us—had been our queen for going on four hundred seasons by this time. We had just arrived up here among the wolves and foxes and pine trees and wolverines and reindeers, and snow.

Queen Vittra had led our migration from the south, where the growing human populations were making life harder and harder for us—harder and harder to remain unseen, harder and harder to remain undisturbed. So, north we went through the dense forests and wild mountains hoping (Vittra said she was sure) that we would find a land of our own if we just kept heading north—and she was proven right.

Once we found our first mountain and settled in (quite a bit south of where we now live, just about where you’ll find Kiruna these days) the problem which had not been all that bad during our trek—everyone was too occupied with keeping up to be up to much mischief—now reared its ugly head again.

As before the trek, more and more often, tools could not be found; food gathered and stored grew legs and escaped their larders. Everyone knew what was happening, again, and most everyone who had things stolen from them would retaliate and steal something back, often not from those who had stolen from them but from whoever was fool enough to leave things lying about.

By this time some grew fed up with this and posted guards (mostly their kids) by their valuables to, if not prevent at least report these thefts, and who the culprit was. The kids got very good at hiding. The potential thieves had no idea they were being observed. The deed done, the kids would run to their parents (sometimes waking them up) and report.

This is how the bloodshed began.

The victim would now confront the observed thief and demand the goods back along with an apology and when this did not come about, out came the knives and the challenges and the fights and, in some cases, the deaths. It was a matter of pride and honor said both the victims and the (by now as a rule correctly) accused thieves.

And with death, of course, came revenge—for trolls are nothing if not amazing harborers of grudges. Queen Vittra first pleaded, then decreed, no more killing. Please. At first, lip service was paid to her entreaties, still: once revenge enters our blood it will lodge in our hearts and smolder there for as long as the wrong remains unavenged, sometimes for seasons, by which time the target might even have forgotten about the whole thing, about whatever might one day be avenged; but sooner or later the revenge would percolate to the surface and demand its execution and there would then be another knife and sometimes another death—justified by our laws if the killing was in truth retaliation, punishable by death if not.

By now, parents had taught their kids (so much harder to spot in the dark and so much quieter on smaller, softer feet) how to steal undetected, and also how to watch for lookouts—how to stealthily approach potential goods and then make off with it unnoticed—the thieving craft.

By now, a few seasons after we arrived here in the north, stealing had grown into an epidemic, a blood-spilling epidemic.

Naturally, Queen Vittra was very troubled about the turn of events, and therefore not surprised when several elders approached her for a sit-down. Granted, naturally.

She nodded her agreement even before the first troll had spoken, yes, the stealing and retaliation had gotten out of hand.

“You are our queen,” said Bark, the oldest of the elders, old even as the trek north began.

Vittra nodded in agreement.

“We look to you for leadership,” said Bark.

Vittra nodded again. Of course.

“We cannot live with this thievery and this knifing any longer. It is tearing the tribe apart.”

Again, she nodded. “I know. I know.”

“What then will you do, Vittra?”

She had thought about this long and hard. “Would you allow me free rein?” she asked

The elders looked at each other. This was an unusual request, for no king or queen would act, especially on urgent matters, without also first consulting the Council of Elders, which normally would delay most proposals, sometimes indefinitely (aka killing them in their tracks) for old trolls rarely if ever could agree on anything.

And this threatened to be just another such point of disagreement. However, as Second Elder (named Dunge) frowned and cleared his throat to object—you could tell by the glean in his eyes, and it was also known that Bark and Dunge rarely agreed on anything—Bark raised his hand and said, “Dunge. I know what you’re going to say, but I will ignore it. In this we must agree, the ongoing damage to our tribe is too grave for us to delay while we discuss and disagree. We must give Vittra what she asks for.”

“But free rein,” started Dunge.

“Shut up,” said the Elder behind Dunge. “Shut up,” said the Elder to the left of Dunge. “Shut up,” said the Elder to the right of Dunge. Dunge got the message and did as so thoroughly requested.

