The Saga of Erik the Viking

by Terry Jones

  ‘Don’t you see where we are!’ cried Erik.

  ‘I’ve never seen such a thing,’ said Sven the Strong, ‘and it means nothing to me.’

  ‘We are in the nest of the great bird!’ cried Erik. ‘And see! Who is that small figure in the middle?’

  They all looked and saw, down in the bottom of the great bird’s nest, amongst the threaded trunks of trees, their comrade whom they thought was lost, Ragnar Forkbeard.

  ‘Is he alive or dead?’ they asked each other, and then they saw him scramble to his feet and wave at them.

  Erik turned to Thorkhild and said, ‘Now I truly believe that we shall find Golden Dragon and that we shall reach our final goal.’

  Then without another thought, they all ran down into the great nest of trees, jumping from trunk to trunk, until they had reached their comrade. And there they hugged and clapped each other on the back.

  ‘But we must make haste,’ said Thorkhild. ‘We are right in the middle of the great bird’s nest, it might return at any moment!’

  ‘Indeed it might!’ said Ragnar Forkbeard, ‘and yet the curious thing is that it did not harm me. Its talons were great and strong and yet it scarcely scratched the surface of my skin.’

  ‘We can take our time,’ said Erik, ‘the bird will not return.’

  ‘But how can you be so sure?’ asked his men.

  ‘That I may not tell you,’ replied Erik, ‘but, as I am your leader, you can believe what I say.’

  And so they took their way out of the great bird’s nest and down the mountain, and set off once more in search of Golden Dragon.

  That night, as they lay down to sleep, Thorkhild took Erik on one side and said, ‘Erik, what made you so certain that the great bird would not return?’

  Erik swore Thorkhild to secrecy and then told him what the spirit of the stream had said. ‘But it was you, Thorkhild, who made me see what it was within me. There was no great bird, as the spirit of the stream said, but it was the doubt that had grown in my mind, taking wing and casting a cloud over all of us.’

  Thorkhild shook his head. ‘This is a fine country,’ he said, ‘and a man could lead a good life here, but you cannot live for long in a land in which there is no room for doubt.’

  ‘No,’ said Erik, ‘let us get away from here as soon as we are able.’

  So they slept, and the next day they set off to find their ship.

  THE TALKiNG VALLEY

  ERIK AND HIS MEN travelled on until they came to a green valley full of blue flowers. Thorkhild sniffed the breeze and said, ‘There is something curious about this valley.’

  But they set off across it, until they came to a tree leaning over a clear pool. ‘I have never seen such a tree before,’ said Erik. ‘Look! Its bark is lined with gold!’

  ‘So it is!’ cried his men, and they seized their knives and began to strip out the gold from the bark of the tree. But suddenly a gentle voice stopped them. ‘Don’t!’ it said.

  Erik and his men looked all around them, but they could see no one, so they shrugged and carried on. And then the gentle voice spoke again. ‘Don’t!’ it said, ‘for I will die.’

  Erik and his men looked at each other. Then they looked behind the tree, and then they looked in its branches.

  ‘I must be dreaming!’ said Erik. ‘But it seemed to me as if the tree spoke.’

  ‘How can a tree speak?’ cried Sven the Strong, and he took his knife again, and began to strip out more gold from the bark.

  ‘Do not kill me,’ said the gentle voice once more.

  ‘Who are you?’ cried Sven the Strong, letting go of his knife.

  ‘I am the tree that you are wounding with your sharp blade,’ replied the voice.

  ‘What sort of country is this,’ cried Erik, ‘where trees can speak?’

  ‘This is the Talking Valley,’ replied the tree. ‘In it you will find many wonderful things, but you can do much harm.’

  ‘What sort of tree are you?’ asked Erik.

  ‘I am a Stone Tree,’ replied the tree. ‘My bark is seamed with gold, my branches are shot through with silver, and my leaves are veined with fine filigree, but all my fruits are stones, and when summer ends my back is almost broken by their weight.’

  ‘But how is it you can speak?’ asked Ragnar Forkbeard.

  ‘I can speak no more nor less than any tree,’ replied the Stone Tree. ‘It is just that you can understand, for all who touch the gold from my bark can ever after understand all plants.’

