Changeling
The Old Woman stands before her cauldrons, gently lowering skeins of spun yarn into her dyepot. Movement catches at the corner of her eye. She glances out into the bright light of an Autumn day to see an Eagle gliding past. The Old Woman is just about to turn back to her dyepot when another dark figure streaks through the sky. Trickster Raven lets out his unmistakable cluck as he feints a dive at the Eagle. The Old Woman strides to the cave entrance to watch the avian drama unfold, her dye spoon forgotten in her hand.
Decaying fish lie on the beach below and both birds are trying to claim their next meal. The Eagle glides magnificently down, talons outstretched, to snatch the flesh from the earth. Raven circles above, watching and waiting for the Eagle to land. The Eagle comes to rest in a Hemlock tree, and begins tearing at the fish. Raven circles lower and lower, clucking all the way.
Other Ravens gather, joining in the flight dance around the Eagle. One by one, they each dive, pestering the larger bird relentlessly. The Eagle cannot eat for watching for the next Raven to swoop down. Finally, the Eagle gives up, and with a piercing, stuttering cry, takes back to the sky. The Ravens give chase and The Old Woman returns to her dyepot.
She checks the skeins to see how they are absorbing the rusty brown lichen dye. The color in the pot is much darker than the yarn, so she submerges the skeins gently to simmer longer. She looks back into the dark reaches of the cave. Little Snake has become noticeably sluggish since the weather turned cooler. The Old Woman wonders how soon she will begin her winter hibernation, especially as the island is much colder than Little Snake’s home farther south.
Raven swooshes into the cave, tailed by several others. The Trickster has a piece of the Eagle’s fish and all the other Ravens want a share of the meal. They are all wings and beaks everywhere, knocking over baskets, spilling earthenware jars, and singeing themselves in the fire so that the acrid smell of burnt feathers fills the cave.
Little Snake awakens amidst the raucous Raven scuffle. She recoils, scooting as far back into the cave as she can. The Old Woman waves her dye spoon at the Ravens, shooing them out of the cave, while the Trickster takes his prize up to his perch.
“Tell us a story while I clean up your mess,” says The Old Woman. Little Snake unwinds and slithers forth to listen.
Raven cocks his head in thought. “Do you remember Boí the Hag?”
“The landslide Troll that enwombed Tristan?” asks The Old Woman.
“That’s the one!” croaks Raven. “I got this story from that old Troll.
“Once upon a summer day, a young couple named Perdue and Bresten lived along a shore-hugging road, in a little house perched on a mountain ledge. Perdue was expecting their first child and they decided to take a walk on a trail behind their house. Along the way, Perdue lost her footing on the slippery shale of a fresh landslide. She fell and slid until she came to a hard stop against a young Troll sleeping in the forest.
“Having broken her foot, Perdue cursed˘ the baby Troll loudly, blaming the stone being for her pain. Bresten helped Perdue hobble home, but her curse reverberated in the air long after they had gone.
“That night, the sharp-edged Troll awoke to the echoes of Perdue’s curse and wept. The sound of grief drew the Faeries, who gathered around the young Troll to discuss what could be done to lift the curse. The Faeries, who are experts at such things, decided that the best way to unravel Perdue’s curse would be to wait until she had her baby, and then swap the Human child for the Troll baby, as a changeling.
“So that’s just what they did. Now, Trolls and Humans are opposites, for while Humans make to survive, Trolls break as they age; Humans are warm and fast, while Trolls are cold and slow. So, on the night of the Autumn Equinox, when the magic of opposites is potent, the Faeries gathered around the cursed baby Troll, and all together they traipsed down out of the forest to Perdue and Bresten’s house. There, they were delighted to find that the Humans had forgotten to hang strands of Rowan berries for protection. They snuck in and swapped Grace the Human baby for the Troll changeling. Grace the Human found herself trapped in a heavy, stone-slow body, while Grace the Troll was crammed inside a tiny, soft, delicate body. By the time the Faeries had frolicked back out of the house with Grace the Human as a Troll, Grace the Troll had woken Perdue and Bresten with her screams of discomfort.
“Over the months of Grace the Troll’s first year, neither she nor Perdue slept much. Bresten evaded child care out of resentment. He avoided home, but when he was around, he fought with Perdue, demanding the attention he thought he deserved. The doctors Perdue took Grace to see were equally unhelpful, with their lack of answers and their promises that the colic and diaper rash would pass. Stuck caring for a baby who seemed to sleep all day and scream all night, Perdue spread the blame heavy and thick all around her. She certainly had more than her fair share of trouble to contend with, but her words fell as curses on those around her. Her friends scattered like seeds in the winds of her storm.
“In the midst of all the turmoil of her life, Perdue found herself pregnant again. One night, when she was several months along, she lie curled on her side in bed, her whole body bloated as if she were going to birth babies from not just her belly, but from her cheeks, arms, thighs, and feet, Grace the Troll crashed noisily into Perdue’s dark bedroom, bouncing off the door jamb and tripping over a corner of the bed.
