He was too enormous to fit on the island, so his back legs sank into the chill waters. Fenris shook his muzzle, then slowly lowered his massive chest to the sharp stones. He opened his mouth, and his white teeth glinted in the torchlight.
“Go ahead, Óðinn,” Fenris growled.
The rumble of his voice made my bones tremble. Óðinn and his warriors suddenly seemed very small, and almost laughably weak. I raised my chin in the shadows. My husband could kill them all, here on this island, in the darkness and the cold water. Then I could climb on his back, and we could swim off, just like we’d followed the Körmt river to escape from Nøkkyn’s castle.
Óðinn cleared his throat and stepped forward. The tip of his broad hat almost brushed the roof of Fenris’s mouth.
“I like your plan, Fenris,” Óðinn said conversationally, as if he wasn’t standing on a freezing island in the darkness next to a monster. “But I don’t think you went far enough.”
Fenris closed his mouth. His pale eyes blinked twice, but he said nothing.
“I’m an old man,” Óðinn continued. “What would it be to me to lose a hand? The wager, you may say, is awfully low.”
Óðinn turned, and the handful of warriors who had accompanied us shifted uncomfortably. The germ of an idea flickered across my consciousness, but I dismissed it immediately. Óðinn wouldn’t—
“But a warrior,” Óðinn declared. “A strong, young warrior. Someone in the prime of his life, at the peak of his strength and prowess. Someone like...”
Óðinn’s voice trailed off, and he brought his hand to his chin, as if he were deep in contemplation.
“Týr,” Óðinn said.
“No,” I whispered. My gut felt like it had just plummeted to the bottom of the ebony lake surrounding us.
“Your bravery is a legend, my son,” Óðinn continued. “Are you brave enough to take the place of an old man in this small arrangement?”
Týr’s face was so pale it may have been formed of ash. Still, he stepped forward from the ring of warriors and walked to stand before Fenris and his father.
“You will free him?” Týr asked. His voice was soft, but his words carried across the island.
“I said I would.”
Týr closed his eyes for a moment, then turned to Fenris. Slowly, with his fist clenched, he raised his arm. Fenris opened his mouth, then closed his massive jaw around Týr’s forearm. Fenris exhaled slowly; his breath rushed over the crowd of warriors.
“Now,” Óðinn declared, “let’s test Gleipnir!”
While Fenris and Týr stood together, the warriors scrambled over Fenris’s legs. The bound his front paws together so tightly I winced. Thor, an expression of grim determination etched across his face, threw the ribbon across Fenris’s haunches and neck. In the torchlight, Gleipnir shone with its own greasy light. I couldn’t believe how long the stars-damned thing was. Every time Thor tugged it taut, there seemed to be another dozen loops to pull across my husband’s forelegs or tighten around his throat.
Finally, the warriors fell back, panting with effort. Fenris’s glossy pelt was streaked with ominous bands of silver where Gleipnir bound his front legs, chest, and neck to the sharp stones of the island.
Fenris hadn’t moved while the warriors scrambled over his body, tying knots and pulling the thin, silver line across his fur, and Týr was so still he may as well have turned to stone while the torchlight cast long shadows across his face. What he may have been thinking, with his hand in the mouth of the man who had been his lover, was impossible to guess.
Thor stepped back and wiped his hand across his brow. “It’s done,” he announced in a voice was as flat and dark as the waters surrounding us.
“Very well,” Óðinn replied. “Now. Fenris. Show us your strength!”
THE MONSTER CHAINED: CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Fenris closed his great, pale eyes and pulled breath into his muzzle. The air swirled around us. The island began to thrum with a low, deep rumble. Little waves danced over the stones of the island, crashing against each other. The water frothed around the dark outline of Fenris’s body, and I realized he was pushing against the island with his hind legs.
Fenris’s growl grew deeper, and louder, until I felt it in my very heart. His black lips curled away from his teeth, and his tongue lolled from his mouth. Týr looked very small standing next to the head of the monster, with his bare arm between Fenris’s sword-like teeth. Stones clattered beneath Fenris’s claws as his paws flexed. Gleipnir burned against Fenris’s pelt, flashing like summer lightning as Fenris shifted against the stones.
