Heroes of the Valley (25 page)

They went on, step by step, arm in arm, Aud leaning on him as before. Every few yards they stopped and listened. All was quiet, save for the wind, their breathing and the blood drumming in their heads.

Halli's hopes began to rise. He said, 'I think we're almost there. Aud?'

She stirred. 'Mm?'

'We're almost at the cairns. See there, that little light?' A speck of yellow, floating, dancing in the dark. 'I think that's one of Rurik's farms on the far side of the valley. To see that we must be close to the crest of the ridge. A few more steps, Aud. Then we'll be safe.' He waited, but she didn't answer. 'Aud?'

'What?'

'It didn't hurt you, did it? You'd tell me.'

'I'm fine.' But her voice was small again, drifting. Halli scowled into the dark and strove to increase the pace.

The attack, which came a moment later, was almost without warning, unheralded by the slightest noise. But he felt the sudden rush of cold, foul air upon his face and, by instinct more than conscious thought, lurched to his left, pushing Aud aside in the opposite direction. He landed on one knee, skidding in the snow, feeling something forceful pass at speed. The taint that struck his nostrils made him gasp; nearby he heard Aud choking.

He got to his feet, whirled round and slashed out vainly with the claw – a speculative act, as he could not tell where the enemy might be. Then Aud screamed, loud this time, followed by the odd, discordant ring of metal breaking. Teeth bared, Halli started towards the sounds, only to collide with something backing into him, bringing with it such a stench of earth and deep, foul, rotten things that his gums ached and his teeth felt loose in his jaw. The thing was cold too, spearingly so; his skin grew stiff upon his face and his fingers numb. He almost dropped the claw but, steeling himself, thrust it out regardless, catching the unseen creature even as it spun round at him.

Harsh noises, as of teeth being gnashed together.

A weight struck the side of his face. Halli, crying out, staggered back, but remained standing.

Sharp things caught him by the throat, digging at his flesh. His head grew numb, his knees began to give way. Far off he heard Aud crying; the sound suppressed the spreading chill. He brought the Trow claw abruptly up in front of him, with a hard, sharp chopping stroke. Instantly the grasp upon his throat was broken. There was a cry of pain and bitter desolation. Halli was struck in the chest by an unknown force, hurled backwards into snow; he rolled head over heels, sprawling in a drift.

Lights tumbled before his eyes; he struggled upright, blowing snow from his mouth and nose. He was still holding the claw.

What could he hear?

The wind, a distant clattering of stones, Aud weeping in the darkness.

Halli moved forward, following the sobs. He went cautiously, step by careful step, but knocked into Aud all the same. By feel he established she was sitting on the ground.

'I struck it again,' she said. 'But the impact broke my knife.'

'I hurt it too, I think. It's fled, but it'll be back, bring others. Get up, Aud. Come on.'

He helped her rise. Without further words they stumbled on and almost immediately brushed their hands against the stones of a cairn: they had been right beside the boundary without realizing. Then, bad leg or no, they broke into a run, careering helplessly over the hill crest, half colliding with first one cairn, then another, until they knew they'd passed them by; and then fell tumbling together, gasping, safe, in a snowy mass of unseen heather, with the yellow lights of Svein's House glittering far below.

S
VEIN WAS KEEN TO
visit the Trow king's hall again, but his wife was doubtful.

'They'll be expecting a third visit,' she said. 'And believe me, they'll catch you this time. What happens then? Your flesh will bubble in their pot.'

Svein said: 'Don't worry. They won't catch me. I'm too quick for them. Put my supper on at sundown; I'll be back to enjoy it.' Then he went up to the ridge.

Into the Trows' hall he went, past the hanging bones and the burning fire, past the holes where the Trows curled sleeping. Taking a burning torch, he went to the staircase leading into the earth. He looked back at the distant entrance, where the light of day was slowly dimming. Did he have time? Surely!

Down the stairs he went, slowly, slowly, on and on, until he came out in a great round room with fires burning and a pile of treasure in the centre. Beside the treasure was a golden throne, and in that throne sat the Trow king, vast and terrible. But also sound asleep and snoring.

This'll be easy enough, thought Svein. He popped some gold into a bag, then stole forward towards the throne, sword raised. But at that moment, above the earth, the winter sun went behind the ridge. And the Trow king opened his great red eyes.