  ‘Is that true, grass?’ asked Erik.

  ‘It’s true!’ whispered a million tiny voices, and a million blades of grass waved together in the wind.

  ‘But this is more wonderful than anything I have ever seen or heard before!’ exclaimed Ragnar Forkbeard, and he bent down and heard a daisy singing in a high voice:

  ‘I am bowing to the sun

  And when my day is done

  I shall turn away and wait

  For my friend to come, to come.’

  ‘Daisy!’ whispered Ragnar Forkbeard. ‘We are seeking the land where the sun goes at night. Since the sun is your friend, do you know where it is?’

  And the daisy replied, ‘I am only a daisy, living down here in this valley – why don’t you ask the trailing vine that grows on the hill? He’s sure to know.’

  So Ragnar Forkbeard went to the hill and spoke to the trailing vine, which was clinging to a rock, and the vine replied, ‘I grow up here and have a fine view over this valley … I see that all the flowers and all the trees are in their proper places … and that’s a heavy responsibility, as you can well understand …’

  ‘But do you know the land where the sun goes at night, vine?’ asked Ragnar Forkbeard. ‘Come to the point.’

  ‘I like to go in all directions,’ replied the vine, ‘and take my time … but right now I’m climbing up this rock … perhaps in a year or two I’ll be able to look over the top, and then I’ll be able to answer your question …’

  ‘But we know!’ said some voices from higher up, and Ragnar Forkbeard looked up to see some of the blue flowers, which filled the valley, waving down to him.

  ‘Don’t believe those orchids,’ said the vine, ‘they’re full of tricks and they don’t like strangers.’

  But Ragnar Forkbeard had already climbed up to the blue orchids. ‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘what you know.’

  ‘Take one of my petals, and eat it,’ said the blue flower nearest to him. So Ragnar Forkbeard broke off a petal, and a hush went over all the orchids. Then he ate the petal and waited. But nothing happened. ‘Well?’ said Ragnar Forkbeard, but the blue orchids said nothing to him. So Ragnar Forkbeard turned back to the vine and said: ‘Why do the orchids say nothing?’ But the vine was also silent. Then Ragnar Forkbeard suddenly knew that the magic power to hear and understand all plants had left him and that he had been tricked by the blue orchids.

  Meanwhile Erik and the others were still standing round the Stone Tree. Sven the Strong broke off a branch and sure enough, just as the tree had said, it was shot through with silver.

  And while Sven was holding it, he heard a shout: ‘Run! Run! Run for your lives!’ and he turned round and saw three hares racing across the meadow. And the biggest of the hares was calling to the others, ‘Run, little brothers! Run!’

  ‘What is it you hear, Sven?’ asked Erik, and he took the silver-lined branch from Sven’s hand, and then he too heard the hares calling to each other, and he heard a buzzard high up in the sky crying, ‘Run, little hares! Save yourselves for me!’ Then a fox appeared from the wood, and glared up at the buzzard, crying, ‘They’re mine buzzard! Mine!’ and he raced after the hares.

  And Erik’s men passed the silver branch from one to another, and whoever touched it could from then on understand not only plants but the animals as well.

  ‘Stone Tree!’ said Erik, ‘your bark makes us hear plants speaking, your branches make us understand the language of animals … now tell us … what do your leaves do?’r />
  And the Stone Tree replied, ‘Do not hurt me further, for everything you take from me is a little death.’

  ‘But you’ll soon grow new leaves!’ cried Erik.

  ‘Alas … no,’ said the Stone Tree, ‘I am not like other trees. My fruit are stones, which break my back with their weight, and I cannot grow anything else.’

  But one of Erik’s men had already broken off a leaf, and the Stone Tree sighed and said, ‘Drop it in the pool and then taste the water.’

  And when they did … can you guess what happened? They heard the pool chuckling in a deep, cool voice, ‘So you’re looking for the land where the sun goes at night.’

  ‘How do you know, pool?’ asked Erik.

  ‘Because,’ said the pool, ‘the rocks told me.’

  And Erik and his men heard the rocks say, ‘We heard it from the vine.’

  ‘Now,’ said Thorkhild, ‘we can understand the plants and the wild beasts and even the very earth itself!’

