hope.
I run, mad with terror, through the dead woods. White branches reach out for me like hands of bone, whipping my face, clawing my hair as I crash through the skeletal forest. I feel neither pain nor exhaustion, only the cold clutches of fear gripping my limbs and the voice screaming in my frantic mind to run faster. Faster!
Trees snap and crunch behind me. That thing is on land.
Adrenaline surges through my body. Urged on by sheer instinctive horror, I sprint faster than the swiftest wolf, leaping, bounding, barging headlong through the rotting woods.
There’s a howling gasp above as the creature sucks in a humongous breath of dirty air, and I know what’s going to happen next. With a yelp, I dive clear, narrowly escaping the corrosive blast. But as I get up, a high-pitched hissing fills my ears, like sausages whistling over the fire, and with a cry, I drop the shield and claw the sizzling mail shirt off my back.
Now my only defense, I snatch up the shield, expecting to see row upon row of the sucking lamprey teeth bearing down upon me.
But the creature isn’t there.
I scan the swirls of mist, now an eerie orange in the red light of the setting sun. I can hear him moving around me—the shifting earth, the dull crack of trees snapping under his enormous weight. New panic washes over me.
I scramble onward.
To my horror, his bulky form cuts off the path ahead. He’s surrounded me! Encircled me with his body like a great wall! He’s winding slowly over the red earth, coiling around me a little bit at a time.
I whirl around, watching for his head lurking somewhere above me in the fog. I don’t see it, but there’s a white tree with a branch reaching out over his creeping mass.
I fling the shield like a disc over to the other side and scale up the tree, the lower limbs creaking and bending under my weight. I reach for the intended branch, and hand over hand I shimmy out to the end, and swing back and forth—and back and forth—and back and—
I vault myself over the creature, flicking through his slimy fin. The dry ground rises suddenly, slamming the air out of my lungs with a ringing burst of white light.
Reeling, I stagger for the shield and fling a dead log up over the treetops. It crashes loudly further off, and through the fog, a shadowy shape arcs over the white woods. Again I hear that howling gasp, and I shudder as the hiss of melting trees whispers through the forest. Then another wraith-like screech shoots ice-water through my veins and the earth rumbles terribly behind me.
I can’t outrun him. Not for long. He’s getting closer. Another few seconds of this frantic chase and that gaping, jawless mouth will snatch me off the ground. Black horror seizes me—I’m not going to make it. I’ve run my course and this is the end. Hel’s cold hand is reaching out for me; and as her icy grip descends upon my shoulder, I shriek in utter desperation.
And then, light through the trees ahead!
I burst into the clearing, sprinting straight for Sigurd’s pit, the ground trembling as our monstrous quarry thunders close behind. I leap over it, landing in a summersault. Rising, I twirl around, backing away, glaring up in terror as the creature rears over the pit and sucks in a massive breath to fizzle the flesh from my bones.
At the top of my lungs, I scream, “Sigurd! Now, Sigurd!”
There’s a muffled shout. Screaming, I press my hands into my ears as a terrible screech pierces the sky. Blood bursts from the creature’s underbelly; he reels back in agony, screeching and writhing in horrible contortions, spraying the clearing and white trees with great red spurts.
But Fafnir is far from slain. He thrashes about, and the glimmer of steel catches my eye—Balmung, buried to the hilt in one of the serpent’s many hearts, wrenched from Sigurd’s grasp in the creature’s sharp recoil.
Sputtering and gasping for breath, a red, dripping figure crawls from the pit—now a scarlet pool flooded with the serpent’s blood. I scream his name and Sigurd staggers clear as an enormous coil smashes the ground with bone-shattering force. Again he leaps out of the way of Fafnir’s crashing body, stumbling off balance from the violent impact. But he can only avoid those thrashing coils for so long.
I snatch a stick up from the ground, and a shrill cry escapes my lips as I beat it hard against my shield. The repulsive head veers toward me. I’ve drawn his attention! I shriek an oath and hurl the stick up at his face. It glances harmlessly off his nostrils, and my stomach sinks as that hideous mouth opens wide.
The diversion has only bought us several seconds, but Sigurd has used them well.
With giant’s strength, he’s scaling the trunk of the creature’s erect body like some great slime-covered pillar, heedless of the thousands of parasitic worms wriggling against his face and squirming between his fingers.
He’s only feet away from reaching Balmung’s hilt, but the serpent rolls and twists as it tries to shake him off. Then with a shout, Sigurd leaps for his sword, catching it mid-air with a single hand, swinging perilously to and fro as the creature tosses its head viciously about. At last, Sigurd kicks both feet against the serpent’s twisting underbelly, prying Balmung free and launching himself backwards into the air. My hair rising from my scalp, I hold my breath as he plunges forty-feet to the hard ground, flipping over at the last second and landing in a deep crouch with an impact that would have splintered the bones of a normal man.
