by Arthur Slade
Michael stood in the doorway of the bathroom. "He's gone," he said, kneeling down next to what looked like a broomstick. "But he didn't go without a fight." The stick was actually a handle that could have come from a pitchfork. Clamped at one end was the four-edged spearhead. A book was open beside it, full of illustrations.
"It looks like Mordur was doing some research," Michael said, lifting up one of the books. I glanced back at the spear. Next to it was a pool of blood.
"He's been hurt!" I said. I looked closer. Streaks of blood led to the door.
"I'm not sure what to do." Michael's face was pale. "I don't think we can take that thing on."
"Maybe it's weaker now. Grandpa wounded it. And Mordur might have, too. Maybe this isn't his blood. It — "
A low moan came from just outside the open door. Someone was crawling in the snow, trying to get in the house.
"Do you see that?" Michael whispered. He gripped the axe with both hands.
I bent down slowly, slipped my hand around the shaft of the spear and lifted it, feeling its weight, light and balanced like it would strike a straight blow. We stayed still.
There was another moan and he lifted his head, trying to look into the house. "Help," a soft voice said. "Help me."
His hand grasped the bottom of the door, pulled it open further.
It was Mordur, crawling through the snow, trying to squeeze himself inside. His face was bruised, a cut bled on his forehead. His eyes swiveled in their sockets like he was trying to focus. He looked right at me and pushed his hand out towards me.
I moved to help him, lowering the spear, but Michael grabbed my shoulder. "Wait! I see something else."
A tall shadow was visible just outside the door, a figure slightly hunched over. It had a grip on Mordur's leg.
"Help me ... get inside," Mordur whispered. "The shifter is right here."
I raised the spear, Michael brought his axe up, and without any signal from the other, we charged ahead. The shape was becoming clearer. And larger.
Just as we got to the door, the creature jumped back. He kept a tight hold on Mordur, dragging him out into the deep snow, like he was playing a game with us. It crouched over Mordur. Its long, muscled back was covered with matted hair. Tattered clothing hung from its body. Its red eyes glared at us over a long snout. In a heartbeat I knew that our worst nightmare was true.
Another shape shifter, larger than the last, stood just feet away.
Compared to the one that had attacked us at the croft house this one seemed full grown.
"Skoll," I whispered.
He seemed to nod when I said his name. We stepped towards the beast and he jumped up and thrust his arm into the air.
The light over the door burst, showering us with glass and electric sparks.
26.
We lifted our hands to guard our eyes. In that moment the shape shifter had begun running from us, dragging Mordur by the feet like he was a rag doll. "There!" I pointed. They were a good ten yards away already. Mordur called to us, lashing out with his arms, trying to get a grip on something and pull himself free. His head bounced through the snow banks.
Michael and I ran after them, sinking into the snow. We passed the barn and headed towards the plateau. The further we went, the deeper the snow got, but we were able to keep them in our sight for a little while at least. Mordur made one more cry for help, then they disappeared over a rise. All we were left with were tracks.
I flicked on my flashlight, carrying it in one hand, the spear still in the other. Here and there, splashes of blood stained the snow.
"That better not be Mordur's blood," I said.
"I just hope he's still alive when we find him," Michael said, gripping the axe with both hands, looking like some kind of insane tree cutter. "Did you see how huge that thing was?"
"It's Skoll. The one mentioned in the calf skins."
"I was beginning to figure that out," Michael said. "But I was hoping I was wrong."
We ran as fast as we could, following the beam of my flashlight. I wasn't exactly sure of our direction, but it seemed we were climbing a hill heading towards the grazing fields. I turned back and the lights of Uncle Thordy's house shone like distant stars.
A few steps later, we lost the footprints. They just stopped, like the shifter had vanished. I pointed the flashlight in a wide arc, but all the snow ahead of us was untouched.
"Where did they go?" Michael was huffing, sweat glistening on his face. Steam rose from his skin, looking ghostly in the moonlight. We headed blindly into the open snow.
