Val and the Vorpal Sword
by David Rogers
David Rogers’ work has appeared or is forthcoming in various publications, including Asimov’s Science Fiction, Star*Line, and Daily Science Fiction. His novel The Delphi is out from Ellipsis Imprints this summer. More at davidrogersbooks.wordpress.com
Maybe you think you know the story: Poor King Harry (or Hrothgar, but I called him Harry because he hated it, though he was too proud to say so) was beset by monsters, first the son, then the mother. Or so the story went for a long time. Then the later version came along, how Harry really started the fight, and no human was going to take the Creatures’ side because they looked so different, and some humans just don’t handle difference well.
That’s not how it went. Neither story is true. Well, the part about humans thinking anything different is probably evil–that’s accurate enough. Humans are apt to get downright frumious when confronted with anyone they don’t understand. And Harry did start all the trouble. As for the rest–never believe it.
The real story involved a girl.
My sister Valerie, to be specific. Who is also Harry’s cousin. She had no use for Harry. Wouldn’t give him the time of day. But the king, well, you know what kings are. Can’t take _no_ for an answer. Harry basically kidnapped and imprisoned her, to keep her away from Del. Later tellers of the story changed Del’s gender and name. Made her out to be pure evil and called her Grendel. I guess that made her sound scarier, to some ears.
And me? I’m Fern. The other storytellers changed my name and gender, too, and did their best to malign me in their tales. In their versions, I became Unferth. No matter. Every braggart, like Harry and his type, needs someone to look down on. Somehow it lets them feel better about themselves. And storytellers need a villain, preferably not the one who feeds them their supper. You know how bards are. You can’t trust any of them. Same stock as kings, only their tools are different.
But, while Harry had Val locked up in the giant log cabin he insisted on calling a mead hall, Val managed to get a message to me: _I’m in for a lot of trouble if you don’t help. Tell Del why I haven’t been seen for a month. She’ll know what to do,_ it said. Those were the essential points.
I know what you’re thinking; it’s the old story–damsels in distress must be saved by hero, because gods forbid a girl should chart her own course and make it on her own. That’s not how things worked with Valerie. If anyone could stand up for herself, she could. Harry’s men just had her outnumbered. He knew better than to allow many women inside the walls of his keep, or one of them would have done for him, long before events of this story came to pass. Only a few serving girls and messengers–I was one of the latter–were allowed inside. Not in the hall, but at least through the outer gate.
#
When the Swede, Beowulf, showed up, Harry told me to put out the word that Wolf Boy, as everyone, even Harry, called him behind his back, was there for monster control. Never mind that no one in living memory had seen anything more dangerous than a hungry bear or two. When they’re just out of hibernation in spring, bears can be aggressive. But even they know the woods offer plenty to eat, without bothering things as troublesome as humans. Monsters or no, though, I knew Wolfie would be a problem. You never saw such a smug, arrogant bigmouth.
Yet Harry needed him. Or thought he could use him, anyway. So Val was to marry the Dane, no matter how repulsive she found him, to cement their deal. Some sort of compact of mutual protection, Harry called it. Which meant aggression against weaker neighbors, like as not. After their secret heart-to-heart talk, he and Wolfie both looked beamish as the cat that ate the jubjub bird. Neither of them were more than two bit warlords, but they both had delusions of royal grandeur. Each figured the other could be used to advance their ambitious causes.
#
I knew I had to do as Val asked, and quickly, or she’d be hitched to Wolfie before you could say Bandersnatch. So I went to see Del and apprise her of the situation. She lived on the other side of the swamp, past the Jabberwock’s little island.
People think some poet invented the Jabberwock–Jay, to his friends–but he was real as real can be. His island was easy to find, if you knew the way, otherwise impossible to get to without risk of drowning, or worse. Which gave rise to the rumors of brave warriors being eaten by the Jabberwock, but really they got mired in the mud and starved, or sank in the quicksand. Jay was harmless, if you stayed out of the water and away from his island and didn’t upset his sheep and goats. The animals were more pets than livestock. They all lived out their natural lives and died of old age.
Every time Val and I came that way, she brought a little something for Jay. He was particularly fond of biscuits and peach cobbler. Val makes the finest of both. So when I came to the spot where the path branches off and leads toward the bridge to Jay’s island, I took a detour and stopped to say hello. I also wanted to explain why I had no biscuits.
Jay was standing outside his hut, nose twitching in the air. “I sense a disturbance in the wabe,” he said, without preamble. “The woods are tulgey today.”
I told him the story, and how I was going to see Del and figure out how we could get Val out of the jam she was in. Jay was sympathetic and offered to help.
“Really?” I must have sounded too surprised. Jay looked offended.
“Why wouldn’t I help out a friend?”
