The Complete Fenris Series

by Samantha MacLeod

  Now, he looked even worse. Týr may have aged a decade in the handful of weeks Fenris and I had spent on Asgard. His face was pale and gaunt; the dark circles spreading under his eyes looked like bruises. But his gaze was sharp, and he pulled the door closed behind him with deliberation.

  “We have to go,” Týr whispered.

  Fenris took a step back. “Excuse me?”

  Týr shot a glance in my direction, then approached Fenris. “They’ve built another chain.”

  Fenris laughed. “So? Let them build all the chain this Realm can hold! Didn’t you hear what happened to the others? The great Leyding? The massive Dromi?”

  Týr closed the space between them and put his hand over Fenris’s mouth. “Stop it!’ he hissed.

  Fenris pulled back, but Týr followed him. Their feet shuffled across the floor. Fenris raised an arm to push Týr back, and Týr caught him by the wrist. Their chests collided with a dull slap.

  “What the fuck—” Fenris cried.

  Týr sank his hand into Fenris’s hair and pulled him into a kiss. Fenris’s back stiffened in Týr’s arms. Týr’s hand slowly opened, releasing Fenris’s wrist. Týr’s eyes had closed, I noticed. Fenris pulled away slowly, his eyes wide, his mouth open.

  “Please,” Týr said. His gaze shifted to me, then back to Fenris. “I know you turned down Loki when he tried to get you off Asgard. And I don’t blame you. But, stars! For the sake of the friendship we once had, hear me out.”

  Fenris sank to the bed, blinked twice, then slowly nodded.

  “I know you broke Leyding and Dromi,” Týr said. “I know you’re the strongest fucking wolf in the Nine Realms. Everyone knows it. But my father doesn’t care about that. He isn’t looking for ways to prove your strength. He wants to chain you up, Fenris. Forever.”

  Fenris opened his mouth, closed it, and shook his head.

  Týr took a step closer to the bed. “Come with me. Please. Let’s get you off this Realm, away from here.”

  Fenris’s head snapped up. “You think I’m not strong enough to break out of whatever trap Óðinn is setting?”

  I saw Týr’s jaw clench. “It’s not a matter of strength. Gleipnir is made with magic. The harder you pull, the stronger it grows.”

  “Gleipnir,” Fenris repeated, rolling the word in his mouth.

  Týr rocked forward on the balls of his feet, then bent down, taking one of Fenris’s hands in his. “We all know how strong you are. But your strength is worthless if you’re chained up.”

  Fenris pulled his hand away from Týr. “You didn’t come. The moon was full, and you didn’t come.”

  Týr stepped back as if he’d been slapped. Fenris’s words seemed to hang in the air, making the room colder. Týr’s shoulders dropped. He ran his hand across his face as if he’d been dirtied.

  “You’re right,” Týr finally said in a voice that was barely above a whisper. “I didn’t come. And you have no idea how that’s tortured me. I didn’t warn you when Bard Sturlinsen sang of Óðinn’s death and blamed it on you. When you murdered King Nøkkyn, and Óðinn took that as confirmation of the prophecy’s truth.”

  Týr’s voice hitched, and his shoulders trembled. His hands balled into fists at his side. “I was a coward, Fenris. I didn’t even stop them from chaining you, right before my eyes.”

  Suddenly, Týr stumbled forward. He collapsed on his knees in front of the bed. Fenris flinched and pulled back as Týr reached for him. My hands clenched in front of my chest as if they could keep my heart from escaping.

  “I’m sorry,” Týr choked. “But, I’m here now. Fenris, I swear it on the Nine Realms, I won’t abandon you again.”

  Fenris’s face contorted as a cavalcade of emotions poured through his pale eyes. He turned away from Týr’s kneeling body and met my gaze. Another night surfaced in my memory, a time when Fenris and Týr sat beside each other in the flickering light of another fire. I’d seen the two men kiss, and then Fenris had turned to me with an unspoken question. I don’t mind, I’d told Fenris that night. And the three of us had made love in the silvery glow of the full moon.

  In the flickering light cast by Týr’s torch, I nodded to my husband. Yes.

  “What—Where? Where do you want us to go?” Fenris stammered.

