by Derek Nelsen
Just as she considered whether she could make it down the chain without getting snatched up by the vines, Hella turned and circled back the other way.
Kiara stepped away from the chasm.
Thank you, Lord.
Keeping her distance, Kiara mirrored Hella as she made her way back to her throne.
“He must be toying with me now,” Hella argued with herself. The more she did, the more the façade of the place slipped in and out of view. She kicked cups and knocked chairs over as her pacing tramped a path in the stone floor.
Away from the throne, the chain was nearly imperceptible, pulsing in and out of view with the illusion of the starry sky. If she could just get to the dwarf.
Hella pulled at the rings on her necklace, making her choker seem more like a leash.
She scratched her nails into the wooden tabletop, as if remembering something awful.
“Did you call me a demon?”
She pulled a sword from behind her throne’s high back and laid it on the table.
How did I miss that?
“You know I wasn’t always like this. My beloved pleaded with God to elevate him above man.” With a fingernail, she started tapping into the table like a nervous woodpecker. “He bargained and made offerings.” Her eyes raged like stormy seas. “God didn’t understand. He didn’t know your souls were broken. He didn’t know you would betray him. Don’t you see? The cost of silence was too great.
“To say nothing would’ve been the greatest sin of all!”
The table splintered. Her agitated finger tapped harder. Faster. “And when our God chastised him, my perfect angel, for what? For loving him enough to tell him the truth? What was I to do? Just watch? Bow at his feet like the rest of his sheep? While broken creatures like you were anointed above such a perfect creature as my beloved? As if you were his children, and we were just servants? Unbearable,” she seethed. “I lashed out. I raised a hand to him, and this is my reward.”
She jerked her chain of rings and slammed them down on the table with a resounding crash that rippled through the curtain of vine.
The ringing seemed to help Slegge find his wits. His legs steadied, and he made his way to the hidden door.
Kiara could almost feel the pressure of Hella's heartbeat in the dank, disturbed air, polluted with anger and resentment.
“And because I started the war,” Hella vented on, “and my beloved raised his sword in my defense, God Almighty gave us exactly what we asked for. He always does.” She put on a wry, distant smile. “Just not the way we imagined. We, the most loyal, were cast out, made to earn our inheritance—to have dominion over lost souls, and those given of their own free will. Masters of the proud, and strong, and rich.” She wrenched at the necklace of soul rings hanging around her neck. “My beloved has been out to prove to him that the price was too high ever since. Even now, he scours the nine worlds to collect enough rings for me to taste freedom again.”
Kiara was confused. “Scours the nine worlds? The Vikings killed more in my village in one day than there were rings in that dwarf’s sack.”
Hella slammed her sword on the table. “You know nothing.”
She’s lying to herself. Kiara thought of how Orlaith defended the Viking who’d gotten her pregnant. How he left her behind without a family or a home.
Hella started walking slowly toward her, dragging the blade along the tabletop as she did. She screamed at the ceiling as she narrowed the gap, still tugging on that chain around her neck.
The room pulsed between light and darkness.
"Sometimes I wish I could take it back.” Hella gnashed her teeth. Her sword’s tip dropped to the stone floor, leaving a trail of sparks to trace her path. “We stopped nothing. We, the most loyal, cast out like common thieves to live among the dead with your dirty, cracked souls.”
The dwarf lowered his eyebrows as he eyed the dead woman lying near the Viking’s feet.
“So now I rule the barrows of the nine worlds. Like a common landowner, I wait for my sharecroppers to bring me my share of the harvest. Soon, I will have enough souls to negotiate my freedom—or build an army.” Hella grabbed one of her draugar by the throat, then pulled out its gold soul and held it between her fingers. “For those final days, when Ragnarok comes, we will be ready.”
Departed, Exposed, Allowed, Doomed
Runa felt tired but awake. Stronger, but not better. Felt meant something new now. Everything became an itch she could no longer scratch. Her fingernails cut into skin that no longer bled. She felt trapped like a moth in a cocoon or a chick ready to peck away at the inside of its egg.
