“Who are you?” I asked when I could finally speak passed my surprise. “How do you know who we are?”
The photographer chuckled, look up at me with a twinkle of mirth in her expression. “I admit, your disguises are more convincing than Clark Kent's glasses, but it's not really so hard to guess. The ravens and wolves are almost as much of a giveaway as Superman’s curl. But then there are things you've said before as well; the gods you hailed at Grey's Monument.
“Plus, Chief Fennbúend's name is Old English. It means fen-dweller, doesn't it? Like the great wolf? If he killed your husband as many believe, and if he is Fenrir, then logic dictates that your raven befriending husband must be Odin. And you, who can heal the wounds of those injured in battle, who seems to know far more than you let on, you are Frigga.”
“Put that way, we really weren't being any sneakier than Clark Kent,” I murmured, still caught off guard.
The woman shrugged lightly. “People don't see what they don't want to see. I only figured it out when we were given the location for this meeting. We've run stories previously on the phenomenon of this tree and the runes marking it's bark. That you would meet here, combined with the other clues, led me to believe that you may well be far more than Ragnar's Valkyrie.”
“But a goddess?” one of the others interrupted, shaking her head. “Why would a goddess come to earth, to become a slave? Surely an all-powerful goddess could avoid such a fate?”
A man stepped forward, his gaze speculative. “Unless the gods aren't all powerful. Maybe that is why they fell and the one true God rose.”
I fought not to roll my eyes, and could feel a spark of indignation from Conn.
“It is true that gods are not all powerful. No god is; not Zeus, not Jupiter, not me, and not your God,” Leof replied, meeting the accusation head on. “And for that we must all be thankful. Long ago, when our power waned, one of our number usurped my throne. We chose exile, because in exile we could build the allies we would need to take back Ésageard, or Asgard, as you'll be more familiar with. If we had fought then, we would have fallen and the fate of all realms may have been sealed. Right now, the usurper is not only trying to destroy us, but also seeks to claim all the heavens as his own, which includes destroying your God.”
“And who is this ‘usurper'?” another demanded.
I barely opened my moth before the first photographer, the one who'd named us, answered, “Týr. Týr is the usurper.” Her eyes widened as if she'd only just worked out the last bit of the puzzle. “That’s why the vampire hunters are using stakes marked with the tiwaz rune.” She noted my surprise and pulled a pentagram out from under her collar. “I'm pagan. I prefer tarot cards, but I learned the Elder Futhark when I was younger and own a set of rune stones.”
“Huh,” I commented, a still surprised exile. “Well, you're handling the truth better than either of us did when we discovered it.”
She tipped her head, studying us. “You didn't know? I mean, of course in this life you hadn't even known about Valkyrie to start with, but as Dunthryth, did you really not know?”
“Do you think, if I'd known, I would've let Ragnar do what he did to me? To my child?” I asked, and Conn added, “And do you think I would have allowed him to touch my wife? No, we didn't know. The truth only came to light after Darcy joined the cohort.”
“And the wolf... Fenrir...” a reporter turned to Fenn, an accusation in his expression, “You're a murderer by your own admission?”
Irritation flared and I felt my body tense.
“Any and all supposed crimes are not your concern and have been paid for in full,” I stated at the same time as Fenn said, “Yes, I am, and I will regret that every day for the rest of my life.”
“You did nothing that I didn't bring about,” I murmured, turning to him.
Fenn cast me a crooked smile, a hint of defiance in his emerald eyes. “You guaranteed my birth, Frigg, but I still made choices.”
“You were dealt a poor hand,” I insisted, still determined to alleviate the guilt which I knew to be my responsibility.
“But it was my hand to play,” he retorted, stubborn, “and none of us were exactly dealt a winning hand, Wiđercorra. We've all just... fought to get by.”
“What they are trying to say,” Conn interjected on our behalf, “is that Tiw's... Tyr's... rise has cost us all. It's put us all in positions where - to save lives or ease suffering - we've had to do things we didn't want to do. We've each of us taken a beating, and done things we hated doing, but our path led us here. It led us to a place where we can stand together, as allies, on the very spot where I died, and say in all honesty that we understand now.
“We know who the enemy is. We know what's at stake. For us, for every supernatural being on earth, for all the gods and angels, and for you. We are at a pivotal point, and whether we survive or fall is up to us. If we bear grudges, if we antagonise and create division, then we will all pay in blood and pain. But if we can see past our differences and unite, then we can stand against the tide. Then we can fight, live, ensure that our world and every realm beyond remains free.”
