Heroes of the Valley

by Jonathan Stroud

  'Scratching.'

  'Like he's climbing on a rock.'

  'Almost like he's digging.'

  'Yes, but where?' Hord snapped. 'That's the point. I can't make it out. To the left, you think?'

  'Yes . . .'

  'No – I hear it to the right. There!'

  A crack of stone on stone.

  'I'd swear it's to the left as well,' someone muttered. 'How—?'

  'Well, there are two of them, aren't there?' Ragnar snapped. 'They've split up.'

  As he spoke, the darkness flickered into life. Black clouds, silver rimmed, moved suddenly aside; the moon's cold radiance shone down. Their six grey shadows stood in conference within the drifting mist. One by one, they drew their swords.

  'Ragnar,' Hord said, 'you take Bork and Olvir, and go that way. You others come with me. Hurry – while there's light. Whoever you find, you kill, and bring their head to me.'

  Halli and Aud walked on, hand in hand. All about them the white mist churned, carrying sinister subtleties of sound, the shift and sigh of moving earth.

  Aud looked over her shoulder and for an instant saw a creeping shape, moving at an angle to their route. Mist plumed over it; the figure was gone.

  Hord strode swiftly through the mist, eyes glaring. The persistent scratching noise grew louder. It seemed to come from more than one direction.

  Halli squeezed Aud's hand. A slab of solid darkness rose before them, blocking out the moon. Silently they increased their pace, hurrying towards the crag.

  The sounds that Ragnar's party followed – the brittle clinks and snaps of stone – had ceased just as they drew near. Ragnar motioned to his men for silence: the movement caused fresh blood to drip down from his arm.

  The outcrop of squared black rock jutted from the grass and rose to unknown height within the mist. The near side was sheer and tilted; looking up, they noticed an overhanging ledge, just wide enough to grasp.

  Halli looked at Aud and mouthed his invitation. After you.

  * * *

  Hord stopped; his men stopped with him.

  'Saw one,' he whispered. 'Moving this way.'

  'Halli?'

  'No. 'Too tall and thin. 'His friend.'

  Time for the first killing. Hord gripped his sword and bared his teeth. Moonlight gleamed on his chain mail, his shining helm.

  He strode into the mists. His men strode with him.

  At their backs came dark, eager, hurrying forms, congregating from all sides.

  Aud tucked her sword into her belt, jumped up and seized the overhanging ledge of stone in both hands. Her feet dangled in mid-air.

  Ragnar smiled very slightly. He pointed.

  Just visible within the mist: a low-slung shadow, coiled and crouching, as if it sought to conceal itself from view.

  Ragnar's men moved outwards, stepping carefully across fresh drifts of earth. He waited, wrinkling his nose at a rank and bitter smell blowing from somewhere near.

  Now they had the dark, hunched shape encircled. Ragnar raised his knife. He snapped his fingers, gave a cry.

  All three of them ran in.

  Aud had swung her feet into a crevice, and was levering herself up onto the ledge when the screams began. The shock made her lose her grip and she almost fell.

  Halli spun round to stare into the mist. He saw nothing, heard much: shouts, screams (loud at first, then silenced), varied impacts (some metallic, some dull and heavy), the rasp of sundered mail, the cracking of teeth, odd scrapes and draggings upon the ground, rustles of torn clothing, and assorted creaks and shuffling steps that were familiar to him from the night before . . .

  He pressed his back against the cold, damp stone.

  'Halli . . . 'The voice awoke him from his terror. He looked up and saw that Aud had disappeared.

  'Hurry,' she called. 'Climb up.'

  Slowly, slowly, Halli moved away from the crag; with great difficulty, he turned his back on the swirling mist and its vivid array of sounds. Like Aud had done, he tucked his sword into his belt; like Aud he ran, jumped up – and utterly failed to reach the overhanging stone. He jumped again, fell back to earth. No good – it was just a little too high for him; his fingers brushed the base of the ledge, but could get no purchase.

  Halli wet his lips, which were a little dry. His shoulder throbbed. Suppressing his surging panic, he felt around for alternative cracks or crevices below the ledge, but in vain. He cursed under his breath.

