by Jane Godman
They walked in silence for several minutes before Vigo felt the subtle change in the stone beneath his feet. Rough rock gradually became smoother until they were walking on marble. The corridor began to widen and brighten until it opened out, leading them into a circular hall. There was a raised platform at one side with a red velvet curtain behind it. Two golden thrones were mounted on the platform and Angrboda and Gunnar moved to sit on them.
Huge windows gave a view of the forest and the lake and Amber frowned. “We walked down, underground. How is that possible?” Before he could speak, she answered her own question. “All part of the magic?”
He nodded. “It takes some getting used to.”
Gunnar’s voice had an echoing quality in the formal room. “There is someone I want you to meet.” He clapped his hands, and a man stepped through the red curtain. “This is Kristof. He will join the brotherhood until Sebastian’s health improves.”
Vigo studied the newcomer. Kristof was an Arctic werewolf, with the same classic coloring and muscular frame as the other members of the brotherhood. Apart from the recent mission when Cindy had stepped in to replace Jenny, there had never been a substitute in the brotherhood. Maybe that explained his feeling of unease. Had he been able to accept Cindy only because he already knew her?
This guy was a stranger. A silent, smiling stranger. He hadn’t felt the same disquiet about Amber joining the team, and she had snapped, snarled, and attempted violence. A quick glance around told him his concern wasn’t shared. The other members of the brotherhood were moving forward to greet Kristof with nose bumps and hugs. All except Amber.
For the first time, she edged closer to him as though she needed him. “Can you feel it?” It was an anguished whisper.
“Feel what?” He kept his own voice low so that only she could hear it.
“I don’t know.” Her gaze was fixed on Kristof. “But I don’t like it.”
As she spoke, Kristof looked in their direction. His smile deepened.
* * *
The whole team moved to another room and the mood swiftly became businesslike. This was more like a modern meeting room and they sat around a central table to discuss the problem on everyone’s mind. Fenrir.
Although she was deeply unsettled by the new arrival, Amber did her best to ignore the feelings he provoked in her. She hadn’t exactly gotten off to the best start herself. She reasoned that if she tried to explain to the others that Kristof gave her the creeps, they were likely to think she was the flaky one. If they hadn’t already formed that opinion. And there was no reason for her dislike. He was doing nice-guy things. Smiling at her. Holding a chair out for her. Offering her a bottle of water. And all the time she wanted to ram her fist into his face and get as far away from him as she could. The only consolation was that Vigo felt the same way.
Why us? Why can’t the others feel it? She spoke the words in her head, just to him.
Vigo shrugged in reply. Maybe we’re imagining it?
We both know that isn’t true.
His golden gaze was steady on hers. For now, let’s pretend it is.
She nodded, turning to the conversation. She needed to get up to speed with the Fenrir story. “Have you been fighting him constantly for the last five years?” She spoke out loud this time, addressing the whole group.
“In a way we have, but we didn’t know it until recently,” Vigo said. “Five years ago, Fenrir escaped from Jotunheim. Disguised as a charismatic cult leader called Van Marsh, he went around the world gathering a huge following. His trade mark is to use mind control over his followers. Fenrir wants to destroy civilization, but he’s cunning. He’ll bide his time and do it slowly, bit by bit. We caught up with him in New York, defeated him, and brought him back here to his cell. The problem was, he had been free for several months before we knew about it. During that time, he had been making connections, forming friendships, setting up insurance policies in case he was taken back into captivity.”
Even though the words were chilling, Amber couldn’t get enough of listening to Vigo. There was something fundamental, she decided, about a person’s voice. Maybe it was because she had cut herself off from human contact as much as she could for so long, but tuning into the rich warmth of his tones told her a lot about Vigo. It told her she could trust him. That he was one of the good guys. That he was sincere and would take care of her. She had never felt that sense of confidence in another person before.
“I don’t understand how anyone would want to form an alliance with Fenrir when he has sworn to destroy humanity.”