His passion echoed in my own chest, and I watched Leof in familiar awe as his eyes flared to gold, and a spark of raw power shimmered around his hands. The subtle glow which seemed to illuminate him brightened, becoming more pronounced, and to me, the truth was undeniable. He was Woden, god of inspiration. When he spoke, you couldn't help but listen. That was why men had followed him into battle, it was how he'd held a cohort together for centuries. Whatever fragility Valhalla caused had vanished, and my king stood beside me, his honesty stirring.
When he glanced my way, love burned in his expression, and he pulled me into his arms again, kissing me deeply before turning back to the press.
“We can show you why Fenn did as he did. We can show you the truth of what Tyr is. You’ve already seen what I went through in Valhalla; that was done at Tyr's bidding. More recently, my wife became his captive in Ésageard, sacrificing her freedom to ensure both myself and Fenn survived. She, like so many others, was tortured by the god who seeks to rule on high. She escaped, and in so doing dealt him a great blow and denied him of the heir he'd sought to gain from her.
“Tyr takes what he wants by force, and unless we can stop him, we will all lose. But if we are to have hope, we need your faith, and we are more than willing to earn it by showing you the suffering Tyr has inflicted, by showing you why we continue to fight despite the price we've already paid.”
“We are each willing to give our lives, to fight for the freedom of this and every world,” I added, earnest and impassioned. “Two of us have already paid with our lives once, and yet we stand here, prepared to fight, prepared to do whatever it takes, because the alternative is seeing this world become a hell. Tiw will bring slavery. He has agreed to allow Osier to rule here, and to allow the demon Berith to rule Tartarus, but Ésageard, Helheim, Heaven, the Elysium fields, everywhere else, he wishes to rule. Make no mistake that he will have such power that even Osier and Berith will be under his command, whether or not they realise it at this moment in time. We don't want that for our people, and we don't want it for you.”
“So you would rule us instead?” one of the photographers asked. “You would become King and Queen of all realm instead.”
“No!” Conn and I said together, and blinked, surprised by our own vehemence.
“I mean, no, we don't have any ambitions to rule,” I stuttered, tripping over my words as I tried to discern why the notion terrified me so intently.
“No. We only wish to continue in the capacity we are. We are happy with the life we have here, as Sires, as vampires. We have a family in Newcastle, a family we do not wish to abandon,” Conn said, more eloquently than I had managed. “In truth, I don't know what comes after. If we defeat Tiw and liberate Ésageard, I don't know where we will be most needed. All I can do is assure you I have no plans to rule this realm, or replace God in heaven.
“We have our followers. We have our duty to perform. We accepted our lives on earth a long time ago, and even if we must return to Ésageard as Woden and Fríge, we will only rule there, not here. We seek to protect, not subjugate.”
A knot tightened in my stomach at the thought of being duty bound to return to Ésageard, to leave Will, Gunner, Katie, and the cohort behind us. It made me feel sick, my heart heavy. I didn't want a throne. No more, than I had wanted to be Sire, originally, when Conn first proposed the idea.
Conn looked at me, his own brows drawn into a frown. “We might not have to go... It's speculation on an outcome we cannot currently predict... It might not come to that.”
“I know. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
My statement didn't ease the knot of worry in my chest, but I tried to push it down, subdue it until we could properly discuss the ‘what ifs'.
“What you really need to ask yourselves,” Fenn added, speaking to the press, “is if you would rather trust a god and goddess who have died defending those weaker than themselves, or if you would prefer to hand your faith to a man who would slaughter children in the homes, and burn trapped families. Do you wish to be ruled by a man who can only beget an heir through captivity and rape, who controls through fear and pain, and who’s ‘justice' is given with whip, and chain, and cruelly devised torture? Do you trust Tiw? Do you trust his henchmen; a demon, and a warlock who has killed hundreds of vampires, wolves, incubi, and mortals alike?
“We know this is a lot to ask of you, but you know O'Dowd. His time as Sire of the Newcastle Cohort is a matter of public record. You can see how he rules. You can see what he is willing to give for his people. He only fought me to protect his cohort, and only fell because he turned to defend his wife and left his back open. He is not a dictator. He is not unjust.
“You know Darcy too. She healed your people in the street when Osier's followers tore into them. She has given you access to every part of her history, every part of her soul, even where her past has been dark and filled by guilt and shame. You know the truth of who she is. She is a better choice to follow than allowing Tiw to have what he wishes. I know from experience... My biggest regret will always be that I realised that too late. Don't make the same mistake I did. Let us show you what Tiw is, and then trust in Woden and Fríge.”
“And in you, Fenrir?” a journalist asked.