Bark looked at Vittra, “In this case, if you think you can stop the thieving and killing, we will grant you free rain,” he said.

“Hear, hear,” mumbled the Elders, even (after a few jabs in ribs) Dunge.

Vittra nodded. “So be it then. I will see to it that this nonsense stops.”

Dunge still had to add his view, “But not for longer than a season,” he said. Bark looked at him and then at the rest of the Elder, and nodded. “That, for a change, coming from Dunge, is a sensible suggestion.”

“Agreed,” mumbled the Elders, Dunge included, of course.

“One season,” said Bark to Vittra. “No longer.”

“That should be plenty of time,” said Vittra.

“You have something in mind?” said Bark.

“Yes, I have” said Vittra.

“May we know?” said Bark.

“No,” said Vittra.

:

Trolls have always been uneasy around snakes, and will always give them a wide berth when spotted—which, given the troll’s size and not always perfect eyesight, was not always the case, and sometimes they, clumsily, stepped on or near an adder or viper and got themselves bitten.

In the old southern days, many a troll got themselves killed this way for the warmer-climate snakes were often poisonous, even to trolls. In this fresh, northern climate, however, the snakes were not as lethal, and when bit the troll would hurt (sometimes badly) for a while but would as a rule survive, unless—which did not happen often since with better eyes and not so far to the ground, they spotted snakes more easily—very young, for they could indeed die.

Vittra was well aware of this, of the less dangerous northern snakes, and also of the natural consequence that the trolls’ respect and fear for them were lessening with each generation.

To be sure, they would never come to like snakes, but knowing they were not life-threatening up here, the tribe had grown quite relaxed about them.

Vittra, on the other hand, as was well known (as well as perplexing), rather liked snakes and could even speak snake tongue. Yes, a few trolls could (and still can); always females, who would as they grew older, select one or two or three younger females to in turn teach the sibilant tongue of these slithering things. That skill, especially in the South, was sometimes crucial to the tribe’s survival, though not so crucial up here, of course.

Still, the tradition survived and Vittra, by now fluent in snake tongue, had selected three of the younger females and was teaching them the ins and outs of this odd language.

Once the Elders had left the sit-down, Vittra rose and headed out of the mountain to find a particular adder named Blinda who was to the local snake community what Vittra was to the trolls. Blinda used to be called Krus but once she lost her eyesight, she was renamed Blinda, and it was as Blinda The Wise that she was chosen to lead them.

Vittra called in loud snake tongue for any snakes who heard her to make themselves known. Several responded, and while Vittra sat down they slid onto her lap and settled for the conference—enjoying the warm troll legs.

“I need to speak to Blinda,” she said.

“She is not well,” said one of the snakes. “Cannot make the journey.”

“I will walk to her,” said Vittra.

There was some quick and quiet hissing back and forth until the snake said, “I will take you.”

“I’ll carry you,” said Vittra. “You can guide me.”

Some more hissing. “Fine. That will work.”

“Is it far?” said Vittra.

“Two days for us, at speed. One day or less for you.”

“Wait here,” said Vittra. “Just a little while. I’ll be right back.”

She then returned to the mountain and collected food for the journey and also some choice meats as a gift for Blinda—and as thank you to the snake who was taking her there.

Returning to the snakes, she lifted up and settled her guide on her shoulders and set out according to his directions.

Walking through most of the light summer night (it was shortly after midsummer and the night did not grow dark at all) she arrived at Blinda’s den early morning. She put her guide down (and gave him a large morsel of deer meat to savor) who then slipped in to speak to Blinda.

He was gone so long that Vittra grew concerned, perhaps Blinda did not want to see her or was too ill to do so. Not long thereafter, however, her guide reappeared. “Follow me,” he said. Vittra did.

“Here,” he said, pointing at an old log. “Sit. Blinda is coming.”

And here she came, led by two younger snakes to show her the way. As Blinda came near, Vittra reached down and picked the old snake queen up and settled her in her broad, warm lap.

“You have walked far to see me, Vittra,” said Blinda. “So, the matter must be urgent.”