“That’s true, but Fenrir is very clever. We should never underestimate him. I doubt he openly declared his final intention to his new friends. Perhaps they never even knew his true identity? Who knows? But once he gave them a demonstration of his power, they’d have been hooked, especially if their intentions were as evil as his own.”
“I’m guessing they were?” Amber said.
“They were. We didn’t know it at the time, but one of the contacts Fenrir made was with Chastel.” Vigo’s expression hardened when he said the name. “Chastel came after the brotherhood, causing us endless problems. He killed one of our former members, a man who was a close friend to all of us and Samson’s father-in-law. We suspected Chastel had powerful support, but it was only about six months ago that we discovered he was in league with Fenrir. Although Chastel is dead, the legacy they built up during their partnership lives on. Fenrir has millions of followers in the human world. The only way we can break his hold over them and stop him doing any further damage is to destroy him for good.”
Amber frowned in an effort to dredge up a memory. “Isn’t there a prophecy that Fenrir will one day kill Odin?”
It was Gunnar who answered. “In Norse legend, there is a story that the gods will face a mighty battle called Ragnarok. During this fight, Fenrir will break free of his chains and devour all in his path, including the sun and moon, the earth itself, and the leader of the gods, Odin.”
“Seems like another powerful reason to get rid of Fenrir,” Amber said. “But if he is capable of doing all that devouring, how the hell are you going to keep him under control when you move him from Jotunheim?”
“You are planning to move Fenrir?” Kristof sat up a little straighter.
“The details of how we do that are one of the things we need to discuss,” Vigo said. “Last time he was on the loose, he was in New York. That was about as bad as it could get, but we were lucky. We managed to capture him before he went on the rampage through the city. The main thing we had on our side that time was his disguise. He was delivering a rally in the middle of Central Park. By the time he’d shifted from civilized Van Marsh to feral Fenrir, the entire brotherhood was on top of him, bringing him down.” Vigo flexed his biceps at the memory. “Even so, containing him was one of the hardest things we’ve ever done.”
“This time, location will be everything,” Wilder said.
“Fenrir may be crazy, but he’s not dumb.” Samson joined in the conversation. “No matter how we do this, he’ll know it’s a trap. He’ll suspect we plan to kill him and will do everything he can to get away.”
“I agree.” Vigo scrubbed a hand over his face as though trying to rub away the weariness intensified by a sleepless night. “He will think he can outsmart us. Our job is to make sure we keep the advantage at all times. Fenrir must never gain control of the situation.”
Watching his face, Amber realized just how deadly and serious the forthcoming confrontation would be. This group had been battling Fenrir for five years and now she was part of it, too. It was a fight for their lives and more. It was a fight for the future of the world.
“That’s why I think we should take Fenrir to Ulu.” There was a murmur of surprise around the table. She got the feeling it was the reaction Vigo had expected. “Gunnar said Fenrir must be killed in a place where his evil can be neutralized.”
“But Ulu?” Samson looked skeptical. “Are you sure?”
“It’s remote, tiny, and has a small population. What objection do you have?” Vigo asked.
“Because it’s Ulu. Because of the undercurrents there.”
“What does that mean?” Amber asked.
“Ulu was the birthplace of Chastel. It’s the place where he gained his magical powers. Ulu is an enchanted island, a place with mystical properties. I guess what Samson is suggesting is that Fenrir may be able to use that magic to increase his own abilities.” Vigo raised a brow at Samson for confirmation.
“You have to admit it’s a possibility,” Samson said.
“Yes,” Vigo agreed. “But Ulu’s magical properties are also part of the reason I’m suggesting it. I believe the island will contain his wickedness. As always, we decide between us.” He looked around the table. “We are in this together. Do we spill his evil blood and allow Ulu to absorb it?”
It was a solemn moment. Amber watched as, one by one, each person nodded his or her agreement. When it came to Angrboda, her green eyes sparkled with tears, but she, too, signaled her approval of the plan.
“How will we get him to Ulu?” Lowell asked.
