Heroes of the Valley

  'What? No. What kind of question is that? Am I scratching myself. That's the noise I heard, Aud. Where's it coming from?'

  They listened, eyes staring blindly at the dark. No doubt about it: faintly, carried on the wind, scarcely audible above its howling, but certainly not of it, there came a low scrabbling sound. Several times it broke off, only to start again almost immediately; it rose and fell, but even when it diminished almost to nothing it was still there – a thin persistence on the edge of their hearing. Where it came from was impossible to say.

  Halli felt something grasp his arm. 'I hope that's your hand, Aud.'

  'Of course it is. What is that sound, Halli?'

  'Well . . .' He tried to seem cheerful. 'I don't think it's wolves.'

  'I know it's not wolves, Halli. What is it?'

  'It's . . . the wind on the stones.'

  'Oh. Really? What do you mean exactly?'

  'Erm . . . Let's keep going. I'll tell you as we walk.' Grappling each other close, they continued through the snow. Every now and then they halted and listened hopefully, but the noise remained. At last Halli, who had been thinking hard, said: 'Here's how it works. The wind blows little pebbles down the crags and cairns. They skitter and slide down natural gullies, causing the sound we hear. I hope this is the right direction.'

  'Of course it is. We haven't turned, have we? The boundary's straight ahead. 'Aud was panting a little; they were hobbling rather faster than before. 'So, pebbles in gullies, you think it is? You don't think it's more like a kind of burrowing, like claws coming up through earth?'

  'Well . . . it could be that too.'

  'Oh, great.'

  'But, Aud, remember. Those bones were old. So you don't believe that Trows—'

  'No. That's right. I don't. And nor do you. Ah, this ankle – I wish I could run on it. Even a little.' She reached up, squeezed his hand. 'Thanks for being reassuring.'

  'All part of the servi— Svein's ghost! What's that?' Halli lurched sideways, clutching at Aud, who stumbled and almost fell.

  Aud had stifled a scream. 'What?'

  'There! Where I'm pointing.'

  'But where the hell's that? It's dark. How could you see—'

  'I sensed something. Big. Very big, there to our left.'

  They clung together, staring. In the western sky the faintest paleness lingered after the vanished sun. Against this glow it was possible to sense, by looking indirectly at it, a hulking outline of darkest black. Aud forced out a pent-up breath. 'That's just one of the crags, you fool. Probably the last one before the cairns. Great Arne, Halli; I nearly died.'

  An embarrassed laugh in the dark beside her. 'Sorry. False alarm.'

  'So will you let go of me now?'

  With a flurry of manly coughs and brusque adjustments of clothing, Halli drew away. There was a brief silence.

  'Come on,' Aud said. 'We must almost be there now.'

  'And did you notice?' Halli put in. 'That weird noise has stopped too.'

  'Thank Arne for th—'

  Somewhere in the blackness, not too distant, there came the gentle crack and scrape of shifting rocks. It ceased abruptly.

  Halli and Aud froze as motionless as stones embedded in the moor. Every nerve and sinew strained against the dark.

  Now there was nothing. But this fresh silence did not greatly reassure them.

  Halli ventured a whisper. 'You know what I think that was? I think the wind dislodged a biggish stone, which tumbled abruptly down a cairn, giving the uncanny illusion of a sinister and stealthy footstep.'

  'You don't think that at all, do you?'

  'No. How fast can you hop?'

  'Let's see.'

  Onwards together, Aud lurching, Halli supporting her as best he could. His pack bounced roughly on his back; her breath came in frantic gasps. Twice they nearly tumbled; once Aud floundered in a snow-filled hollow. The darkness flowed against them like a river in spate, and still they had not reached the cairns.

  All at once, close by: an odd swift skittering, something hard moving upon rock.

  They drew up short. Halli put his mouth against Aud's ear. 'I'm going to open the pack, get out the weapons.'

  'You do that.'

  With Aud leaning on him, Halli flung off the backpack, dropped it down onto the snow and set to untying the knotted string. As his fingers were numb with cold, his hands shaking with fear, and he was doing it blind, it was not as straightforward a task as he might have wished. Also, the knot had slipped.

  From somewhere close came a curiously unpleasant creaking, then a loud, thin crack, as if brittle stone had snapped under sudden weight.

