Calders Doom

The dreams have haunted me for as long as I can remember. Mostly I sleep as
others do, sometimes reliving cherished memories or half -forgotten traumas.
But on the most frigid of nights, when the windows become opaque with frost
and the moon casts a cold light, my mind is filled with visions of a hurried flight
through a blizzard pursued by the howls of ravenous hounds, and a dark song
carried on the wind. Always do I awake when the sun first splits the night sky, no
sooner or later.
This morning was no different. Having learned the futility of trying to get back to
sleep at such times, I slipped out of bed and began to get dressed. Glancing out
the window, it momentarily looked like my house had been transported to some
dimensional limbo, before my eyes adjusted to the light and I could make out
familiar shapes. It had been two weeks since the first snows appeared, reaching
eight inches deep. Since then it had only gotten deeper while the temperature
continued to drop. My breath was visible as I stepped into the landing; with no
reason to expect deliveries any time soon I had been forced to conserve what
fuel I had. After making a quick breakfast from what meagre supplies were left
and filling my winter flask with coffee I donned an additional three layers and
made my way outside.
---They say desperation can drive a man to do things they would not even think of
in normal circumstances. Driving through an increasingly severe snowstorm as
the clouds darkened the sky, that thought was the only comfort I had that I
wasnt insane. If I could just make it to Alnwick then I should be fine; I had a
friend with a spare room who would most certainly put me up, so even if the
roads became impassable I could at least wait for the thaw without starving or
freezing.
Unfortunately that was looking to be more unlikely as time went on. Even though
I had driven through this area many times I could find none of the familiar
landmarks or road signs; it was as if they had been devoured by the snow.
Outside the wind howled against the side of the car. For a brief moment it
seemed to take on another aspect, becoming the mournful cry of some gigantic,
ethereal creature. I dismissed it as the work of an overactive imagination, and
yet my very being seemed to be seized by an inexplicable dread.
---After struggling for another hour through disappearing roads, it ultimately
became impossible to continue; a consequence, I suppose, of thinking a saloon
would be able to brave this extraordinary weather. At least it was starting to
snow less and less, though the gales had yet to abate. The fact that I had come
to a halt on a wooded road also provided me with a modicum of shelter.
Resolving myself to this fate, I dug out the thick blanket I had brought and
prepared to hunker down for the night, awaiting the dark dreams sleep would
bring and hoping the surrounding trees would at least ensure I wasnt completely
buried by the morning.
---The chase had lasted throughout the night, made all the more difficult by the
blizzard; one of such severity that he heard one say it was a herald of Ragnarok

itself. Nevertheless, his pursuers would have hounded him to the ends of this
world; the enormity of his crime meant that there was no other choice.
And in the end they had cornered him; now he was bound and being dragged by
two armed warriors, a sack over his head. Behind he could hear the dogs
straining against their handlers, still lusting after his blood.
They marched for a while, though without sight he was unable to tell how much
time had actually passed. Eventually they halted and the sack was pulled from
his head. He could now see they were in the middle of a woodland grove. Waiting
at the edge were the rest of the hunting party, the majority of the clansmen by
the looks of it. He could feel their hostile gazes upon him, and wondered what
they were waiting for.
A moment later the crowd parted and a fur-wreathed figure stepped into the
clearing, gnarled hands clutching a makeshift walking stick. As they moved
closer, he could make out the vague figure of a woman, while some of her
paraphernalia began to stand out; hood and gloves of cat skin, a knife inscribed
with a single rune, hanging on a loop of string, and glimpses of what appeared to
be a dark cloak hidden beneath her many layers. It finally dawned on him who
this was; the clans wise woman. She was never seen by anyone save the chief
and the only thing he would say of her was that her insights were more valuable
than any amount of gold. It was well known that she was a practitioner of the
arts of healing and weaving; many believed this was how she had lived far longer
than anyone else in the clan. There were also rumours that she practised
witchcraft; that she communed with the dead and cursed her enemies.
Standing before her now, awaiting judgement, he began to feel a trickle of true
fear. Before he could start thinking on what was going to happen, she spoke, her
voice as harsh and cold as the wind.
Calder, son of Amund, by your hand you have brought a disgrace and shame on
our people that few have imagined possible. Although you were one of our finest
warriors, it is clear now that your actions were borne of unbridled arrogance and
greed. Now you stand here as a criminal and oath-breaker. By the consensus of
those gathered here you are sentenced to death.
She retrieved the knife hanging from her waist. She whispered a few words,
ancient and terrible, before plunging the knife into his gut.
But know this; the gods will not be satisfied with your life, such is the enormity
of your crimes. Therefore I lay a doom on all of your kin; from now until the final
battle, all those of your blood shall know no peace. Hel will hound and torment
them until, in the depths of winter, she comes to take them to her realm.
He began to gasp as his life began to seep away, when a rope around his neck
cut off any more breaths he had.

