Arthur and the Fenris Wolf

by Alan Early

  The sun was just setting when they got back to the Barry household; Stace and her parents were already home. Arthur, Ash and Max were about to run upstairs to discuss their training in private when Mr Barry called Ash into the living-room. He and his wife were sitting on the couch and Arthur could guess from the redness in his neck that he was annoyed about something.

  ‘Where have you lot been?’ he asked furiously.

  ‘We just went to the cinema,’ Ash lied.

  ‘And you left the front door wide open!’ Mr Barry accused.

  ‘No, we didn’t,’ she cried. ‘I definitely locked it on the way out!’

  ‘Well, it was wide open when we got home,’ said Mrs Barry. ‘How do you explain that?’

  ‘I don’t know but I definitely locked it, didn’t I?’ She turned to Arthur and Max and they both instantly backed up her story. Arthur distinctly remembered Ash making sure the door was tightly shut.

  ‘And what about the scratches on the door?’ Mr Barry went on. ‘If it’s that dog of yours, we’re getting rid of her!’

  ‘Scratches?’ Ash repeated, running into the hallway. She knelt down and studied the deep grooves etched into the wood of the door. They definitely looked like claw marks. Before anyone could say anything else, she ran through the house, going from room to room and calling her pup’s name. Ice was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Arthur,’ she said, out of breath, when she was finished her search, ‘Ice is gone.’

  Flashlight beams broke through the darkness of the estate as calls of ‘Ice!’ shattered the silence. They walked the length and breadth of the estate, shining their torches under cars, behind wheelie bins and down the narrow alleys that ran between every second house. Even Mr and Mrs Barry were going from door to door, asking the neighbours if anyone had seen the dog. While Stace and Max concentrated on the far end of the estate, Arthur took his chance to search the green.

  Eirik was concealed in the depths of the trees when Arthur got there, keeping a close eye on the proceedings in the estate. He wore a pained, worried expression.

  Arthur felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. A quick glance told him it was the unknown number again. He still didn’t have time to talk to anyone so he cancelled the call once more. He looked up at Eirik.

  ‘Have you seen Ash’s dog, Eirik?’

  The Viking nodded in response and pointed at the green, drawing the line with his finger where he saw Ice run earlier in the day.

  ‘She followed us?’ Arthur asked. Eirik nodded. Why would she follow us, Arthur wondered as he headed off in the direction Eirik had indicated. He snuck through the brush rather than going around it as he usually would. Whatever Ice was up to, he aimed to find out for himself, without Ash’s input.

  He emerged right at the edge of the road that ran behind the estate. Two lanes of traffic flew at breakneck speeds in both directions. Car headlights blinded him and trucks rattled loudly, shaking the very ground beneath his feet, but there was no sign of the pup.

  Arthur was about to turn back when he heard the bark.

  It was a high-pitched yap – not unlike Ice’s own cry – and it was so faint that Arthur wasn’t sure if he had heard anything. A second bark confirmed that the sound had been real. It was distant and broken, the sound bouncing to him from across the busy road. There was a third bark, this time accompanied by a persistent and shrieking yelp. Whatever animal had made the sound was clearly in some pain or discomfort.

  He squinted across the road. There was a matching estate and clump of trees on the opposite side. Although he couldn’t get a clear view through the hurtling traffic, he could just make out some of the low bushes moving over there. It could have been caused by the wind or by the gusts from the cars, but the shuddering of the shrubs seemed too urgent to be either.

  The nearest set of traffic lights – and pedestrian crossing – was a few hundred yards from where he’d seen the bushes move. However, in the other direction was a footbridge over the road itself, which Arthur headed straight for, taking extra care on the narrow pavement along his side of the road.

  Both sides of the footbridge had a set of steps and a long, winding wheelchair ramp. At the top of the stairs on each side were tall poles with a pair of iron suspension cables holding the bridge itself aloft. The walkway spanned the entire four lanes of the road. Arthur took the steps, bounding up them two at a time. As he passed over the walkway, he felt the slightest vibration of the traffic below his feet. He came to a stop midway and peered over the edge. It was a strange sensation, being up so high over the busy road. Despite the fumes and noise, it felt oddly peaceful to look down at the disappearing lights. After a moment, he continued on across the bridge.