  Týr cleared his throat. “I can open the Bifröst. I thought perhaps Álfheim—”

  “Álfheim?” Fenris snorted. “You’re just going to dump us in the middle of a war zone?”

  Týr came to his feet, wiped his hand across his eyes, and faced us both. “No. I’m coming with you.”

  I gasped.

  “You’re what?” Fenris said.

  Týr shook his head. I thought again how very tired he looked in the wavering dance of the torchlight.

  “I can’t stay here.” His voice was low and soft. “I can’t live in my father’s world anymore. I’ve—I’ve grown too close to you, Fenris. And Sol as well. I’d like to stay with you, travel with you, help to keep you safe. If you would have me.”

  Týr fell silent, then closed his eyes. As if he were too afraid to watch our response.

  Fenris turned to me with wide eyes. Somewhere deep in Val-hall, through the solid wood of our door, the distant murmur of voices began to rise. Life goes on in Asgard, I thought. The warriors are waking for the day with no idea what’s happened in the night.

  I looked at Týr, really looked at him for the first time since he’d burst in our door. His lips were set in a hard, thin line beneath his beard. His dark blond hair was shot through with streaks of white which I didn’t remember from our last meeting. He was thinner, and his body trembled, although his breathing was calm and measured. Týr the Brave, they called him in all the stories. Týr the Brave had just thrown himself at my husband’s feet and apologized for his cowardice.

  I hadn’t trusted anyone on Asgard since we arrived. All of them seemed to wear some version of Freyja’s armor. But perhaps I’d been wrong. Perhaps there was at least one person in this miserable Realm who truly cared for us.

  Swallowing hard, I nodded again at Fenris. Yes.

  The bed creaked softly as Fenris came to his feet. Týr’s back stiffened, but he didn’t flinch as Fenris carefully approached him. Slowly, deliberately, Fenris bent toward Týr and brushed his lips against Týr’s trembling cheek.

  “We’ll go,” Fenris said.

  Týr pulled Fenris into his arms and hid his face in Fenris’s hair. “Thank the stars,” he whispered.

  The two men pulled apart, and Týr turned to me. “We’ve got to go now. Óðinn bought Gleipnir from the dwarves, and he won’t want to waste any time using it.”

  Týr pulled his heavy traveling bag to the center of the room and loosened the straps. “I’ve got food and weapons. Put anything else you may need in here.”

  Fenris glanced around the room, and a furrow appeared between his eyes.

  “Clothes?” I suggested, softly.

  Týr met my eyes. For the first time since we’d arrive on Asgard, I saw him smile. A tiny flicker of hope kindled in my heart. We can do this, I thought. We can live together in the forests of Álfheim as friends and lovers. The three of us can raise the baby together.

  Fenris pulled a handful of wadded clothes from the bottom of the wardrobe and tossed it to Týr, who folded them gently. Then he gestured to me. I stared at the beautiful array of dresses from Freyja, the low cut, resplendent velvet gowns and tight silken bodices. None of them seemed particularly well suited to a life of hiding in a different Realm. In the end, I chose only two dresses—the first a thick weave which felt like wool, the second a lighter, softer silken gown—and handed them to Týr.

  Then I turned back to the room I’d shared with my husband. We’d lived here in exile, isolated and friendless. Nothing in this room had been ours to begin with and, now that we were leaving, I didn’t feel the urge to take anything with me.

  My eyes fell on the cradle with the barred sides that had reminded me so strongly of a cage. I wrapped my arms aro
und my bulging abdomen, holding the little life deep inside my body. Better to have nothing at all than that trap.

  “I’m ready,” I said.

  Týr led us out the door and across the soft, shadowed fields of Val-hall. The moon rose behind us as we walked through the practice grounds, carefully skirting the few fallen warriors whose corpses would spend the night alone, only to rise again in the morning. I suppressed a shudder. This was no place to raise a child, this damned and treacherous Realm.

  We would have been better off in the cave.

  By the time we reached the stony beach, the moon hung low just above the forested hills, casting our shadows out across the rolling breakers. The air was filled with the dull thud of the approaching tide and the sting of salt. I tried not to think of Nøkkyn’s sea cell, but my skin crawled just the same.

