The Sword of Surtur

by C. L. Werner

  Tyr shook his head. “It has become a question of obligation for them,” he told Thor. “Our father tasked them with crafting a chain to hold Fenris. Until they can do so, their many failures are a blot upon the honor of their people. They will strain the very limits of their knowledge to fulfill their oath.” He laid his hand on Gleipnir, feeling the silky smoothness of its coils. “Frail it might seem, but the dwarves are confident in its strength, and so too is Odin.”

  “If it holds, then it will remain a cruel trick,” Frigga sighed. “Shouldn’t exile be enough?”

  “The wolf won’t remain content to stay in Varinheim forever,” Tyr cautioned. “Even if it were, that would mean abandoning the people of this land to its hunger. To force it from Asgard to Niffleheim or Muspelheim would be pointless as well, even if we could do it. Without a means to hold the wolf it could come back whenever it chose to do so.” Tyr returned his gaze to the monster in the valley. “No, it is here the reckoning between us must happen.”

  Fenris threw its head back, and a long howl rumbled through the valley. Odin turned from the beast and spurred Sleipnir back toward the other gods. The All-Father’s visage was grim when he drew up before them. There was a note of foreboding in his eye.

  “That took longer than usual, my king,” Frigga said, worry in her voice.

  “The Great Wolf wants concessions this time,” Odin replied. He doffed his helm and set it beneath his arm. “Fenris, it seems, grows weary of Varinheim. It wants to expand its territory. Now it will roam Nornheim, Nastrond, and Gundersheim as well.”

  Tyr gazed at his father in shock. “That will subject a quarter of Asgard to the wolf’s marauding! Fenris has snapped every chain that we’ve used on it. Are you so certain Gleipnir will hold that you would enter such an agreement with the wolf?”

  Anger flashed across Odin’s face and he tossed his helm into the snow in a pique of ire. “There was no agreement,” he stated, each word hissing from between his teeth. “Fenris issued demands. It wanted half of Asgard to rove across, everything south of Alfheim and east of Nidavellir. I had to argue with the beast to make it settle for less.” He glanced back at the hulking brute, its lupine eyes fixed on him as it watched him talking with the other gods. “The wolf makes sport of me… me, the All-Father and King of Asgard! It didn’t try to hide from me that it was mocking my efforts to constrain its demands. Each concession I drew from it was like a toy tossed to a child. And, like a toy, what I’ve wrested from Fenris is something it thinks to easily take back when it has the mind to.”

  “If we let Loki’s cur claim these lands as its territory, what is to keep it from demanding all of Asgard?” Thor asked.

  “How would you stop it?” Loki snapped. “Will you swat the Great Wolf with your hammer? You’ve vanquished many giants with that weapon, brother, but don’t think you can overcome all enemies with it. Mighty as it is, it has its limitations.”

  Thor bristled under the chastisement, but Tyr could see that there was a flicker of doubt on his face.

  “Never force a fight you are uncertain you can win,” Odin said. “Fenris has grown much more powerful since it was driven to Varinheim by Haakun.” He nodded to the armored hunter, respectfully acknowledging the historic deed. “If we force the wolf into battle, it is a contest we must win. Because to lose would give Fenris license to rampage across Asgard with no fear that anyone could stop it.”

  Tyr heard the strain in his father’s voice. It was a terrible burden to bear – the responsibility of trying to protect Asgard from the monster, even if doing so meant abandoning parts of it to Fenris. Varinheim had long suffered the wolf’s hunger so that other lands could be free of its menace. The decision to leave other regions to the beast’s doubtful mercy was something Odin would only do when there was no other choice. Tyr appreciated that no good general ever forced a fight he wasn’t certain of winning in some way.

