The draugr stands to its full terrifying height. Scraps of leather hang from its emaciated body; a bit of material flaps in the wind, caught on a jagged bone that juts through the rotting skin of its chest. Yellow eyes stare at me through a curtain of snow.
Stig lies at the creature’s feet, his face tinged blue. Snowflakes settle on his hair and melt into the blood that gushes from the wound in his neck. I watch transfixed as a river of red seeps out of him. Steam rises from his blood, yet he looks so cold.
The draugr steps towards me and the stench of decay turns my stomach.
Run. I need to run.
My heart races, but I can’t move.
A flash of movement makes me turn my head: a familiar shape bounds through the blizzard. ‘Gandalf!’ He jumps in front of me, hackles raised, lips pulled back to reveal sharp, dangerous teeth. He snaps and snarls with the ferocity of an animal willing to fight to the death.
The draugr strides towards me. Its filthy hair streams in the wind and blood drips from the claws of its hand, leaving a trail of red in the snow.
Gandalf’s barks become frenzied. Steam rises from his body and foam drips from his jaws. He dips his front legs, ready to attack, then leaps into the air and sinks his teeth into the creature’s arm. The draugr stumbles, unbalanced, and swings its arm, lifting the dog high off the ground. Gandalf’s jaw is locked, refusing to let go.
The draugr punches the dog with its other hand and I wince at the brutal blow. ‘Leave him alone!’ I scream. I run towards Gandalf, determined to save him. The draugr throws open its arm and the dog flies through the air and thumps to the ground. He gives a pitiful whimper and is silent. Tears stream down my face. ‘I’m sorry, Gandalf! I’m sorry!’
Sobbing, I lurch away, arms flailing desperately. The dark shape of the tree shivers ahead, only a dozen paces from me. The Norns – they have to help!
Something tugs at my boot and I fall head first in the snow. Cursing, I roll onto my back and pull my foot free from a root. Branches sway above me, dark arms warning of danger too late. The tree is so close. If I can just …
The draugr stands over me and its putrid smell makes me want to heave. Its left cheek has rotted away, leaving a flap of skin. The muscles around its mouth tighten into a parody of a smile.
I crawl backwards and try to scream, but my voice is a strangled sob.
My ancestors saved me before; maybe they can again. ‘Karina! Help me, please!’
The draugr stares at me with lifeless eyes.
I get to my feet and command myself to breathe. Holding the valknut charm, I try to remember how I felt when I touched the doll. I dredge up all the power I have in me, through my legs and into my stomach and chest.
A savage voice that’s not my own rages from inside me. ‘Up, you dead! Rise up and save me!’
The sky darkens and the wind screams.
A shape appears on my left. The shimmering outline of a woman: Karina! Her face is set with determination. She charges at the draugr and it swings its arm, making the apparition explode into snow.
I raise my arm and shield my eyes as another figure rises up. A tiny old woman with long, flowing hair. Gerd runs at the creature and it turns and swings, smashing her likeness to smithereens.
Another snowy woman rises, and another. The draugr destroys one of my ancestors, only for another to appear. It grunts as it punches its way through them. They’re slowing it down, but it’s not enough.
I race to the tree and hammer on its trunk. I need the Norns to tell me how to save Mormor and get her back to the underworld. But not Stig! He’s so young – he can’t die! The Norns have to change this.
A familiar chiselled face appears in the bark and my shout dies in my throat. A leg emerges, followed by a shoulder, until finally the old woman stands before me. Her face is calm and untroubled. Two figures step out from her shadow: the beautiful Norn with her hair flowing in the wind, and the girl, her face partly hidden by her hood.
Something glints from the folds of Skuld’s cloak. It’s she who cuts the cords, she who decides when a life ends. I point at her shears and yell, ‘You killed Stig! You did this!’
The girl looks at a scrap of fabric fluttering on a nearby branch and holds out her arm. The cloth whips through the air and flies into her hand. She holds it out to me but I refuse to take it. Stig can’t be dead. He can’t!
