The Complete Fenris Series

by Samantha MacLeod

  “Prove it,” Óðinn said.

  Fenris stretched his arms, raised his face toward the sun, and closed his eyes. The swirl of golden sparks engulfed his lean body. Warriors yelped and jostled around me, pulling back as the sparks rose into the brilliantly clear sky. Higher and higher they soared, until it seemed they would scratch the very surface of the heavens.

  And, slowly, darkness took shape behind their golden glimmer. I recognized Fenris’s muzzle first, forming against the sapphire depths. Then his pale eyes, his gleaming teeth, his entire head. His forepaws sank to the ground before me, creating massive indentations in the thick, green grass.

  When the sparks finally dispersed, Fenris wolf stood astride the gleaming links of Dromi. The last time the warriors had chained Fenris, he’d been full of mead and swaying on his feet. I’d feared he would collapse and crush half of Val-hall.

  But now, as he fixed the crowd with his fierce eyes and pulled back black lips to reveal gleaming fangs taller than a man, he looked even more terrifying. Last time had been at night, in the flickering, unsteady light of torches. Now Fenris was illuminated by the burning afternoon sun, like a nightmare brought to life. I swallowed hard against the panic rising in my chest. Now there was no denying his power, or the terror he could bring.

  “Óðinn,” Fenris growled. “Do your worst.”

  With that, he lowered his massive body to the ground. He was careful, I noticed. My Fenris had learned to walk the Ironwood forest in that monster’s shape without snapping a single twig. He lay perfectly still as Óðinn’s warriors struggled to lift the thick links of Dromi. And, when they could not pull the chains across his chest, Fenris took Dromi in his mouth and lifted the chain over his own body.

  It took a very long time. Shadows from the pine forest had reached our feet and the sky had begun to darken in the east by the time the warriors finally stepped back. Fenris rolled his eyes toward Óðinn. His entire body was immobilized, pinned to the ground by the weight of Dromi. It was wrapped around his legs so tightly that blood seeped through his thick, dark fur and pooled beneath his enormous paws. His heaving sides were almost completely obscured by the chain, and his muzzle had been wrapped so many times he could not open his mouth to speak.

  “Stars help us,” I whispered.

  “Good,” Óðinn announced. “Very good. Now, Fenris-wolf. If you are truly a friend of Asgard, then show us. Prove your strength.”

  Fenris’s chest rose and his nostrils flared as he pulled breath through his snout. His eyes closed, and his brow furrowed in concentration. His legs kicked out, spraying a fine mist of blood into the thick evening air.

  He fell still. Fenris’s hot breath rushed over me and flattened the grass around Óðinn. Shit, I thought. What if—

  Fenris stiffened again. He threw his head back against the ground with a resounding crash, and his legs dug great trenches in the earth. The low throb of his growl filled the air as if it had begun rising from the very ground itself. Fenris’s massive body scratched and writhed against the grass. The scent of blood thickened in the air. Now the chains were cutting into the muscles of his thick neck, his chest, and his back. Blood pooled beneath his body like a scarlet shadow. The growl grew louder, a deep, intense throb, like the heartbeat of the Realms.

  His head collapsed. Fenris fell silent. Breath roared in and out of his muzzle, but his pounding growl had vanished. Great drops of clear liquid pooled around his closed eyes. His body lay still, buried beneath a mountain of chain.

  “Fenris?” Óðinn called.

  The great, bound beast did not respond.

  “The mighty Fenris-wolf?” Óðinn jeered, louder this time.

  A sudden red haze rose within me, blurring my vision. My heart jumped against my breastbone with the thudding urgency of Fenris’s growls.

  “Stop it!” I screamed. I spun on my heels to face Óðinn. “Stop it, by the Realms! You’re torturing him!”

  I was dimly aware of the crowd around me moving and shifting. Another low murmur rose from the warriors, drowning out the constant beat of the waves against Asgard’s stone shore.

  “What more do you want?” I yelled, balling my hands into fists. “He’s done everything you asked of him! What other pathetic, cruel tests could you give him?”

  Óðinn stepped backward as I raised my fists.

