Heroes of the Valley

by Jonathan Stroud

'I gave you beer and friendship—'

  'So, then,' Halli snarled, 'why try to kill me now?'

  'It is not my doing,' the form on the rock face whispered. 'Do not blame me, or any of your other ancestors who wait for you below with open arms. It is not our choice. We do not choose to be here. We wish to sleep.' Regret hung heavy in the ragged voice. 'You can help us sleep, Halli Sveinsson. You can help us. Come down and let us punish you, as we must. Then he will let us sleep again – you and the girl as well. I will take you to my cairn.'

  Halli's gorge rose; his body shook so hard he almost dropped the knife. 'You're very kind, but – no.'

  'If you delay,' the voice said peevishly, 'he'll come. None of us want that.'

  Instinctive panic surged through Halli; he sprang upright on the summit of the crag, looking left and right, over the valley, up towards the mountains. 'I don't know who you're talking about,' he snarled. 'I don't know who you mean.'

  'He's already calling you,' the voice said. 'Do you not hear him?'

  'I hear nothing.'

  A shudder, a sigh. 'He speaks clearly enough to me.'

  The moon was covered for an instant by a spur of cloud and Halli was blinded. He heard a scuttering below him; when he could see again, he looked sharply at the figure hanging off the rock.

  'You've come closer, haven't you?'

  'No.'

  'You have. Your arms have changed position.'

  'I was weary. I adjusted myself.'

  'High time I adjusted you further.' Halli bent low, with knife upraised.

  There was a scream, a shout behind him. 'Halli, I can't—' A clasp upon his wrist; Aud was there, backing away from the edge she guarded. Over the rock's lip, rising up with eager haste, came outstretched arms and grinning heads. Moonlight shone on drifting strands of grey-white hair, on skull domes, grave shawls, tattered rags and hints of bone. Long claw-like nails clasped the stone; teeth snapped together; whispers echoed in gaping throats.

  A hop, a skip, a flurry of white; Brodir sprang up the rock face, dodged beneath Halli's flailing knife and came to a crouching halt just out of range. He shook his head sadly. 'Now, nephew, this gives me no pleasure, but it must be done.'

  Aud grasped Halli's hand. They backed away along the crag top, surrounded on three sides. With a series of flops and scuttles, the residents of the cairns closed in.

  Aud flourished her sword. Halli jabbed with his knife to ward off a lunging bony arm.

  Brodir said: 'Ah, your gestures are brave, but your bodies are weak and fearful. See, girl, how your sword shudders like a dandelion in a breeze; feel, Halli, how your teeth clatter like bone dice.'

  'At least we have our bodies still,' Halli gasped. 'More than can be said of you.'

  'A cheap shot,' Brodir said. 'Unworthy. Halli, Halli, do you not see that this is your doing. Why did you disobey his laws? Why did you break the boundary – not once, but twice? Why – above all – did you steal his precious treasure?'

  Halli's voice was a croak. 'I don't know who you mean.'

  'Oh, but you do.'

  Back towards the crag's edge; little by little, step by step. The moon went in and out of cloud; the stone of the summit dimmed and flared, flared and dimmed. The dark throng all around pressed closer, arms raised stiffly, bony knees shuffling on the rock. A thing of rags and teeth sprang from the pack; Aud swiped with the sword, striking it in mid-air, cleaving it in two. The top half fell beyond her, over the edge and away into the mist; the bottom half struck Halli with a hollow clatter. Cursing wildly, he grasped a protruding leg-bone and hurled it away.

  Brodir made a disapproving sound. 'Poor Uncle Onund! That is not respectful behaviour to your ancestor.'

  Halli hacked and slashed with his knife, fended off a dozen clasping hands. 'How about some respect for us?'

  'We have no choice. We are his people. We must obey his will.'

  Aud struck out wildly left and right. Bone cracked, rags tore. Halli's knife grew tangled in a knot of grave-cloth; he felt it wrenched away. In desperate fury he kicked and punched, only to have his arms snared, his leg grappled and pulled from under him. Falling back upon the stone, he found himself dragged forwards; dark shapes swept over him, bringing a deathly chill. There was an icy grip upon his throat; he choked and gasped for breath, but the air was filled with foulness—

  The grip lessened abruptly, the shapes withdrew. Halli stared up at the stars.

