Grim Glower-Eye and the Pit Troll

Michael Panush

The road wound across open fields of brown grass, twisting and turning like a worm on a hook. The rain came in drenching torrents and the mud of the road stuck to the traveler’s boots, like it was trying to force him to stand in place. But he bent his hooded head against the rain, wrapped his dark cloak around him and trudged ever onwards, his gaze kept low.

Many who had felt that withering gaze upon them had not lived long, for this man was a red handed reaver of the most brutal sort, who had gone a-Viking many times and ranged far and wide, raiding all he could. He had fought for the Byzantine emperors in the Varangian guard of far off Milklagard, he had slain scores in holmgang duels across the Northlands, and he had fought with the great armies of Europe over the green fields of Ireland, the frozen plains of Muscovy and lastly with King Harald Hardrada in England, at a bloody patch of earth and water known as Stamford Bridge where the Viking Age ended.

Grim was his name, and grim was his nature. He was called Glower-Eye, for though he had but one eye, the other lost to a Bulgar’s pike. The one eye smoldered in its socket and all who were fixed with its baleful gaze would cringe and know the hour of their death was soon. Grim’s tangled beard was now long and streaked with gray, but the years had not dulled him, and he carried the round shield, Viking sword and bearded axe of a warrior upon his person.

He carried his sword in one hand, its blade wrapped in a leather scabbard, and used it as a walking stick to keep his footing along the muddy road. As he walked along, the creak of rickety wheels filled his ears, and he looked up to see a wagon moving towards him, pulled by a pair of stout oxen.

Grim’s one eye looked out from the visor of his steel helmet and he fixed the driver of the oxcart with a glare that made the peasant pull on his reins and slow down as he passed the Viking.

“Good day, sir,” the driver said, tipping his broad brimmed hat.

“And to you, fellow,” Grim agreed. He craned his neck, and saw that the rickety wagon was over laden with goods, as well as the peasant’s fair haired wife with babe in arms. The wheels of the wagon groaned like wounded men under the weight, and the thin oxen struggled to haul all of it. “Where do you go, with all your belongings and your family, on this muddied pathway?” he chanced to ask.

“Away from here, sir,” the peasant replied. “And quickly!”

“And why do you flee, and in such a hurry?” Grim inquired.

“Oh, sir, there is a monster in yonder hills, a troll of great strength and greater viciousness, and he’s been causing all manner of terror. Started killing cattle and sheep, but moved to people soon enough, and now I doubt he’ll ever be stopped. He resides in a deep pit, surrounded by the gray hill on all sides, and only ventures out when he is hungry.” The peasant ran a hand along his stubble-clad face. “That a sword in your hand, sir?”

“Aye, and what of it?” Grim’s good eye began to smolder.

“Nothing, sir, nothing at all! It’s just…” the young man leaned down from his perch. “It would a great service, to God as well as to all who dwell here, if someone, a fine warrior perhaps, could slay the pit troll.”

Grim snorted. “Indeed,” he replied. “It would.”

“Ah…yes, sir.” The younger man stammered. “Well, I’ll be on my way.” He slapped the reins and set off, but his eyes lingered on Grim as the plodding oxen dragged his wagon away. As for Grim, he squared his shoulders, tightened his grip on his sword and resumed his march through the wearisome mud.

After a few minutes of walking, Grim looked up and was not surprised to a tall, thin man in rich, black robes standing at the side of the dirt trail ahead of him. Grim Glower-Eye lowered his head and snorted lowly. He approached the tall man, but did not meet his eyes. “And what do you want?” he asked.

“Can you not guess?” The tall fellow was as slim and beardless as a boy, and his eyes were topped with long lashes. His thin fingers were folded together over his chest, and his long hair tumbled down to his shoulders. His skin and dark robes glowed faintly in the dim sun, and neither rain nor mud stained him.

“I can guess nothing when it comes to you, Lie-Father,” Grim said. “Only that you are slippery as a salmon in the river.”