The sound of Mordur screaming stopped us in our tracks. We listened, trying to pin point the direction.
"Up there." Michael pointed to a rock wall barely visible a short distance away. It was about six feet high. "It's coming from up there."
We cut through the snow, climbed the wall. At the top, the land was flat again. The flashlight revealed a grey patch of cloth, hanging from the branch of a small bush. A sickening feeling came over me.
"It's part of Mordur's sweater," I said, pulling the tattered rag off. I held it in the same hand as the spear. "He's probably freezing to death. He ... "
"He'll be alright," Michael said. "If that thing wanted to kill him, it would have done it right away. For some reason he's keeping Mordur alive."
Clouds had cleared away from the moon. Rocks and snow were outlined in a cold blue light. "The tracks start again up there," Michael said, pointing, then he turned to look back. "I want to know how that thing got from there to here, while carrying Mordur. Did it jump?"
Another cry came from the distance. Like Mordur was in pain.
"Let's go," I said, aiming the flashlight ahead. We dashed on, following the tracks, until they took a sharp turn.
"Wait!" I yelled, holding up my hand. "Don't take another step!"
Michael stopped. "What is it?" I shone the flashlight a few feet ahead. There, just in front of us, was a huge chasm.
"I didn't realize we were getting up so high," Michael said.
I looked over the edge. One more step and we both would have ended up down there, our bones broken, the snow slowly smothering us. My knees felt suddenly weak.
I edged back. Sucked in a deep breath.
"You okay?" Michael had his hand on my back. "Can't you breathe?"
"I'm ... fine. We've got to keep going. I just won't look down anymore."
I turned, continued on, following the tracks. We struggled through the snow, across an area littered with large stones. It was like a giant had been bashing at the side of the mountain and this was where the chunks had landed.
We crawled up an embankment. I had to go one-handed, my other hand clutching the spear, the flashlight stuffed in my coat pocket. It would have been near impossible for the shifter to drag Mordur up here. It was at least six feet straight up, but at the top we found the marks again. A piece of Mordur's sweater was torn and hanging from some rocks.
"The shifter is leaving this trail on purpose," I said. "He wants to be sure we don't get lost."
Michael's face looked pale and cold in the light of the flashlight. "You're right. But what can we do? We have to try and rescue Mordur."
We kept on going. It wasn't until we had climbed the next rise that we stopped and stared, frozen in our tracks.
A stone house stood across from us. It was built into the side of a mountain, the roof sloped down from high above, stopping near the ground. Just below the roofline, candles flickered in the windows. It was probably one of the oldest stone homes in Iceland. Ten times older than anything I'd seen in North Dakota.
I knew it was Gunnvor's.
27.
The footprints and drag marks led to a small barn that sat off to one side of the house, across a snow covered pasture. I turned and looked down the way we'd come. Two tiny lights were all I could see of Uncle Thordy's farm.
"We better keep quiet," Michael said, looking around, the axe in his hand.
"And out of sight," I added,
switching off the flashlight. The moon cast a silvery glint over everything. Michael led. I followed silently behind him keeping a good, strong grip on the spear.
The barn seemed even older than Uncle Thordy's; a low, flat building with a door in the centre, barely big enough to fit a horse through. One side of the building was partially collapsed. We passed through a broken wooden fence and stopped. The barn shifted, making it creak like it was on the edge of collapse.
"The tracks go in here," Michael said and slowly pulled the door open. We stood back for a moment, not wanting to enter the pitch blackness. I flicked on the flashlight, checked as far as I could see, and took the first step inside.
The place was empty. I took another cautious step and Michael followed me in.
The air smelled old, musty. The straw on the floor had turned grey with age. I swept the flashlight around, lighting up different corners of the barn. A large roof beam had collapsed so the ceiling at the far side of the barn sagged nearly to the floor. The remains of a stall stuck out of one wall. At one time it might have held a cow, but there was no sign of any animals anymore.
