Take My Hand

Fenrir waited outside the door for his Master. As a man he called no one Master. But as a wolf, such bonds were born of blood. Master was as good a word as any.

His keen ears caught Tyr’s footsteps long before Tyr appeared in the darkness. Tyr was tall for a man, but even so Fenrir almost looked him straight in the eyes when he stood on all fours.

Tyr paused and patted him on the neck.

“Well met my friend.”

Fenrir acknowledged him with a slight nod of his head, and a slight movement of his tail.

Despite the cold, Tyr’s eyes twinkled. “Here I brought you something. I know you prefer to hunt but I couldn’t resist.” He reached into his pack and pulled a cloth package. Carefully, sheltering it from the wind he unwrapped two freshly cut tenderloins.

“I found a herd of elk out past the ridge. The boys are bringing the rest, but I snagged these just for you.”

Fenrir sniffed appreciatively then tasted one with his long pink tongue. Gently he grabbed first one, then the other with his teeth and swallowed in a single gulp. He snorted appreciatively, his breath visible in the cold and all but consuming Tyr.

“Come…let me get you some warm clothes. We have much to discuss.”

Fenrir’s muscles rippled as he tensed ever so slightly. Tyr had earned his trust, the other men had not. He understood the smell of fear, and men always smelled afraid when they came around him. Fenrir had learned what fear did to small men. Or small Gods.

Tyr disappeared into the house and returned with a bag of warm clothes. Their eyes met. Tyr never knew if Fenrir would come. As a result Tyr was careful to show respect and reverence where it was due.

Inside he waited by the fire, gently stoking the embers and watching the sparks erupt into the air. There was something mesmerizing about the flames, especially when you’ve been out in the cold.

Inside the flames, his mind wandered. In his mind’s eye Odin stood before him, dressed in golden robes that shifted colour like a prism when he moved. Designed to demonstrate his power, it was…effective.

Odin’s command was clear. “Destroy the beast.”

For seven days Tyr tracked the great wolf through the wilderness, until at last he came across a trail of blood. It shone bright against the white snow. The surrounding area had been devastated. Trees were pulled from the frozen ground, and great pits were carved in the earth. A great battle had occurred of that there was no doubt.

Tyr tracked the blood all night. Only the blood of a God shone in the moonlight like that, and it led him straight to a great den descending into the side of the mountain. The entrance was easily the height of two men. In he went, battle axe in one hand, torch in the other.

Inside he found Fenrir, half dead. Blood leaked everywhere from torn flesh. The wolf growled but did not move when he came close. Tyr could not believe his fortune. Here lied the great beast, already half dead. He needed merely to finish the job. But something stayed his hand. Whether it was fate or not he still did not understand, but he felt compelled to help the creature. This was not the way.

It was then that the Frost Giant attacked. It too was wounded and clearly the instrument of Fenrir’s wounds. Tyr still saw the great hulking form blocking the light of the entrance when he closed his eyes. But there, in the dark, Fenrir had come to life and the two of them fended off the attacker. They hacked and slashed, sword and fang until at last with a sickening crunch, the giant fell.

The two warriors left standing breathed heavily, their faces only partially illuminated from the light of the entrance. Soaked in blood they stood nose to nose, their eyes locked. No words were spoken. Silence stretched on and still neither moved, until finally Tyr slowly extended a shaky hand and rested it on the muzzle of the great wolf.

Fenrir exhaled, then collapsed.

Unconscious, he had returned to his human form, and Tyr spent four days tending his wounds. When he finally awoke he had sat up and stared at Tyr with his dark eyes. Tyr stared back, letting the silence stretch.

At last Fenrir spoke. “We have sealed a blood oath, you and I.”

“Aye.”

“You came to kill me.”

“Aye.”

“Strange are the fates.”

When Tyr returned the All-Father had looked at him and said simply, “It is on you now.”

The door slammed shut shaking Tyr out of his daydream. Fenrir’s heavy footstops echoed on the floor as he came to sit in the chair opposite.

For a long time they sat in silence. Such was the way of the wild, and none were wilder than the wolf.

The furs Tyr had given him made Fenrir look only fiercer. His hair and beard were dark and wild and his dark eyes never rested. There was a tension to both men. Two seasoned warriors who never quite came to rest, especially in the presence of the other.

