by Terry Jones
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A STORY FOR BiLL
This edition first published in the United Kingdom in 2013
by Pavilion Children’s Books
an imprint of Anova Books Group Ltd
10 Southcombe Street
London W14 0RA
Layout copyright © Pavilion Children’s Books 2013
Text copyright © Terry Jones 2013
Illustrations © Michael Foreman 2013
Associate Publisher: Ben Cameron
Design by: Claire Marshall
Production Controller: Helen Gerry
Commissioning Editor: Katie Deane
Digital Editor: Giney Sapera
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission
of the copyright owner.
Hardback ISBN 978-1-84365-224-3
eBook ISBN 978-1-84365-262-5
FOREWORD
T HIS BOOK IS THE RESULT of my dissatisfaction with the Icelandic Sagas the first time I read them. I expected them to be tales of wonder and adventure, full of weird monsters and demons roaming the Earth in search of mortals to destroy! I thought they would be full of fantasy and invention and flights of the imagination.
The first Icelandic saga I read was the Njal’s Saga, and found it, on first reading, to be a rather pedestrian account of family feuds. How somebody stole another farmer’s chicken, and how that farmer then stole the first farmer’s cow, and how the first farmer then stole the second farmer’s horse, and how the second farmer then murdered the first farmer’s child, or wife or near relative. (I am parodying, of course.)
Moreover the Njal’s Saga is full of passages like this: ‘A man named Hoskuld lived there, the son of Dala-Koll (Koll from the Dalir district). His mother was Thorgerd, the daughter of Thorstein the Red, who was the son of Olaf the White, whose father was Ingjald Helgason. Ingjald’s mother was Thora, the daughter of Sigurd Snake-in-the-eye, who was the son of Ragnar Shaggy-breeches. Thorstein the Red’s mother was Unn the Deep-minded; she was the daughter of Ketil Flat-nose, who was the son of Bjorn Buna. Hoskuld lived at Hoskuldsstadir in the valley of Laxardal…’ and so on. I found it hard to get past such passages.
We eventually parodied the Njal’s Saga in an episode of Monty Python called Njorl’s Saga. Erik Njorl can’t mount his horse because of a Voice that is constantly reading out the endless list of lineages. The saga eventually gets taken over by the North Malden Mayor’s Office, thinly disguised as the North Malden Icelandic Saga Society, trying to attract business and investment to North Malden.
In 1979, I had written a book called Fairy Tales for my daughter, Sally, when she was five. When my son, Bill, reached five, I obviously had to write a book for him. We had just visited an exhibition of Vikings at the British Museum, so I asked Bill if he would like a story about Vikings and he said yes. This gave me the chance to write the Sagas as I would have liked them to have been: full of flights of the imagination and adventurous exploits, monsters and creatures and magic and fantasy.
Although, since then, I have changed my mind about the Icelandic Sagas. I was given The Complete Sagas of The Icelanders in five volumes, and have found them to be really fascinating. The tales are, indeed, told in a prosaic way, but they are fascinating because of this. They are glimpses of lives lived seven hundred to a thousand years ago without the artifice of plot or the adornments of rhetoric. Lives, moreover, lived on the margins of civilization, that show people to have been just as noble and virtuous, devious and cunning as any people are today. The Icelandic Sagas show us that we human beings are the same the world over and whatever age we live in. Thank goodness.
Terry Jones
March 2013
CONTENTS
Erik and the Storm
Erik and the Enchantress of the Fjord
Erik and the Sea Dragon
The Old Man of the Sea
How Erik and his Men were Turned to Stone
Erik at the Enchanter’s Court
Erik and the Dogfighters
Thorkhild and the Starsword
The Three Wonderful Gifts
Wolf Mountain
A Hard Question
How Erik and Thangbrand were Tested
Erik and the Great Bird
The Talking Valley
The Spell-Hound
At the Edge of the World
1. The Arrival
2. The Waterfall of Seas
3. The Dragon’s Tooth
The Secret Lake
1. The Fourteenth Orb
2. Viper Rain
3. The Mermaid’s Garden
The Giant’s Harp
How Death Challenged Erik
The Land where the Sun goes at Night
The Last Trick
Blueblade
How Erik Returned Home
ERiK AND THE STORM
THIS IS THE TALE of a Viking warrior who lived hundreds and hundreds of years ago.
His name was Erik. His ship was called Golden Dragon, and its figurehead was a fierce monster carved out of wood, and covered with gold leaf.
One day Erik said to his wife, ‘I must find the land where the sun goes at night.’ But his wife replied, ‘No one has ever been to that far country. And of those who have tried few have ever returned.’
‘You are right,’ said Erik, ‘but, until I have sought that distant land, I shall never sleep in my bed again.’
So he called his son, who was fifteen years old, and told him he must guard their home by day and night. Then he took his sword, which was called Blueblade, stepped on board Golden Dragon and sailed off towards the setting sun.
That night they sailed on far from land, and Erik stood at the helm of Golden Dragon, gazing into the darkness. Erik’s men whispered to each other that they were seeking the land where the sun goes at night, and that no one had ever found it and lived to tell the tale.