  There was another reason as well. The prophecy of Ragnarok, that final war when the forces of good and evil would determine the fate of the Nine Worlds, was known to the gods. Most claimed that in that conflict, Odin was doomed to fall upon Twilight, the blazing blade of the fire giant Surtur, but there were a few who spoke of a different end for the All-Father. That the King of Asgard would be devoured by a colossal wolf, an omen that wasn’t understood until Loki sired Fenris and the beast became savage. Then that aspect of the prophecy became clear: the Great Wolf was the monster of which the seers had foretold. Tyr wondered if that prediction weighed upon his father and caused his hesitance to force the beast into battle. Prophecy was a difficult thing to gauge. If accurate, did it mean Odin was invulnerable to Fenris until Ragnarok, or did it foretell that if he fought the wolf then he would die, regardless of when that combat occurred? And by avoiding that conflict, could he then avoid the prophecy? Tyr didn’t know, but with his great wisdom, he thought that his father did. Another weight set upon Odin’s shoulders, for it was more than just his own life but the leadership of Asgard that would be lost if the wolf defeated him.

  Another howl rolled through the valley. Fenris took a few steps towards the assembled gods. Its lips drew back, displaying its fangs in a lupine grin. A strain of grumbling utterances rumbled up from its throat, bestial intonations in the language of wolves. The Allspeak, by which the Asgardians could understand the speech of dwarves, elves, trolls, and giants made the sounds intelligible to Tyr. Hurry along and bind me with your chain, Fenris was goading them. I’m eager to prowl my new domains.

  “Bring forth Gleipnir,” Odin declared, scowling at the wolf’s impertinence.

  Balder took the cord from Frigga. Of all the Aesir, Balder was the most beloved, and even Fenris had sworn an oath not to harm him. Alone among them, he could approach the beast without fear of its jaws. Yet, as his brother approached the wolf, Tyr saw the monster’s eyes shift from the heavy collar slung over Balder’s shoulder to the thin cord held in his hands. At once, a gleam of suspicion crept into the wolf’s eyes. It backed away a pace and snarled.

  What trickery is this? Fenris swung its head around and stared at Odin. What manner of chain is this that you think it can bind me?

  “The strongest chains in Asgard are unequal to your strength,” Odin told the wolf. “So now we will start again with the weakest.”

  Fenris took another step back. It bared its fangs at Balder. Stay there. I’ve sworn to bring no harm to you, but do not test my oath too far. When Balder stopped, the Great Wolf lurched forwards. Tyr thought his brother had truly earned the title “the Brave,” for he did not flinch when the monster’s snout was pressed close and its nose snuffled at Gleipnir. A snap of those jaws and he would have vanished into the beast’s gullet.

  This stinks of magic. The wolf reared away and fixed its glowering eyes on Odin again. Is this why you accepted my terms?

  Tyr saw something in that moment that gave him hope. Always before when they’d tried to bind Fenris, the wolf had been brazenly confident. Now it was anxious. It sensed a threat in Gleipnir. “Surely the Great Wolf isn’t afraid to continue our game?” Tyr called to the beast. He recalled all the times the monster had laughingly snapped its fetters. “Where is your confidence now, Wolf of Wolves?”

  The taunt brought smiles to many of the gods, but Odin shot Tyr a look of such gravity that any amusement he felt at the wolf’s uneasiness was instantly gone. There was a peril here that Odin had foreseen that the others hadn’t. Tyr soon learned what that threat was.

  There is trickery here, Fenris growled. It raised one of its feet and pawed the air. A thin cord and a heavy collar. I learned enough of my father’s lying ways to know better than to trust such things. The wolf looked across the assembled gods, then fixed its gaze back on Odin. I will play your game again, but I add another condition. You must promise to set me free if I cannot break the cord.

  Odin bowed his head. “The promise is given,” he said. The All-Father’s voice was so gr
im that he might have been pronouncing his own doom.

  Fenris pawed the air again. To ensure your promise, one of you will put their hand in my mouth. I give my promise as well, not to bite so long as the bargain is upheld. Should your trickery prevail and I can’t break this cord, you must set me free. Otherwise, I snap my jaws and take the hand. The wolf nodded to Balder. I’ve sworn not to harm you, so it must be another who accepts my challenge.

  Odin turned to the other gods. “You need no more proof that Gleipnir will work than the wolf’s fear of it,” he said. “Consider that fact well before you make a decision. Remember what is at stake.”

  Tyr knew the meaning of his father’s words, nor was it lost upon the gods around him. If they could truly bind Fenris, then the lands threatened by the wolf would be saved. At the same time, whoever answered the beast’s challenge was certain to lose their hand. The recuperative powers of the Asgardians were great, but the arcane laws of sacrifice were greater. Odin had surrendered his eye for wisdom and so its loss remained. Whoever gave their hand to bind Fenris, it would likewise be lost forever.

