Trolls and Other Trouble

By David S Grunwell

In the northern dell of Nöstervalley, visitors are rare, but two large and hungry trolls have come down from the mountains to feast. This startling event launches Ruferto Basaretti on an impossible journey full of peril, intrigue, and chaos stretching across much of the changing world.

This world was once ruled by technologically advanced

• Language: English
• Publisher: Grunwell Media
• Release date: Mar 9, 2022
• ISBN: 9781732582057

Book preview

Trolls and

Other Trouble

The Adventures of

Ruferto Basaretti No.1

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David S. Grunwell

Trolls and Other Trouble

Copyright © 2003—2021 by David S. Grunwell

All rights reserved under International and Pan American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any matter whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Grunwell Media

Edition ISBNs

Trade Paperback: 978-1-7325820-9-5

E-Book: 978-1-7325820-5-7

Hardcover:

First Edition 2021

Book cover design by David S. Grunwell

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales are entirely coincidental.

Manufactured in the United States of America.

For:

My beloved wife

and daughter

And most of all, to

Jesus Christ

to whom I owe everything.

Overview

Few travelers care to venture so far north as to visit the secluded and cold, sleepy northern mountain dell of Nöstervalley. Ruferto Basaretti has the dubious honor of living the farthest away from the town and the only known way into or out of the long, narrow valley.

The remote dell’s stillness is shattered when trolls come to the

valley. This launches Ruferto and his friend Bert from one wild

adventure to the next across much of the known and unknown world.

The Adventures of Ruferto Basaretti No..1

Book One: Trolls and Other Trouble

Book Two: Prophesies and Other Problems

Book Three: Dark Elf Danger

Trolls and Other Trouble

The Adventures of Ruferto Basaretti No..1

Contents

Sometimes all your possessions (including eggs)

fit in one basket

Even in the darkest times, you may find light

Being in hot water isn’t always a bad thing

Always know who is at the door before you open it

Darken up, Sunshine

Be like the kettle and sing

Blood is thicker than water, and much less fun for swimming

Are we there yet? and other truths of travel

Guarded thinking can be good for your health

Winning and losing can bring unexpected emotions

It’s not done until you take a pickaxe to it and smear it with dung

At least it is a dry heat

Even a single cloud can be good for the spirit

It can be fun being one of the inn crowd

Sometimes your ship goes out, too

The storms in your life can reveal interesting things

Chapter 1

Sometimes all your possessions (including eggs)

fit in one basket

Embrace unexpected visitors as a way to

inject excitement into boring routines

F

ar to the north, hidden amidst the blue mountains that rise to pierce the spring skies, on a rutted dirt road, a thin and grimy teenager wearing a tight homespun wool jacket is on his way home. Over his shoulders sits a stout wooden yoke carrying two large empty brown buckets that are swinging lightly with his brisk strides.

Long dark shadows stretched out before him, urging him on, warning him of the impending nightfall. As he walked, Ruferto Basaretti turned at his waist, causing the long arms of the yoke to swing in a wide arc. Squinting through his unruly mop of thick, dark brown hair, he measured the waning position of the sun. In under an hour, the sun would drop behind the imposing mountain ranges surrounding the remote valley where he lived. Once the sun dipped down out of sight behind the peaks, he would have no more than thirty minutes before it turned dark.

High above him, a blanket of slate-gray clouds was blocking the sky all but for the westernmost edge of the valley. Those in the valley called such nights, with no stars or the moon to give light, tripping nights, and most stayed indoors and shut their doors tight.

There were other reasons for Ruferto to hurry home. It was early spring; when the sunset, the temperatures would drop below freezing. Those without shelter or fire didn’t survive.

Passing the side road leading to Haraldsholm Farm, the teenager smiled. He would make it home in time to pay his rent to Mr. Baggs and bring his cow in from the field before settling in for the night. His chickens would take care of themselves. His cow had eaten most of the winter stores of hay lining the walls of the small hay shed they shared, revealing large holes in the walls near the floor. These openings allowed his chickens to come and go as they pleased. As the night grew colder, they would make their way back in to join him to roost for the night. He doubted they felt any bonds to the drafty old shed, but they understood a cow gave off a great deal of heat.

Ruferto picked up his pace. In about fifteen minutes, he would gain the last hill on the road before making it home. And like every rent day for the last two years, he would see his stout and jowly landlord Mr. Baggs standing next to the gates with his arms crossed, his face pinched, red, and sour. Seeing him, he would wade forward with his palm outstretched, demanding his rent. Like a dour human gate, he would bar his entrance to the farm until he carefully checked each coin.