  In a flurry of horror, he rolled, bent, got to his feet. Aud stood beside him, chest heaving, clothes torn, hand bloodied, sword still in hand. All around, with an urgent rustling and clicking of bony joints, the ancestors were drawing back, retreating to the crag edges, lowering themselves down in awkward lurches. Skulls gleamed, teeth glittered; they vanished from view.

  Only Brodir remained, crouched at the far end of the crag. He shifted fretfully from side to side.

  Halli and Aud clung close to each other. The moon shone bright upon the surface of the rock.

  The noises on the crag sides faded; all was still.

  Somewhere away beneath the mists came a great noise, a crashing and clattering of rocks. It ended. At the same time the moon's light flickered and went out.

  Brodir's voice said: 'Now you've done it.'

  Long moments passed; neither Halli nor Aud spoke or could have spoken. Then, through the dark, they heard, very faintly at first, but growing ever stronger, the steps of something approaching over the moor. Little by little the sound increased, and with it came the rhythmic clink of a chain-mail coat. A heavy tread, chain mail clinking: louder and louder, until the crag and the mists and the very mountains that ringed the valley took up the echo; nearer and nearer . . . It reached the foot of the crag.

  Silence.

  In the darkness they heard Brodir's nervous scuffling.

  Bang! An impact on the rock. Bang! Another. Bang! Something clambering up, each hand and foot striking the stone with such force that the whole crag shook. Halli and Aud pressed close; each put an arm around the other. Still the moon was smothered by the clouds.

  'Oh,' came Brodir's whisper. 'You've really done it now.'

  Bang! Right below the edge. And then came a rattling of mail and the rasp of leather; sounds of swift movement; a great weight landing on the summit of the crag.

  In the silence that followed, the clouds grew ragged in the sky; bright slashes of moon shone through. Weak light illuminated the summit.

  It outlined the figure of a man.

  His stature was a giant's: taller by far than Hord or Arnkel, or any other leaders of a House; broader in chest and arm even than Grim the smith. A great helmet swathed the head. Light gleamed dully on its crest and side, but the face was shadowed and could not be seen. Faint glints across the body revealed the long chain-mail coat, the armoured sleeves, the metal greaves below the knee. The legs were braced apart, straddling the crag-top; the arms hung motionless, one hand resting at a hip, the other silhouetted on the hilt of a dark and slender sword.

  Power radiated from the shape, a power unbridled: the kind of power that tore rocks from the earth, split trees, withstood the river's torrents, sent its enemies wailing into the dark. Halli and Aud stood stricken; strength ebbed from their limbs. The force of the figure's presence beat against them like a tide.

  It seemed to affect Uncle Brodir too: he skulked, cringing, by the crag's edge, as if eager, but unable, to depart. Now, suddenly, he stirred.

  'Do you not hear him?' he croaked. 'He speaks to you.'

  Halli shook his head, his voice the faintest whisper. 'I hear nothing.'

  'He orders you to bow down before him—'

  Again Halli shook his head, but he could not summon words. His knees trembled; he felt a strong desire to quell the shaking, to bend down, kneel . . .

  'He orders you to—'

  Aud's voice was faint, but firm: 'Know that we are of Svein's and Arne's Houses, of noble and ancient stock. We bow to no nameless creature of a cairn.' She gripped Halli to her as she sp
oke; some of her strength passed to him. He drew himself up.

  The great figure stood motionless; thin light drifted on its helm. Brodir said: 'Halli Sveinsson, he talks to you, not her. Why do you not kneel? You know his name.'

  Halli sought to shake his head once more, but the effort was beyond him.

  Light faded; all was almost dark; only the faintest gleams of armour showed. Brodir said heavily: 'You know his name, Halli Sveinsson. You know who he is. He is the rocks and trees, the fields and streams. He is the stones of your hall, the timber of the bed you slept in. He is your bones and blood. He is the Founder of your House and the Father of you and all your kin, and he dislikes being disobeyed.'

  Until that moment Halli's dread had overwhelmed him. Now, suddenly, he felt a spark of anger too. 'Why can he not tell me so himself ?' he asked softly. 'Let me see his face.'

  Brodir's wail was shrill, despairing. 'Do not question him! He is terrible!'

  Halli said: 'That may well be. But in one matter you are certainly wrong. My father's name is Arnkel. He lies in his bed down there. This thing is no kin of mine.'

