by C. L. Werner
“I’ll remind all Asgard of my valor,” Tyr said. He turned his back on his father and brother and stalked away from the platform. One of the wolves stepped into his path, but for once it knew better than to bare its fangs at him. A single glance had it draw back with its tail between its legs.
The Asgardians gave ground to Tyr’s anger as quickly as the wolf had. A path was cleared for him as he withdrew from Odin’s hall. Only one voice called after him, that of Bjorn Wolfsbane, a young huntsman from Varinheim. Tyr rebuffed Bjorn’s effort to draw him back to the feast and kept walking.
In his heart a new determination smoldered. Thor might have surpassed Tyr’s status as Asgard’s greatest hero, but he would remind his younger brother of his mettle. He would show Odin that the God of War was still capable of mighty deeds.
Two
The great city was miles behind Tyr when he reached the Greenfirm, the quiet forest on the Plain of Ida. Many were the times when he sought repose in its tranquility, but such were his brooding thoughts that every sight and sound only seemed to vex him. There was no satisfaction to be had in the crisp smell of the pines, no joy to be found in the vibrant songs of the birds. Everything felt like an intrusion on his problems rather than a refuge from them.
He looked at the arboreal splendor of the land. His eyes caught a deer watching him from behind a stand of bushes, ready to bolt at the least hint of aggression. He saw a badger pushing earth out from its burrow, its dirty nose twitching as it sniffed the air and caught his scent. A flash of color and he caught the crimson brush of a fox vanishing into a hollowed log. This, Tyr mused, was why it was so easy for him to resent his brother’s ever-rising fame. Thor was brave and valiant, but he gave too little thought to what he was charged with protecting when he struck out on his bold adventures. Asgard wasn’t just the people, but the forests and rivers, the mountains and meadows, the trees and animals. All of it was Odin’s domain and therefore it was their duty to defend it. Tyr worried Thor focused too much on what was to be gained by his forays across the Nine Worlds and not enough on what could be lost.
The sound of running feet stirred Tyr from his somber pondering. He turned about and saw a man hurrying toward him through the forest. A head shorter than the god’s imposing stature, the man was more stoutly built with broad shoulders and a bull-like neck. His limbs were thickly muscled, his leather leggings and jerkin stretched taut when they flexed. His pale blond hair was tied into a long braid and the beard that fell from his chin was likewise twined into plaits and beaded with the sharp fangs of dire wolves from Varinheim’s remote woodlands. The black pelt of one of these massive predators had been shaped into the cloak he wore, the preserved head of the animal serving him as both hood and helm. From the loops of his belt, a set of throwing axes hung, and a large, double-headed war axe was slung across his back.
“I’ve been following your trail for hours,” the man said, stopping his run to draw breath into his panting lungs.
Tyr smiled and shook his head. “Surely my path wasn’t so difficult to find that it taxed the endurance of Bjorn Wolfsbane?” He wagged a reproving finger at the huntsman. “You indulged too freely in Odin’s hall and drowned your stamina in ale and mead.”
Bjorn returned the smile with a laugh. “If that’s true, then it means I’m getting old. No longer do I want to hear you call me a young pup.”
“That is just the sort of thing a young pup would say,” Tyr observed. He looked over the huntsman for a moment. “Your beard’s grown longer, but I still see too much of the boy who came to the City of Asgard and begged to enter my service. The one who vowed to bind the grip of his axe with hairs from the Great Wolf’s tail.”
“And you said one day you would take me back to Varinheim and show me where the beast is bound,” Bjorn reminded him. “It needs someone who knows the way to find the valley where Fenris is chained.”
The rejoinder killed the smile that had so briefly worked its way onto Tyr’s countenance. “Don’t be overeager to seek out monsters. They tend to find their way to you in their own time.”
Bjorn was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, it was on the topic that had sent him hurrying after Tyr. “Your abrupt departure from the feast has upset Odin and Frey. They say it was a grave insult you did your brother and one that won’t quickly be forgotten. Frigga spoke on your behalf, reminding the All-Father that though your words may have been ill-chosen, the sentiment behind them was sincere.”
