Wolves Among Danes

by Dolly Nightmare

  I am met with silence before a dry chuckle comes from him, and he replies, “Do you really want to know, little lass?”

  “Yes,” I reply, frowning.

  “I have slept with six women since I turned of age,” he replies.

  “I’m glad you keep count,” I say snottily, my head starting to hurt from an upcoming headache.

  Man whore...

  “Any more questions?” he asks me.

  “Yes, and out of these six women, how many have given you children?” I say, this time having the guts to meet him eye to eye.

  I want to know if I will be seeing his bastard children running around the village and if I marry him in the future will I be mothering these children?

  Then I start questioning myself as to whether I said it properly in Norse since it was a long sentence. Norse is still odd and confusing to me.

  He smirks once more, and he says, laying down on the other bench and looking at the ceiling, not looking me in the eye, “You sound like a jealous little wife already. I wasn’t expecting this for another couple of years.”

  “Well...” I say, getting angry and impatient.

  “I have no children,” he replies.

  “How do you know for sure?” I question.

  “Because I can tell...As you can tell, I am no human,” he says, “I am a wolf. So is my family. But not just any wolf. I am a descendant from Loki’s son, Fenrir. So is everyone else here.”

  “What does being a ‘wolf’ have to do with anything? And Loki? Fenrir?” I ask him.

  “I can smell a woman on her fertile days. So, I only sleep with them when they’re not fertile and to be safe, I have special herbs mother makes to prevent pregnancy,” he explains to me.

  He then sits up and says, “And Loki is one of our Gods. He is a trickster, and he had the wolf hybrid son Fenrir. Then Fenrir had children, and here we are. Descendants of both Loki and his son, Fenrir.”

  I take in most of his words, kind of intrigued by his tale. I want to know more, so I ask, “And Odin and Thor?”

  “Odin is the God of wisdom and father to many Gods like Thor. Thor is the thunder you hear in the sky, beating his hammer. He is powerful.” He explains more to me before reaching his hand in the hot pan and quickly flipping the rabbits over. He must have hands of steel, I tell you.

  He then retracts his hands, somewhat red from the heat, and he asks me, “And your god? The man on the blocks of wood? What about him?”

  I stare at him, long since losing interest in sewing what I think was Arvid’s old shirt. I then reply, “My God...The man on the cross is Jesus, God’s son and born of the Virgin Mary.”

  He chuckles at this, and before I even have the chance to continue, he says, “Virgin? Yet she gave birth. Were they really sure she was a virgin, then?”

  I glare at his disrespect, and I look back down at the shirt muttering, “Forget it.”

  He then stands up and walks over to my bench before sitting at the far end, and he grins at me. “Continue...I promise I won’t say anything.”

  “Promise?” I ask him skeptically.

  “I promise,” he responds.

  I then go on to tell him of my religion, about God, Jesus, the Virgin Mary and surprisingly he sits through it, listening to every word that comes out of my mouth.

  Though, a few times, I stuttered and messed up and sometimes reverted back to English which Frey also knew parts of, seeming to understand most of what I said.

  The rabbit he brought home was filling and good.

  I’m surprised I sat with him that long and spoke with him but that was only because he acted civilized through most of it. Before long, I start to doze as he speaks more of his gods, about Freyr and Freya and how his mother had to go and name him after their gods.

  Between his voice, the warm fire next to us, and a satisfying meal, it wasn’t long before sleep overcomes me. It’s one of the first times I spoke to Frey this long and didn’t feel uncomfortable. I suppose there is a first for everything. I am finding this out slowly.

  That night I dreamed of the same wolf, and instead of chasing me or tormenting me, the large wolf laid down next to me outside and curled around my small shivering body, sheltering me from the winter winds.

  I don’t know why it is always winter in this dream, but it is. There is never a time the lands are warm.

