Fenrir

by MD. Lachlan

  The cold numbed him, the chants made his head feel like a ripe fig, straining to split its skin. Do you know what they did to me? Do you know what they did? There was a voice in his ear full of rage and hatred. He was in a different place. Or rather it was the same place but changed. There was no pool at all. The room was dry, in fact parched. His nostrils stung and his tongue seemed cased in sand. Around the pillar to his right wound a great serpent, gold, red and green, dripping venom from its lips. It stretched up over his head, curled about the pillar that secured him and down the pillar to his left. On that, pinioned like him, was an extraordinary sight.

  A tall pale man with a shock of red hair was screaming as the serpent dripped venom into his eyes. His skin was red raw where the venom burned it, his hair singed to patches, his eyes dark as liver, his lips black and charred. Acrid steam issued from the flesh as the venom trickled and seared.

  ‘Can you not free me, my son?’ The voice was imploring, between a sob and a scream.

  ‘I am tied myself.’ Suddenly Jehan’s thinking was clear.

  ‘They tied you like they tied me, the gods of darkness and slaughter.’

  ‘Can we get out?’

  ‘We will get out. It is foreseen.’

  ‘Where is the Raven? Where is that creature?’ Jehan shouted.

  ‘Gone.’

  ‘He deserves death.’

  ‘He is death’s servant. He serves the god in the noose.’

  For the first time in his life Jehan felt afraid. This thing in front of him was in torment but it had a presence that seemed to make the air heavy around it. An awful thought came to him: This is hell. His pride had undone him and he had been sent to the lake of fire. ‘You are a devil,’ he said, ‘and this is hell.’

  ‘Hell fears you, Fenrisulfr. Its halls tremble to hear your voice.’

  ‘Why do you call me that?’ The name seemed to resonate in his head like the bell of hours.

  ‘It is your name.’

  ‘Release me from this place, devil.’

  ‘Would you be free?’

  ‘I would be free.’

  ‘Then run free.’

  Suddenly Jehan was choking again, drowning, back in the pool. Something was beside him in the dark, its great head lolling against him, its breath hot on his skin, the monstrous note of complaint and agony that issued from its throat threatening to burst his ears. The wolf was next to him, held down with bonds cruel and thin. Its agony consumed him, and he was no longer himself; he was the wolf, trying to stand, trying to breathe even, beneath the awful constriction of the vicious threads that held and cut him. He broke his bonds behind him and ripped at the noose around his neck with his fingers, tearing the rope to nothing.

  Something at his side was in its death throes. The seductive beat of a failing heart, constricting veins and muscles, the shallow, frozen breath filled his mind. His body responded to it and he forced his way through the water to drink in the delicious rhythm of death, to take it in and express it like a dancer expresses music.

  There was a great cry. It was so near that at first he thought it had come from himself. But it had not. It had come from the man lashed to the column of rock, the man dying under Jehan’s fingers and teeth. More noise, more howling. The other monk was screaming for him to stop. Jehan went to him and made him quiet.

  When he was done, Jehan lay a while in the water, like a corpse among corpses. He thought nothing, felt nothing. He did not question, did not think, as the pale child took his hand and led him from the pool.

  40 A Commercial Decision

  Leshii was dreadfully tired. The fire was warm and hypnotic and he allowed himself an old man’s fancy of picking faces in it as he thought about his options.

  The only hope he had was that the lady would arrange some sort of compensation for him when they returned to Paris. But how certain was that? The whole town was surrounded by a seething mass of Danes, like so many ants around the discarded core of a pear. There would be a fight to get in and Leshii wasn’t up to that.

  Even if he did get in, how would he get out, this time with no warriors to help him? Accept it, you fool. You’re a poor man now. All your labours have come to nothing. He said the words to himself and felt very bitter.

  Warriors – Franks or Danes – might think it noble to have striven and lost but he couldn’t see it that way. He had planned an old age in a courtyard garden warmed by the sun. He had thought he might have a fountain in the Roman style, a woman to cook and clean for him, perhaps even a bed slave if he could afford one. All that was gone, just the memory of a dream.

  He fell towards a miserable sort of sleep but his anxiety brought him jolting back to consciousness.