Nothing had been kept in here for years. I swung the light around again. My cheeks tingled and I worried it might be frostbite.
"Where is he?" Michael whispered.
Then my light caught a grey cloth lying in the far corner. "Michael, what's that?"
We ran to it, ducking under the roof beam. It was another piece of Mordur's sweater. Beside it, opened like someone had been interrupted having lunch, were three cloth bags, each bursting with livers and hearts, laid out like a sacrifice.
"Do they ever stink," Michael said, holding his hand over his nose. "You could smell them from a mile away."
"Uhhhn," someone moaned. "Whazzhapp — "
Above us, the beams creaked. Slowly we raised our heads.
28.
Before I could point my flashlight up, a black shape landed with a thud on Michael, forcing him to his knees, then face first to the floor. The axe flew from his hand. I screamed and dropped the flashlight.
"Get it off me!" Michael yelled, desperately struggling with his attacker. I grabbed the flashlight, pointed it, only to see it wasn't a wolf, but a man. A man in a tattered grey sweater. Michael thrust with all his limbs, flipping the man over. He landed on his back, where he laid, still silent. Michael scrambled away, climbed to his feet.
We crept toward the body and I shone my light in its his face.
Mordur.
His face was deathly pale, his cheeks scratched. His eyes flickered open for a moment. "Uhhhn," he moaned again then shut his eyes.
"He just fell on me," Michael said. "Or he was pushed."
I quickly flashed the light around the barn again, and up into the rafters. No one was waiting there for us. "Skoll's gone," I said. "He must have left before we got here."
Mordur had a gash on his forehead, but the blood was dry. I knelt and put my hand on his neck. It was warm, his pulse strong. I breathed a sigh of relief. At least he wasn't dead. Not yet, anyway.
"Mordur," I said and gently pulled up one of his eyelids with my thumb. I shone the light into his eye. It was rolled back in its socket. "Wake up, Mordur."
Mordur's clothes were ripped all over, right down to his skin. His sweater had huge chunks out of it, showing his white undershirt.
"Take a look behind his ear," Michael said urgently and knelt down next to me.
We tilted Mordur's head, pulled back an ear. I wiped away a patch of dried blood and found a circular wound about the width of my little finger.
"It looks like a puncture," Michael said. "Just like ... "
" ... what killed Uncle Thordy's wife," I finished. My hands were trembling now. Only a short time ago Mordur and I had been sitting by the fire, talking. Now he might not ever talk again. I checked his eyes again, but there was no change. "Wake up," I whispered, "Wake up, Mordur. I'm right here." I shook him.
"Angie." Michael put his hand on my shoulder. "I don't think that's going to work."
I examined the wound again. It looked familiar. It suddenly dawned on me that it was just like the one in Grandpa's back. Is that what had been making him so sick? But if it was a similar wound, then how had Grandpa gotten it? My heart began beating even faster.
"We've got to get out of here," I said. I lifted under one of Mordur's shoulder's, testing his weight.
"It's a long way home. It'll be tough to carry him back the way we came."
"What else can we do?" I asked.
"I don't know ... we need something ... a sled ... "
"Why don't you build a snowmobile while you're at it?"
"Don't get snarky, I'm just trying to help."
I huffed out a breath of air. "Sorry, we ... we just don't have time to build a sled."
"Why do you think it stuffed Mordur up there?" Michael asked.
"I don't know."
"Maybe it was like a good place to store its ... uh ... food. Like a meat locker. Maybe Uncle Thordy's in these rafters somewhere, too." Michael peered up. I pointed the flashlight, revealing thick cobwebs littered with dust.
I shined the light back on the butcher's bags. "They're bait, aren't they? And the way Mordur was dragged here and stuffed in the rafters, almost like he was ... "
"Bait," Michael finished. "It's like Skoll has set a trap."
29.
"We'd better go," I said. "C'mon, help me."
