His brothers were idle and lazy, so they were often soundly beaten, and when they saw that the Ash Lad was getting along better than they were, they grew jealous of him, and told the stablemaster that he was an idol worshipper — he prayed to a picture and not to Our Lord. Even though the stablemaster thought well of the boy, it wasn’t long before he told the king. But the king only snapped at him; these days he was always downcast and sorrowful, for his daughters had been carried off by a Troll. But they dinned it into the king’s ears for so long that at last he wanted to find out what the boy was up to. When he came to the hayloft and set eyes on the picture, he saw it was a painting of his youngest daughter. When the Ash Lad’s brothers heard that, they were ready with a story at once, and said to the stablemaster, “If only our brother were willing, he’s said he could get the king back his daughter!” You may be sure that it wasn’t long before the stablemaster went to the king and told him that, and when the king heard it, he shouted for the Ash Lad and said, “Your brothers say you can get my daughter back, and now you shall do so!”
The Ash Lad replied that he never knew it was the king’s daughter before the king had said so himself, and if he could free her and bring her back, he would certainly do his best; but he must have two days to consider it and fit himself out. This he was given.
The boy took out the ball of grey wool and threw it down on the road, and it rolled ahead, and he went after it until he came to the old hag who had given it to him. He asked her what he should do, and she said he was to take his old musket, and three hundred crates full of spikes and horseshoe nails, and three hundred barrels of barley, and three hundred barrels of groats, and three hundred butchered pigs, and three hundred ox carcasses, and roll the ball along the road until he met a raven and a Troll-child, and then he would get there all right, for those two were of her kin. Well, the boy did as she said: he looked in at the king’s manor, and took his old musket, and asked the king for spikes, and beef, and pork, and horses and men and carts to transport them. The king thought it was asking a lot, but as long as he could get his daughter back, he would give him whatever he needed, even if it were half the kingdom, he said.
The boy took out the ball of grey wool and threw it down on the road.
When the boy had fitted himself out, he rolled the ball along the road again, and he hadn’t gone many days before he came to a high mountain. There in a fir tree sat a raven. The Ash Lad walked until he stood directly beneath it, and pretended to take aim with his musket.
“Nay, don’t shoot! Don’t shoot me and I’ll help you!” shrieked the raven.
“I’ve never heard anyone brag about roast raven,” said the boy, “and since you’re so anxious about your life, I may as well spare you.” So he threw the musket aside, and the raven came flying down and said, “Up on this mountain is a Troll-child who has got lost and can’t find his way down again. I’ll help you up so you can take the youngster home, and get yourself a reward which should come in very handy. When you get there, the Troll will offer you all the finest things he has, but you must pay no attention to that. You must take nothing but the little grey donkey which is standing behind the stable door.”
Then the raven took the boy on his back, and flew up onto the mountain with him, and put him down there. After a while, he heard the Troll-child whimpering and carrying on because he couldn’t find his way down again. The boy talked kindly to him, and they became friends and were soon on the best of terms, and he promised to help the Troll-child down. He was going to take him home to the Troll Manor, so that he wouldn’t get lost on the way. Then they went to the raven, and he took them both on his back and carried them straight to the Mountain Troll.
When the Troll laid eyes on his child again, he was so glad that he quite forgot himself, and told the boy to come in with him and take whatever he wanted, because he had saved his son. He offered him both gold and silver, and all sorts of rare and costly things, but the boy said he would rather have a horse. Yes, he should have a horse, said the Troll, and so out to the stable they went. It was full of the finest horses. They shone like the sun and the moon, but the boy felt they were all too big for him. So he peeped behind the stable door, and caught sight of the little grey donkey standing there. “That’s the one I want!” he said. “That’s more my size. If I fall off, I’m not far from the ground.” The Troll was loath to lose the donkey, but as long as he’d given his promise, he had to stand by it. So the boy got the donkey, with saddle and bridle and all, and then he hurried on his way.
They journeyed through forest and field, over mountain and broad moors. When they had travelled farther than far, the donkey asked if the boy could see anything.
“No, I see nothing but a high mountain which looks purple in the distance.”
“Well, we’re going through that mountain,” said the donkey.
“Am I to believe that?” said the boy.
When they came to the mountain, a unicorn came charging towards them as though it wanted to eat them alive.
“Now I think I’m almost afraid,” said the boy.
“Oh, not at all,” said the donkey. “Unload a couple of score of ox carcasses, and ask it to bore a hole and break a road through the mountain.”
The boy did so. When the unicorn had eaten its fill, they promised it a couple of score of butchered pigs if it would go ahead and bore a hole through the mountain so that they could get through. When the unicorn heard that, it bored a hole and broke through the mountain, so fast that it was all they could do to keep up with it. And when it had finished, they threw it a couple of score of pig carcasses.
When they had come safely through this, they journeyed a long way through many a land, and then they journeyed through forest and field, over mountain and wild moors again.
“Do you see anything now?” asked the donkey.
“Now I see nothing but sky and wild mountains,” said the boy. So they journeyed far, and farther than far, and when they came higher up, the mountains became more level and flatter, so they could see farther around them on every side.
