The Complete Fenris Series

by Samantha MacLeod

“Here it is!” Thor called.

  I looked up to see a rainbow arching across the heavens, its brilliant light flooding the pre-dawn gloom. Its colors were so intense that the rest of the world looked drained by comparison, as if we’d somehow stepped between the pages of one of King Nøkkyn’s books and now lived our lives in nothing but black and white.

  “What’s going on?” I cried. My fingers tightened around Fenris’s shoulder.

  I had enough time to remember some distant story about the Æsir’s Bifröst, the rainbow bridge which spanned the Nine Realms, before the entire world spun and dissolved around me, fading into cold mist and fog.

  Fenris staggered next to me. The air filled with the sound of his retching. I bent down, afraid he’d be pulled away from me and noticed the brilliant shock of green grass under my feet. Fenris’s back heaved as he vomited a pale, stinking liquid over the grass.

  By the time I noticed the others standing around us, the mist had dispersed enough for me to make sense of our surroundings. We stood beside a rocky beach, with the sea at our backs and gently undulating green hills before us. Far in the distance, snow-capped mountains shone above a dense forest.

  A black-clad figure stalked away from us, his shoulders pulled tight. I didn’t need to scan the faces around me to recognize him. Týr. My chest tightened as I watched him cross the brilliantly green grass. Was he off to find our answers?

  “Where are we?” I asked.

  Thor laughed again. His voice filled the air, drowning out the distant crash of waves. “Home.” He stomped over and pulled Fenris upright. “Now, come on, boy. Let’s see you fight!”

  Fenris blinked, shaking his head slowly. “Fight?”

  Thor clapped him on the back so hard even I winced.

  “Yes, fight! We know you can’t drink worth a damn. Let’s see if you can fight any better!”

  Fenris staggered, then straighten his back. The hint of a proud, defiant smile pulled at the corners of his pale lips. “I can fight.”

  A handful of delicate, golden sparks drifted into the air around him, but Thor grabbed his shoulders and yanked him backward.

  “Not like that!” Thor bellowed. “Magic’s the same as cheating!”

  Fenris shook his head. His shoulders curled down. Without a word, he let the men lead him away, his feet stumbling over the vibrant grass.

  “Sol, was it?”

  I turned to find myself staring at the painfully handsome man who’d broken the tension between Fenris and Óðinn last night. Baldr, I remembered. They called him Baldr the Beautiful. He seemed even more beautiful now, in the pale morning light of this strange place. A few delicate blond curls drifted across his full lips as he smiled.

  I nodded, finding my mouth suddenly dry.

  “You come, too,” Baldr said. “This is your home now as well.”

  He gestured up the hill, and I followed his gaze. There, nestled among the lush, green hills, lay an enormous longhouse. It was half-buried in the grass. White goats grazed on the roof and rows of windows winked in the sunlight. Frowning, I glanced around for Fenris and the rest of the Æsir, but they’d disappeared already.

  “Where did they take him?” I asked.

  The smile stretched across Baldr’s soft, full lips faltered for just a moment. “Just to the practice grounds.”

  “What practice grounds?” I demanded.

  Baldr’s brow furrowed, making him look older. “Do you know where you are, Sol?”

  I frowned, unable to think of a response that wouldn’t confess my utter ignorance.

  “This is Val-hall,” Baldr said slowly, as if he were explaining the concept to a child or a dullard. “You do know what they do in Val-hall?”

  I had the sudden urge to drive my fists into Baldr’s condescending, beautiful smile. Instead, I forced myself to take a deep breath. The air stank of the ocean, an odd, heavy scent that made me think of the sea cell beneath Nøkkyn’s castle.

  “I know what they do in Val-hall,” I said, matching Baldr’s patronizing tone. “Your damn song repeated it enough last night. The mighty warriors fight all day, and then the mighty warriors feast all night.”

  Baldr shrugged, giving me a friendly, easy smile. “Well, exactly. But you don’t need to fight. Come on, I’ll show you to your quarters.”

  His voice was like honey. My earlier impulse to punch him in the face subsided somewhat.

  “But, I still don’t understand,” I said. “Why are we here?”

