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He looked like an avenging angel, gracefully leaping over the wall of shields with his sword extended as if it were a third arm. Time seemed to slow down as Ayda watched him, the exhaustion in his face gone and only the deadly weapon remaining.
His sword cut through the draugr, not harming it but causing enough discomfort for it to shriek and fly off. Hùisdean collapsed to the ground, dropping his sword. To Ayda's horror, his face had aged fifty years. Hùisdean's hair had gone from blonde to white, and there were age lines around his eyes.
“Hùisdean!” Ayda screamed, stunned by the sight. He picked his head up, breathing heavily, and tossed her a wink.
“Not as pretty after going after a draugr, eh?”
“No, behind you!” Ayda started running, praying her rusted dagger wouldn't shatter, preparing to toss it at the draugr descending on Hùisdean.
She was only a few feet from him when she threw the weapon. Her stomach plummeted to her feet when the dagger practically evaporated as she tossed it, breaking into a thousand rusted pieces.
The draugr was practically on top of Hùisdean, and his regiment was too plagued by other spirits to break free. Ayda's vision condensed to a single point. All she could see was the specter’s bony, skeletal hand reaching out toward Hùisdean like the Grim Reaper.
Ayda threw herself on top of Hùisdean's body, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and picking her head up to scream at the approaching draugr.
“You cannot claim what is not yours to take!” Ayda shouted at the top of her lungs. A surge of unfamiliar magic rushed through her body, reminding her of ice and snow. Her fingers twitched with the power of winter as Ayda stared into the empty black sockets of the draugr.
“BE GONE!” Her voice cracked as she screamed as loud as she could. A rush of icy, fresh air swept the great hall, pushing the dead scent and rotting wind of decay out. All at once, the draugr fled, shrieking in discontent as if they objected to their disposal but had no choice but to disappear out the windows as rapidly as they had come.
The immediate silence was heavy, and the sudden loss of noise was palpable. After a full minute, only the creaks of armor and shocked sounds of the elves could be heard. Ayda could barely distinguish anything over the pounding of her blood in her ears and the draining feeling of frozen magic melting in her body, turning back into the soft magic of the earth that she recognized.
Ayda slid off Hùisdean's back, attempting to catch her breath. Hùisdean turned to look at her and made eye contact. Ayda gasped when she realized his youth had been fully restored.
Everything started to spin, and Ayda began clawing at the stone floor for support. Hùisdean seemed to sense her discomfort and pulled himself up to his feet, extending his arms towards her.
“Ayda? Are you okay? How did you stop them…” His voice got quieter and quieter as Ayda succumbed to the darkness.
Chapter Ten
Acool, damp cloth was placed against Ayda’s forehead, stirring her from the blackness. She blinked her eyes rapidly as she came to, immediately fumbling for a weapon within reach.
“Hey, hey, don't worry.” Hùisdean's voice was low. “There's no threat. They're gone.”
“How the fuck did you get rid of them?” Wyn practically shouted in earnest from the corner.
“Hush, child!” Imra hissed.
Ayda's vision returned in full, and she realized she was back in her guest apartments at Carenlume. Hùisdean was seated beside her while Wyn, Elion, and Imra were gathered around the foot of the bed.
“Are you feeling okay, Ayda?” Elion put his hands on the edge of the bedframe and leaned forward. “I can't tell you how upset we are that this happened.”
Hùisdean's head dropped slightly in embarrassment. Ayda noticed that the family was more than a little ashamed of the effects of the ongoing curse on the island.
“No, please, it's hardly your fault.” Ayda sat up straighter and extended a hand towards the king and queen. “I knew that the Shetland Islands were suffering when I arrived. It's why Hùisdean brought me here. I understand. I could never hold you responsible for the…dragons? Drag…?” Ayda turned to Hùisdean, and she searched for the word.
“Draugr,” he repeated quietly. His eyes had a haunted look that Ayda didn’t know how to respond to. Hùisdean had always been full of energy and sarcasm, but she'd never seen him look so defeated.
“Yes, draugr. Are they common since the curse fell?”
“Very much so,” Wyn supplied. “They're half the problem. The other half is that everyone's magic is slowly depleting, but dealing with those things is becoming a weekly occurrence.”
“How do you fight them? I went through one of them and thought I'd never be warm again.” Ayda shivered at the memory.
“That sounds about right.” Elion nodded solemnly. “They're the undead, and they carry the essence of death. They'll suck the life right out of you if you're not careful. They drain magic. You saw how weapons rusted and aged in their presence. You can't fight them too long, or you won't bounce back. If you defeat them quick enough, their leeching won't stick.”
Ayda turned towards Hùisdean again, needing to assure herself that his vitality had been returned.
“As far as we can tell, you need to tire them out or swipe at them until they get bored. The trick is to go in waves, so no one person fights them head-on too long.” Hùisdean sounded verbose.
