Heroes of the Valley

by Jonathan Stroud

  'Yes! They supposed to protect us, but it feels like the reverse. The way you can always see them. It's like they pen us in.'

  'But it wasn't always that way,' Halli went on. 'The heroes went up there. And the settlers too, of course. They came from somewhere beyond. Where was that? How did they get over the mountains? What's the other place like? I often wonder about that. They crossed into the valley up near Svein's House – or so the story goes. I suppose your people say the same about Arne's.'

  Aud turned then, and he sensed her scrutiny, though her face was now in shadow. 'No,' she said slowly. 'They don't say that about Arne's. What, is there a path above Svein's, or something?'

  'I don't know. I'd have to ask Katla.' He sighed. 'If she ever speaks to me again after what I did. If any of them do.'

  'Well, you won't be entirely alone. Don't forget I'm coming to stay with you over winter, so that I avoid the next outbreak of creep. Father wouldn't want me dead before he gets me safely . . . married off . . .' Her voice trailed away; it was as if her mind were suddenly elsewhere. She was still now, almost for the first time.

  Halli was saying, 'I don't know what I think about the Trows, really. It's true not everyone believes in them. Hord Hakonsson doesn't, for one – I heard him say as much to Ragnar. But what irritates me is that no one dares challenge the old edicts! Surely swords could be made again, and an expedition could go up to see if— What?' Aud was approaching him through the loft, eyes shining. Halli drew back with sudden caution. 'What?'

  'I've got it!' Her grin was broad, decisive and welcoming: it made Halli feel as if he'd already agreed to whatever it was she was about to say. The sensation was troubling, but not entirely unpleasant. 'I've got it!' she said again. 'That's what we'll do.'

  'And what's "that", exactly?'

  'Halli,' she said, crouching by him, 'you've wanted to do something worthy of the heroes, haven't you? Well, now you can, and I'll do it with you. I say that the Trows don't exist and never have, and you think it too, though you're loath to admit it. So let's see, shall we? This winter, when the snows have cleared. We'll cross the boundary. We'll test the tales. And when we've done that we'll go up beyond the cairns and find the path across the mountains. The one the settlers took.' She laughed at the expression on his face. 'Don't you see? It'll solve everything! We can forget Far Bogside and Father's marriage plans and just get out. Escape all the rules and restrictions, and the influence of men like Hord. We'll cross the boundary and leave the valley for good. You and me together. What do you say?'

  17

  SVEIN'S HOUSE HAD ITS great new hall, but each night the Trows still came snuffling about the doors. This angered Svein. He began building protective walls around the perimeter of the site. He worked his people hard, but after a year the job still wasn't half done.

  'This is no good,' Svein said. 'I need more hands.'

  The valley north of the river was controlled by the hero Rurik. It seemed to Svein that Rurik had able-bodied men to spare. Svein took a cudgel and a length of rope, went to the river and dived in. He swam across the torrents, shook himself dry, walked to the nearest farmstead and knocked on the door. Four men looked out.

  'I need workers for my wall,' Svein said. 'You'll do. Come out and we'll discuss it.'

  The farmhands ran out, swords swinging, but Svein knocked them senseless with the cudgel, tied them up, swam them back across the river and put them to work.

  He got two dozen men this way, and soon the walls were finished nicely.

  Three days passed. On the morning of the third day word came to Ulfar Arnesson that the Hakonssons had given up their manhunt across his lands and were returning to their House. Their patrols upon the central valley road were likewise disbanded. It was said that Hord Hakonsson's brow was black as he rode for home; few of his men dared approach him and no one spoke loudly in his presence.

  When darkness fell the people of Arne's House gathered in their hall for the evening meal. The paths around the House grew quiet, thick with shadow. Nothing stirred. All at once there was a movement in the black interior of the old hay barn. A muttered curse, the slap of a hand on a horse's rump. Out from the barn came a short cowled figure riding a short plump pony. The figure took a lingering look towards the gleaming windows of the House, then flicked the reins vigorously. The pony speeded up not one whit, but with exactly the same leisurely rolling gait proceeded across the road and down a side track into the trees.