  Metal clashed, chain mail rang: the silent shape stepped nearer in the darkness.

  'Arnkel?' Brodir cried. 'Arnkel, who is weak and womanled? Arnkel, who dies without ever having struck a man? He shall not be part of our company when he is carried up the hill.'

  Halli bared his teeth. 'That is not my uncle speaking. He loved his brother.' He glared into the dark. 'What thing are you that needs to use a dead man's tongue? I say again: let me see your face!'

  Even as he spoke the moon broke out from behind the clouds and shone harshly down upon the silent form. Halli and Aud cried out; they flinched away.

  The figure was bathed in silver light. Its armour shone gloriously, pitilessly – the crested helmet, inscribed with ornate tracery, with loops and patterns; the chain-mail coat, gleaming with the seamless intricacy of fish scales . . . The sight was brilliant, painfully beautiful – it almost blinded them.

  But beneath it was nothing but squalor and decay. Inside the helm: a mouldering skull with broken teeth and sagging jaw. Within the shimmering mail: a gaping hollowness. Ribs poked through rents in the armour; where the chain mail ended, tattered fabric gave onto gristle, knotted kneecaps, yellowed leg strips . . . The silver greaves swung loose on fleshless shins; the feet inside the rotting boots were nests of little bones.

  Brodir gave a howl. 'Great Svein is our Founder! We are his children, and must follow him after death!'

  Halli shook his head. His fear was quite forgotten now, its place taken by a quiet, icy fury. It was an anger born of grief and indignation – at the deaths that he and Aud would shortly suffer; at the piteous state of his uncle Brodir, summoned from his cairn against his will; and, deeper down, but most bitterly, at the final shattering of the heroic dreams that had sustained him as a child. Like the glittering armour before him, those ideals were now proved utterly false and hollow. Where had they come from? Where, in the end, did they lead? The answer was the same. To the silent, voiceless, rotting thing that stood upon the crag top, radiating arrogance and brutal pride.

  'Long ago I dreamed of being a hero in your company,' Halli said huskily. 'I'm sorry to say your reality disappoints me.'

  Brodir's head lolled as if he were listening to faint sounds. His mouth opened. 'Silence! He orders you not to speak. You – who have wasted the qualities he cherishes, who have grown soft and tractable under the influence of women, who are weak, without stomach for a fight – you may not speak to him. You are no follower of Svein.'

  'No?' Halli said. 'When I always sought to maintain the honour of our House? When I sought vengeance for my uncle? When I protected the hall when the Hakonssons came? How have I offended him?'

  The giant figure stepped closer, finger-bones cracking fast about the sword-hilt. 'Do not speak!' Brodir cried. 'How have you offended? The list is long. Each time you had a chance to kill a man, you drew back. You let this girl fight your battles for you. You consort with her, when she is of another House. Worse than this, you break the boundary; you seek to leave the lands he made for you. Worst of all, you dare to wear his belt!'

  The last words were a livid scream; with a shriek of metal, the sword was drawn. A bone hand held it, shimmering and delicate. A winding serpent pattern ran along the blade. It was twice the length of the clumsy, stubby one Aud had.

  Aud whispered: 'Halli – take my sword.'

  Halli, ignoring Aud, speaking to the silent shape, said: 'You are nothing but a dead thing in a cairn. You can have no use for belts or anything else, for that matter. So what if I leave your lands? Your time is past. The people of your House consort with who they will. My mother is from Erlend's House; we are all of mingled blood. Aud Ulfar's-daughter has just helped defend your House against the Hakonssons—'

  'None of his children are worthy of him!' Brodir whimpered. 'They do not live by the old rules.'

  'I know someone who did,' Halli said savagely. 'Hord Hakonsson. He killed Brodir here. He burned your hall.'

  Brodir moaned, clutched his skull with both hands. 'Hord Hakonsson was worthy,' he whispered. 'He would have walked among Hakon's company for ever, had he not been so stupid as to cross the boundary with you.'

  To hear such words forced from Brodir's mouth made Halli's anger flare. 'Since when,' he cried, 'did the hero Svein care for Hakon's kin? You loathed him and all his House.'