Just then a bright green light appeared above them, and a star shaped like a dragon leapt across the sky. Erik turned to his men and said, ‘We shall find what we seek.’ And no one dared say a word after that.
The next morning they found themselves alone on the ocean with great waves heaving the ship up and down. Erik looked up into the sky and smelt the wind.
‘We shan’t make it!’ whispered Erik’s men, one to the other, as the storm clouds blotted out the sun.
‘We’ll be wrecked at sea,’ they murmured as the first drops of rain fell on the deck.
‘There’s land!’ called out Erik. ‘Take down the sails … we’ll have to row for it.’
They leant on their oars as the rain began to pour down on them. And the speck of land on the horizon got bigger as the skies got darker and the sea grew rougher.
But they rowed with all their might and all their main, and, as the lightning forked across the heavens and the thunder rolled all round them, they got closer and closer to land.
‘Rocks to port!’ cried the look-out, and the helmsman steered Golden Dragon round to starboard. ‘Rocks to starboard!’ cried the look-out, and Golden Dragon swung back to port again. ‘Look out ahead!’ cried Erik, and the golden monster on the helm scraped against the rocks as the sea dragged them down and then threw them up again.
‘We’ve had it now!’ cried Erik’s men one to the other and they shut their eyes.
‘Keep rowing!’ cried out Erik, and he steered the ship between the rocks and the boiling sea until all at once they found themselves in a deep fjord.
One by one Erik’s men opened their eyes. The rain still poured down on them and the lightning lit up the wild rocks above them, but the water was calm and they were safe.
‘Now we must sleep,’ said Erik. ‘But tomorrow we shall repair Golden Dragon before we dare go back on the high seas.’
His men laid the mast down and threw the sails across it like a tent, and there they slept for the rest of that stormy night.
ERiK AND THE ENCHANTRESS OF THE FJORD
THE NEXT DAY they set to work to repair Golden Dragon. But Erik took three of his best hunters and said, ‘We shall kill some wild boar and tonight we shall feast.’ Erik and Ragnar Forkbeard and Sven the Strong and Thorkhild set off into the wild forest.
They had not gone more than a mile before they came to a cave. At the entrance to the cave was a strange creature, half bird and half wolf.
‘Erik!’ said the creature, and its voice sounded like a thousand voices speaking together, ‘my mistress is waiting for you,’ and it pointed into the gloomy cave.
‘Who is your mistress?’ asked Erik.
‘She who will tell you what you want to know,’ replied the creature.
But Ragnar Forkbeard gripped Erik by the arm. ‘Do not go into that dark cave. For I fear you will never come out again.’
‘I must,’ said Erik.
But Sven the Strong gripped Erik by the other arm. ‘If you are killed we are all lost,’ he said.
‘I must find out what I want to know,’ said Erik.
And then Thorkhild stood in front of him and said, ‘Perhaps she is the Enchantress of the Fjord who never lets any man return?’
‘If she can tell me what I want to know,’ replied Erik, ‘I must meet her.’
Then he strode into the cave, and the other three would have followed him but the strange creature, half bird, half wolf, barred their way with its great talons, and bared its wolf teeth. Whereupon Ragnar Forkbeard and Thorkhild and Sven the Strong drew their swords and advanced towards it as one.
Meanwhile Erik walked boldly through the cave, and the light from the entrance got dimmer and dimmer until there was no light at all, and Erik was feeling his way along the rocky walls of the cave.
Suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks. Above his head he could hear a sound like someone breathing. He looked up, but he could see nothing. ‘Who’s there?’ he cried.
‘Go deeper into the cave,’ said a voice … and it sounded like his mother, although she was many, many miles away in another land.
Erik put his hand on his sword and went deeper into the cave. Suddenly he stopped, for he could hear another sound above him. It sounded like a heart beating.
‘Who’s there?’ he cried.
‘You must go deeper into the cave,’ said a voice … and it sounded like his father, although he had been dead for many years.
But Erik pulled his helmet more firmly onto his head and went deeper into the cave.
And as he got deeper, the cave grew warmer and he saw a red glow ahead of him. And as he got nearer and nearer he let go of his sword and took off his helmet and he found himself in a small room. It was warm and soft and on the floor had been laid out food and drink and a straw bed. Erik was overcome by a desire to lie down and go to sleep, but something inside him told him to beware.
‘Rest yourself,’ said his father’s voice.
‘I cannot,’ said Erik, ‘for my men are waiting for me to return.’
‘Sleep my child,’ said his mother’s voice.
‘I should like to …’ said Erik, and he lay down on the straw bed, but still something inside him told him to beware.
‘I seek she who will tell me what I want to know …’ he said, and his eyes were half closing with sleep.
‘This is all you need to know,’ said a soft voice at his ear, and he turned and saw a young girl beside him whose skin was green as jade. She held up a golden charm on a golden chain, and said, ‘Here, wear this around your neck and you will know everything you need to know,’ and she lifted it up and Erik looked at her eyes, and still something inside him told him to beware. But he bent his head, and the beautiful green girl placed the chain over his head, and a voice inside him said, ‘Stop! Before it’s too late,’ but the chain was already around his neck and resting on his shoulders.