When he saw Svein creeping up, sword in hand, he let out a roar that woke the other Trows, and they all came rushing, intent on tearing him limb from limb. But Svein sprang away, down a tunnel he saw in the rock beside the chair. He ran, ran, but here came the Trow king, slashing with his long arms and roaring with his great, great mouth. And behind him came all the other Trows, screaming out Svein's name.

Svein ran, ran, holding out the brand before him to light his way. And every few paces the tunnel divided and he had to choose one way or the other, and sometimes the tunnel went up, and sometimes down, until he was hopelessly lost. This is no good, he thought. I might as well stop and sell my life as dearly as I can. But just then, from along a narrow passage up ahead, he smelled something delicious, savoury, familiar. 'That's my supper cooking!' he cried. 'I'd know that anywhere.' And he plunged on down the passage, with the Trow king swiping at his heels.

All along the twisting tunnels Svein followed the smell of stew until, ahead of him, he saw the faintest chink of evening light. He cut the earth away with his sword and sprang up – out into Low Field just above his House! But Svein didn't waste time celebrating; he watched the hole. Out popped the Trow king's head. Down came Svein's sword. The head went bouncing in the grass. Svein picked it up, with the jaws still snapping, and went home. Thump, he tossed it on the table. 'Present for you,' he told his wife. 'Oh, and here's a bit of treasure. You saved my bacon today.'

And that was Svein's last visit to the Trow king's hall.

A
FTER THE
T
ROW KING'S
death, and with Svein growing older, he didn't leave his hall so often. True, he led new raids against Rurik's and Ketil's Houses, but despite intensive fighting, the outcome of each expedition was inconclusive. It is not said whether it was this or his age that blackened his mood, but in his later years Svein's character grew darker than before, and his judgements in hall harshly predictable. He took to wearing his sword even on the Law Seat, and many of those he convicted never made it to the gallows in the yard.

Some thought Svein had become impatient with life in his House and sought another great deed to accomplish. At last, one summer, he sent messengers to the other heroes, requesting a truce and a conference to discuss the question of the Trows.

The windows in Svein's hall were tall slabs of darkness. Outside, wind stirred against the panes. Fire burned low in the braziers hanging from the walls, and the hearthlight crept like a living thing, red and many-armed, across the flagstones in the floor.

Aud and Halli huddled close beside the hearth. They did not speak.

Halli had strong wine in his cup; he drank it quickly. With every sip he stole a sideways glance at Aud, staring uncomprehendingly at her white face and matted hair. Her fleece had been slashed across the chest, the wool sliced almost through. One hand was newly bandaged, one ankle clearly swollen beneath its fresh, clean strapping. She held her cup as if it were the only thing in the world she could be sure of. Above the clenched knuckles, her eyes were blank, unseeing.

Halli drank his wine. He, by contrast, had got off lightly. True, his fleece was torn about the collar, and his neck ached to the touch – he could still feel the points where the Trow's claws had grazed him. But aside from that and the chill in his bones from his hours upon the hill, he was outwardly unharmed.

When they had at last drawn near the House, after a long and cumbersome descent, they had been met by searchers bearing torches, out scouring the fields for them. The general reaction was relief and concern for Aud's injuries; she had been promptly whisked away by Katla while Halli explained to Leif, Eyjolf and an assembled throng how, during their walk among the higher pastures, Aud had slipped and fallen from a crag, following which he had slowly, carefully, helped her home. After expressing predictable indignation that he should so jeopardize the health of their guest, the rest of the household retired to bed. To Halli's surprise no one thought to challenge his story. His lies were swallowed without question.

Halli drank his wine and stared into the fire. Stories and lies . . .

The problem was, of course, the stories had turned out to be
true
.

The Trows were up there. They were up beyond the boundary. It kept them at bay just like the tales said. There was no other explanation. Which meant, in turn, that Svein and the other heroes
had
beaten them back at the Battle of the Rock so very long ago – the heroes
had
existed, and had performed that final feat. It meant their cairns
did
still keep the valley safe. It meant the Trows were up there, penned and waiting on the heights.

It meant there was no way out.

Halli watched the darting upward movements of the flames, how they leaped, flared brightly and vanished without trace. Was that the way of it, then? After their one brief attempt at escape, after daring to do what no one had done for generations, after glimpsing that far-off notch upon the skyline, a possible route up into the mountains – after all
that
, would he and Aud just fall back now, their hopes snuffed out, to drift quietly through life towards the dark anonymity of a cairn?