Like Ruferto did every other day, the gaunt teenager was returning from town after selling his milk, cream, and eggs. It was a long walk, as the village of Nöstervalley was situated at the westernmost point of the valley, near the High Pass, the only route to and from the remote northern valley. His rickety hay shed-home had the dubious distinction of being both the valley’s smallest home and the dwelling that was the farthest from the town. This situation was far from what anyone would call bragging rights.

The remaining miles slid by slowly as he pondered his situation. His cow was old, past breeding age, and she produced less milk every day. At best, she would have a month or two of milk left. The timing was poor. Winter was always a lean time that ate up his tiny reserves of money and supplies. If he sold the cow to the local butcher, it would be enough for him to buy a calf and have some money left over, but he would have to feed it for a year or more before it was old enough to breed and to produce milk. Without the sale of milk, he would have to hatch and feed many more chickens to lay the extra eggs to pay his rent. There was a limit to the number of eggs the townspeople needed.

He was fretting; something he tried not to do. Breathing in deeply, he held it for a moment before letting it stream out through his nose.

This decision not to fixate on his problems came from an event back when he was about ten years old. He was daydreaming when he broke his family’s only plow on a large and obvious rock. Confronted with the disaster, he had closed his eyes, praying that the blade had not been sheered from the arm, but it had. His father was up in the front thirty of their farm, clearing large rocks and trees to expand one of their fields. The walk to get him was long, and he dreaded telling his father what he had done.

It surprised him when his father wasn’t mad, even after seeing the substantial damage to the plow caused by Ruferto’s inattention. They spent the rest of the day firing up the forge and trying to repair the plow. Ruferto felt clumsy, stupid, and guilty as nothing seemed to go easy.

What happened next stuck with Ruferto. He had spent hours stepping up and down on the large foot bellows to stoke the forge. Twice the heated hammer welds his father made had broken because of impurities in the metal.

Ruferto’s face was growing flushed, and his father saw the growing distress on his son’s face. He set down the heavy hammer he was using to pound the heated metal together. With gentleness, he said, Relax, son, and don’t worry. Things will get better. It’s going to work out.

Tired and angry, Ruferto stepped back off the foot bellow’s tread without easing the counterweight down. It fell with a dull thump on the leather pad, making the frame shiver. This was just another mistake to add to his growing tally. With his sleeve, he roughly wiped the tears from his eyes. With a retort, he spat out, How can you believe that?

His father’s bright blue eyes stared deeply into his own and he said, Son, this is where faith comes in. You have a choice in life. You can believe the world is basically bad and unfair. Then you will be miserable with no hope. Or you can believe that the world is basically good and have hope. Whatever you choose, the world will continue on to do what it intends to do, regardless of your choice.

His father smiled at him, making him feel deeply loved. Your choices will shape you and all you do. It will also affect how others deal with you, which may change them. His father wiped the sweat from his brow with his strong suntanned arm and said, I choose to have faith in life, and I have faith in you.

Ruferto looked down at his feet and back up at his father. What happens if I find out that I have been choosing wrong?

His father raised an eyebrow and said, You will make errors. Everyone does. If you are walking on a road and realize that you are headed east when you need to be going west, you turn around. A fool is so afraid of being wrong that they keep on walking in the wrong direction, expecting the road to fix their problem or east to become west. The longer you take to turn around, the more painful it will be, but it is never too late, up to the moment you die—one of the many wonderful things I know about you, my son, you are not a fool.

His father stepped over to him and, with a broad, callused hand, he ruffled Ruferto’s dark hair. As for tough days like today, seek joy in whatever situation you land, even if it is just how silly the whole thing has gotten. It is simple, those who expect their situation to bring them joy are usually miserable. They are like a farmer who doesn’t plant any seeds yet expects a full harvest. Your seeds are choosing to have joy and thankfulness over something like a bite of good cheese or the beauty of the sky and mountains. Those bring about a good harvest. He laughed. And remember, son, things usually happen for a reason. If this plow hadn’t broken, we might not have taken this time to talk.

With a quiet voice, Ruferto said, I thought you were going to be mad… because I was daydreaming.

He was surprised when his father pulled him close to give him a big hug. Pulling back, with his powerful hands cupping his shoulders, he said, It’s okay, Ruferto. He winked at him with a smile. That means you are just like me—I was probably about your age when I broke my dad’s plow, dreaming about riding on a cloud. I still would love to know what that feels like.

Ruferto lit up, and he nodded enthusiastically. Me, too.

His father laughed and said, So, what do you say? Shall we test our repairs to the plow? I bet it will pull much straighter now. If we have time after that, we can surprise your mother by fixing the door latch she has been asking me to fix for months.