Unsteady, she got to her feet. She felt so clumsy. Need drink. So thirsty. Her jaw wasn’t working. Nothing was. She couldn’t speak. Her awkward body fell into one of the vine figures rummaging around near the troll’s head on the floor. The thing was small. In life, it might have been a dwarf.
“Get away from her!” Tor slashed the draugr in two with his sword. Runa did not care for it, or Tor for that matter. Her attention was drawn to the clinking its soul made as it bounced along the floor and into the pit. The other draugar recoiled their half of the vine back in like a fishing line, leaving the soul-less part on the floor, lifeless as a piece of rope. With a shaking hand, Tor cut a piece off and stuffed it in his mouth before Svikar could stab the rest with his tongue and suck it into his ugly head.
Runa turned up the same cup the draugar had been testing. Empty. She grabbed another cup. Empty.
“They’re all empty, sweetheart,” said Tor. “Can’t you see?”
Runa ran a dirty finger along the inside edge of the cup and clumsily stuck it into her mouth.
“We’ve got to get out of here.” Tor stood over her, sword raised.
“Get away from her, Viking,” yelled Svikar. “She’s like them now.”
“Runa.” Tor grabbed her arm and tried pulling her to her feet. “Over here now.”
Tor smelled good to her. He was warm. She felt so cold. She grabbed his arm and pulled, and when he jerked away, his arm opened up as if raked by briars.
“Aaagh!” Tor sounded hurt.
She licked the tips of her fingers. Amidst her unfeeling, his blood was warm. The fingers came out dry and were chased, not by her tongue, but by a tendril of vine. She turned a blank face toward her husband. Then the prickly blue tongue started to crawl out like a snake from its den.
“Runa!” Tor backed away.
Runa sensed his blood pressure rising. She could feel his panic. She was drawn to it, like the cup. Only he was no empty vessel. So thirsty it hurts. Just a little closer. If I could just warm myself against your chest. She wished she could explain.
The sword cut, and Tor recoiled as the tip of the vine crawling out of Runa’s mouth fell to the floor.
Runa swatted at her husband. What are you doing? You could’ve killed me. The pain of the cut was sharp and quick. Then only confusion remained. Where are you going? Help me! She was so thirsty, so cold. Tor looked so warm. She felt like she was watching from some other place. She sensed anger and fear. Then she was crushed to the ground, as Slegge the dwarf buried his hammer into her back.
Runa felt her spine snap from the hammer, her ribs crack from the stone floor, but felt very little physical pain. Instead, she burned, the way her feet felt when the snow was wet and there was still a long walk home. She felt it deep inside. It was anger at the dwarf. Disappointment in her husband. And sadness, as all the loss she’d ever felt for her father and her daughter. It all welled up inside her, and it hurt. The unbearable weight of loss and regret filled her hollow soul, and it burned. Worst of all, she couldn’t cry.
The burning pointed her to Kiara the way her soul drew her to Hella. She had to drag herself along, but she made her way to the girl.
While Hella drove the girl her way, Runa could sense her fear. She knew what Hella wanted. Hella would take the thirst away in exchange for the girl’s soul. She didn’t know how, but she knew that’s what she was s
upposed to do. While Kiara was backing away from Hella, Runa tripped her to the ground. Clumsy girl. Runa lunged awkwardly on top of her and swiped at her ring. Nnng! Kiara’s ring added to the burning of Runa’s soul.
The girl punched and kneed and kicked and crawled away toward Tor.
Kill the girl, Tor! Why aren’t you helping me? Wh-what’s wrong with me? Runa looked at her hand. Her unresponsive fingers were twisted. Her wrist hung limply, shattered from the struggle. She stared at it. No pain.
“Runa, stop!” Tor sounded angry at her. His blood was pumping harder now.
Runa didn’t feel her hand, but she did feel. The more she burned inside, the colder she felt. And the thirst—she tried to spit. Nothing. Then she looked at the girl cowering safely under her husband’s protection. She thought about all the ways he’d let her down over the years.