“Remember when we captured Fenrir in New York?” Vigo turned to Gunnar. “We used a huge, reinforced cage to transport him in a plane from America to Svalbard. Once we got to Svalbard, we brought the cage on a boat to Jotunheim.”
Gunnar nodded. “The cage is still here.”
“I never asked this question at the time”—Vigo grinned—“but, how the hell did you get a chained werewolf the size of a bull—with a sword holding its jaws wide open—past border control?”
Gunnar’s expression shifted from serious to mischievous. “I’m a god. Some of my methods not only go beyond what is legal, they also go beyond what is earthly.”
Vigo returned his friend’s grin. “Then we are going to need you with us.”
“You think I’d miss it?” Gunnar sounded shocked at the idea. “I raised Fenrir as my son. I supervised his imprisonment. No matter how painful, it is my responsibility to see this through to the end.”
“What reason will we give Fenrir for moving him from Jotunheim to Ulu?” Lowell asked.
Vigo lifted an impatient shoulder. “Does it matter? We’ve already established that he’ll see through any excuse.” He sighed. “But you’re right. I suppose we will need to tell him something.”
“If he’s not going to believe it, anything will do,” Madden said. “We could tell him there is a problem with his cell.”
“Or that we’ve had information that someone is planning to help him escape from Jotunheim,” Jenny offered.
“We could say Odin has decreed it . . . no one argues with Odin,” Sebastian said
“It might be best not to mention Odin.” Angrboda intervened for the first time. “Fenrir hates him about as much as he hates all of you, remember?”
A ripple of nervous laughter momentarily lightened the mood then Gunnar became brisk once more. “We should decide on the reason now . . . before we go down to the dungeons to talk to Fenrir.”
* * *
“I don’t know the full details of how Fenrir came to be imprisoned,” Kristof said. It was quite a confession for a werewolf. Even Cindy, who had not been brought up with the tradition of the Norse legends, looked shocked.
Couldn’t anyone else see that this guy was odd? Vigo looked around at his friends, but, after their initial surprise that he didn’t know Fenrir’s story, no one seemed to be picking up on anything unusual.
“When it was clear that Fenrir’s savagery could not be stopped, the gods decided imprison him,” Gunnar explained. “Only a magic chain could hold a werewolf of his size and strength. The gods created a chain from six impossible things. They were the sound of a cat’s footfall, the beard of a woman, the roots of a mountain, the sensitivity of a bear, the breath of a fish, and the spittle of a bird. Those things do not exist, so of course the chain was enchanted. Fenrir was tricked into placing himself in the chain and a sword was inserted into his mouth to keep his jaws apart so he couldn’t speak. That is how Fenrir must spend eternity. If he gets free, he will fulfill his promise to destroy the world.”
“How was he tricked into placing himself in the chain?” Kristof asked.
“The gods told him it was a challenge of strength, but when Fenrir saw the chain he was suspicious. There was only one god whom Fenrir trusted—Tyr, the god of honor and justice. To prove to Fenrir that the he would come to no harm, Tyr placed his hand in Fenrir’s mouth as he was bound by the chain.”
“What did Fenrir do when he knew that Tyr had tricked him?”
“He bit off Tyr’s hand.” Gunnar held up his own right arm to show his prosthetic hand. “I brought Fenrir up as if he was my own son. He hates me now because he believes I betrayed him.”
The dungeons below the place were a rabbit warren of catacombs penetrating deep into the rocks below the mountain. Gunnar led them to the farthest of a series of cells carved into the stone. It was a small, square room with iron bars across the front.
The Marsh werewolves of Norse legend were enormous feral beasts, with sandy fur, claws like razor-sharp scimitars, and the jaws of a lion. Because he was a god, Fenrir was even larger than the others of the Marsh werewolf pack. He was a giant creature with a physical strength that was deadly and primeval. But his mental powers were equally formidable. He was the son of Angrboda and the trickster god Loki. Even subdued by a magic chain, Fenrir’s cunning and capacity for destruction were infinite.