“Do you see anything now?” asked the donkey.
“Yes, I see something a long, long way off,” said the boy. “It’s sparkling and twinkling like a tiny star.”
“It’s certainly not so little, though,” said the donkey. When they had journeyed far, and farther than far again, it asked, “Do you see anything now?”
“Yes, I see something a long, long way off,” said the boy. “It’s sparkling and twinkling like a tiny star.”
“Yes, now I see something a long way off. It’s shining like a moon,” said the boy.
“That’s no moon,” said the donkey. “That’s the silver castle we’re going to,” it said. “Now, when we get there, we shall find three dragons lying on guard by the gate. They haven’t been awake for a hundred years, so the moss has grown over their eyes.”
“I think I’ll almost be afraid of them, I will,” said the boy.
“Oh, not at all!” said the donkey. “You must wake up the youngest and toss down its gullet a couple of score of ox carcasses and butchered pigs. Then I dare say it’ll talk to the other two, and you’ll be allowed to enter the castle.”
They journeyed far, and farther than far, before they arrived at the castle, but when they got there, it was both large and splendid, and everything they saw was made of silver. And outside the gate lay the dragons blocking the way so that no one could get in. But it had been quiet and peaceful, and they hadn’t been disturbed with much during their watch, for they were so overgrown with moss that no one could see what they were made of, and alongside them a small forest had started growing between the mounds of moss. The boy woke the smallest of them, and it started rubbing its eyes and picking off the moss. When at last the dragon saw that there were folk there, it came towards him with its jaws open wide, but the boy was ready, and tossed ox carcasses and threw pigs down its gullet, until it had eaten its fill and had become a little more reasonable to talk t
o. The boy asked it to wake up the others, and tell them to move aside so that he could enter the castle. But the dragon said it dared not and would not do so, to begin with; they hadn’t been awake or tasted food for a hundred years. It was afraid they would thrash about in a daze, and devour both living and dead in their confusion. The boy said it needn’t worry, for they could leave behind a hundred ox carcasses and a hundred pigs, and go away for a bit. Then they could eat their fill, and collect their wits by the time they came back again. Well, the dragon agreed to this, and so they did just that. But before the dragons were properly awake and had got the moss off their eyes, they flew around and thrashed about, and snapped at all and sundry, and it was all the youngest dragon could do to keep out of harm’s way until they had got wind of the meat. Then they gobbled oxen and pig carcasses whole, and ate their fill. After that they were pretty tame and good-natured, and let the boy walk past them into the castle. Inside everything was so splendid that he could hardly believe anything could be so fine anywhere. But it was empty of people, for he went from room to room, and opened all the doors, but he saw no one. Well, at last he peeped in through the door of a chamber he had not seen before, and inside sat a princess spinning, and she was so pleased and happy when she caught sight of him.
“Nay, nay! Dare Christian folk come here?” she shouted. “But you’d certainly better go again, or else the Troll may kill you. For a Troll with three heads lives here!”
The boy said he wasn’t going to move even if the Troll had seven. When the princess heard that, she wanted him to try to swing the big, rusty sword which hung behind the door. But he couldn’t swing it; he couldn’t even lift it.
“Well,” said the princess, “if you can’t manage it, you’ll have to take a swig from that flask hanging beside it, for that’s what the Troll does when he’s going out to use it!”
The boy took a couple of swigs, and now he could swing the sword as though it were a pancake turner.
All at once the Troll came rushing up. “Huh! I smell the smell of Christian flesh!” he shrieked.
“So you do!” said the boy, “But you needn’t snort so loud. You won’t be bothered by that smell any more,” he said, and then he chopped off all his heads.
The princess was as happy as though she had been given something fine. But after a while she began to pine; she longed for her sister, who had been carried off by a Troll with six heads, and now lived in a castle of gold which was three hundred miles beyond the world’s end. The boy wasn’t put out one bit. He could fetch both princess and castle, and so he took the sword and the flask, mounted the donkey, and bade the dragons follow him, and carry the meat, and the pork and the spikes.
The golden castle that hung in the air.
When they had journeyed a while, and travelled a long, long way over land and sea, the donkey said one day, “Do you see anything?”
“I see nothing but land, and water and sky, and high crags,” said the boy. So they travelled far, and farther than far.
“Do you see anything now?” said the donkey.
Yes, when he looked carefully ahead, he saw something far, far away; it shone like a tiny star, said the boy.
“I dare say it’ll get bigger,” said the donkey. When they had journeyed a long way again, it asked, “Do you see anything now?”
“Now I see it shining like a moon,” said the boy.
“Well, well,” said the donkey. When they had gone far, and farther than far, over land and sea, over hill and moor again, the donkey asked, “Do you see anything now?”
“Now I think it’s shining almost like the sun,” said the boy.
“Well, that’s the golden castle we’re going to,” said the donkey, “but outside lies a serpent which bars the way and keeps watch.”
“I think I’ll be afraid of it,” said the boy.