  A figure was slowly moving up the ramp he was approaching. He squinted in the amber glow of the streetlights and the person came into focus. It was an old woman, frail and hunched over, with a headscarf fluttering in the slight breeze. She was heaving a shopping bag on wheels up the last few feet of the ramp. From the way the bag bulged at the sides, it was clearly very heavy. Arthur ran forward to help her with it.

  ‘Oh, thank you, dearie!’ she said, her voice crackling with exhaustion as Arthur took hold of the trolley. She wore green eye-shadow and bright-pink lipstick – both applied liberally. Her teeth were yellowed – no doubt the result of a lifetime of smoking. And she reeked of flowery perfume. ‘Me legs aren’t what they used to be.’

  ‘No problem at all,’ said Arthur cheerily as he set the cart down on the walkway. ‘Would you like a hand down the far side with it?’

  ‘You’re very good. But I should manage that side by myself. Thank you again, dearie.’ The woman gripped the handle and went on her way.

  Arthur continued down the ramp – half running, half skipping – and then towards where he’d spotted the rustling bushes.

  ‘Ice?’ he called as he walked. ‘Ice, are you there?’

  There was no discernible sound over the traffic now. No barking or yelping. Just his own footsteps and the speeding cars.

  ‘Ice?’ He ducked into the shrubbery in a gap between two dense briar patches. As soon as he was inside the clump of trees, the noise of the traffic lowered to a distant groan. The trees were denser here which meant that it was darker than on his side of the road and he had to use his phone flashlight to see anything.

  ‘Ice? Come here, girl.’

  No answer, no sound.

  Arthur moved deeper through the trees and bushes. All he found was the remains of a campfire and beer cans that some teenagers had probably been responsible for. After a few minutes, he gave up and trudged back towards the footbridge.

  He went back up the ramp more slowly than before, lost in his thoughts. Where was Ice? Why had she followed them? Or, rather, had she been following them?

  Arthur shuffled his feet dejectedly across the walkway, gazing down at the hurtling lights. He thought of all the people in all those cars and wondered where they were going, where they were coming from, who they were with. Regardless of the answers, he was quite certain that they didn’t have to deal with the same kind of problems that he did.

  He was midway across the bridge when his foot kicked off something. He bent down and picked it up.

  An iron nut.

  It was painted black but with a fine layer of rust around one of the threads. He looked at the metal floor of the walkway around him and spotted the matching bolt. It was around six inches long, also painted black and also with a crust of rust along some of the threads. Odd, he thought, turning the two of them over in his hands. Where did they–

  He looked behind him. There, where the ramp met the walkway – the railing of the ramp should have been attached to that of the bridge but there was a gap. It was slight but it was definitely there. He’d missed it because he’d been looking at the traffic.

  He turned back in the direction of home. The old woman with the shopping bag was standing at the far ramp. There was a wrench by her feet, a bolt-cutter in her hand and a grin on her f
ace. She turned her fist over, dropping a handful of nuts and bolts. They thumped heavily onto the walkway. When Arthur pulled his shocked gaze away from them, the woman was lost in a cloud of green light. It faded away, revealing Loki in her place.

  Arthur was rigid with fear as Loki swung the bolt-cutter up over his head. He vaguely recognised it as the same one that Will had used all those months ago at the Metro site. With one screeching shriek, like nails on slate, the god snapped one of the suspension cables.

  The walkway lurched underneath Arthur’s feet, shaking him from his stupor. Without waiting to watch Loki cut through the second cable, he turned and sprinted in the opposite direction.

  Every second counted, yet every footstep felt like an eternity.

  All the muscles in his body were straining to get him off the bridge, to safety.

  Above Loki’s laughter, Arthur heard the second cable snap behind him and felt the bridge lurch downwards.

  He gave one last push, his legs cramping, and–

  He landed with a thud on the ramp, crashing onto his hands and knees. He turned, just in time to see the far end of the walkway ploughing into the road below. The squeal of brakes reverberated around him as the traffic tried to avoid hitting the bridge. One car screeched to a stop just in time to avoid being squashed underneath it. The cables above Arthur’s head groaned and creaked but stayed attached to the bridge. He heard the crunch of metal below him as someone failed to react in time. He really hoped no one was seriously hurt.