  I run my hands through the soft black fur of the wolf, and surprisingly it lets me touch him with no growling or snarling this time. It also doesn’t snap its teeth at me in anger, and I rest my head on its broad chest, and with it I hear a heartbeat. It is slow and rhythmic and very calming.

  Soon in the dream, the wind stops as does the forever falling snow and as I rest on the wolf, it doesn’t move. It’s as still as ever except the slight rise and fall of its chest. I stay like that, running my hands through its fur and accepting its warmth.

  And like many of my firsts, I don’t want to wake up. I want to stay like this, at least for a little while with this wolf.

  Chapter 10

  A Big Bad Wolf

  June 23rd, 996 AD

  I run throughout the village as fast as I can and without stopping. I wind in and out of buildings and stalls and then in between the villagers all the while checking behind me to find none other than Bard and a few other teenagers chasing after me.

  The damn brat never gives up on hating me.... I think he will never stop his pointless hatred.

  Bard sneers at me. He was no longer a young boy anymore, his face developing much more into a man, and I also feel he is growing taller with each passing day and towering over my still small figure. He isn’t an adult quite yet, but he is a teenager, around the age of fourteen, much like myself.

  He pushes people out of the way in the crowd, trying to reach me. My speed has definitely improved over the last couple years of my stay with these Northmen. It is evident seeing as I could outrun Bard nowadays.

  After the incident with my broken leg and I could finally walk on it after that dreadful year had passed, I had trouble, and Bard definitely took advantage of it, tripping my bad leg out from under me all the time, but now he can’t do such things anymore.

  And why is he chasing me right now you might ask?

  Well, that’s because I tripped him as he did me all those times. Just seeing his face sparked anger and hatred in me that will never be extinguished.

  Bard was a happy teenager just moments ago. Making his first kill after a good hunting session with the other villagers and bringing home a nice and fat wild boar from the forest. Something that even I could kill with a good shot from my bow.

  So, I ruined his perfect moment of triumph and made a fool out of him, even making some of the older men laugh as he hit the ground with his fat and dead boar.

  I then turn around again before stopping abruptly and skidding in the dirt, and I glare at him, and he also stops, and I hiss out panting, “You know what. Let’s end this. If you want to fight, then let’s do it.”

  I push my loose and silver strands of hair from my face as I stare at him, wanting to see how well I would do in a fight thanks to Noma and Leif’s constant training sessions.

  Frey has yet to take my training seriously and refuses to teach me, but someday I will force him if I challenge him enough times and in front of his companions he is always with.

  Bard laughs and mocks me as his chest rises and falls slowly from our running session through the entire village. “You? Fight you? You’re a Saxon woman. You’re obviously going to lose.”

  “We don’t know that.” I mock back, and I ask him, “Or are you frightened of me as well? We all know you don’t fear hitting a woman.”

  “No. Of course not. And I only hit those who are stupid Christians who believe in a false god,” he hisses back, anger swelling up inside his chest as he stands completely straight.

  “Well, at least I don’t believe in a god who creates thunder with his hammer,” I yell back, feeling anger about him constantly disrespect
ing my God.

  Not just him but the others too. All these years and they have yet to change their mind even a little. To them, there wasn’t even a slight chance my God could be real. I am usually laughed at or sometimes spit on even though Frey hasn’t taken things so lightly lately.

  There was once a man who spit on me while in the presence of Frey when I had brought up my God and before I knew it, the man was doubled over on the floor, holding his stomach and apologizing to him and me.

  It seemed Frey had taken that as disrespect since he told the man, by spitting on me he was spitting on him as well.

  Though as of late, I feel like my God has abandoned me completely. Hence, why I am getting so angry with his words. I don’t know if what these Vikings say is true, and that actually their gods were the real and true gods and mine was false.

  I see his eyes grow dark at the mention of me mocking their gods in return, and I see the slight hint of specks of gold in Bard’s usual brown eyes as he glares at me.

  I glare back at him, and before I know it, I am charged at with an anger filled holler, and I am knocked down into the dirt path, harshly.