  During his time in the barn Halli's physical fortunes had dramatically improved. Each day Aud had brought him food and water to wash with; each day his injuries had healed and he had grown a little in strength. His old clothes were taken by Aud and thrown on the dung heap; in their place Halli now wore a grey twill servant's tunic, with the plum sleeve slash that denoted the House of Arne. He bore little resemblance now to the ragged fugitive who had fled from Hakon's lands.

  Even so he proceeded up-valley with all due care. He travelled mainly in early morning and late evening, holing up during the busy portions of the day in roadside woods. On nights when the moon was full he travelled by its light. He was careful to avoid those regions where his face or figure might be remembered, took circuitous routes where necessary, and stopped for supplies only at the remoter farms. His caution paid off. Almost to his surprise he arrived in the wastes below the cataracts without being tarred, feathered, hanged or shot at, and with no one greatly conscious of his passing.

  Neither Halli nor the pony, which Aud had stolen from a paddock of ancient, worn-out beasts, was in a state to climb the gorge at speed. Their ascent took three full days. During that time Halli passed several travellers descending: three wool traders from Gest's House, leading a train of horses laden with bulging sacks; a messenger hurrying from Rurik's House to Thord's; and last, just below the scree slopes of the Snag, a young musician with his harp. Each man spoke pleasantly; no one tried to stab him. Still, Halli was beset by unsettling memories, particularly when he passed the little circular glade with the ash circle in its centre. He did not camp there, but perched for the night on a narrow ledge a little higher up, listening to the crashing of the falls.

  When he awoke at dawn, his cloak and hair stiff with frost, he glanced up at the cliffs to the north, and saw, beyond the highest pines, a row of distant cairns. They seemed arrayed in silent challenge.

  Aud's proposal, startling though it was, did not alarm him as once it might have done. In fact, when the first surprise wore off, Halli's objections quickly faded; it seemed that the more Aud talked, the sounder her theories about the Trows became. In part this was because her scepticism concerning the legends awoke questions that he had always harboured, in part because the flattery that she occasionally bestowed on him helped rebuild his battered confidence. In part it was because she sat so close, eyes sparkling in the half-light. But above all the adventure she proposed – dangerous and reckless as it was – went a long way to filling the hole inside him, the hollowness that his experiences had left behind. The strength of her desire was infectious, their shared confidences heady and alluring. Exploring the forbidden hills, risking the existence of the Trows, gave him a thrill of anticipation that made him feel alive. It contrasted utterly with the despondency he felt returning home.

  When he had set off from Svein's House on his mission of vengeance, he had not thought much about what would happen when he got back. But deep down, his hope then had been clear and simple: to be hailed a hero, an accomplisher of great deeds. Now all that was dust upon the wind, for his encounter with Olaf had transformed him utterly. His certainties had vanished and he no longer trusted the impulse that had driven him to act. All he knew for sure was that he neither wanted, nor deserved, acknowledgement for his actions. No one at his House needed to know where he had been and what had happened. He would keep quiet, make up some story, accept the inevitable punishments and get back to normal. At least, until Aud came.

  Above the cataracts autumn was far advanced, and winter fast approaching. T
he trees were leafed with red and orange and snow hung low upon the hills. As on the outward journey, mists shrouded the hanging saddle of the valley and the burial mounds beside the road. Looking neither right nor left, Halli urged the pony on.

  At Snorri's hut no light shone in the window and no one answered when he knocked upon the door. Presumably the old man was off somewhere in his fields, lopping beets with Arnkel's knife. Halli sighed. Yet another misdeed to be accounted for when he got home.

  It was scarcely four weeks since he had last walked across Svein's lands, but the familiar fields seemed strange to him. He went without haste, allowing the pony to plod its weary way. There was no one on the road.