  How long could he go on trading for? He could make a living, of course, scratch together enough for food and some mean lodgings, but he knew what faced him when his eyes failed, his back seized up or his knees – already painful – became unbearable. He would starve or have to cast himself on the mercy of the temple of Perun. It was no way to end your life.

  The warmth of the fire lulled him and he started drifting away once more. A noise broke his dozing. It was the call of a bird. He looked around him. Two ravens were perched on the sleeping Frank. All the feelings he had been suppressing inside him seemed to come bursting out – anger, disappointment fear – and he picked up a stick to hurl it at the birds. Then he stopped himself. The Frank was Renier, the one who had implied Aelis was a whore for cutting her hair. Leshii had had a thought.

  He put the stick back down and looked around him. There was no raven coming for him. He went across to the horse and the mule they had brought with them. Both animals were hobbled – a forefoot and a back leg tied together to make it impossible for them to wander too far. He removed the hobbles and tied the beasts loosely to a tree. He wanted to saddle up the horse but feared too much stamping and blowing would wake the Franks. Then he took his knife and went to Aelis’s tent. As he passed the Frank, he saw in the moonlight that the bird had taken a peck at his cheek.

  It hadn’t woken the warrior, though the man was mumbling in his sleep: ‘She is not of my party. She will counsel against me for my angry words. She will produce sons to frustrate the claims of my line. Eudes is not the man to lead the Franks. She is not of my party. She will counsel against me for my angry words. She will produce sons to frustrate the claims of my line. Eudes is not the man to lead the Franks.’ He repeated the words again and again.

  The raven flew from the man’s shoulder up into a tree, fading to invisibility against the dark mass of the branches.

  Leshii knelt by the flap of the tent. ‘Lady, lady!’

  There was no answer.

  ‘Lady, lady. Quickly, before it’s too late. The Frank is enchanted.’

  ‘Who is there?’

  ‘Shhhh! Do not attract his attention. You must come away with me now. The Frank is enchanted and who knows how many more of them. You are not safe with these men, lady.’

  ‘What do you want, Leshii?’

  ‘Quick, pull on your boots. You are in danger. Hurry.’

  Aelis came to herself and did as Leshii asked. She looked out of the tent across the glade. The Frank sat, his sword drawn, looking down at it and mumbling to himself as if he didn’t quite know what it was.

  Aelis crawled out of her tent. ‘Alert the others,’ she said.

  ‘No, I think they may be enchanted too, we have no way of knowing.’ Leshii’s voice was an urgent whisper.

  ‘So what do we do?’

  ‘Come away, now. You are not safe. The ravens will find you everywhere. Ladoga is your only course. Helgi can save you if we can keep the enchantment away until then. I have a plan how we might do it.’

  She looked at the merchant. Aelis, who heard people as music and sensed them as colours, could tell he was lying, or rather that he was motivated by self-interest and was not telling her the whole truth. He seemed to hum with threat, like the buzz of a hornet across a summer’s day. But when she looked
at the mumbling Frank she sensed something of a different magnitude altogether. There was tumult there, disturbance, like a mighty flood driving a screaming waterwheel.

  ‘We need to go,’ said Leshii.

  Aelis knew he was right, and they began to make their way across the camp. As they passed him, the Frank stood. ‘Look at your hair. That is the mark of an enchantress. You are no princess but a peasant slut!’

  ‘Get on the horse! Go back to where we met,’ shouted Leshii, who had given up hope of not waking the other Franks. He formed his hands into an improvised stirrup and Aelis jumped up onto the horse with a gasp. Her ribs were terribly painful. She forced herself to forget that, pulling up a spear from where it was stuck butt first in the mud.

  The Frank leaped towards her, and she flicked the hindquarters of the animal out of the way with the pressure of her leg. Leshii kicked at the Frank’s legs and knocked him to the ground, but the man was up in a second. Other knights were pouring from the tents.

  ‘He’s enchanted; he’s trying to kill the lady!’ shouted Leshii.

  Aelis put her legs to the horse, and it sprang forward into the night, away down a track. Renier went plunging after her, screaming and shouting.

  ‘You see!’ shouted Leshii. ‘You see!’

