Draugar.
The word set off an explosion of generalised information and half-baked hearsay to the forefront of my mind. Again-walkers, lokvǫrðr, and corpse-defilers were just a few words to describe our mortal enemy. The vagueness with which the draugar were alluded to in the texts and the replies I got the few times I inquired about them did more to stoke their status as the agelong curse of Vigrid than illuminate. My heart thumped in my ears, and a new wave of goosebumps sprouted up my arms and neck. I gripped the axehandle until the whites of my knuckles showed, incapacitated, unable to move or string together a coherent sentence, silently waiting for a gory demise.
“Boy! Are ya lis’nin to me! Get up on that rock and be my spotter!” trainer Galti roared, freeing me of dread’s conniving scheme.
The rock in question was, in actual fact, a menhir—a pointed boulder—that signified the peak of the outcrop, jutting upwards at a crooked lean. The reality of the situation sank in at that point, and I found myself sprinting to the sound of horrifying cries that only fueled up my feet. The axe cut into ice-sheeted stone like a hot knife through butter, shrapnel poking my skin while I rummaged for purchase. My free hand scraped against the slippery surface, attempting to gouge out a useable handhold that seemed intent on resisting me to the very end. In frustration, I punched the rock, causing a web of cracks to spread from the point of impact.
My eyes widened when I saw the ease with which it gave way, and I resumed my attempts with renewed vigour. It was a steep climb, the boulder tapering the higher I got, reducing to an area that barely allowed me to stand on two feet at the summit. It was in this precarious position that I, for the first time, laid eyes on a draugr, and it would be a memory that I wouldn’t forget for the rest of my life.
Skin so drained it was indistinguishable from snow, tattered clothes hanging limp from a gaunt figure, tufts of hair clinging to a half-exposed skull. It walked with a gangly gait, almost like a puppet whose strings crisscrossed. In place of its eyeballs laid two glowing orbs, blazing a sickly green that caused my head to spin when I stared at them, though I was too shocked to care. It may have been missing a forearm, a nose and half the skin of its face, but it was unmistakable. That thing used to be human.
“Don’t lock gazes with the evil eye!” I cut the connection and nearly lost my balance courtesy of the spinning view.
“Stare too long, and you’ll be dead without even knowing it!” The revelation was a shock to my system, one that elevated the threat of the draugar to previously unforeseeable heights. I felt myself waver the more I was exposed to the harshness of reality. It was easy to proclaim something and an entirely different matter to actually do it.
“They don’t travel alone, so keep a lookout while I deal with this one!”
I reached for the bow slung across my chest. “I brought a bow!”
“Do not bother! Those sharpened twigs are little more than pinpricks to em!” he shot back, and though I heard him, I didn’t listen. Anything that could help us in this situation was not to be overlooked, and should an opportunity arise, I would be ready to step up.
Trainer Galti discarded the thick fur coat wrapped around his shoulders, exposing a grey tunic. At least before, the furs provided some protection, no matter how unreliable it may have been. He brought his sword down on a rock to his right, carving a slab from its face. The draugr didn’t move, observing with a tilted head as if questioning the scene taking place.
‘How would he defend himself in close combat,’ I worried.
His motions were quick yet firm, the irregularly shaped slab was fashioned into somewhat of a circular shape, and it was then I knew what trainer Galti had in mind. At that exact moment, the draugr screeched in a pitch that rocked my eardrums. By the time I recovered, it was halfway up the incline, scrambling over whatever obstacles barred its path, murder on its agenda. I swung my head back at trainer Galti and saw the fruits of his labour. Any excess material from his sculpting became the glue that attached the girthy shield to his arm. He wielded it with ease, displaying no weakness and awaited the rushing creature in a defensive stance, the sword resting on top of the shield, pointed ahead.
“Listen here, boy! First rule of fighting a draugr! Never turn ya back on ‘em!” The draugr clambered over the final rock separating it from the stalwart warrior and lunged forward with inhuman agility. It was upon trainer Galti in the blink of an eye, descending as a storm of teeth and claws that promised an agonising wound if not sufficiently defended. In a wholly unexpected move, trainer Galti twisted his body out of the way, simultaneously sweeping his sword in a horizontal arc that bisected one of its legs. The draugr landed in a rolling heap that ended once it crashed against a peaking stone, releasing a wail. The full weight of the stone shield descended upon its neck before it could recover from the collision, effectively subduing it.
It clawed white lines across the shield, mouthing a raspy wheeze. “Second rule! Always go for the head!” The sword, whose appetite had already been whetted, cleaved its head from its shoulders that rolled to a stop below the boulder I was on, holding the expression the draugr held at death—irreconcilable hatred. “Rule three! Burn the body! If ya can’t, cut it apart!” The ensuing butchery nearly made me empty my innards for the second time today. In the end, the draugr fared no better than the doe it stole from me.
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There was movement in the tree line, and shortly thereafter, two more emerged, one bearing a gaping hollow in place of its stomach, emptied of all organs. “Rule four! If there’s one, there’s always more!” Perhaps enraged by the foul stench of its fallen brethren, both draugar let rip a wailing scream and rushed forward in a pincer attack. Trainer Galti didn’t wait around either, launching whatever he could find at the one that was the more whole of the two to slow its approach.