“Hah!” The tall man laughed. “Grim Glower-Eye, a tongue such as yours belongs in the mouth of a skald! You sing my praises, even as you insult me.” He walked across the road, skipping in slow circles around Grim. “But you already know what I desire of you, eh Grim Glower-Eye?”

“Yes…” Grim agreed. “You want me to slay the troll.”

“Such was our accord.” The tall man wrapped his arm around Grim’s wide shoulders, crouching down until his head was level with the wandering warrior. “Do you remember when I saw you first? Walking slowly through the red fields around Stamford Bridge, tears streaming down from your one eye, weeping that there were no more battles for you to fight in. Weeping that the age of the long ship and the berserkergang and the horned helmet were as dead as King Harald, as dead as the age of Vikings.”

Grim nodded slowly. “Aye, Sky-Walker,” he said. “And you made me an offer.”

“Yes. You would do my bidding, be my agent upon Midgard, and in return I would be sure that you never lack for battle.” The tall man stepped back from Grim, spreading his arms like the wings of a soaring eagle. “And I keep my promise, when I bring you here, to go to yonder pit and battle the troll that dwells there and slay him.” He cocked his head. “Why do you now hesitate?”

“The troll is a mere beast. There is no glory in its death.”

“Ah, but it has killed many men, has it not?” the Lie-Father pointed out.

“Christian men.”

“They are all Christian now, Grim Glower-Eye. You would do well to remember that.” The tall man resumed his skipping, merry gait. “You and I and the troll, and a few other alone, are of the older faiths.”

With a slow snarl, the Viking pulled the leather scabbard from his blade. “Do not remind me. And shouldn’t you be as angry as I for the state of the world? Shouldn’t you lament that Ragnorak has passed, and all the old ways are dying?”

And the tall man, the Lie-Father, the Sky-Walker, the God of Fire, the Son of Giants and the Father of Monsters, threw back his head and laughed. “Lament that they are ending, Grim Glower-Eye?” Loki shook his head and smiled. “No. I am delighted. Now go to the hills and kill that troll.”

Grim turned around and saw that Loki was gone. Once more he was alone on the dirt road, except for the drizzle of rain and the mud underneath his boots.

By the time the sun reached its zenith in the mist-shrouded sky, Grim Glower-Eye had reached the gray hills that clustered around the pit. Grim Glower-Eye moved slowly, his sword now strapped across his back, his axe on his belt and his round shield’s handle knotted around his left arm. He saw the scattered pieces of bone clustered around the hill, many half-buried in the gravel and wondered how many victims had the Pit Troll taken.

“By Odin’s beard,” Grim whispered to himself. “This grows tiresome.” He doubled his pace, and reached the crest of the highest hill. A single standing stone was there, looking as old as the hill itself. It was rounded and coated in jointed, crudely drawn runes, many of which were familiar to Grim, and many of which were simply too old to be known.

At the foot of the standing stone were the remains of many candles, the ancient wax spilling down over piles of ancient bones, covered in layers of dust and of the same sickly shade of yellow. These were not the trophies of a hunter, but offerings left for a local spirit. Grim prodded the bones with his feet, pushing aside the crumbling jawbone of a long dead bull. It had been a long time since anyone had left an offering below the standing stone.

Grim walked past the standing stone and looked down the steep slope of the hill, into the gray stone pit where the troll dwelled. It was a jagged, narrow valley, like a single great claw had carved it out of the earth. Grim tightened his grip on his shield, grabbed the hilt of his sword, and began to descend.

“Who dwells here?” he asked, as he reached the bottom of the pit. He saw the hills clustered together, provide a large crevice that served as a narrow cave. Darkness lay within, and it seemed to spill out and consume the rest of the pit. “Do I stand alone in this cursed place?” Grim demanded, taking a halting step towards the cave. “Is this cold land empty, except for the drops of rain and the roaring winds?”

“No.” The word dragged out slowly, like a rumbling avalanche gaining in speed and strength as it pounded down a stony mountainside. “No. There is another here.”