  ‘What has happened? Slowly!’ It was Moselle, buckling on his sword.

  ‘The lady is pursued by enchanters. They have possessed your bondsman. He means to kill her.’

  ‘Crap,’ said Moselle. ‘Get me my horse. Never mind the saddle; just get my horse.’

  A young knight unhobbled Moselle’s mount while the others set to, freeing their animals. Moselle jumped up onto his horse and was gone through the trees after Renier and Aelis, the others charging after him.

  Leshii looked around the camp. The last of the knights had disappeared. He was sorely tempted to look for any coins they might have left, but he knew that if Aelis was found and the Franks returned they would soon notice any missing money and only one person would get the blame.

  Leshii wasn’t about to let Aelis get away from him, so he threw a saddle over the horse that had carried Sindre, tacked it up as quickly as he could and tied his mule behind. The knights couldn’t punish him for taking a horse that was rightfully his, and at that moment the horse and the mule were all Leshii possessed in the world.

  As he worked, he glanced down at Sindre. The wolfman was flat unconscious.

  ‘Ah, Chakhlyk,’ he said, ‘why did I bring you here? There has to be an easier way to earn a living.’

  He squatted beside him and put his hand on his brow. The wolfman was cold, not long for life clearly. Leshii wanted something to remember him by and was about to take the wolfskin when he paused for a second. It was valuable but so dear to the wolfman that Leshii could not bear to steal it. The thought struck him as odd. The man was going to die; why not take his valuables? But the merchant could not.

  ‘You’ll need that for your magic in the afterlife,’ he said.

  But then he saw the stone at Sindre’s neck, the pebble. He looked at it. So that was what the design was – the crude head of a wolf. It made sense, Leshii guessed. He studied the complicated knot that tied the stone to the thong. The pendant was worth nothing but it was something to remember the wolfman by. Leshii cut it from his neck. Then he got up onto the horse and looked down at him.

  ‘Good luck,’ he said, making his lightning bolt sign, then kicked his horse into a trot.

  It wasn’t difficult to discover where the Franks had gone. There was a terrible hullaballoo coming from within the trees. As Leshii got closer, he could hear the Franks were arguing with each other.

  ‘You will not strike my brother!’

  ‘You need to hold him.’

  ‘Renier, put down your sword, man. What’s wrong with you?’

  There was a scream, some more shouting and then the unmistakable sound of swords clashing.

  ‘Don’t hurt him. The merchant was right – he’s enchanted.’

  ‘He got my arm! Christ, Renier, you’ll pay for that.’

  ‘Stand where you are!’ It was Moselle’s voice above the uproar. ‘No one harm him. Get behind him. We’ll mob him and tie him up.’

  Leshii drove his horse forward to see the Franks circling Renier, who slashed out with his sword, his breath heavy and his eyes wild.

  ‘Now!’

  The knights leaped forward almost as one. In a few seconds they had him on the ground, disarmed but struggling.

  ‘What is this, merchant?’ Moselle stood and approached Leshii.

  ‘I don’t know. Witchcraft.’

  ‘There’s no such thing; the priests are firm on that.’

  ‘What do you call it then?’

  The knight shrugged. ‘I don’t know. How can we shake him from this?’

  ‘The last time I saw it, we ran a sword through the victim. That cured him.’

  ‘I’ll run one through you in a moment,’ said Moselle. ‘You think this will pass?’

  ‘It did before, but, as I said, the man was dying. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to look for your count’s sister.’

  ‘Tie him,’ said Moselle to the Franks; ‘I’m going to get Lady Aelis.’

  One of the knights ran back for some rope while the others held Renier down. Moselle jumped onto his horse. He said nothing to Leshii, but the merchant followed him. Behind them a cry went up.

  ‘Get him!’

  ‘He’s over there!’

  Renier had escaped and the Franks were hunting him through the trees. Leshii didn’t look back, he just kicked the mule on, determined to be away from the enchanted knight.

  Moselle was a considerably better rider than the easterner, and Leshii struggled to keep up. Eventually he gave up and just followed the path of the Frank’s horse through the trees. He was confident he was on the right track as there was only one negotiable path. It was nearly dawn when he came upon them. Aelis was standing in front of Moselle and next to a stream. She’d had to pause to rest her horse, thought Leshii, and that was how she had been caught. Moselle was attempting to reason with her.