  When he looked back across the chasm that had been the bridge, Loki was gone.

  Chapter Fifteen

  In the confusion that followed the accident, Arthur snuck across the road, where all traffic was now at a standstill, and ran back to his estate. His legs were still shaking and he had a few small scratches on the palms of his hands but, other than that, he was unhurt. He didn’t feel like having to talk to the Gardaí for a second time that week.

  Joe’s car was in the drive when he got back. Ash was standing talking to him with Ice in her arms.

  ‘Look, Arthur!’ Ash exclaimed gleefully. ‘Your dad found Ice!’

  ‘I saw her sitting by the side of the road into town when I was coming home,’ Joe told Arthur. ‘I recognised her wheels so I stopped and picked her up.’ He held up a cardboard box heaving with files. ‘Anyway, I’ll just drop these inside.’ Joe turned and left them alone.

  ‘Isn’t it great!’ Ash hugged Ice closer to her.

  When Arthur didn’t answer she raised one quizzical eyebrow at him.

  ‘Something wrong?’

  He quickly filled her in on what had happened, keeping his voice low so that no one would hear that he had been at the accident that would soon be all over the news.

  When he was done, Ash set Ice down on the ground and took Arthur in a tight hug, then gave him a once over for any injuries.

  ‘I’m fine Ash, I’m fine. It’s just …’ He shot a look at Ice.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I thought I heard Ice. That’s why I crossed the bridge to start with.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘It was all a trap, Ash!’ he cried impatiently. ‘And Ice was the bait.’

  Ash protectively picked up the pup again. ‘So you think Loki took Ice?’

  ‘No. I think Ice was in on it.’

  She sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. ‘You’ve had a shock, Arthur. You’re not thinking straight.’

  ‘I’m fine, Ash. I know what I heard. And–’

  ‘Don’t be daft, Arthur! We’re not getting into this again. Even if you did hear a dog it was probably Loki imitating Ice.’

  ‘How would Loki have known Ice was missing? In fact, how would he even know you have her?’

  ‘He’s a god, Arthur, who knows what he knows? I wish you would just give up on this idiotic theory of yours. Besides, if she was across the road a minute ago, how could your dad have found her on the road into town?’

  ‘I don’t know but–’

  ‘Stop,’ Ash said curtly and turned, starting back towards her own house. Then, unwilling to part on such a sour note, she called back, ‘I’m glad you’re OK. I’ll see you tomorrow before school. Thank your dad for me again.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Arthur said. ‘See you.’ As Ash walked away, Arthur could have sworn he saw the pup looking back at him with what could only be described as a smug look on her face. If only Ash would listen to me, he thought, watching his friend until she went inside her house and closed the door.

  As soon as Arthur was back in his bedroom, his phone started vibrating again. Finally able to answer the unknown number, he pressed the green phone key.

  ‘Hello?’ he said, a little too sharply.

  ‘Hi,’ said a girl’s voice on the other end. ‘Arthur? It’s Ellie. Ellie Lavender. From school.’

  ‘Hi, Ellie. How did you get my number?’

  ‘It’s a long story involving Ciara, Megan, Robyn, Brian and Caroline,’ she answered. ‘Listen, I was hoping I’d catch you to talk about what happened yesterday.’

  After his long day of trying to please the grouchy Magnus, and then his encounter with Loki, Arthur really wasn’t in the mood for discussing the museum.

  ‘Sorry, Ellie,’ he said. ‘I’m just too tired to talk about that now.’

  ‘But can I just ask you–’

  ‘Goodnight, Ellie.’ And with that he hung up and collapsed onto his bed.

  In a time before history was written down, in Asgard, the realm of the gods, there is a lake called Amsvartnir. It stretches as wide as the eye can see and is unfathomably deep and the water is ever-shifting shades of blue and green and yellow. The lake is always still, as if the wind itself is terrified of disturbing its strange and wondrous beauty. In the centre of Lake Amsvartnir is an island called Lyngvi. It is insignificant, rocky and dusty; no life can flourish here. And it is this island that the gods are heading for on this day.