  'Halli,' Aud hissed. 'Come on . . .'

  'It's this bloody knot.'

  Now, from just a little closer: the surreptitious, delicate crunch of trodden snow.

  'What do you mean, the knot? You tied it, didn't you? Get it undone!'

  'Stop hassling me— There . . . Oh, no – it slipped again.'

  'Halli . . .'

  Another sound, this time behind them: crisp snow broken, knocked aside. It held the suggestion of slightly faster movement, a growing eagerness . . .

  'Curse it, now I've snagged a nail.'

  Aud pressed close beside him. 'Please tell me that the bag's open now.'

  'Yes, finally. What do you want? The billhook or the turnip knife?'

  'I don't care! Anything with a blade. Quick.' Fumbles of cloth, a clink of metal.

  'Here.' Halli held a weapon out, handle first; he sensed Aud's hands patting the air frantically, connecting with the wood, closing on the hasp. She wrenched it away from him and gave a cry of pain.

  'Ah, my hand.'

  'Hold it in your left, then.' He had the billhook now; he rose from his crouch, feeling its weight, swishing it briefly from side to side. Away to his right, but not too far, he heard a hurried noise in the snow. 'Put your back against mine,' he said. 'I'll help support you. And be very quiet. We'll hear when it comes in.'

  'What then?'

  'Swipe. Hard as you can.'

  Her back, narrow, slender, pressed firmly against his. He drove his legs deep into the snow, scrubbing his boot soles against the grass beneath, seeking better purchase. He closed his eyes, listened, trying to concentrate. Shuffling steps, odd creaking sounds . . . Now they were on his left, now straight ahead of him . . . Something was moving quickly, circling them, edging inwards all the time. It didn't seem to be at all slowed by the utter dark. Halli knew that it could see them.

  All at once the pattering drew back, faded. He could hear nothing.

  Halli ventured a whisper. 'You all right, Aud?'

  'Oh, I'm very well. You?'

  'Not so ba—'A sudden confusion of noise: snow threshed outwards at a run, grass crushed. Aud sucking in a scream. Her back jarred against his; even through the padding of their clothes he felt her shoulder-blade wrench violently round – she had swung her arm out, slashing with the knife. Then a blow, something somewhere connecting hard: the impact jolted through her, through him, so that his legs almost buckled under him. There was a spattering of snow on either side, and a horrid snarling. Steps receded into darkness.

  Silence. Aud's head rolled back against his shoulder.

  Halli reached up a frantic hand, touching her hair and hood. 'Aud—'

  A small voice: 'I hit it, but I lost the knife.'

  'Did it hurt you? Aud, listen to me – are you hurt?'

  'No, no. I felt so cold when it grabbed me. I struck it, but I dropped the knife.'

  'It doesn't matter. Maybe you've driven it off.' He was staring this way, that way, eyes darting vainly all about. Meaningless lights and swirls distracted him. Wait – what had Svein done on Battle Rock when the moon was covered? He'd closed his eyes. Halli forced himself to do the same. Better. The lights had gone. When he listened he couldn't hear anything but Aud's gasping breaths. Her back shook against his.

  'We're going to have to make a move for the cairns, Aud,' he said softly, patting his han
d against her hood. 'Can you do that, do you think?'

  'Of course. Don't patronize me!' Her sudden anger reassured him. 'I don't know where the knife's gone.'

  'Forget it. Take my one.' He half turned, fumbling for her arm. 'Quickly.'

  'But what'll you—?'

  'I'll use the claw.' He bent over the pack, pushed careful fingers to the bottom. They closed swiftly on the solid knuckle-thick base of Bjorn the trader's Trow claw. He straightened. It was probably sharper than the billhook anyway, though harder to hold. Might give the thing a shock, if it saw it – might think it was a real one. 'Ready?' he said.

  They went on, step by step, arm in arm, Aud leaning on him as before. Every few yards they stopped and listened. All was quiet, save for the wind, their breathing and the blood drumming in their heads.

  Halli's hopes began to rise. He said, 'I think we're almost there. Aud?'

  She stirred. 'Mm?'