A great weight lifted from Ruferto’s shoulders. Since then, he clung to his father’s words, waiting for change, finding joy in little things, and wondering what riding on a cloud would feel like.

Other memories of his parents were not so vivid. It bothered Ruferto that his memories of his father and his mother were fading. He often worried they would disappear altogether. While doing chores, Ruferto would sometimes concentrate on trying to remember details about them, like the color of their eyes, the sound of their voice, or their stories.

After his father’s passing, he and his mother fought to keep the farm, but times were tight all over the kingdom. To keep going, they sold sections of the farm and livestock. With his mother’s death from the flu, Ruferto had no family living anywhere nearby.

As a child, he was told his father’s brother, Uncle Darrius, lived somewhere in the far-off city of Baóstine. When he was twelve, Ruferto asked Master Penter, the round and jolly master cheese maker, about Baóstine.

Master Penter stopped stirring the big trough of milk and gave Ruferto an odd look. Baóstine? Why, that is practically on the other side of the world, Ruferto. Why do you ask about such a place?

Ruferto explained his Uncle Darrius lived there.

Baóstine is a strange city, Ruferto, said Master Penter. I have heared that some people there wear huge gold and jewel covered headdresses that are as tall as a man. Conspiratorially, he leaned forward to Ruferto and continued quietly, But they don’t wear a stitch of clothes nowhere else. Being young and from the north, Ruferto laughed at this, thinking they would surely freeze in the winter.

Master Penter told Ruferto about a fearsome creature there that had seven eyes and four arms. In each of its arms, this beast carried a sword or a shield. The idea of such a creature intrigued Ruferto.

He remembered boldly saying, Someday, I am going to go to Baóstine and meet my Uncle Darrius.

The idea of traveling to far off Baóstine was only a dream. In fact, Ruferto had visited Baóstine many times in his dreams. His favorite dreams were those where he flew like a human-sized fairy far up above the rooftops, gliding over the colorful city of Baóstine while he gazed down on the people below.

Once in his dreams, there was a huge blue cow sitting in the center of the city with one of those enormous gold headdresses perched on his head, just like a church spire. People danced about it crying out, Milk for me. Milk for you. Where is my hat and where are my shoes?

Now that Ruferto was alone, the money was even tighter. With no family and a limited ability to earn money, the taxes came due, and his family’s farm was sold to pay them.

The farm now belonged to the abrasive and unlikeable Mr. Baggs. Known for his short temper, booming tirades, sour personality, and unpleasant lingering body odor. The villagers had aptly given him the nickname of Mr. Sauerkraut or Mr. Kraut for short.

With nowhere else to go, Mr. Baggs allowed Ruferto to rent the old hay shed at the farthest section of the farm and the valley, near the deep and broad ravine where the mountains rose. For Ruferto, it was an odd feeling to be a tenant on a small piece of land that once was part of his family’s old farm. All he owned now were a few household items, four chickens, several rows of vegetables during the summer, and his cow. Ruferto felt lucky. Many others had much less. A cow, even an aging one, was valuable.

A gust of icy wind blew past him, shaking his buckets, reminding him that winter had not given up its hold on the remote dell. In a heavy winter, the High Pass, the only route into Nöstervalley, could be closed for months.

The village butted up to the narrow opening to the pass, protected from the world by fifteen-foot-tall stout wooden gates and walls. Beyond them was a lightly traveled dirt and stone road that wandered south to connect with larger trade routes leading to far distant cities.

Nöstervalley was known for its quality cheeses and warm wool. Without these goods, it would be doubtful that merchants would bother making the journey to the remote northern settlement. As it was, few people ever traveled to or from the valley. The nearest small town was many days of hard walking away. Bigger cities took weeks to reach. News of the outside world was scarce and not of any particular interest to most of those living in the valley.

Ruferto had never ventured so far as to leave the mountain-cradled dell where he had been born. He rarely even went up into the steeply sloped mountains near his home. Life on a farm kept him too busy. Something always needed mended, planted, hauled, or stored. Since childhood, he had heard stories of the horrible creatures that were said to live high up or deep within the mountains. Some of these delighted in eating people and especially loved to gobble up children. To reinforce this fear, every so often people disappeared on hunting trips, never to be found.

Ruferto’s father had left after being conscripted into the King’s army for the Great Troll War and that came to no good end. Sometimes, while weeding his vegetable garden or walking to town, Ruferto would daydream about his father bravely leading charges against the trolls and winning tremendous battles. His father would then return as a hero to take Ruferto back with him to Baóstine to live in a golden house, along with Ruferto’s uncle Darrius. So many years passed, and this dream seemed even more unlikely.

