The Ranger, the Draugr, and the Wyrmling

The Ranger, the Draugr, and the Wyrmling (4836 words, 26 minute read)
Author: Anorrack

Made for the 12th art exchange for Roundabouts.

BANG

The bull turned to flee, but stumbled. The hole perforating its collapsing lungs rapidly filled them with fluid, the gunshot a deathknell. The caribou took a step, another, but collapsed to the ground, the weight of the five-pronged rack burying its head in the berm.

The hunter peered beyond their scope, waiting for the bull to move. It did not. They pushed themselves out of the crook of the root they had rested upon, crusts of snow calving from their fur-lined coat. They flicked on their headlamp and picked their way through the scrub to the body of the bull, much larger than the scope had implied.

The bulky figure shoved their glove into their mouth, biting down on it to extract their hand from its confines. Trying to outrace the chill, the hunter patted down their pockets and withdrew a tape measure, notepad, and dull pencil. Measurements would be needed for the station.

Five antlers, one hundred centimeter inside width between the normal pair. Twelve-point antlers, must weigh fifty pounds total. One hundred-fifty-five centimeters at the shoulder, larger than a moose yearling. A record-breaker if not for the Veil. Probably three hundreds pounds of good meat, if not for the regulations.

Through the whistling wind, there was a distinct whumph of something large moving through the drifts, invisible through the growing blizzard. The hunter pocketed their materials and unslung their rifle. The headlamp's light diffracted through the snowfall, the sleet forming hypnotizing patterns in its descent. Then, through the white and black, a pair of green reflections stared back at the hunter. Eyes set too far apart to be a man's, and too high up to be a wolf's. The eyes spoke Finnish in a baritone that was more fit for a boulder than a creature.

"Tervehdys, Oslo."

Oslo lowered the rifle. A friend. "Hyvää iltaa, Karhu."

"What is it today?"

"Another Lysenkosen, crossed over the border in the storm, by the looks of it."

Sharp teeth gleamed in the lamplight. "Looks young."

"Ach. The äpärä wouldn't have lived long, not with that rack. Through this snow? Never would have saw spring."

The savage maw blew steam. "Why not slaughter the herd?"

"Paperwork. It's over the border, the Russians don't care."

The eyes narrowed. The gravelly voice held a mirthful tone, as sharp as ice. "What magic you weave for yourselves."

"Aye."

It would have been quiet if not for the howling wind. "Do you need help finding your way, Oslo?"

The hunter shook his head. "Parked my snow-machine over the ridge. Should be easy goings once I hit the trail."

The eyes stared at him. "Safe travels, Oslo."

"Hyvää yötä, Bear."

The shadow congealed from the darkness, its yellow-brown fur encrusted with curtains of snow and ice. Its hide was matted with moss and sticks, inscribing patterns that most Finns had long forgotten. Where it traveled, the world seemed to tremble, snowflakes pausing their descent to watch Bear move, the wind quieting to hear it speak. Brown Bear was large, large enough that it was able to scoop the carcass into its jaws with little effort. As it arrived, it so departed, blending into the landscape and disappearing into the storm, taking the mutant caribou with it.

Oslo blew through his nose to dislodge the build-up of ice, and made the sign of the cross. Better to be safe than sorry. He turned back and picked over the scrub, up the hill to his machine, half-buried in snow. The pull-cord was a bitch, the engine block cold and needing some motivation to wake up. But after some cursing and pulling, the two-stroke stirred to life, soon roaring across the open field towards home.

"So, Oslo. How was hell?"

Oslo's face and hands were pink, clutching a mug of some of the last good tea in the station. He was resting his bare feet on the wrought-iron wood stove for five-second intervals, lifting them off when the pain was too much and lowering them when the chill was too great. "Well enough. The caribou was easy to catch, but Otso took its tithe."

"Would you rather your guts be his tithe?" Aliisa grinned, her green eyes deep-set in ruby-red cheeks. She was tapping away at the station's Hiisi computer, filing the report on the Lysenkosen. The imps inside the clear-blue plastic shell got antsy during the winter, so the electronics took the best spot next to the fireplace, much to Oslo's consternation.

"Hrmph. Should get hazard pay for that blizzard. Don't get paid enough as-is without risk of a storm or Bear doing me in."

