Heroes of the Valley

by Jonathan Stroud

  That was what everyone else did.

  Far off behind closed doors, he heard a ragged sound. His father coughing.

  Partly to block it out, partly to channel the dull anger that flared suddenly inside him, Halli said roughly, 'That tear on your fleece. Didn't go through, did it?'

  Aud looked up. She cleared her throat; it had been a long while since she'd spoken. 'No. I'm bruised, not cut.'

  'Good.'

  There was a silence. 'Your neck looks bad,' Aud said finally.

  'Does it? Feels fine.'

  'There're five red marks on it.'

  Halli shuddered, but he said only: 'Well, the touch was very cold.'

  'I know. I couldn't breathe when it struck my chest.' She stared down at her swollen ankle, then at the fire again. 'I'm sorry, Halli.'

  'That's all right.' He took a sip of wine. 'For what, exactly? Just to be clear.'

  'For taking us up there. For everything I said – about the – about the stories, you know; I'm sorry I denied it all, Halli. It's just I never thought . . .'

  'Nor me.'

  'Is there any more wine?'

  'Not here. I'll get some from the kitchen.' But he didn't move.

  'You don't think,' Aud said, after a silence, 'the Trow might follow us down here? Because we crossed the boundary, I mean?'

  'It would have caught us long ago, if so. We took ages getting down. The boundary still holds.'

  Aud hunched deeper in her chair. 'You didn't see it, did you?' she said.

  'No. Just smelled it, heard it, felt it . . .' He rubbed irritably at his eyes.

  'What fools we were. It's true, everything the stories say . . .'

  Halli noticed that her voice was small and shook a little. He stirred in his seat, making what effort he could. 'Well, not all the stories,' he said. 'Katla's one about the curse, for instance.'

  'What curse?'

  'It hasn't happened . . .' He attempted a grin. 'You know.'

  Her look was blank. 'How do you mean?'

  'The curse affecting men . . . men who cross the boundary . . .' He blew out his cheeks. 'Oh, never mind.'

  'I see . . . You're still all there? Right. That's good.'

  There was another silence.

  'But a Trow nearly killed us, Halli!' Aud cried out. 'That's not so good!'

  'Well, we lived through it, didn't we? We survived.'

  'Yes, but what's the use of that? We're stuck here! In the valley, in our Houses. We're trapped, just like the stories say.'

  The fact that this statement exactly mirrored his own thoughts made Halli's anger swell. He could suppress it no longer. 'I don't accept that at all,' he growled. 'I'm going back up there.'

  'What? What? Don't be a complete—'

  'Two of us, Aud. Two of us, with a couple of rusty farm tools and a lousy old fake claw.' He leaned forward, flourishing his wine cup. 'We held off that Trow in pitch blackness.

  What if the moon were shining? What if we had burning brands to see with? What if there were more of us? We'd have killed it easily.'

  Aud made an incoherent noise midway between a snort and a sneer. 'One Trow, Halli! That's the point! Just one! There'll be hundreds of them up there. Remember those bones? You want to end up scattered in that cave? Go right back up that hill.'

  'We didn't even have a proper weapon!' he said, ploughing on regardless. 'Look at this thing . . .' He flicked his jerkin aside to reveal the sickle-shaped Trow claw tucked inside his belt. 'Yes, it's sharp, but it's nothing special. Bjorn the trader probably carved it himself in half an hour. Yet it hurt the Trow – it drove it away. Now, if we had a sword, a proper one, made in the old ways . . . Well – what would happen then?'

  'We haven't got any swords, Halli.'

  'I know.'

  'The only swords are in the heroes' cairns.'

  'I know.'

  He looked at her. She looked at him. A gust of wind reverberated against the windows. Aud said, 'If you're even thinking what I think you're thinking, don't think it. And certainly don't say it. It's madness.'

  'Why? It could be done.'

  'No, Halli, it couldn't. The stories are very clear. It's the swords that keep the Trows at bay.'

  'Exactly! With one of those, we—'

  'That's why everyone's given a little sword when they're carried to their cairns. To reinforce the boundary.'

  '—we could make it across the moors, get to the mountain . . .'