“I wish only to protect my people, and any others who need it, for as long as I draw breath,” he answered honestly. “Come what may, I am loyal to Fríge and Woden, you can trust in that.”
“Will we show you the enemy we all must face?” Conn asked, and trepidation rippled through the gathering.
Despite their concern, it didn't take long for the congregated journalist to nod their agreement. They had been through this with us before. They'd had us invade their minds and push our memories into them. They trusted us to repeat the process without causing any lasting damage.
“Now, we're not sure how well this will work,” Conn admitted. “I've never tried projecting another’s memories before, but we'll give it our best shot. Ready?”
He glanced between me and Fenn, and as Abrođen nodded, I took his hand and Conn's. My fingers meshed with theirs and I let my magic ease into them, the touch of it sending the eyes of both men gold. Fenn, bit his lip and dropped his gaze, embarrassed by the visceral reaction his body had to my magic, and for the first time, I felt Conn stiffen, even as he reacted with much the same longing. Thankfully, they both reeled in the emotions which could derail our plan before it had a chance.
When Fenn exhaled and raised his head again, it was with stoic determination. “Alright, let’s do this. Let's start at the beginning...”
As I focussed on Fenn's emotions, giving them to Conn through his easy psychic connection to me, Leof placed his free hand on Fenn's arm, increasing his direct connection to the wolf too. Then we both threaded our magic through the wolf, winding into his head and heart, anchoring us to him, to make what we were about to attempt easier. I pushed away the stream of past and present which would otherwise overwhelm me, burying it out of mind and sight, and waiting patiently to let Fenn reveal only what he wished to reveal. What I couldn't block out was my surprise as I found a tangle of magic in him, unfamiliar and more adept that Tiw's, yet still recognisable as a block.
“Well that's interesting,” Conn noted, and I agreed wholeheartedly, but right then wasn't the time to explore what had magically been done to Fenn. Right then, the physical mattered more. Every manipulation and beating. Every horror Tiw had inflicted.
“Got it,” Conn said at last, and his magic flowed outwards, reaching for the crowd and for me. In my minds eye, my actual location faded, and in it's place I saw the Pit through Fenn's eyes. Through a very young Fenn's eyes.
“I'm surprised your father let us do this,” Aethelwig noted, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Do you think I'll get away with drinking?”
I rolled my eyes at my younger cousin, who was the only thing close to a sister in my life. “This place is still open to the pack, to the adults, you're never going to get away with getting drunk. They'll let you get away with a beer or two, maybe, but you're only fifteen, more than that is pushing it.”
“OooOooh,” she said, teasing, “You've been eighteen for less than a day and you're already starting to sound like an old fart. Don't go turning into your father just yet.”
Aethelmær snorted beside his sister, “Like that'll ever happen. The day he resembles the Chief will be the day I leave this pack. I'm willing to stick it out till he takes over, but not if he turns into his father beforehand.”
“Shh,” I said, censuring my cousins. “Careful what you say or he'll have you in the ring, suffering one of his inventive punishment for insubordination.”
Aethelwig frowned at her brother, “He'll do worse to Beorn if he hears you talking like that. Even if you don't mind being punished for such stupidity, there’s no reason to give his father reason to lay into him again. You've seen the bruises...”
“That doesn't matter, I can take whatever he doles out,” I insisted, wishing it were true.
“But you shouldn't have to,” Aethelmær stated. “And that's the point. No one should have to live under his unpredictable fits of rage. No one. But we all know you bear the brunt.”
“It doesn't matter,” I repeated, then murmured, “I need a drink.”
“Well it is your birthday,” Aethelwig said, grinning. “Look, there are banners, and balloons, and everything. There's even cake. You have to see the cake. I made it specially.”
“By Thor's beard, are you trying to poison him?” Aethelmær teased his sister, and received a solid clip around the ear for his cheek.
I rolled my eyes at the pair of them and headed for the makeshift bar, although I didn't make it more than a few feet before an unfamiliar man stepped in front of me. He was tall, just short of my own height, but his frame was willowy, almost feminine. His features had a certain androgyny, from his long, auburn hair with its subtle waves to his clean shaven jaw. Even Aethelmær had more stubble than the stranger, and that was saying something, considering the man looked to be in his twenties or thirties compared to my cousin’s teenage appearance.
I tipped my head, scrutinising the man. I knew every member of my father’s pack, and this stranger wasn't part of it. When I inhaled, his scent caught me off guard; not a wolf, not a human, nor was he vampire or incubus. In fact, I had no idea what he was or how he'd gained entry into the Pit.
I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me off, announcing, “Fenrir, I've been waiting for you. We need to speak.”