"But the government pension," Aliisa said in a sing-song voice.

"Hrmph." Oslo stretched, nearly spilling his tea in the process. "Probably being embezzled as we speak."

SETK was not a tightly run ship, by any means. From the restructuring by the Rockefeller Foundation, stipulations for joining JOVE, and especially the policy requirements to join the GOC, the Finnish Abnormal Interactions Command was a colossal, tottering giant of bureaucracy. Which is why they were stuck with a wood-burning stove and a computational relic from the 80s. Oslo hadn't been able to wrap his head around the forms required to requisition more modern equipment.

"Don't even know why we're here. We have satellites that can track the herd. Satellites!"

Aliisa leaned over to pat Oslo on the knee. "But then who would go out to shoot the caribou once a week?"

"Get Karhu to do it, it could probably shoot a rifle if it tried hard enough."

"Would he, now?"

Oslo tried to maintain a straight face, but looking at Aliisa's dry smirk was enough to send both of them over the edge into gales of laughter. Each time they would almost quiet down, a peek at the reddened face of the other would make them descend into a fit of giggles again. "Gods, could you imagine."

Aliisa wiped a tear from her eye and put on a fake pondering face, a pencil to her chin. "How big of a rifle would Bear need?"

His chill forgotten, Oslo stood behind Aliisa's chair and wrapped his arms around her. "Oh, well Bear is a big boy, so it would only need a small rifle to get the job done."

Aliisa's mouth quirked and she brushed Oslo's arm, her touch electric against his skin. "That doesn't make any sense, with a small gun Bear couldn't put his claw on the trigger."

"Hrmph. Well, I know somebody who needs a big rifle-" Oslo's snark turned into a yelp as Aliisa lunged out her chair and lifted him off of his feet, her smirk widening into a grin as she looked down on Oslo with her extra head of height.

"Who? Is it Bear?"

Oslo's cheeks were no longer red from just the cold. "No?"

"Who is it, then?"

His confidence fled, leaving him only a stammer. "Uh, I don't know?"

Aliisa's grin turned feral as she pivoted towards the bedroom, holding Oslo in a bridal carry. "I think I know who is, Oslo."

Oslo's blush spread to his ears. He nestled his cheek into Aliisa's collarbone, just beginning to close his eyes — with no thought of requisition forms or caribou hunts in his head — when a knock on the door destroyed any thought of a warm bed.

Aliisa dropped Oslo to the floor, and he grabbed the rifle with a snarl. "I swear if it's another surprise inspector I will kill him on the spot."

Oslo stalked over to the door, and looked through the peephole. There was nothing but dancing snow and undisturbed drifts as the evening blizzard raged outside.

He furrowed his brow, and looked over to Aliisa. "You heard that too, right?"

Aliisa shrugged, looking out the window before drawing the curtain closed. "It's the winter solstice. Strange things happen on the longest night of the year."

"Strange things happen to us most nights, it seems."

Her sly smirk reappeared. "Say an additional prayer before we go to bed, then."

The rapping sounded once more. Oslo opened the door, the frigid air slamming him in the face.

This time, twin hollow pits gazed into Oslo's soul. Papery, crinkled skin trapped snowflakes in the creases, and webbings of frost glazed exposed bone and rusted metal. A corroded sword hung bare by its side — the leather scabbard long since decayed away — and an axe slung across its back, the wood handle cracked and petrified. A crown of dried flowers was placed upon its brow, basil upon its tongue. The draugr filled the doorway, the skeletal remnants of a warrior seven feet tall and four feet wide. Its breath smelt of death.

Oslo tried not to breath through his nose and slowly hid the rifle behind his back. "Hyvää iltaa, Sir."

The rotted warrior was quiet, the wind whistling through the holes in its armor.

Oslo tried again, a more polite tone in his voice. "What did you go by in life, good Sir?"

The draugr cracked its jaw, and Oslo could see its dried vocal cords thrum in its throat as it spoke surprisingly bassy, melodic Old Norse. "I am Thegn Aghi Split-Shield, Trekker of Wilds and Slayer of Rus, whom has traveled further east than any of my kin shall ever see. I have witnessed the mountains eat the sun, the firmament quake under Wodin's wrath. I dispense justice with one hand and blood-stained war with the other. I am holder of Things, breaker of Khans, bane of Christendom, and protector of Men."

