Heroes of the Valley

by Jonathan Stroud

  'Don't,' Halli said. He was thinking of all the old tales, of the legends of the hero, how he sat somewhere inside, sword ready, looking out across the moor.

  'Come on. 'Aud was tugging at his arm. 'We're hunting for a path, remember?'

  Their walk across the moors was slow, monotonous and silent under the lowering sky. The hill was further than they guessed, and the land between pockmarked with dips and depressions hidden in the snow. More than once Halli disappeared waist-deep and had to accept Aud's help to struggle free. They saw no sign of life and nothing of interest or consequence, save the jutting outcrops of black rock, some of which rose high as the roof on the hall below.

  'No Trows here,' Aud said after a time. 'Unless they're very small.' She was still grinning.

  Time passed; the low-lying hill got closer. 'There's a story about Svein,' Halli said. 'He went to a hill like that. Found a door. The way to the Trow king's halls.'

  'I know it. Arne went too, on our side of the valley. Just a story, Halli.'

  'You were happy enough to believe Katla's one,' he remarked, 'about Svein's being the first place settled when the people crossed the mountains.'

  'It's just I'd never heard it before. It got me thinking.'

  Halli shrugged. 'Well, we'll see what's over this bump.'

  The hill, when they reached it, was higher than they expected, and by the time they gained its summit both were sweating and breathing hard. The top was studded with boulders and still thick with snow. Ice crusted in sheltered hollows.

  'Go carefully,' Halli advised as they approached the summit. 'It'd be easy to slip here. Oh – look at the view.'

  Ahead of them the landscape contorted with new harshness: blank folds of heather, a tangle of ice-bound streams winding among them, a stepped recession of cliffs and straggling grass, thin white waterfalls hung about with icicles, tumbled pyramids of broken rock beneath gullies scoured in the foothills of the mountains. It was cold, barren, an inhospitable waste, but its wildness and grandeur took Halli's breath away.

  But Aud was scowling. 'So much for a path,' she said finally.

  'Well, it's not going to come up and shake us by the hand, is it? We need to look about, that's all . . .' His voice trailed off. 'What's that, Aud?' he said, pointing.

  She frowned. 'What? Not a path, I know that much.'

  'Stop moaning and look. See down there, that little spur where the sun's shining right now? In the crook of it; is that a cave in those rocks, or just shadow?'

  Aud squinted under her hand. 'Might be shadow . . .' she said slowly. 'Only one way to find out.'

  The southern slopes of the hill lacked the snow and ice of the northern flank, but the ground grew increasingly waterlogged as they neared the cluster of rocks nestling near its base. Both of them had slipped frequently, and their leggings were sodden, the wool heavy, chafing their skin. Neither gave the discomfort a thought. They had come to a standstill, silent, gazing.

  Ahead, amid a jumble of great split stones, a fissure opened, narrow at the top, wider at the base. It hung like a jagged teardrop in the rock. Cool, damp air radiated from it; it held the smell of darkness and old quiet. Halli felt the hairs on the back of his neck stir at the implications. He said, in a rather small voice: 'Aud . . .'

  She was brisk, decisive. 'It's just a cave. Not the Trow king's front door.'

  'Well, yes, you say that, but—'

  'Oh, I'll prove it to you. I'll take a quick look.'

  'No, Aud. I don't think—'

  'If we had a light, it would be better, but I bet I can see in a little way . . . 'Now she was hopping over the litter of rocks, scrambling down to the entrance of the fissure.

  Halli said, 'I really don't think this is a good idea. Take the billhook, at least.'

  'I don't want the bloody billhook.' She came to a stop on flat. wet rock. 'Now then; I won't go more than a few feet in. If I see a Trow, I'm going to run, all right?' She chuckled briefly, stepping forward. 'It goes a long way in,' her voice came whispering back. 'Really we need a lantern.' He watched her slender form grow grey and indistinct, framed by cold rock. Now it was amorphous, scarcely visible; now it was gone. He heard her feet crunching on loose pebbles.

  Halli waited. The top of the fissure, where it narrowed swiftly, was made of smooth stone, billowing out like frozen drapes. It reminded him a little of the curtains at the end of their hall back home, leading to the private rooms where his father lay. He saw then in his mind's eye the slow, unchanging rise and fall of his father's chest beneath the counterpane; felt again the sense of entrapment that had stifled him so long . . . It occurred to him that he could no longer hear Aud's footsteps.