  'But it's the heroes that keep the boundary strong, Halli. Their swords; the memory of what they did. Who knows why it works, but it does – as you and I now know! Arne protects his lands. Svein protects his. They keep everything the same.'

  'There was a hole in his mound, Aud.'

  'If you took it, Halli, if you broke the boundary that way, what would stop the Trows coming down into the valley?'

  Halli's laugh sounded harsh even to his own ears. 'Who cares about that? We'd be gone.'

  Aud got up from her seat. Firelight spilled against her, but the gashes in her clothes gaped black. She limped forward to stand before Halli. 'Look at me,' she said. 'Look at me.' He did so then, mouth clamped, eyes sullen. 'Do you want this to happen to your family and your people?' she asked. 'Do you really want them to suffer like this? Because that's what would happen if you take the sword and the Trows come down from the hills. If it's what you're happy with, fine. Just say so, and I'll leave your House this moment; I'd never want to see you again. I want to escape just as much as you do, Halli Sveinsson, but no matter how much I hate my family, I could never do something like that.'

  She had not raised her voice; her fury was penned back in her eyes. But as she turned away, she left Halli white-faced in his chair.

  He waited until she'd sat down, then said, 'I'm sorry. I was being stupid. I'm just angry, that's all.'

  'I know. Me too.'

  'I don't hate them.'

  'I know you don't.'

  Silence fell.

  Halli looked towards the dark windows. 'My father's dying,' he said.

  'Halli . . .'

  'You haven't been in there! You don't know what it's like to see it! I can't talk with him. Aud! Svein knows, I can't even look at him—' His voice was cracked and uncontrolled; he stopped short, took a deep breath, let the pressure in his heart slowly subside. At last he said: 'Still, you're right. I wouldn't want anything to happen the way you said. Svein's sword stays where it is. But I am going to find a way out of the valley. Trows or not, there'll be something we can do. We just need to think a bit, that's all. We need a little time.'

  There was a sudden frantic banging on the closed hall door.

  Aud gave a little scream. Halli dropped his cup; firelight danced along its contours as it rolled upon the floor.

  'The Trows!' Aud whispered. 'They've come for us!'

  Halli shook his head testily. 'They wouldn't knock, would they?' Even so, there was a catch in his voice and he did not get up from his chair.

  Once again, a thump, thump, thumping on the door.

  Far away, his mother called out fearfully: 'Who is that? What is that?'

  'Who'll answer it?' Aud asked. 'Eyjolf ?'

  'Deaf.'

  'Leif ?'

  'Drunk.'

  Bang, bang, bang went the door again.

  Halli said heavily, 'I'll do it.'

  Leaving the table, he walked slowly across the hall towards the passageway and the door that opened onto the porch. As he went, he eased his right hand beneath his jerkin to where the Trow claw hung. He gripped it firmly. His other hand stole to the latch.

  Bang, bang, bang upon the door.

  Halli flicked the latch and swung the door wide.

  A great black shape surged forward. Halli jumped back. There was a clopping of hooves, the smell of horse and a wet blast of breath upon his face, then the animal had brushed past him as it was ridden under the low beams of the passage and out into the firelit hall.

  Over by the hearth. Aud rose from her chair in terror. Halli
had the Trow claw in his hand. He ran after the horse and rider, reaching for the bridle.

  'Stop!' he shouted. 'No further! State your business! Are you friend or foe?'

  The rider's cowl hung low about his head; his face could not be seen. Only his hands protruded from the cloak – aged, veined, liver-spotted hands, with long curved nails like talons. At his side hung a great dark bag, heavy, bulging. Something about the rounded shape of those bulges, about the leaden way the bag swung as the horse came to a standstill, made Halli's skin crawl. He waved the Trow claw so that it shone darkly in the light.

  'I ask once more! Are you friend or—?'

  With a sudden flourish, the rider flung back his cloak. Light gleamed palely on a long knife suspended in his belt. It was a knife that looked familiar.

  Halli stepped back, mouth open. 'Snorri . . .?'

  The ancient hands threw back the cowl to reveal the wildly tufted eyebrows, the staring eyes, the gaunt and weathered face of the old man from the roadside hovel. He stared at Halli grimly, then cast his implacable gaze around the hall – at Aud standing wide-eyed by the fire, at Gudny peering through the drapes, at one or two servants clustering at the door. His eyes narrowed; he seemed to hunt for instant evidence of atrocity or corruption. At last, finding nothing obvious, he deigned to look on Halli once more.

