A cry stole away Gammal’s attention, whose eyes widened at the sight. The boy wouldn’t survive a fall of that magnitude, but was it worth the price to save him? He felt disgusted to have even accommodated the notion, jabbing at the blue draugr, a valborinn. The makeshift shield shot out, colliding with the creature, giving Gammal the opening needed to dispatch the other. It hobbled towards him, hands outstretched, putrid saliva oozing from its maw, yet desperate situations called for desperate measures, and Gammal relinquished his forearm to its ruinous bite. He suppressed a scream, catalytic fingernails digging into his shoulders, too preoccupied to notice the sword aimed at its neck, which gave way to its blind loyalty.
Its head remained doggedly glued to Gammal’s arm, who groaned as torment seeped into his veins. He was about the pry its jaws open when for the second time, Sǫl’s voice entered his ears.
“Help!”
“Hang on, boy!”
The boy’s plea betrayed an anguish and helplessness that reawakened the buried corpses of Gammal’s past. ‘Never again!’
The sword fell from Gammal’s battle-scarred hand, producing a muffled thump as the draugr’s eyeball squelched under the intrusion of his thumb, cementing his grip. The pain was excruciating but minuscule in comparison to the immensity of his responsibility, so he persevered, utilising every drop of his will to yank the skull off in a spurt of heaty blood. Ignoring the cries of his body and mangled arm, he ran to the boy on the cusp of a harrowing demise.
Sǫl screamed, marking the start of a sharp descent. Gammal’s heart lurched, using all the techniques at his disposal to close the gap before it was too late. The battle had strayed from the menhir, and to make it in time, Gammal launched himself using an earth column, diving for the save. It was not pretty, but he managed to scoop Sǫl up in a protective embrace as they tumbled down the side of the hill. Still, he was not a once venerated warrior for nothing, and he weathered the punishment the rocky terrain did to his fragile body, ensuring no harm came to the boy.
They careened through rocks and bounced off boulders, rolling to a stop in the small patch of flat land between forest and outcrop. The ground was covered in a thin layer of snow, a welcome sign. Gammal first checked that boy was fine, sighing with relief when all the damage the boy took was a few knicks and scratches. He was out cold, probably from shock, but it was better he wasn’t awake for what happened next. Sǫl was carefully laid on the ground, black hair in stark contrast to the snowfall that cushioned his body. Gammal stood in front of the boy as both a deterrent and a guarantee. He could not—would not fall, as the child’s life rested solely in his hands.
His breaths came short and fast, every inhale a stab in his chest. His left arm hung loosely by his side, already losing heat and sensation to the foreign incursion.
‘Broken ribs, can’t use me left arm. Ámr, give me strength.’
Two draugar emerged from the top of the hill, the valborinn and the lesser that most likely used the boy’s handholds to scale to the menhir. Gammal was relieved that he had managed to subdue the one with the gimp leg. With the sword gone, he had only a dagger to rely on, and it was anyone’s guess if he could take on two as is, let alone three at once. The pair stalked down the hill savouring the sight of the bloodied man and child.
“Smile while you can. This day will be your last,” Gammal coughed, red tainting the snow’s unblemished purity.
The draugar released a scream and rushed forward, kicking up by a cloud of white. Gammal steadied himself, bottling up the rampaging emotions inside till all that was left was an unbreakable resolve. He ground his feet, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Of all the battles he had partaken in, this was the most important of his life. As long as the boy lived, nothing else mattered. His arm, his life, a small penance for his role in the Battle Of Angrtelg.
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A black dot circled the skies, calling out to me from the great beyond. I couldn’t distinguish the words it spoke as it flitted between the powdered treetops guiding us as a melancholic tune caressed the wind. It was a sad thing, recollections of lost moments and incurable longing entwined in its forlorn melody. I felt a tug at my neck, a searing cold bypassing the thick fabric of my clothes and nestling itself upon my skin. The scenery rolled by, my unfeeling body being dragged to who knows where leaving a crimson trail in the snow, though it was not mine. Using the little strength I had, I looked to the side, exposing the incongruity of the current situation. As the serenade put me to drowse, consciousness headed for umbra, I muttered in confusion.
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“Trainer Galti?”
.
.
.
Heat inundated my body when I next came to, and for a brief moment, I mistook my surroundings for a sauna. In reality, however, I found myself in the hovel of our camp with a healthy campfire lighted at the centre. The smoke escaped through the opening at the top, and from the lack of light pouring in, it seemed that day was no longer. The place wasn’t too large, just enough for two people, plus a firepit that kept us warm during the frigid winter nights. I was stuffed in a fur bedroll that had become hot and sticky under the care of the flames, and I couldn’t be happier to escape. My memories gradually returned, bubbling to the surface while I ruminated.