  A whisper from on high: 'Halli . . . what's the problem?'

  He flashed a glance over his shoulder – swirling mist – and whispered: 'Can't get up.'

  'What?'

  His croak was just a little louder. 'Can't – get – up.'

  'Oh, great Arne!'

  'Are you at the top? Shall I go round? Where's the best way to climb?'

  Silence. Halli spun slowly round; the noises were quietening now. No one was screaming any more.

  Aud's voice: 'The other sides look hard too. But the top's above the mist; it's flat enough – we could defend it. Halli, you've got to get up. The Trows—'

  'You think I don't know? I'll go round – I'll find another way.'

  Keeping close to the rock, he set off, but had gone only four paces when Aud's voice came again, only louder. 'Don't go round.'

  'Why not?'

  'I can see them in the mist, Halli . . . they're coming from the other side.'

  'Svein's blood, how many?'

  'Can't tell . . . they're too hazy; the moon's too bright and they keep so low, like they're bent double, crawling.'

  Halli stepped back a few paces, gave a little run-up and sprang with all his vigour at the ledge. Missing it completely, he collided with the rock and fell in a sprawling heap. His shoulder was a blaze of agony; his blood splashed on the ground.

  'Halli?'

  'What now?'

  'There are more coming from behind you. Jump, for Arne's sake! How short can your legs be?'

  Halli made no answer; he was busy hopping and jumping and bounding against the black surface of the crag, hands scrabbling desperately at the rock. He became aware of shuffling noises drawing close from all around.

  'Come on, Halli . . .'

  Halli stopped jumping. He came to a decision. He turned, and drew the sword that he had taken from Ragnar. He weighed it in his hand, looked down its length at the nicks and dents left from the fighting at the House. He considered the solid metal hilt, wrapped with cloth. The hand guard was wide and sturdy.

  Halli held the sword ready. Somewhere above, Aud was shouting at him, but he no longer heard her; blood pounded in his ears with an intensity that was oddly calming.

  The mist flickered, dimmed: dark shapes moved within it, came towards him. Their forms were slabs of shadow; it seemed to Halli they were roughly human height, but appallingly thin, their legs almost swallowed by the meagre moonlight, their arms like broken rushes, stretched towards him.

  Halli took a deep and measured breath. He raised the sword.

  The figures moved in with sudden speed.

  Spinning round, Halli reversed the blade and rammed it into the soft earth at his feet – deep, deep as it would go: half the blade was gone. He hopped back – ignoring the rapid sounds behind – and jumped.

  His boot landed on the sword hilt, pushing it down, propelling him up.

  His outstretched hands landed on the ledge; he had his elbows on it.

  He wriggled his legs, pushed with his elbows, levered his weight onto the ledge. Something collided with the sole of his boot.

  His feet swung up amid a mass of noise and movement, of clicking, shuffling and gnashing of teeth; of things bumping and scrabbling at the steep walls of the rock.

  Moving without pause or conscious thought, ignoring his flaring shoulder, he clawed, tugged and swung from handhold to hand-hold, clambering up the crag, as far and as fast as he could. Fear gave him strength. The mist grew thin; moments later he saw Aud waiting just above, her head framed dark against the moon.
/>   The summit of the crag was a broad, irregular slab of stone, of uneven gradient, but for the most part flat enough to walk on. It was as long as three men lying end to end and almost as wide as two. At one side the rock had weathered into jagged, brittle spurs that cracked beneath the feet; the other edges seemed fairly sound. In all directions the summit ended abruptly above steep shelves of rock. Halli and Aud, investigating hurriedly, thought that two areas in particular seemed vulnerable to attack: the side they had ascended, and a narrow wedge a little way off where the slope was not so sheer.

  The crag was an island in the mist. Away to the north, the crest of Rurik's ridge was visible, but the valley in between was hidden by a silver sea of mist, flat and silent, unbroken save for two twisting cords of smoke that rose from Svein's House in the depths. To the east the top of the Snag poked clear; to the south they could just make out the little hill where Aud had fallen. Near at hand a few other crags protruded; far off, the mountains shimmered. They were alone under the moon.