“‘Are you going to have a baby, Mama?’ Grace asked hopefully, hugging her mother’s belly.
“‘Not soon enough,’ Perdue groaned in discomfort. That night, the baby came in a river of blood and agony, washed right out of life accompanied by Perdue’s tears. Ever wakeful in the night, Grace peeked into the bathroom where her mother crouched.
“Through her tears, Perdue saw Grace and shouted, ‘How come, ever since you showed up, everything has fallen apart around me?’
“Grace the Troll sat down beside her mother’s side of the bed, leaking tears like raindrops down a rock, the old curse reverberating in the air. She kept vigil long into the night, while her father snored and her mother drove herself to the hospital in town. By the time Perdue returned home, day had dawned and Grace had fallen asleep. Perdue tripped over her, muttering angrily as she fell into bed.
“Then one unusually warm day in winter, after Grace the Troll had turned two years old, an avalanche roared down the mountain, tearing up trees and blocking the road. Perdue, Bresten, and Grace returned to find their home and the ledge it had stood on completely torn away and buried in snow and stone. While Grace the Troll climbed up and slid down the edge of the snow, Perdue and Bresten shouted at each other about whose fault it was that their house and belongings were gone. Grace eventually grew cold and hungry and toddled back to their car. Leaving the frosty air echoing with their anger and curses, the little family drove back into town to find a place to spend the night.
“For their next home, they chose to live in a condo with a lovely view of a glacier at the head of a valley, and a milky green river that drained from the ice melt. Bresten continued to work long hours and swap angry curses with Perdue when he finally came home again. Grace took to dropping things from their balcony while her parents yelled at each other. The neighbors complained when clothes fell on their heads, or when they tripped over toys on the shared lawn. So, Perdue tried to keep Grace the Troll inside, but the changeling just broke dishes to drown out the sounds of her parents’ arguments.
“Eventually, Bresten left, the slamming door echoing behind him, long after the sound died away.
“‘Where did Papa go?’ Grace asked, shuffling out from the kitchen.
“‘Papa couldn’t handle all the trouble you cause,’ Perdue bit out through clenched teeth, ‘so he left.’
“Grace looked up at Perdue and asked, ‘Will my next Papa be nicer?’
“Perdue growled and stomped off to the kitchen to sweep up Grace’s latest mess.
“After Bresten walked out, Perdue began to notice that the rash that had covered Grace’s bottom as a baby had spread to her knees and elbows, and she complained of a tummy ache after every meal. Her skin was falling apart, and Grace the Troll could not help but scratch and tear at herself. Perdue took her to see the doctor again, who prescribed a cream to help reduce the itchiness. When the doctor suggested that Grace was complaining about her tummy to get attention, Grace decided she wanted nothing to do with that doctor or the medicine he prescribed. She curled up like a little stone whenever Perdue tried to apply the cream.
“More than anything, Grace the Troll preferred being outside, tumbling down hills, rolling rocks down river embankments, standing in the sea when the waves came pounding in. But Human skin is more fragile than Troll skin, and Grace was ever bumping, scraping, and cutting herself. Perdue quickly learned to carry bandaids everywhere she went, for inevitably, Grace would come to her, tear-faced and bleeding, needing to get bandaged up so she could keep playing.
“One late summer day, glacial lake burst, sending a jökulhlaup* surging down the river, tearing away swaths of the riverbank. Grace the Troll watched in fascination from their balcony as the river gushed and grew. Though the river steadily rose, Perdue never dreamed they were in any danger until the landlord called to evacuate the building. Perdue ran about, stuffing clothes and food into bags, while Grace gleefully announced each tree that swam by.
“When Grace cried out, ‘Look, Mama, there’s a roof!’, Perdue gaped out the window to see that nearly all the land that had stood between them and the river was now just churning, greenish-brown water. Her heart racing toward panic, Perdue ushered Grace out of their condo with her last load of necessities.
“She didn’t know where to go, and Grace insisted they join the others from the condo building where they had set out blankets and chairs to watch the flood. While Perdue fell back into old habits of blaming and cursing, Grace the Troll cheered on each piece of debris that floated by. Grace’s response was at such odds with the horror of the people around her that many laughed at her every joyous exclamation, and their anxiety lightened just a little.”
“What a little Trickster,” comments The Old Woman with a wry smile, as she drops dried berries back into one of the earthenware jars the Ravens had tipped over.
“How could she not be?” agrees Raven. “Grace was all mixed up herself, so she was bound to work some energy of opposites in the world around her.
“Upon hearing Perdue’s blames and complaints, another displaced neighbor commented quietly, ‘I have noticed in my life that when everything falls apart, there is a lesson I need to learn. I’m taking this as a sign that I need to reassess where I place my values - do a little house cleaning. You know what I mean? I’m thinking I should try to live more simply, and spend as much time as I can with the people I care about. After all, you never know when you or all your stuff is going to get swept down a river and out to sea in some fluke glacial drainage flood.’ Perdue was dumbfounded when her neighbor laughed - actually laughed - in the face of such disaster.