As for you, you shall be delivered into the hands of the All-father, so that he may
deliver his own judgement upon you.
---I woke with a start, desperately gasping for the air seemed to have vanished
from my lungs. Never in my life had I experienced such a vivid dream; I swear I
could feel a bruise forming around my neck. What the hell had just happened?

As I racked my brain to come up with an explanation I heard it again. This time

there was no mistake; it was the howl of some nearby animal. Frantically I
untangled myself from the blanket ,grabbed my torch and turned my attention to
the world outside; it had begun snowing again, far more heavily than had been
before. After five minutes of staring out the window and seeing nothing I began
to relax. And then, for the briefest of moments, I glimpsed two baleful orbs filled
with cold fire staring out of the dark.
Without giving it a moments thought I bolted out of the car.
---I had to keep moving; to stop would mean my death. I knew this with every fibre
of my being, though I cannot explain how this was so. The beast made no sound
and yet I could feel its presence drawing ever closer. All I could do was head
deeper into the woods and pray that I could escape.
Eventually I stumbled on a hidden root and fell face down into drift. I made no
attempt right myself, certain that I was finished the moment I stopped moving. It
was only after staying like that for a few minutes, face going numb in that icy
blanket, that I realized that whatever was after me had stopped.
Picking myself up, I began to take stock of my surroundings. The trees
surrounding me looked old; older than any I had encountered in this countryside
before. Upon closer examination, a number of them had symbols carved into the
bark. Most appeared to be Norse runes, though some were unlike any I had seen
from my brief glimpses of that bygone alphabet; though unfamiliar to me, I
experienced a distinct sense of dj vu looking at them. A strange compulsion
suddenly came over me and before I knew what I was doing, I was heading
deeper into those foreboding woods.
Despite living high in the Cheviots, I had never felt far from civilization. Even
when the weather isolated me in my farmhouse or when I hiked on the hills,
there was a subtle sense of how the land had been tamed. But now, as I walked
through this forest that grew ever darker and colder, it felt like I had stepped into
a place long forgotten by man and worlds away from anywhere settled by them.

It was getting harder and harder to keep going, the cold seeming to suck the life
from my very body.
Eventually I came upon a clearing, illuminated by a pale moon that hung in a
now clear sky. My breathing was shallow; I felt like I was on the verge of passing
out.
As I stumbled forwards it felt as though I was being watched. Unlike the beast
that was after me before, this presence felt less savage and more, how should I
put it, gleeful. At this point I could not tell if I was shaking from the cold or from
fright. I glanced frantically around the clearing trying to find who was there.
And then, I saw it.
In the middle of the clearing where there was nothing before, stood a great ash.
Its branches went high and wide, seeming to touch the sky itself. And there,
hanging on one of the largest, was a skeleton swinging on a noose, stripped
clean of its flesh and adorned with icicles.
Greetings, son of Calder
I spun round at the voice. There before me stood a woman, more terrible and
awe-inspiring than anything man had produced. Her face bore a smile that did
not seem at home on her fierce countenance. She walked towards me and I could
see that she was a mixture of healthy and black, rotting flesh. When she spoke, it
was as if my heart was pierced by a dark, frigid wind.
Long have I waited for another like you.
I tried to scream, but my lungs had frozen solid. She cupped my face in her
hands, her eyes boring into me.
And now you are mine.