  'Aud?' he called. 'Aud?' In the silence his pulse hammered against his ear. 'Aud?' he called again; louder this time. 'Oh, great Svein . . .' Sweat broke out on his palms; he started forward, slipping down among the tumbled rocks.

  Almost immediately he heard her, very faint, as if from far away. 'Halli . . .'

  'Where are you?'

  'Come here . . .'

  There was fear in the voice. He cursed again, fumbling in his pack for the billhook as he dropped down onto the flat stones of the cave-mouth and, without hesitation, stepped out of the light. For several heartbeats he was entirely blind, shuffling forward, hands still rummaging in the pack . . .

  'Ah!' He had collided with something; he heard Aud's squeal, felt the rasp of her fleece against his frantic hand. 'You idiot, Aud,' he snarled. 'What's the matter with you? If I'd had the hook out I might have—'

  'Look, Halli. Look.'

  At first he saw nothing; his eyes struggled with the dimness. But little by little faint shapes swam into view: Aud's face, ghost-like, floating; a tilted slab of rock, hanging hazily beyond her, reflecting the meagre light that drifted in from the opening behind them. And, at their feet: a scattering of pale things that gleamed a dull soft white. Some were long and thin, others slighter, curved. Still others were little more than fragments, bright shards scattered on the dark dirt floor.

  'Aud . . .' Halli whispered. 'I think they're—'

  'I know what they are, for Arne's sake!' Her voice was taut as a drum.

  'Good, good, then you'll know we need to get out . . . 'He located her arm, pulled savagely, heading back towards the light. She struggled, but without conviction. Moments later they spilled into brightness, blinking, breathless, out under the grey sky and the arching mountains.

  Aud's hood had fallen back, and her hair had tumbled loosely over one side of her face. She pawed angrily at Halli's clutching hand. 'Let go.'

  'Gladly.'

  'Why are you panicking? It isn't necessarily what you think.'

  'No? What alternatives can you suggest? And if you talk about wolves and eagles again, I'm going to kick you.'

  She stamped a foot. 'Kick away. It might be wolves, or bears—'

  'They weren't animal bones, Aud! I saw thigh bones for sure, and ribs, and—'

  'Even so, wolves might be to blame. Or . . . or . . . they might have been outlaws or criminals who went beyond the cairns. Yes! Long ago . . . They're not new bones, Halli. They might have been outcasts, who went there for shelter – and – and died of cold.'

  'Oh, so you don't think we might possibly have found the Trow king's hall?' he cried. 'You know, the one in the stories you don't believe? The one all hung about with men's bones?'

  'No, actually, I don't.' She had her hands on her hips, glaring at him now. He stood at a distance, tense with anger and agitation, knuckles gripping white upon his pack strap. She shook her head again. 'Halli – whatever was in that cave, it died a long while ago. Hundreds of years, maybe. The bones were ancient. We shouldn't panic.'

  He moistened his lips, rubbed at the side of his face. 'Maybe.'

  'I'm right, you know. Would Svein or Arne have run in fear because of a few old bones?'

  Halli exhaled slowly. 'We need to talk about this. Let's get away from the cave.'

  During their climb back up the l
ittle hill, the argument continued, neither giving any ground, yet neither perhaps wholly sure of their own position. For his part, Halli was torn between his natural caution and a deep reluctance to appear more fearful than Aud. This tension made him sharp-tongued; Aud likewise was jittery and scathing. By the time they reached the summit, the atmosphere was sour. Even so, hunger drove them to sit upon a stone for lunch. From the position of the sun they realized it was already early afternoon.

  For a while neither of them spoke. Then Halli said, 'We should go back soon.'

  Aud was tearing on a strip of smoked meat. She spat a piece of gristle into the grass. 'No. We've got hours yet.'

  'To do what? Where shall we look?' He gestured at the immensity around them. 'We won't find the path today. We'll need to come back another time, look again.'

  'You're just scared of a few old bones.'

  'Oh, shut up.'

  Aud hurled her meat aside. 'If I have any more of this, I swear I'll vomit. All winter there's been nothing else.' She put her hands in the pack, rummaging among the weapons. 'Surely you packed some cheese or something . . . What's this?'

