“As our quartet of elusive friends explained, I was born human with the soul of a reincarnated god. That god was named Baldr, the beloved son of Odin, who is the All-Father of my people, and his wife, Frigg.”
“Yes, I have read tales of the Northern men and their pagan religion. I grew up in the old ways myself, as part of a Druid tribe. Baldr was murdered by Odin’s brother, correct?”
“Yes,” Danulf’s austere expression brightened for the first time since they’d met, openly pleased to meet someone knowledgeable of his culture, a fellow pagan in a rapidly Christianizing world. “After a volva foreshadowed Baldr’s death to Frigg, the goddess searched the world to ensure that no object on earth would harm her child. They all agreed, except for a single branch of mistletoe that she had forgotten to include in her travels. Learning of this loophole, the diabolical god, Loki, tricked Bladr’s blind brother, Hodr, into using a dart made from mistletoe for a game between brethren. He threw it at his brother during their play, accidentally killing him.” He shifted, stretching his legs out before him. They exceeded the length of the gnarled woodland cove, catching snowflakes on the tips of his exposed boots.
“Desperate to bring him back,” he continued, “Frigg petitioned the Council and it was agreed that since Baldr was killed by a god, he would eventually reincarnate human, as are the laws of the earth. However, a dark god named Lucius had cursed the land years before, preventing any god from reincarnating as a human unless he explicitly allowed it. Odin forced Loki to have Lucius lift the curse, yet Loki knew he could only do so by trickery. He asked Lucius to bring back his own son, Fenrir the vargr, or great wolf, and the dark god agreed, eager to potentially have Fenrir’s servitude in this realm. Then Loki fused the souls of Fenrir and Baldr together with his magics, waiting for the day a human would be born to house them.
“Meanwhile, the Council discovered that the two souls were braided, one now belonging to Lucius. They made Frigg promise Baldr to them in order to combat the Lucius and Loki alliance. She agreed, and so here I am, half-human, half-vargr, parts of me promised to opposing sides. Fenrir has given me immortality, yet I have no extra strength in my human form, nor any powers, unless it is within the three-night phase of the full moon.”
David considered his story. “Do you recall anything from either past life?”
“No,” Danulf admitted. “These things were revealed to me many years ago while I was still a young man. I grew up a strong warrior, as my father hoped I would be, until one day when the wolf emerged, slaughtering my entire village … including my kin.” He grew quiet, staring blankly into the flames. A drift of snow blew in, causing them to flicker.
“I lost my clan as a child, too,” David offered. “It is a special sort of suffering one must bear to lose an entire family.”
“That it is,” Danulf agreed, breaking from his trance. “And it was I who murdered them. Afterwards, I did the only thing I could do—I ran. I became a frightened hermit, hidden away in the hills, content to spend the rest of my life traveling under their protection, lest the wolf come out to slaughter more innocent people. It was a volva who told me my true nature, binding me with one of her spells. She is the one who taught me to hide away during the full moon. I stayed far away from humans, but I inevitably grew mad with the isolation, shadowing villages but never venturing close enough to interact with their townspeople. Years went on in this way. As they passed, I realized I’d stopped aging, though my hair had turned a brilliant grey. The Age of Vikings had long ended, leaving me behind to live out my days as the last of my kind. Then one day, Libraean and the Council approached me, telling me that if I chose to align myself with their cause, they would help me be rid of the wolf for good. And that brings us current.”
“Amazing,” David commented. “I was told something similar, that I am also a reincarnated god, yet I remember nothing, even though I have become a supernatural being.”
Danulf peered at him, his deep blue eyes catching the flicker of the flames. “What does it feel like, to be what you are?”
David sighed, considering how to respond. “At first, I felt invincible, a strength unlike any I have ever known coursing through my veins. I lived to hunt, my body the perfect construct of a predator—fast, spry, cunning, ferocious. I was rid of any human inclinations for empathy and compassion, until, like you, I was approached by Libraean and the Council, and through a series of actions, my humanity slowly returned. Now I’m an outlier, an outcast with the heart of a human and the body of a killing machine. I cannot say that I enjoy it much.”
“I know the feeling,” Danulf sympathized bitterly, drawing his fur around his ears as the fire started to dwindle. They returned to comfortable silence, the icy breeze bringing with it various aromas of pine.
“I never knew Lucius forbade gods from reincarnating without his consent,” David reflected quietly.
“Apparently your friend is quite the trickster in his own right. I honestly understand very little of this secret war between gods,” Danulf confessed. “What was the line—there is more you will learn, more you will remember?” he mimicked.
David couldn’t help but laugh. It was another abandoned pleasure he realized he’d long forgotten.
Danulf smiled behind his thicket of beard before resuming his signature stoicism. “I’m sorry you lost your lover,” he said, after a pause.
David looked away. “She was not my lover in this life, but claims that we were in lives long passed. I cannot help but believe it, for I do care deeply for her in a way that seems to transcend common love. She gifted me her power before she died, which is how I was able to turn into a wolf.”