  I seethe as he tops me and tries to pin my arms to the ground, but it is then that I knee him in the stomach, knocking the wind from him, and I shove Bard off me with as much force as he knocked into me.

  He seems a little taken aback, but I don’t stop there as I curl my fingers into a fist, and I punch him square in the face.

  He then growls at his friends who mock him, saying he was allowing me to hit him.

  Their cheers ring in my ears, and I hear a bunch of different voices screaming together but none of them, of course, were cheering for me.

  I was alone here...

  Soon it isn’t just the teens and children, but a couple adults stop in their path to view the fight that is happening, and I hear one distinctive teen’s voice screaming above the rest, yelling, “Hit her! You’re letting her win! Who cares if she is a woman? She is a Christian! Think about your father!”

  I start to get angrier, and I go to punch him again only for him to grab my wrist, and he kicks me harshly in the stomach, knocking me off of him once more, and I land on my back. Bard fixes himself before he then goes to raise his fist to my face in adrenaline.

  I quickly escape his attack by scurrying to my feet, and I knock into him in return for earlier and catching him off guard. It is then I try and pin him to the ground, but Bard seems to snap little by little as I push my knee into his back harshly.

  He growls at me like an animal, his eyes turning completely gold and it is then I see his canines get longer, cutting into his lip.

  I stare in shock, only seeing this once before with Frey when I had first met him, but I haven’t seen it in such a long time that it makes my heart stop in fear.

  I grind my teeth together as I push his face into the dirt, but he then manages to overpower me and toss me off his back. I fall back again, my dress covered in dirt and patches of my skin red from the roughhousing.

  Bard then stands to his feet, looming over me like a big bad wolf.

  He curls his lip, and I hiss at him while all the children’s cheers get louder telling him to eat me or rough me up. “I’m not scared of you! You stupid heathen!”

  The angrier Bard gets, the more rapidly his chest rises and falls, and I stand to my feet, readying to attack him. But before I even get a chance to, I am smashed with the flat of his hand, and the force makes me dizzy despite the fact it was just a slap. My face throbs in pain.

  My vision blurs, and he shoves me again, pushing me on to the ground, and he snarls his voice sounding deeper, “See, I told you, stupid girl! You’re weak compared to us!”

  I fight with him, thrashing violently despite the fact I was still dizzy, but his force keeps me from struggling against him.

  I start to get angry and frustrated and tears start to slide down my cheek. Then a rock comes flying out of nowhere smashing Bard in the head. He growls, whipping his head in the direction the rock was thrown, blood dripping from a gash on his forehead.

  “Leave her alone!” screams a female voice that I recognize all too clearly. It was Margaret, my friend from England.

  Even though we haven’t spoken all that much seeing her duties as a slave kept her busy, she still sees me as a friend I guess, and the thought makes my heart squeeze in pain. Memories we shared together, flooding me and giving me a sense of comfort in this place where everyone is a stranger.

  “What do you think you’re doing slave!?” Bard screams back, getting off me, his anger now focused on Margaret. I get up off the ground, my vision clearing little by little, and adrenaline pumps through my veins.

  Before he can reach her, I grab his leg, yanking his footing out from underneath him, making him fall face into the dirt once more like he did with his boar and the crowd of teenagers and children glare at me.

  “Your fight is with me!” I scream at him, and he whips around to smash me again but it is then I smash him where the sun doesn’t shine with my fist.

  He cries out in pain, dropping to his knees, and I stand up quickly taking advantage of the situation. I grab a fistful of his hair, and I knee him directly in the face, a crunch coming from his nose. I not only do this once but twice before letting him go.

  Blood drips into the dirt, and he stares at the ground in pain as he holds his face now, soft sobs coming from him.

  The other children don’t take too kindly to this, all baring their teeth at me and then a bigger boy who was nearly an adult steps towards me, his eyes also gold like Bard’s.

