Shieldmaiden

Beneath the trees, the atmosphere was stifling. Halfdan struggled to negotiate a path through the dense undergrowth and soaring evergreens. The thick trunks leaned together conspiratorially, and entangled roots grasped at his feet. Dew coated everything, evidenced by his saturated garb. Halfdan paused to stretch. His old body ached, and the morning chill was not helping. They had been hunting since before sunrise with little luck. He peered through the half-light. The scattered shafts of sunlight that pierced the canopy struggled to illuminate the gloom of the forest floor. It was beautiful. Primeval.

Not for the first time, awe overtook Halfdan. Often, he longed for Norvegr, but on this morning, ranging out from the earthen buildings of Vinland colony, excitement threaded through him. This was a strange new land and pride filled his soul knowing that the name Halfdan would be part of a great saga. Despite himself, he had been drawn into conversation with the more superstitious warriors who believed that creatures such as giants or trolls could live here. The thought was ridiculous, but until a few years ago no one thought lands existed beyond Grœnland. Leif Erikson and Thorfinn before him had proven the world was much larger than anyone could have known. As Halfdan softly made his way through the dark woods, he understood the notion that otherworldly things could dwell here. The trees were full of unfamiliar birdsong, and the wind through the pines raised the hairs on his neck.

I could be the first human to walk beneath these trees, he thought.

Noticing spoor in the damp earth, Halfdan knelt, stroking his grey beard before smiling.

Perhaps the first man anyway.

Her markings were light, even this soft earth, but noticeable to an experienced tracker. She was making good on their bet to cover more ground this morning. A shiver passed over him, and a second later cold metal was prodding between his shoulder blades. Halfdan froze, raising his hands to show he was not armed.

From behind him came a honeyed voice, “The deer are scarce this morning. Mayhaps I will make do with you.”

Damn, but she was quiet.

“You should save yourself the bother and make a stew from your boots. I am little but gristle and bones.” It was half a joke. Since they had arrived, food had been hard to come by.

“Ach! Get up scarecrow! You would just spoil the stew!” The arrowhead left his neck and Halfdan rose to face the ambusher.

Before him stood Ulfhild, a tall and imposing shieldmaiden. Raven-black hair framed a pale angular face with eyes like two pieces of flint. She had a quiver of white fletched arrows over one shoulder and carried an unusual short bow consisting of layered wood which was bent against itself at either end. At her side hung an outlandish sword. He had only witnessed her use it while sparring, but the curved single-edged blade seemed incredibly strong and the metal held a pattern that reminded him of disturbed water.

Her weapons were only part of the strangeness surrounding Ulfhild. Ever since she had joined Freydis Eriksdottir’s company for the Vinland expedition, Halfdan sensed something odd about her. For one, he had never seen her sleep and itinerant warriors usually took their rest communally within the longhouse. She abstained from ale, and ate only sparingly, yet was as strong as any warrior. Like her bow and the curved sword, there was a foreignness about her. Ulfhild boasted of her adventures in faraway places, tales eaten up by others, but Halfdan believed she seemed more an actual outsider than a well-traveled shieldmaiden. Perhaps Halfdan’s disquietude was the reason Ulfhild enjoyed keeping close to him. She certainly made the most of her ability to run circles around the old warrior. Over time, he had grown accustomed to her presence and they made a balanced pair in the spear-din, but instinct always nagged at the back of his mind. Part of him had almost expected to feel the arrow buried in his back.

“Ach! Stop your gaming,” He smiled sheepishly at having been surprised. “You should be finding deer, not scaring old men.”

Ulfhild laughed, “Nonsense scarecrow. Just keeping you on your toes. In any case, I have found something.”

He gave her a curious look and she grinned, “Come on.”

They continued in the planned direction, a sweeping arc north, through the woods back towards Vinland. Game had proven plentiful initially but seemed to have ebbed to nothing of late. Followers of the other expedition leaders, the brothers Finnbogi and Helgi, seemed especially afflicted by bad luck and low stores. This did little to soothe the tensions between Freydris and the brothers as blame was allocated for various woes. Rivalries seemed to be pulling the undertaking apart. Members of the different crews had even come to blows over their quarrels. Freydris had returned to Grœnland, nominally to secure supplies for winter, but she had confided in Halfdan that she would return with more warriors. Halfdan was loyal, but he had seen the dark look in Freydris’ eyes. He knew that her return would likely bring a feast for the crows.