“You would, definitely. It’s just, you never leave the island. Not that I ever heard of.”
“I’ve been thinking I should get out more.” He stretched one of his leathery wings, yawned, and hooked an apple from the Tumtum tree with a claw on the tip of the other wing. “Blackberries on the hillside will be ripe soon.”
“By all means,” I said, “if that’s something you want to do. But I expect Del and I can handle it. We have a plan. They won’t be expecting resistance. Especially not from us.” We didn’t actually have a plan–not yet, but I knew we soon would.
“Let me know if you change your mind,” Jay said.
#
So I went on to Del’s. The way Harry and his crew talked about Del and her mom, you’d never guess they’d all have starved if not for the corn they bought from her. Like I said, kings–what can you do?
Del’s little farm lay a couple of miles the other side of the swamp, and she did well enough for herself there. Peace and quiet, plenty to eat. I figured Del and Val would get married, some day, but nobody was in a rush about it.
I told her the story, Harry and Wolf Boy presuming to decide Val’s fate, regardless of what she wanted. Del is quiet, most of the time, boisterous only when someone tells a good joke, and I have never seen her the least bit violent, unless some rinky-dink wannabe warlord threatens her animals or crops. Which nearly everyone, except bears or bobcats. knows not to do. But all it takes is one ambitious troublemaker, like Harry or Wolfie, to cause a problem.
Del didn’t say anything for a while. When the quiet ones get even quieter, that’s when you know a storm is brewing.
Finally, Del asked, “Wolf Boy and his gang–when are they planning on crossing the whale road?”
“Three days from now. After Harry’s supply of mead runs dry, the Danes will pack up and head home. They plan to have the wedding there.”
“Well, we’ll see about that.”
#
So the idea we came up with was, we’d get a few others together, people we could trust, and wait for Wolfie and his gang to be out of sight and hearing of Harry’s place. We’d surround them on the road, and nobody would get hurt if they did the sensible thing and let Val come with us.
“And if they don’t do the sensible thing?” I asked. We were sitting on the back porch of Del’s cabin, overlooking the back yard, where she’d been chopping firewood when I got there.
“Then they’ll have to be persuaded,” Del said, and reached for the axe leaning against the porch post.
#
If you don’t call yourself a shield maiden or spear maiden and try to act like one of the boys–in other words, brag a lot and guzzle mead til you pass out on a regular basis–they think you’re helpless. Let them think it. The element of surprise is always an advantage.
But not a big enough advantage, in this case, it turned out. Things did not go well. At least, not at first. You didn’t imagine it would be that simple, of course. Because, as expected, Wolfie did refuse to be sensible, and would not release Val without persuasion. Also, Harry had unexpectedly been smart enough to send a few thanes along to see the party safely to the whale road. We were outnumbered from the start.
Del wasn’t going to let Val be taken without a fight, though. Nor did I want her to. Long time the manxome foe we fought, while Val stood in uffish thought, surrounded by thanes. Bound hand and foot, she could do little else. We were too busy defending ourselves to free her.
Just as we were about to consider surrendering, we heard the flap of leathery wings and heard a whoosh of air overhead. Jay came flying by, once for reconnaissance, a second time to give Wolfie’s and Harry’s thugs a fair chance to run. Which of course they were not smart enough to do. On the third pass, Jay landed with a thump, sending thanes scattering. One razor-sharp claw made a lightning-quick surgical slash, and the ropes binding Val’s hands behind her back fell to the ground.
Whereupon, Val lost no time pulling her Vorpal sword from under her robes. Wolfie and the thanes had been so overconfident they hadn’t searched her. Probably wouldn’t have helped their cause if they did. The Vorpal sword is the same as any other claymore, but enchanted, so it can disguise itself like a chameleon. Val went snicker-snack like nobody’s business, and soon Wolf Boy and all the others–the ones who still could, anyway–were ready to run for their cowardly lives. With their heads, if they still had heads, they went galumphing back.
#
None of them bothered Val again. She moved out to the farm with Del, and stayed there. So did I. I’d had more than enough of Harry and his ways. We’re adding a wing to the cabin, to make room for the new occupants, and should have it done by fall. This year’s crop of borogoves is positively mimsy. It’s going to be a bumper year, and the mome raths are no trouble at all this summer.
Of course, to save face, Harry had to send some thanes out to try to bully Val into coming back to the hall. But Del’s mother met them–the few who made it past Jay’s island with the same number of body parts they’d started with–in the front yard, with her own claymore, just an ordinary blade, no enchantment needed for that job. One of them tried to call her bluff and be a hero. He lost an arm for his trouble. So that was that. We heard Harry hired some wandering bard to retell the story so he and Wolfie came out looking a little better, or at least innocent.
Let them say what they like. Now you know the true story.
And we all lived brilligly ever after.
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