She looks at me with cold eyes. ‘Don’t you want to know?’
I gaze at the pitiful rag. I want to know everything there is to know about him, but not like this. I want the living, breathing Stig. I want to feel the warmth of his arms around me. I want us to share our secrets in front of the fire.
She uncurls a finger as if to release the cloth.
‘No!’
I snatch it from her and clutch it to my chest. The material speaks only of sorrow: every regret of Stig’s life distilled into a single bitter drop. Remorse writhes under my fingertips; strands of self-accusation twist and turn, tying themselves into a knot of grief. Stig’s guilt for calling his father that night. He should never have walked out on his mum. Shame, guilt, self-loathing. The cloth races through each misgiving of his life.
It starts to show me Nina but I pull away, not wanting to see. And then it shows the two of us together and I can barely breathe. Stig regretted not kissing me.
The cloth shows me an image of myself laughing and playing in the snow. I see myself as Stig saw me, and a rush of warmth spreads through my chest. My face is disfigured – it’s not like he didn’t notice – but Stig saw beauty in me too.
I feel the yearning he felt – he wanted to kiss me, but he was afraid he wasn’t good enough for me. Worried that he was too damaged inside to make anyone happy.
I glance up to see the draugr battling the dead, fighting its way towards me.
The material tugs at my mind and a different thread of memory catches. I see myself shivering on the sofa. Stig is pulling off my boots. He wanted to tell me how he felt, but the time wasn’t right; I was too upset. And then I see him kissing me on the head. He wanted me so much, but he was overwhelmed by emotion. He had finally started to accept he wasn’t responsible for his dad’s death – but his blame and anger had been holding him together. Letting go of them made him feel vulnerable, and he needed space to process his feelings. How could I have been so selfish?
The draugr is getting close. I need to run but the cloth won’t let me. Another memory demands to be seen: me standing at the front door, determined to leave the cabin. Stig gazes into my eyes. The strength of his emotion makes my heart beat fast. He felt so at home with me; he felt he could be himself and tell me anything. He was fascinated by my gift, by everything about me. He couldn’t bear the idea of losing me. When I kissed him, he pulled away because it felt as if I was kissing him goodbye.
And now it’s too late.
I wipe my eyes and see the draugr nearly upon me.
Clenching my fists, I turn on the Norns. ‘You control fate. You can change this!’
The old woman ignores me and walks towards the tree.
‘Please! There has to be something you can do!’
The Norns step close together, ready to merge back into one. Dread creeps through me. The draugr is moments away. They’re going to leave me to die.
I grab the charm around my neck, then take a deep breath and find the power inside me. My words are a savage, primal scream, ‘I am a daughter of Odin! I command you to help me!’ I stamp on a root and the ground trembles as branches shudder above. If it would bring Stig back, I would take an axe to the trunk. I would set it on fire and watch it burn.
The youngest Norn regards me coolly, a trace of admiration in her gaze. ‘Only Hel, Queen of the Underworld, can give back a life.’
‘Then take me to Hel!’
The beautiful Norn tilts her head. ‘Few have made the journey, and fewer still have returned. You understand what you are asking?’
I nod, afraid but determined not to show it. The two other Norns step into her shadow and they become one.
‘Very well.’ She grabs my wrist and ice shoots into my veins. I stare at my arm as the coldness creeps into me. I try to pull away, but I can’t. I drop to my knees, and a tree root slithers over my calf and tightens around my thigh. I watch it like it’s happening to someone else. Twisting my body, I try to sit up, strain to pull free. The root drags me across the snowy ground and I wince as the back of my head bumps and grazes over gnarled roots.
And then I’m lying among rotting leaves in the dank, stinking chamber of the tree. I’ve been here before, in another dream. I need to wake up. I need to wake …
Dirt patters onto my face and into my mouth. Earth covers my eyes. I spit out soil and scream, but it’s too late. I’m being swallowed into the black hole of my nightmares.