“It is urgent,” said Vittra, and then told Blinda about the epidemic of theft and retaliation back at the mountain, and her task to put an end to it.

“What can I do?” said Blinda.

“I know that your kind is not venomous enough to kill a troll,” said Vittra, “but I hope that you might know and can reach those that are.”

“You want to talk to snakes venomous enough to kill you?” If Blinda was surprised, and what snake wouldn’t be, she did not show it.

“Yes, Blinda.”

“Why?”

“I want a handful of them, well-hidden of course, to guard stealable goods, and to bite—and, yes, kill the stealer. Do you know of such snakes?”

Blinda said nothing for a long while, then finally said, “Midnight Snakes would kill a troll. They can kill a moose; they can kill a bear. They can kill a troll, too.

“Who are they? I have never heard of them.”

“Nor have you ever seen one,” said Blinda.

Vittra agreed. “No, never.” Then added, “Do they live here in the north?”

“They do,” said Blinda.

“Then,” asked Vittra, “why have I never seen a Midnight Snake?”

“Because they are color-shifters. They can blend into any background they choose and remain unseen to just about anyone but their own kind.”

“Like a chameleon?”

“Yes, just like a chameleon,” confirmed Blinda.

“And they are poisonous?”

“Very,” said Blinda.

“Even for trolls, you think?”

“I know.”

“Where do I find them?” asked Vittra.

“You could never find them,” said Blinda. “But I will send word to them.”

“They live nearby?”

“They live not far away but are shy of both human and troll. They prefer their own, remote forests, and their own, undisturbed hunts.”

“What do they look like?” said Vittra, then added, “If not blending.”

“Not unlike us,” said Blinda.

Vittra smiled at that and at the thought that followed. “Could a troll tell the difference between you and a Midnight Snake?”

“You might, if I tell you what to look for. If not, I doubt that.”

“Would they be willing to help?”

Again, Blinda took her time answering. Then asked:

“If they help you, what would you do for them in return?” said Blinda.

“I will promise that no northern troll will ever again hurt or kill a snake of any kind.”

“You can promise that?”

“Yes.”

“And you can make all northern trolls keep that promise?”

“I can, and I will.”

“I will call on Dark Moon, their leader.”

“Shall I wait or return?”

“Unless he’s away on a hunt, he will be here in less than a day, please stay here.”

:

Less than a day later Dark Moon did indeed arrive, and true to Blinda’s word, Vittra could not tell this Midnight Snake from the Northern Adder. Perhaps a little smaller, but the same coloring and markings; for all intents and purposes a small Adder.

Dark Moon settled in Vittra’s comfortable lap.

“I have seen few of your kind,” he said. “What is your name?”

“I have seen none of your kind,” said Vittra. “And my name is Vittra.”

“Oh, you might have. We sometimes travel south, though not often. You will have mistaken us for Blinda’s kind. But, yes, if we blended at the time, you would not have seen us at all.”

“How well do you blend,” asked Vittra.

At which point Dark Moon blended into Vittra’s lap so perfectly that he vanished. Her lap had taken on extra height, but other than that, there was no snake to be seen.

Vittra smiled and almost laughed.

Darm Moon returned to his native color and marking. “Blinda tells me that you need our help?”

“I do.”

“And you will promise never to hurt or kill one of our kind, or of Blinda’s kind in return.”

“No northern troll will ever hurt or kill a snake of any kind.”

“You can promise this?”

“I can and I do.”

“What can we do?”

Vittra explained the situation back at the mountain and what needed doing: she would like five Midnight Snakes to come with her, to guard stealable tools and other items and bite any troll who steals.

“That would kill them,” he pointed out.

“Yes, it would.” agreed Vittra.

“Stay here another day,” said Dark Moon. “Five Midnight Snakes will arrive before evening tomorrow.”

“I will remain right here,” said Vittra.

:

So it was that Vittra set out with five Midnight Snakes in her satchel the following evening, and walking through the night arrived at the mountain by dawn the following day.