Fenrir? My name wasn't Fenrir. Not even wolves were cliché enough to name their children after the monstrous mythological wolf whom my ancestors believed would devour their chief god.
“My name is Fennbúend, and you don't belong here.”
I took hold of his arm, hoping to manoeuvre him towards the door, but the moment I touched him, electricity raced up my arm, burning, so powerful that a gasp escaped me.
What was that?
“No, boy,” the man said, smirking, “your name is Fenrir. Let's go and find the moron chief who dragged you into adulthood and we can explain the truth of your birth.”
A dull ache started in my chest, a sense of foreboding building until I wanted to turn tail and run. At the same time, curiosity ensured I followed him when he strode across the room as if he belonged... as if he ruled my domain. His arrogant confidence offended me, yet I said nothing and he led me to the office where my father did most of his drinking.
As we entered, my father took another deep slug of whiskey, eying the stranger with loathing before hissing, “How dare you come here, after what you caused...”
The stranger's brow drew into a deep frown, and despite his almost effeminate appearance, power and malice radiated from him, so potent a chill ran down my spine, even before his next statement curdled my blood.
“What I caused? When you were incapable of producing seed to impregnate your mate, I gave you the son you craved. A son stronger than any you could have produced with your limited ability to raise your withered, flaccid member and show a woman what a man feels like. You are not deserving of Fenrir. You are known as his father only out of necessity, so that he might fulfil the destiny set before him. You should be grateful for that honour.”
My father – the man I’d always called father – turned scarlet, the veins in his neck and temple bulging as he spat, “He killed her! He killed my mate!”
The words cut deep, words I'd heard repeated so many times for as long as I could remember. If I had never been born, my mother would never have died. My father had described her screams as she laboured without pain relief, to birth a breach child too large for her body. He described the blood in vivid detail, and her whimpers after I was pulled from her, then her laboured breaths which became fewer and fewer, until her chest failed to rise and fall at all.
“All gifts have a cost,” the stranger retorted.
“And I agreed to your payment. I agreed he would serve your cause until Woden falls. My mate's life was not part of your negotiation.”
The stranger laughed, the sound cold, without compassion. “The payment you speak of pays only for the conception of your heir. Your wife's exchange was something else. As she laboured did she not beg to die if only her child could live? The weakness in her body was paid for with her life. If I had known the Jotun blood in her was so diluted, I may have chosen another among your pack to lie with, but you were by far the easiest mark. You were so willing to let me take your face to trick your mate into opening her thighs for me...”
My father threw himself forward, fist flying, but it never made contact. Instead, his fist ploughed into an invisible wall which protected the stranger, a ward which sent a shockwave through my father, so that he tumbled backward into his seat.
“Enough,” the stranger stated, a deceptive calm falling over him. “I have not lived in exile for over a thousand years to have my king's plans hindered by a mangy dog whose own blood has been so diluted it barely runs red. You made a bargain, and I held up my end, now it is time for the son we created with my seed - and because of your vanity - to pay the debt you owe me.”
Anxiety whirred in my mind, my body tensing, as if waiting for a blow to land.
“What debt?” I managed to ask.
The stranger – apparently, my biological father – turned back towards me with a sinister smile. “You, my boy, are going to make history. You are going to find and kill Odin.”
For a moment there was silence, and then an almost manic laugh escaped me.
“This is a joke, right? This is some twisted hazing. Welcome to adulthood, the jokes on you.”
Both of my ‘fathers' gazed back at me with stern, unamused expressions, and I realised - with no small amount of disbelief – that the stranger was serious. The Chief was not the joking type, and while I felt sure the stranger would enjoy a good prank, right then his expression was deadly serious.
“Odin. As in the god, Odin? You think I'm that Fenrir. But that would make you...”
I stared at the auburn haired stranger in awe, remembering the power which had flowed into me when he touched me. He was everything the stories said; beautiful, androgynous, powerful, and untrustworthy. While my rational mind insisted it couldn't be true, her certainly looked the part.
“... Loki,” he finished for me. “I am Loki, and my children will rain down Týr's wrath upon Odin's head, and the heads of any who stand in our way.”
All of a sudden, I couldn't breath. I couldn't think over the denial screaming in my brain. I couldn't hear over it.
They wanted me to kill a god. Me, who had been beaten and berated my whole life because the only person I had it in me to kill, I killed by accident as she gave me life. I was just a wolf. One among many in my pack, no matter who my father was. How could I face down a god? And if I did, on the order of Loki, what did that say about me?
Backing towards the door, I felt the pressing need to run, and to keep running until I died of exhaustion. I needed to escape, but strong hands grabbed my shoulders, preventing my retreat and shaking me back into awareness.