  There are usually twelve gods and twelve goddesses in Asgard. But with Loki imprisoned and Thor still engaged in battle with the Jormungand, it is down to those who remain to travel to Lyngvi.

  Odin walks in front. He is known as the Battle God, as the One-Eyed, as the All-Father, and he is the leader of Asgard. He wears a dark cape that trails on the ground and a wide-brimmed leather hat that casts an eternal shadow over his face. His left eye is watchful and intelligent, shifting quickly back and forth in its socket. His right eye is gone. He traded it years ago for knowledge. A tan eye-patch covers the empty socket. The satchel across his chest looks empty.

  They walk across the lake, their feet travelling on a stone causeway hidden just below the water’s surface. These hexagonal-shaped boulders start at the shore and end at the island and are wide enough for all the gods and a single carriage to pass along. The carriage is being pulled by a boar, following Odin closely. It snorts and grunts with every step, struggling to haul the cart across the lake. Though there is only one passenger in the carriage, it weighs more now than at any other time the boar has pulled it. The boar, with its great tusks and strong legs, is terrified of the sole beast in the buggy.

  The Fenris Wolf sleeps soundly in the wagon, lying on his back, his tongue lolling out of his slack mouth. If he was to stand on his hindquarters, he would be as tall and as broad as Thor himself. But now, thankfully, he is unconscious. The only way the gods had of transporting him was by casting a series of spells to capture him and send him to sleep. In the short few days of his life, under Loki’s command, he has slaughtered men, women and children. A small round piece of glass hangs on a string around his great neck, but even now none of the gods is brave enough to try to take it off for fear of the jaws snapping down on their wrists. They know the spells will only work on such a powerful being for a short time.

  They reach the island and all clamber onto it. There is barely enough space for them all.

  ‘Fenris Wolf,’ Odin says, keeping his one eye fixed on the beast, ‘awaken and face your fate.’

  The wolf’s
eyes shoot open. In one swift bound, he leaps off the carriage and lands on the stony ground, watching the gods warily. The boar, happy to be relieved of his burden, turns as quickly as he can and proceeds to pull the – now much lighter – carriage back to the mainland.

  Fenrir backs up against a tall and craggy boulder sticking out of the ground. He snarls at the gods, baring razor-sharp, bloodstained teeth. His black fur bristles across his back.

  ‘Quiet, Fenris Wolf,’ Odin snaps. ‘You are here to pay for your crimes.’

  The wolf stops growling and suddenly breaks into a booming laugh.

  ‘My crimes?’ the wolf cries in a deep, rumbling voice. All the gods but Odin recoil in horror at the terrifying sound. ‘You think you can make me pay?’

  Odin waits while the wolf laughs derisively. As his mirth trails off, the All-Father reaches into the seemingly empty satchel. Even though the leather bag appears no larger than a purse, he thrusts his arm in up to his elbow and fishes about for something. As he does so, he keeps his one eye fixed on the wolf and the wolf stares back with ferocity.

  Eventually Odin withdraws his arm. In his hand is an immense chain with thick and powerful-looking links. He holds it before him so all can see.

  ‘This chain is called Laeding,’ he announces loudly. ‘We, the gods of Asgard, forged it from the strongest iron in all the nine worlds. No man nor beast has the strength to break these links.’ He lowers it and takes a tentative step towards the wolf. ‘Even you can’t escape this chain, Fenris Wolf.’

  The wolf looks at the chain with wide eyes, then abruptly howls with laughter.

  ‘You think you can trap me with that, old man?’ he sneers. ‘All right. You can try. And to make it easier for you I won’t even move from this rock so that you can bind me to it.’

  The lesser gods look from one to the other, nervous of the animal’s mocking words. Odin accepts the challenge, calls forward the three strongest gods present and hands them Laeding. They set about binding the wolf to the crag in the middle of the island. They coil the chain around his belly, twice around each leg and thrice around the rock before sealing the two loose links with magic. And all the while, the Fenris Wolf remains calm, letting them entangle him.