  Dusk had fallen when he reached the House. As always the north gate hung open. Descending from the pony, he led it through the gate and up past the workers' cottages to the little yard. Some people saw him then – he glimpsed Brusi frozen by the well and Kugi gawping from the sty; he heard the sound of his name rippling away along the side alleys and in and out of buildings, where pots boiled over on hearths, and men and women left their evening work to come and stare, so that before he reached the hall the whole House knew, even the goat-girl Gudrun in her little hut beyond the midden. Halli took no notice of any of this. He led the pony up to the yard and tethered it, then, shouldering his pack a final time, walked under the porch and into the hall, where the early evening lights were burning.

  His family was at the table. Old Eyjolf saw him first and cried out in astonishment and alarm. Then his mother came rushing, and his father also, and there was Katla bawling her eyes out by the fire, and his sister and brother looking furious and joyful all at once, and then he was enveloped by them all, and the self-imposed silence of his journey was filled with sudden clamour, even as the breath was almost driven from his body.

  Halli's homecoming spread pleasure throughout the House, and not a person there was untouched by the joy and relief felt by his family. This was for the first five minutes; thereafter things quickly became more complicated as bewilderment and anger set in.

  It had been widely assumed, following Katla's account of their last meeting, that Halli, in grief at his uncle's death, had gone up the hill on the day of the funeral, perhaps to observe from a distance. When he did not return, searchers scoured the crags and quarries as high as was safe, until, after several days, when no trace of him had been discovered, the answer was reluctantly accepted by all. Halli, whether by accident or on purpose, had crossed beyond the cairns and would not be seen again.

  In the gloom that followed, collective memories of Halli became encompassed by a hazy warming light; his zest and love of life were fondly recalled, his escapades chuckled over, his vanished promise affirmed beside the beer kegs. Now that he had suddenly reappeared, thinner about the face but evidently entirely well, the hazy light promptly snuffed out, and everyone vied with each other to recall anew his many faults and the irritations that he so regularly caused.

  Halli cared little enough for most people's opinions, but the distress of his family affected him more than he had expected. He told them the story that he had prepared during his journey home and then fell silent, submitting to their outrage.

  'You went to explore the valley?' Arnkel roared. 'Just that? Without my leave?'

  'You begged at the porches of the down-valley Houses?' Astrid cried, tearing at her hair. 'Do you understand the shame you have brought upon your family?'

  'You, a son of Svein, went about the land in a servant's tunic?' Leif shouted. 'Then, when that was rags, took that of a servant of another House? Where is your pride?'

  'You left us weeping,' Gudny said simply. 'Your mother has not smiled from that day to this. What do you say to that, brat?'

  To all of which, when he got a word in edgeways, Halli gave brief responses:

  'I was grieving for Brodir. I could not be here a moment longer.'

  'I saw to it that no one knew my name.'

  'I did not feel worthy to wear our colours.'

  'I know the sorrow I have caused you, and I am sorry. But now I am back.'

  Whether any of his replies were heard amid the hubbub was unclear; even if they had been, it was doubtful anyone would have considered them satisfactory. The interrogation continued, on and off, for several days, as did the ebb and flow of relief and rage. Halli was shouted at, hugged, ignored and wept at in bewildering rotation. He was beaten by Arnkel too – not once, but whenever a new slant on his wickedness came to his father's attention, which was often.

  Halli made no protest. It was just punishment and he knew it.

  What disconcerted him most was Katla's response. In contrast to his family, the old nurse fell silent and kept her distance from him.

  'Come on, Katla. Talk to me.'

  'For weeks I've wept for little Halli. He is dead and gone.'

  'But no – look, here I am! I'm back—'

  'The boy I knew would never have been so callous, so selfish as you have been. Go away and let me grieve.'

  Try as he might, she would not be comforted.

  Despite the wonder of his return, preparations for winter were fully underway, and people had little time to spare for a wastrel second son. The clouds over Svein's House grew lower with each day; the livestock was driven nearer and nearer to the Trow walls; food was stockpiled, repairs made to the roofs and walls of the animal sheds. Halli took his place among the workers and set to quietly, and it was soon noticed that he was stronger and quicker than before, his face leaner, his eyes harder and more steely. Those who resented his escapade bit back their gibes when they saw this, and many people looked at him sidelong.