That was what everyone else did.

Far off behind closed doors, he heard a ragged sound. His father coughing.

Partly to block it out, partly to channel the dull anger that flared suddenly inside him, Halli said roughly, 'That tear on your fleece. Didn't go through, did it?'

Aud looked up. She cleared her throat; it had been a long while since she'd spoken. 'No. I'm bruised, not cut.'

'Good.'

There was a silence. 'Your neck looks bad,' Aud said finally.

'Does it? Feels fine.'

'There're five red marks on it.'

Halli shuddered, but he said only: 'Well, the touch was very cold.'

'I know. I couldn't breathe when it struck my chest.' She stared down at her swollen ankle, then at the fire again. 'I'm sorry, Halli.'

'That's all right.' He took a sip of wine. 'For what, exactly? Just to be clear.'

'For taking us up there. For everything I said – about the – about the stories, you know; I'm sorry I denied it all, Halli. It's just I never thought . . .'

'Nor me.'

'Is there any more wine?'

'Not here. I'll get some from the kitchen.' But he didn't move.

'You don't think,' Aud said, after a silence, 'the Trow might follow us down here? Because we crossed the boundary, I mean?'

'It would have caught us long ago, if so. We took ages getting down. The boundary still holds.'

Aud hunched deeper in her chair. 'You didn't see it, did you?' she said.

'No. Just smelled it, heard it, felt it . . .' He rubbed irritably at his eyes.

'What fools we were. It's true, everything the stories say . . .'

Halli noticed that her voice was small and shook a little. He stirred in his seat, making what effort he could. 'Well, not
all
the stories,' he said. 'Katla's one about the curse, for instance.'

'What curse?'

'It hasn't happened . . .' He attempted a grin. '
You know
.'

Her look was blank. 'How do you mean?'

'The curse affecting men . . . men who cross the boundary . . .' He blew out his cheeks. 'Oh, never mind.'

'I see . . . You're still all there? Right. That's good.'

There was another silence.

'But a Trow nearly
killed
us, Halli!' Aud cried out. 'That's
not
so good!'

'Well, we lived through it, didn't we? We survived.'

'Yes, but what's the use of that? We're stuck here! In the valley, in our Houses. We're trapped, just like the stories say.'

The fact that this statement exactly mirrored his own thoughts made Halli's anger swell. He could suppress it no longer. 'I don't accept that at all,' he growled. 'I'm going back up there.'

'What?
What?
Don't be a complete—'

'Two of us, Aud. Two of us, with a couple of rusty farm tools and a lousy old fake claw.' He leaned forward, flourishing his wine cup. 'We held off that Trow in pitch blackness.

What if the moon were shining? What if we had burning brands to see with? What if there were more of us? We'd have killed it easily.'

Aud made an incoherent noise midway between a snort and a sneer. 'One Trow, Halli! That's the point! Just one! There'll be hundreds of them up there. Remember those bones? You want to end up scattered in that cave? Go right back up that hill.'

'We didn't even have a proper weapon!' he said, ploughing on regardless. 'Look at this thing . . .' He flicked his jerkin aside to reveal the sickle-shaped Trow claw tucked inside his belt. 'Yes, it's sharp, but it's nothing special. Bjorn the trader probably carved it himself in half an hour. Yet it hurt the Trow – it drove it away. Now, if we had a
sword
, a proper one, made in the old ways . . . Well – what would happen then?'

'We haven't got any swords, Halli.'

'I know.'

'The only swords are in the heroes' cairns.'

'I know.'

He looked at her. She looked at him. A gust of wind reverberated against the windows. Aud said, 'If you're even thinking what I think you're thinking, don't think it. And certainly don't say it. It's madness.'

'Why? It could be done.'

'No, Halli, it couldn't. The stories are very clear. It's the swords that keep the Trows at bay.'

'Exactly! With one of those, we—'

'That's why everyone's given a little sword when they're carried to their cairns. To reinforce the boundary.'

'—we could make it across the moors, get to the mountain . . .'

'But it's the
heroes
that keep the boundary strong, Halli. Their swords; the memory of what they did. Who knows
why
it works, but it
does
– as you and I now know! Arne protects his lands. Svein protects his. They keep everything the same.'