  Baldr ran a hand through his wind-tousled curls and sighed. “You’re here as our guests, of course. My father thought it appropriate to offer you our hospitality.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “In return for what?”

  Baldr’s laugh rang out over the stones and grass. “You really are always suspicious, aren’t you?”

  His clear eyes sparkled. The clang of metal against metal echoed from somewhere beyond the hills, and I shifted uncomfortably on the thick grass, hoping I hadn’t just done something unforgivably rude. What did I know of the customs of the Æsir?

  In an instant, I decided to stop asking so many damned questions. Fenris had followed Thor and the others without hesitation, hadn’t he? And he’d been raised as a prince; he’d know what to do in this strange setting a thousand times more than I.

  “Come on,” Baldr said, offering me his hand. “I’ll show you Val-hall. And, if you want, you can watch them fight.”

  My gut churned uncomfortably, although there was nothing untoward about Baldr’s offer. He’d been the perfect gentleman, both last night and this morning.

  Biting my lip, I let him take my hand and lead me over the hills.

  THE MONSTER CHAINED: CHAPTER SEVEN

  Val-hall was even bigger than it had seemed from the beach. The row of windows seemed to stretch on forever, sparkling in the sunlight under an enormous sod roof. A massive staircase led to Val-hall’s main doors, which were indeed big enough to accommodate an entire team of horses, although they yawned mostly empty, save for a few clots of warriors joking with each other or leaning against the wall, their eyes half-closed as their faces tilted toward the sun.

  “I thought you said Val-hall had five hundred and forty doors?” I asked.

  Baldr snorted a small laugh and gave me a smile which made blood rush to my cheeks. “Good memory. But most of those doors are on the inside.”

  He paused when we reached the top of the staircase. “What would you like to see first? Your rooms, or the feast hall?”

  I hesitated. The wide, open doors of Val-hall looked nothing like the barbicans of King Nøkkyn’s dark stone fortress, but my throat tightened all the same. A building that large could hide almost anything. For a heartbeat, the briny scent of the ocean rushed over me until it choked my breath, and the darkness inside Val-hall seemed to surge forward, reaching for me with a blind, dark hunger.

  “I think I’ll just find Fenris first,” I stammered, rocking backward on the top step.

  Baldr gave me an odd expression, almost as though I were a message written in a language he could barely decipher. Then his handsome smile returned, and he pointed down the row of windows.

  “Keep walking in that direction,” he said. “You’ll hear them before you see them.”

  I set off immediately. My steps rang out as I rushed over wooden floorboards which had been set just above the grass, perhaps to keep delicate dresses from trailing in the mud.

  “I’ll send someone to find you!” Baldr called after me.

  I did not respond.

  The sound of metal against metal grew louder and stronger as I walked. Eventually, it was joined by cries and shouts, although whether they were screams of victory or agony was impossible to tell.

  I almost screamed myself when I came upon the first group of warriors. The group of men sparred with real swords whose metal edges glinted in the sunlight. I watched with horrified fascination as a tall man with a long, dark braid fell upon a dark-skinned warrior. The shriek of metal filled the air as thei
r swords met. The men grunted when their bodies collided, separated only by the knot of blades between them. The man with the braid moaned, then bent his knee and sank toward the grass. The knot of fear in my chest loosened; he must be preparing to surrender. The dark-skinned warrior’s head tilted toward the man with the braid. Offering clemency, I thought.

  And then it all went wrong.

  With another grunt, the man with the braid pushed off against the ground, knocking the dark-skinned warrior back. Their swords came apart, then flashed again in the sun. The man with the braid swung his long sword in a wide, sudden arc, landing between the warrior’s ribs.

  Blood spurted into the still air. I was close enough to smell it, sharp and metallic. The dark-skinned warrior fell back, his chest streaked with blood. Jets of crimson pulsed into the air, splattering the grass. His victor laughed.

  I clenched my teeth as my empty stomach flipped over itself. Is this what they planned for us? Fodder for the warriors?