  I feel threatened by him. I start to see his face change and get all scrunched up and turn hideous, then Margaret grabs my wrist after weaving in and out of the crowd and yells to me trying to tug me with her, “Run!”

  I heed her warning and run with her as the boy starts turning into a hideous beast, literally ripping out of his own flesh. Chunks of the flesh land on the ground as I look behind me.

  I start to feel sick, this being the first time I have witnessed such an event from anyone in the village. No wonder I am forced to go to bed early by Noma on days of the full moon, she always makes me drink something that knocks me out until morning.

  They never wanted me to see...this. Who they really were.

  Margaret holds up her dress as she runs, and I am lucky mine happens to be much shorter compared to hers, falling a little above my ankles. Though compared to me, she starts to slow down, easily running out of breath and it isn’t long before I am in the lead, running much faster than her.

  “Come on!” I yell, trying to encourage her to go faster.

  “I can’t,” she says before ultimately stopping and catching her breath.

  I also stop, and she hisses at me, “Just run, he’s not after me! Go, Ellie! Hurry! He’s going to hurt you!”

  After taking a couple of seconds to think I “tsk” hoping she was right and I pick up my pace once more, trying to head back to Noma’s home and get to my bow and arrow.

  The more I run, the closer I see the woods leading up to the home, but I then turn around checking for the boy who transformed into a beast to see a giant gray wolf chasing after me and not far behind.

  Fear runs up and down my spine, and I force my legs to go faster, despite my lungs burning and feeling like sharp glass is puncturing them.

  I then make my way into the woods, the ground a lot harder to run on compared to the village’s paths, and my pace starts to slow just a little bit. The wolf behind me picks up his pace, going in for the kill which was me.

  My heart leaps from my chest as the gray wolf is right on my tail and I see my life flash before my eyes as he gets closer and closer before I turn around in an attempt to protect myself.

  I stand my ground and right when he goes in for the final kill, I take my knife out from my waist, and I swish it towards the wolf’s face making him yelp in pain as it carves a fine line across his face.

  I feel a sense of relief wash over m
e after spilling the wolf’s blood, but he doesn’t back down either. After realizing I hurt him, he snarls more viciously.

  I hold the knife tightly in my sweaty palms and it goes to lunge at me once more only for me to drive the knife right through his snout causing another yelp and for him to shake his head multiple times, all the while going backwards.

  I take my chances on running once again as the wolf is distracted by the pain and I see the edge of the forest. It is then I see Frey, a not too happy one either. A deep frown lingers on his face, and I feel safer once seeing him.

  I slow my pace again, and I stop in front of him, my chest heaving up and down, and I am not even given a chance to speak before he asks, “What is going on?!”

  I respond, wheezing, once getting closer to him and getting behind him. “A boy transformed into a wolf and is chasing me! I stabbed him, but he hasn’t stopped!”

  “What?” he hisses out, his eyes changing to a lighter blue due to his anger as he turns slightly to look at me. He grabs me, pushing me more behind him.

  “My men dare disrespect me like this,” he snarls to himself as he stares into the woods waiting for the wolf to appear.

  He says “my men” despite the majority of people being his father’s men. I assume he considered anything of his Arvid’s to be his as well.

  “They will learn not to,” he growls out more, his grip on my wrist tightening, and it isn’t long before the gray wolf appears, blood dripping from its snout, and the knife is long gone.

  It snarls and curls its lip at Frey, but Frey doesn’t back down; instead, he glares, and he snarls himself. “You dare chase my future wife all the way here in an attempt to harm her and not only that, but you curl your lip at me, your chieftain’s son. You show this much disrespect just because you don’t like her!?”

  The gray wolf seems lost at what to do as its eyes keep on shifting from Frey to me, still behind him.

  I then see sharp nails emerge at the ends of his fingertips. He raises his hand in defense, and he snarls more. “I won’t even fight you with my wolf...I will fight you as is.”