  'We're almost at the cairns. See there, that little light?' A speck of yellow, floating, dancing in the dark. 'I think that's one of Rurik's farms on the far side of the valley. To see that we must be close to the crest of the ridge. A few more steps, Aud. Then we'll be safe.' He waited, but she didn't answer. 'Aud?'

  'What?'

  'It didn't hurt you, did it? You'd tell me.'

  'I'm fine.' But her voice was small again, drifting. Halli scowled into the dark and strove to increase the pace.

  The attack, which came a moment later, was almost without warning, unheralded by the slightest noise. But he felt the sudden rush of cold, foul air upon his face and, by instinct more than conscious thought, lurched to his left, pushing Aud aside in the opposite direction. He landed on one knee, skidding in the snow, feeling something forceful pass at speed. The taint that struck his nostrils made him gasp; nearby he heard Aud choking.

  He got to his feet, whirled round and slashed out vainly with the claw – a speculative act, as he could not tell where the enemy might be. Then Aud screamed, loud this time, followed by the odd, discordant ring of metal breaking. Teeth bared, Halli started towards the sounds, only to collide with something backing into him, bringing with it such a stench of earth and deep, foul, rotten things that his gums ached and his teeth felt loose in his jaw. The thing was cold too, spearingly so; his skin grew stiff upon his face and his fingers numb. He almost dropped the claw but, steeling himself, thrust it out regardless, catching the unseen creature even as it spun round at him.

  Harsh noises, as of teeth being gnashed together.

  A weight struck the side of his face. Halli, crying out, staggered back, but remained standing.

  Sharp things caught him by the throat, digging at his flesh. His head grew numb, his knees began to give way. Far off he heard Aud crying; the sound suppressed the spreading chill. He brought the Trow claw abruptly up in front of him, with a hard, sharp chopping stroke. Instantly the grasp upon his throat was broken. There was a cry of pain and bitter desolation. Halli was struck in the chest by an unknown force, hurled backwards into snow; he rolled head over heels, sprawling in a drift.

  Lights tumbled before his eyes; he struggled upright, blowing snow from his mouth and nose. He was still holding the claw.

  What could he hear?

  The wind, a distant clattering of stones, Aud weeping in the darkness.

  Halli moved forward, following the sobs. He went cautiously, step by careful step, but knocked into Aud all the same. By feel he established she was sitting on the ground.

  'I struck it again,' she said. 'But the impact broke my knife.'

  'I hurt it too, I think. It's fled, but it'll be back, bring others. Get up, Aud. Come on.'

  He helped her rise. Without further words they stumbled on and almost immediately brushed their hands against the stones of a cairn: they had been right beside the boundary without realizing. Then, bad leg or no, they broke into a run, careering helplessly over the hill crest, half colliding with first one cairn, then another, until they knew they'd passed them by; and then fell tumbling together, gasping, safe, in a snowy mass of unseen heather, with the yellow lights of Svein's House glittering far below.

  SVEIN WAS KEEN TO visit the Trow king's hall again, but his wife was doubtful.

  'They'll be expecting a third visit,' she said. 'And believe me, they'll catch you this time. What happens then? Your flesh will bubble in their pot.'

  Svein said: 'Don't worry. They won't catch me. I'm too quick for them. Put my supper on at sundown; I'll be back to enjoy it.' Then he went up to the ridge.

  Into the Trows' hall he went, past the hanging bones and the burning fire, past the holes where the Trows curled sleeping. Taking a burning torch, he went to the staircase leading into the earth. He looked back at the distant entrance, where the light of day was slowly dimming. Did he have time? Surely!

  Down the stairs he went, slowly, slowly, on and on, until he came out in a great round room with fires burning and a pile of treasure in the centre. Beside the treasure was a golden throne, and in that throne sat the Trow king, vast and terrible. But also sound asleep and snoring.

  This'll be easy enough, thought Svein. He popped some gold into a bag, then stole forward towards the throne, sword raised. But at that moment, above the earth, the winter sun went behind the ridge. And the Trow king opened his great red eyes.

  When he saw Svein creeping up, sword in hand, he let out a roar that woke the other Trows, and they all came rushing, intent on tearing him limb from limb. But Svein sprang away, down a tunnel he saw in the rock beside the chair. He ran, ran, but here came the Trow king, slashing with his long arms and roaring with his great, great mouth. And behind him came all the other Trows, screaming out Svein's name.