The fetter shone as brightly as the torchlight, its bands burning against the darkness of my husband’s body. Another sound joined the low, dull echo of Fenris’s growl, a kind of sizzle, like bacon left in a pan, or the air above a mountain just before lightning strikes. Fenris panted, blowing hot air across us, then growled again, deeper and louder. Gleipnir hissed and crackled, its silver light searing my eyes and sending jagged shadows streaming behind every rock on the island.
Waves crashed over my calves as Fenris’s body churned in the water and heaved against the banks of the island. His growl had become a high pitched cry, nearly a scream, although the crackle of Gleipnir’s magic was almost as loud. The bright burn of Gleipnir now outshone the torches. I could hardly tell where Fenris’s body met the darkness of the island; my eyes blurred from the cursed light of that evil fetter. I turned away from its silver fire and saw Thor with his hands over his eyes.
The world fell silent and filled with darkness. My heart beat in my ears like a drum; for a moment, I wondered if I’d gone deaf and blind. But no, I could hear a high, piercing whine, almost a mourning cry. The flicker of the torches that had once seemed so bright was now dull and faint as my vision slowly recovered.
I saw Týr first, standing straight and tall with his arm in Fenris’s open mouth. Then I saw the gleaming row of Fenris’s jagged teeth rocking as he panted for breath. The strands of Gleipnir crossed his legs and chest, so thin and insubstantial they may as well have been spider silk. But they were unbroken. Fenris’s massive ice-blue eyes opened slowly.
“Óðinn,” Fenris said. “You’ve done it.”
The men surrounding Fenris shifted on the stones. I blinked hard, trying to clear my eyes.
“I cannot break this,” Fenris said, his mouth yawning wide around Týr’s arm. “Gleipnir is stronger. You need not fear me.”
“Well, that’s done, then,” Thor announced in his booming voice. He bent down and moved toward Fenris’s bound feet.
“Wait.”
Óðinn stepped forward. Thor froze where he was, halfway to the gleaming bands of Gleipnir that pinned Fenris to the stone. A strange mixture of emotions passed across Thor’s bearded face. Confusion. Anger. And, finally, a terrifyingly blank expression that I recognized from King Nøkkyn’s castle.
Obedience.
Thor stood and stepped away from Fenris.
“Father—” Týr began.
Óðinn raised his hand. “Enough. Our work here is done.”
“You gave your word!” Týr cried.
Óðinn laughed. It was a harsh, rusty sound, but it grew and grew, until it seemed to fill all Nine Realms.
“Óðinn,” Fenris growled. He lowered his jaw until the sharp points of his teeth touched Týr’s arm.
Still chuckling, Óðinn wiped his eyes. “You wouldn’t,” he said. “Not to Týr. You’re not strong enough to hurt someone you love, Fenris Lokisen. And so you’ll lie on this island until the Nine Realms crumble to dust around you, you miserable bastard. So much for prophecies!”
No, no, no! I clamped my hand across my lips to keep from screaming. This was not the time for screaming! As silently as possible, I fell to my knees, searching for the right stone. Something large, and sharp. Something to bring down across the All-father’s skull.
“Do it,” Týr spat.
I looked up. Fenris’s mouth had closed around Týr’s arm. My f
ingers scrambled over a rock the size of a man’s head, and I grabbed it, clenching the stone tight to my chest.
“Call his bluff,” Týr said. “Do it, Fenris. Please. Perhaps then he’ll let you—”
Týr’s scream split the night.
He rocked forward onto his knees. Blood sprayed through the air in a wide, scarlet arc. The torches sputtered as hot, wet liquid pulsed from Týr’s arteries and hit the flames. My hands jumped, dropping the rock with a crash.
“Idiot,” Óðinn snarled.
“Óðinn!” Fenris’s great, pale eyes narrowed as he roared the words. “You monster! I would have fought for the Æsir! I would have defended Val-hall to my last breath! But now, Óðinn, son of Bor, I will kill you. I will—”
Someone rushed forward. The dull gleam of a sword flashed in the torchlight. I opened my mouth to scream a warning as the sword thrust upward, stabbing into Fenris’s jaw. He recoiled as blood spilled down the blade, but the sword stuck in his jaw, and he could not close his mouth.
