by Terry Jones
And though they heard the mermaids singing behind them, and Kobold shouting after them, they rowed Golden Dragon over the Secret Lake, through the painted cavern and down a thousand twisting passageways. They dragged their ship through rock-filled chambers, and hauled her up subterranean cascades, until at long last they suddenly found themselves sailing out onto the open sea once more, with the clear sky above them.
THE GiANT’S HARP
THE SUN SHONE DOWN, and Golden Dragon sped through the blue seas until they came to a land of palm trees. Here they made a camp to rest and collect fresh water and food.
One day, Erik and his men heard music coming from far away, borne upon the breeze. ‘Who can be playing such music?’ they asked one another. ‘Let us go and find out.’
But Erik said, ‘No. We must finish our business here and then leave, for we still have far to go.’ And so they continued to work, gathering fruits and searching for fresh water.
Some days passed, however, and still they had not discovered fresh water in that land for, although there were dates and coconuts and other fruits, there were no rivers or even streams that they could see. Erik and Ulf Sigfusson were searching in a rocky ravine, when once again they heard the beautiful music.
‘Surely,’ said Erik, ‘whoever it is that plays such music must themselves be beautiful beyond belief …’
‘Let us see for ourselves,’ said Ulf Sigfusson.
‘The sound is certainly not far away,’ said Erik. ‘And who knows, it may lead us to the water that we seek.’
So Erik and Ulf Sigfusson began to follow the sound of the beautiful music.
They followed it through the ravine, and the great cliffs of rock towered up high on either side of them. And still the sound led them on, although the way got steep and the path became rockier and harder.
Suddenly they found their way blocked by a fearsome giant, three times as tall as a man, with silver skin and hair that reached right down to the ground.
‘At last I’ve caught you!’ cried the giant. ‘You’re the ones who have been stealing my sheep, eh? Well, I’ll teach you, I’ll roast you over my fire tonight, and eat you just as you have eaten my sheep!’
‘We have not been stealing your sheep!’ cried Erik. ‘We are only looking to see who makes such beautiful music!’
‘What music?’ roared the giant.
‘The music that you hear borne so gently on the breeze,’ replied Ulf Sigfusson.
‘I hear no music!’ roared the giant. ‘There is no music!’ And he threw a net over the two companions and dragged them to his cave.
The cave was dark and smelt of blood, and yet the strange thing was that in it they could hear music louder than ever.
‘Listen, giant!’ cried Erik. ‘Surely you can hear that beautiful music now!’
‘I hear no music,’ replied the giant. ‘There is no music.’ And with that he threw them into a corner and went to fetch some kindling for his fire.
While he was gone, Erik and Ulf Sigfusson got out their knives and started to cut their way out of the net. But they found that their knives simply would not cut it – no matter what they did.
‘Now we are lost!’ cried Erik, ‘for I hear the tread of the giant’s feet returning with the wood for his fire, so he can roast us for his dinner tonight!’
But Ulf Sigfusson replied, ‘Listen to the music! It is more beautiful than ever!’
‘Never mind about that!’ cried Erik. ‘We must get free of this net before the giant returns, or we shall never listen to any music ever again!’
But it was too late. A dark shadow blotted out the light from the entrance of the cave, as the giant returned, and began to light his fire.
‘Listen, giant!’ cried Erik. ‘Surely you hear that music now! Its beauty surpasses anything I have ever heard before.’
But the giant just grunted and said, ‘I hear no music! There is no music!’ Then he went out to sharpen his axe to chop off their heads.
‘Quick!’ said Erik to Ulf Sigfusson, ‘Do as I say!’ But Ulf Sigfusson was so enraptured by the music that he could hear nothing else. And even though Erik shook him and slapped him, he was as a man in a dream. And outside they could hear the sound of an axe being sharpened.
Then Erik put his arms round his comrade and rolled with him in the net towards the fire. When they got near enough, Erik poked his hand through the net and seized a burning branch, and set fire to the net. The net burst into flames, and Erik and Ulf Sigfusson leapt out before they could be burnt themselves.