  ‘And perhaps now,’ said Erik, ‘we shall also learn something of the land where the sun goes at night.’

  But before he had finished speaking a terrific noise filled their ears.

  ‘Ah!’ said the pool, ‘the trees of the forest are beginning their choir practice. They usually do about this time.’ And at once all the stones started chattering away with excitement, and the grass giggled, and the birds shouted and yelled at the trees.

  ‘This is indeed the Talking Valley!’ exclaimed Erik, and for the rest of the day he and his men wandered through the valley marvelling at the thousands of voices that they heard, and listening to the birds and the insects, the fish in the stream, the reeds at the water’s edge, and the water itself and even the sticks and stones that lay by the wayside.

  Only Ragnar Forkbeard remained on his own. He did not tell anyone that he had lost the power to hear those wonderful things, but he set himself on guard over the baggage and equipment.

  Many days passed, and Erik and his men never tired of listening to the Talking Valley. Indeed they scarcely noticed how the days were passing. But at length Erik came to Thorkhild and said, ‘I am troubled.’

  ‘Have you grown tired of the Talking Valley so soon?’ asked Thorkhild.

  ‘No,’ answered Erik, ‘but it troubles me that our ship, Golden Dragon, is lying unguarded in some foreign bay.’

  ‘Listen!’ said Thorkhild, ‘the mountains are shouting to each other across the valley!’

  ‘And it troubles me,’ went on Erik, ‘that while we stay in the Talking Valley here, we are forgetting our quest: to find the land where the sun goes at night.’

  ‘Listen!’ said Thorkhild, ‘the frogs are telling each other jokes and the stream is singing a new song!’

  At this Erik wandered away from Thorkhild lost in thought.

  Then Erik called all his men together and said, ‘We must leave this Valley of Talk and find our ship Golden Dragon.’

  But the men were not listening to him. They were listening to the trees and creatures calling from the dark wood.

  ‘We must carry on with our quest!’ shouted Erik, but it was no use. The men had already wandered away, and he stood there on his own. Then it was that he came across Ragnar Forkbeard sitting on guard.

  ‘How is it, Ragnar Forkbeard, that you alone pay no attention to all that the plants and animals and stones are saying?’ asked Erik.

  So Ragnar Forkbeard told Erik what he had told to no one else – how he had been tricked by the orchids, and he hung his head, expecting Erik to laugh. But Erik did not laugh.

  ‘Perhaps you have saved us all, Ragnar Forkbeard!’ he said.

  ‘Saved us all from what?’ asked Ragnar Forkbeard.

  ‘From wasting the rest of our lives away in this Valley of Talk,’ replied Erik.

  And he ran to the blue orchids and tore off as many petals as he could and crushed them into the mead that they all drank that night. And the next day they woke up as men from a dream.

  ‘Did the flowers really sing yesterday?’ they asked each other. ‘Is it really possible that the hills were talking to us last night?’

  Then they went on their way, and Erik did not tell them what he had done, until they were many miles away from the Talking Valley. And when Erik finally told them, the men grumbled and said he had taken away from them the most wonderful gift anyone had ever possessed.

  ‘But what good is such a gift to us?’ replied Erik. ‘If it stops us being ourselves, it is as useless as the fruits of the Stone Tree itself. We are men, and we must do what we set out to do.’

  And so they went on their way, and came to the bay where Golden Dragon lay at anchor.

  THE SPELL-HOUND

  WHEN AT LAST THEY REACHED their ship, Golden Dragon, Erik and his men gave a great shout of joy. But as the echo of it died, Thorkhild said, ‘Did you see that thing?’

  ‘What thing?’ asked Erik.

  I thought I saw a black creature looking over the side of our ship …’ said Thorkhild, but the others shook their heads.

  When they reached Golden Dragon, Erik said, ‘Take care, for sometimes Thorkhild sees things which we do not see.’ But when they searched the boat, they found nothing, and so they set sail without more ado.

  Scarcely had the ship left the bay, however, than Thorkhild gave a cry, and they all turned and saw a great black dog standing at the helm of the ship.

  ‘Look at its eyes!’ cried Thorkhild, and they all saw that in its glowing yellow eyes, it had no pupils.