Clearing the last hill in the road that led to his home, Ruferto noticed something was wrong. The split-rail fence that lined Mr. Baggs’ farm was down, smashed to splinters in several places, and the cows and sheep were nowhere to be seen. He hadn’t seen any of them wandering along the roadside. Stopping on the worn and rutted trail, Ruferto scanned the mountainside and fields for signs of fallen boulders. There was no sign of any fallen rocks or even an avalanche further up the sharp slope. He bent forward to examine the ground by the fence and saw large sections of roughed-up grass and soil where possibly strong spring gusts had come through. Something just didn’t seem right. The fact that Mr. Baggs wasn’t there was the most troubling part. He never missed rent day.

With his yoke and buckets bouncing wildly, Ruferto ran up to his old homestead. The front door was open, so he called in, but Mr. Baggs did not answer. Going in was against the rules so Ruferto stayed outside waiting for a few seconds before running around back to find that the privy’s door was open enough to reveal that his landlord was not there. Nearby it was more of the sections of the fencing crushed into kindling. There was not a cow or sheep in sight.

Loping down the narrow path that led to his home, he hopped the steppingstones across the narrow stream and crested the last hillock. Coming to an abrupt stop, he stared in amazement to see his shed wasn’t there at all. All that remained to show his hay shed had been there was a rectangle of grassless black dirt, some clumps of thatching, and a few odd broken bits of wood lying about. The old winter-bare maple that stood next to the shed was knocked over, revealing the tangle of its roots. All around the brown grass ground surrounding the spot was scuffed up. Had the swirling spring winds done all this?

Stunned, Ruferto realized that the large churned-up sections were actually huge footprints. He stared unbelievingly. They were just too big to get one’s mind around.

Trolls? Are those troll’s footprints? Had trolls come into Nöstervalley? The horror of every kid’s nightmare might be somewhere nearby. He stood there on the path with his yoke and buckets still suspended across his shoulders. It transfixed him, trying to figure out what he should do. Should he find Mr. Baggs or run to town? What if it wasn’t trolls? He would look foolish, calling out the alarm if it was just a freak windstorm.

Off to the left and in the distance, Ruferto saw movement. From behind the pine-lined grove and the deep ravine that lay behind where his shed once stood, a gigantic figure moved up and into view. Its sheer size struck Ruferto like a physical blow; it was twenty, maybe twenty-five feet tall. Transfixed by fright and disbelief, he stood staring at the creature. His vision blurred around the edges as he continued to gape in fear. This was a troll.

It looked like an ancient mossy oak tree that had grown into the shape of an enormous blocky man. It had a long bulbous nose, a gigantic mouth full of greenish teeth, and pointy ears. This thing shouldn’t exist, but there it stood vigorously scratching its enormous head as it stepped out of the ravine. That is when Ruferto noticed it easily tucked his squashed shed home under its tree trunk-sized arm.

Ruferto stood perfectly still, like a rabbit does when they are surprised out in the open. He wanted to run, but his legs just wouldn’t move. His heart was beating faster than it did after a running race at the summer fairs. He was one of the fastest runners in Nöstervalley, but now he felt like he was stuck in clay up to his knees.

If that wasn’t bad enough, a second troll lumbered up over the hill and growled at the other one, Grask, none left. Youse eat all! Me get four only!

Tash, quiet you up now. Me smell sumting. The first troll lifted his hideous face, opened his mouth, slipping his purplish spotty tongue out like someone gagging his large nostrils flared, and his long lumpy nose moved about smelling the spring breezes.

The second troll made the same stinky face as they continued to sniff the air. For some reason, they couldn’t see Ruferto, although he was standing seventy yards away.

The two buckets that hung from Ruferto’s wooden yoke moved in lazy circles in the light wind. He prayed they didn’t see him as he tried not to move.

Ruferto’s mind was racing, even though his body refused to respond to his commands. He had to get out of there! He had to survive. His thoughts came in short, quick bursts. Sweat began running in streams down his neck and sides. He immediately thought about his dagger and then immediately discounted it. His dagger was short and of poor quality and it was prone to bending. The metal was too soft to keep much of an edge for long and he doubted it would be able to cut into their thick, tough-looking hides. If he was so unfortunate to get that close, the most he could hope for is a chance to stab at their tonsils and tongue when they ate him.

The trolls’ towering presence made his heart pound even harder. As his fear grew, his vision started blurring even more. Panic was taking over, and normal thinking was getting harder. All he wanted to do was run and get far, far away.

The trolls started moving in the direction toward Ruferto, each step swallowing yards. Like a thunderclap, the immobilizing fear burst from him and his legs came unstuck. With a quick twist and ducking move, Ruferto dumped his yoke and buckets with a clatter on the rocky path. At a full-out run, he darted off to the south toward the woods