Halfdan was following Ulfhild through a copse of trees when she threw up a hand in warning. They both knelt to make the most of the undergrowth, and she pointed. In a clearing were buildings well-crafted from bark sheets. Among them moved fur-clad people. Some busied themselves with fruits or vegetables Halfdan could not identify. Others relaxed around fires. Several warriors armed with spears, bows, and hide shields stood around the camp edge. As he watched, a party arrived carrying bundles of fish.

“Skrælingjar. Perhaps those who killed Leif’s brother,” Ulfhild whispered.

“Or the ones who traded with Thorfinn on his voyage,” Halfdan pointed out.

Their eyes met, and Ulfhild’s seemed almost savagely hungry, “Until they attacked, forcing a return to Grœnland.”

Without quailing, he met her gaze, and the fierceness momentarily drained from her.

“Have it your way then!” She jumped to her feet and strode off, Halfdan scrambling after.

When he caught up, Halfdan found Ulfhild confronting a trio of Skræling. They brandished their weapons and shouted while others gathered curiously. She had slung her bow, but Ulfhild’s hand rested upon her sword-hilt. The shieldmaiden towered a head taller than any Skrælingjar, and fear was etched on the face of the spear-armed warrior she was staring down. The two other Skræling warriors turned towards Halfdan. He dropped his bow and pointedly raised his hand's palm out.

Halfdan could hear one word shouted repeatedly, “Kavdlunait!” A group emerged from the largest building led by a wizened figure swathed in furs and crowned by antlers. The man leaned on a knotted staff of wood. Halfdan was struck by the similarity to descriptions of Wodan Allfather.

“Look,” he muttered to Ulfhild, “Perhaps their priest or seer?” The shieldmaiden’s countenance seemed to darken and she gripped her sword. Halfdan put a hand on her, “Take care. Do nothing to anger them.”

She pulled away, “I do not like priests.” The seer had fixed his gaze on her and producing a complex bundle from his furs, he began to shake it and chant. The bag rattled, and the seer stepped forward with each shake. His escort called out, causing most of the Skrælingjar to jump back as if burned. The spear-armed warrior Ulfhild had confronted was made of sterner stuff. With a cry, he rushed the shieldmaiden.

There was a ring of steel. Blood sprayed in an arc. Tiny rubies caught the morning sun. With a hollow moan, the warrior collapsed. With a single motion, Ulfhild had sliced up through the spear haft and split open the man from navel to shoulder. He lay in a spreading pool of blood, trying vainly to hold his vitals in.

Time seemed caught. The Skrælings, eyes wide with surprise, had frozen. Halfdan himself was staring in a mixture of fear and awe at the change that swept his companion. Ulfhild stood tall and still as a statue. If not for the blood dripping from her blade and pale face, Halfdan would have sworn she had not moved at all. Her visage appeared caught in an expression of vicious ardor.

Who is she… some Valkyrie come to take me to the halls of the Allfather?

Immediately that notion was disabused. Ulfhild’s mouth opened, and from behind wolfishly long canines, her tongue emerged to taste the blood around her mouth. A shiver crossed her body. Fangs showed from under crimson-stained lips, and Ulfhild’s pupils grew until her eyes were completely black.

The Skrælingjar recoiled in horror, but the seer shouted and the rallying warriors attacked. Before Halfdan could react, someone clubbed him over the head and he collapsed. A flock of ravens, disturbed by the tumult, rose from the surrounding trees. As his vision faded, he could see Ulfhild surrounded by Skrælingjar warriors. She was laughing as she killed them.

It was the most magnificent and terrifying thing he had ever seen.

He awoke on his back. The midday sun peered through the boughs overhead, and the rasping calls of ravens echoed from all around. Painfully, Halfdan sat up, struggling to get his bearings. The village looked as though it passed through a storm. Furs were strewn about, and baskets upended. Several of the huts had collapsed. Blood littered the village, but no bodies were evident. Timidly, Halfdan probed the back of his head. His hand came away with a mix of dried blood and dirt. He wearily got to his feet.