  Uneasy silence held the gods as they pondered the wolf’s demand. Fenris grinned at their indecision, openly mocking their lack of courage and this proof that they meant to trick the beast. Even the usually bold Thor wasn’t able to accept the beast’s challenge. As minutes passed, Tyr saw Odin stir in his saddle. A hideous thought came to him. If no one else rose to the challenge, then the All-Father would take it on himself to do so. Perhaps bearing out the seers who claimed he was fated to perish in the wolf’s jaws.

  “I will accept your challenge,” Tyr called out. He started to step forwards, but Loki grabbed him by the shoulder and held him back.

  Who said that? Fenris growled. Which of you will keep faith with me?

  “Quick, before it sees you,” Loki hissed at Tyr. Before he knew what was happening, the trickster god was standing in front of him, his cloak spread to conceal Tyr.

  Speak up, Fenris barked. Who is it that has the stomach to reach between my fangs?

  “Let me go to the wolf,” Tyr ordered. “I’ll endure no more of its baiting.”

  “Fenris is my child,” Loki said. “Don’t underestimate its cunning. Before you go to it, turn your swordbelt around and shift your shield to the other hand.” Loki gave him a sharp look when Tyr hesitated. “Do it, or your loss will be even worse,” he snapped.

  Tyr hastily complied while Fenris continued to mock the gods for their timidity. He thought Thor was about to respond to the wolf’s goading, but before he succumbed to the beast’s lure, Tyr came forward. “I am here, wolf. You can stop your yapping.” Tyr saw the look of relief that was on the faces of the other gods. All of them knew this sacrifice was essential, but none of them wanted to be the one to render it. Frigga’s expression was anguished; Odin’s visage was riddled with regret. Tyr wondered if his father’s wisdom had enabled him to foresee this moment, the demand of the wolf and the sacrifice that would be rendered. He wondered if Odin knew who would be the one to make that sacrifice.

  With each step he took towards Fenris, Tyr felt dread boiling in the pit of his stomach. His shield felt strange in his right hand, and the sword felt odd resting on his right hip. At least there was the satisfaction of seeing the Great Wolf quail at his approach. It had been so certain none of the gods would risk losing their hand.

  “Let’s see if you can break Gleipnir,” Tyr called to Fenris. He motioned to Balder and his brother stepped beside him and held out the heavy collar.

  “You’ll have to wear this,” Balder told the Great Wolf.

  The beast’s eyes had a touch of fright in them now. It looked from side to side, as though seeking some route of escape. But it was caught by its own pride. Fenris had challenged the gods. It wouldn’t let itself flee from that challenge. Slowly, the brute’s colossal figure began to diminish, reducing itself until it stood only fifteen feet at the shoulder. Then it lowered itself to the ground, resting on its belly while Balder fastened the collar to its neck. It growled at him when he lifted Gleipnir.

  Before you fasten the cord, I’ll have my assurance to be set free. Fenris bared its fangs at Tyr. Your hand, hero, unless you’ve reconsidered your choice.

  “I haven’t,” Tyr said. “My courage is no less than your own.” He started forward to set his hand in the wolf’s mouth. Fenris jerked its head back and glared at him.

  No, not that one. There was a sneering quality to the wolf’s expression as it glowered at Tyr. Your swordhand, hero. That is what you’ll lose if you break faith with me.

  Tyr had automatically reached forward with his right hand. The craftiness in Loki’s plotting was borne out. The shifted belt and shield had deceived Fenris into thinking Tyr was left-handed. By the wolf’s own demand, it was the left hand he held out as he stepped to the monster. The hot, reeking breath of the wolf washed over him as it opened its mouth. Tyr could feel the blood turn cold inside him as he set his hand into the dampness of the beast’s maw. The keen fangs pressed down on his skin and he could feel the strength of the wolf’s jaws. The least exertion and he knew Fenris could snap off his hand in an instant.

