فصل 62

The Small Bad Wolf

I REMEMBER THE FIRST TIME I saw Plymouth Rock.

My reaction was, “That’s it?”

Same with the Liberty Bell in Philadelphia and the Empire State Building in New York—up close and personal, they seemed smaller than I’d imagined, not worth the hype.

That’s how I felt when I saw Fenris Wolf.

I’d heard all these terrible stories about him: the gods were too scared to feed him; he could break the strongest chains; he’d eaten Tyr’s hand; he was going to swallow the sun on Doomsday; he was going to devour Odin in a single bite. I expected a wolf bigger than King Kong with flame-thrower breath, death-ray eyes, and laser nostrils.

What I got instead was a Wolf the size of a wolf.

We stood at the top of the ledge, looking down into the valley where Fenris sat calmly on his haunches. He was larger than an average Labrador retriever, but definitely no bigger than me. His legs were long and muscular, built for running. His shaggy gray coat swirled with tufts of black. Nobody would’ve called him cute—not with those gleaming white fangs, or the bones littering the ground around his paws—but he was a handsome animal.

I’d been hoping to find the Wolf lying on his side, hog-tied and fastened to the ground with nails, staples, duct tape, and Krazy Glue. Instead, the golden rope Gleipnir restrained him more like the leg irons used to transport criminals. The glimmering cord was tied around all four of his ankle joints, allowing enough slack for the Wolf to shuffle around. Part of the rope had apparently once been tied around the Wolf’s snout like a muzzle. That section now fell across his chest in a loose loop. The rope didn’t even appear to be anchored to the ground. I wasn’t sure what was keeping Fenris from leaving the island unless there was one of those doggy no-no invisible fences around the perimeter.

All in all, if I were the god Tyr, getting my hand bit off so the other gods would have time to bind the Wolf, I would’ve been pretty torqued off at this shoddy work. Didn’t the Aesir have one decent god of knots?

I glanced at my friends. “Where’s the real Fenris? That has to be a decoy, right?”

“No.” Sam’s knuckles whitened on the handle of her ax. “That’s him. I can sense it.”

The Wolf turned toward the sound of our voices. His eyes shone with a familiar blue light that sent a xylophone mallet down the back of my rib cage.

“Well.” His voice was deep and rich. His black lips curled in a very human sneer. “Who do we have here? Have the gods sent me a snack?”

I revised my impression of the Wolf. Maybe his size was ordinary. Maybe he didn’t sneeze laser beams. But his eyes were colder and more intelligent than any predator I’d ever encountered—animal or human. His snout quivered as if he could smell the fear on my breath. And his voice…his voice flowed over me like molasses, dangerously smooth and sweet. I remembered my first feast in Valhalla, when the thanes didn’t want Sam to speak in her defense because they feared the silver tongue of Loki’s children. Now I understood.

The last thing I wanted to do was approach the Wolf. Yet his tone said, Come on down. We’re all friends here.

The entire caldera was maybe a hundred yards across, which meant the Wolf was much closer than I would’ve liked. The ground sloped gently, but the heather was slick under my feet. I was terrified I might slip and slide right between the Wolf’s paws.

“I’m Magnus Chase.” My voice was not as smooth as molasses. I forced myself to meet Fenris’s gaze. “We have an appointment.”

The Wolf bared his teeth. “We do indeed, son of Frey. Vanir-spawn have such an interesting scent. Normally I only get to devour the children of Thor, or Odin, or my old friend Tyr.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“Oh, not at all.” The wolf paced, the rope gleaming between his feet, barely slowing his gait. “I’m quite pleased. I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

On my left, Hearthstone banged his white oak staff against the rocks. The heather plants glowed brighter, a fine silvery mist rising from them like a lawn sprinkler system. With his free hand, Hearth signed to me, Flowers make the prison. Stay within.

Fenris Wolf chuckled. “The elf is wise. Not powerful enough—not nearly powerful enough to face me—but he is right about the heather. I can’t stand the stuff. Funny, though…how many brave mortals choose to leave its safety and come within my reach. They want to test their skill against me, or perhaps they simply want to make sure I am still bound.” The Wolf leered at Blitzen. “Your father was one of those. A noble dwarf with the best of intentions. He approached me. He died. His bones are around here somewhere.”

Blitzen let loose a guttural scream. Sam and I had to restrain him to keep him from charging the Wolf with his new harpoon.

“Quite sad, really,” the Wolf mused. “Bil? was his name? He was right, of course. This ridiculous rope has been loosening for ages. At one time, I was completely unable to walk. After a few centuries, I managed to hobble. I still can’t cross the heather. The farther I move from the center of the island, the more the rope tightens and the more pain I endure. But it’s progress! The real breakthrough came…oh, a little over two years ago, when I finally managed to shake that cursed muzzle off my snout!”

