by Rachel Burge
I wrap a blanket around myself, then kneel before the stove. My fingers fumble and I drop the matches. At last the spark takes. I glance at the window, dreading the sound of a howl but there’s only the cry of the wind, whistling around the cabin like it’s trying to get in.
It will be twilight soon. I need to be ready.
My gaze rests on the axe. There was a symbol, something I’m meant to do. I take a journal from the floor. There are lots of runes inside, but the words next to them mean nothing to me. I throw the book aside and pick up another. Why didn’t I learn Norwegian? Mormor wanted to teach me, so why didn’t I let her? Why didn’t I ask more questions? I should have made Mum tell me the truth. I hurl the book and it slams into the wall.
I pace the cabin, chewing my thumbnail. What was it Stig said? Something about how Hel makes you see the good and bad in yourself … A memory pools at the back of my head. The things I don’t want to feel; the person I don’t want to be. I’ve been so full of self-pity, obsessed with hating the way I look – I pushed Stig away.
I didn’t want to look into Hel’s empty eye socket because I didn’t want to see my own darkness reflected there. Mormor said a life can’t be made up of summers, yet I only came to the island when it was permanently light – never when it was dark. I didn’t want my happiness overshadowed by Mum and Mormor arguing. That’s why I didn’t force them to tell me the truth; that’s why I didn’t learn Norwegian. I didn’t want to know what they were arguing about; I was happier pretending everything was OK.
My head feels clearer than it has in a long time. I may not be able to read Norwegian, but I can read clothing. My ancestors can speak to me through material. The doll is splayed out on the rug. I drop to my knees and snatch it up. Nothing. And then I remember. There was some fabric with the journals. I didn’t look before because I was so focused on the books.
I grab the axe, then go to Mormor’s room and lift the lid of the chest. Inside is a roll of yellow-tinged material. I open it onto the bed, not caring about the smell. On the left is an embroidered trunk with dozens of branches. Under each one is a name and a date. Near the bottom is stitched ‘Frida’ – Mormor’s name – and beneath it, nothing. I touch the space where Mum’s name should be and my chest tightens. Because of her, our family tree is twisted. My fate distorted.
I look up and shiver. Shadows are swirling in the corners of the room. There’s a dark mass behind the wardrobe, expanding and deflating, growing ever bigger. It reaches out to me, and I scramble to the middle of the bed.
Buzzing fills the air and I tell myself not to be afraid. They didn’t hurt you before …
Unseen icy fingers close around mine. I watch helplessly as my hand is guided across the embroidery. It stops on the name Karina and the thought of her tugs at my mind, as if she’s stitched a part of herself into the material. I reach for where my necklace should be and feel a pang of regret, but the thread pulls harder, demanding my focus.
A figure steps out from the shadows. She scowls a moment, then smiles. My shoulders drop with relief. I grin at her, then touch the next name – Gerd – and a tiny old lady with long flowing hair appears. I touch more names: Trine and Solveig and Astrid and Britt. My fingers trace the thread like a blind person reading Braille; each stitch tells a story at once familiar and strange.
More and more women appear, until I am surrounded. I look from face to face and my heart overflows with gratitude. They came back for me!
Karina points to the bed. There’s a square of fabric next to the axe. It must have fallen out when I opened the roll of material. I turn it over to see a vertical line crossed by a diagonal one. The same symbol Hel showed me.
‘Karina, what does it mean? What am I meant to do?’
She replies in Norwegian.
I leap from the bed. ‘But I don’t understand!’
She tugs the fabric between my fingers and somehow I know that she has stitched it for me, for this moment. Taking a deep breath, I place my palm over the rune.
Karina intones a deep sound – ‘Nau-dizzz’ – that I’ve heard reverberate in my head before. The other women join her in a circle and the word becomes a chant, swirling around me as they raise their voices in a vortex of energy. I find I’m singing with them. My feet root themselves to the floor as courage rushes up through me, straightening my spine and expanding in my chest. I feel the strength of twenty women.
