The Brothers Nightwolf Trilogy

by Taylor, Theodora

  “Myrna, my word is law…” he started to say with a frown.

  Myrna made the same disgusted scoffing sound her mother did whenever her father tried to make her leave the meal preparation she loved so much to their servants. “Only because our father is not here is your word law!” she pointed out to her overbearing brother.

  “That matters not now. Our father is away, and our enemy could come at any time,” FJ insisted, pointing to the mountain looming high behind their small village. “You will obey me and return to the mountain with the other women and children. Now.”

  So Fenris did fear an attack from an unnamed enemy. Myrna’s heart quickened with the knowledge. Situated as their kingdom village was, between a mountain and the sea, not even their oldest night fire stories carried a tale of it coming under attack. But if that was indeed the case….

  “Our father has taught me to fight well,” she told FJ. “If he were here, he would let me face whatever enemy you claim is coming.”

  Okay, that declaration was what her mother might call “a stretch.” Even at her very advanced age, Myrna doubted her father would invite her to battle beside him. But that mattered not, in Myrna’s mind. The point was that if FJ truly believed their village faced an imminent threat, he should let her stay and fight beside him.

  However, FJ met her declaration with a fierce glare. “This enemy is not imaginary, Sister. And Father taught you to fight, yes, but only so you might defend yourself in the absence of your male folk. If you return to the mountain now, there will be no need of such defense.”

  Not caring that she was only a couple of inches taller than her small mother, Myrna drew herself up to her full height, jutting her chin, because there was no way she was going to let FJ order her back to the mountain. “But why did you send all the women and children away?” she demanded, switching to their mother’s tongue, just as Chloe did when someone (usually her husband and children) pushed her too far. “Why are you making ready for battle in Mother and Father’s absence? Father did not give word about any of this before he left.”

  “No, he did not,” FJ answered, also in their mother’s language. Then he looked away guiltily as he added, “Because he did not know we would need to defend ourselves.”

  Myrna’s eyes widened at the thought of FJ not only keeping news of a forthcoming enemy from their father, the Fenris, but then going so far as to send their parents away.

  “It was the only way to make sure he and mother survived,” FJ said defensively as if reading her thoughts.

  “Survive what?” Myrna asked, with a shake of her head. “What do you think we need to defend ourselves from?”

  “We need to defend ourselves,” he said, pointing to his chest and then to Olafr. “You need to hide.”

  “Why does he get to stay?” Myrna demanded, crossing her arms over her wool tunic. “He is ever the wolf and cannot so much as raise a sword!”

  FJ exchanged a long look with their brother. One very familiar to Myrna. The brothers shared a special bond and often exchanged looks so knowing, that even though Olafr could not speak as a normal North Wolf could, Myrna very often felt as if they were talking behind her back.

  Usually, she let it go. But this morn she all but screeched, “Cease doing that! You have oft behaved as if you share a secret. Tell me, what is going on? And why do you permit Olafr to fight and not me?!”

  FJ sighed. “Myrna, I will not argue these petty points with you—”

  “They are not petty—!”

  “I must prepare the village to fight—”

  “Fight who?” Myrna demanded, refusing to let her brother off the hook. “Who could possibly pass through the inlet or come over the mountains without us knowing? Who would dare? You know what? You don’t even have to answer that, as our mother would say. In truth, if you are certain there is an enemy coming, I believe you. But I insist on fighting, too!”

  To that FJ gave her yet another decisive shake of his head. “I cannot. I would not lose you…”

  “You will not lose me,” she said, her voice gentling with sisterly sentiment, even though FJ threatened to send her away mere moments before this heartfelt declaration.

  FJ hesitated and once again, looked to Olafr. While Myrna stood waiting to hear the future fenrir’s final verdict.

  However, three short horn blasts suddenly rolled down the mountain, ripping through the cold morning and cutting short their conversation.

