Gwen put her hands on her hips indignantly. ‘Oh, will I?’ she asked. ‘We’ll see about that!’
‘Slay Muspell’s bane now, prince,’ one of Prince Helgrim’s companions urged. ‘Slay him and his trickster companion, and take your bride! Fulfill your weird!’ Tempted, Prince Helgrim took a step forward.
A voice rang out across the field: ‘Leave them!’
Hal turned to see a wild figure striding through the assembled tourists, who clearly thought this confrontation was part of the entertainment.
‘Leave them, prince of the swart-elves!’
Hal recognised the one-eyed old man approaching; it was their friend Gangrel. As he came closer, Prince Helgrim and his followers scowled.
‘By the fires of Muspellzheim, I should have seized my chance!’ Prince Helgrim said. ‘Come! Let us go! We cannot face Grimnir.’
Prince Helgrim and the others strode hurriedly from the field to applause from the spectators, vanishing into the darkness beneath the trees.
‘Give me that thing!’ the re-enactor said, wresting the sword from Hal’s nerveless grasp. ‘I don’t know what that was about, but I’ve half a mind to report you to the police!’ Fuming, he walked off.
‘Gangrel!’ Gwen said joyfully, giving the old man a hug. ‘What was all that about?’
‘“Helgrim, Prince of Svartaborg”!’ Eric said scornfully. ‘Who does he think he is?’
Hal turned questioningly to Gangrel.
The old man was over six foot tall, with tough, weather-beaten features, a long grey beard and hair growing halfway down his back. He wore a hooded blue coat despite the summer heat, and his single eye glittered with vitality.
‘Well?’ Gwen asked.
‘There is much that I must tell you,’ Gangrel said heavily. ‘I had intended to enlighten you all one day, yet Prince Helgrim has forced my hand.’ He looked keenly round the field. ‘Not here, however, and not now. Return to your own homes. You should be safe there for the moment. I will ensure that Prince Helgrim and his fellows keep away for the time being.
‘Meet me at Thor’s Rock tonight,’ he added mysteriously. ‘Then I will tell you all you need to know. But for now, farewell.’
The old man turned, and strode across the field.
* * * * *
Hal was in trouble when he got home.
The moment he got in, his father demanded to know why he had not finished his chores before gallivanting off with his friends. Hal said, ‘Well, I can do them now I’m back, can’t I?’
‘I did them when you were out,’ his father snapped.
‘Well, what’s the problem, then?’ Hal demanded.
His father’s face suffused with red. ‘Go to your room!’ he bellowed.
A while after suppertime, a clatter of gravel against his bedroom window alerted a morose Hal. He opened it and looked down into the courtyard, where a familiar figure greeted him.
‘Eric!’ Hal hissed. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Aren’t you coming?’ Eric hissed back. ‘We’re going to the Rock, remember?’
Hal looked agonised. ‘I can’t, I’ve been grounded.’
Eric grimaced. ‘What?’ he said. ‘Don’t you want to find out what’s going on?’
Hal shrugged. ‘Yeah, but…’
‘Just climb down the drainpipe, then,’ Eric replied. ‘Like you always do.’
Hal sighed.
A few minutes later, they were heading down the lane towards Gwen’s house, on the edge of the village.
‘What d’you reckon Gangrel’s going to tell us?’ Hal dabbed at his face with his handkerchief. A close encounter with a climbing rose on the way down had left his nose scratched.
‘I don’t know,’ Eric replied. ‘Usual crazy stuff he comes out with, I expect. Wizards and dragons, and all that.’
Hal shrugged. Gangrel’s stories did tend to be pretty wild: too much LSD in the sixties was Eric’s theory, although the old man got upset if they doubted him. Hal secretly half-believed him, but he would never admit it to Eric.
They stopped outside Gwen’s house. ‘Here we are.’ Eric threw some gravel at her bedroom window. After a few seconds, she appeared, and opened it.
‘Are you coming?’ Eric hissed.
With rather less reluctance than Hal, Gwen scrambled out of the window and shinned down the drainpipe.
‘Quick,’ she whispered. ‘Before my mum and dad cotton on. They think I’m working on my portfolio for Art College.’ They hurried down the road.