Suddenly I know what to do.
On Mormor’s bedside table is an embroidery and a small pair of scissors. I take them and scratch the rune into the blade of the axe. Remembering what Hel showed me, I grit my teeth and pull the sharp edge across my palm. I wince in pain, then squeeze my hand and watch as blood drips onto the markings, making them glow white.
I look to Karina, hoping I have done enough, but her image is fading. The women’s features have gone, just like they did after they created the bubble to save me from the draugr. Karina shakes her head, and I know that she cannot stay. I look around the circle and watch my ancestors disappear one by one, like light bulbs going out.
24
I bandage my hand, then put on my gloves and pull the door shut. The sky is streaked purple and red, as if someone took a knife and slashed it open, the ghostly moon too afraid to show its face. Behind me, the cabin blazes with light. It spills out through the windows and onto the snow. A beacon.
Gripping the axe, I jump down the steps. The gnarled arms of the tree dip and wave as if beckoning me, and I hurry towards it. I have to return the dead before the draugr comes. If it kills me, there will be no one to save Mormor.
Two ravens circle high above, their bodies buffeted by the icy wind, and I am glad to see them. I pause at the edge of the garden, feeling exposed. If the creature appears now … A harsh caw sounds in warning and I glance in every direction, but there’s nothing. I keep walking, the crunch of my boots horribly loud.
A howl comes from the forest.
My head spins as I stare about me. I turned on every light in the cabin to attract the draugr; if I go back it will find me … and the tree is too far.
The shed!
I turn and race towards it, then hurry inside. There are no windows and I have to strain to make out shapes in the gloom. My hand shakes as I pull the rusty bolt across.
Another howl, closer this time.
I want to hide in a corner, but I don’t move. I need to know where it is. Shuffling sounds. A low, breathy snort.
It must be right outside.
My chest flushes with heat. I hold the axe before me, my hands sweating in my gloves.
The door rattles and I cry out, but it’s just the wind.
Holding my breath, I peer through a crack in the wood. The yellow light from the cabin illuminates every weed stalk near the house, but there’s no sign of the creature. I move my body to the left and angle my head to look to the other side.
A shape moves past, temporarily blocking the light.
I gasp and pull back, convinced it’s seen me. When I look again, the creature is lumbering up the porch steps.
I slide open the bolt, ready.
It paces the porch, then looks in through the windows.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
It pounds its fist along the outside of the cabin. My fingers tighten around the axe, hatred burning inside me. A grunt, and then it kicks open the door and disappears inside.
Now. I have to go now.
I run to the tree, not daring to look back. My lungs burn as I gasp at the icy air. When I get near, the cord jumps in my pocket. I reach inside and stare in disbelief at the translucent, pulsating thing in my hands. It leaps to the ground, then lengthens to ten times its size and slithers towards the tree. I lurch forward and snatch it with both hands. The other end disappears into the hollow of the trunk, jolting my arms.
A thousand voices cry out. Shadowy faces rush past me at impossible speed. I bend my legs and brace my arms. The apparitions spin around the cord, then disappear into the tree with a whoosh
and a crack. I shut my eyes and turn my head. Grit my teeth and hold on. Twice the cord twists in my hands and I nearly drop it. My arms shake. Still the dead come.
The whirlwind slows – ghostly faces continue to rush by but there are fewer now. There’s no way to tell if Mormor is among them; I just have to hope.
I drop my shoulders and sigh. It’s worked, the dead are returning.
My relief doesn’t last long.
A figure stands on the other side of the tree. The draugr. Its head jerks in my direction. With no ghostly army to hold it back it comes straight for me, its gait clumsy and lurching.
The cord tugs in my hands. The dead are still flowing into the underworld. If I let go now, they may never get back. I have to hold on.
The creature is close. Just twenty paces away.
I glance at the axe in the snow. With one hand holding the cord, I bend down and grab it. More ghostly faces rush past. I need both hands to fight, but I can’t drop the cord. Not yet. I have to give the dead a chance to return.
And then I see her.
