Halfdan's Stand

Valdus Vinkaste (by Lloyd Smith)

“Thou be not permitted here, turn back,” the husky voice growled.

Halfdan scuffed the ground with the tip of his boot, his movement dislodging a stone hidden in the gravel. Taking a deep breath, he looked up at the hulking bear-man who towered over him and met the black eyes staring down the long brown snout.

“It’s been a month since we heard anything from Jorviken,” Halfdan stated. He glanced over his shoulder at the mass of Valdus who had followed him here, seeking the comfort of their numbers.

“A month! With no word, no supplies, no food!” snapped a weathered old man shuffling up beside Halfdan. He wore a white robe and was hunched over, leaning heavily on a walking stick. A heavy book hanging from his belt weighed him down.

“The Magister be refusing permission to enter, turn back. Be speaking to him, not me.” With this the Ursian guard raised a paw and more of his kind strode out of the barracks. They formed a neat line behind him, rifles resting on broad shoulders, and glinting in the sun. His comrades were of the smaller black genus; however, they were no less intimidating than their giant brown furred commander. As they fell in, the Ursian let his paw drop once more, letting it hover over the hilt of the power sword hanging at his side.

They stood on a well worn track leading to the space elevator, several miles above which the Quantum Gate slowly orbited the planet. This was the lifeline for this tiny frontier colony. It was one of the few paths that had been paved. Despite this there were already shallow grooves showing from the constant use.

Normally this path would be swarming with couriers moving carts loaded with crates to and fro, struggling to keep pace with the automated loader which handled the supplies from the newly arrived ships. Now, though, the track was eerily quiet. Many carts lay discarded beside the path, some with the prevalent tough grass growing through the wheels spokes. Behind him Halfdan could feel the pressure of the crowd urging him on.

He remembered for a moment their rowdy roars as he persuaded them to march on the Ursian position, their bellowed cheers as he vocalised the demands he would make. They were silent now when faced with actual action. They were famers, miners, labourers. Common people, not the warriors of Valdus fable.

Halfdan looked down at his boot once more, unsure of how to continue.

“We simply wish to see the elevator, to assess if any damage has been done, to see for ourselves why-“

“These be the rules, and you be not permitted to pass.”

“Who do you think you are? Our masters? Both Valdus and Ursian entered this world as partners. Now, you stand over us like an overseer. We have been slaves before and we shall not stand for it again.” The elderly man snapped, clearly growing impatient with the confrontation.

Halfan was jostled aside as the frail form of Past Speaker Mathias stepped forward to confront the Ursian Guard. Almost nose to nose, the fearless old man rose to his full height and shouted “We will not be cowed by you! You think we are weak and frail! You will learn how wrong you are! As Artur the First rose up against the Garii, so we will remove the yoke of Ursian oppression. I am Past Speaker Mathias and I say ‘It is so, and so shall it be!’”

“So I ask you once more, Ursian, allow us to pass. We do not mean you any harm; we simply wish to know the truth about the gate. Is it working? Are there ships in orbit? Is the gate even there still?” Halfdan enquired, concerned about the old man provoking the hairy giant.

“Thou asks good questions, but I be not knowing the answer. We be not eating for two weeks, all our food be sent to the Valdus villages. Return to your homes, petition the Magister as be your right. Ask and he should answer” the Ursian replied. Halfdan could have sworn he could hear a note of sympathy coming from the giant.

“You great fat moohman!” the Past Speaker snarled. “You can choose to stand aside, you can choose to allow us to pass.”

“Here, you may not pass. This be the Law.” The Urian continued as though the old man had not spoken, his eyes still firmly on Halfdan. The Valdus, however did notice the creature’s jaw tightening at the insolence.

“Ancestors take you!” Mathias growled, and made to step around the Ursian commander. The Ursian sidestepped and bodily blocked the Past Speaker, raising his paw once more as he did so. There was movement behind him as his squad unshouldered their rifles and aimed them at the crowd.

“You may not pass. This be the Law” he repeated, his eyes now hard. Halfdan glanced at the aged priest with wonder and the old man caught his eye.

“Do you know the tale of Halfdan the Black, seventeenth of his name?” the past speaker quietly asked, turning his head towards Halfdan. The younger Valdus nodded his head, remembering those long winters spent with his father as the old man recounted the epic tales of his prior reincarnations. There were very many heroes, he so much to live up to.

“Then you know what to do...”

Again Halfdan nodded, confidence from the man’s words seeping through him. He was Halfdan, the same Halfdan that lived half a millennia ago, who had thrown the first stone for freedom. History repeats himself, he knew, he had been taught it from birth.

He looked at the Ursian, staring at the bear-like face for a moment, with its intelligent piercing eyes and scars across the snout. These no doubt from past battles and past victories. The Ursian was a warrior; he was dedicated to duty. Halfan experienced a momentary bond of understanding and respect and felt no ill will against hulking commander in front of him.

“Sorry,” he quietly whispered, feeling both necessity and regret. The Ursian frowned at the unexpected apology.

Halfdan leaned down, gripping the stone that he had earlier dislodged in a bloodless land. A smile came unbidden to his lips. This was it, this was his chance to truly earn the name which had been granted to him those 27 summers ago. He rose once more, raising his arm as he did so, the stone cradled in his fist.

It was time for him to cast the first stone for freedom.

by Gareth Kay