Mum stumbles, the draugr almost on her. She screams in fright and I point to the other entrance. A flash of understanding crosses her face, and she runs around the side of the trunk, the creature close behind. I steady my feet and balance my weight. Tensing my arms, I take a deep breath. My timing has to be perfect, I have to get it right.

Mum emerges from the tree beneath me and staggers away from the opening, then collapses with a sob.

The bone of an arm appears, followed by a head.

Summoning my strength, I lift the axe and swing.

25

I stumble down from the tree, and Mum is there with her arms outstretched. She holds me close. ‘Thank God you’re OK.’ I close my eyes and my body trembles with relief. The fibres of her duffel coat speak of fear, but also of determination and great love. She collapses in my arms and I haul her back to her feet.

The sky is dark now, with only the moon to see by. We steady each other, and she points and says, ‘What the hell was that thing?’ I glance at the grotesque severed head and bury my face in her shoulder. The creature’s body lies half inside the hollow of the tree. Dozens of ravens caw and flap over it, sharp beaks feasting on the last scraps of sinew and skin.

‘It killed Yrsa and Olav!’

Mum pulls away from me. ‘What?’

‘We found them dead in the snow.’

‘Who is we?’

‘Stig. He should be here, but I don’t even know if he’s alive.’

Fear crowds my mind as I remember Hel’s words. She didn’t promise to let Stig live. But I returned the dead and killed the draugr, so maybe … Staggering into the dark, I take a few paces one way and then another. ‘Stig!’ I run wildly, ignoring Mum’s pleas to come back.

The ravens flap and caw above me, and then land to my right. I run to them and see a mound in the snow. Please. Please, let him be OK.

Stig’s face is blue. His cheek feels like ice, yet the only wound I can see is a faint pink scar on his neck. ‘Stig! Wake up!’ I call his name over and over, but he doesn’t open his eyes.

A hand touches my shoulder. I look up and see Mum. She takes off a glove and holds a finger to his throat. ‘There’s a pulse. Quick.’

We reach under his armpits and haul him up. Somehow we manage to drag him between us. He murmurs something and my heart soars. ‘It’s OK, Stig,’ I whisper. ‘We’ve got you. Everything’s going to be OK, I promise.’

Mum glances at me over his head, as if she’s not so sure.

In the cabin, we lay him on the sofa.

‘Blankets, quickly!’