Tyr had expected as much. Odin was wise, but he also had a quick temper that often slipped past his wisdom. To have remained would only have made the situation worse, driving still more anger into an argument already charged with emotion. He might have expected his mother to take his defense, just as the Vanir Frey and many of the other gods would side with Odin. Curiosity put a question to his tongue. “Did anyone else speak for me?”
Bjorn nodded. “Yes. Your brother.”
“Which one?” Tyr asked. “Balder? Hermod? Vidar?” He didn’t like to think it would be Loki, for the more he considered the god’s slippery ways, the more he came to realize that it was he who had provoked Tyr into what had happened at Odin’s table. If Loki was pushing further into the matter it could only be to advance some deeper scheme.
“No. It was Thor who tried to lessen your father’s ire,” Bjorn said. The surprise Tyr felt must have shown on his face, for the huntsman hurried to continue. “He reminded Odin of what you’d done for Asgard and that you’d earned the right to speak as you did.”
Tyr frowned and turned away. Such fairness from Thor after their heated exchange only made him feel worse than he already did. Not merely for casting a pall on his brother’s victory, but because for the first time he began to wonder if, after all, it wasn’t right that the God of Thunder should eclipse the God of War as Asgard’s greatest hero. Yet another reason for him to envy Thor’s defeat of Ymir. It was an untarnished victory.
“It is right that I leave the city,” Tyr said. “I am no longer the champion our people need.”
Bjorn looked at him with shock in his eyes. The wolfhunter from Varinheim venerated Tyr and had often told him that he was all an Asgardian should aspire towards. He did so now, trying to reassure him of his greatness. “Asgard will always need you. Who among the gods is as devoted to the defense of the realm as you are? Who trained our warriors to fight as an army, not as a disorganized horde? Who argued to raise new walls about the city after the war with the Vanir and then planned their defense against the giants of Jotunheim?” He clenched his fist and cracked his knuckles to emphasize what he felt was the greatest accomplishment of all and the one that had caused him to worship Tyr. “It was your hand that rested in the mouth of Fenris when all the other gods trembled before its threat. You knew what it meant, what it would cost you, but you didn’t balk from the sacrifice.”
Tyr gave Bjorn a grave look. “It is that deed, more than any other, by which I am diminished,” he said. They were words he’d never spoken to Bjorn before. When the huntsman looked at the metal cup covering his stump, he knew that his meaning was mistaken. “I do not mean the loss of my hand. Though I may no longer be the fiercest archer in all Asgard, I’ve honed my sword until I’m as matchless with it as I ever was with the bow.” He dropped his hand to the gold-hilted sword that hung from his belt.
“A different blight taints the greatest deed of my life,” Tyr continued. He had come this far, he intended to explain all to Bjorn. “The bravest thing that any god in Asgard has done, save my father when he hung upon the World Tree. There is none who can take the courage of my act from me.” Tyr scowled, and his hand plucked at the bindings around his sword’s grip. “No, there was great courage in that moment. But there was also terrible shame. A shame that cannot be undone, for it would mean the ruin of Asgard.”
Bjorn shook his head. “I don’t understand,” he confessed. “How can a deed be both brave and shameful?”
/> “The binding of the Great Wolf,” Tyr explained, “was built upon treachery.”
The God of War closed his eyes, recalling the moment that was forever etched upon his soul.
Three
The Great Wolf towered above the gods, its eyes gleaming with sardonic humor. The beast exuded an arrogant confidence, a ferocious disdain for the world and everything within it. Such was its might that nothing could oppose its strength. It was whispered among the seers that one day Fenris would stretch its jaws and swallow both sun and moon, so enormous would its power have become.