“... didn't inherit my intellect, clearly. Was your mother mentally deficient, boy? Are you listening?”
“I can't kill Odin,” I stammered finally.
Loki laughed, and despite his amusement, the sound seemed icy.
“You have no choice. This is the deal your Chief made. You will find and destroy the exiled weakling, Odin, or you will be destroyed by him. If you resist, you will suffer Týr's wrath. The moment I touched you, I connected you to him so that he may always find you. Be warned, the god of ‘justice' is not a patient man, Fenrir. Do yourself a favour and do not resist him. If you try, you will see everything you care for burned to ashes before your eyes,, and even in death you'll have no release. Is it not better for Odin to be tormented in Valhalla than face it yourself, or condemn your pack, your cousins and their families, to that fate?”
That was my choice; to kill or condemn those I cared for to an eternity of fighting, dying, and the cruelty of the god who would ask such a thing of me. I thought of Aethelwig and Aethelmær, not even adults yet, and realised it was no choice at all. Even if I had to commit murder or die trying, it would be better than watching my cousins suffer. They had stuck by me despite the Chief's predilection for throwing his fists at anyone who dared befriend me. I couldn’t risk their lives.
I felt sick as I asked, “How do I find Odin?”
“We don't know his exact location, but we do know he was reincarnated as a mortal during the Anglo-Saxon period,” Loki announced, so casually he made such things sound normal. “He may feel a pull towards the name that tribe used, just as your pack is drawn to your English heritage more than any Nordic roots. You will look for Woden, but understand that he may not yet have realised his own divinity.”
My heart sunk further. Not only did they want me to kill a man, but they wanted me to kill a man for something he may have no knowledge of.
“If he became mortal, won't he be dead by now anyway?” I asked in futile hope.
Loki shook his head, ‘In 866AD he joined Ælla's army and marched on the Viking held Jorvik. On that battlefield he met a vampire who had been tasked with intercepting him, to ensure he remained trapped on earth while Tyr suppressed the last pathetic attempts at rebellion in Asgard. Odin was turned, then, and to our knowledge has never crossed the threshold into either Valhalla or Helheim. That understanding is where you will begin your search; there are very few vampires left in this country who are old enough to be Odin. Find those who are, and you will find your target.
“With any luck, he won't know to fear you until it's already too late. You will fulfil the prophecy Frigg revealed so long ago, it's just a pity she died before she could suffer the grief of her husband’s demise.”
“You're a bastard, aren't you?” I growled, dismayed by the callous way in which Loki discussed murder and the sorrow of widows.
His mouth twisted into a cruel smirk, “You have no idea, son, no idea at all. Do you understand your task.”
For a moment, I closed my eyes. I drew a shuddering breath while trying to find a way out of my predicament. There was no way out, not if what Loki said was true.
“I understand,” I said at last, and the last ruins of my world crumbled with the statement.
“Good,” Loki answered, then clapped my shoulder as if he were my buddy. With that, he turned back to the Chief, hissing, “And you, our business is concluded so long as he fulfils his task. After that, he will revert to being another member of your pack. Your son. Nothing more and nothing less, as was our arrangement.”
The Chief nodded, agreeing with the disinterest of someone who thought the matter to be beneath him. It was an act, one that grated on me, and the desire to throttle the man who'd raised me was almost unbearable. One day, I would see the hate filled light in his eyes dim with the realisation he no longer led the Northern Pack. One day, I would take his place, but not right then. Not while my emotions swirled and my thoughts raced.
“I'm going out. I will return... sometime,” I told the Chief, then faced Loki, “And you... you can tell your king that I understand my position and will do all in my power to comply with his wishes. He knows where to find me, apparently.”
With that, I turned on my heel and stalked out of the office. I was running before I reached The Pit's inner sanctum, and I charged passed the ring and through crowds of frolicking wolves without slowing. Even when Aethelwig shouted my name, I didn't stop. I couldn't stop. I needed to get out, to get away from the people who had no notion that their peace relied on my ability to throw morality to the wind and become a god-slaying monster. I wanted to forget my conversation with Loki. I wanted to erase it. I wanted to drink, and I knew just the place to do so.
Incubi bars weren't known for quality clientele, but I couldn't think of a better place to both learn how to be a monster and forget the weight which had been placed on my shoulders. Perhaps, with enough cheap beer and with enough exposure to the truly evil creatures which hid in the seedy underworld, I would learn to tune out my conscience so that I could become Týr's assassin.
A/N: You'll be pleased to know the next chapter is written, it just needs proofed, so it should be up in the next week or so. Love you all. A. Xxx