“Then show yourself!” Grim cried.

The troll emerged slowly. Its long arms dragged through the dirt as its squat legs propelled it forward. Muscles moved under its gray hide, and its flat snout widened with each hacking breath. Yellowed tusks projected from a wide mouth in a round head wedged between shoulders like mounds of rock. Though it was hunched over, the troll still stood twice as tall as Grim, and it regarded the Viking with watery yellow eyes.

“Little man,” the troll asked, breathing slowly between each word. “What do you here?”

“I am Grim, called Glower-Eye,” Grim said. He fixed the troll with his gaze, and the troll returned it. “I have come here to kill you.”

“Oh…” The troll bowed its round head. “Is it because I have killed people? Because I have ripped the flesh from their bodies for my evening meal, and split their bones to suck their marrow?”

“Yes.” Grim drew his sword and let the blade gleam in the dim light. “You should have known this would happen.”

The troll nodded. It tapped its clawed fingers on the ground. “I did. But what choice had I, when the men stopped leaving their food? They no longer cared for me. They had a new god to worship. Perhaps I should have gone deeper into the hills and find something else, but I am troll, and this is the way I live.”

Grim blinked his remaining eye. “And though the world changes, you do not.”

“Yes!” the troll nodded again, its round head bobbing up and down rapidly. “Yes! You know of what I speak!”

“Aye,” Grim agreed. “But I still must slay you, for I made an oath to one of the old gods, and I cannot break it.”

The troll let out a creaking, keening sound, and Grim soon realized it was a whine. “I never wanted to hurt people. I was hungry, and there were no offerings below the standing stone.”

“I know,” Grim said. He held his sword tightly.

“I am…I am sorry that I have done it.”

“I know,” Grim replied. “But this must be done.”

“Oh…” the troll dug his claws into the dirt. “I will kill you, then. Like I have killed so many others. But if that is not how the battle ends, let me ask a boon of you.” He cleared his throat and his beady yellow eyes were wet. “Go to the standing stone above the pit. Set my head there as an offering, and light the candles once more.”

“It shall be done,” Grim agreed. “We have talked enough now. There is nothing more to say.”

“Yes…” The troll snorted loudly, and suddenly charged forward. Its great clawed hands dug deep into the earth, sending a spray of pebbles behind it, like spume behind a traveling ship. The troll leapt for Grim, raising a hand with claws like long daggers, long enough to slice Grim open in a single blow.

Grim threw himself backwards, his cloak fluttering about him as he raised his shield. The troll’s claw crashed onto the round shield with all the fury and speed of a bolt of lightning. The wood splintered, and Grim knew it would not last long. He stabbed forward with his sword, driving the long blade deep into the troll’s exposed forearm.

“Curse you, Grim!” the troll cried, pulling out the sword and tossing it away. “I curse you! I curse you to walk alone amongst the gray stones of the earth, and never no rest nor solace, and for the rocks themselves to make war against you, until even your bones are dust!” The pit troll continued, its words slurring as it raised both claws above its head.

Grim wasn’t listening. He drew out his bearded axe from his belt and dove forward, letting the troll’s hands pound into the dirt behind him and send up waves of dust, while he swung the axe with all of his might into the troll’s chest. The troll stepped backwards with the axe still buried in its midsection, and the stout wooden handle slipped from Grim’s hands.

The Viking faced the troll and waited. Slowly, the troll grabbed the axe and tugged at the handle. It came free in a shower of dark blood, and troll tossed the axe over its round shoulders.

Grim’s eye widened. “By Odin’s beard!” he shouted. “What must it take to destroy you?”

“More strength than you possess, little man!” the troll replied, and charged forward. It cracked the back of its hand against Grim, sending him flying backwards. Grim toppled through the air and landed hard on the dirt. He was bruised and every bone within him ached. Grim lay on the ground and told himself to stand as the troll slowly approached, but the strength would not come.