Shortly afterwards, they reached a gate at the edge of the heath. A path wound up the hill between thickets of silver birch, coming out beside a stagnant pond. Beyond this, the sandstone sloped down again into a large natural amphitheatre, dotted with small birch trees and dominated by a massive sandstone rock about thirty feet high. This was Thor’s Rock.
According to local folklore, this had once been the heathen altar of the Vikings, where they offered up sacrifices to the old gods: the red sandstone had run with the darker red of blood. Serious historians scoffed at the idea, but the locals flocked to the Rock, despite its creepy reputation. It was the venue for daytime family outings and nocturnal teenage parties, for pagan marriages and Midsummer Morris dancing: as beloved in the twenty-first century as it had ever been in the days of the ancient Norsemen.
As Hal and his friends crossed the sandy space, two black birds - crows, perhaps, or rooks - flew down from the trees and settled on the Rock. The three teenagers scrambled up a winding path.
‘Greetings.’
Hal started as Gangrel’s voice floated down to them from above. He looked up to see the old man standing at the top of the Rock.
‘Where did you spring from?’ Eric asked.
Gangrel smiled enigmatically, and offered a hand to help Gwen up. The two boys joined them shortly after.
They sat on top of the Rock, looking out over heather slopes and thickets of birch. Darkness was fast descending as Gangrel shared his home-brewed mead with them.
‘Time quickens its pace, and soon the end is upon us all,’ he began, staring southwards. Cirrus clouds criss-crossed the dark blue of the sky, resembling the branches of some vast, unimaginably distant tree.
‘Yeah, but what’s going on?’ Eric asked.
‘Who were those people before?’ Gwen added.
‘The men in black?’ Hal asked, and she nodded.
Gangrel shook his head. ‘Not men,’ he stated. ‘I should have warned you of them long ago, but I thought we had some years yet. Beware Prince Helgrim,’ he added. ‘I pursued him and his folk until they sought refuge; they fear me, and rightly. Yet I cannot keep them at bay forever. They will kill you if they can. You especially, Hal.’
A shiver ran down Hal’s spine again.
‘Why me?’ he asked in a low whisper. ‘What have I done?’
‘It is not what you have done. It is what you might accomplish. They fear that more than they fear me.’
‘Who are they?’ Gwen asked. ‘If they’re not men.’
‘They are swart-elves,’ Gangrel replied. ‘Their home is far from the Sun.’
Eric snorted. ‘Is this another one of your crazy stories, Gangrel?’ The old man fixed him with his single eye.
‘Shut up, Eric,’ Hal snapped. ‘Tell us more, Gangrel. Why do they want to kill us?’
Gangrel was about to reply when two black birds swooped down out of the gathering murk. He stared at them in silence as they strutted up and down, cawing raucously.
‘Gangrel?’ Hal asked. The old man held up a hand for silence.
The birds flew off. Gangrel rose abruptly.
‘I must go,’ he said, his voice suddenly urgent. ‘Would that I could stay to defend you, but I am needed elsewhere. Fear the swart-elves, and Prince Helgrim most of all. Flee them!’
‘Where are you going?’ Hal asked in anguish. ‘What are we to do?’
‘Do you know Alderley Edge? Meet me there in three days,’ Gangrel said. ‘I will expla
in all when I see you again. For now, farewell.’
The old man strode away down the Rock.
‘He’s really lost the plot, now.’ Eric’s voice broke the ensuing silence.
Hal shook his head. ‘He seemed so sincere,’ he said, then frowned. ‘But I didn’t really follow him.’
‘He tells us we’re all in danger, and then walks off without another word,’ added Gwen fiercely. ‘How do you like that?’
‘It must be something more important even than this,’ Hal said slowly.
‘Oh, come off it, Hal,’ Eric sneered. ‘You didn’t believe all that, did you? It’s just another one of his crazy stories. He’s a good laugh, okay. But you can’t take him seriously.’ He swigged some mead. ‘Good homebrew, though,’ he added.
Hal scratched his head. ‘What about those swart-elves?’ he asked.
‘Swart-elves? Swart-elves my…’ Eric began scornfully.
‘You have to admit that was more than just one of Gangrel’s stories,’ Gwen interrupted.
‘So are we all going to Alderley Edge, then?’ Eric jeered.