  Frowning, she drew out an odd black object, sickle-shaped, knife-thin, its lumpy, rounded base shapeless as a pig's knuckle. Light gleamed on the serration of the inner, shorter edge and the vicious curve of the blade.

  'It's that Trow claw I was telling you about,' Halli said. 'The one the trader tried to kill me with. Careful with it.'

  'Why? It's fake, isn't it? Why did you bring— Ah, Arne's blood, it's sharp!'

  She jerked her hand away and sat back, sucking the side of one finger with an expression of shock. After a moment she took the finger out of her mouth and held it up; dark blood dripped down it and ran like water across the back of her hand. It pooled in the hollow between her fingers and fell in thick droplets onto the ground.

  'You idiot, Aud.' Halli took the claw by the lumpen base and dropped it in his pack. He snatched up her hand quickly, drew it to him and folded it in the loose fabric of his tunic, squeezing it tight, staunching the flow. 'What were you doing, grabbing at it like that? Why do you think he tried to kill me with it? It's sharp. That's why I brought it.'

  Aud's face had gone white; her shoulders shuddered. 'I feel quite sick,' she said in a shaky voice. 'And now I'm ruining your tunic. Look at all the blood.'

  'You'll be all right. What were you playing at, grabbing at—?'

  'Don't snap at me. Shut up about it.'

  'Well, it's your stupid fault. Will you just keep still?'

  They sat in silence, Aud rigid, staring; Halli gazing gloomily off across the waste, still holding her finger tight. His eyes wandered. For a time he focused on nothing, then his attention was caught by something halfway up a distant slope, amid an otherwise unbroken line of cliffs and crags. A narrow band of grass, scarcely visible under the snow, rose diagonally towards a little notch upon the skyline. Halli squinted, frowned. It was very distant; he could not be sure . . . But it was just possible to see it as a passable way onwards, out of the moors, onto the high mountains . . .

  He made this observation to Aud, who had tentatively withdrawn her hand and was examining her bleeding finger.

  'Let's go and see, then,' she said curtly. 'That's what we're here for.'

  'Well. we obviously can't do it now,' Halli said. 'It's late, and you're injured, and after what we found . . .'

  'Oh, what is wrong with you?' She rose abruptly to her feet, stony-faced. 'When are we going to get the chance again? My father will send for me any day, and that will be that.'

  'No, he won't! The torrents will start soon. He won't come up-valley for weeks.'

  'I'm not risking it. 'Whether it was the pain of her wound, or the shock of the discovery in the cave, there was a brittleness in her voice he had not heard before; she did not look at him. 'You stay here, or go back,' she snapped. 'I don't care. I'm going to look.'

  'Oh, don't be so pig-headed.' He had sprung to his feet now. 'You'll never get there on your own.'

  'Just watch me. 'And she was striding down the slope, hand wrapped in her fleece, face imperious, lips set.

  Halli gave a snort of rage. Following her, he snatched at her hood to pull her back. Aud squealed, pulled herself free, dashed his hand away; she gave a little run to get clear of him, slipped upon a patch of ice, stumbled and caught her boot in a hole. She lost her balance and fell heavily into the grass, twisting her leg awkwardly.

  The cry she gave made Halli's heart lurch. He hurried over, anger dissolving into anxiety. 'What happened? Are you all right?'

  'No thanks to you. Ankle hurts a bit.' She flexed her foot experimentally. 'It's all right. For a moment there . . . Help me up.'

  'Sorry,' he said, helping.

  She breathed hard. 'Me too. It's just—' She was standing upright now, resting her weight cautiously upon her leg. 'It's just I can't bear the thought of going home. You don't know what it's like with my father. He drives me mad.'

  'I wasn't saying we should give up,' he said. 'Just stop for today. That gap in the cliff is promising. We'll come back soon and find a route to it, I promise. But now—'

  Aud cried out. She had tried to walk away, back up the slope, and her ankle had almost collapsed under her. He grasped her arm, stopping her from falling.

  Halli's eyes were round. 'You can't walk, can you?'

  She nodded, wincing. 'Don't worry – it's a little sore, that's all. It'll be fine soon.'