  'I have come,' the old man said, tapping Arnkel's knife in his belt, 'as I said I would. To do you a good turn. To return your favour, to return the kindness you showed me many months ago.'

  Halli blinked, nodded. 'Erm, thank you. Wouldn't you like to get down?'

  'Two things!' Snorri cried, in a voice that roused echoes along the hall and made Halli flinch back. 'Two things I bring you! This is the first.' Half turning, he loosened a cord that tied the great dark bag to the saddle; it fell with a solid thud upon the floor. Large, heavy, rounded shapes rolled within the red-stained sacking.

  Halli swallowed audibly. 'What . . . what is that . . . ?'

  'A bag of beets. I have more than I know what to do with. A gift of greeting.'

  'Well, that's very nice—'

  'Wait!' Snorri cried. 'The second thing I bring is news!

  Terrible news! Hord Hakonsson and his men have scaled the ice-choked gorge! They are already in the upper valley. Tomorrow night, when you are sleeping, they will be at your gates! They seek to burn your House and take your lands!' He scratched his nose, cocked a bony leg and began to dismount. 'Oh yes . . .' he added, pausing, 'and kill you all.'

  24

  BEFORE DEPARTING FOR HIS meeting with the heroes, Svein summoned his wife before him. 'I intend to rid our valley of the Trows once and for all,' he said, 'and it may be that I'll meet my death in doing so. If I don't come back, here are my instructions. I've no son, but my men are good fighters. Go out on raids, and whoever acquits himself best, make him your Arbiter. After that, respect my boundaries and my laws. If someone in my House is killed, his enemy must be killed in turn. If one of the other Houses threatens us, their hall must be burned down. Keep our wells clean and our blood pure. Remember that you are the greatest people of the valley. As for me, build my cairn on the ridge above the House so that I may watch over you always; and those of you who obey my laws shall join me on the hill.'

  They had been coming in twos and threes since before dawn, and now the people of Svein's House filled the hall. The noise they made carried down the little corridor to Arnkel and Astrid's room; it resonated distantly like the crashing of the falls.

  Halli stood before the bed, waiting for his mother to speak. Her chair was at the margins of the candlelight; she sat straight-backed and motionless, hands folded in her lap, her face cast in shadow by the bright, sharp edge of her long fair hair.

  Close by her, Halli's father slept quietly in the centre of the bed.

  'This comes of your deeds,' Astrid said finally.

  'I know.'

  'Have you woken Leif ?'

  'Yes. Well, I tried. He was befuddled with drink. Eyjolf took him to the trough.'

  His mother made a sharp noise between her teeth. Halli waited. As he waited, his eyes drifted slowly across the bed to where his father lay. The candle on the table cast soft light upon the ravaged face. Arnkel was sleeping more peacefully than in many months, his white hair spread out upon the pillow behind his head. Halli watched his father sleep. It struck him that Arnkel's beard had grown long and vigorous during the illness – that it must have been that way all winter. He had not noticed it before.

  'Halli?' His mother had been speaking to him. 'Did you hear what I said?'

  'No.'

  'I asked if you had slept at all.'

  'A little, Mother. A few hours. I needed to.'

  'Good. Come here.' She sat as still and upright as if in her Law Seat rather than a bedside chair. Halli, approaching slowly, felt as diffident as if she judged him in a trial. He came to a halt before her, eyes lowered to the floor.

  'Mother—'

  'Look at me.' Her expression, pale and sombre, did not change, but her hand reached out to touch the side of his face. 'Whatever has passed between us is forgotten now,' she said. 'You are my son, and I know the qualities you have. You need to use those qualities now, Halli Sveinsson. Use them for the good of your House. Go to the hall. Help Leif as best you can. Your father would wish it so.'

  Her hand brushed his cheek and was removed. Halli said thickly, 'Please, come with me. You know they will want to hear from you.'

  She turned her head away; the hair fell forward to obscure her face. 'No. I cannot leave Arnkel. Not now. It is too close. Go on, Halli.'