  “You’re the monster!” I screamed. “You’re afraid of him, you cowards! You’re all afraid—”

  My voice vanished as another scream rose in the air. It began as the low, deep thunder of Fenris’s growl, then climbed higher and higher, becoming a rusty, metallic shriek. Men’s voices clambered around me, panicked and screaming, but the shrill, high yowl of metal ruthlessly pushed toward its breaking point drowned them all. Óðinn stepped back again as a massive, dark shape lunged up from the earth.

  And Dromi exploded.

  Something enormous flew past me, so close I heard the whistle of air as it skimmed by my head. The ocean erupted in massive foam-filled geysers as the metal links that had once been Dromi flung themselves across the waters. Glass and wood shattered behind me, and the air filled with dull thuds as hundreds of shards buried themselves in the earth around Val-hall. With a slow, enormous creak, a great, tall pine fell almost gracefully onto the grass, its trunk split in two by a twisted link of chain larger than the house in which I’d been raised.

  A cloud of dust and sea spray rose in the air before me, filled with the groans and screams of warriors who’s been hit by the shrapnel. I bent down, grabbed at my skirts, and brought them to my mouth, trying to keep the grit out of my lungs.

  “Óðinn.”

  Fenris’s great voice boomed across Asgard. I turned to see his massive form looming above the dust and chaos. His sides heaved, and foam dripped down his muzzle, mixing with blood to fall in frothing pink clots at his feet.

  Óðinn coughed beside me, then pulled himself up to his full height. He moved the spear to his right hand. Fear shot through me like summer lightning. Did he mean to throw that at my husband?

  A sudden, cold certainty descended over my heart and mind. If Óðinn raised the spear, I realized with a calm detachment that seemed to have come from somewhere else, some other Realm or some other life, I would stop him. I would throw myself against the old man if he dared attack my husband.

  “Fenris!” Óðinn called.

  “I’ve done what you asked,” Fenris panted. “You’ve seen my strength. I place it in the service of Asgard, as a friend of the Æsir.”

  The cloud of dust began to settle over the utter destruction of Val-hall’s practice grounds. Moans and whimpers from the injured warriors filled the air.

  “Yes,” Óðinn called. “We’ve all seen your strength.”

  Fenris lowered his jaw. As the air cleared, I noticed his sides trembling. Stars, I hoped Óðinn hadn’t seen that glimmer of weakness.

  “In return,” Fenris growled, “I ask for a safe place to raise my child.”

  Óðinn’s hand tightened around the shaft of his spear, and that icy sense of calm detachment flooded my body. I shifted my weight forward, preparing to strike.

  “Of course,” Óðinn called. “I’ve already opened the doors of Val-hall to you, Lokisen. You and your low-born wife. And I’ve promised not to spill your blood. Fenris, my boy, what more would you ask of me?”

  Óðinn chuckled like an indulgent grandfather. My vision focused on the hand holding his spear. I rocked forward, ready to take him down—

  Golden sparks surged through the air, filling the space between me and the All-father of Asgard. As the armies of Val-hall surged around me, crying and screaming, Óðinn slipped away so silently I didn’t notice he was gone until I staggered forward onto the ground where he’d stood. I caught myself just in time to see Fenris’s naked, bleeding body fall to the ground.

  Damn Óðinn! I ran to Fenris. The ground around him was rutted and destroyed, ripped by his enormous claws and soaked with his blood. Mud clung to the soles of my fe
et and weighed down the hem of my dress. By the time I reached Fenris, he’d rolled onto his back and was staring at the darkening sky with a wide, peaceful smile.

  “Fenris?” I said. The clammer around us nearly swallowed my words.

  Fenris blinked and turned toward me, his brow furrowing as his eyes focused. “Sol. Did you...see?”

  I had to choke back a sob. Blood streaked his face and covered his chest. Below the drying crimson streaks, bruises blossomed across his chest and arms like dark roses. I reached for his face and, as gently as possible, pushed a strand of hair from his forehead.

  “I saw.”

  “Good.” Fenris’s eyes closed, and his frown dissipated. “It’s okay now. It’ll all be okay now.”

  I trailed my fingers down the bloody mess of his chest, pressing just hard enough to assure myself he was still breathing. The image of Freyja’s lovely face flitted through my mind, the way her full lips had pursed together like a knot when Fenris said we weren’t going to follow her to Loki. My hand jumped above Fenris’s chest, and he moaned in pain.