  He looked at her. 'You think?'

  'Oh, yes.'

  'So you're not going to have any trouble getting back to the boundary?' he asked. 'Before nightfall, for instance?'

  Aud gave a slightly high-pitched laugh. 'No, no, of course not! How unlucky would that be?'

  22

  ON MOONLIT NIGHTS, WHEN Svein grew tired of sitting on the Law Seat and dictating business to his people, he took up his belt and sword, and climbed to the ridge to hunt for Trows. They were not so numerous down by the House, being wary of his presence, but on the moors were plentiful still. One by one they came, grey shadows clambering from the ground or sidling through the gorse, and he fought with them under the cold moon, and took their heads and skins to decorate his hall.

  Even Svein often came back bruised and torn from these adventures, and he forbade his people to climb upon the moors under any circumstances. 'The Trows are too strong up here,' he said, 'and you'd be too far from help. Stay close to the home I made you.'

  Afternoon became evening; in the east the sky merged with the land; light bled away into the west. The snowy moor grew dim and purple, its folds and depressions filled with pools of dusk. Here and there the rocky outcrops rose like great black nails rammed into the earth.

  A flock of geese flew high above them, beneath the first bright stars.

  They were still a long way from the cairns.

  Halli said brightly, 'It's a good job we don't believe in the Trows, isn't it?'

  'Very.' They shuffled on a few more steps. His arm was tight around Aud's waist, keeping her from falling; her arm hung heavy across his shoulders. She swung herself forward by little hops and jerks, her bad foot raised above the grass. In such a way they had already negotiated the slope of the little hill, and more than half the moorland. But the going was dismally slow.

  Periodically Halli attempted light conversation, which he found almost as tricky as the physical exertion. It was hard talking of favourite meals and invented gossip when his mind kept returning to images of Trows stirring beneath the earth. He scanned the landscape around them; even as he watched, it faded. He could not see the boundary.

  They had just passed under the shadows of one of the great protruding crags and were setting out again amid the emptiness when Aud glanced up, scanning the flat grey half-light. 'Halli,' she said, 'what was that noise?'

  He hesitated. 'I didn't hear anything.'

  'No? Perhaps I didn't either. I thought that— No, but it's hard with this wind.'

  'Exactly. Let's not h
alt and discuss it, eh? Let's keep going.'

  'Good idea.'

  They pressed on amid the gathering dark. The little light remaining hung pale and faint above the western mountains; the nearby crags grew hazy and indistinct. There was still no sign of the cairns ahead.

  Snow crunched beneath their stumbling feet; the air was growing cold. Aud leaned heavily against Halli, gasping whenever her foot brushed the ground.

  A thought occurred to Halli. 'You've got your hand bound up, haven't you?' he asked. 'I mean, you're not leaving a trail of blood behind us or anything?'

  'Of course I'm not. Shut up.'

  'Just checking.' Halli was quiet for a few paces, then began whistling a jaunty, raspy, intensely repetitive tune between his teeth. He kept this up for a long while. Finally Aud gave an angry cry.

  'Will you just shut up? If I hear that dirge one more time I swear I'll slap you.'

  'I was trying to keep our spirits up.'

  'By showing how scared you are? Great idea.'

  'Me scared? Look at my face; look at it – is that the face of someone scared?'

  'I don't know, Halli. I can't honestly tell. Why? Because it's dark and I can't see a thing. It's dark, Halli. And we're still not over the boundary, thanks to you!'

  'Thanks to me? You're the one who fell over!'

  'You practically pushed me.'

  'Oh, this is rich,' Halli cried. 'First off, I thought you didn't care a bent pin about the boundary or the Trows. Secondly, might I remind you that if you hadn't got so stroppy, we wouldn't be in this mess right now and you wouldn't be panicking.'

  Aud uttered a whoop of rage. 'Me? I'm perfectly relaxed!'

  'Sorry, I didn't quite catch that – your voice was a little too shrill.'

  There was a brief whistling sound. Halli said: 'What was that?'

  'Me trying to slap you. I missed.'

  'No, not that. Something further away.'

  They stood in the darkness and listened to the movement of the winds across the blank surface of the moor. Aud said in a small voice: 'I can't . . . I don't . . . I don't think there's anything . . . Are you scratching yourself?'