  Satisfied with Tyr’s hand in its mouth, Fenris let Balder wind the cord through the collar and fasten its other end to the Uru staple fixed to the valley floor. The Great Wolf rose to its feet again, forcing Tyr to stretch his arm to keep his hand from being cut by the beast’s fangs. Fenris glared at him, but kept its head lowered so that he wasn’t pulled off the ground. More than before, there was an air of panic in the wolf’s eyes.

  Tyr went stumbling from side to side as Fenris strained to snap Gleipnir. Incredible as it seemed, the cord held where mighty chains had failed. A low whine rumbled through the Great Wolf, pulsating down Tyr’s arm until every bone in his body was vibrating from the beast’s mounting panic. There was an almost desperate appeal in its eyes now. It was imploring Tyr to call out to the other gods to free it. That was why Fenris was reluctant to champ down on his hand. Tyr’s peril was the only thing it had left to bargain with.

  They had the Great Wolf! Gleipnir would hold! No longer would the lands of Asgard fear the beast’s ferocity. More, Tyr thought of Odin and the prophecies about him and Fenris. That doom would be averted now, for the wolf would be safely shackled.

  Tyr glanced back at the watching gods. He’d expected to see relief on their faces, even celebration. Instead he saw a mounting horror. They were waiting for Fenris to bite and the longer it hesitated, the more their resolve would falter. All it would need would be for one of them, any one of them, to untie the cord and everything would be undone. Any one of them. His brothers, his father, even his mother. Frigga was unable to look on the scene – how long could she endure before her position as Queen of Asgard no longer repressed a mother’s fear for her son?

  Tyr looked into the wolf’s eyes. The appeal there was piteous, but he reminded himself that Fenris was only so because it was desperate. Set free again, it would be twice the monster it was before, bitter at how it had been tricked. Never again would it make sport with the gods and give them another chance to trap it.

  “No,” Tyr told the Great Wolf. “You’re caught, and you’ll stay caught!” He smiled and raised his right hand. “By the way, this is the one I swing a sword with.”

  Savage in its temper even when it had been in the city of Asgard, Tyr’s jeering and the revelation that Fenris had been cheated incensed the beast. Its jaws came snapping down, the fangs shearing through Tyr’s hand. He was thrown back, blood spurting from the jagged stump. Balder hurried to his side and dragged him away.

  Fenris threw its head back and swallowed Tyr’s hand, then sprang forward in an attempt to claim the rest of his flesh. Gleipnir held it fast, however, and it could only gnash its teeth in futile protest as Balder helped Tyr back to where the other gods stood. Frigga hurried to him, winding her cape about his arm and trying to staunch t
he flow of blood. Odin leaped down from Sleipnir’s back and dashed over to Tyr.

  From his belt, the All-Father removed a small pouch. Odin reached in and produced a small vial and a poultice. “Something to dull the pain,” Odin said, pressing the vial to Tyr’s lips. He handed the poultice to Frigga. “Something to stop the bleeding,” he told her.

  Tyr had felt a stinging cold inside him, but when he drank the contents of the vial it was banished as warmth rushed through him again. He stared into his father’s face. There was guilt in Odin’s eye. Tyr was right, his father had foreseen this. That was why he had the instruments ready to ease his son’s wounds. “It was my choice,” Tyr reassured him. “I knew what it would cost me, but I chose to do it anyway.” The gratitude on Odin’s face when he said these words was even more enervating than the potion he’d been given.

  Oathbreakers! Fenris howled. You swore to release me!

  Odin turned from Tyr and faced the Great Wolf. The monster raged against its bindings. It tried to swell its size to snap the collar, but its efforts only threatened to choke it. Trying to make itself smaller, it was frustrated to find that its bindings shrank to match its attempts to slip free. Try as it might, the wolf couldn’t break the cord.

  “One day one of us will free you,” Odin told Fenris. “But it will not be today, nor many days to come. We made our bargain, beast, but you neglected to say how long Gleipnir would bind you.” The All-Father clenched his fist and shook it at the monster. “Be thankful I have no taste for slaughter, wolf, or I would kill you while you’re shackled for the hurt you’ve done my son!”

  You’ve tricked me, Odin, and your son has cheated me! When I slip free…

  “When you slip free,” Odin snarled at Fenris, his voice more ferocious than the wolf’s growls, “I will be waiting for you, and on that day, you’ll not find me in a merciful mood.”

  Four