“A shape-shifting goddess,” Danulf nodded, his eyes sparkling with intrigue.
“She prefers wolves and crows.”
“Ah, much like the All-Father. Crows are the wisest of birds, though they are mainly seen as harbingers of death. Yet their power runs much deeper than that. If you are kind to one crow, they will remember your face, passing the knowledge to their kin. The same if you cross them.”
“That sounds like her,” David remarked with a hint of melancholy.
“Do not fret, we shall get her back. There is no more powerful witch in all the land than my sister, Hekate.”
“Sister?”
“Not by blood,” he explained. “After the Council told me where I was needed, I made the long trek down to this region. I may be half immortal wolf, but the traveling took its toll on me. I lost track of the phases of the moon, fell asleep one night, and forgot to secure myself against the transformation. I cannot recall exactly what happened, but I was caught in a fight with a mountain beast and left broken, bloodied, and barely conscious. Young human Dragos found me and brought me to Hekate. That is when I discovered they were orphaned twins, dedicated to protecting and healing all of earth's creatures, even the deadly ones like me. And healed me she did, tending to my wounds until I was like new. I have lived with them ever since, in service to she who selflessly restored me to health. In fact, it was Hekate who gave me my name, adding a name common to her people, Dan- to my moniker, Ulf… which, I assume you can guess the meaning.”
“The wolf,” David said. “So, her powers are great?”
Danulf gave him a wide grin, revealing an assortment of silver capped teeth beneath the shelf of his peppered whiskers. “Her story is not mine to tell. I will let you decide for yourself.”
The snow continued to fall throughout their short respite, Danulf floating in and out of consciousness while David kept vigil over their simple camp. The cold, crisp air brought him comfort, as tiny flakes stubbornly broke through their shelter, landing on his arms and legs and remaining intact without internal heat to melt them away. He’d never experienced snow as a human, and he wondered if he would enjoy the experience nearly as much if warm blood coursed through his veins.
The stillness around him allowed his mind to settle, pangs of painful longing for the Morrigan breaking through, pulling at his chest as her loss became more real. He closed his eyes to reimagine the vision he had of her and Gaia as one, trying to interpret its meaning. It had to mean something, of all the secrets for her blood to spill, it was the most vivid. He hoped Hekate had answers, as he was assured, for he was beginning to grow weary of otherworldly beings demanding compliance without disclosure.
Suddenly, an unfamiliar scent reached his nostrils and his eyelids snapped open. Danulf snored next to him behind the remnants of their fire, oblivious to the world around him. The complete absence of light let David know the sun had fully descended behind the clouds, the soft hum of crepuscular animals foreshadowing the snowstorm’s completion. He realized the moon’s rays would soon be upon them, pulling his companion back to his previous feral state. He decided to quietly scan the darkness a few moments longer before waking him, unnerved that he was unable to place the unusual smell.
And that was when he saw it.
A monstrous creature lumbered towards him, one that looked like a giant, charred rat. Beady black eyes bulged from patchy, seared flesh above a mouth filled with jagged teeth, pus oozing from the cracks in its skin. It wiggled its elongated claws as it sped up its pace, thundering forward on its hind legs so that the entire forest shook with impact.
“Dan,” he hissed urgently as he kept fixated on the monster, his reflexes stiffening his muscles in preparation for an attack.
The rat snarled as it grew closer, the revolting stench reaching its magnitude, gagging David. He hadn’t been so repulsed by a creature since … “Nirus,” he whispered.
The rat opened its mouth, freeing a fat, lolling tongue that lapped around a jaw that had long been broken. David immediately recalled his wolf guise, lifting himself on his hind legs as he braced himself for the assault. Yet the rat dodged him completely, aiming instead for his sleeping companion.
David cried out, but in an instant, the rat was on top of Danulf, clawing his flesh to ribbons with unnatural speed. David leapt forward, grabbing the neck of the vile creature with his own piercing jaws. He flung it across the forest floor like easy prey, bounding to where it landed and pinning it to the ground.
How are you still alive? David demanded of the weakened lump brought to submission below him.
The Great Lucius brought me back to life—he saved me! Nirus the Rat squeaked in response.
A bolt of fury livened David. He glanced back at the unconscious, heavily wounded Danulf, noticing the traveling sack laying at his feet. Shifting back into his standard form, he tore it open, revealing the silver barbed tent that had been kept in Danulf’s close possession.
Nirus squeaked in frantic recognition as David braced himself for the impending onslaught of pain, wrapping the painful webbing around his fist before pummeling what was left of the rat’s face. The creature died just as pitiful as it had once before, David now committed to the completion of the task. He tore the creature from limb to limb, until the wretch that was formally Nirus was truly deceased, pieces of dead rodent scattering the frosted forest floor. He stopped to catch his breath, letting the tangled net fall from his grievously burned hand. He winced as his body attempted to regenerate his skin, his fingers severely debilitated by the caustic metal, before remembering his wounded friend. He rushed to his side.
