Gasping for breath, I look back for Stig, but he’s not there. He’s on the ground.

‘No!’

I stare at the thing crouched over Stig’s body. It lifts its head and yellow eyes bulge in its face; its mouth a swollen, red wound.

My mind splinters into a million pieces. I rush towards Stig, then stop. Maybe he’s just injured … Maybe … Maybe …

Stig’s arm is bent awkwardly beneath him. I watch as his chest heaves and falls.

Please, Stig, get up. Just get up. I will him to stand and run. But he doesn’t.

Red seeps into the snow, too much red.

Stig’s eyes stare at the sky. His chest stops moving.

I scream until there’s nothing left.

The creature twists its head and pure evil stares at me.

21

The draugr stands to its full terrifying height. Scraps of leather hang from its emaciated body; a bit of material flaps in the wind, caught on a jagged bone that juts through the rotting skin of its chest. Yellow eyes stare at me through a curtain of snow.

Stig lies at the creature’s feet, his face tinged blue. Snowflakes settle on his hair and melt into the blood that gushes from the wound in his neck. I watch transfixed as a river of red seeps out of him. Steam rises from his blood, yet he looks so cold.

The draugr steps towards me and the stench of decay turns my stomach.

Run. I need to run.

My heart races, but I can’t move.

A flash of movement makes me turn my head: a familiar shape bounds through the blizzard. ‘Gandalf!’ He jumps in front of me, hackles raised, lips pulled back to reveal sharp, dangerous teeth. He snaps and snarls with the ferocity of an animal willing to fight to the death.

The draugr strides towards me. Its filthy hair streams in the wind and blood drips from the claws of its hand, leaving a trail of red in the snow.

Gandalf’s barks become frenzied. Steam rises from his body and foam drips from his jaws. He dips his front legs, ready to attack, then leaps into the air and sinks his teeth into the creature’s arm. The draugr stumbles, unbalanced, and swings its arm, lifting the dog high off the ground. Gandalf’s jaw is locked, refusing to let go.

The draugr punches the dog with its other hand and I wince at the brutal blow. ‘Leave him alone!’ I scream. I run towards Gandalf, determined to save him. The draugr throws open its arm and the dog flies through the air and thumps to the ground. He gives a pitiful whimper and is silent. Tears stream down my face. ‘I’m sorry, Gandalf! I’m sorry!’

Sobbing, I lurch away, arms flailing desperately. The dark shape of the tree shivers ahead, only a dozen paces from me. The Norns – they have to help!