Thora against the Undead

The men had long ago left the village, left their farms and homesteads, and gone off to die behind some chieftain or another. It was the end of the world, after all, one last chance for glory. And what could happen to those left behind in Skálabrekka?
The men would not take Thora. She stayed with those too young to fight, those bound to the distaff, and those too old to fight. The men would sometimes let her travel on the summer raids, sometimes let her leave the ships to heave a spear or twang a bowstring. But now she was left with the women, given over to them for their protection. She was the only blade in Skálabrekka.
In truth she did not mind. Many of the older women she called aunt, as much by blood as by circumstance. And had she not had a hand in raising the little ones herself?
That night she laid on the bench, not sleeping but not awake, though her bedmate slept soundly beside her. Some animal instinct held her thoughts; she was as prey paralyzed by the gaze of an invisible predator, gripped by some primeval fear. And so she was when she heard hoofbeats outside.
On that cloudless night, she rose to the doorway and saw a thing then full in the moonlight. It was the size of a man, indeed it had all of a man's features, but it was black as a corpse, no, nigh blue in the silvery light. It was lean and haggard, its skin was waxy but otherwise free of imperfections. Its beard was unkempt and its eyes were wild. It was stark naked and held a club in one hand, and in the other... a sack? The horse it rode was sweating and foaming at the mouth.
As one in a dream, Thora watched the thing dismount, watched it let its burden fall to the damp ground, and then watched as it stepped through the village, staring into several of the quiet buildings in turn. The entire time, it was surrounded by some serene glow. It then returned to the village center, roughly drew out a human head from the sack, and laying it on a stone, proceeded to smash it to bloody ruin. Thora fully awoke, then, and realized that the stillness was an illusion of sleep. The buildings around her, empty of life, crackled and burned. She noticed the orange light now.
Hardly thinking, she grabbed a seax from a nearby table and howled battle. Those dim from sleep, hardly disturbed by the sound of breaking skull, now woke with a fright. Thora rushed from her lodging and threw herself bodily into the thing, and straddling its chest now, stabbed into its ribs and neck. The thing bled not, not really, but each time her blade found the waxy flesh, some thick black ichor formed on the surface. Finally, the thing ceased to struggle. It breathed no more - though with a chill she realized it had not drawn breath for the whole of their encounter.
She realized then, too, that the thing was not alone. Some half-dozen similar creatures awaited on the edges of the village, had been the ones who set the blazes. The corpse-black things now all looked upon her with a hunger bordering on lust and began a slow approach. So she ran back into her lodgings, putting shovel, hammer, a distaff, a rasp, even a drinking horn into the hands of the women.
When the first of the things breached the threshold, it was met with a shovel clang to the face and fell back stunned. Most of the women were frightened to leave their shelter, but Thora emboldened them. She shouted insults at the things, called on the gods, and slashed her seax wildly as she charged out of the embattled shelter. Though some were in the winter of their lives, with their hands trembling in the night cold, the women went after her, and so they met their foes in the village courtyard.
The corpse-black things were clumsy fighters all, and armed with rustic weapons if at all. But they fought as ones with no fear of death, and their cursed flesh repelled blows. And the women found courage, too - for doubtless death was the best they could hope for from the encounter. Both sides fought, tooth and nail, til few remained. The invaders, dripping from countless wounds, pressed on, as Thora's valkyries collapsed lifeless to the mud. Even the thing first felled by Thora had risen and renewed its assault.
And though few remained behind Thora, they fought, and the fire blazed around them. Hay caught, and buildings collapsed. The corpse-black things recoiled from the heat, in fact their cursed flesh seemed to sizzle and smoke. Thora replaced her short blade with a firebrand, and swinging on the devils, finally found her blows to count, her foes going up in flame as a funeral pyre.
When finally the last lay crumbling to ash, and herself and her followers themselves blistered and burnt, Thora looked about the village. There was no saving it. The things had plainly sought to drive the women out in a panic, to capture them unawares for who knows what purpose, and to leave nothing in their wake. But Thora lived, and with three others, no less brave, walked off into the night.