'There was a hole in his mound, Aud.'

'If you took it, Halli, if you broke the boundary that way, what would stop the Trows coming down into the valley?'

Halli's laugh sounded harsh even to his own ears. 'Who cares about that?
We'd
be gone.'

Aud got up from her seat. Firelight spilled against her, but the gashes in her clothes gaped black. She limped forward to stand before Halli. 'Look at me,' she said. '
Look at me
.' He did so then, mouth clamped, eyes sullen. 'Do you
want
this to happen to your family and your people?' she asked. 'Do you
really
want them to suffer like this? Because that's what would happen if you take the sword and the Trows come down from the hills. If it's what you're happy with, fine. Just say so, and I'll leave your House this moment; I'd never want to see you again. I want to escape just as much as you do, Halli Sveinsson, but no matter how much I hate my family, I could never do something like that.'

She had not raised her voice; her fury was penned back in her eyes. But as she turned away, she left Halli white-faced in his chair.

He waited until she'd sat down, then said, 'I'm sorry. I was being stupid. I'm just angry, that's all.'

'I know. Me too.'

'I don't
hate
them.'

'I know you don't.'

Silence fell.

Halli looked towards the dark windows. 'My father's dying,' he said.

'Halli . . .'

'You haven't been in there! You don't know what it's like to see it! I can't talk with him. Aud! Svein knows, I can't even
look
at him—' His voice was cracked and uncontrolled; he stopped short, took a deep breath, let the pressure in his heart slowly subside. At last he said: 'Still, you're right. I wouldn't want anything to happen the way you said. Svein's sword stays where it is. But I
am
going to find a way out of the valley. Trows or not, there'll be something we can do. We just need to think a bit, that's all. We need a little time.'

There was a sudden frantic banging on the closed hall door.

Aud gave a little scream. Halli dropped his cup; firelight danced along its contours as it rolled upon the floor.

'The Trows!' Aud whispered. 'They've come for us!'

Halli shook his head testily. 'They wouldn't
knock
, would they?' Even so, there was a catch in his voice and he did not get up from his chair.

Once again, a
thump, thump, thump
ing on the door.

Far away, his mother called out fearfully: 'Who is that? What is that?'

'Who'll answer it?' Aud asked. 'Eyjolf ?'

'Deaf.'

'Leif ?'

'Drunk.'

Bang, bang, bang
went the door again.

Halli said heavily, 'I'll do it.'

Leaving the table, he walked slowly across the hall towards the passageway and the door that opened onto the porch. As he went, he eased his right hand beneath his jerkin to where the Trow claw hung. He gripped it firmly. His other hand stole to the latch.

Bang, bang, bang
upon the door.

Halli flicked the latch and swung the door wide.

A great black shape surged forward. Halli jumped back. There was a clopping of hooves, the smell of horse and a wet blast of breath upon his face, then the animal had brushed past him as it was ridden under the low beams of the passage and out into the firelit hall.

Over by the hearth. Aud rose from her chair in terror. Halli had the Trow claw in his hand. He ran after the horse and rider, reaching for the bridle.

'Stop!' he shouted. 'No further! State your business! Are you friend or foe?'

The rider's cowl hung low about his head; his face could not be seen. Only his hands protruded from the cloak – aged, veined, liver-spotted hands, with long curved nails like talons. At his side hung a great dark bag, heavy, bulging. Something about the rounded shape of those bulges, about the leaden way the bag swung as the horse came to a standstill, made Halli's skin crawl. He waved the Trow claw so that it shone darkly in the light.

'I ask once more! Are you friend or—?'

With a sudden flourish, the rider flung back his cloak. Light gleamed palely on a long knife suspended in his belt. It was a knife that looked familiar.

Halli stepped back, mouth open. 'Snorri . . .?'

The ancient hands threw back the cowl to reveal the wildly tufted eyebrows, the staring eyes, the gaunt and weathered face of the old man from the roadside hovel. He stared at Halli grimly, then cast his implacable gaze around the hall – at Aud standing wide-eyed by the fire, at Gudny peering through the drapes, at one or two servants clustering at the door. His eyes narrowed; he seemed to hunt for instant evidence of atrocity or corruption. At last, finding nothing obvious, he deigned to look on Halli once more.