Det er nu gammelkendt, at hver by har sin heks og hvert sogn sine trolde - men på Faanefjell fortalte man historien om et særligt gammel og ondt troll kaldet Grimtroll. Allerede på min oldefars tid sagde man, at Grimtroll havde levet på Faanefjell i mange hundrede år, og det er da også almindeligt for trolle at blive så gamle at de ser skovene vokse op og elvene skære sig gennem klipperne i deres lange levetid. For troll er et menneskeliv blot et kort sekund, og bygdfolkets visdom blot naiv barnetro. Om Grimtrolls ophav siges det, at der nær toppen af bjerget voksede en stort gammelt gran. Stod man ved foden af træet kunne man fornemme at det voksede ind i nattehimlen, og man vidste at ikke syv mand kunne nå rundt om træet, om de stilte sig rundt om det. Det var intet almindeligt træ, for skovhuggere fra bygden vidste at barken var hård som fjellets granit, og at nålene på træet kunne blive sorte som størknet blod når et menneskeliv i bygden nærmede sin slutning. Engang var en karl fra bygden gået ud med sin økse. Han hed Joakim, og han var kendt i byen som en snu rad. Joakim vidste, at den sorte gran ikke kunne fældes med almindeligt værktøj, og han tænkte at træet var usårligt fordi det voksede ud af klippen selv. Han havde smedet et stort øksehoved af malm fra Faanefjell og lagt det i jorden i syv dage og syv nætter - for han mente at kun bjergets egen styrke kunne fælde den sorte gran. Skaftet tog han fra et asketræ der voksede på kirkegården, for det var vokset op af alle de mennesker hvis død den sorte gran havde varslet. Med dette hellige våben var han fast besluttet på at fælde Sortegranen, for et så stort træ ville kunne give ham brænde til flere år, og gøre ham til den rigeste skovhugger i hele Sørlandet. Da Joakim kom til træet satte han øksen for stammen og huggede til. Ved det første hug slog han end ikke en flig af barken. Ved andet hug begyndte sveden at drive af ham, som havde han hugget i dagevis. Ved tredje hug begyndte han at ryste og skælve som en gammel mand, for han så at alle træets nåle var blevet sorte som kul som ved et trylleslag. Da så Joakim op, og i træets bark så han et ansigt, en maske som stirrede på ham og talte med en hul ryst, der dryppede af tusind års afsky for mennesker. "Hvem er det, som hugger i mig?" spurgte masken. Joakim blev hvid af skræk, og svarede skælvende "Det er mig, Joakim Skovhugger.". "Hug ved rødderne, da tager øksen fat!" sagde træet, og Joakim gjorde som det sagde, for han turde ikke andet. Een rod huggede han, og den knak med et smæld. En anden rod huggede han, og Sortegranen knagede faretruende. I den tredje rod huggede han så dybt, at øksen sad fast i jorden. Men roden var hugget over, og nu svajede træet som skulle det vælte ned over ham. Da Sortegranen var fri for sine rødder delte den nederste del af stammen sig i to, og træet tog et skridt mod Joakim. "Tak, for at have frigjort mig fra klippen," lo træet "men mine nåle er sorte, og et menneskeliv må gå til.". Og med disse ord kvaste Sortegranen, der nu var fri fra klippen, Joakim Skovhugger, så hver en knogle brækkede og blodet flød hele vejen ned til bygden. Historien fortæller nu, at granen, der nu var blevet som en svær troll at se til, tog fat med en stærk gren og knækkede toppen af sig selv. Joakims øksehoved satte det fast på toppen, og da havde det nyfødte troll våben og vilje til at rydde landet for menneskeliv, med hår så sort som størknet blod, hud så hård som granernes bark og et ansigt som en hæslig maske. Det siges, at træet selv valgte navnet Grimtroll, og Grimtroll betyder da også "den maskerede troll" på det gamle sprog, der taltes i kongeriget dengang de første mennesker slog sig ned ved Bygglandsfjorden. Om historien om Grimtrolls ophav er sand ved ingen - men der er ingen i bygden som tvivler på at Grimtroll med Øksen lever på fjellet, for på de lange nætter ud på vinteren hører man ofte øksehug og en hul latter, der drypper af tusind års afsky, dybt i Faanefjells knagende graner. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ English lore: It is old knowledge nowadays that each city has its witch and every parish its trolls - but on Faanefjell there was tales of a particularly old and evil troll called Grimtroll. Already at my great-grandfather's time it was said that Grimtroll had lived on Faanefjell for hundreds of years, as it is common for trolls to be so old that they see forests grow and rivers cut through cliffs in their long lives. To a troll, a human life is merely a brief second, and the wisdom of village dwellers simply childish beliefs. Of Grimtrolls origins it is said, that near the top of the mountain, there was a giant and ancient spruce. Standing at it's foot, one could sense that it grew into the night sky, and one knew that seven men could not reach around it. It was no ordinary tree, for the village loggers knew that the bark was hard as granite from the mountain, and the needles of its branches could become black as clotted blood when a human life in the village neared its end. Once, a fellow from the village went out with his axe. His name was Joakim, and he was known thoughout the town as a cunning man. Joakim knew that the black spruce could not be felled by ordinary tools, and thought the tree to be invulnerable because it grew out if the very rock itself. He had forged himself a large axe head of ore from Faanefjell, and placed it in the ground for seven days and seven nights – he thought that only the very strength of the mountain itself could fell the black spruce. The shaft was taken from an ash tree that grew in the cemetery, for it had grown from all the people whose death the black spruce had foretold. With this sacred weapon he was determined to fell the Blackspruce, for such a large tree would give him firewood for several years, and make him the richest lumberjack throughout the Southlands. When Joakim came to the tree he put the axe to the trunk and swung away. The first blow did not even cut a shred of bark. By the second blow, sweat ran from his body as if he had been chopping for days. At the third swing he began to shake and tremble like an old man, for he saw that all the tree's needles were black as coal, as if by magic. Joakim looked up, and in the bark of the tree he saw a face – a mask that stared at him and which spoke with a hollow voice, dripped with a thousand years of loathing for humans. "Who strikes me?" said the mask. Joakim was white with fear and replied in a trembling voice "It's me, Joakim Lumberjack.". "Strike at the roots for the axe to take hold!" said the tree, and Joakim did as it said, for he dared not do otherwise. He struck one root and it snapped with a bang. He hit another, and the Blackspruce creaked dangerously. At the third root he cut so deep that the axe became stuck in the ground. But the root was severed, and now the tree swayed as if it were to fall on top of him. As soon as the Blackspruce was free of its roots, the lower part of the trunk snapped in two, and the tree took a step toward Joakim. "Thank you for freeing me from the rock," laughed the tree "but my needles are black, and a man's life must end.". And with these words the Blackspruce, now free from the rock, crushed Joakim Lumberjack so that every bone broke and the blood ran all the way down to the village. The story then tells that the spruce, which now appeared as a large troll, took hold with strong branch and cracked the top off of itself. It attached Joakims axe head to the top, and now the new born troll had a weapon and a will to clear the land of human life, with hair as black as clotted blood, skin as tough as the bark of firs and a face like a hideous mask. It is said that the tree itself chose the name Grimtroll, which means "the masked troll" in the ancient language - spoken in the Kingdom at the time when the first humans settled by Bygglandsfjorden. If the tale of Grimtrolls origin is true, no one knows - but none in the village doubt that Grimtroll with the axe lives on the mountain, for in the long nights of winter, one can often hear axe blows and a hollow laugh that drips with a thousand years of loathing, deep in Faanefjells creaking branches.