All was quiet but for the crackling of the fireplace and the moaning of the wind.

Aliisa leaned over Oslo's shoulder. "Would you like to come in and have some tea, then? It's getting rather drafty with the door open."

Aghi's jaw closed with an audible click. A pause. "Yes, I would like that."

"So, Aghi, what brings you to our door?"

Oslo watched jealously as Aghi Split-Shield, undead warrior and statesman, delicately sipped the last good tea in the station, savoring every drop on his desiccated tongue. What a waste, he probably can't even taste it. Probably.

The draugr rumbled. "I was disturbed from my promised eternity by intruders in my barrow. And awoke to find a couple had constructed a hovel upon my tomb."

Oslo's mouth suddenly felt dry. "We didn't know there had been Norse habitation in this region, so SETK didn't think to check…"

Aliisa leaned back in her chair. "Got to admit, does explain the hill in the middle of the meadow."

The draugr sipped the tea again, the liquid going gods-know where. Oslo eyed the weapons it held. They were rusted, but looked heavy enough to do damage. "We are sorry for, ah, dancing on your grave, so to speak. If there is anything we can do to help you find rest-"

Aghi stood suddenly, clasping a skeletal hand on Oslo's shoulder. "But of course, my freedman. You can slay the wyrmling!"

Oslo blinked. "Wyrmling?"

"Indeed! The rotted creature that is squatting within my tomb right now! The entire reason I was roused from my sleep! Kill it for me!"

Aliisa frowned. "Do we have a permit to bag a dragon?"

Oslo really needed a sip of that tea, even if the lips of a draugr had touched it. His mouth was growing increasingly similar in texture to the Sahara, and his voice came out in a squeak. "We have a dragon in our basement?"

Aliisa was confused, and stated the obvious. "Why do we need to slay it? You have a sword and axe."

The draugr shrugged. "It breathes fire," as if that was enough of an explanation. Though upon glancing at the bubbled skin and burnt armor of Aghi's back, maybe it was.

"Didn't know we had dragons this far north, either."

"It is foreign to these lands."

Oslo leaned forwards, interested now. "How do you know that? Were you a monster hunter in your youth?"

The draugr fixed his gaze upon Oslo. "It spoke Welsh." The venom carried in those three words made Oslo reconsider drinking that tea.

Aliisa and Oslo glanced at each other, coming to the same conclusion. If they did this, the frostbitten zombie is more likely to leave than not. Otherwise, the longest night of the year would be ruined by an undead third wheel. Oslo nodded slowly, considering. "Aliisa, invasive myths are exempt from hunting permits, right?"

Aliisa had already disappeared into the bedroom to take inventory. "Yeah, but only non-sapients."

Oslo stroked his sparse beard, pondering. "So unless we could prove this wyrmling has the intelligence of a parrot, we've got nothing."

Aliisa's voice echoed over the sound of rummaging gear. "Well, it looks like we still have two tranquilizer darts left from the Čahkalakkat hunt last spring, how much does that wyrmling weigh, do you think?"

A plan coalesced in Oslo’s mind, and it was shabby, but doable. He clapped his hands to his thighs and rose to his feet "Alright, we'll do it. But we're going to knock it unconscious, not kill it, if only to save us the headache later in red tape. Is that clear?"

Aghi stared unblinking into Oslo's eyes, as his own lids had rotted away centuries before. "Aye, that'll
do."

The storm had grown substantially, and the snowfall intensified to white-out conditions. The fresh precipitation built up around the cabin, threatening to snow them in entirely if they didn’t move fast. Aliisa unspooled the winch next to the doorframe and clipped the line to carabiners on Aghi, Oslo, and herself. In a record blizzard like this one, straying just a few feet from each other could mean total separation, likely hypothermia, and death. For two of them, anyways.

If it weren’t for the storm, the moon would be visible hanging directly overhead, its full body lighting the way. Now, it was nothing but a witness to a suffocating blanket of clouds and snow. On the ground, the cabin was shrouded in darkness, the light leaking from the windows dissipating in the blizzard as if blocked by an icy wall.

“Do you know the way?” Oslo had to shout to be heard over the screeching wind, which tore through his parka and long-johns to penetrate right to the bone.