But even as they did so, they heard the heavy tread of the giant outside.
‘Quick!’ cried Erik, but Ulf Sigfusson was not listening. He was walking back into the cave like a man in a dream.
‘Ulf!’ cried Erik. ‘What are you doing?’
‘The music is coming from deep within this very cave,’ replied Ulf.
‘But the giant is returning with his sharp axe!’ cried Erik. ‘We must go now or we shall be caught!’
But Ulf Sigfusson was not listening, and before Erik could say or do anything else, he heard the tread of the giant’s foot at the entrance of the cave, and he turned and saw the giant entering the cave with his newly sharpened axe. So without waiting another second, Erik ran after his comrade, deeper into the giant’s cave.
They picked their way down a narrow twisting passageway, lit only by the burning branch that Erik still carried. And after a short time they heard a dreadful roar behind them, as the giant found the burnt-up net and realised he had been cheated out of his dinner.
As Erik and Ulf Sigfusson made their way deeper and deeper into the giant’s cave, the music got louder and louder, and even Erik began to be caught in the spell of its beauty. But he stripped some bark from the burning branch and stuffed it into his ears so that he could not hear.
‘Surely,’ said Ulf Sigfusson, ‘it is a god who makes such sounds!’
And then they turned a corner and saw the most extraordinary sight. There was the musician playing a harp that was painted with magic signs. But the musician was not a god, nor was the musician beautiful as they had imagined. In fact the musician was neither man nor woman nor child … It was the wind that blew through the tunnels and passageways of the giant’s cave. And the harp was hanging there in the midst of a great cavern, and all around it, Erik could see by the flickering light of his burning branch dim shapes … hundreds and thousands of them. And as Erik peered into the gloom he could see that there were men and women, birds and beasts all gathered around that wonderful harp, each and every one of them gazing up at it … without moving … without blinking an eye … and each and every one of them was gaunt and thin and grey as the rock of the cave. And Erik knew that many of them had been sitting there in that darkness for thousands of years, under the enchantment of the magic harp, for they were wraiths – the ghosts of living creatures about to die but who could not because their very souls had become enchanted by the music and could not leave.
There were bears and eagles, dogs and cats, lizards and bats and even the giant’s sheep, all sitting there transfixed. And then Erik noticed Ulf Sigfusson, falling to his knees, his eyes, too, fixed on that harp, and Erik knew that Ulf was under the spell completely and that he himself would have fallen long ago but for the plugs of bark in his ears. But even so, Erik could feel his will ebbing, as the notes of the harp made themselves heard even to him and he felt an uncontrollable urge to take the plugs of bark out of his ears so that he might hear the music better. But he did not. Instead he strode through that enchanted throng of wraiths. Then he reached out his hand to the harp and took hold of it … and, as he did so, its strings vibrated along the bones of his arm and entered his mind so that he heard them as clear as if he had heard them with his ears. Their beauty wrapped around his soul like a shroud, and he felt his soul begin to slumber, and his body weaken, and he too found himself falling to his knees.
But even as he fell he kept his hold upon the harp, so that he tore it down fr
om the peg on which it hung … All but one of the strings broke, and he held the harp on the ground where the winds could not reach it, and the music stopped.
The moment it stopped a strange groan rose up from the throng of shadows, and every one of them turned to look at Erik, and their eyes were tiny points of white light, and their mouths cracked open, and their white teeth shone sharp, like a million daggers in the night, and the groan turned into a roar of rage.
Without another moment’s thought, Erik leapt to his feet, and, still clutching the harp, he ran as hard as he could back the way he had come, back up the passageway, and Ulf Sigfusson followed. Behind them they heard the fearful noise as all those tortured creatures from the past clamoured with rage and disappointment and began to fly after them.
Erik and Ulf Sigfusson ran with every ounce of strength in their bodies, and yet, even so, those creatures gained on them inch by inch.
‘We cannot make it!’ cried Ulf Sigfusson.
‘Keep running!’ shouted Erik.