Where is Ulfhild?

A large part of him did not want to know. In all likelihood, he only breathed thanks to the shieldmaiden, but she was not what she appeared to be. The undergrowth was trampled on the east side of the village. The Skrælingjar must be headed to the colony. Halfdan would not be able to warn them in time, but he could help fight and avenge the fallen.

There is seldom a single wave.

Silence ruled the dark woods broken only by his ragged breathing and the snap of twigs underfoot. He was making too much sound. It was maddening and put him on edge. Halfdan knew he would be easy prey alone and injured. Fear reached icy claws into his heart and he redoubled his pace. Branches ripped at his clothing and face. It began to feel less like he was charging forward, and more in a headlong flight from the clinging darkness under the trees. Finally, he crested the top of a hill that overlooked the Vinland outpost.

Am I already too late?

Floating in from the east, smoke obscured the sun. In the bay, longships burned where they had been beached against the tide. He could make out figures moving between the longhouses. Faint shouting was carried on the wind. Cursing, Halfdan dove back into the undergrowth at a dead sprint. He only hoped he was not too late to die in the shield-wall with his companions.

By the time Halfdan cleared the forest everything was still. Only a few half-hearted shouts and periodic screams drifted to him. The buildings close by belonged to Freydris and inside the largest would be his mail shirt, and shield. In nothing but his trousers and tunic, he might as well be naked. Halfdan reached the end of the first building and glanced around the corner.

Three wound-covered Skrælingjar hunched over the prone form of a Norseman. One was missing an arm. Far from the vibrant, strong people he had seen in the village, these individuals now seemed hollow, almost leaden. Their arms hung by their sides and bloody drool dripped from their mouths. To his horror, he could see bite and claw marks covering the Norseman. As he watched, the Norseman’s body jerked of its own accord. Stifling a feeling of nausea Halfdan turned to make his way to Freydris’s hall.

When he found it, the longhouse’s doors were lolling open like the maw of a dead whale. Though his eyes were keen, they could not pierce the darkness inside.

“Harald?” He paused, “Ulfhild?” Silence. He advanced into the hall. Faint illumination emanated from the central fire pit and the shadow of an enormous table dominated the space. Halfdan took care to avoid trodding on spilled ale or overturned plates.

They left in a hurry.

Finding his chamber, Halfdan quickly donned the coat of mail. Though the links felt like ice he was grateful for their reassuring weight. A sudden ringing of metal on stone came from the hall behind him.

“Odin’s teeth!” he jumped, startled. Hefting his ax and broad shield, Halfdan stepped back into the hall. Rolling on its side, an iron cup emerged from the dark, coming to a stop at his feet.

Hairs rose as a faint scratching noise reached his ears. From under the oaken table, first the hands, then the head and shoulders of Bjorn emerged. Halfdan gasped. The man was barely recognizable. Bloody bites had been taken from his face and neck. Like the Skrælingjar, crimson drool leaked from a gaping mouth. Bjorn’s head swung around to fixate on Halfdan. The eyes glowed with a blue light. Halfdan took an instinctive step back but tripped on an overturned stool. Moaning, Bjorn clawed forward. Prone, Halfdan tried to kick his attacker but a snatching hand caught his boot in a grip like iron. With a wrench that almost dislocated Halfdan’s leg, Bjorn pulled himself from under the table. Halfdan retched. From below the waist, nothing was left of Bjorn but dragging entrails. Lashing out, Halfdan chopped into Bjorn’s shoulder with his ax. The creature showed no reaction and pulled itself closer, snapping its jaws at Haldan’s feet. Desperately, Halfdan buried his ax in the creature’s skull. Immediately it went lifeless, the blue light winking out of its eyes.

Panting, Halfdan shuffled backward until he was against the wall.

Bjorn, what in the name of Wodan…? He should have been dead!

Legends of draugur, the restless dead, had been told to him as a boy. Never had he given them any credence. Not since he had become a man. Yes, he had heard stories about people going missing by the cairns, or that the dead did not rest easy on certain nights. But those had been just stories.

Apparently not.

Thinking back to the drooling Skrælingjar, Halfdan shivered. He had to find any living Norsemen and help them, before…

Best not to think about that just yet.