‘Oh,’ Hal said, his face falling. ‘I can’t do that. I’m grounded.’
‘Exactly,’ Eric replied. ‘Forget it. It’s all rubbish. Crazy old man.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m off,’ he added, getting to his feet.
‘So am I,’ Gwen added, looking half-apologetically at Hal. ‘I’ll be in trouble if my mum and dad find out I’ve sneaked out. Even they won’t put up with that.’
Hal sighed. He had not really understood Gangrel’s story, but the old man had seemed so sincere. Still, maybe Eric was right.
The three teenagers parted in the lane leading to the farm. It was dark now, and Hal was more worried about what would happen if his parents had discovered his absence. The summer night was warm, and as he hurried away, Hal’s thoughts were far from Gangrel’s words.
It came as a shock to him when he turned the corner and saw two dark figures in the lane outside the farm. He ducked back into the shadow of a towering gorse bush, and then peered out again.
In the moonlight, he recognised them: two of Prince Helgrim’s followers. The two black-clad figures were watching the building expectantly, as if waiting for something. All Gangrel’s wild words came whirling back into his mind, setting it into turmoil.
Were they waiting for him? As he scanned the surrounding area, he caught sight of more dark figures crouched by the bus-stop on the other side of the lane… and further away, near the crossroad.
A twig cracked beneath his foot. One of the dark figures at the bus stop stirred. Hal leapt into the shadows and watched as it produced a long, curved blade from beneath its cloak. Its companion spoke to it in a guttural tone. It scanned the darkness and Hal quailed.
He heard a noise from the gorse bushes to his right. A bird hopped out and pecked at the ground. The figure shook its head, and hid the blade.
They weren’t going to beat him on his own ground, Hal thought. He knew all the ins and outs of the area. He crept back down the road, crossed it in the shadow between two street lamps, and scrambled over the nearby fence.
Beyond it was a stand of woodland that led to the field beside the farmhouse, where they kept chickens. The undergrowth was thick, and brambles snatched at his ankles as he forced his way through the wood, but he was sure no one would be guarding this route…
He halted, and squatted down, shaking. Another dark figure was standing no more than ten feet away, at the edge of the trees, surveying the farmhouse. Hal’s heart hammered furiously.
From here, he could see the path across the fields. More dark figures were waiting there, studying the building. Waiting for him. They had covered every way in!
Everything Gangrel had said was true! And now that the old man had gone, the swart-elves were waiting to ambush Hal. Why? The question screamed itself out in the silence of his mind. Why did they want to kill him?
He would have to be calm. What should he do? He couldn’t go home. Even if he broke through the cordon, the swart-elves would follow him, kill him; maybe kill his mum and dad, too. Did they know he was not at home?
He would have to go away. If he stayed here, he would be endangering his family. Where could he go?
Gangrel would meet them at Alderley Edge in three days. Until then they must run and hide.
He would have to catch up with Eric and Gwen.
Like a shadow, Hal slipped through the trees, heading back the way he had come.
2 INTO THE FOREST
Eric swung round in panic at the sound of running feet. Gwen turned her head swiftly. They had reached the edge of the woods, where the road crossed the brook and the fields began. The lights of the village were visible up ahead.
A sprinting figure burst out into the open. Eric tensed, ready for flight or fight, then relaxed. Gwen gasped.
‘Hal! What’s up?’ she said.
‘Swart-elves!’ Hal panted. ‘Waiting for me… At the farm…’
Gwen and Eric exchanged glances. ‘Maybe it would be better if we didn’t go home…’ Gwen said darkly.
‘We’ll just be putting our families in danger,’ Hal gasped.
Eric was briefly silent, and then he nodded. ‘Alright, I’ll accept that something strange is going on,’ he said. ‘And you’re right; none of us can go home now. I don’t know if I believe half of what Gangrel said, but something is going on.’
‘What are we going to do, then?’ Hal asked.
‘Go to the cave,’ Eric said decisively. ‘If we’re going to avoid them, it’ll mean heading through the fields past the old hall, then crossing the main road. But we can do it.’
The cave Eric was talking about was in a dell on the far side of the main road, near the disused railway line and the meadows that sloped down to the river estuary. Hal and his friends had spent the odd night sleeping there before, for a laugh. But this time it was grimly in earnest.