The draugr nodded, the ice caught in his beard glittered from the headlamps and the scarlet red of a borrowed road flare. He tread forward at a list against the wind, Oslo and Aliisa following along the played-out line. It only took a few moments for Aghi and his long stride to disappear completely into the gray, the only evidence of his remaining existence being the slight vibration of the wire clipped to their belts, and the dull red glow of the draugr’s improvised torch.

In that environment it was near impossible to think, much less see, hear, or hold a civilized conversation. In those conditions it was easy to get inside your own head, which Oslo did almost immediately. It was entirely possible Aghi was leading them to their mutual demises, left to freeze in the arctic dunes as the draugr claimed their lives in the name of General Frost. Faith. Have faith. Oslo adjusted the strap of the rifle, one hand on the wire.

On a whim, he looked behind along the line, and couldn’t see Aliisa. Not even a silhouette was visible through the narrow cone of light of his headlamp. The only thing it lit was the darting flecks of sleet, specks of light floating in the black void that surrounded him. It was like he was lost in the vacuum of space, surrounded by cold, flickering stars. This environment could make a man go mad from the isolation, from the sheer emptiness.

Oslo stumbled on, hoping she was behind him somewhere. Faith. “Aliisa?” No response, his hoarse cry was lost in the damping snow as he trudged onwards.

“Aliisa!”

The vibration of the wire stopped. He couldn’t hear anything, see anything, feel anything but the screaming and the blinding and the biting of the storm and cold and wind. Quick breaths froze his throat and lungs, and Oslo felt icy bands constrict his ribs. Bad idea, bad idea.

“Aliisa!”

His face was smashed as he slammed into something, something that for all the world felt like a slab of frozen steak. Aghi’s eyeless gaze met Oslo’s, his orbits filling with snow and ice. The harsh glare of the bright flare burnt spots into Oslo’s vision. “We are here.”

Oslo heard the sound of tromping snow moments before he felt a mitten touch his back. “It’s okay. It’s okay, honey. I just tripped and lagged back a little.”

The ranger relaxed, if only slightly. Oslo peered around the draugr’s bulk, seeing a hole penetrating into the hill, punching through the snow-drift, soil, hewed rock, and finally to air on the other side. He looked up the slope, but their cabin was lost in the blizzard.

“You dug this, Aghi?”

The warlord shook his head, ice crystals in his braided beard rattling against metal plate. “The wyrmling tunneled through first, I widened the hole with my own hands to escape its bitings.”

Oslo eyed Aghi’s digits, bare of everything but bone, and decided to say nothing.

The draugr knelt upon his aged knees, and crawled into the hole. Aliisa pulled the cord, confirming slack, before giving Oslo a tight, encouraging smile. He nodded, set his jaw, and clambered after Aghi.

The hole was a tight squeeze, especially with his rifle, taken just in case the wyrmling tried something. But without too much of his coat torn by the roughly-stacked rocks, Oslo was able to quickly push himself to the other side.

He was first surprised by the temperature, then by the size of the barrow. The mix of soil and snow insulated the tomb, keeping the temperature well above freezing. Melting ice dripped down from small holes in the walls, creating puddles on the packed-dirt floor. The ceiling of the barrow was just within his reach, but just barely. More roomy than the cramped crawl-space that he had envisioned underneath the cabin.

The barrow was narrow but large, build like the long-houses that Aghi lived in life millenia ago. There were alcoves built into the stone walls, where there must have been small trinkets and offerings placed in Aghi’s honor, now held nothing but rock-dust. The far end of the barrow was shrouded in shadow, but must have held Aghi’s final resting place and, now, the wyrmling.

There was a scratching, scuffling sound as Aliisa was birthed from the tunnel. Oslo bent to help her to her feet, brushing the dirt from her parka as she unslung her tranq-rifle. Aliisa pulled back her hood and blew a stray hair out of her her face. “Alright, where’s the lizard, Aghi?”

Aghi unsheathed his axe and pointed at the far end of the barrow, the head of the axe held unwavering in the harsh light of the flare. “It took my ship for its own, lounging upon mine grave goods like a wretched miser.” The draugr raised the flare, and revealed twin orbs of light, reflecting the scarlet of the light. The eyes of the wyrmling swayed in the darkness, and let out a threatening hiss.

