First chapter of my sequel to Mandatum

Fimbulwinter


Chapter 1


Fulvyar sat on the frozen grit which retained a sheen of ice, despite the roaring fires. How much longer would those flames last? The wood had become scarcer as the cold intensified and the winds drove harder from the north. His flag of a tail shifted uncomfortably and his breath steamed as it hit the close air of the hut. Despite his natural pelt of thick grey fur, he had swathed himself layer upon layer in elk hide, to guard against the plummeting temperatures. It would soon be time to migrate, but despite the threat of a painful death through hyperthermia, Fulvyar was reluctant. The wolves had lived free in the tundras of Vangermark since the dawn of time. It was the only place they had ever truly settled. But, there was something else, another reason which could never leave his mind alone. It haunted him in the small frigid hours. He had seen the black wings across the sky like the devil's own standard. He’d heard its shrieking cry and even seen the fire it expelled from its throat. The Nidhogg had passed over them. Coming from the purple mountains and passing over the barren country to go south. The thing was pure lust and hunger given form and it had set its covetous gaze upon the empires of man on the continent of Telos. It would come down like a plague from heaven and no amount of flesh or treasure could ever satisfy its want.

As he reflected on the world’s impending twilight, the figure he sat before stirred and two yellow eyes flashed in wakefulness, looking down at the young wolf as though weighing his worth. Fulvyar almost cringed before the inspection. The godkin were known for their wisdom and knowledge which they guarded jealously on behalf of the capricious spirits they served. The old wolf Greshka was no exception. Her advanced age only served to make her more forbidding as her matted fur clung to pinched flesh. The angles of a narrow jaw were gaunt and white as snow. The eyes were not rheumy, as other elder folk, but vital and full of the forbidden understanding that was her craft. Fulvyar didn’t dare speak first, though he had been waiting in the isolated shack for some time, waiting for some word given in counsel for the trying times ahead. Finally he saw the jaws of the godkin open and fine worn teeth glitter against the orange light of the hearth.

‘You have come for a word, before the end, Fulvyar? Would you seek a reprieve from what fate has deemed needful?’

The words stung the younger, they were like a bow run along a tuneless viol, but the she-wolf wasn’t wrong. Though he had told himself otherwise, believing he could face the future dispassionately like a true Hulfa, he had been hoping that some escape might be offered. He had no desire to face the end with a stoical disregard for his own life. His life was precious to him, as were the lives of those he loved, and the generations, yet unborn, who would be snuffed out if the winter never ended and the sickness of the Nidhogg was allowed to go unchecked. He reasoned that as much as he could lie to others and himself, the gods were another matter. He would not be so arrogant as to speak an untruth to them.

‘Yes,’ he said gruffly, not able to raise his gaze to the elder. ‘I would save us from the wyrd of this world. I would save us all, if it were possible, anyway I could.’

The godkin drew up the corners of her mouth into a hideous skeletal smile at the young wolf’s words. She took a handful of the black runes carved from bone and threw them into the air looking lazily over the augury they scattered on the ground below.

‘You are a mortal, Fulvyar. You are of no great family, or renown. To gods, the thinking races, spirits and demons you are less than nothing. When you die no songs will be sung of your name. You will be remembered by no one. Do you presume to alter the doom of this world? Will you contend with spirits of ice and flame? Outcast and deserter, is this truly something you would attempt?’

Fulvyar winced at the litany of his own shortcomings. There was no arguing with the assessment. He was all of those things and less, if it wasn’t for the accidents of fate he would have died long ago as a cub, starved and frozen, without ever seeing the sun. But, he had not died abandoned in the snow. He had been taken from his early grave and fostered at the teet of a gentle foster mother. He had been taught to wield both axe and blade until he had become the envy of his new brothers. He had done nothing greater with his short life than return the love he had been shown by strangers and strive to be worthy of their care. Was that not enough? Were not these small acts of devotion, in a world that seemed so often empty of any charity, worth the notice of the gods below?

‘What price would you pay for salvation, if you could, mewling pup?’ asked the godkin harshly and at this Fulvyar raised his shaggy snout proudly and met those yellow spots of light with his own cold clear eyes as blue as winter skies.

‘No price could be too high, Greshka. Yet what else have I but my own life for payment, and this seems like no great thing. Yet I would give it gladly and cast my own soul into the glaciers of Hel to spare my family the same fate.’

‘This certainly will be taken,’ the Godkin cackled at his shaky bravado. ‘This will be taken one way or the other, win or lose. But, saying and doing are two separate things. Do you truly have the stomach to face the Nidhogg? Won’t you flee in dread when faced by the world devouring serpent?’

‘Perhaps,’ said Fulvyar quickly. ‘My courage hasn’t been tested. But I believe that it might hold. Given the chance, I might find whatever substance drove the heroes of old to face demons and monsters unfazed by doubt or the weight of doom. I can but try!’

The she-wolf gave a short bark of laughter.

‘Insolent pup! You would be better served going back to your hold to freeze, facing a death worthy of your insignificance, but…’

‘But?’ said Fulvyar eagerly, clutching at the thin strand of hope.

‘If you are determined to die by fire rather than ice there is no blaze purer than that of the Nidhogg’s breath. If you travel to find the beast then perhaps you might find, on your way, the hero fated to slay the creature. A memory to comfort you while your soul languishes in damnation.’

‘Then there is someone fated to do it? The world-ender can be slain?’ Fulvyar had craned forward in his eagerness. His paws were clasped in a prayerful attitude of supplication while he waited on the next crucial words.

‘Oh yes, pup. It is said that a hero born of kings, strong, valiant and fey will rise out of obscurity and, taking up his spear, he will drive it through the dragon's body and smite it to the earth. But, I have heard no word of such a one coming forth, and you are no hero, Fulvyar. So, I bid you go, and remain vigilant while you travel to your death. Perhaps this prince will present himself. Maybe he was abandoned at birth and doesn’t yet know the wyrd marked on him. But, if he is truly fey, then he will come to it regardless.’

Fulvyar’s ears flickered back and forth. The godkin were, by nature, obscure in their use of language but he was beginning to pick up on the hints left among the slag of insult and discouragement. He wasn’t a fool by any means.
‘Toy with me no longer, Greshka and speak plain for once in your life. Am I the one? Know that I will pursue this demon either way, but I would know my own wyrd now, from the mouth of a godkin. Am I the one destined to slay the Nidhogg?’ His whole body shook with urgency. Briefly he had even forgotten the cold as his blood ran hot in his veins with anticipation. But Greska only shrugged.

‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘I cannot say for certain, but you put it better than I ever could. You must try before you truly know what you are made of.’

Fulvyar stood up on his felt-bound foot-paws and ash fell from his cloak as he drew it about himself.

‘Then I will try my best and hope that the gods below hear my prayers for aid.’

‘I suppose they might do,’ said Greshka musingly, rocking in her high stacked seat. ‘But, it's unlikely that they will, so don’t rely too much on their goodwill.’

Fulvyar snuffled derisively and set off into the blowing gale outside. His muzzle stung but he didn’t mind. He was set upon his purpose. It was death or glory now, perhaps both.