I shoved the flashlight in my pocket and grabbed underneath one of Mordur's shoulders, still holding the spear tight with my left hand. Michael got a hold of Mordur's other shoulder and we dragged him ahead. The door had swung partly closed.
"Did you hear that?" Michael asked.
"What?"
We stood still, listening. I couldn't see anything through the slats on the door. I opened my mouth to say something, then I heard a noise — a soft padding sound and sniffing, just outside the door. It shook gently.
"Well, this is just great," Michael said, letting go of Mordur and gripping the axe with both hands.
As I lowered Mordur down, his eyes flickered open, then he passed out again. I pointed the spear in front of me, my hands shaking. At least I had a weapon. One made by Mordur's father, just to hunt these wolves. These shifters. All I had to do was get one good blow.
The door rattled suddenly.
Michael and I backed up beside each other, guarding Mordur. There were two dim lights just beyond the door, flickering. Or were they blinking eyes?
"Do you see it?" Michael asked.
"No."
"It's there crouched down just outside the door ... waiting."
He had better vision than me. I stared at the same place, could only see a shadow within a shadow. A low growl sounded through the flimsy slats of the door, grew until it hit a howling crescendo.
The door burst open.
I brought the spear up, bracing myself for the impact.
30.
There was nothing there, as if all that noise and force had come from a great gust of wind. We held our positions for a few moments, my muscles growing tight.
I lowered the tip of the spear and just then a grey blur flew through the door. It struck with the force of a cannonball, knocking us across the floor. We screamed out in terror. I dropped the spear as my face was ground across the rocky floor, getting a mouthful of old straw. I smashed my head against the wall and rolled into a ball. A snarl echoed all around me.
"Stay back!" Michael hollered. "Get away!" His axe rung off the stone floor, sparks flying everywhere.
The beast got louder and louder, a vicious sound that reverberated through the whole barn, threatening to bring the timbers down around us. Then it dived. Michael groaned, dropping the axe. He was being attacked by something that was actually smaller than him. Onni, I thought. It looks like Onni. The shifter had clamped his jaws into his arm and was shaking his head back and forth, banging him around, playing with him like he was a toy. Michael groaned in pain.
My
cousin was being murdered. I staggered to my feet yelling, "Onni! Get away! Leave him alone!" My voice was not my own. It was thick and loud.
Something snapped in front of my face. Teeth. Big, yellow, bloodied teeth. In the blink of an eye Onni had crossed half the length of the barn. He raised a hand and bashed me to the floor, then grabbed my leg, jarring my ankle.
I tried to scramble away, but his grip was too tight. I jammed my hand in my pocket, came out with the flashlight, flicked it on.
Onni squinted into the beam of light. Slaver dripped from his jaws, eyes glowing. Even with the snout-shaped face, I recognized him. A little boy in wolf's clothing, his breath hot and reeking of decay. Ragged, rotten pieces of meat caught between his teeth.
There was a grunting noise behind him. Michael swung the axe, striking Onni on the side of the head with a heavy thump. Onni slowly turned, unaffected by the blow. Michael looked at the axe, realized he'd hit Onni with the blunt end.
Onni let go of me, rose up on his haunches. Michael pulled back for another swing and Onni head — butted him, knocking him backwards.
I sat up. My flashlight had fallen to the ground, the light shining towards the spear. I grabbed the shaft, used it to help me get off the ground. My vision was jumbled, grey and black shapes swirled around. Onni had his back to me. I began running, spear out, balanced easily in my hand like I had done this a hundred times before. Just as I reached him, ready to thrust the spear, Onni spun around, arms wide. He leapt. I raised the spear, caught him in mid — air near the side of his chest. A bluish light exploded from his flesh as he shrieked. The end of the shaft dug into the floor and the weight of his body snapped the shaft just below the spearhead. Onni fell, his sharp claws just brushing the side of my face, carving out five tiny lines of pain.
He clutched his side, howling, and twisted around, the spearhead embedded in his chest. He kept scratching at it, trying to pull it out. Sparks of light shot up and down what was left of the shaft.