“Oh, not at all,” said the donkey. “We’ll have to pile layers of twigs over it, and in between, rows of horseshoe nails, and set it on fire. Then we’ll probably be rid of it.”
At last they came to where the castle hung, but the serpent lay stretched out in front of it and barred the way. Then the boy gave the dragons a good meal of ox and pig carcasses so they would help him; and then they spread over the serpent a layer of twigs and wood, and a layer of spikes and horseshoe nails, until they had used up the three hundred crates which they had. And when that was done, they set fire to it and burned the serpent alive.
When that was done, one of the dragons flew underneath and lifted the castle up, while the two others flew high up in the sky and loosened the chains from the hooks they were hanging on, and set it down on the ground. The boy went inside, and found everything was even more splendid than in the silver castle, but he saw no one until he came into the innermost room. There on a golden bed lay the princess. She was sleeping as soundly as if she were dead; but she wasn’t dead, even though he wasn’t man enough to wake her, for she was as red and white as milk and blood. Just as the boy stood there looking at her, the Troll came rushing in. Hardly had he put his first head through the door before he started shrieking, “Huff! I smell the smell of Christian flesh!”
“Perhaps,” said the boy, “but you needn’t snort so loud about it. You won’t be bothered by that smell for long!” he said, and then he chopped off all his heads as though they were set on cabbage stalks. Then the dragons put the golden castle on their backs, and flew home with it — they weren’t long on the way, I can tell you — and set it down beside the silver castle so that it shone both far and wide.
When the princess from the silver castle came to the window in the morning and caught sight of it, she was so happy that she ran over to the golden castle that very minute. But when she saw her sister lying asleep as though she were dead, she told the boy that they couldn’t bring her to life before they had fetched the Waters of Life and Death, which were kept in two wells on either side of a golden castle which hung in the air, nine hundred miles beyond the world’s end. And there lived the third sister. Well, there was no other way out, thought the boy, he would have to fetch that, too, and it wasn’t long before he was on the way. And he travelled far, and farther than far, through many kingdoms, through field and forest, over mountain and moor, over land and sea. At last he came to the world’s end, and still he travelled far and long, over heath and hill and high crags.
“Do you see anything?” asked the donkey one day.
“I see nothing but heaven and earth,” said the boy.
“Do you see anything now?” asked the donkey after some days.
“Yes, now I think I can make out something high up and far away, just like a tiny star.”
“It’s certainly not so tiny, though,” said the donkey. When they had gone a while again, it asked, “Do you see anything now?”
“Yes, now I think it’s shining like a moon.”
“Oh indeed?” said the donkey.
So they travelled a few days more. “Do you see anything now?” said the donkey.
“Yes, now it’s shining like the sun,” replied the boy.
“That’s where we’re going,” said the donkey. “That’s the golden castle which hangs in the air. A princess lives there who has been carried off by a Troll with nine heads. But all the wild animals in the world lie on guard, and bar the way to it,” said the donkey.
“Huff! I almost think I’ll be afraid now,” said the boy.
“Oh, not at all!” said the donkey. And it said that there was no danger as long as he didn’t stay there, but left as soon as he had filled his pitchers with the water. For the castle could only be entered for one hour during the day, and that was at high noon. And if he couldn’t finish in that time, and come away, the wild animals would tear him into a thousand pieces.
Yes, he would do that, said the boy; he certainly wouldn’t wait too long.
At twelve o’clock they arrived. All the wild and wicked beasts were lying like a fence outside the gate and on both sides of the road. But they slept like logs, and
there wasn’t one which so much as lifted a paw. The boy went between them, and took good care not to tread on toe nor tip of tail, and filled his pitchers with the Waters of Life and Death, and while he did so, he looked at the castle which was made of purest gold. It was the finest he had ever seen, and he thought it must be even finer inside. “Pooh! I have plenty of time,” thought the Ash Lad. “I can always look around for half an hour,” and so he opened the door and went in. Inside it was finer than fine. He went from one magnificent room to another, and it was closely hung with gold and pearls, and all the costliest things there were. But no people were to be found. At last he came into a chamber, where a princess lay asleep on a golden bed as though she were dead. But she was as fine as the finest queen, and as red and white as blood and snow, and so beautiful that he had never seen anything as beautiful, save her picture! For she it was who was painted there. The boy forgot both the water he was to fetch, and the animals, and the whole castle, and only looked at the princess. And he thought he could never gaze his fill at her, but she slept like one dead, and he couldn’t wake her.
Towards evening the Troll came rushing in, and crashed and banged all the gates and doors so that the whole castle rang. “Huff! Here I smell the smell of Christian flesh!” he said, and stuck his first head through the door.
“I dare say you do,” said the boy, “but you needn’t snort till the bellows split for that. You won’t be bothered by that smell for long,” he said, and with that he chopped off all its heads. But when he was finished, he was so tired that he couldn’t keep his eyes open. So he lay down in the bed beside the princess, and she slept both night and day as though she would never wake. But around midnight she woke for a moment, and then she told him that he had freed her, but she must remain there for three more years. If she didn’t return to him then, he would have to come and fetch her.
Norwegian Folktales Page 14