  Damn it all. Damn Freyja for coming like that, instead of knocking on our door like anyone else. Damn Loki for sending her in the first place. Damn Týr for his stars-cursed absence over these last, long weeks, and thrice-damn all the Æsir and Vanir of horrible place!

  “Sol?” Fenris’s voice came haltingly, as if it hurt to speak.

  “I’m here.”

  “Do you think...you could get...mead?”

  Shit. What an idiot I was, sitting in the mud while my husband bled instead of getting him the mead that cures war injuries.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Don’t,” Fenris whispered. A slow smile curved his blood-streaked lips. “I’m fine. It’s all going to be fine now.”

  I ran my fingers across his forehead once more, then stood to get my bearings. Destruction lay all around us. Enormous fragments of Dromi stood embedded in the green fields. Some of them seemed almost as large as Val-hall itself, and a few lay atop warriors who were screaming or moaning in agony. As I walked toward Val-hall, dozens of men ran past me with flagons of mead, bringing aid to those who were injured.

  Somehow, I doubted they’d bring any for Fenris.

  THE MONSTER CHAINED: CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  Val-hall was chaos. Shards of Dromi had shattered the roof in at least a dozen places, and broken glass covered the grass, winking in the fading light. The great staircase was still intact, though, and warriors rushed through the wide-open doors of Val-hall, carrying flagons of mead. Just outside the entrance, I recognized Óðinn’s broad-brimmed hat. He stood with his hands raised, facing Val-hall.

  As I approached, the air seemed to thicken and condense, as if the clouds were about to burst. The roof of Val-hall groaned, and the sound of splitting wood filled the air. I watched, stunned, as a chunk of gnarled metal as large as Thor rose from the crushed roof of Val-hall. Óðinn waved his hand, and the metal flew through the air to crash into the ocean.

  “Where the fuck is Loki?” Óðinn thundered. “I can’t rebuild this damned place by myself!”

  At the mention of Fenris’s father, I crept further into the shadows swelling around the base of Val-hall.

  “I’ll find him.” Frey, the dark-skinned warrior who’d met us in the Ironwood, stepped out from under the sagging wreckage of the broken roof and wiped a grimy hand across his forehead.

  “I’ll get Thor to help me, if I have to,” Frey continued.

  Óðinn grunted something inaudible. Frey turned toward the ocean.

  “Wait!” Óðinn called. “Before you go. I want to see your friend. The one who’s good with the dwarves.”

  “Skírnir?” Frey asked.

  A pair of battered-looking men stepped in front of me, obscuring my view of Óðinn’s strange conversation. I thought better of trying to hear more and slipped inside after the warriors, clinging to the shadows.

  Several links of Dromi had destroyed the roof above the feast hall and made wreckage of most of the tables and benches. Dozens of men and women moved about purposefully, picking through the destruction. I was ignored, as usual, as I crept through the vast room looking for a flagon of mead. Those damned flagons of mead had seemed omnipresent before tonight, and I couldn’t ignore the cruel irony that Fenris’s escape from the bonds of Dromi had just made it much harder for me to find the mead that would heal his injuries.

  Finally, I watched another warrior fill a flagon from a row of barrels lining the far wall. I pulled an unbroken flagon from the wreckage and, once the warrior backed away, I crept toward the barrels. The ale men in my old village served at our little festivals came from barrels like this, but of course, I’d never even been allowed to touch one. Still, how difficult could it be?

  The tap turned easily, and a stream of golden, honey-scented liquid poured into the flagon. It flowed out much quicker than I expected, and I grabbed at the wooden knob, trying to twist it closed. The tap spun a full circle, and the mead poured like a fountain. The flagon overflowed; Val-hall’s precious mead spilled over my fingertips to soak the front of my dress.

  “Shit!” I cried.

  I reached for the tap again, trying to pull it closed. The damn thing spun like a top. Now, the mead splashed in the flagon and hit my face. Before I could fuck with the wooden knob any further, warm fingers closed over mine. They rotated the tap a gentle ninety degrees, until the handle was parallel with the barrel.