And suddenly there they were back in the giant’s cave, and the giant himself was blocking their way.
‘So there you are!’ he cried, and he raised his newly sharpened axe.
‘Wait!’ cried Erik, ‘we did not steal your sheep! It was this that stole them!’ And he lifted up the harp, and the wind plucked a note from the last unbroken string.
And the giant dropped his axe and his eyes went wide with wonder. ‘My harp!’ he cried, and he snatched it from Erik’s hand.
But even as he did so the furious wraiths burst into the giant’s cave, their eyes white and their teeth bared and the cry of blood rising from their throats – both man and beast alike. And there and then they would have torn Erik and Ulf Sigfusson to pieces, had not a strange thing happened. The giant was holding the harp in his fingers, and it looked like a child’s toy in his huge hand, but he plucked the last unbroken string, and a high clear note echoed round and round the cave, and disappeared down the myriad passageways and retuned deeper and higher in a magical chord … A hush fell over all that ghastly throng, and each and every one of them heaved a great sigh, and as Erik and Ulf Sigfusson watched, their souls rose up from their bodies and flew out of the door of the cave to go to wherever spirits go.
Then the giant turned to the two comrades, and now he no longer seemed a terrible ogre.
‘This is my harp,’ he said. ‘On it I played such music that everyone who heard it was my friend. But the Witch of the Wind grew jealous – for she wanders lonely through the world, never standing still, always moving from place to place. She stole my harp to ensnare the souls of men and beasts, and since then I have dragged out my days in solitude here, for no living thing would stay with me.’
‘But why did you not hear it?’ asked Erik.
‘Ah,’ said the giant, ‘that is my one great sadness … I alone cannot hear the music of my own harp.’
Then the giant asked Erik and Ulf Sigfusson what they would like as a reward, and they told him of their search for water.
‘Go down to the ravine where you first heard the music,’ said the giant, ‘and you will find what you seek under the old cedar tree that grows there.’
So Erik and Ulf Sigfusson thanked the giant and hurried to the ravine. But under the old cedar tree they found neither stream nor well nor pond, only a jug with a crack in it.
‘The giant is playing tricks with us,’ said Ulf Sigfusson. But Erik lifted the jug up and said: ‘In a way he has told the truth, for look, the jug is full of water!’ and Erik tasted the water and found that it was good water.
‘But what is one jug amongst so many of us?’ asked Ulf Sigfusson.
‘Perhaps he did not realise there were more of us,’ said Erik.
So the companions returned to the giant’s cave and explained how many of them there were. Then the giant took the jug and – to their astonishment – he emptied it out on the ground and then handed it back.
‘What sort of an answer is this?’ asked Erik, but no sooner had he said the words then he looked into the jug, and found that it was once again full of water. And when he emptied it, he found that it refilled itself.
Then Erik and Ulf Sigfusson returned to Golden Dragon, and after that they never went short of water again.
HOW DEATH CHALLENGED ERiK
ONE NIGHT ERIK AND HIS MEN were sleeping in their ship, when they heard a strange noise. Each and every one of them woke up with a start, and then lay listening in the blackness, while the waves tossed them up and down.
‘What is that noise?’ asked Ragnar Forkbeard. ‘It sounds like a deep drum, drumming across the sea!’
‘No,’ said Sven the Strong. ‘It sounds like a great bell, tolling across the sea.’
‘Ssh!’ said Thorkhild, and they all listened, and as they listened the drum and the bell seemed to beat in time with each other, and then they felt a cold breeze blow across their faces.
‘It is getting closer,’ said Erik, ‘whatever it is.’
Then they all strained their eyes, and peered into the black night.
‘Look!’ whispered Ragnar Forkbeard. ‘There is a light!’ And sure enough, far, far away, somewhere between the black water and the black sky, a dim lantern was swinging towards them.
‘Who can it be in these uncharted waters?’ they asked one another. ‘Surely no other men have travelled this far?’