She was met by Bark, the Elder, who informed her that one more killing had taken place in her absence. Retaliation was proven. Vittra sighed and said she hoped to have this taken care of by the next new moon.

Bark said he certainly hoped so and then asked if she would not let him know what her plan was.

“No,” said Vittra.

Bark shook his head, but not disrespectfully.

Vittra went into her private cave and let the five Midnight Snakes out of her satchel. “Hungry?” she asked.

Sirius, the leader of the five volunteers, said, “Always.”

Not that a snake can smile, but their sibilant language can convey moods and smiles, and Vittra smiled in return. “I’ll see to that,” she said, and did.

Once the five had eaten their fill of what Sirius called “lovely deer meat” Vittra called them to her and explained in more detail what she wanted them to do.

“Most trolls in the tribe have grown very protective of their belongings but there are a few, or more than a few, who still leave tools lying about for a clever, prospective thief to steal. You need to locate such tools or other such things and settle within biting distance from them, blended into invisibility.”

“We can do that,” said Evening Star.

“And if, or more likely once, another troll, be it child or adult, clearly steals that tool or thing, bite him—or her.”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“I am sure.”

“Really sure,” he asked.

“Really sure. But—and this is very important—you must be absolutely sure that the troll you bite is indeed a thief, that he or she has indeed just taken something not theirs.”

“I understand,” said Sirius.

“And,” added Vittra, “once one of you have bitten, all of you must return to my cave, here, and wait while I clarify things for the tribe.”

“I understand,” said Sirius.

The rest hissed agreement and understanding as well.

:

And so it was that Fors, a young troll known both for his agility and bravery (and, some would add, for his stupidity), one evening sneaked up on a beautifully carved bone scoop that had either been dropped or (possibly) placed there as bait and while making sure that no one had seen him, or would see him take the scoop, silently lifted it from the ground, and still looking around, placed it inside his dark tunic, turning to steal away.

Next, he yelled in both shock and pain, as a Midnight Snake bit his ankle and pumped a generous serving of venom into the young troll. Blending as they made their way, all five snakes returned back to Vittra’s cave as instructed.

Within an hour Fors’ leg and swollen to twice its thickness and the young troll was delirious from the painful, merciless fever. An hour later, he was dead.

Vittra called the shocked tribe together and said (lied):

“It is true then, what the adders have told me, that a stealing troll will be vulnerable to their venom. It will kill them.”

“He was no thief,” cried his mother.

“He dropped the scoop,” observed Bark. “It was not his scoop. He was stealing it.”

“Impossible,” said someone else in the tribe. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“The adders seem to know something we don’t,” said Vittra.

“We need to kill all the adders,” someone else yelled.

This stopped Vittra short. She had not considered this angle, but she soon recovered. “How many here, in your hearts, know that you have stolen some tool or other during the last few seasons? No, no need to tell; just know that if you have, you will be vulnerable to their venom.”

After a long spell of heart-searching and murmuring, Vittra said, “Also, killing all adders would be an impossible task, there are too many of them, and they are too hard to find and catch. But we can always try. Any volunteers?”

Another long spell of heart-searching ensues: no volunteers.

“Please keep this in mind, friends. Please do not steal again, lest you too are bitten and die.”

The tribe eventually dispersed and Vittra returned to her cave, having brought some more meat for the Midnight Snakes.

“Shall we return to guard things?” asked Sirius.

“Tomorrow,” said Vittra.

Three days later, a fully grown troll named Gran, who carried a deeply lodged grudge against his neighbor for stealing a reindeer-antler knife, told his wife that he did not believe the first thing about this hogwash about adders growing venomous for thieves and also about his plan to steal something back that very evening.

She was horrified at this plan but did not show it. “Would that be wise?” is what she said.

Gran didn’t say one way or the other but did point out that Fors wasn’t very old, was he? Perhaps that’s why he died.