  Wordlessly, Týr handed the heavy traveling bag to Fenris. Then he closed his eyes and raised his hands, his palms facing the ocean, as though he were about to push off against the distant waves. Týr’s brow knotted in concentration. A gust of wind swirled between us, and the air thickened. Something glimmered in the moonlit emptiness above the surging sea. It writhed in the darkness, sparkling with many colors as it thickened. A rainbow, I realized.

  No, not just a rainbow. The Bifröst, the Æsir’s bridge between the Realms.

  It swept closer to the beach, hovering just above the waves. Another blast of wind pushed between us, tossing cold salt water into my face, and the glimmering rainbow bridge blinked out of existence. The night suddenly seemed much darker.

  “Damn it,” Týr snarled.

  “You’ll get it,” Fenris said. “Don’t rush.”

  Týr sighed, ran his hands through his hair, and stood straight. With his legs spread and his arms raised, he looked like a warrior anticipating his enemy. His eyes closed again, and I saw the muscles in his neck twitch with effort. This time the wind that brushed between us seemed to well up from the ground, as though Týr had pulled it from another Realm. The faint, glimmering line of the Bifröst danced in the distance between the waves, pulsating like a heartbeat. I watched its slow undulations, mesmerized.

  “Going somewhere?” a man asked from behind us.

  The distant glimmer of the Bifröst vanished like a snuffed candle. Týr mewled softly, like a hurt animal. When he turned away from the ocean, I saw him tremble.

  “Father,” Týr said.

  THE MONSTER CHAINED: CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  Óðinn stood behind us, no more than a pace away, his great brimmed hat hiding his eyes. He leaned casually against his spear. Several figures loomed in the darkness behind him. The mountain of a man to Óðinn’s left must have been Thor but, with the moonlight at their backs, I couldn’t make out any of their faces. I reached through the darkness for the warm solidity of Fenris’s body, then clenched his arm as tightly as I could.

  “We were just walking,” Týr said. His voice was calm but, his hands clenched into fists at his side. “It’s the full moon. It’s our time.”

  “Indeed?” Óðinn cast a pointed glance at the heavy traveling bag slung over Fenris’s shoulder. “Visiting the monster although I no longer require you to do so? How sentimental of you, my son.”

  “He means no harm,” Týr said. It sounded like each word was being ripped from between his teeth.

  “Oh, really? How fortunate to find you here, then. I happen to have an opportunity to discuss with you, Fenris.”

  Óðinn hefted his spear and strode past Týr to stand directly in front of Fenris. Fenris looked up, meeting his gaze. Fenris was taller than the All-father, I realized dimly. Taller and stronger.

  “I have just the thing to prove to all of Asgard that you are no threat, Fenris-wolf. If, that is, you are brave enough to submit to one more test.”

  “No,” I gasped. “No! We won’t do it!”

  Óðinn shot me a look of such pure malice that I felt as though I’d been slapped across the face. “Does this slave woman speak for the mighty Fenris-wolf?”

  “She’s my wife,” Fenris said. He reached for my hand and wove his fingers with mine. “And, yes, she speaks for me. I’m finished with your tests, All-father. I broke Leyding. I shattered Dromi. What more could you possibly have to test my strength or my fealty to your Realm?”

  Óðinn stepped back shaking his head and clicking his tongue like an old, disappointed woman. “Oh, I have nothing fancy. Nothing as great or impossible as Leyding and Dromi. Just... this.”

  He reached into the folds of his cloak and brought forth what looked like a large spool of thread. It shone in the moonlight as though it burned with its own cold, pale fire. My blood felt like it had been touched by ice.

  “That?” Fenris snorted. “Is this a joke?”

  “I don’t joke,” Óðinn replied. “Come with me, Fenris, son of Loki. Let me wrap this ribbon around your legs, as a sign of your good faith to the people of Asgard. If you break it, then you break it, and the legend of your strength will only grow. But if not, then Æsir and Vanir will know we have something stronger than the mighty Fenris-wolf, and you will present no terror to us.”

  Fenris curled his lip. “What will you do then? If I can’t break your little ribbon?”

  Óðinn shrugged. “Set you free, of course. What would we have to fear from a monster who couldn’t even break a thread like this?”