  One day Halli was summoned to his parents' room. Arnkel, who had become rather gaunt during the autumn, and was troubled by a recurring cough, sat awkwardly in his chair, staring up at nothing. His mother stood alongside, her gaze as usual piercing.

  Arnkel glanced at Halli with the tail of his eye, then looked away.

  'Still here?' he said. 'Haven't run off again?'

  'Father, I've said I'm sorry—'

  'Your apologies were threadbare before; do not wear them out further. Enough of this. Your mother and I have a question for you. Kar Gestsson passed by this House yesterday, peddling the last of his mangy fleeces. I took two just to be hospitable, but that is by the by. Kar brought news from far down-valley. He says – and I have always found him truthful, if incoherent through lack of teeth – he says' – all at once Arnkel's eyes were full on Halli, watching his face closely – 'that Olaf Hakonsson is dead, and his hall burned down. What do you know of this?'

  Halli's stomach knotted, but he kept his face calm. 'Dead? How, Father?'

  'It is not yet clear. Foul play, apparently.'

  Halli's mother said: 'There are rumours of a lone intruder . . .'

  Rubbing his chin as if in deep thought, Halli said: 'This is startling news. I did see smoke on the air once, drifting from the east. Perhaps that was the hall.'

  'So you did not go to Hakon's House during your wanderings?'

  'No, Father.'

  'You did not, in fact, kill Olaf ?'

  'No, Father!' Halli laughed uproariously. 'Me?'

  His laughter faded. He flicked his eyes from parent to parent. Both were stony-faced; they contemplated their son a long while without speaking. 'Certainly the idea seems ridiculous,' Arnkel said at last. 'And yet . . . Well, if it was not so, it was not so. We have asked, and you have answered, and the matter is closed between us.' He sighed, stretching out his long limbs before him. His arms seemed thinner than Halli remembered, the great bones showing knobbly under flesh. 'Speaking between men,' his father went on, 'I am glad that my brother's murderer is dead and I praise his killer, whoever he may be. Your mother is more fearful. Next week we go before the Council to claim damages over Brodir's death, and she frets that our suit will be somehow affected by this news. That does not worry me. Provided,' he added pointedly, 'provided that we had no part in his death and that it cannot be proved otherwise
. Then indeed we shall fear nothing.'

  Whether it was Arnkel's frailty, or something in the way in which he spoke to him, Halli felt a sudden eagerness to respond correctly, to please his father with his words. 'I suspect,' he said slowly, 'that the killer will have left no clue to his identity. No doubt Olaf had many enemies. Many men will have wished him dead and there will be a host of suspects. It need not concern us. Father, are you quite well?'

  'Oh yes, it is just the winter coming. I have never liked the season. My son, rein in your energies and you will be a credit to our House. In two years you shall have a fine farm of your own, if you apply yourself and work hard. Will you do this? Good.'

  Halli's mother had her hand upon Arnkel's shoulder. There was anxiety in her face; her expression, as she looked on Halli, was still hard. At last she said, 'I hope for all our sakes that you are correct in what you say. It is of paramount importance that you present our case adequately before the Lawgivers.'

  'I will bear good witness, Mother.'

  'Very well. You may leave.'

  'One final thing,' Arnkel called as Halli neared the door. 'You haven't seen my knife, have you, my finest one?'

  Halli bent his head. 'Father, I took it . . . I lost it.'

  Arnkel sighed, coughed. 'I should beat you again, but you've already worn out my strap. Go away, boy, and do not tell anyone of this conversation.'

  Halli departed through the hall, where Svein's treasures hung, grey with dust. The box that had contained the silver belt still sat as he had left it. Halli, who had planned to return the belt, had not yet done so. It now lay concealed beside the fake Trow claw within the mattress of his bed. He would put it back when he had time, when people had forgotten his disappearance and no longer paid any attention to him.

  Unfortunately for Halli, the traders who had brought news of events down-valley to Arnkel and Astrid had spoken to others in Svein's House too. Interest in Halli's activities was speedily rekindled, and conclusions drawn.