Oslo shuffled forward, rifle held at the ready. His headlamp first revealed the steps of a plinth, then the pitted, aged wood of the grave-ship’s hull, then finally the pale belly of the wyrmling.

The wyrmling was more akin to a snake than a dragon. Small for such a legendary creature, its lithe, long body only possessed two limbs, with two sets of talons gripping the splintered edge of the boat, and the rest of its trunk perched upon a carelessly stacked mound of Aghi’s grave goods — carefully folded bits of rotted clothing, rusted implements of farming and war, and dessicated bags of spice. The wyrmling’s long, pointed ears lay flat against its head and its club-tipped tongue danced in the air as it hissed at the trio. The creature spat something in Welsh, presumed to be very rude.

Aliisa raised her hands in supplication, slowly approaching the creature. “Hey, little guy. We just want to talk-” She was interrupted by a furious berserker scream from Aghi, who charged the wyrmling with axe in hand.

“God damn it all, Aghi.”

“You desecrate my tomb! You sleep in my ship! You piss on my stuff!” The undead Viking let out a furious roar, unblemished by centuries of sleep, and brought his axe down with the swiftness of a guillotine. The serpentine dragon retorted with an ear-splitting shriek, its fangs glistening with bile and venom as it snapped and clawed at Aghi’s arms, exposing bloodless flesh the color of fish meat.

“Shoot it, Aliisa!”

“I’m trying, sweetie,” Aliisa hissed through gritted teeth. The draugr had dropped the flare in his bloodlust, which cast harsh, flickering shadows on the battle, rendering their forms monstrous and twisted. The slender, twisting figure of the wyrmling doubled the difficulty.

Aliisa’s gloved hand squeezed the trigger. Pfump. The pneumatic canister in the rifle activated, and the tranquilizer dart shot from the barrel like a speeding bullet. The dart struck against the metallic hide of the wyrmling and shattered, splattering the fluid against itself and Aghi.

The wyrmling screeched and reared back on its sinuous tail until its head scraped the ceiling, spreading its wings in a threatening display that stretched the width of the barrow and then some. In the guttering light of the flare, the wings were as transluscent as glass, the delicate skein of veins and muscles visible through the leathery membrane, pulsing in time with its throbbing heart.

Aliisa lowered the rifle. “Shit.”

Aghi drew his sword, his axe dripping blood in his other hand. A tooth that lay shattered on the ground vibrated and flew back into his gums, magnetically attracted to his cursed aura. “Do not worry, ergis. I will slay this wretched beeeaa-”

The warrior’s voice was cut off as the wyrmling lunged forwards, wrapping itself around him like a snake from hell. With a single clap of its wings, both Aghi and the wyrmling disappeared in a cloud of dust and crumbling rock, leaving Oslo and Aliisa sputtering and coughing.

Oslo’s head was pounding, as he had been knocked flat against the wall by the blast, his headlamp shattered against the stone. He cracked his neck and with a groan pulled himself off of a spur of jutting rock, crawling over to Aliisa, covered with dust. “Are you alright, honey?”

A glove reached up to gently pat Oslo’s face. “I can see you.”

“Okay, good. Good. You’re not blind, that’s good news.”

“No, Oslo. I can see you. How can I see you?”

Oslo frowned. Their headlamps were dead, and the road flare was buried in dust. He looked up, to a beacon of light that shone overhead, where the wyrmling had flew up and burrowed straight through rock…

Straight into their cabin.

Oslo and Aliisa burst through the cabin door and didn’t bother to shut it behind them, followed by a few flakes from the storm that still raged outside. The couple turned from the door, only to be met by carnage. The stovepipe had been shattered by an axeblade, pouring smoke into the cabin. The couch had been torn to shreds by wyrmling claws, steaming from the talons’ toxins. The old Hiisi laid sparking in a pool of spilled tea, small, dark tendrils escaping from its hard casing and wriggling into the floorboards. Gashes and scorch-marks marred the log walls, and blood spattered across the ceiling. In the center of it all, the two monsters duked it out, the epic fight devolved into an unglorious wrestling match. The wyrmling was wrapped around Aghi’s torso — splintering his ribs like toothpicks — while its neck was being throttled by his bare hands, his bare phlanges squeezing through its scales with the force of hydraulic presses. Aghi’s weapons were tossed into the corner, discarded and forgotten.