In the open, the day seemed like twilight. The smoke was thick overhead, underlit by flames from the ships. The only people Halfdan found were mutilated beyond recognition, likely draugur that had been chopped to bits to destroy them. Twice he glimpsed shuffling figures, but their glowing eyes told him not to announce himself. Disturbingly, some draugur gripped weapons.

In one building dead draugur were entangled in a makeshift barricade. In the far corner, lay the bodies of several Norse warriors and shieldmaidens. They all had bites on their exposed flesh. Someone had severed each of their heads and placed them respectfully next to the owner’s shoulders.

Someone must still be alive.

Halfdan heard shouting from outside and scrambled back out.

The draugur are wordless.

Halfdan moved until he could see the central grass field between buildings. There stood Helgi and Finnbogi. Helgi wore only his trousers but carried a longsword and shield. Blood leaked from a wound on his chest. Finnbogi was clad in his mail and helmet. A great-ax was held loosely in his hands. Both brothers’ weapons were bloodied.

Despite his elation at finding someone alive, Halfdan was hesitant to call out to them. In the light of this attack, they might react poorly to one of Freydris’ crew. Blows had been exchanged between his companions and the brother’s men during better times, and now berserk in bloodlust or fear, they could lash out. Halfdan shook his head and came to a decision.

One must howl with the wolves one is among.

He stepped out from the shadows and hailed them deferentially, “Hersir.”

The brothers turned and beneath the brow of Finnbogi’s helm, Halfdan could see recognition, “Well met greybeard. It gladdens me to see you still breathe. I fear that you are one of the few.” He laughed bitterly.

“Well met indeed, I have seen none but the dead since I returned.” Halfdan gestured to Helgi’s wounds and the brothers' bloodied weapons. “You must have clashed with draugur.”

The two men exchanged looks and Finnbogi spoke up, “Aye, the Skrælingjar set upon us while most were still asleep or breaking morning bread. The slain rose again and attacked their brothers. Even so, they are not the main foe.”

Halfdan looked at them curiously.

“Ulfhild,” grumbled Helgi.

Halfdan’s face went white, “What do you mean?”

Finnbogi put a hand on Halfdan’s shoulder, “It's true. She led the Skrælingjar… draugur, killing the warriors that they could not. It was she that fired the ships. Ulfhild wants to ensure none of us leave this place. We tried to stop her, but ...” His face showed a look of disbelief, “I have never known a warrior to move like that.”

“Look!” Helgi shouted.

While they talked, the dead had shown themselves. From all of the buildings around them except the large longhouse framed by the fire to the east, draugur had emerged. They filled the spaces between the buildings, forming a circle around the three warriors. Blue witch lights danced in almost a hundred pairs of eyes that stared listlessly at them. Some were Skrælingjar, holding clubs or wooden spears, others were Norse fighters with shields, swords, and axes. All were still as statues. A faint moaning whisper continuously emanated from their ranks.

Halfdan, Helgi, and Finnbogi instinctively formed up back to back, weapons, and shields raised.

“What are they waiting for?” Helgi stuttered, “Wodan curse them!”

They don’t seem rabid anymore, at least not like Bjorn.

“They are waiting,” Halfdan said.

“For what?” Finnbogi retorted, but the unease was clear in his voice.

The doors of the eastern longhouse creaked and thick fog flowed over the threshold. A chill filled the air and the men could see their breath. It was not comforting that no breath was evident from the draugur.

“Stand ready. Last we saw her, Ulfhild had entered that building,” grumbled Finnbogi in his deep voice. Slowly, the doors began to open. Two more draugur stepped out, both Norsemen armed with an ax and sword. They pushed open the doors with their free hands and took up positions like sentries on either side of the entrance. There was a pause as a feeling of dread came across Halfdan. From the darkness and fog emerged the shieldmaiden. Her raven hair flowed about a now erubescent face and fey savagery imbued her flint eyes. Blood stained her lips. A knee-length mail hauberk protected her frame, and she carried the curved sword in her right hand while the left was clutching a heart. It looked like a bite had been taken from it.

Ulfhild stepped out into the circle of draugur until she was scant feet from the trio of warriors.

“Come no further, cursed one!” shouted Helgi, though his voice wavered.