  Once more Brodir listened; once more he relayed the things he heard. 'In life the heroes were divided,' he said, 'but at the Battle of the Rock, they joined together in death, bound by their vow. Their sacrifice saved the valley. They stood against the Trows. They slew a hundred of the beasts in a single night, so that their corpses were piled stinking on the earth of Eirik's field. They drove them onto the moors, so they never dared return, but died at last in the wilderness beyond. They cleansed the valley. It is theirs. It is theirs by right – and they exert that right for ever.' At this the armoured figure stepped closer; in the shadow of the helm, bone glinted, bare teeth grinned. 'Take off the belt,' Brodir intoned, 'and bare your neck.'

  'The Trows died in the wilderness . . .' Halli said.

  'Then that cave,' Aud whispered. 'It wasn't human remains at all, but—'

  Halli's voice was small and wondering. 'The bones of Trows . . .'

  'Take off the belt,' Brodir said. 'Your master commands it.'

  Halli looked up abruptly. 'The time is past when I cared a straw for what the dead might want. Get lost, Svein. I keep the belt.'

  For an instant there was silence on the crag.

  Then Brodir's body contorted violently, his hands pressed against his head, as if deafened by some unimaginable roar of rage. And the armoured figure sprang forward. Bony legs took rapid strides. Rags flapped and spun on decaying threads; chain mail twisted; the terrible sword was outflung wide.

  'Please take my sword, Halli,' Aud said, thrusting it into his hands.

  Halli had scarcely time to grasp it when the glittering, shining shape was upon him. Moonlight gleamed on the serpent in the metal; the sword swung down. Halli lifted his in desperate defence.

  The falling sword sliced clean through Halli's blade, was deflected slightly and struck deep into the surface of the rock beside his feet. The strength of the blow forced Halli to his knees; he struggled to rise, but with vicious speed the hero's sword was raised again, drawn back and driven forward, point first, into Halli's chest.

  His mouth opened in a scream, but no sound came out; the pain engulfed him. He fell forward onto his face, fingers clawing at his chest.

  Aud gave a cry; she flung herself upon the giant figure, grappling the arm that held the sword. Chain mail shifted, the arm jerked to the side, hurling Aud away across the crag. She landed heavily at the edge of the summit, head overhanging the precipice beyond, hair dangling brightly in a thin cascade.

  Raising her head stiffly, Aud saw a dark, bent form come scuttling near.

  Brodir. Holdin
g Halli's discarded knife.

  At the far end of the crag the remnants of the hero Svein stood over Halli's limp and lifeless body. Its skull stared down. Deliberately, contemptuously, it drew back a leg back and kicked him hard. Once, twice . . .

  Halli gave a groan, and suddenly rolled aside. The hero Svein stepped away in stark surprise.

  Halli got rapidly, painfully, to his feet. He turned to face the hero. The centre of his jerkin was slashed right through. Beneath it was no blood, no wound. Only – glinting merrily, unbroken despite the sword-blow's force – the silver belt.

  'Still lucky, you see?' Halli gasped. 'Don't you wish you had one of these?' Still winded, breathing fitfully, he patted at his waist for weapons.

  No sword; no knife. Nothing. Except— Bjorn the trader's Trow claw, tucked forgotten in his belt.

  With fumbling fingers, he pulled it clear: a little sickleshaped curl of blackness.

  'Come on then,' he said.

  Black sockets stared beneath the shining helmet. The sword was lifted; the hulking shape stepped forward to strike the final blow.

  A thin bright line flashed at Svein's back, striking the neckbones just below the helm. Vertebrae cracked, shards of bone went flying. The skull skewed sideways within the helmet, tilting so that moonlight shone into the sockets and the hollow place between the jaws. The interior was filled with cobwebs.

  Aud pulled the butcher's knife back: she struck again. This time she hit the chain mail on the nape and had no effect.

  But now Halli was moving too. As the figure flailed and spun, seeking, with its free hand, to readjust the skull's position, he ducked in close, dodging the wildly swinging blade, and with the Trow claw struck down hard onto the arm that held the sword.

  The claw cut through the bone as if through butter: the wrist shattered. The hand and sword both fell away. They landed on the rock.

  Bone cracked to powder; the sword clanged once and lay still.

  The maimed arm swung furiously over Halli's head; the hero pitched, kicked, clawed with the remaining hand. Still skewed inside its helmet, the skull stared blind and helpless at the moon.

  Halli and Aud danced back and forth around the giant, darting, feinting, keeping out of reach of the flailing limbs.