  The edge of the mist sea lapped against the rock a few yards below their feet. The surface was calm, but dark things could be glimpsed beneath it, pushing and pressing against the bottom of the crag. It was the same on every side. Muffled a little, but clear enough, came rustlings and cracking sounds.

  Aud and Halli sat side by side, close to the edge. Aud held her sword, Halli his butcher's knife.

  Halli said: 'I've been thinking. Suppose we don't manage to keep them off till dawn. If they get up here and we can't escape . . . I think . . .' He looked at her. 'I think we should use the sword.'

  'Yes.'

  'I don't mean to fight. I mean—'

  'I understand you,' Aud said. 'And the answer is: yes.'

  'At least we've got the moon,' Halli said, after a long pause.

  'Like it came out for Arne and Svein when they fought upon their rock.'

  'Exactly. A bit of light to fight by.'

  'Did you see the Trows?' Aud said suddenly. 'Down there.

  Did you see them? What were they like?'

  Halli was turning his knife so that it flashed in the light. He cleared his throat. 'Not really. I just saw their outlines. Thin, really thin . . .'

  Aud brushed hair from her face. 'Like the stories say.'

  'Maybe.' Halli turned the knife. 'Do the stories say the Trows wear clothes?'

  'Clothes?'

  'Not proper clothes; just rags, and tatters . . . I don't know, I only caught a glimpse. I never thought they did, somehow. What the hell are they doing down there?'

  From the base of the crag came a loud scratching, as of claws on rock.

  'I should think they're climbing up,' Aud remarked.

  'That's good,' Halli said. 'I was getting bored.'

  'Arne's line,' Aud said.

  'No, it was Svein's.'

  Aud got swiftly to her feet. Her hands shook, her teeth chattered together, but she kept her voice calm. 'They're following the way we took,' she said. 'Where else . . . ?' She pattered over to the protruding wedge of rock, peered over, listened. 'Yes, here too. I'll take this side. Do you want the sword, Halli?'

  'No. You have it.'

  'I don't know how—'

  'That makes two of us. Just hack at anything you see.'

  Each turned to face their chosen side. Above, the moon was a fierce white disc, the sky veined silver and black. Halli waited in a half-crouch, knife raised ready. watching the edge.

  So it must have been for Svein and the other heroes on the rock. The final moment before the Trows appeared. It was not an ignoble way to die.

  The noises grew louder; the mist below seemed to boil and heave.

  Halli tensed, ready to strike—

  Behind his back, Aud squealed.

  Turning, he saw her swing the sword down at a dark head rising above the stone; he saw it slice through the neck with a short, sharp snick. The head fell away; he heard it thud distantly on the ground. Two clawing hands remained upon the parapet; with a furious whimper Aud kicked out a boot, once, twice, cuffed them both from view. A heavy impact followed. From the mist came much rustling and agitated clicks of teeth.

  Halli blew out his cheeks. It had all happened so quickly that he had not quite had time to register the Trow's face.

  True, it had been bent, shrouded from the moon, but even so, he'd thought—

  No. No! It couldn't be.

  A little sound. A furtive shuffling at his back.

  Halli swivelled hurriedly to face his side of the crag – and found someone there beside him. He was squatting on his haunches, teeth grinning beneath the knotted hair of his tangled, spreading beard. The face had shrunk, changed; its skull-tight flesh had all but vanished, the holes where the eyes had been gaped deep and black like fissures in the earth. On the chest, where the white shift hung loose, the thin knife hole had spread and darkened; it seemed to Halli that the skin had burst and come away.

  Uncle Brodir held out a calloused, clawing hand to him. 'Halli – come close. Let me hold you, boy.'

  29

  '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.'

  Halli jerked away, screaming. He lashed out a leg, striking the figure in its bony midriff. It toppled backwards, white grave-shift flapping once like a seabird's wings in moonlight, and vanished over the edge of the crag. There was a brittle crashing of foliage, a bump, a moment's stillness.

  Halli too had fallen back. His eyes protruded, his mouth hung open. He heard himself panting like a dog. He sat up painfully, then crawled towards the edge. He craned his head over.