  Svein ran, ran, holding out the brand before him to light his way. And every few paces the tunnel divided and he had to choose one way or the other, and sometimes the tunnel went up, and sometimes down, until he was hopelessly lost. This is no good, he thought. I might as well stop and sell my life as dearly as I can. But just then, from along a narrow passage up ahead, he smelled something delicious, savoury, familiar. 'That's my supper cooking!' he cried. 'I'd know that anywhere.' And he plunged on down the passage, with the Trow king swiping at his heels.

  All along the twisting tunnels Svein followed the smell of stew until, ahead of him, he saw the faintest chink of evening light. He cut the earth away with his sword and sprang up – out into Low Field just above his House! But Svein didn't waste time celebrating; he watched the hole. Out popped the Trow king's head. Down came Svein's sword. The head went bouncing in the grass. Svein picked it up, with the jaws still snapping, and went home. Thump, he tossed it on the table. 'Present for you,' he told his wife. 'Oh, and here's a bit of treasure. You saved my bacon today.'

  And that was Svein's last visit to the Trow king's hall.

  IV

  23

  AFTER THE TROW KING'S death, and with Svein growing older, he didn't leave his hall so often. True, he led new raids against Rurik's and Ketil's Houses, but despite intensive fighting, the outcome of each expedition was inconclusive. It is not said whether it was this or his age that blackened his mood, but in his later years Svein's character grew darker than before, and his judgements in hall harshly predictable. He took to wearing his sword even on the Law Seat, and many of those he convicted never made it to the gallows in the yard.

  Some thought Svein had become impatient with life in his House and sought another great deed to accomplish. At last, one summer, he sent messengers to the other heroes, requesting a truce and a conference to discuss the question of the Trows.

  The windows in Svein's hall were tall slabs of darkness. Outside, wind stirred against the panes. Fire burned low in the braziers hanging from the walls, and the hearthlight crept like a living thing, red and many-armed, across the flagstones in the floor.

  Aud and Halli huddled close beside the hearth. They did not speak.

  Halli had strong wine in his cup; he drank it quickly. With every sip he stole a sidewa
ys glance at Aud, staring uncomprehendingly at her white face and matted hair. Her fleece had been slashed across the chest, the wool sliced almost through. One hand was newly bandaged, one ankle clearly swollen beneath its fresh, clean strapping. She held her cup as if it were the only thing in the world she could be sure of. Above the clenched knuckles, her eyes were blank, unseeing.

  Halli drank his wine. He, by contrast, had got off lightly. True, his fleece was torn about the collar, and his neck ached to the touch – he could still feel the points where the Trow's claws had grazed him. But aside from that and the chill in his bones from his hours upon the hill, he was outwardly unharmed.

  When they had at last drawn near the House, after a long and cumbersome descent, they had been met by searchers bearing torches, out scouring the fields for them. The general reaction was relief and concern for Aud's injuries; she had been promptly whisked away by Katla while Halli explained to Leif, Eyjolf and an assembled throng how, during their walk among the higher pastures, Aud had slipped and fallen from a crag, following which he had slowly, carefully, helped her home. After expressing predictable indignation that he should so jeopardize the health of their guest, the rest of the household retired to bed. To Halli's surprise no one thought to challenge his story. His lies were swallowed without question.

  Halli drank his wine and stared into the fire. Stories and lies . . .

  The problem was, of course, the stories had turned out to be true.

  The Trows were up there. They were up beyond the boundary. It kept them at bay just like the tales said. There was no other explanation. Which meant, in turn, that Svein and the other heroes had beaten them back at the Battle of the Rock so very long ago – the heroes had existed, and had performed that final feat. It meant their cairns did still keep the valley safe. It meant the Trows were up there, penned and waiting on the heights.

  It meant there was no way out.

  Halli watched the darting upward movements of the flames, how they leaped, flared brightly and vanished without trace. Was that the way of it, then? After their one brief attempt at escape, after daring to do what no one had done for generations, after glimpsing that far-off notch upon the skyline, a possible route up into the mountains – after all that, would he and Aud just fall back now, their hopes snuffed out, to drift quietly through life towards the dark anonymity of a cairn?