  For with those horn blasts, did all argument cease. And hearts beating with fear, all three siblings looked toward the mountain watchtower overlooking their village…then at each other.

  One short horn blast meant travelers approached the village by sea via the inlet.

  One long blast and two short ones meant a new wolf had come upon them via the time gates atop the mountain.

  But three short blasts meant the worst thing.

  Enemies approached. Oh dear Fenrir Wolf, FJ was right!

  Male wolves spilled out of their huts and longhouses with their weapons and shields in hand.

  Their village was coming under attack. But from where? Myrna looked all around. The inlet had frozen over just a few weeks after her parents left on their voyage, following FJ’s claimed vision of a bride. But if attackers marched on them via the mountains, they would have had days of warning, since there was only a single pass connecting their village to the mainlands to the South.

  She looked to FJ for an answer, but he also seemed to be looking around in great confusion...until suddenly, a sharp and acrid scent filled the air. As if the forest that stood between their village and the mountain were on fire. But no, this was not the case. She looked toward the forest and found it standing perfectly intact, the top of its evergreen leaves covered in fresh snow. From where then did the burning smell emanate?

  As if in answer, a shadow fell over the entire village, casting the dark grey morning into almost pitch black. Myrna looked up.

  Her heart completely stopped inside her chest. Dread danced over her skin as the chill of the morning air crept into her lungs and stilled her breath. And she tipped her head back to stare up at the answer to her question. Make that answers. The enormous and fearsome answers to her question about their unknown enemy.

  Serpents. At least twenty winged serpents now flew in a formation above their village.

  And then truly did she speak her mother’s tongue as she said, “Oh…my…God!”

  It all happened so very fast. One moment Myrna was imploring her brother to let her fight, and in the next moment, she had no choice but to do so.

  She emerged from the house with her shield and hatchet just as the first serpent set down in the meadow between the lake and the forest. It shook the ground with its landing, and the sight of it widened her eyes with shock.

  The monstrous thing was covered in blue reptilian scales. They shone like metal, despite the lack of direct light from the morning sun, which seemed to be hiding behind thick grey clouds as if to shield itself from such a terrible sight.

  There were no words in either of her parents’ languages to truly describe the enormity of the winged beast. It could be measured neither in her father’s palms, or her mother’s much more precise “feet.” Its head hung level with the tree line behind it. So far above the earth that it seemed to Myrna it might be possible for the beast to raise one of its scaled arms and wipe away the clouds from the sky.

  The beast regarded the first group of warriors rushing toward it with cold eyes which looked to be made of gold ice for a few unblinking moments. Then with a simple flick of its head, it roared an astonishing torch of fire.

  Myrna watched in horror as the first group of warriors to make it to the meadow collapsed to the ground, little more than burnt husks.

  The fight became a melee soon after. More North Wolves rushed the meadow suddenly turned battlefield, incensed by the deaths of their brethren. And many of them met the same fate as four more serpents of varying colors, set down beside the first, each
screeching fire. Myrna had never in her life heard such a horrific sound. Both her heart and ears ached at the screams of pain that rose up like a gruesome song as more of their kingdom's warriors met fiery and painful deaths.

  The wolf inside of her demanded she run and jump into the fight, and she started forward again, determined to do just that. But then her father’s voice sounded inside her head.

  Stop, Myrna. You are female and therefore must you bring more cunning than your brother to every fight. Never forget to think before you raise your weapon, dear Daughter. Always keep your female mind in battle.

  Myrna slowed, walking instead of running toward the melee, analyzing everything she saw as she approached.

  The fighters who had not been set aflame by the serpents' fire breath did attempt to stick their swords into the terrible winged beasts. But alas, their weapons broke against the monster’s skin. She watched as one serpent scooped up Torhild, the Jelling swordmaker’s son, inside its tail. This was a male she’d played with during Papa’s visits to his father’s shop. He had a mate and a daughter near heating age waiting for him back at the cave. Yet the serpent tossed him away in the same manner, she and her family cast the stones from plums out their longhouse window. Torhild landed against a tree and slid to the ground. His neck at such an angle, she knew his life to be over even without checking for his breath.