Fenris screamed like an animal as he thrashed his head, casting thick ropes of blood and saliva into the air. One of the torches went out; then another. The scream spilled from my lips, rising into the darkness above the lake like the greasy smoke of a funeral pyre.
But the sword held firm, bloody and defiant between my husband’s jaws, preventing him from speaking. He howled with rage and pain as his body thrashed in the dark waters. Between his bound feet, Óðinn stood and laughed.
A cold, wet hand clamped tight across my lips, cutting off my scream. The sharp tang of blood filled my nose. Panic rose inside me with the blinding force of the tide.
“Quiet!” Týr barked in my ear.
He dragged me to my feet and, together, we fell back into the dark, cold waters of Lake Amsvartnir.
THE MONSTER FREED: CHAPTER ONE
Cold water closed around my body as Týr pulled me beneath the waves of Lake Amsvartnir. His hand felt like a band of iron over my lips, and his arm crushed my chest against his body. He’s killing me, I thought, as the water swept over my eyes. I imagined the life growing within me, the child Fenris and I made with our love and passion. Suddenly, I had the strength to pull back my arm and ram my elbow into Týr’s stomach.
He grunted, but his grip did not loosen. I pulled back again—
Wait. He grunted? Underwater?
Slowly, I eased my eyes open. They did not burn with the sting of fresh water. Instead, gray mists swirled before me. My dress clung to my ankles, heavy and wet. I staggered forward, tripping over the sopping fabric of my own skirts. The weight of Týr’s body sagged against my back.
“Quiet,” Týr whispered.
He lurched forward, shoving me before him. The mists parted. A small cottage wavered before us, undulating like a ship on the water. Týr groaned with such agony and frustration that a stab of sympathy shot through my stunned consciousness. The cottage solidified. Týr staggered toward it, pushing me before him.
My feet slipped over grass. The mist vanished, leaving Týr and me on a moonlit hillside before the neat little cottage. Candles glowed cheerfully in the windows. Týr let go of my shoulder and threw himself across the cottage’s arched wooden door.
“Now!” he cried.
The door opened, and Týr collapsed to his knees. His body curled around his injured arm; his face and chest were streaked with dark crimson.
A woman screamed. I had just enough time to recognize the person standing in the doorway before Týr staggered back onto his feet, this time pressing his lone remaining, blood-smeared hand against her lips.
Freyja. Týr had brought me to Freyja’s house.
The two of them staggered backward. A moment later, Freyja appeared in the doorway, frantically waving me inside. I stared at her, my mind refusing to make sense of her gestures. Týr’s blood was streaked across the right side of her face, reaching from her lips to her ear. It could have been a kind of armor, I thought. Bloody, beautiful armor. My entire body felt strange, as though I were still underwater, and my thoughts were floating away from me.
“Get her in!” Týr snapped.
Freyja came through the doorway, grabbed my arms, and yanked me over the lintel. I blinked in the candlelit warmth of Freyja’s house. Týr leaned heavily on a chair. Blood spurted dully from the stump at the end of his left wrist. His face had gone as pale as the first snow that had blanketed the Ironwood.
“Fenris is chained,” Týr said. His voice sounded as wan and pale as he looked.
The words snapped me out of my revery.
“You don’t have much time,” Týr continued, speaking to Freyja as if I wasn’t even there. “You know where to take her?”
Freyja nodded. Týr pushed off against the chair, came to his feet, and swayed forward. Freyja caught him.
“My father,” Týr panted. “He’ll be...after her.”
“I understand,” Freyja murmured.
“Because of the baby,” Týr said.
“Yes. I know.”
Týr rocked backward. His eyes rolled up in his head and, for a moment, I thought he would collapse again.
“Go,” Freyja urged. “Heal your arm. You’re no good to anyone dead.”
Týr closed his eyes. I shivered as the chill from my wet dress soaked into my skin. Dead. Týr looked dead already.
“Please go,” Freyja whispered. “Don’t let this kill you. Don’t let your father kill you.”
With a sigh, Týr raised his head. Freyja opened the door to her cottage and muttered something soft and musical under her breath. As I watched, the moonlit expanse of grass faded. A moment later, I was staring at the wooden walls of Val-hall. Voices murmured in the distance. The scent of roast meat drifted through the air.