The wolf made its lair in a narrow valley in the snowy mountains of Varinheim. Odin had made that decree years ago, when Fenris grew too enormous to dwell with the gods in the city of Asgard. Though the beast could change its size and even alter its shape somewhat, it preferred a gigantic aspect to better show off its ever-increasing power. After it attacked the goddess Idunn, the All-Father decided the wolf was becoming too dangerous to allow to roam the city. Haakun the Hunter, who’d intervened and saved Idunn from the wolf’s attack, had been charged with removing the beast to Varinheim, at the very edge of Asgard. Time had only made the beast more powerful, however, and it was widely believed it accepted its exile more from choice than any deference to Odin’s authority. One day it would defy Odin’s rule and ravage the whole of Asgard.
Tyr felt a shiver run through him when he looked up at the Great Wolf. Fenris had grown even larger than the last time he’d laid eyes on the beast. The wolf now stood a hundred feet at the shoulder, ten times as big as when it left the city of Asgard. Then it had been strong enough to snap a giant in half with its jaws and to dig up the roots of a mountain with its paws. He’d seen it devour an entire herd of cattle at a single meal and lap a pond into a mere puddle to quench its thirst. Once it had taken all of Odin’s sons to wrestle the wolf to the ground when they were playing with the beast, and even their combined strength had barely been able to hold Fenris. How much greater had its power become in the years since?
The wolf’s valley was littered with evidence. Poking up from the snow were the splintered fragments of hundreds of chains. Fetters of iron, steel, and Uru, even a great cord that had been sculpted from molten granite and a cable of forged obsidian lay shattered and forgotten about the wolf’s lair. All had been crafted for the express purpose of binding Fenris, but none had been equal to the beast’s strength. Others of Loki’s monstrous brood had been bound by the gods. The great serpent Jormungand was chained in the seas of Midgard, and the sinister Hela was sent to govern the spirits of the dead in Hel, but the Great Wolf resisted all efforts to restrain it.
The wolf exulted in the failures of the gods to bind it. Like badges of honor it wore the broken chains, their links just visible amid the thick gray fur that clothed its massive frame. They were a visible reminder to all who gazed on Fenris of the beast’s might and that its strength was such that it could brazenly defy the will of Odin. Indeed, since being exiled to Varinheim, the wolf had become more savage than it had ever been before. Now it didn’t simply devour the herds and flocks, but ate those who tended the animals as well. Entire villages had been massacred by the marauding beast, fairly daring the gods to try to stop it.
“To think we once made sport of that thing.” The remark was spoken by Balder, but the quivering tone to his voice was alien to his usual boisterous nature. Tyr looked over at his brother and saw that a shadow had fallen across his bright features.
“Now the beast makes sport of us,” Thor agreed, one hand clamped about Mjolnir’s head. He too was shaken by how mighty Fenris had grown. He looked at his hammer, a weapon that had slain more giants than any other in Asgard’s arsenal, with a troubled cast in his eyes. Tyr could well guess his brother’s worry. Would even his famed hammer have the power to hurt the Great Wolf if it came to a fight? Such combat had been forbidden by Odin, so it was clear their father’s wisdom led him to believe who would prevail in such a fray.
Tyr shook his head. Odin had done more than merely forbid Thor to fight Fenris, he’d commanded that no god, be they Aesir or Vanir, should battle the Great Wolf. Doing so, it was argued, would only provoke the beast. While it was content to remain in Varinheim, at least the rest of Asgard was spared its rampages.
“At least Fenris is still amused by us,” Tyr commented. He gave his brothers a grim nod. “I think it knows how powerful it has become. It stays here because a whim makes it do so.” He frowned and slammed his fist into his palm. “Or else it is biding its time. Waiting until its strength has grown to such a degree that there’s not the least chance we could defeat it in battle.” Tyr noticed one of the wolf’s ears twitch and it seemed to him that a sneer curled the corner of its mouth.
“You should be mindful of what you say. The Great Wolf has sharp ears.” The admonishment came from one who should know, the monster’s own father. Loki sighed and waved his hand at the giant beast. “Underestimating an adversary is always reckless.”
Two dozen of Asgard’s gods had made the journey to Varinheim, the same as always came for the yearly contest with Fenris. Odin said any more than that would leave the realm exposed to dangers from the giants and other invaders, but any fewer would be too few to intimidate the wolf and make it show even a modicum of deference to them. Still, except for the All-Father himself, who came and who stayed was always changing. This, however, was only the second time the capricious Loki had been selected to make the trip.