  ‘Lady, the danger is over. We’ve restrained Renier. He is not himself. I cannot explain it but I can deal with it. He will proceed tied and under guard until we reach the city. It’s only a day’s good ride away. Please come with us.’

  ‘My mind is made up,’ said Aelis. ‘I’m not coming back to Paris. It’s too dangerous. At any moment my kinsmen could be turned against me. I need to go to the root of the problem and end it there.’

  ‘That is impossible. You are a woman,’ said Moselle. ‘Let me go. I am a warrior and veteran of many battles. Whatever it is that afflicts you, my men and I can put an end to it.’

  ‘No, you can’t,’ said Aelis, ‘though I wish you could. If you came with me, one of you would turn against me, then one more. I can’t be near people, least of all warriors. Give me the sword.’

  ‘Lady?’

  ‘The sword. By my family’s right of command, give me the sword that I gave to you – the Viking blade.’ Moselle had clearly decided Sigfrid’s sword was superior to his own and had taken to carrying it.

  ‘What for? I am not enchanted; I’m not going to attack you.’

  Aelis shook her head. She went to where Moselle’s horse was standing. It was a fine grey, almost glowing in the predawn light. Aelis stroked its nose and nuzzled her head into its neck. Then she turned to Moselle.

  ‘Give me the sword.’

  Moselle shrugged and untied the sword. Aelis took it and put it on.

  ‘Another disguise?’ said Moselle.

  ‘No. I need it to defend myself. Do you have any money?’

  ‘A few denier.’

  ‘Give me those too.’

  Moselle took a purse out of his tunic and passed it to her. Aelis was relieved to find it was relatively heavy.

  ‘What do you plan to do, lady?’

  ‘To go to the east, where I shall solve this problem or die.’<
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  ‘This is unnatural. Only men should say such things,’ said Moselle. ‘You are enchanted too.’

  ‘The northerners have battle maidens,’ said Leshii. ‘I’ve seen one in Kiev. She did look unnatural – too tall for a woman and not at all demure. Someone should have beaten her and put her in her place, but they were all too scared, I think.’

  ‘Give me your knife and your axe,’ said Aelis to Leshii.

  ‘How many weapons do you need?’

  ‘Just all the ones that are near me. You are coming with me, merchant; you’re going to show me the way.’

  For the first time in a long while Leshii smiled. ‘I’d be delighted.’

  ‘You’d trust a foreigner?’ said Moselle.

  ‘I don’t trust him at all,’ said Aelis, ‘so at least we know where we stand. Besides, if he becomes enchanted he is old and unarmed so I can kill him.’

  ‘A thousand advantages!’ said Leshii.

  ‘I will not allow it,’ said Moselle. ‘Your brother would not allow it, and I feel I am acting on his behalf. You will come with me willingly or, I regret to say, you will come unwillingly, but one way or another you are coming to Paris, lady.’

  Aelis shook her head and whistled to her horse. The animal came to her, and she stepped onto a fallen tree trunk and mounted. Moselle wasn’t slow to do the same.

  ‘Lady, you cannot outride me. Do not make me carry you back to Paris.’

  ‘I can outride you,’ said Aelis. She turned her horse and trotted it down the path towards the rising sun. Leshii kicked his horse after her, the mule trailing behind.

  ‘This is stupid,’ said Moselle and squeezed his legs on his horse’s flanks as a signal to advance. The animal didn’t move. Moselle kicked again. The horse didn’t budge. He kicked again and again, but still the animal stayed where it was. Then he got off and tried to lead it by the reins. It had never disobeyed him before, been alert to his every command as they’d cut their way through the press of Danes outside Paris, but now it simply would not go on. When he smacked its rump all it did was turn on the spot. When he led it in a circle it was happy to go back the way they had come but would take no more than a few paces to the east. Moselle knew it was insanity to follow her on foot without his men – there were legions of bandits, Slavs, Magyars, Norsemen and, who knew, even Saracens on the road to the east. A Frankish knight would be as vulnerable as – he tried to think – an old man and woman travelling alone.