Oslo’s mouth gaped, unable to fully process the boil of emotions that filled him looking at his crappy cabin. Why are they messing up this shithole of a cabin. This is our shithole of a cabin. After a second of hesitation, his brain finally decided on anger, and he unslung his rifle. Oslo aimed through a shattered window and pulled the trigger. The shot echoed through the cabin, and stunned the two fighters, who craned their necks to look up at the ranger.

He stalked forwards, pointing a finger at the wyrmling. “You, why did you squat in Aghi’s barrow?”

The creature flapped its jaws, momentarily speechless. It blinked, and composed itself enough to spit out some Welsh.

Oslo looked to Aliisa, who shrugged, and they both turned to Aghi. Aghi removed a hand from the wyrmling’s neck to scratch his temple, peeling off some skin in the process. “It says it needs a hoard, and all others had already been claimed from here to London.”

Oslo turned back towards the wyrmling. “You do realize most of that stuff is worth just sentimental value, right? You can find higher-quality clothing in any store in Europe, and most of Aghi’s coins are just corroded scrap by now.”

The wyrmling blinked again. What little was left of Aghi’s lips pursed and soured.

The ranger sighed, looking to Aliisa. She nodded her head, encouragingly. Oslo sighed once more and pulled out his wallet, fingering fifty markaa. Oslo held the money out with an open palm. “Here, go invest this in the stock market, or something. Consider this an investment of sorts, or a bribe. I don’t really care. Just leave Aghi and his stuff alone, please.”

Aghi and the wyrmling looked at Oslo, then at each other, then at the money. The two gingerly untangled, and slowly put distance between each other. Making sure that Aghi had scuttled across the floor far enough away, the wyrmling slowly approached Oslo, its eyes narrowed and distrustful. It sniffed the money, and cocked its head, letting out a small chirrup. It reached out with a claw and grabbed the money, scurrying away and in one smooth motion leapt out the broken window, its wings outstretched. The wyrmling’s silhouette was quickly swallowed by the storm.

Aliisa looked at Aghi, hands on her hips. “Well? You happy?”

The draugr stood and stared out the window, teeth clicking in consternation. “The wyrmling is gone,” he reluctantly admitted.

Aliisa pointed to the hole in the living room. “Go back to sleep.”

Aghi looked like he was about to talk back, but Aliisa’s expression brooked no argument. He let out a death-rattle, and clambered back into his barrow.

As the two supernatural creatures took their leave, Oslo and Aliisa had to take stock in their situation. They stared at the carnage wreaked in the living room. The twisted metal stovepipe leaking smoke, the broken window, hole in the floor, and shattered, sparking computer that laid in pieces on the ground made for a stark setting. Oslo's mouth was dry from dread, and he yelped when Aliisa slapped him on the back. "What?!"

Aliisa's sweet cherubic smile was lent an air of menace by her words. "At least now you have no excuse with working on those requisition forms."

The stovepipe was straightened and reassembled as best as possible, and a spare sheet of particle board was salvaged from the woodshed outside to cover the newly-made downstairs entrance. Oslo swept up the glass and broken instruments, while Aliisa placed planks over the broken window. The room almost looked presentable when they were finished.

Oslo sat on the bed, exhausted. He barely had enough energy to strip to his long-johns. Aliisa crawled over the mattress and into the covers, snuggling up against him. “What a day, huh?”

Oslo looked down at her and smiled. “Yeah.”

They listened to the wind rattle and drum against the windows and roof. Oslo would have to shovel the snow off the tin roof tomorrow, half a meter, minimum. But he wasn’t thinking about that now.

“What do we do now, Aliisa?”

Aliisa’s mouth quirked. God, he loved that smile. “What else do couples do on the longest night of the year?”

Oslo felt a dopey grin grow across his face. He closed his eyes, and leaned into Aliisa, his lips brushing her cheek. Her head grew heavier resting on his shoulder, eyes closed. She had fallen asleep in seconds.

His smile was softer, now. Oslo relaxed, winding his fingers through Aliisa’s hair as he listened to the storm rage outside, her body warm and soft as it pressed up against him.

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