Sam faltered. “Two years ago…”

The Wolf tilted his head. “That’s right, little sister. Surely you knew. I began whispering in the dreams of Odin—what a fine idea it would be to make you, the daughter of Loki, a Valkyrie! What a fine way to turn a potential enemy into a valuable friend.”

“No,” Sam said. “Odin would never listen to you.”

“Would he not?” The Wolf snarled with pleasure. “That’s the wonderful thing about you so-called good folk. You hear what you want to believe. You think your conscience is whispering to you when it is, perhaps, the Wolf instead. Oh, you have done very well, little sister, bringing Magnus to me—”

“I didn’t bring him to you!” Sam shouted. “And I’m not your little sister!”

“No? I smell the changeling blood in your veins. You could be powerful. You could make our father proud. Why do you fight it?”

The Wolf’s teeth were as sharp as ever, his leer just as vicious, but his voice filled with sympathy, disappointment, melancholy. His tone said I could help you. I am your brother.

Sam took a step forward. I grabbed her arm.

“Fenris,” I said, “you sent those wolves…the night my mother died.”

“Of course.”

“You wanted to kill me—”

“Now, why would I want that?” His blue eyes were worse than mirrors. They seemed to reflect back at me all my failures—my cowardice, my weakness, my selfishness in running away when my mother needed me most. “You were valuable to me, Magnus. But you needed…seasoning. Hardship is wonderful for cultivating power. And look! You have succeeded—the first child of Frey strong enough to find the Sword of Summer. You have brought me the means to escape these bonds at last.”

The world spun beneath me. I felt like I was back on Stanley the horse—plummeting with no reins, no saddle, no control. All this time, I’d assumed Fenris wanted me dead. That’s why his wolves had attacked our apartment. But his real target had been my mother. He’d killed her to affect me. That idea was even worse than believing my mom had died to protect me. She’d died so this monster could forge me into his harbinger—a demigod capable of attaining the Sword of Summer.

I was filled with so much rage I couldn’t focus.

In my hand, the sword began to hum. I realized how long Jack had been silent. He pulled at my arm, tugging me forward.

“Jack,” I muttered. “Jack, what are you—?”

The Wolf laughed. “You see? The Sword of Summer is destined to cut these bonds. You cannot stop it. The children of Frey have never been fighters, Magnus Chase. You can’t hope to control the blade, much less fight me with it. Your usefulness is at an end. Surt will arrive soon. The blade will fly to his hands.”

“Mistake…” Jack murmured, tugging to escape my grip. “Mistake to bring me here.”

“Yes,” the Wolf purred. “Yes, it was, my fine blade. Surt thinks all of this was his idea, you understand. He’s an imperfect tool. Like most fire giants, he’s a lot of hot air, more bluster than brains, but he will serve his purpose. He’ll be very happy to take possession of you.”

“Jack, you’re my sword now,” I said, though I could barely hold on with both hands.

“Cut the cord…” Jack hummed insistently. “Cut the cord.”

“Do it, Magnus Chase,” said Fenris. “Why wait for Surt? Cut me loose of your own free will and I will be grateful. Perhaps I would even spare you and your friends.”

Blitzen growled even better than the Wolf. From his pack, he pulled out the new string, Andskoti. “I was ready to bind this mutt. Now I think I might just strangle him.”

“I agree,” Samirah said. “He dies.”

I wanted more than anything to join them. I wanted to charge the beast and run him through. The Sword of Summer was supposed to be the sharpest blade in the Nine Worlds. Surely it could cut wolf hide.

I think we would’ve done it, but Hearthstone swept his staff in front of us. The runestone perthro flared with gold light.

Look. The command was more a tremor than a sound. I turned and stared in amazement at Hearthstone.

The bones. He didn’t use sign language. He didn’t speak. His thought was simply there, clearing my mind like wind through fog.

I looked again at the skeletons littering the ground. All of them had been heroes—the children of Odin, Thor, or Tyr. Dwarves, humans, elves. They’d all been tricked, enraged, enchanted by Fenris. They’d all died.

Hearthstone was the only one of us who couldn’t hear the Wolf’s voice. He was the only one thinking clearly.

Suddenly the sword was easier to control. It didn’t stop fighting me, but I felt the balance shift slightly in my favor.

“I’m not freeing you,” I told the Wolf. “And I don’t need to fight you. We’ll wait for Surt. We’ll stop him.”

The Wolf sniffed the air. “Oh…too late for that. You don’t need to fight me? Poor mortal…I don’t need to fight you, either. There are others to do that for me. As I said, good folk are so easy to manipulate, so ready to do my work for me. Here are some now!”

Across the island, a voice yelled, “STOP!”

At the opposite side of the ridge stood our old friend Gunilla with a Valkyrie on either side of her. Fanning out to her left and right were my old hallmates: T.J., Halfborn, Mallory, and X the half-troll.

“Caught in the act of aiding the enemy,” Gunilla said. “You’ve signed your own death warrants!”