He’s lost, like he was on the farm. I know how to bring him back. Make him love me, like so many times before. She reached out to him. Just need to get my arms around him. She wanted to wring his neck sometimes when he didn’t understand. Put down that sword. The severed shoot stretched out of her loose jaw, reaching toward her husband. She reached for his head, the pulsing vein on his temple audible in the fog. It’s going to be alright, Tor. Just stay right there.
Tor was yelling, but she couldn’t tell what he was saying.
Just stay still for a—
“Tor, look out!” Kiara screamed.
Runa hissed at the girl. That’s my husband! You should be scared. Runa sensed Kiara’s fear as clearly as she could hear a baby cry. She held out her broken hand. Do you see what you did to me? The ring hanging above Kiara’s chest gave off a different, repulsive light.
Her senses weren’t working right anymore, but she did know things. She knew thirst, she knew cold, and she knew the pain of the burning in her chest. She knew the disappointment and fear, and it filled her emptiness.
Put that away, and give me a squeeze. Runa grabbed Tor’s wrist, quick as a snake in summer, and squeezed until he dropped the sword. Her prickly tongue caressed his ear. Don’t fight, husband. Just—sleep.
Draugr Wife
Slegge’s hammer crashed upward, breaking teeth and splaying rooted tongue. The old dwarf’s follow through decimated Runa’s face, leveling the left side of her skull and pinning her to the wall. The snap of jaw and skull and neck echoed off the cavern walls.
Kiara screamed as Runa slunk to the floor, lifeless.
As soon as Tor was free from Runa’s grip, he began throwing punches. He wailed down blows of anger with all his power, but the stout dwarf shielded himself with arm and hammer.
“You’re too late, Tor! Let ‘im be!” called Svikar, lying precariously under the two. “It was too late as soon as we sat at her table.”
“That was my wife!” Tor stomped on the dwarf’s arm, jerked the hammer out of his hand, and threw it to the side.
Even at her place near the table, Kiara had to jump to keep the hammer from breaking one of her ankles.
“She was already dead!” grunted the dwarf between blows. He grabbed Tor by the leg and rushed him to the ground with an umph. “She was going to kill you, stupid fool! I saved your life.”
Tor rolled and kicked Slegge off. He sized up the stout dwarf, half shocked by his power. Then he felt a tug on his foot. He slid around to her, forgetting everything else. “Runa?” But she didn’t answer. She couldn’t have. Her crushed head hung limply off the back of her shoulder.
A vine slithered up to fill the hole where her jaw should have been. Tor’s first impulse was to punch it away. Then he felt sick.
“Get away from that,” said Svikar. “She’s draugr—only she doesn’t know it yet.”
As a head resembling Runa’s filled the void, the corpse playfully flicked a vine at Tor, as if it were her tongue. Probably from the hammering, the gold coin with Freyja’s likeness had been knocked out of its frame, and her gold-plated soul rode the tongue like a serpent slipping through a ring.
Her body writhed like a sack full of vipers. Like an adder sloughing off old skin, the vine pushed up through her jaw as a likeness of Runa started to reform. She looked as confused as Tor as she shook off her old bag of bones like it was an itchy dress.
Slegge must’ve figured he’d done his part because he crawled off on hand and knee toward Kiara, muttering something about a stupid Viking and needing to find his ring.
Tor reclaimed his sword and watched as the draugr hypnotically tried to figure out how to find its form.
Hella watched, giving her draugar just enough leash to harass the troll and the dwarf, but not enough to suck out either of their brains, or whatever they did once they got inside. Twice Tor kicked Svikar out of their grasp, not wanting to see what would happen if one of the draugr actually got into his head.
“Viking,”—Svikar stabbed at Tor’s ankle with his tongue—“cut Runa’s soul free. That’ll end her before she ends you.” The troll’s head lay sideways, useless except for his sharp tongue. Tor knew he was right, but he just couldn’t do it.
She was still too familiar. She ran her hands down her front, the exact way Runa always did to straighten out her apron. What would happen to her if he cut her ring free—would he be killing her again?
The draugr was terrible, but it was Runa—all that was left of her, anyway. She seemed interested in him the way she had when they first married, playfully slipping her tendrils out to try to grab his wrists, the way she did before everything went wrong. When she used to flirt.