  Myrna’s eyes filled with tears. This time her human tugged at her with the urge to run to her fallen friend. But no… she reasoned with herself. Torhild was most likely dead, but she would have to mourn him later. She forced her eyes back to the melee. Forced herself to honor her father and continued to observe as she sought out her destined role in this fight.

  Moments after Torhild’s death, the tide began to turn. FJ reached the field with Olafr by his side. Her ever the wolf brother launched himself at a red serpent’s throat jaw first and refused to let go no matter how hard the beast shook. Meanwhile, FJ raised Death Maker, a giant steel sword his father had gifted to him after killing the Fenrir of Gotar with his own weapon. With a fierce North Wolf battle cry, he charged at a blue serpent.

  Not the same beast, who had killed the entire first group of warriors, but another one who seemed to be standing back from the rest of the fight, its eyes glowing red as it surveyed the melee. Myrna immediately understood her brother’s logic. The only serpent not fighting might very well be the one in charge of the others. Kill the leader, and it might throw the rest doing the actual fighting into disarray.

  Perhaps because it was larger and made of much stronger steel than the silver tipped ones used by the other North Wolves in their village, Death Maker did not bounce off the serpent’s skin. FJ ran his Gotar sword through the beast’s belly, and the thing reared back, screeching so painfully Myrna feared it might scorch her brother in its outrage.

  But in the end, all it did was stagger, swaying back and forth in a way that told Myrna FJ had struck a fatal blow.

  When it began to topple over, Myrna expected to hear a thundering impact, the same as if FJ had felled a tree. However, to her great shock, the beast seemed to reduce in size as it collapsed, its body morphing into that of a man’s before it hit the ground.

  Myrna covered her mouth with her hand because if her eyes told her true, this serpent was like her—a man who could become animal. Only in this case, instead of wolves, these men became terrible monsters indeed.

  Not long after Fenris felled his blue beast, Olafr also managed to fell the red serpent he had viciously engaged. And then that beast, too, became a man as it took its last breath.

  The three remaining serpents gave a great bellowing screech of rage to see their fallen brothers. And soon two more beasts set down to refill their rank. But FJ used the pause wisely, ordering his warriors to throw down their useless swords and shift, while Olafr launched himself at the other blue serpent.

  Myrna inwardly cheered and threw down her own weapons. Bless her father’s heart, as her mother would say, but she was more than ready to join the fight in wolf form.

  With a sharp breath, she called forth her wolf. The beast inside of her threw her forward, ripping through her clothes as it curled her spine, and covered, first her back, then the rest of her skin with black and red fur.

  Yet, because of the training she had received when she was a pup of only four winters, she remained in control of the raw power of the wolf. A woman of higher mind inside her animal’s body, she kicked the now useless shoes off her hind paws and charged forward to join the fight.

  However, just as she reached the meadow, the unfathomable happened.

  A silver arrow sliced through the air and sank into Olafr’s back. Olafr! She screamed, her wolf’s voice turning the sound into a mournful howl as Olafr’s wolf fell from the neck of the serpent, and transformed into a human male before hitting the ground.

  Dear Fenrir Wolf…he was human. Actually human. This was a sight Myrna had not seen since her younger brother was a boy of five winters. But now, he appeared a man grown with hair the same bright flame color as hers and FJ’s, lying across his large heavily-muscled body in long tangled ropes.

  Was he dead? Possibly. FJ, who was still in human form, bent over him now, shouting at their brother. Perhaps in lament? Myrna’s own lament tore through her body. And she started toward them, her soul screaming tears, as fear and grief overwhelmed her mind.

  For a few crazed moments, she cared not of the arrows whizzing by and taking out several more freshly turned wolves in the meadow. Olafr! Olafr! She had to help her brother!