Despite being peppered by a barrage of clumped earth and stone, it showed no signs of stopping or if it even felt them, for that matter. As it closed in, flanked by its counterpart, trainer Galti stomped a foot, unearthing a large rock that he kicked, sending it hurtling at the draugr. It was too close to dodge at this distance, taking the full brunt of the speeding projectile right in the chest, sending it sailing through the air. One now gone, he could now focus on the bellyless draugr that stood a distance away, sizing up its opponent.
I gaped.
These were not the mindless creatures I had been led to believe and instead possessed a keen intellect that, while not rivalling that of living humans, certainly outmatched a beast’s. What manner of dark force could hold a man left of this world upright while utilising his mind for such dire purposes. How? Moreso why? And to what end?
Trainer Galti gave it no chance, advancing with a fury I had never seen, swinging down on it. The draugr defended itself with an outstretched arm that emitted a sickening crack when it met iron. It growled in contempt, lashing out using its free arm while the sword remained lodged in the other.
“There’s a blue one coming from the east!” I shouted as loud as possible, hoping my voice carried through to trainer Galti, who was preoccupied with the draugr he was attached to. I didn’t receive a reply, but from the way his moves grew more relentless, I knew he heard me. He gave up on all forms of restraint, using the stone shield as a bludgeon that obliterated the skeleton’s ribcage. It shrieked and dove for his neck with a mouthful of misshapen teeth but was stopped short by a hand holding its skull firm. The veteran had foregone his sword in favour of creating an opening. The question now was whether it would pay off.
The draugr was swept off its feet, cranium driven into the slush beneath their duel. Its arms were pinned under trainer Galti’s knees, without leeway and at his complete mercy. He gave no quarter, wrenching his sword free before driving it between the draugr’s chattering teeth. A twist accompanied by another nauseous crack, and it went limp, skull pried in two.
“Spit—I would’a barely broke a sweat on these stragglers back in my prime,” trainer Galti rasped, plumes of fog billowing as his chest rose and fell, dragging himself to his feet.
The blue draugr was by far the closest thing to a human I had seen, and bar its purplish-blue skin tone looked like an ordinary middle-aged man sporting brown hair and a scruffy beard. The tunic and trousers it had on were similar to those worn by the karls that sported vibrant colours and decorative accents, though none of it was familiar. Paired with the leather cuirass protecting its torso, it was clear this individual had been quite affluent while alive. A sizeable chunk was missing from his neck, leaving no doubt as to what led to his demise. It was cautious, keeping a fair distance from trainer Galti who was still recovering from the previous bout.
“Aren’t ya a little too far from yer brethren? These lands are not for ya kind to wander!” trainer Galti spat. It didn’t respond, staring ahead with eyes that emanated a ghoulish blue flame. It would advance and retreat, according to trainer Galti, who treated his opponent with particular vigilance. The situation changed when the draugr that had been knocked off the hill limped back up, dragging a leg mangled beyond recognition. Their cooperation was seamless, telepathic almost, working in unison to push trainer Galti into a corner, namely the boulder I was perched on. As soon as his back touched the stone, both sprang forth, the air crackling at their frenzied shrieks.
They came at him in a manner that made it impossible to fend off simultaneously. I held my breath, knowing the consequences should the only person capable of getting us out alive fall, wishing I could do more than be a glorified alarm device. Not to be outdone by the monsters, trainer Galti stomped again, causing a tremor to travel outward, destabilising the immediate area. In my haste to hold position, the bow escaped my grasp.
The sound of it rupturing upon the rocks was a stab to the heart, followed by a snarl that caused it to seize function. I whipped my head around and screamed in fright. A draugr was merely an arm’s length away, its half-decayed face portraying unabashed hatred that froze the air in my lungs.
I lurched backwards in a panic, something I wished I hadn’t done but realised too late. I slipped off the edge, gravity’s undeniable attraction promising to unite me with the ground below and its menagerie of bone-shattering protrusions. In abject desperation, I lashed out, hoping for a miracle.
Chink!
Miraculously, I found myself holding on for dear life to my axe lodged in the menhir. The clashes of battle raging in my ears told me I was in this alone, my boots slipping off the smooth stone surface as I tried to gain a foothold. Realising that I would be at a greater disadvantage the longer this continued, I grabbed the handle with both hands and began pulling myself up. It was no easy feat to support the weight of one’s body using just your arms, doubly so when climbing, and I found myself tiring quickly. My arms suffered a blazing heat, and I ground my teeth, willing myself to not give up.
‘Almost… theeerrreeee!’
On the precipice of triumph, fate reared its ugly head. The draugr responsible for my plight lurked at the peak, swiping at me with gnarled fingers, bones exposed beneath flaking flesh. I agonised over the outcome, and by my weakening grip, I knew my time was near.
“Help!” I cried in a final attempt to save myself, my hands turned raw from overexertion.
“Hang on, boy!”
“I… can’t hold on… any longer…” The last bits of my strength fizzled away as the handle slipped through my fingers. Everything seemed to freeze at that moment, allowing me to process what was about to occur.
‘Oh, I’m going to die.’
I screamed, plummeting towards certain doom.