Then Grim looked up and saw his sword lying in the nearby gravel, not far from where he lay. He gritted his teeth and reached for it as the troll approached. Grim’s fingers scraped the handle, and then he pulled the sword closer.

“You have not asked me for any favors, after I kill you,” the troll said. “You have not asked me to bury you, or burn you, or set you adrift in the ocean as is the custom of your people. So I think I will eat you, and live for a few more days off of your meat, tough and stringy as it may be.” The troll walked towards Grim, twitching its thick lips and snorting loudly. “I am growing hungry now, I think.”

The troll now stood above Grim, staring down at the Viking. “You are hungry?” Grimm asked. “Then I shall feed you!” He forced himself to stand, swinging up the sword and leaping forward. He rammed the blade into the open mouth of the troll, feeling the blade stab through flesh and bone until the bloody tip of the blade projected out from the back of the troll’s gray, round skull.

Grim sank down as the troll stepped backwards, flailing about in pain as sprays of blood ran down its short neck. Its arms flailed about wildly like headless snakes, its claws carving deep groves from the earth, and still the troll did not fall. Grim Glower-Eye spotted his axe near the entrance of the troll’s cave, and ran for it.

He circled wide around the troll’s spinning arms, and grabbed the handle of the bearded axe. Grim risked everything on a final charge, swinging the axe above his head. He slammed the blade down into the troll’s back, and finally the squat legs crumpled under the mighty beast. The troll sank down, and Grim continued to swing the axe down again and again until finally the life had left the troll and it was still.

But though Grim was weakened from the battle and tottered on his feet, he knew he was not finished. He pulled free his sword, and slid it into the scabbard across his shoulders, then raised the hatchet and brought it down on the troll’s neck until the beast’s mangled head came free.

Slowly, Grim picked up the gray head and held it with both hands. The troll’s yellow eyes looked like embers in a dying fire. Grim tucked the severed head under his arm and clambered up the slope of the hill, until he reached the base of the standing stone.

It was near evening now, and the shadows grew long around the gray hills. Grim set the head of the troll at the base of the standing stone, and withdrew tinder and flit from his cloak. He struck them until he had a fire blazing on one of the waxy wicks of the old candles, and used that to light the rest.

“By Odin’s Beard,” he whispered. “You fought well, pit troll. Never will there be a day that I do not remember you.” Grim became aware of another presence. He turned around and saw Loki standing behind him, grinning smugly at his handiwork. “It is done,” Grim muttered. “Another of the old creatures is no more.”

“Excellent,” Loki agreed. “Let it pass into dim memory and then myth and legend.” He leaned down next to Grim. “Rest here, my champion. There are more monsters that you must kill for me – great wolves in the north, Frost Giants in the frozen plains, elves in their barrows, ghosts in the old burying grounds and serpents in the deep.” His laughter was faint. “I will uphold my oath and give you endless battle, and you will uphold yours and serve my will.”

“Why?” Grim demanded, turning on Loki. “Why must these beats, these brothers of yours vanish from the land?” He glared hatefully at Loki. “And what of you and the other Aesir? Will Asgard not be emptied by such slaughter?”

“Ah,” Loki agreed. “And so it will, and so it must be. For a trickster alone realizes that to survive, the gods must die.” He turned away from Grim and walked around the standing stone. “As gods we cannot last against this new deity, this Christ who sends his agents scurrying over the world and will tolerate no equals. But as legends, as memories lost in the mist-shrouded past, we will never perish.”

“And what of me, then?” Grim demanded. “Who will remember me when your task is done and I am gone?”

“Hah!” Loki laughed. “Oh, Grim Glower-Eye, you will perhaps outlast us all. For what is the greater birth of a legend then a man of flesh and blood?” Loki turned away from Grim. “I will leave you now, Glower-Eye. I will return in the morning. There is much to be done.”

“Aye…” Grim said. He watched Loki fade away into the darkness, until only his smile was left, and then nothing more. Grim Glower-Eye crouched down before the standing stone, wrapped himself in his cloak, and waited for morning.

-The End-