  The world felt like it was pulsing slowly around the edges. I looked from Fenris, who was snarling, to Óðinn. The All-father’s face was pleasantly void of expression, as though he were waiting patiently for something more interesting to occur. The dark figures who had appeared behind Óðinn shifted slightly. Now I recognized Frey and Bragi.

  I turned to Týr, whose face looked as pale as the distant moon. He was shaking his head at Fenris. No. No, don’t.

  “I don’t believe you,” Fenris growled, sounding more like his wolf form than I’d ever heard. “If you bind me, you’ll never let me go.”

  Óðinn barked a laugh. The sound was so harsh and unexpected it made me flinch.

  “Is the mighty Fenris-wolf afraid of a little ribbon? The son of Loki the Lie-smith and Angrboða of the Black Isles is a coward?”

  Fenris’s grip around my hand tightened. “I’m not a coward.”

  Óðinn raised his fist so the gleaming band within caught the moonlight. It shone malevolently against the darkness.

  “Then explain to the Nine Realms that this is what you fear, Fenris-wolf! This tiny little string!” Óðinn spat.

  Fenris’s snarl softened, and his lips pulled back into a sly grin. It was almost the expression he wore as a wolf, when he revealed his fangs.

  “Fine,” Fenris said. “Don’t question my courage. Instead, All-father, why don’t you put your hand in my mouth as your men bind me? As a show of good faith. If I can’t break this ribbon of yours, which stinks of magic, then you order your men to untie me. Or you lose your hand.”

  Fenris’s words were clear, his voice strong. Only I knew he trembled as he spoke.

  Beneath his broad hat, Óðinn’s face broke into a grin. “Clever boy. Consider it done.”

  I let myself breathe again. Thank the stars. There was no way Óðinn would be willing to lose a hand; the old bastard was already down an eye. Fenris pulled free of my grip, and a few golden sparks drifted lazily into the air as he began to transform.

  “No, not here,” Óðinn clucked. “Not after Dromi. I don’t want to risk any more damage to Val-hall.”

  As the old man spoke, the wind gusted between us again. A moment later the sky split open with blinding light, and the rainbow bridge of the Bifröst settled before us, gleaming as brightly as midday. I brought my hand to my eyes to shield them from the light.

  “Where are we going?” Fenris asked as Óðinn stepped onto the Bifröst.

  “Lyngvi,” answered Óðinn. “An island in the lake of Amsvartnir.”

  Fenris stepped forward, pulling me with him. I glanced back to see Týr following us, surround
ed by the grim faces of his brothers Thor, Bragi, and Hermod. My last vision of Asgard was the traveling bag Týr had brought to our room lying slumped and forgotten on the stony beach of Val-hall.

  I TOOK ONLY A HALF dozen steps before the great Bifröst vanished, and my feet struck jagged stones. Someone caught my arm before I could fall.

  “Quiet,” Týr whispered.

  I nodded against Týr’s chest.

  “Óðinn’s furious with you,” Týr continued, his voice barely loud enough for me to make out his words over the scuffling of feet around us.

  “Me?” I squeaked.

  “Shhh. Yes. I’ve never heard him call anyone a slave. He wants to make you angry, to give him an excuse—”

  A torch flared to life, casting its unforgiving glare over black, broken stones, and Týr fell silent. We stood on a small island, hardly larger than the room Fenris and I shared in Val-hall, surrounded by vast, dark water. Týr released my arm and stepped back.

  “Don’t draw any attention to yourself,” he whispered. “Stick to the shadows.”

  I nodded, but Týr had already slipped away, joining the knot of warriors standing around Fenris. I stepped back until my bare heels dipped into the frigid water. The air smelled of fish and rot, but not salt. Freshwater, then, although I had no idea where in the Nine Realms this ocean of freshwater lay.

  Before me, the crowd of men came together. Several other torches were lit and stuck into posts that jutted irregularly from the jagged stones. They prepared this place in advance, I realized. The thought brought me no comfort.

  “Now, Fenris,” Óðinn called. “Show us the monster!”

  The tiny island filled with light as a thousand golden sparks flew into the air. The glossy, dark waters of the lake reflected the sparks back at us, and for a moment it was as if we hung suspended in the air, surrounded by fire and light. Then the sparks faded, and the Fenris-wolf loomed above us, his darkness swallowing the stars.