The wind shrieked around his body, trying to find a way to penetrate the furs and chainmail shielding him from its elemental fury. Olaf pulled his furs higher around his face and struggled on, putting one foot in front of the other, trying not to think of how he had been doing exactly that for hours on end, with no result. He was a warrior, so, of course, he had no fear of death. But this wasn’t the way it was supposed to end, blasted and frozen in the middle of a blizzard.
Ever since he was a young boy, Olaf had dreamed of the day he would leave this life. It would be a magnificent battle, and his great battle-axe would cut its way into legend, felling men like kindling, until the enemy reinforcements arrived and he was brought down, still fighting, by sheer weight of numbers. Songs would be sung about his heroic deeds. Women would weep and tear their clothes.
But it was no use. He would die here, in the middle of an ice-field, and his passing would go unnoticed.
The thought weighed heavy on his mind and he resolved that he would still go out fighting. Lowering his head against the invisible blades that assailed him, he staggered a few more feet.
His legs refused to obey. He sank to his knees and the snow rose to his waist, a deadly blanket beckoning to him. With a silent prayer to the gods of his youth, Olaf fell forward into a white grave.
*
Even death provided no rest. Something was hitting him in the ribs. Hard. Again, and again. Olaf moaned and the beating stopped. It was replaced by hands that took hold of his furs and lifted him from the warm snow.
Someone was talking to him. He couldn’t make out the words, but it was definitely a voice. Perhaps it was a Valkyrie, taking him to join the other lost souls in the underworld. He tried to hear what it was saying.
“…die here. You’re blocking the door.”
It didn’t sound like any ritual he had ever heard. He tried to turn his head. Maybe if he saw the angel’s lips…
A swift kick caught him in the stomach. The angel was making sure he was dead. That was alright. Olaf closed his eyes.
“Move, you maggot. A corpse is bad for business. Crawl somewhere else to die.”
Extract from Tales From The Crying Room, a combined paperback-only version of the stories contained in Anthology of Snippets, plus a few other short stories, and a radio play I wrote for a competition (I didn’t win).
Books available dirt-cheap on Amazon. And on Amazon.co.uk. Free on Kindle Unlimited.
Or you can find them at Curiosity, the new retail shop open from Wednesday to Sunday, 11am till late, at the Railways Cafe in Pretoria.
Catch me with other local authors at The Real Mackay Book Fair in Blairgowrie on the 26th & 27th of October. It should be a blast.
Keep an eye out for one of my stories in the upcoming “25 Gates of Hell” anthology. And another couple of stories in the South African anthology “Flambé, Silk Tie Murder, and the Rooibos Baby.”
Till next time.
Cheers.
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