‘We’ll get up at the crack of dawn,’ Eric added, leading them quickly up the lane, ‘and catch the bus to Chester. From Chester, we can cross the Cheshire Plain to Alderley Edge. And when we see Gangrel again, he’d better have a good explanation waiting.’
They hurried along the dark lanes of the village, taking a path into the fields near the old hall. Abandoning the path, they circled a herd of sleeping cows and climbed over a gate. It led into a field of stubble where a stack of hay-bales towered against the night sky. From here, the moonlit estuary was visible, mirroring a narrow line of streetlamps on its further bank. The Welsh mountains were black against the stars and the night wind blowing up from the estuary was chill. As Hal followed the dark shapes of his friends, he remembered the morning, when he had looked longingly out across the river, hoping for adventure. Had he hoped too hard?
They crested the ridge on the far side of the field and scaled another fence before coming down to the edge of the main road. Swiftly crossing it - it was currently devoid of cars - the three teenagers climbed a gate in the hedge on the other side. This led into an open field, at the bottom of which lay a ditch. Leaping across this one by one, they found themselves on a muddy path. They turned left and followed it through the fields.
Within a few minutes, they reached the little wooded valley, and blundered their way down the dark path through the trees. An owl hooted off to the left: ‘Just for effect,’ Eric muttered.
The stream trickled over a small waterfall, and the cave was in the hollow valley below, a jutting outcrop of sandstone a short way up the slippery slope. In the darkness, it was difficult to find. Without the moonlight they would have never got there.
‘Here we are.’ Eric flung himself down on the fire-blackened rock. ‘No signs of pursuit. We’ll kip here, and then continue in the morning.’
Hal and Gwen sat down. A cool breeze was stirring the branches, and Hal shivered. He had never anticipated setting out so unprepared, when he dreamed of adventure.
Gwen lay down beside him. Eric, who could sleep anywhere, was already s
noring. Hal looked out across the little valley. It was silent, except for the soughing of the wind, and occasional indeterminate animal noises. The acrid smell of smoke came from somewhere to the north.
Again, dread seized him. He lay down on the hard sandstone floor of the cave, but sleep evaded him for a long time.
* * * * *
‘Crack of dawn, you said!’
Hal’s gummy eyes opened. The sun dappled the valley floor below. He sat up, stretching and yawning. His mouth felt as if a small rodent had nested in it.
‘I was asleep, wasn’t I?’ Eric was saying. ‘Anyway, now even Hal’s awake.’
Hal looked up to see the pair bickering by the cave mouth. Their hair was in disarray and their clothes were rumpled. So were Hal’s, for that matter.
He rubbed his eyes. ‘Weren’t we supposed to be up at dawn?’
‘Don’t you start,’ Eric growled. ‘Gwen’s been grouching since she woke me.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s only ten o’clock. The next bus to Chester will be leaving Heswall in about twenty-five minutes.’
‘Come on, then,’ Hal said, rising and brushing himself down. ‘Let’s get moving.’
As they headed across the fields towards the main road, Hal noticed black smoke billowing from the direction of the heath. It must be another fire, he thought. In the summer, the dry gorse went up every few weeks.
They reached the bus stop on the outskirts of Heswall, a small town south of Irby, and waited for the Chester bus. When it finally arrived - late, as usual - the driver glanced at their rumpled clothes with amusement.
‘Been rolling in the bushes, have we?’ he asked. ‘You kids!’
The bus trundled lazily through the rolling countryside, passing wood and field and marsh, stopping to pick up passengers in every sleepy village of neat stone cottages, every twee, well-groomed rural housing estate. By the time Hal and his friends had reached Gibbet’s Cross, the junction near the Wirral border, the little bus was packed with teenagers and pensioners.
They entered Chester after about an hour’s journey. The bus drove under the Northgate and headed down the main street, turning into the bus station just before the town hall.
The three teenagers got off the bus and headed for the railway station. They hurried through the bustling, old-fashioned streets, with their incongruous mix of the archaic and the ultra-chic, weaving in and out of businessmen and tourists. Hal had often gone to Chester with his parents when he was younger. Hollyoaks it wasn’t, but he had always enjoyed visiting the old city. He felt a twinge of guilt. By now, his mum and dad must be wondering where he was.