‘Seeing as I am alive and back at camp, Trainer Galti must’ve been able to take—’
As I rounded the flames, his figure came into view, shivering and pouring with sweat. I rushed to his side, worry eating away at my mind. He was in a fevered state, delirious almost and cold, so cold that I would have thought he was dead if not for the laboured breaths parsing through his quivering lips. The chi in his body seemed agitated, and I had no idea why. I brought my own bedding over and laid it on him, not knowing what more could be done for the time being. From the looks of it, there was enough coal to last the night, so there was no danger of the fire going out.
I was not trained in any medical techniques bar the absolute basics for survival, and I had little else to do than keep the fire stoked and listen to trainer Galti’s suffering, which did nothing to quell my concerns.
The emergency rations we had would last a week at most, and we weren’t due back till spring, so no one would come looking for us. It was also not viable to leave in search of help. The woods were too snowed in, and civilisation was more than a day away. I wouldn’t survive a night alone out here, and that’s if there weren’t any more draugar skulking about. This was all without considering that I severely doubted trainer Galti would survive in my absence.
‘What a joke. I can barely take care of myself out here.’ I buried my head between my knees, wracked by doubt and fear, until sleep finally took me.
.
.
.
The ground crumbled at my insistence, and I pushed through the opening that led outside. The sun was high in the sky, raining down warmth on a frozen landscape that seemed intent on shunning its gift. The peace was unnerving. Being alone out here after seeing what I had, did no favours for my mentality, and I made it a goal to be on full alert at all times.
I pulled at my coat, nippy winds rushing for the hovel’s exposed entrance which I hurried to cover up. Trainer Galti’s plight had not diminished in the slightest when I checked this morning, so the most obvious thing to do was to ensure he remained warm, watered and fed. All I had on me was a dagger and the earthbound knives, not ideal for hunting. I didn’t even entertain returning to the outcrop to retrieve my axe. That was a one-way ticket to the afterlife, which I found unappealing.
The camp’s fire had unsurprisingly gone out, a pit of ash all that spoke of the life it once lived. There was a stone hut nearby, a barebones construct that housed all the coal needed to last us the winter that was here for roughly a month longer. Before anything else, I removed a sack and lugged it back to the hovel. When the fire had been fed to the point that it could survive the day, I checked trainer Galti one final time and left. The real challenge started now.
A flowing stream was nearby, so water was not an issue. My main concern was food. Without a bow, my options had been limited to small game like rabbits, squirrels and maybe the family of lemming beavers that dammed the stream’s mouth if I found a way to lure one out. A pouch of darts clinked at my waist, stones sharpened to a point, a handy tool for hunting if you had the skill to use them. Trainer Galti was usually the one with them, but I doubt he would mind if I took them under the current circumstances. I eventually reached the stream west of our camp, dropping my canteen into the crystal clear waters, bubbles fleeing to the surface as the canteen glugged up the liquid.
This area was the best place to come across the tracks of animals, and I began surveying the impressionable ground in hopes of something, anything.
“We will live off the land he said! Only the bare basics, he said! Look at us now!” I grumbled.
The day was almost up. I was frozen, hungry and had nothing to show for it, not even a whiff of a single critter. I trudged back to camp in defeat, trying to devise a viable plan for the future. I couldn’t roam the wilderness endlessly and leave things up to chance. That would be tantamount to suicide. One of the first rules of survival was to always work towards one’s desired outcome no matter what it may be, for passivity was the greatest killer out here. The mind was just as if not more important than the body in a dire situation and would determine if I came out alive or as a block of ice.
The body could survive three weeks without food, but I gave myself half that under these conditions and even less for trainer Galti. If I couldn’t find something edible in the next few days, things could very quickly spiral out of control. I crept back into the underground burrow that was our living space and came over to trainer Galti whose clattering teeth formed the basis for an eerie rhythm offset by crackles of glowing coal. His condition showed no improvement but, conversely, hadn’t worsened either. I brought out my flask and tipped his head up, pouring a thin stream between chapped lips that had gone a dull blue. As much as I would have liked to do more, this was the extent of my abilities. He would have to win this battle on his own too.
I retreated to my side, pulled out a dried strip of meat, and began gnawing. The texture was tough and practically salty, but it was sustenance, and I had no complaints about that. Trainer Galti’s voice abruptly reverberated through the concaved space, and I scrambled over, thinking that he’d awoken. My initial joy crumbled when all that followed was incoherent mumbling. He was still unconscious yet now stood at the gates of delirium.
“No… turn… back… Angrím…”