And so it was that Gran, a big, angry troll thirsting for revenge, silently crept up to the larder of the thieving neighbor and pried it open with his knife. Inside were several beautiful bowls, some carved and others painted. Looking around he silently placed one bowl in the next until he had a small stack. He silently closed the larder and saw to it that it was locked again.

Sirius, guarding another family’s tools (scattered about by unruly children he reckoned) saw Gran and silently slid up to him. Once it was clear that the larger troll was intent on walking away with the stolen goods, Sirius bit, emptying his venom sack into the troll’s calf.

Gran, feeling the sting and the heat of the poison let go of the bowls and looked down to see what had caught his calf. At first, an adder, then nothing to be seen at all.

Sirius, along with the rest, made their way back to Vittra’s cave.

Again, within the hour Gran’s leg was twice its normal thickness, and within another hour, he was dying, ranting about the adder he had seen. And after a third hour, he was dead.

“What will it take,” shouted Vittra at the gathered tribe, “for you to take me seriously? To take this seriously. Gran was stealing. Gran was bitten by an adder. Gran is now dead.”

No one said a thing. Not a sound.

Then Bark rose. “Fors was a young troll. Perhaps he was not old enough to survive an adder bite. But Gran was in the prime of his life, tall and strong. Still, he is dead. Bitten, he said over and over before he died, by an adder.”

No one said a thing. Not a sound.

Bark said, “Vittra speaks the truth. Stealing weakens our resistance to adder bites and makes it lethal. Gran paid with his life to prove that.”

“So, please,” said Vittra. “No more stealing. Never, never again.”

No one said a thing. Not a sound. But there were nods, lots of nods. Then the tribe dispersed.

“Do we do it again?” wondered Sirius.

“We’ll wait a few days,” said Vittra. “I hope we won’t need to.”

The following day, Bark asked Vittra, “How do the adders know that someone is in the act of stealing? How do they arrive unnoticed? Will you tell me?”

“No,” said Vittra. “I will not tell you.”

“You are too friendly with snakes,” said Bark, shaking his old head. But said no more.

A full week passed, then one of the trolls told Vittra that his knife had gone missing.

“Are you absolutely sure?” she asked.

“I am,” he said.

“Do you know who?”

“I have my suspicions.”

“Whatever you do,” said Vittra. “Do not retaliate by stealing something back. I like you much better alive.”

Remembering Gran’s swollen leg and rambling fever, he assured Vittra that he would certainly not try to steal something back.

The following day, one of the younger trolls came to see Vittra.

“I know who took the knife,” he said.

“Who?” asked Vittra.

“I will not tell you, but I know that he plans to steal again, bragging to us that he is the best thief in the tribe and no dumb snake will ever bite him for they would have to catch him at it first, which would be impossible. Then he said that he wouldn’t mind killing some snakes just while he was at it.”

This, Vittra knows, could only be Fura, an adolescent troll who was indeed making a name for himself as the bravest, smartest, most agile of all trolls in the tribe; now living or not, Fura would often add.

“Tell Fura not to try to steal again,” said Vittra.

The young troll flinched but agreed to do so.

That same afternoon, Vittra pointed Fura out to Sirius. “Tonight,” she said to him, “follow him. He will steal again, I am sure. If not tonight, then tomorrow night, if not then, the night after.”

If snakes can nod, Sirius nodded. Yes, he would do just that.

:

And so it happened that three nights later Sirius, blending skillfully while tracing Fura among the sleeping trolls, saw Fura stop by the tribe’s locked but otherwise unguarded armory.

Cleverly, Fura manipulated the lock open and reached in to seize a beautiful sword that rightfully belonged to Queen Vittra (as the current leader of the tribe). This, he thought, would prove for all time that he was the cleverest troll in history, almost laughing as he quietly re-locked the armory.

Within two steps he yelled, as the others, from pain and surprise.

And just like the others, his leg swelled up within the hour and his fever raced and wrestled him to the ground.

Within two hours he was dead.

:

Minta looked up at me. “We have not had any problems with stealing since then.”

“I can see why not,” I said. “Quite a Queen,” I added.

“Quite a Queen,” she agreed.

::