Awestruck, my heart is overflowing with admiration for my invincible companion. Our victory is near, and I can already feel my head swelling with the legends that will be told of us. Our fame will spread across the earth. The Roman Emperor will know my name, and even in faraway kingdoms of the orient, brown-skinned princes in palaces of jade will eagerly ask to hear again the tale of Hervor the Serpent-slayer.
But as Sigurd charges roaring at the serpent, about to strike the killing blow, there’s a howling gasp, a violent gust of wind, and he vanishes in a yellow cloud of death.
Dumbfounded, I search the smog for any sign of life or movement. But there is no such sign. Sigurd’s gone, just like that.
Frozen in shock, I’m fastened to the ground. Hissing yellow tendrils swirl closer toward me. The tumbling cloud bulges and swells, only inches away. And then I do a foolish thing. In a defensive reflex, I thrust out my shield to fend off the danger.
The shield foams like beer and melts, sizzling, before my eyes. Then, the sharp agony of a thousand stinging wasps peels the last strip of sanity from my brain. Swarming with white fizz, my arm simmers and boils; pink bubbles of flesh whistle and burst; and all the way up to the shoulder, my limb shrivels and dissolves, shrinking hideously into white, shining bone.
Screaming, I collapse, writhing in terrible anguish as the corrosive mist creeps in around me. I have no thought of escape. Wracked with pain, I cannot think at all, only squirm and sob into the earth as I wait for the creature’s breath to consume me alive, like a hissing swarm of yellow, flesh-eating ants.
The creature’s head cranes toward me, the murky eyes wide and leering as it looks upon my inevitable demise. But then, just as the rolling acid cloud is about to fold over me, Balmung flashes in the red sun. Fafnir screeches. Blood squirts, snuffing out the cloud like a fire in the pouring rain—and suddenly the air is clear around me.
Fafnir’s jaw gapes wide as he sucks in another breath, but Sigurd dashes in, and with an upward thrust, skewers him like a sausage. The creature shudders with a horrible spasm, wriggling violently. But as the towering neck retreats up into the air, Sigurd jumps high and catches one of the hook-like teeth. Hanging from the creature’s mouth, he’s swept up above the treetops, his arms stretched wide between the tooth and the hilt of his sword. He wiggles and punches the hilt deeper into the creature’s throat, tormenting him, causing him to shriek terribly. Enraged, Fafnir whips his head back and forth, spewing blood. Using the momentum of the vicious motions to propel himself to an even greater height, Sigurd wrenches Balmung free and flings himself up over the flailing creature, landing with impeccable timing on the top of its head—and drives the six-foot blade deep into his skull.
At once the murky eyes go dark. The great body stiffens, teetering like a massive tree trunk about to fall. Sigurd screams my name, and my pain vanishes for a frantic moment as I hurl myself clear of the toppling monster.
Fafnir crashes dead behind me.
Sigurd pries his crimson sword from the creature’s brain, hops to the ground, and with three tremendous strokes, hacks off his head. A great font of blood spews from the gigantic stump; the rest of the body flops and wriggles like a fish on land.
I blackout as the pain returns.
“Hervor!”
Sigurd is leaning over me. He’s completely red, soaked in blood from head to toe—except for his eyes, which are startlingly bright. His face is anxious.
“Hervor!”
“My arm,” I sob, and cry out in agony.
“Here!” he says, scooping me up into his arms, “the serpent’s blood is magic! See, it’s mingling with the air and clearing all the poison from the valley! Had I not been drenched—”
His voice fades as I swoon again.
I slip back into consciousness as he sets me down beside the flooded pit. He dips what’s left of my hand into the pool of Fafnir’s blood. At once the pain leaves, and my lips part in a long, silent gasp as a soothing heat washes through my arm. It’s like easing into a volcanic hot-spring in the middle of winter, but far, far nicer. I could lie here with my arm dipped in this pool of blood for the rest of my life. I have a deep urge to underdress and bathe, to submerge completely in the steaming warmth, but Sigurd gently pulls me away.
Rising, I hold up my dripping hand and sob. Magic indeed. Where I had dipped only a limb of bone into the pool, I have withdrawn a limb of living flesh. Fafnir’s blood has completely restored my arm. Tears stream from my eyes as I look it over. Sigurd laughs in amazement. There is no sign that my arm was ever burned away down to the bone in Fafnir’s acid breath.
Nor is there any evidence I ever took part in slaying him.