“We cannot fight her,” Halfdan whispered to them. His limbs were leaden. The memory of Ulfhild carving apart the Skræling spear-man filled his mind. He could not deny the power radiating from the shieldmaiden. It seemed to penetrate his old bones. In some strange way, he was comforted by it.

“Cowards talk!” Grumbled Helgi, “We must avenge our friends!”

The feeling was lulling Halfdan, his arms fell to his side. A voice whispered in his head - Do not fear me Halfdan son of Sten -

Finnbogi nodded, “Aye, she is a Døkkálfar and my ax will soon put her work to rest.”

Ulfhild smiled at the brother’s words, then tossed away the heart she was holding. The fog swirled about her ankles, keeping close to the ground. Raising her blade the shieldmaiden licked away the blood that dripped from the curved edge. Her fangs flashed in the light of the burning ships and a hundred pairs of glowing blue eyes.

Helgi, letting rage overcome him, clashed his sword and shield together, “May Fenrir gnaw on your bones!”

The brothers charged. Ulfhild stood her ground. The circle of draugur mutely observed.

Finnbogi found himself in reach first, and his great-ax arced down in an irresistible deathblow. The shieldmaiden languidly sidestepped. The ax-head missed by inches. Finnbogi’s momentum forced him to blunder straight past the shieldmaiden’s shoulder. Helgi rushed in, shield raised, attempting to barge Ulfhild into the ground. With lightning speed, the shieldmaiden’s free hand lashed out and her fingers dug deeply into Helgi’s shield. Splinters flew. With one powerful movement, she ripped the oaken shield away causing Helgi to stagger. Ulfhild spun about, and hurled the shield overhand, slamming the ironshod rim into the recovering Finnbogi’s back. The crack of bones breaking rang out and the man collapsed poleaxed. Simultaneously, Ulfhild’s blade flickered out like a snake. With a look of incredulity still etched on his features Helgi’s head sailed through the air landing facedown with a dull thud at Halfdan’s feet. Since the charge, mere moments had passed.

Ulfhild turned on her heel. Helgi’s body wobbled then fell, blood jetting from severed arteries. She approached Halfdan, who was caught in a mixture of terror and complete awe.

“I thought you would be out for a bit longer, old scarecrow. That this would all be done, and you would be on a friendly ship home when you came to.” Her fangs shone when she spoke.

“What are you?” He shivered as the fog following Ulfhild flowed around his feet. It felt like cold hands were in the fog feebly grasping at him.

She tilted her head, “There is an answer to that, though the tale would take longer than we have time for right now. Suffice it to say that once I feared death, and now death serves me.”

“Why are you doing this?”

She laughed. Another flash of fangs, “Why do people do anything? I made a pact. My services in exchange for another’s. Freydris has the means to bring the things I need to this shore, and I… well I can kill her rivals. Speaking of which,” she strode to Finnbogi, “One clause still breathes.”

With a flourish to remove the last of the blood, Ulfhild sheathed her sword then kicked Finnbogi onto his back. The warrior let out a grunt but did not move. Likely his back was broken. Earth, blood, and grass matted his beard. The shieldmaiden knelt and cooed to the man, “You should know to listen when an old dog barks.” Then she buried her fangs in Finnbogi’s neck. Silently Halfdan and the circle of draugur watched. She drank for a long time.

Cloaked by the forest’s shadow, Ulfhild and Halfdan observed the scene below. With unrestrained haste, Freydis’s crew finished unloading crates onto the beach before clambering into their dragonship and pushing off. Freydis would return to Grœnland, saying her feud with the brothers ended in death, and Vinland was blighted land.

“You could not join them, not now that you have seen. Freydris wanted no witnesses to gainsay what happened.”

He nodded grimly, “What now?”

“I have come a long way, and I intend to make this land my dominion. You can be a part of that if you wish.”

Slowly draugur emerged from the ruined colony and began gathering up the cargo left on the beach.

Halfdan hesitated. Like so many times before, he had lived when others had fallen. Much had been revealed to him, things he never considered to be real. New mysteries were tantalizingly unraveling before him and for some reason, the… shieldmaiden wished for his help exploring them.

“Yes… I will join you.”

Ulfhild smiled, not unkindly. Her fangs flashed in the sun.