  “These are a little tricky,” a man said from behind me.

  I turned to see a stunningly sculpted face wearing a soft, amused grin. Damn! I’d just made a complete fool of myself in front of Baldr the Beautiful. His smile widened, and warmth blossomed inside me. I was suddenly very aware of his hand resting on mine.

  “Thanks,” I stammered, backing away.

  “Are you both alright?” he asked.

  A hint of a frown flickered across his exquisite features, and I hesitated, weighing what I could possibly say in answer to that question. Freyja had said I could trust Baldr, but Baldr was also Óðinn’s son. Would he feel more loyalty for his own father, or for the enormous monster who’d just sent shards of metal screaming across the skies above Asgard?

  For that matter, what made me think I could trust Freyja?

  “Fine,” I answered, forcing myself to smile. “As long as I don’t have to turn the taps on any more barrels, that is.”

  Baldr’s lips curved at that, but the rest of his face still seemed set in the shadows. I thanked him again and backed away, trying to get out of Val-hall without being noticed by anyone else.

  THE SUN HAD SET, THROWING the practice grounds of Val-hall into shadow. Above me, a few lonely stars twinkled from the thick, dark velvet of the sky. The feast hall had filled steadily as I searched for mead and then snaked my way back outside. Benches and tables were slowly righted and, as I left, the scent of roasting meat gusted out the door with me.

  Life here was almost back to normal. Óðinn’s attempts to chain Fenris would be nothing more than a story, soon. I shivered against the chill in the air. Did it make me feel better that Fenris’s suffering could be so quickly erased?

  As I reached the bottom of the staircase, I glanced toward the hole in the roof where I’d seen Óðinn lift a fragment of metal and cast it into the ocean. That roof had been completely repaired; wooden shingles gleamed in the pale light of the gibbous moon. I admired them as I descended the staircase, the flagon of mead held tightly in my hand.

  I was almost to the foot of the great staircase when I noticed movement in the shadows below the roof. It looked like a tall man leaning backward, perhaps also admiring what must have been a magical repair to the great Val-hall.

  Was it Loki? I squinted into the darkness. Óðinn had called for the Lie-smith to help him repair the damage to Val-hall, and Loki’s magic was legendary. I stepped off the staircase and moved toward the shadows. If Loki was here, I wanted at least to explain Fenris’s refusal. I raised my arm in
a greeting—

  And froze once I heard his voice.

  “You understand your task?” Óðinn said, his voice low and dark.

  “Yes, All-father.”

  As silently as possible, I stepped back into the shadows hugging the base of the great staircase. Now the figures moved, and I saw the swirl of a dark cape. There was another man standing near Óðinn, so close they may have been lovers.

  “It must be unbreakable,” Óðinn said. “Tell them to use something other than metal.”

  The other figure bobbed and nodded in agreement.

  “We’ll pay any price they demand,” Óðinn finished.

  My mouth went dry, and I felt as though the very ground under my feet had shifted. I reached for the rough wood of the staircase. The figures shuffled apart, and I had the sudden impression they were about to leave the shadows. Without thinking, I spun on my heels and fled into the darkness surrounding Val-hall.

  Fenris had managed to pull himself to the edge of the muddy crater he’d created by the time I reached the scarred remnants of the field where he’d been bound. He was even standing up, although he leaned heavily against a massive link of Dromi which was half buried in the earth. Cool, silver moonlight bathed the taut lines of his naked body, reminding me of how he’d looked in the Ironwood the night I’d slipped from my parents’ cabin and run through the woods to warn him of the Fenris-wolf. Stars, it felt like that had happened a million years ago.

  “You made it,” Fenris said, raising his head to smile at me.

  I pressed the flagon of mead into his palm and waited for him to drink. He took a long drink, winced, then took another. I watched his battered chest closely but, in the thin, cold light of the moon, I couldn’t tell if his bruises were healing.

  “Did it work?” I finally asked.

  Fenris winced again. “Of course. It just takes a while for the pain to realize it’s been defeated.”

  Gently, I reached for his cheek. Fenris let me brush aside his hair and run my hand across his skin. My fingertips felt the tiny raised lines of new scars along his neck.