‘Mormor!’
She stands halfway between me and the draugr, somehow managing to resist the pull of the cord. My heart wells with love. I gaze at her shimmering apparition and this time I know she can see me too. Her eyes gleam, as if she’s illuminated from within.
I step towards her, wanting to say so much but unable to get the words out. All I manage is a half-sobbed, ‘I love you, Mormor.’
She smiles and gives me the tender look I’m so familiar with – the one that tells me not to upset myself. I don’t have to explain because she already knows.
‘Yes, child. I’m here. I love you too, more than you can imagine.’
She moves towards me, her smile radiating kindness. I long to touch her, but I’m afraid to drop the axe or the cord. She’s so close. I reach out my hand …
The draugr howls.
Mormor turns her back to me and squares up to the creature.
‘Mormor, no! Please, you have to go back to the underworld!’
She glances over her shoulder. ‘I will never leave you, child.’
‘For me, Mormor. Please. I can’t hold the cord much longer!’
The caw of a raven sounds from above.
‘I have Odin’s ravens with me. I’m not alone. You can leave me. You must!’
Mormor steps towards the draugr. The creature tilts its head back and a strange bark issues from its mouth. It’s laughing.
I call to Mormor, ‘Go to the underworld and we can be together one day!’ My voice breaks with emotion. ‘Please, Mormor. Or I’ll never see you again.’
Mormor stands firm. If she isn’t going to move, I’ll have to make her.
I throw the rope towards her. It latches onto her wrist then snakes around her middle, grasping her in its coil. I mouth, I’m sorry, and then she’s gone, pulled with the cord into the tree. My chest aches with longing as I stare after her.
Seeing her, even for a brief moment, gives me courage. I grip the axe as the draugr circles around me. It paces slowly to the right, its yellow eyes never leaving my face. Then grunts and snorts, coming closer and backing away. Testing me. Playing with me.
It rushes to the left, and I spin around and lift the axe … but it’s too fast. Its body slams into me and knocks me to the ground. Pain rips through my right shoulder. I cry out and gasp for breath.
The axe!
I lurch for it, but the draugr steps on the handle, pushing it into the snow. Desperate, I search the ground for a fallen branch, anything.
One of the ravens flies close to my head and caws, ‘Naudiz!’
I reach for my valknut charm and panic when I realise it’s not there.
‘Naudiz!’ I yell the word, but nothing happens.
A clawed hand grabs my wrist and a harsh, guttural sound rasps from the creature’s mouth. I don’t understand the words it spits at me, but I can feel the hatred behind them. The draugr twists my arm and pain shoots through my shoulder, causing lights to flash before my eyes. I cry out in agony and drop to my knees.
Weak and hopeless, I hang my head and whisper, ‘I’m sorry, Stig. I tried.’
A raucous caw makes me lift my gaze. A raven dives from the sky. His eyes are pure rage: burning black dots ringed by fire. Mighty wings beat the air as he claws the creature’s head. The draugr drops my wrist to bat at the bird. It attacks again, diving and pecking at the creature’s hands, its face, its eyes.
I push myself up and another raven lands heavily on my shoulder. ‘Naudiz!’ it calls. The bird explodes into the sky, then wheels through the air and joins the attack.
I have to try again. Remembering how it felt when my ancestors chanted, I take a deep breath and feel my feet become rooted to the earth. My legs tremble as I reach into the deepest part of me, willing the energy to surge up my spine and into my chest. When I can’t hold it any longer, I open my mouth.
‘Nau-dizzz!’
The deep sound resonates through my body and shakes the branches of the tree. I sound the word again. This time even louder. The third time I vibrate the rune’s name, a mass of silver threads appears in the air. I stare at the draugr and focus my energy on it. The threads attach themselves to one another to form a net. I will them forward and they wrap around the creature, encasing its upper body.
The draugr howls. It staggers but stays upright, its arms bound to its sides. I take the axe from the snow. Ignoring the pain in my shoulder, I prepare to strike.
A single, clean blow.