At last Tyr broke the silence. “They want to bind you again.”

Fenrir laughed. “They can try.”

“They did more than try already.”

“Those feeble chains were inconsequential.”

“Leyding and Dromi were more than just chains.”

Fenrir growled, a low rumble that vibrated in the back of his throat.

Tyr persisted. “Has it occurred to you that they were testing you? You showed your power.”

Fenrir’s eyes flickered. He recognized his mistake.

“They will come again.” It wasn’t a question.

“They already have. A third chain has been built. It is called Gleipnir. They bid you try it.”

“I will not.” With that Fenrir stood as if to leave, but Tyr stopped him.

“They are afraid of you. Until they think they have you under their control you will never be safe, and my life will be forfeit.”

Fenrir whirled. “What trickery is this?”

Tyr sighed. “If you do not try Gleipnir, then my family and I are to be sacrificed.”

Fenrir shifted his weight.

Shouts from outside interrupted whatever would have been said.

Tyr stood. “They are here.”

He shrugged on his furs and went outside to greet the Æsir.

Outside Odin himself stood with his private guards. They were unnatural creatures robed always in black. Their faces never showed but they moved with an unnatural grace. Tyr noted they did not leave footprints in the snow.

Odin pointed, and one of the creatures pulled forth a chest and dropped it in the snow. It opened with two clicks and the creature withdrew a black web. It was thin, almost delicate looking.

Odin spoke. “They say it is unbreakable. I wish to test that theory. Bring forth the wolf.”

Fenrir appeared behind him out of the shadows. He made no sound.

He strode forward and took the webbing, all the while treating the guards with such indifference that they stepped back, weary of such power.

He felt it in his hands. It was thin. More of a silk than anything. He looked up questioningly then tested it with his hands. It stretched but did not break.

With a smirk he threw it at Odin’s feet. “Don’t waste my time.”

Odin’s eyes flickered once, and suddenly Tyr felt a knife at his throat.

Fenrir grew still. Dangerously still. But Tyr’s words rang true in his ears. He had made a mistake by showing his power. But he could play the game still.

“I shall try it with your hand in my mouth as a guarantee.”

Odin’s eyes narrowed. Fenrir’s wolfish smile was unwavering, and he tossed Gleipnir aside. Tyr gasped. Odin and Fenrir were too focused on each other to notice, but Tyr did. Gleipnir shimmered for just a moment when it touched the snow. This was no ordinary web. This was magic.

Tyr’s fist clenched and his throat went dry.

“Take my hand.” the words formed in Tyr’s mouth even as he knew what it would mean.

Fenrir turned and regarded him. He knew in a look what must happen.

He arched his back and pulled off his cloak. His boots followed. He removed every scrap of clothing until he stood naked in the snow, muscles rippling with a wildness that could not be tamed.

He bent slowly to retrieve Gleipnir, never taking his eyes off Tyr. He fastened it over his arms and legs one at a time and when he was ready he extended his hand. Tyr stepped forward and took it. Warrior to warrior they clasped forearm to forearm.

Then the wind gusted and Fenrir shifted. Muscles grew. Bones snapped. His face contorted as a muzzle grew forth. His eyes turned yellow and fur spread along his back. Still he grew, and as he grew Gleipnir grew with him. The time for pretending was over. The webbing shimmered and pulsed with dark magic until the transformation was complete.

Fenrir stood on all fours, now in his pure and wild form. In his mouth he held Tyr’s hand.

Tyr looked to the All-Father, then to Fenrir and nodded.

Fenrir flexed and pulled but Gleipnir held. In fact the more he pushed against it the more it pulled tighter until he collapsed to the ground. His limbs pulled tight against his body.

“Do it.” Tyr whispered.

With one last snarl he bit down and pain such as he’d never known shot up Tyr’s arm. Blood spurted over the snow and he fell to his knees holding his ruined limb.

“Take him.” Odin’s last command was to the point. His guards fixed chains around Fenrir’s neck, and when their carriage began to move it dragged the beast through the snow.

Tyr kneeled where he had fallen and with one last cry he lifted his head and howled to the moon. The wolf, bound and dragged, howled back.