The Waking Dead

"By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes."

—Macbeth, Act 4, Scene 1, Page 2

(http://nfs.sparknotes.com/macbeth/page_132.html)

Olflek Wulfgarsson's pov
"Odin, protect me!" I prayed as my axe cleaved into an Irishman's neck, half taking off his head. I moved to the next,

"Tyr! Keep your eyes upon me as I wet my blade in the blood of my foes!"

I pulled a stray spear from an Angles' guts and threw it at another of Harold II's men. The Angles were respectable fighters but not nearly as skilled as one of William's mercenary Beserkers from Sweden. These fishermen lived up to their name; in fact the word Angle meant as much to the Saxons. Nevertheless they were as the chaff before a cool breeze.

"And Valykeries," I said, moving through the fray, "keep my fingers strong when and if I die, I die with a weapon in my hand so that I may be with Odin at Ragnarok!"

Then there was a shout and the message passed along the battle-line,

"Fall back!"

I groaned inwardly; their line of infantry was too strong. Several times since nine this morning we would pretend to flee only to turn back into the fray once again. The battle followed us as we retreated.

Before, I was pretty confident, but many more of our enemies followed us than we anticipated. Our leader, a blood soaked Dane with the winged helm of Thor, had wide eyes on the myriad of enemies following us. He spoke with even more urgency,

"Fall back! They're coming!! Fall back!"

Thorki Kremarksson the Black, an Irishman with locks as dark as midnight, laughed over the fray, his cloaked mail stained with splotches of red,

"Let them come!!" He laughed maniacally, "Let them come, death awaits!"

We hacked and we slashed but our shield-wall was actually being pushed back into a cavern. Despite all this, I was going to die laughing with a smile on my face that rivaled my Irish friend, Thorki Kremarksson. Axing another enemy down I looked over the fray and an unsettling form greeted my sight, removing the smile from my face.

Before me was a crowned woman in the distance, her skin blue and evil as some water demon. Her crown was black like obsidian and her form bony and detestable. Two fresh dead bodies were unnaturally sitting next to her. Her robes were white and crows were on her shoulders; but crows also milled about the bodies next to her. One of the bodies looked familiar; with a pierce in its chest as if stabbed through with a sword and his mail cloaked with an Ulfedinn's wolf head. She also bore her black eyes into me...

Eyes darker than the sea on a cold cloudy day.

Darker than Hel.

Darker than death itself.

And then the cavern my shield-wall was in quickly began to collapse.