Free The Last Changeling by Jane Yolen

had the strength of several grown men. Midwives called it a
knighthood flush
, as females in labor—whatever size and kind they were—suddenly found themselves filled with courage and strength.
    Though now, in this moment, the
only
thought she had was,
Prince . . . troll . . . this isn’t going to end well.
Think, Snail, think.
    â€œYes,” she said carefully, “I’m your midwife, and he . . .” She stepped to one side and pointed dramatically at Aspen, who was just starting to sit up, though he looked as if he’d had the breath knocked out of him, and his face was ashen. “He’s my apprentice. A midwife’s apprentice. You remember him, don’t you? He helped at your baby’s birth. So you can’t eat him, either.” She was relieved that he wasn’t already dead, but not yet convinced he wouldn’t be troll breakfast soon.
    â€œWell, I will
eat
him
!” said the troll, pointing behind Snail.
    Slowly, so as not to alarm Huldra, Snail turned her head. The troll was pointing to Professor Odds, who stood there looking a bit amused and not at all alarmed.
    â€œI wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Snail said, turning back to the troll. “He’s a wizard and could bring up the sun before you took two steps toward him. And then—well, you know what would happen then.” She shrugged dramatically.
Everyone
knew what happened to trolls if the full-risen sun shone on them.
    â€œI turn to stone.” Having offered that sentence without any sign of fear, Huldra suddenly flung herself down on her knees, careful not to fall forward onto the baby, but she was so mammoth and so heavy, her weight opened a small fissure beneath her. Now she looked unbearably sad. “I wish I
was
stone,” she said. “Hungry. So hungry.”
    Fully awake, Aspen was still white-faced and now looking confused. Snail wondered briefly if he’d landed on his head. She glanced at Odds, who seemed to be waiting to see what would unfold next. Somewhere from the forest came the sounds of unicorns munching on the undergrowth, obviously convinced the danger had passed.
    Simpletons!
Snail thought.
Troll danger is never over . . . till it’s daylight
. She had no idea where the dwarfs were now. Or Maggie Light.
    Never neglect the mother,
came Mistress Softhands’ voice in her ear. It was good advice, even if the mother was an unhappy, hungry troll.
    Or maybe especially then!
Snail thought.
    She put her hand on baby Og, strapped to Huldra’s chest. With the troll on her knees, Snail could reach that far up, though she had to stand on her tiptoes to do so. “What’s wrong, mother? Why have you left the cave?”
    At that Huldra began to weep the way only trolls can: great globular tears inching from her eyes and grey snot like the trail of a real snail, only giant-sized, tracking from her nose till it was stopped—
barricaded,
Snail thought—by her chin bristles. Then the troll took a deep breath and howled.
    With that, baby Og began to howl, too.
    Not thinking, Snail reached out to the knot in the sling under Og’s bottom, untied it, and took him in her arms. He was scarcely ten days old and already as big as the bogie toddlers that kept the Unseelie castle free of mice. And cats.
    With an effort, she began to rock him till he stopped crying at last and started giggling instead. Then he fell immediately to sleep with a hiccupping snore. The striped diaper was wet all the way through.
    â€œSnail,” came a whimper from behind her.
    Without turning, she hissed, “Shhhh. Don’t say another word, Prin . . . er . . . ’prentice, or I’ll personally feed you limb by limb to this poor starving troll.”
    There was a deep, darkening silence behind her. She couldn’t tell if Aspen was angry, frightened, or dead. But at least he didn’t speak