  Outside, he paused in the darkness of the passage. From beyond the drapes the roar of the crowd thrummed against his ear. Weariness rose in him; his eyes were hot. He closed them, leaned back against the wall – and saw an image of the southern mountains as he had seen them from the moor-top hill: clear, stark, terrible, inviting – a world awaiting exploration.

  He opened his eyes abruptly. No. That was nothing but a dream.

  Meeting the Trow had altered everything for Halli. Above all, it had corroborated the tales of Svein. The hero's lustre, which over recent weeks had been all but extinguished, shone for him once more – if not as bright as it had once been, at least bright enough.

  What had Svein done? He had roamed the moors just as Halli had; he too had fought the Trows up there. But in the end he had turned his back on the lands beyond, and died protecting his House and valley. Halli had no desire to emulate the harsher aspects of Svein's rule, but the message that the stories gave was clear. It was his House, his family, and he knew what he had to do.

  Halli looked towards the drapes. He took a deep breath.

  He pushed the drapes aside and went into the hall.

  From dais to porch, from hearth to wall, almost everyone from the House had gathered there in the dawn half-light, and every person, by shared, unspoken instinct, carried an item of defence. There were men with mattocks and scythes, billhooks and flails. women with hoes, rakes and sharp, curved sickles. Older children held spades, forks and shovels; younger ones had cudgels made from wood scraps found in carpenters' workshops. Sturla and Ketil each had long oak staves, Kugi the sty-boy a menacing dung-rake, and even Gudrun the goat-girl, watching timorously from near the door, held a rusty shard of metal, perhaps from some ancient ploughshare.

  The noise of the crowd rose and fell like a living thing. Everyone looked to the dais, where the Law Seats stood. They waited for the Founder's family to emerge.

  In the shadows beside the dais, Halli discovered Gudny and Snorri. Aud was not there; her hand and ankle were being re-dressed in Katla's room.

  Snorri, who had finished his third helping of breakfast, and was still chewing on a heel of bread, acknowledged Halli's arrival with a nod. He gestured around the hall. 'It is the same as ever with the warlike Sveinssons! See their weapons bristling like nettles after rain!'

  'They're scared, that's all!' Gudny said indignantly. 'We are a peaceable f
olk.'

  'Tell that to the dead men in the mounds beside my hut! Look at those infants with their little knives – I shan't bend to tie my boots lest they cut my throat!'

  Halli's emergence had been noticed by the crowd; silence fell like a cloak. One or two people coughed, otherwise all was still.

  Gudny glanced at the drapes, lips white with tension. 'Where is Leif ?'

  Halli shrugged. 'Still dousing his head in the trough, most likely.'

  'That's all we need! Halli, go up and talk to them.'

  'Me? They hate me! There'll be a riot.'

  'Well, we can't wait any—'

  With sudden violence the drapes were cast aside. From the darkness of the passage strode Leif, his face flushed pink, his eyes red-rimmed. His hair, still dripping from the trough, hung lank upon his brow. Blinking a little at the brightness stealing through the windows, he took brief stock of the multitude in the hall. Uttering a curse beneath his breath, he passed Halli and Gudny without a word, bounded up the steps and loped across the dais to the Law Seats, where he sat in Arnkel's chair.

  Leif smoothed back his hair with a flick of the wrist and jutted his chin assertively. He cleared his throat and, chest swelling, opened his mouth to speak.

  A voice from the crowd: 'You're not Arbiter yet! Get up from there!'

  'Arnkel still lives!' cried another. 'You bring bad luck upon us!'

  'Where is Arnkel? Let him speak! Where is Astrid?'

  'Get up from there!'

  At first Leif remained defiantly where he was, but as the protest swelled, and his attempts at speaking went unheard, he thrust himself up from the chair and stalked to the front of the dais, to stand glowering at the people. Gradually the tumult quieted.

  Leif shook his head contemptuously. 'Thank you! I'll remind you that I am acting Arbiter, as my father is so ill, and you would do well to be deferential to your leader, especially in such troubled times. Now, I know why you're here: odd rumours have spread during the night and it is time we looked into them. But I'm sure we shall have no need of any of that.' He waved his hand at the motley assortment of weaponry arrayed before him. 'So, where is the man who started all this? A stranger, I believe . . . Ah, you? Come here.'