Lying curled on his side on a bed inside the cell, Fenrir gave no indication that he was aware of their presence. The chain wrapped around his body gleamed with an inner fire. Vigo recalled the day they captured Fenrir in New York. Then, the chain had been dull, ordinary metal links, until it came in contact with Fenrir’s flesh when it had instantly begun to glow. His mighty mouth was wide open, a sword propped with its point on his lower jaw and its handle on his upper. It looked brutal, but the gods had decreed that Fenrir must not be allowed to speak. His powers of persuasion were too great.
He doesn’t need his voice. Like us, he can communicate without talking.
But he can reach a larger audience.
The light was gloomy, but, for an instant, Vigo caught a green-gold flash of light. He remembered that color. Fenrir had eyes that shone like the green and gold marsh fires of Norse legend. Vigo had been up close to that sinister glow and those hellish depths once before and the memories came flooding back. Fenrir was concentrated evil and they were going to face him once more.
My turn. Can I do this?
He had seen each of his friends take on the challenge of leadership. Had lived through the nightmare when Jenny was abducted by Fenrir and came close to death as a result. Had seen Lowell so badly injured it was feared he might not walk again. Had watched the emotional torture inflicted on Madden, and then on all of them by a serial killer tutored and encouraged by Chastel. Just six months ago, Fenrir had shifted while in possession of Chastel’s body, attacking Sebastian and almost killing him.
Could he do it? Could he be the one to finally defeat Fenrir? He looked at the huge werewolf and then at the faces of his friends.
Bring it on.
This time there was no question. Green-gold fire flashed back it him from Fenrir’s half-closed eyes.
Chapter Eight
Amber had never really understood the expression “frozen to the spot.” Even when she had been hidden beneath that porch and had been forced to hear the slaughter of her family and friends, she hadn’t been paralyzed. The physical symptoms of terror had been overwhelming. A crushing sensation in her chest alongside the wild pounding of her heart, the feeling that her throat was closing around a scream, the unfamiliar chills all over her body, the fluttering in her stomach as if she’d swallowed a whole barrel full of butterflies.
But, not once had she felt that her limbs wouldn’t work. She’d never had that feeling of being pinned in place by fright. Not until now. Yet, she couldn�
�t rationalize this feeling. What was it about standing before Fenrir’s cell that made her feel this way? Amber had grown up in a family that respected the Norse traditions. She’d known Fenrir’s reputation in advance. He was a monster, his name one of the few things that could strike genuine terror into the heart of a werewolf. Fenrir was a secret the gods wanted to hide, the darkness that lurked beneath the beauty of Jotunheim. Five years ago, she’d had her own problems, but she understood just how bad his escape had been. The world had come close to destruction.
The first thing that struck her as she stood before the bars of Fenrir’s cell was the stench. Amber was a werewolf. Her whole world was about smell. It was her most powerful sense. Although other werewolves generally smelled pleasant, there were layers within that goodness ranging from the take - it - or - leave - it, wet dog aroma of an old omega to the full-on, musky hit of an alpha male. Then, of course, there was Vigo, who smelled like all her dreams come true. He had his own scent, as unique as a fingerprint, as delicious as bathing in an icy stream. When she got up close to him, beneath that clean, strong, masculine aroma, she could smell the herbs and flowers of Arctic. Memories of the fireweed tea her mother used to brew and the tangy, sweet salmonberries she had once eaten with milk and sugar took her back to her childhood and satisfied her soul.
But this? The scent that rolled off Fenrir in waves was like nothing she had ever smelled before and nothing she ever wanted to experience again. It was like someone had opened a trapdoor direct to hell. Foul and feral, the fetid aroma of rotten meat, bodily waste, and fresh blood hit her like a physical blow. She placed a hand over her mouth as her gag reflex kicked in.
Even though the stench of the cesspit was overpowering, Fenrir and his cell were spotlessly clean. It was as if the scent was coming from within him.