  ‘Is it blind?’ asked Erik, but no one could tell, and the dog neither barked nor moved. It merely stood there at the helm, and the tiller seemed to move of its own accord.

  ‘This is no mortal dog,’ said Thorkhild, ‘this is a spell-hound!’ And there was not one amongst them that dared go near the helm, as long as that black dog stood there.

  The wind blew and Golden Dragon sped through the seas, with the black dog at the tiller until at last Thorkhild turned to Erik and said, ‘I have heard my grandfather tell of such a dog boarding ships in the far long ago. Sometimes it would steer a ship to an island, where they found unimaginable treasure. But sometimes it would steer a ship over the edge of the world.’

  ‘How can we tell which way this spell-hound will steer us?’ asked Ragnar Forkbeard.

  ‘That I do not know,’ replied Thorkhild.

  Erik was silent for a while, and Golden Dragon sped on through the salt spray, while the black dog stood, unmoving, by the tiller. And Erik’s men whispered one to the other, ‘We are heading for the edge of the world!’

  Then Erik spoke. ‘We shall not be steered anywhere by such a creature!’ he said. ‘How do we get rid of it?’

  ‘That also I do not know,’ replied Thorkhild.

  Then Erik stood up and walked across the deck and boldly began to address the spell-hound. But Thorkhild gripped Erik by the arm and said, ‘Do not speak to it … for one thing I do know is that once you speak to it you will be in its power.’

  But Erik said, ‘Even now we are all in its power, and we don’t know which way we are speeding!’ And with that he turned to the dog and shouted out, ‘Spell-hound! Do you hear me?’

  The spell-hound replied, ‘There is only one question that I may answer, and that is not it …’ and it growled a deep growl, and suddenly leapt down from the helm and stood over Erik with its ugly teeth bared.

  ‘Do not ask it any more questions,’ whispered Thorkhild, ‘for I fear it will pick you up and toss you into the sea like a dead rat!’ But Erik could no longer hear Thorkhild, for all he could hear was the deep growl in the spell-hound’s throat.

  But Erik stood firm and said to the dog, ‘Spell-hound! Where are you steering us?’

  The black dog half-closed its blind eyes and gave an even deeper growl and replied, ‘There is only one question that I may answer, and that is not it …’ And it bent down and picked Erik up in its teeth just as if he had been a dead rat, as Thorkhild had said.

  ‘Put me down!�
�� cried Erik, and he drew his sword, Blueblade, and struck the creature on the nose, but the moment the steel touched the creature, Blueblade leapt from out of Erik’s hands, and flew up to the top of the mast, where it stuck fast.

  ‘Stop!’ cried Thorkhild to Erik. ‘Ask him no more!’ But Erik could not hear him … all he could hear was the deep growl in the spell-hound’s throat, and all he could feel was its hot breath on his skin, and all he could see was its bright sightless eyes, burning into him.

  ‘Spell-hound!’ cried Erik. ‘Why are you here?’

  And the spell-hound growled an even deeper growl and replied, ‘There is only one question I may answer, and that’s not it! And now I shall throw you so high in the air that you will never come down, neither here nor there.’ And it started to twirl Erik round and round in its mouth just as if he had been a dead rat.

  ‘Do something, Thorkhild!’ cried out Ragnar Forkbeard. ‘Surely there is something we can do!’ And at the same time the rest of Erik’s men leapt to their feet, and ran at the great dog with their swords, but just as had happened before, the moment they touched it with their blades, their swords flew out of their hands and straight up into the air, and stuck into the top of the mast. And all the while the spell-hound twirled Erik around faster and faster. And Ragnar Forkbeard cried out, ‘Thorkhild, what is the question? Quick!’

  And Thorkhild closed his eyes and said, ‘I don’t know! I don’t know!’

  Then suddenly Sven the Strong yelled out, ‘Spell-hound!’ and the dog stopped twirling Erik round, and laid its ears back like a dog who hears a command. ‘Who is your master?’ cried out Sven.

  And the black dog dropped Erik to the deck and put its tail between its legs and said, ‘There is only one question that I may answer and that is it. And it is written on the silver collar round my neck.’