  As I watched, the tall warrior bent over his dark-skinned opponent, who now appeared to be unconscious. I almost turned away, fearful I was about to witness a final, fatal blow. Instead, the warrior held a small wineskin to the man’s lips and emptied the contents into his mouth. A moment later, the dark-skinned man coughed and twisted on the ground.

  Of course. The mead of the Æsir heals war wounds. Trembling, I turned away from the warriors, feeling as though I’d just witnessed something intimate and private.

  A few more steps took me to a larger clearing, where scores of warriors moved together on the grass and beaten earth. A few of them lay bleeding on the ground, their swords abandoned, waiting, I supposed, for someone to bring them a flagon of mead.

  In the center of the chaos, surrounded by a loose ring of cheering warriors, I found Fenris.

  I almost leaped from the shadows of Val-hall and ran to pull him away. Fenris was surrounded on all sides by warriors who held gleaming swords pointed at him. His left hand gripped a rusted short sword, which struck me as odd, until I realized the blood dripping down his limp right arm must be coming from the deep gash across his shoulder. He had another bloody smear across his left thigh, and he moved slowly, favoring his right leg.

  Still, he was fast. Someone lunged at him, and he spun, snarling. With a metallic clash, the sword flew from his attacker’s hand and clattered to the ground. Some of the warriors laughed. Fenris continued to spin in a slow circle, his chest heaving for breath.

  It’s a test, I realized. It’s some sort of stupid, stars-damned test, putting him in the middle of a ring of swords and jabbing at him like a wild animal. My hands balled into fists so tight I could feel the half-moon of my nails biting into my palms. Damn the Realms, I wanted to run in there and save him!

  But how would it look to those warriors if I rushed out in my tattered, mud-stained dress and pulled Fenris away like an overprotective mother? I brought my fist to my mouth and bit down on my knuckle as I watched.

  Another warrior rushed forward, coming at Fenris’s back just as he turned. A gleaming blade slashed the skin between his shoulder blades, and Fenris howled with pain as he spun. A moment later he’d knocked the man backward.

  But someone else took that opportunity to sink a spear into Fenris’s right calf. He faltered, falling to his knees. A surge of warriors surrounded his body, and I could no longer see him.

  “Damn it!” I took a step off the porch and toward the melee.

  I realized I was no longer alone, and a jolt of surprise ran through me. An unfamiliar man stood a few steps beyond the porch, his tall body clad in black, his hair like a wreath of flame around his pale face. He was watching the warriors attack Fenris with an expression of such anger and contempt that it drew me up short.

  “You know, you don’t have to watch this,” a woman’s voice drawled from behind me.

  I spun away from the man to find a tall, resplendent woman leaning out of a window behind me. Her ebony hair glittered with gemstones, and her low cut, elegant dress displayed an ample bosom.

  “Excuse me?” I managed to stammer.

  The woman waved her hand at the warriors. Rings glimmered from every one of her fingers. “All that. The men’s stupidity. There are other means of entertainment in Val-hall, you know.”

  I hesitated, turning back toward the field. The tall man with the flaming hair had vanished like smoke. The circle of warriors was slowly re-forming; I couldn’t tell if Fenris was still in the middle.

  “My husband—” I began.

  The woman gave me a coy smile. “Ah, yes. I did hear about him. Is he really as big as they say?”

  I stared, unsure of how to respond. A section of the wall swung open and the woman emerged. She wore a dress the color of the winter sky, lined with a dark trim which echoed the curls of her gem-encrusted hair. It looked especially radiant against her dusky skin. The woman’s dark eyes traveled the length of my shabby, threadbare dress up to the tangled mess of my hair. She raised a delicate eyebrow.

  “Oh, dear. They did tell me you were beautiful, but they didn’t tell me how desperately you needed my help.” She extended her hand. “I’m Freyja.”

  My eyes widened. Freyja was supposed to be the most beautiful woman in the Nine Realms. I gaped at the pout of her full lips and the swell of her breasts. I’d always resented the word beautiful, unless it came from Fenris’s lips, but she clearly reveled in it.

  “Sol,” I said, slowly offering her my own hand.

  Freyja wrapped her fingers around my hand and pulled me forward. “Yes, I know.”