Tyr looked to where Odin sat astride Sleipnir, conversing with Fenris, his golden armor glittering in the wintry sun. The King of Asgard was the only Aesir that the wolf still deferred to and his was the only voice that retained any authority at all over the beast. Knowing this, Tyr wondered why their father had asked Loki to join them this time. Though he’d sired Fenris, the days when the wolf felt any sort of obligation to its parent were long past. Why then had Odin made it a point to bring Loki along? Truly, the wisdom he’d gained from sacrificing his eye at the roots of Yggdrasil led to strange choices.
“Are your words for us or for your spawn?” Thor put the question to Loki.
“I’ve as little to gain as anyone else if Fenris takes it in mind to extend its territory beyond Varinheim,” Loki countered. “It is a willful beast and attends my speech as little as it does your own.” He nodded towards Odin. “That our father can still command even a small measure of obedience is a testament to his power.”
“Perhaps it is because your father treats Fenris with respect.” There was a note of sadness in Frigga’s tone when she spoke. There was no reproach on her face when she looked at Loki, only an expression of pained regret. “A child nurtured on love may grow into greatness. A child weaned on hate is shackled with a chain stronger than any that we’ve tried to bind the wolf with.”
Tyr hated to disagree with his mother, but he felt that on this point she let herself be blinded by idealism. He thought of how greatly she’d indulged Loki and how malicious he was despite – or perhaps because of – that affection. There were some who simply had a darkness within them, a darkness that wasn’t banished by compassion but simply found in the love of others a thing to be exploited. In that respect, Fenris wasn’t so different from its father.
“Mother, your sympathy for Fenris is misplaced,” Tyr said. “Even if there was a time when it could have responded to compassion, that time is long past. When it attacked Idunn and tried to steal the golden apples for her, the wolf showed its true nature. It was testing to see if we had the strength to stop it. It responds only to strength. Odin knows this, just as he knows the Great Wolf will one day be stronger than all of us.” Tyr’s hand closed about the hilt of his sword as he stared again at the colossal beast. “If it isn’t already stronger than us.”
“I thought only to protect Asgard,” Loki said. Whether feigned or genuine, his voice echoed Frigga’s regretful tone. “I tried to make Fenris a weapon against the giants, to protect us all from the
threat of Jotunheim. My failing was to be too single-minded in that purpose. I taught the wolf how to be strong and to fight, but not why it should fight. Too late did I see that error.” His eyes swept across the faces of the other gods as he made his apology. “I did bring the wolf to Asgard, tried to teach it to love our city as we do, but by then its heart was too filled with savagery to have a place for such sentiments.”
Tyr wondered how much of Loki’s remorse had to do with his inability to make use of Fenris for his own schemes, if he would have any regret at all if the beast remained obedient to him. Still, perhaps there was a germ of truth in what his brother had tried to do. The pups sired by Fenris were growing into loyal and devoted creatures, strong and noble in their lupine way. Odin and Frigga were raising them, careful to avoid the mistakes that made the Great Wolf so ferocious.
“So now it comes to this,” Frigga said. She gripped the enchanted cord crafted by the dwarves of Nidavellir. Gleipnir it had been named, and according to the dwarves it had been forged from such arcane materials as the roots of a mountain, the beard of a woman, and the breath of a fish. Tyr well knew the secret ways of dwarves and that whatever process they’d used, they wouldn’t reveal it to anyone, even the All-Father.
“Don’t be glum, mother,” Balder advised. “If the thought of shackling Fenris upsets you, remember the wolf has broken mightier chains than this.” He was smiling when he spoke, but Tyr could see the emptiness in his expression. Like all of them, he was frightened by the prospect that they might never find a way to bind the beast.
“The dwarves must be desperate to render such a fetter up to Odin,” Thor said. “Gleipnir looks too delicate to hold a lamb, much less the Wolf of Wolves.”