But as they wondered, the lantern swung closer, and they could see it reflected a thousand times on the always-changing edges of the water. And as the drum beat louder and the bell tolled stronger, they began to see dim figures and more carrying lanterns behind.
‘Why!’ cried Sven the Strong. ‘What sort of men are these that venture without a boat amongst the tossing waves, and tread a path across the sea as if it were the broad highway?’
And sure enough, Erik and his men watched in wonder as the strange column filed past Golden Dragon, six abreast, their lanterns swinging and glimmering feebly as they marched.
‘It is the March of the Dead,’ murmured Thorkhild.
Just then a rider on a horse galloped up, and the horse reared and stamped its hooves on the sea, sending the salt spray flying. And all the while, the dead filed past. The rider wore a hood, but inside the hood they could see a skull’s eyes looking at them.
‘Are you Death?’ asked Thorkhild.
But the horse reared up and whinnied, and the waves crashed around them and, if the figure replied, they could not hear it.
‘Have you come for all of us?’ asked Erik. ‘Or for but one of us?’
Again the horse snorted and pawed the sea, and the waves smashed so hard together that you could not have heard a huntsman’s horn six inches from your ear, and, if the figure replied, none of them heard it. And all the while the dead filed past, and their dingy lanterns swung over the black sea.
‘Speak to us!’ cried Sven the Strong. ‘Tell us what you want, or else leave us alone!’
At that a shout – or perhaps it was a laugh – went up from all the dead as they filed past, and the rider on the horse pointed a bony finger at Sven the Strong.
‘Spare his life!’ cried Erik. ‘It is I who brought us all on this venture – take me if you must take one of us now!’
The rider turned his hollow eyes on Erik, and spoke. And at every word the lanterns all went out, and flickered on again only in the spaces between his words.
‘I am Death,’ said the figure. ‘And none of you shall cheat me. I will take you all. And I will take you when I choose … But enjoy a game now and then, and if you will play me at chess, I will spare your friend’s life for now.’
‘I will play you at chess!’ cried Erik.
‘Don’t!’ whispered Thorkhild.
‘Very good,’ said Death. ‘You will know me when you see me!’
And with that he rode off, and the last of the dead filed off into the black night.
Dawn was breaking, and Erik and his men stretched and yawned, and wondered if they had d
reamt it all. But Thorkhild took Erik on one side, and said: ‘You must not play chess with Death. You can only lose.’
‘We shall see,’ said Erik, and the wind blew them to a green shore.
THE LAND WHERE THE SUN GOES AT NIGHT
WHEN ERIK AND HIS MEN landed on that green shore, they looked around in wonder.
‘What if this were the land we have been seeking all this while?’ they whispered one to the other.
‘It is indeed a fair country,’ murmured Ragnar Forkbeard. ‘See how green the grass is.’
‘There is wild game in the forests!’ reported a search party.
‘There are sheep and cattle in the meadows,’ reported another.
‘And fruit and water and trees for timber – everything men could need!’ reported yet another.
‘I have heard my father tell, many a time and oft,’ murmured Erik, ‘that the land where the sun goes at night is such a place as this …’
‘Can it be that we are truly there at last?’ asked Ragnar Forkbeard, but even as he spoke, they heard shouting and running feet, and they looked up and saw Sven the Strong running down the hillside towards the beach.
‘Get your arms!’ he cried.
‘What is it?’ asked Erik, but Sven the Strong shook his head.
‘Even if I were to tell you what I have found, you would not believe me,’ he said, ‘Come and see for yourselves – but bring every weapon you have, for you will need them.’
And so they armed themselves, and went with Sven the Strong back up the hill. They walked on for some time, wondering what it could be, but no matter how many times they asked Sven what it was, he shook his head and refused to answer at all.
After some while they reached a high plateau, and found themselves looking down into a fertile plain. There were fields and meadows, sheep on the hills, a village in the distance, and through it all ran a broad river, sparkling in the sun.
‘Look over there,’ whispered Sven the Strong, and as Erik and the others watched, they saw a strange, hunched figure go into a field and start to sow corn.