  Below him the rock face fell away, disappearing into mist. Deep below the surface he could just make out the ledge on which he'd rested, and beneath this a swell of restless, complex movements, a host of figures jostling at the crag's base. Amidst the clicks and shuffles and the scratching of claws on rock, he now heard peculiar gulps and hisses that stopped, started, rose and fell – not words so much as reproachful echoes of past speech, whispers heard from far away.

  Up the side of the crag came something that crawled on hands and knees, proceeding like a spider in little rapid darts. Its head protruded from the mist – he saw the curled grey hair, the long, thin neck . . . It hung in shadow, but he sensed it looking up at him.

  'That wasn't a very nice welcome for your poor old uncle,' the voice said.

  Halli's hair stood up on his neck and scalp. His lips were dry; he pulled them back, panting, baring his teeth and gums.

  'Oh, smile now, why don't you?' the voice continued, 'but I've got to climb up again, a fearful job with a body as stiff as mine. Come down to me instead.'

  Fear had tightened Halli's throat so that his breath wheezed and whistled. 'You're not what you seem to be,' he whispered.

  'Oh, but I am. And you are a very audacious boy, whose crimes have now caught up with you. Do you not remember me telling you most clearly that it was ruin to pass the cairns? Yet here you are, disobedient to the last. Never mind, I forgive you, seeing as it's so nice to be together again. If you do make me climb, the whole business will take ages, Halli.'

  'I don't believe it!' Halli croaked. 'This is Trow magic – an illusion designed to drive me mad.'

  'Child, what do I know of Trows? Listen to my voice. Am I not your uncle?'

  'No! You sound quite different.'

  'That is because the wind snatches at my words. Also because my tongue and palate have half rotted away, which makes forming consonants taxing.'

  Halli gave a snarl. 'What kind of an excuse is that? Anyone might use it.'

  'Halli, Halli, you know it's me.'

  Halli said: 'Uncle Brodir – if – if that is who you truly are – try to remember: we buried you not six months past! All the appropriate sacrifices were made. You – you had a full and vigorous life and . . . and were well loved by us all. You should be taking well-earned rest, not walking the cold hills in that threadbare shift,
with those poor bare feet . . .' He trailed off. The figure below was scrabbling at the slope, seeking to climb; he glimpsed a bony knee outflung, a gristly elbow bending as it hung upon the surface. Something gave way; with a screech of nails, the shape skittered down the rock.

  The voice gave a gentle cry of frustration. 'See what you put me to, dear Halli! Every time I slip I lose more flesh!' The figure paused in its attempts; he knew it was looking up again. 'I was sleeping soundly in my little house, shielded from this horrid, hollow sky, and now I am drawn out once more . . . Because of you, Halli. Because of you.' A feral, gargling growl drifted upwards. 'I don't mind saying I resent it.'

  'But, Uncle, the House is under attack – I had no choice. I lured our enemies up here so that the Trows could deal with them, and—'

  Teeth clicked irritably. 'Why do you persist in this? I know nothing of Trows.'

  'It's just that we thought—'

  We. Aud! He had entirely forgotten her, defending the other way up the crag! Halli flashed a glance behind, and to his unutterable relief saw her still crouching at the rock edge, sword in hand. As he watched she made frantic stabbing motions downwards out of view.

  When he looked back down his side of the crag, Halli was disconcerted to discover that the white-robed figure had suddenly and silently progressed more than halfway up the rock face. He saw the grey grave-hair whipping in the wind, the gaping eye sockets staring; and, behind the ragged, ruined beard, the cavernous toothy mouth.

  Halli shuddered. 'You tricksy thing.' He held out his knife, twisting it so its edge flashed in the moonlight. The figure paused in its frenzied ascent. 'Ghost or figment,' Halli said, 'come any closer and I will slice you in two. After that I'll watch with interest your next attempt at moving – up, down or any which way. What do you say to this?'

  A low desolate moan spilled from the open mouth. 'Nephew, you are cruel! Surely you would prefer it to be me who loves you who presses his fingers upon your throat. Throw away that silly thing.'

  'One inch further and your head will spin into that cloudberry bush down there.'

  'But I dandled you in my arms as a babe—'

  'Poke anything above the rock, I'll lop it off.'