  But then her father’s voice appeared in her mind once more. Think, Daughter. Keep a female’s mind.

  Listening to her father’s voice, she instinctively turned away from the meadow and as her mother so oft broke down a recipe for a dish from her time, did she attempt to reckon the origin of these deadly silver arrows. Oh Fenrir wolf, there were now two large serpents, setting fire to many of the houses within their village. Her eyes once again blurred with tears at the sight.

  Daughter, this is no time for emotion…

  Her father was right. Myrna blinked the tears back to follow the arrows' flight path back to a copse of trees. She squinted into the shadows and could just make out the glowing alabaster skin of a man. No, not a human, she reminded herself—a serpent who had taken a man’s form. And he was shooting arrows at her brethren.

  Suddenly, she knew without a single doubt what her role in this fight would be.

  Hardening her mind to female, she charged toward the forest, circling to his blind spot, dodging behind trees and bushes until eventually, she got so close, the shooter could hear her imminent attack. Too close to give his arrow good aim, he burst from the woods and started running away along the tree-lined edge of the meadow.

  Myrna gave him grim chase before leaping at the archer’s throat and tearing it viciously from his human body. The blood, it tasted…strange. Acrid. Like liquid smoke. She disliked it a little but withstood it as she furiously avenged her younger brother—

  But then without warning, another arrow whizzed past her shoulder. There was another archer, she discovered painfully, as her shoulder burned like no mere cut ever could.

  The wound was so excruciating, she lost her wolf, morphing into her woman’s form with the serpent man’s throat still between her teeth.

  “Myrna!” a voice called above her, pulling her to her feet. It was FJ…

  She was wounded, but otherwise all right. However, before she could tell him that, the original blue serpent turned in their direction, its neck still bloody with Olafr’s teeth marks.

  And upon seeing FJ and Myrna, its golden eyes narrowed to slits.

  The massive beast charged, barreling towards them with both speed and deadly intent.

  Her brother grabbed her by the arm, running with her into the forest. In any other case, the tall evergreen trees would have given them some hope of escape or mayhap even a hiding place from the monster behind them.

  But one glance o
ver her shoulder told Myrna that the rich forest would provide them with little protection. For the beast batted aside the trees in his path as if they were little more than gate pegs.

  “Let me go!” she yelled at her brother, tugging at her arm. “I will engage the beast and give you time to escape.”

  It was a good plan. FJ was the fenrir next, and his life was infinitely more important than Myrna's “Ever the Maid.” However, her brother held her arm fast.

  “No! We must do as our father did to escape death. As I made Olafr do after he was struck down. Speak the fated mate spell,” FJ yelled back at her.

  The fated mate spell…

  Speaking such words would mean traveling through unknown space and time that would land her somewhere she might not be able to comprehend…or for that matter, return from. Mayhap her plan was the better one. However, there was little time for debate or even a few moments more of consideration. The ground beneath her bare feet quaked with the serpent’s rapid approach. He would be upon them soon, close enough to reduce them to ashes with its fire breath.

  For once Myrna decided against arguing with her brother.

  With the serpent thundering behind them, she obeyed his command. Repeating precisely what FJ yelled out to her. She knew she had spoken the last words of the spell when two dark tunnels appeared in front of them, filled with stars.

  She faltered before the starry tunnels, her eyes wide as amulets at the sight of the spell’s strange magic. However, the serpent bearing down on them did not, as her mother might say, “get the shock and awe memo.”

  Just as a great sucking air lifted her and FJ off their feet, the monster gave a great roar behind them. The last thing Myrna felt was the heat of its approaching flame right before one of the tunnels pulled her into its mystical realm.

  3

  Rafes

  Baltimore, Maryland, the late 2030s

  After living the first four years of his life in Viking Age Norway, Rafes still hesitated to call any item or place from the current age, old-fashioned. But if he were ever to use such a word, it would be to describe La Taverne Loup.