Screams.
And a clashing chaos of sounds.
Octa leapt up from where he had lain beside the warm embers of the hearth. He had hardly slept. It felt as though he had barely closed his eyes after his long, chill watch. His mind was dull, leaden from tiredness and the rancid ale he had consumed the night before. His hand already gripped his seax. He had not sheathed it to sleep.
Around him all was frenzy. Too many men for the small hut were struggling from their slumber all at once. Curses and cries from within the darkness of the hovel were added to the cacophony outside.
Another scream ripped the night air.
Octa leapt for the door and flung it open. The cold fog of the night roiled into the hut. Standing in the doorway was a shadowy figure. For a moment, Octa was poised to strike. But the cold air brought him to his senses like a slap. This was no night creature.
“Unferth,” Octa said, “what’s happened?”
“To arms!” yelled Unferth, at last finding his voice. “To arms! The creature is abroad and Wiglaf is fallen.”
Bassus, Hrothgar and Gram shoved their way past Octa and into the night.
“Where?” snapped Bassus.
Unferth did not reply, but he pointed to the west. The moon was high and the mist-draped land was alight with a silvery glow.
The men rushed off.
“Come, show us,” said Octa, urging Unferth forward with a push.
But Unferth would not return into the fog. His face was white in the darkness. White streaked with black. Blood. Octa pushed him once more. Unferth was garbed in a battle-knit shirt, and bore a fine sword.
“Come, we need your strength, Unferth.”
But the old thegn shook his head.
Seeing it was pointless to insist, Octa grabbed Unferth’s right wrist and with his other hand wrenched the sword from his grasp. Best that the blade be put to use, rather than left in the hut where Modthrith and her children cowered.
Shoving Unferth away, Octa sprinted after the others. The heft of the sword felt strange but welcome in his hand.
A terrible roar of anger and sounds of struggle in the fog. Octa ran on.
And then he saw them. Bassus, Gram and Hrothgar brandished their weapons. Moonlight flickered on the blades. Before them crouched a huge beast. Shaggy fur covered its massive bulk. It was hunkered over a body.
A corpse. Wiglaf.
The young warrior’s shocked face dangled from the nihtgenga’s paw. Like Breca, the head had been ripped from the corpse’s body. Wiglaf had been Octa’s friend. He was quick and clever, with thoughts as fast as flashes of lightning from a brooding, still sky. But now he was slain; taken by this beast. Wiglaf’s eyes stared out from the gore-slathered face.
Without pause to think, Octa raised Unferth’s sword and launched himself at the foul creature. He bellowed, releasing his own beast from within. The animal rage that he kept locked deep within himself. That fury had now broken its chains and nothing would calm it, save for blood.
The night-stalker, with a speed that belied its size, flung the head to one side and brought itself up to its full height. It towered over Octa now, who flew at the beast and was unable to alter his attack. The sword-blow that he had hoped would take the monster’s head now hammered into its chest.
It was like hitting rock. A flash of sparks briefly lit the gloom. The thrum of the blade rang up Octa’s arm. His wrist went numb from the impact. Such a strike should have buried itself deep within the beast’s flesh. Maybe even cleaved it in two. But the nihtgenga scarcely stumbled. It let out a grunt and then clubbed Octa with a fist like iron. Octa fell back into the mud, his lip split. He tasted blood. His head was once more clouded. Lights flashed before his eyes. He struggled to rise. Everything was blurred. Sounds were louder than they should be.
Bassus let out a roar and rushed towards the creature, Gram a heartbeat behind him. Octa shook his head to clear it. He must help his friends. He pushed himself to his knees, spitting blood into the mud. His hand found the hilt of the sword that he had dropped. Shakily, he stood.
Bassus and Gram yet battled with the beast. Hrothgar, almost as tall as the shadow-walker, was still, hanging back from the fray. Without warning, Gram hurtled back into Hrothgar and they both fell in a tangle of limbs. Bassus faced the monster alone. Octa shook his head once more. He was still dizzy, but he could not leave his friend to fight this thing unaided.
Gripping the sword tightly, he stepped forward.
“Hey!” Octa shouted. “I haven’t finished with you yet, you ugly whoreson.”
For an instant, the creature’s head swung towards the sound. Bassus seized his chance and thrust his blade low. He must have hit his mark, for the beast let out a wailing howl, almost like that of a child. Bassus made to press home his attack. But the creature, even injured, was as fast as thought. It leapt away and was swallowed by the fog. They heard splashing, retreating into the distance. And then, the night was still once more.
Octa reached out a hand and helped Gram to his feet. They ignored Hrothgar, who seemed dazed, sitting in the muck.
They approached Bassus, who was staring at the body at his feet.
For a time they stood, panting from the fight.
“Poor Wiglaf,” said Octa. “We will bury him whole.” He bent to the corpse and removed the cloak. Then, gently, with trembling hands he placed Wiglaf’s head on the wool. He wrapped the head with care. He was glad when he could no longer see those shocked eyes.
“Aye,” said Bassus, “poor Wiglaf that he should stand as warden with one who is craven.” Neither Octa nor Gram replied. Ire washed off Bassus like the stench of rotting plants from the swamp.
“You injured it,” said Gram.
Bassus looked down at the sword in his hand. The blade was slick with dark blood.
His teeth flashed white in the darkness.
“It bleeds like a man,” he said.
“That was no man,” said Octa, recalling the jolting pain in his wrist as his sword struck.
“Whatever it is,” said Bassus, “it bleeds and it will die. I swear my oath to Woden, All-Father. We will follow this shadow-stalker to its lair when the sun rises and I will slay it.”
Behind them, Hrothgar finally snapped out of his daze and moaned.