Kazuo Ishiguro - The Buried Giant

It was the bearing of the man, the way he moved and held himself, that so set him apart from those around him. “No matter that he tries to pass himself off as an ordinary Saxon,” Axl thought, “this man is a warrior. And perhaps one capable of wreaking great devastation when he wishes it.”

Two of the other men who had emerged from the hall were hovering nervously behind him, and whenever the warrior drifted further into the crowd, both men tried their best to stay near him, like children anxious not to be left behind by a parent. The two men, who were both young, also wore swords, and in addition, each was clutching a spear, but it was evident they were quite unaccustomed to such weapons. They were, moreover, stiff with fear and seemed unable to respond to the words of encouragement their fellow villagers were giving them. Their gazes darted about in panic even as hands patted their backs or squeezed their shoulders.

“The long-haired fellow is a stranger arrived only an hour or two before us,” Beatrice’s voice said close to his ear. “A Saxon, but one from a distant country. The fenlands in the east, so he says, where he’s lately been fighting sea raiders.”

Axl had been aware for some time that the voices of the women had grown more distinct, and turning, saw that Beatrice and her hostess had come out of the house and were standing at the door just behind him. The medicine woman now spoke softly, for some time, in Saxon, after which Beatrice said into his ear:

“It seems earlier today one of the village men came back out of breath and his shoulder wounded, and when prevailed upon to calm himself told of how he and his brother, together with his nephew, a boy of twelve, were fishing at their usual spot by the river and were set upon by two ogres. Except according to this wounded man these were no ordinary ogres. Monstrous and able to move faster and with greater cunning than any ogre he’d ever seen. The fiends — for it’s by that name these villagers are talking of them — the fiends killed his brother outright and carried off the boy, who was alive and struggling. The wounded man himself got away only after a long chase along the river path, the foul grunts coming closer behind him all the while, but he outran them in the end. That would be him there now, Axl, with the splint on his arm, talking to the stranger. Wounded though he was, he was anxious enough for his nephew to lead a party of this village’s strongest men back to the spot, and they saw smoke from a campfire near the bank, and as they were creeping up to it, their weapons at the ready, the bushes opened and it seems these same two fiends had set a trap. The medicine woman says three men were killed even before the others thought to run for their lives, and though they returned unhurt, most of them are now shivering and muttering to themselves in their beds, too shaken to come out and wish well these brave men willing to go out now, even with the darkness coming and the mist setting in, to do what couldn’t be done by twelve strong men in broad daylight.”

“Do they know the boy is still alive?”

“They know nothing, but they’ll go out to the river even so. After the first party returned in terror, for all the urging of the elders, there was not a single man brave enough to join a further expedition. Then as fortune would have it, here’s this stranger come into the village seeking a night’s shelter after his horse has hurt a foot. And though he knows nothing of this boy or his family before today, he’s declared himself willing to come to the village’s aid. Those others going out with him are two more of the boy’s uncles, and by the look of them, I’d say they’re more likely to hinder that warrior than be of help. Look, Axl, they’re sick with fear.”

“I see that right enough, princess. But they’re brave men all the same, to go out when they’re so afraid. We chose a bad night to ask this village’s hospitality. There’s weeping somewhere even now, and there may be a great deal more before the night’s passed.”

The medicine woman seemed to understand something of what Axl had said, for she spoke again, in her own language, then Beatrice said: “She says to go straight to the old longhouse now and not show ourselves again till morning. If we choose to wander the village, she says there’s no telling how we may be greeted on a night like this.”

“My own thoughts exactly, princess. Then let’s be taking the good lady’s advice, if you can still remember the way.”

But just at that moment the crowd made a sudden noise, then the noise became cheering, and the crowd shifted again, as if struggling to change shape. Then it began to move, the warrior and his two companions near its centre. A low chanting started up, and soon the spectators in the shadows — the medicine woman included — joined in. The procession came towards them, and though the brightness of the fire had been left behind, several torches were moving within it, so that Axl could catch glimpses of faces, some frightened, some excited. Whenever a torch illuminated the warrior, his expression was calm, gazing to left and right to acknowledge words of encouragement, his hand once more on the handle of his sword. They went past Axl and Beatrice, continued between a row of huts and out of view, though the muted chanting remained audible for some time.

Perhaps daunted by the atmosphere, neither Axl nor Beatrice moved for a while. Then Beatrice began to question the medicine woman on the best way to reach the longhouse, and it seemed to Axl the two women were soon discussing directions to some other destination altogether, for they pointed and gestured into the distance towards the hills above the village.

They finally set off for their lodgings only when quiet had descended over the village. It was harder than ever to find one’s way in the darkness, and the occasional torches burning on corners seemed only to increase the confusion with their shadows. They were proceeding in the opposite direction to that in which the crowd had gone, and the houses they passed were dark with no obvious signs of life.

“Walk slowly, princess,” Axl said softly. “If either of us takes a bad tumble on this ground, I’m not certain there’ll be a soul coming out to help us.”

“Axl, I think we’ve lost our way again. Let’s go back to the last corner and this time I’ll be sure to find it.”

In time the path straightened and they found themselves walking beside the perimeter fence they had seen from the hill. Its sharpened poles loomed above them a shade darker than the night sky, and as they went on, Axl could hear murmured voices somewhere above them. Then he saw they were no longer alone: high up along the ramparts, at regular intervals, were shapes he realised were people gazing out over the fence into the dark wilderness beyond. He had barely time to share this observation with Beatrice before they heard footsteps gathering behind them. They quickened their pace, but now a torch was moving nearby and shadows swung rapidly before them. At first Axl thought they had stumbled upon a group of villagers coming in the other direction, but then saw that he and Beatrice were entirely surrounded. Saxon men of varying ages and builds, some with spears, others wielding hoes, scythes and other tools, were jostling around them. Several voices addressed them at once, and ever more people seemed to be arriving. Axl felt the heat of the torches thrust at their faces, and holding Beatrice close to him, tried to locate with his gaze the leader of this group, but could find no such figure. Every face, moreover, was filled with panic, and he realised any careless move could bring disaster. He pulled Beatrice out of the reach of a particularly wild-eyed young man who had raised a trembling knife in the air, and searched his memory for some Saxon phrases. When nothing came to him, he made do with a few soothing noises, such as he might have made to an unruly horse.