The green girl gave a cruel laugh, and Erik’s mind went suddenly clear like the water in the stream, and he suddenly knew that this was the Enchantress of the Fjord, and that no man ever returns from her embrace and that now he knew all he needed to know. But the chain was round his neck, and he realised that although his mind was clear he could not move a single muscle.
‘You fool!’ cried the green Enchantress, who now looked a million years old. ‘How could anyone tell you what you wanted to know when you yourself didn’t even know what it was you wanted to ask!’
And she took a great iron stake and was just about to drive it through the golden chain to fix it to the wall when there was a shout and a blaze of light and there stood Ragnar Forkbeard and Sven the Strong and Thorkhild, torn and stained with the bright green blood of the wolf-bird, but safe and holding flaming torches in their hands.
For a moment Erik was blinded by the light and the Enchantress of the Fjord was too, but in that time, Ragnar Forkbeard saw the chain round Erik’s neck and knew what it was. So he snatched it off and before the green Enchantress could do anything, he had thrown it over her neck; she froze as solid and as still as Erik had been, and by the look in her eyes, they could see that she knew everything she needed to know.
Erik and Ragnar Forkbeard and Sven the Strong and Thorkhild ran from that place as fast as they could, but as they reached the mouth of the cave, they saw to their horror the carcass of the wolf-bird, lying where it had fallen in a pool of green blood, suddenly rear up and block their way. Before they had time to draw their swords again, it spoke and its thousand voices were like distant echoes calling from another world.
‘Erik!’ they said. ‘We are the spirits of others like you who did not know the question to which we sought the answer, and so were ensnared by the Green Enchantress. But now you and your comrades have set us free.’
And with that the creature seemed to collapse upon itself and split up into a thousand different shapes that fluttered up into the sky and were gone, like moths to the sun.
Then Sven the Strong sealed up the mouth of the cave with great boulders and rocks, and they all went back to their ship.
ERiK AND THE SEA DRAGON
WHEN THE SHIP, Golden Dragon, had been repaired, Erik and his men dragged her back into the water and held a feast.
Then they sailed off into the uncharted seas.
When they had been travelling three days and three nights they entered a thick mist, and could see neither to right nor left nor in front nor behind.
Thorkhild came to Erik and said, ‘There is something strange about this mist.’
‘You are right,’ replied Erik. ‘Mist is always whitey grey, but this is sometimes red, sometimes blue.’
‘But the strangest thing about it,’ said Thorkhild, ‘is that it is warm. Whereas mist is always cold and damp.’
So Erik stood in front of his men and said, ‘Has any one of you ever seen such a mist as this?’ But they all shook their heads.
Just then they heard the most terrible clap of thunder right over their heads, and the whole boat shook with the sound, and the men trembled as the thunder rolled on and on above them.
Thorkhild looked at Erik and said, ‘There is something strange about this thunder.’
‘You are right,’ replied Erik. ‘Thunder always follows the lightning and yet we have had no lightning.’
‘But the strangest thing about it,’ said Thorkhild, ‘is that
it does not stop but gets louder and louder, whereas thunder always dies away.’
At that moment Sven the Strong pointed up into the sky and said, ‘Look! The sun!’ And they all looked up through the mist and saw a great light shining through at them. And Thorkhild turned to Erik and said, ‘If that is indeed the sun, it is a very strange sun.’
And Erik said, ‘You are right. I have never seen the sun with a black spot right in the middle like that, nor have I seen the sun moving through the sky first one way and then the other.’
‘But the strangest thing about it,’ said Thorkhild, ‘is that I have only ever seen one sun in the heavens, but now I see two!’
And at that a great cry went up from all on board: ‘It’s the Great Dragon of the North Sea!’ they cried. ‘Those suns are its eyes!’ said Erik.
‘And that thunder is its roar!’ said Thorkhild, and at that moment they saw its huge jaws and they saw that the mist was not mist at all, but the smoke that issued from its fiery nostrils.
‘We are lost!’ cried Erik’s men. ‘Nothing can save us now!’
But Erik said, ‘To the oars! We must row as we have never rowed before!’ And they leapt to the oars, but try as they might they could not escape, for the Dragon of the North Sea opened its mouth and began to suck the waters down its great fiery throat, and the ship was carried back twice as fast as they could row forwards.
When Erik saw it was no good and that the Sea Dragon was upon them, he turned to Ragnar Forkbeard and said, ‘What shall we do?’
Ragnar Forkbeard did not answer but, white as a sheet, he ran to the sleeping quarters.
‘Has it come to this,’ asked Erik, ‘that Ragnar Forkbeard has lost his courage and his tongue?’ And as he spoke the Sea Dragon loomed above the ship and a jet of flame licked across the deck, and the men ran here and there putting out fires.
Just then Ragnar Forkbeard reappeared carrying two bolsters and he said, ‘I have lost neither my courage nor my tongue.’