I look down and notice a black shape struggling in the net. The draugr’s fingers are clasped around the raven’s neck – it must have grabbed the bird before the threads closed around it. The other raven desperately pecks at the silver cage, trying to release it.
If I kill the draugr now, one of the birds may die.
I lower the axe, then carefully use the blade to slice open the threads. They ping back as if made of metal, and the raven bursts out. I start to say the rune again, but the draugr rips the net wide and smacks me across the face. I stumble back, tasting blood.
Fear rises to my chest but I push it back down. It’s no good running. I need to fight it – but I need an advantage, some way to outsmart it.
The ravens fly into the branches of the tree, which gives me an idea. I chase after the birds, the draugr close behind. As I get near, I see the tree is covered with dozens of ravens, sitting on its branches like dark assassins.
I point towards the creature and scream, ‘Kill it!’
Raucous caws fill the air as they explode upward and then dive, black wings shattering the sky. I look back and the draugr’s head, arms and legs are covered in the birds. It throws them off and staggers forward, but more come down. Razor-sharp beaks stab at its eyes. Claws rip chunks of its skin and hair. The attack is frenzied and relentless.
Bending almost double, I clamber inside the hollow trunk of the tree. The ground is covered with dead leaves and it smells of dank wood and rot. I blink against the gloom and try not to think about the hole to the underworld.
There isn’t enough room to swing an axe, but if the draugr follows me inside, maybe I can hide by the other exit of the chamber and kill it as it emerges.
I go to the far opening, opposite to where I entered, and bury the axe under a pile of leaves in case the draugr tries to take it. If it thinks I’m unarmed, I’ll have the advantage of surprise. I hurry back to the middle of the space and wait. My heart beats like a wild thing. I turn and stare to my left, presuming the creature will follow the way I came, then check to the right just in case. The only sound is my breathing and the caw of the birds.
A voice calls in the distance. I’m sure I heard my name. I listen but there’s nothing. Maybe it was just the wind.
‘Martha!’
This time there’s no mistake. Mum!
I rush to the opening of the tree but I can’t see her. Maybe she’s gone to the forest, or back to the cabin? I want to call out, but what if she comes
and the creature is waiting? I couldn’t bear it if –
Something grabs my hair and forces me down. My face scrapes the ground as I’m dragged backwards. The draugr grunts and snorts behind me. I struggle onto my back. The creature’s nose is missing, so that there’s just a hole. A large scrap of skin hangs from its face, its head mostly just skull. The ravens have pecked its shoulders clean to the bone.
I kick as hard as I can. Managing to get free, I hurry to the right side of the chamber. I search the leaves but I can’t find the axe! My fingers dig into the leaves and earth. Shaking with panic, I run to the other exit, then come back. At last I find it.
Too late. The draugr is before me, just outside the tree. It must have gone out the other way and around the outside. It reaches in to grab me, when something slams into its head and it stumbles sideways. Mum stands behind the creature, holding a branch.
‘Mum!’
She sees me and nods, then readies herself to strike again. Her pale face is set with grim determination. I can’t believe she’s here – and fighting! I grab the axe and scramble out from the tree. Once outside, I hurl the weapon on top of a massive gnarled root, then clamber after it. Bracing my legs, I raise the axe with both hands.
Mum stumbles, the draugr almost on her. She screams in fright and I point to the other entrance. A flash of understanding crosses her face, and she runs around the side of the trunk, the creature close behind. I steady my feet and balance my weight. Tensing my arms, I take a deep breath. My timing has to be perfect, I have to get it right.
Mum emerges from the tree beneath me and staggers away from the opening, then collapses with a sob.
The bone of an arm appears, followed by a head.
Summoning my strength, I lift the axe and swing.
25
I stumble down from the tree, and Mum is there with her arms outstretched. She holds me close. ‘Thank God you’re OK.’ I close my eyes and my body trembles with relief. The fibres of her duffel coat speak of fear, but also of determination and great love. She collapses in my arms and I haul her back to her feet.