“The neighbor’s words reverberated in Perdue’s head, so much so that when Grace asked where they would move to next, Perdue decided to look for a home on sturdier ground. After two major disasters, she was reluctant to test fate.
“She wondered, too, about why Grace’s skin was always falling apart and her tummy aches persisted. So, Perdue took her daughter in for allergy testing and found that half of the foods she had been feeding the girl were toxic for her. Perdue learned to cook other meals than what she had grown up with. As she began to search for the roots of Grace’s ailments, that way of looking at the world spread to other parts of Perdue’s life.
“On another Autumn Equinox, sitting on a blanket beside a beach fire, Perdue gazed out at the water sparkling so brightly, that the sun seemed to radiate out of its depths. Backlit seagulls appeared black. Grace the Troll stumbled over a piece of driftwood at the water’s edge and sprawled across the wet pebbles. Perdue opened her mouth to make a derisive comment about the irony of naming her clumsy daughter ‘Grace,’ but paused, watching her child.
“Without a word, Grace picked herself up again and continued on after her friends. Perhaps it was a trick of the sun on the water, but in that moment, Perdue saw Grace in a different light. She realized all of a sudden that she had given Grace the perfect name, for as often as she tumbled and fell, Grace picked herself back up again and carried on. She accepted each fall, no matter how disastrous, as a part of life, never accusing anyone else of causing her troubles. Perdue blamed the smoke wafting from the beach fire - old habits take time to ease out of - for the tears that stung her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.
“That night, as she was tucking Grace into bed, Perdue apologized for all the times she had blamed her.
“‘You take every stumble, every hard time with such grace, Grace,’ Perdue wept. ‘Because of you, we eat healthier, and I’m starting to look for the reasons why things fall apart, and what I can do differently. You were never the problem. My own expectations were the problem. I always thought someone had to be to blame for when things went wrong, but sometimes things just happen, and sometimes life has to hit hard to teach you a lesson.’
“Outside the window, sunset streaked salmon roe orange across the sky. The ground rumbled and Grace shook until her Human skin disintegrated like chalk, revealing a Troll. Perdue’s shock sounded just like the bed that broke under the Troll’s weight.
“Grace the Troll explained to a wide-eyed Perdue about the curse, and how the Faeries of the forest had set her the task of unraveling that curse by learning how to love the changeling Troll.
“‘Every time you blame someone for your problems, you curse them,’ explained Grace the Troll. ‘You spoke the truth just now, and that unmade the curse you laid on me, so the Faerie’s magic worked and now I’m back to my own body.’
“‘But what about Grace, my daughter?’ asked Perdue.
“Grace the Troll stomped through the house and out the door. ‘Here she comes,’ the stone being called back to Perdue.
“Grace the Human tottered down the street, rubbing her eyes and stretching. Perdue could not see them, but Faeries danced around the naked little girl with Moss in her hair.
“‘Oh my child!’ gasped Perdue. ‘I can’t believe you survived out in the forest all this time!’
“It’s okay, Mama,’ Grace the Human reassured her. ‘I was a Troll, so mostly I just sat there and listened to the Squirrels and the Birds. They told me their names and lots of stories. I chased them at night, and they chattered at me. Their little feet tickle so much! I made piles of rocks and Faerie houses. Sometimes I saw a Faerie sleeping inside, but mostly they said my houses were too leaky.’”
“Perdue hugged her daughter close, but she watched Grace the Troll tromp away into the night, carrying a piece of her heart.” Raven finishes his story with a flap of his wings.
“I wouldn’t want to live in a house made by a toddler Troll, either,” mumbles Little Snake. The Old Woman chuckles.
“Did Grace the Troll and Perdue ever see each other again?” asks The Old Woman.
“Boí the Hag said that Grace the Troll plays in the night forest, but sometimes she comes back to town to peek in at Perdue, breaking things when her Human mother starts slipping into old habits. From time to time, Perdue returns to the landslide where it all began and talks to the sleeping Troll that once was her daughter.”
“There have been a lot of Troll stories this summer,” Little Snake observes groggily.
The Old Woman gazes at her tapestry that still bears signs of Raven’s Troll-patterned devastation. “Some seasons are like that,” she muses. “They break us down to bare elements before we can start putting ourselves back together again.”
˘curse: In his book, Sand Talk: How Indigenous Thinking Can Save the World, Tyson Yunkaporta describes curses as “observing the pattern of the whole system in a fragment of it, and then singing a false pattern into the whole from the part... The curse is a deception made real — either an outright lie or a true law or pattern applied where it doesn't belong.” In this story, Perdue subconsciously recognizes the inherently erosive or destructive nature of Trolls when she breaks her foot against one, but she speaks a curse when she blames the Troll for intentionally harming her.
*jökulhlaup - (“Yo-kel-yawp”) a glacier-dammed lake outburst flood.