Tor struggled as Runa pulled him close, as if to kiss him, tongue extending toward his mouth, its black, doll eyes looking intent on making him hers for all eternity.
The Hammer and the Sword
Armed with only a torch, Slegge made his way under the table, pushing the fire along the floor to check every loose ring. The dwarf’s hammer still lay at Kiara’s feet, but she didn’t dare touch it. She didn’t want to provoke him, and she wouldn’t know what she’d do with it, anyway. She thought about the damage that hammer had done to Runa’s head and found herself wiping more tears away from her eyes the closer the dwarf got. He wasn’t so different than a short, stout man, but still, there was something wild about him. At first, she’d wanted his help, but now she wasn’t sure. She didn’t know what she wanted anymore but could only pray Slegge would protect her from the chaos. But her prayers felt empty.
The only ally Kiara could count on was the table. Like a valiant knight, it stood resolute between her and the nightmare unfolding in the hall. To her left, Hella seemed to be drinking in the disunity as if it was a fine wine. They may have arrived together, but somehow the lady had cut their ties with her thorns of pain and distrust.
Across the table, the draugar huddled together like prisoners tied together at the ankles, busy fighting amongst themselves over the same dry, empty cups. They were the only things in the room that seemed more hopeless than Kiara felt. Where a door should have been stood Tor, sword in hand, staring at the draugr that used to be his wife as if, somehow, she would spring back to life. Kiara wanted to run over and try to wake him from his trance, but she feared he might turn his blade on her, or worse, watch as Runa’s draugr stole her soul.
Slegge was getting closer. He hadn’t found his ring but was working his way to his hammer.
Even in her distress, Kiara recognized its beauty. The iron was fine, unlike any she’d ever seen, and the dwarf had patterned the hammer more like a work of art than a lowly stone-crusher.
Slegge didn’t seem worried about the draugar. He crawled with his back to them as if they were little more than nuisances to be kicked away with his boot.
Hella called out to a draugr, “Don’t let him get to his hammer.” The closest, who looked to have also been a dwarf, grabbed Slegge by the wrist, and with a few twists, had him wrapped up tighter than lingonberries in a pannekaker. Slegge cursed the vine the way Tor chided the goats when they wouldn’t get off the roof: “Filthy weed!”
&nbs
p; A cold chill climbed the back of Kiara’s neck. Slegge might be her only hope. She grabbed the handle of the dwarf’s hammer firmly with both hands. For such a heavy-looking tool, she was surprised to find she could wield it with on hand, easier than a hatchet in the wood. She slammed it onto the vine.
“Aaoww!” the dwarf howled.
Kiara might have pinched a bit of Slegge’s belly fat when she smacked the vine. It was hard to tell—he was wearing loose clothes. It had him wrapped up so tight. She lined the hammer up on the vine again.
“Stop! Don’t do that again,” Slegge said through gritted teeth. “Just put my torch back in my hand and go help the Viking. We’re going to need him.”
Kiara guessed that meant the dwarf was a friend. She gripped the hammer tight and took a practice swing. They needed her.
“Svindl!” Svikar yelled angrily. He bit at the female draugr who was getting too close. “I know you can hear me, brother!” His deep, gravelly voice tapered off as he listened past the echoes of his own voice bouncing out into the abyss. “Svindl!” He shut his eyes, hoping for a response that would not come.
Runa seemed to have gotten stronger since she sloughed off her skin like some prison of flesh. Tor was managing to fight her off without using his sword, but Slegge was right; they needed him now.
Kiara swung the hammer with both hands, planting it firmly into the side of Runa’s new head. The sledge disappeared into the nest of weeds pretending to be her hair. The hammering didn’t slow the draugr. It continued dragging Tor in for a kiss with its barky tongue.
Hella laughed at the entertainment.
Svikar barked at Kiara. “Put your soul into it!”
Kiara jerked the hammer hard to free it from Runa’s tangles and fell on the ground next to Svikar.
“Put your ring onto the handle,” said the troll, “the way the dwarfs do!”
Kiara had no idea how the dwarfs did it, but she remembered seeing Slegge take his ring off the hammer to show it to Hella.