  Hesitating before the darkened doorway, I glanced backward. The man with the fiery hair hadn’t reappeared, and I could scarcely make out what was happening with the warriors in the fields. There was no sign of Fenris.

  “What are they doing to him?” My voice held a ragged edge of desperation.

  Freyja’s mouth tightened, and a line appeared between her eyes. “Testing him. It’ll be worse for him if you try to intervene. You know that, don’t you?”

  I bit my lip so hard my mouth filled with the sting of my own blood. Yes, damn it, I recognized the truth of her words. Of course they were testing him. And he couldn’t look like he needed the protection of anyone, much less a woman. Besides, I’d just witnessed the restorative powers of Val-hall’s mead; I knew no lasting damage would come to him on this battlefield.

  “Come on.” Freyja tugged at my wrist. “Let’s find you something halfway decent to wear.”

  My mind spinning, I let her pull me through the door.

  THE MONSTER CHAINED: CHAPTER EIGHT

  Baldr had already told me most of the doors in Val-hall were on the inside. Still, I couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed as Freyja pulled me into the fabled home of the Æsir. It was just so ordinary.

  We stood together in a somewhat dusty wooden hallway with a row of doors before us. The hall curved toward the right, opening into what looked like a large, open room. The feast hall, I guessed. If it had been made of stone instead of wood, I might have been back in an obscure servant’s corridor in Nøkkyn’s castle.

  “The room will open only for you,” Freyja said. “Well, and your husband, of course.”

  For a moment I only stared at her, trying to make sense of her words. After a long pause, Freyja huffed.

  “Go ahead. It won’t bite, I promise.”

  She moved to the side, gesturing dramatically at the door in front of us. It looked exactly like the door four paces to the left, and the door four paces to the right. I wondered how in the Nine Realms we’d ever be able to find our way back here. Hesitantly, I raised my hand and reached for the knob.

  The door swung open before my fingers even touched the knob. I frowned as Freyja gave me a radiant smile.

  “See? No biting. Yet.”

  She winked at me, and a strange heat rose in my throat. The entire world seemed off-kilter this morning. I wrapped my arms around my chest and stepped through the door.

  Immediately, I tho
ught of Nøkkyn’s bedchamber. This room wasn’t nearly so large, but it held an enormous bed, complete with a bright blue, embroidered bedspread, and an intimidating wooden dresser. A fire smoldered on its hearth in the far wall. Two large windows opened to the sparkling waves of the ocean, which made me frown. I could have sworn the ocean was behind us. Freyja walked to the opposite corner and sat on the rim of what looked like a giant-sized copper cooking pot. As I turned to watch her, I saw the door had shut behind us, silently and without my noticing. My heart jumped.

  “Oh, good,” Freyja said. “Loki must have had a hand in this.”

  “Loki?”

  The question died in my throat as the sound of running water filled the room. What in the Nine Realms was making that noise? Freyja stood next to the copper tub. It was absurdly large. Was that used to make stew for all of Asgard? The strange, watery sounds were coming from that corner, so I stepped closer. Liquid swirled in the bottom of the tub. It seemed to be swelling up from a plug in the base. How was that even possible?

  “Now, darling, I mean no offense,” Freyja said, “but you’re absolutely filthy. Come on, let me help you with that.”

  I was still frowning at the water when Freyja stepped behind me and began to untie the laces of my tattered dress. Her tongue made a sharp tsk noise as she brushed my hair back. The thin fabric of my dress loosened, and Freyja pushed it off my shoulders. As I shivered, the dress I’d worn when Fenris rescued me from Nøkkyn’s castle fell in a heap at my feet.

  “You’re awfully skinny,” Freyja said. “Aren’t you supposed to be pregnant?”

  She walked around me and stood beside the copper pot, which was now almost full to the brim with swirling, steaming water.

  “I—I am pregnant,” I stammered.

  Something about Freyja’s dark eyes and opulent dress made me feel like my throat was closing. It felt wrong to be naked in front of this beautiful, elegant woman, yet a flush of heat danced across my skin all the same.

  Freyja shook her head, sending the ebony curls of her hair dancing. “Get in,” she said. “Let’s see what you look like under all that dirt.”