The following is an excerpt from my forthcoming fantasy short story 'Pompeii'. For more information and news, please visit my facebook page

Somerset, England. Present Day
I felt the pull for weeks. South. Always South, away from my Somerset home. As usual, I tried to resist, tried to fight it. Dog watched with good-humoured patience, knowing me better than I know myself, even after all this time. He watched me potter around, watched me clean and prepare my weapons, and then watched me pack them all away carefully. Stretched out in front of the fire, one languid eye open, he seemed to be laughing at my futile resistance to fate.
Eventually, inevitably, I conceded that the power which rules my life is indeed stronger than me. So, not entirely without ill-humour, I roused him and we left late on an April night. I much prefer to begin a journey under a full moon. By the time the sun rises, one is far from home, seeing a new part of the world revealed by the sun for the first time. It didn't surprise me that I went. But it did surprise me that when I stood on the cliffs looking at the slate grey of the English Channel, I was still being pulled South. This was a new development. And an unwelcome one. Leaving the land of my birth had never been something I'd expected to have to do – and in fact was somewhat counter to my purpose. The promise I made to my wife as she died hadn't left room for holidays. Nonetheless, that promise had sustained me far beyond the normal count of a man's years. I leave it to you to decide whether that is a blessing or not. Apart from an unwelcome longevity, there are benefits.
I found a comfortable spot on the short grass, sat down and began to pray. The day passed. The sun dropped, the sea mist began to rise, and I made my way down to the shore, Dog trailing behind me, as watchful as ever.

The Longship emerged slowly from the fog, silent as the grave. No creak or groan from the timbers. But the crew were there to greet me. They lined the bows, fear and hate boiling off them in waves. Two archers nocked their arrows. I swallowed hard, Dog growled. But neither of us stepped back.
'Step forward and be known!'
The voice hissed and fizzed like the surf, powerful but befuddled. I sighed.
'Ubba. It's me.'
Apparently, he was in a bad mood. Two arrows cut into the wet sand near my feet. I looked at Dog. He looked back, eyes questioning. I spoke softly.
'I already killed them once, not sure twice would do any good.' I raised my voice. 'Ubba, you goat-suckled son of a whore, get your arse out here and greet me like a man!'
Dog stared at me, as did the crew. I lifted my left hand, and the ship shuddered to her keel, as if grounded.
'Ubba. Get the hell out here now, or I'll split your ship in half like firewood. Again.'
The ranks on board, shaken by the sudden stop, stumbled. After a moment, the man himself shouldered his way to the front. He was a big man, bigger by almost half than his crew, and he was angry. He wore mail and plate, the wounds I had given him still bright in contrast, despite the thousand years or more since I had laid him to rest beneath what is now known as the Bristol channel.
'The hell you want, Draugr? Let us rest!'
His Scandaiavian dialect was hard to decipher, and after so many centuries I wasn't sure I still had enough fluency to speak it. I opted for colloquial old English instead.
'Later. I need passage.'
'Swim.'
I sighed. Ubba could be tiresome, and I was getting less patient as the centuries wore on. I raised my hand again, the longship staggered, and now the timbers screamed.
For a moment I almost thought he'd make me do it, just out of spite. But he knew I'd just kill him again, and then raise him up. Again. All it would cost me was time, and I had plenty of that. In the end, he relented, and I boarded. The crew shuffled back unwillingly, and one of them spat on the deck, but Dog growled. The Norseman suddenly found something better to do on the other side of the ship.
'So, Draugr, why did you wake us?'
The voice hissed through clenched teeth. I turned to look at Ubba. It involved looking up, the old pirate being nearly a foot taller than me.
'South, Ubba, I need to go south.'
'How far south?'
'Until I tell you to stop. Enough talk. Lets go.'
With that he grunted, walked away and started barking unintelligable orders.

***

Somerset, England. 878AD.
There was going to be a battle. Twenty-eight Viking ships had sailed into the bay below the hillfort known as Cynuit, their sails flapping in the breeze. The Saxon defenders had withdrawn into the lofty fortification, following their leader, Odda. I didn't particularly like him. Neither did he like me, or the men who followed me. We kept ourselves apart for that reason, and for others. It didn't much matter to me who won - we were Dumnonii, and these had once been our lands, as far East as what is now known as the River Parrett, and beyond. That didn't really matter to me either. Our people hadn't been the first there, the Saxons woudn't be the last, nor the Vikings who would inevitably follow them. Our blood still ran in the veins of the people, intermingling, and would do so down the centuries. They would all become my people, eventually. Several centuries of life will do good things for your perspective on tribe, race and the rest of it. My job, and that of the men who followed me was to protect the people, now and until my promise was fulfilled.
Even if the outcome of the battle was unimportant to me, I still had a purpose in being there. There was something I needed. Most of the invading ships were drawn up below, their crews gathered in war formation under Odin's Raven banner, flapping powerfully in the sea breeze. But one still held offshore, perhaps as a flexible reserve in case the Saxons managed to outflank their comrades. Or maybe the captain was in disgrace, held back from the joy of slaughter. I sighed. Nothing changes as slowly as men.
Odda approached our small group, flanked by his two most senior warriors. They looked uneasy, as if they would rather face the raiders below than acknowledge our being there. Christians they may have been, but soldiers are superstitious, no matter what God they follow. He eyed me distastefully.
'I would speak with you. Alone.'
I nodded my assent, and we moved some distance from the others. Looking down from the top of the hill over the channel, we could just about see the mass of land the other side, dark and brooding. Odda seemed reluctant to open his mouth, so I started for him.
'A fine day for a battle, if such a day were to exist.'
He looked sideways at me.
'You think there will be a battle? We can wait them out here.'
We both knew that to be a lie.
'You have no water up here. The Norsemen do down there. If you stay, you die.'
'What you say is true.' He turned to look at me. Now we were getting to the point. 'You are the one they call Guardian.' He looked even more uneasy.
'I have heard them call me that, yes.'
'The Britons say you have lived forever. That you cannot be killed.'
'My people like a good story.'
He grunted with what could have been amusement.
'Be that as it may, I have heard stories of your skill. And you carry yourself like a born warrior.'
What could I tell him? That I had been born far away, captured by the Romans and used as a guide and translator? That I had been adopted by the Dumnonii when I married the daughter of a local noble? That she had died when darkness descended upon our village, and that my last promise to her as she lay dying had been, having failed to protect her, to protect our people for as long as life was in my body? Or that the Goddess of The Deep had heard my promise and blessed, or cursed, me with an extended life and power that I still didn't fully understand? Perhaps not. So instead I shrugged, and let him draw his own conclusions. He stared at me a while, then lowered his voice.
'They say you serve a Goddess.'
'That is true.'
'Is she powerful?'
I smiled, gently.
'She's a Goddess.'
I met his look, and he bowed his head, and kicked at a pebble.
'I serve a Christian King. And I am a Christian. But I think perhaps today, I am a warrior first. And as such, I ask for your help.' He paused. 'And that of your Goddess.'
Life is so much easier when you take religion out of it.
'On one condition.'
He looked at me, the question in his eyes.
'Spoils.'
'If we win, and you live, you may take what you wish. What would you have?'
I pointed past him, to the ship in the bay with it's crew still aboard.
'That.'
He laughed.
'Her crew may not let you take her.'
'I want them too.'
I smiled back at him, and something in my face silenced his laughter. He looked scared again.
'Where I come from, Odda, you keep what you kill.'