“Go,” Freyja urged.
Týr staggered forward. He dragged himself through the door, and Freyja pulled it closed behind him. I stared at the dark pool of blood where Týr had been standing. Freyja spun on her heels to face me.
“Under the table,” she barked. “Now!”
Behind her, the solid wood of her door looked like it was melting. Now, instead of polished wooden planks, all I could see was her front step. A dark trail of Týr’s blood led across the grass. Beyond the blood-smeared path, a full moon shone down on the churning ocean.
“Your door—” I stammered.
Freyja clicked her tongue. “Yes, it’s magical. Every damned thing in this place is magical. Now, get under the table.”
I frowned and turned to her table. A heavy, red cloth lay draped across the surface, its soft folds brushing the floor. My head felt thick and heavy, as though I’d been frozen in a block of ice.
“Why–” I asked.
Freyja glanced at her door, then sucked in her breath with a sharp hiss. I followed her gaze. There, across the grass, a brilliant rainbow spun in the darkness. Fear spiked in the pit of my stomach. Freyja’s hands closed around my cheeks, forcing me to meet her eyes.
“You carry the child of the man Óðinn just imprisoned.” She glanced at her doorway, now as smooth and transparent as a sheet of glass, then fixed me again with her dark eyes. “Do you understand why you’re in danger?”
My mind churned. The image of three lonely graves floated upward from my memories, and my eyes blurred with tears. Curse me, I hadn’t understood the danger when I first ran away with Fenris. All we’d wanted was to be together, to love each other. To have a family.
“Óðinn can’t risk your child growing up to seek vengeance,” Freyja said. “Fuck, Óðinn can’t risk you growing up to seek vengeance.”
A long, slow shiver worked its way up my spine. My hands crept around the gentle swell of my stomach and clenched together.
“Sol, if Óðinn finds you, he will kill you,” Freyja growled. “Now, get under the stars-damned table.”
She released my cheeks, and I dropped to my knees. I shoved the red cloth aside, crawled under the table, and pulled my knees to my chest. My dress clung to my skin, raising shivers. A v
ast, howling darkness opened inside my chest, something like the mass of Fenris’s body rising against the sky, blotting out the very stars; I pressed my hands over my lips to keep it from escaping.
A sharp rap echoed from Freyja’s door. I jumped, hitting my head on the table. My heart rose in my throat until it felt like it would block the air to my lungs.
“Just a minute,” Freyja called with perfect, melodious calm.
“Open your damn door,” a man barked from the other side.
I froze. That was Óðinn’s voice. The heavy red cloth draped across Freyja’s table suddenly seemed thin and insubstantial.
“In a minute,” Freyja sang.
There was a loud huff from the other side of the door, followed by the scrape of a chair across Freyja’s floor. Wooden chair legs butted into the red fabric. I pulled my knees closer to my chest. Was she trying to hide me? The rage and terror of a moment ago began to drain out of me, replaced by a cold sort of peace. If Freyja meant to betray me to Óðinn, then my life was over. The underside of this table was one of the last things I’d see in the living Realms.
Freyja’s door hummed as it swung open.
“Thank the Realms you’re here,” Freyja said with an exaggerated sigh. “Your son just absolutely fucking ruined my dress! And don’t even get me started on the front steps— Oh, stars! What happened to you?”
“Týr was here?” Óðinn asked.
“Uh, yes. Bleeding like a stuck pig. Look what he did to my dress!”
Heavy footsteps boomed across Freyja’s floor.
“Was he alone?”
Freyja made a sort of disgusted growl. “I’m expecting you to replace this entire outfit. He’s your son, after all.”
Óðinn snorted. “Was he alone?”
“Of course he was alone!” Freyja snapped. “Who in the Nine damned Realms would he have brought with him?”
The footsteps approached Freyja’s table. My breath caught in my throat. The sound of my own heartbeat suddenly seemed very loud in the still, small space beneath the table. A chair squealed across the floor, then bumped into the red fabric. A moment later, Óðinn’s heavy boots kicked into the space beside my thighs. I stared at the thick, black mud on their soles with horrified fascination.
The Complete Fenris Series Page 50
