Chapter 16: The Harbinger

"I beg your pardon, sir; I have just shot two girls.' 'I said, 'What on earth did you do that for?' He said 'I thought they were rebels. I was told they were dressed in all classes of attire'."

Captain E. Gerard describes a conversation with one of his company's sentries during the Dublin uprising.

Fenrisúlfr confronts the wolves who are hunting Judith's clan.

Dublin 1916

The English officer leaned back against a wall and cursed while he tried to staunch the blood which was dripping down his right arm, an Irish rebel's round had grazed him just above his elbow. His left hand was stained with his own blood as he dug into his dispatch case, trying to find the handkerchief he kept there. Unknowingly his bloody finger grazed the strange paper he kept hidden within and smeared its corner. It was as if the blood set off a signal, there was a powerful unseen ripple of dread in the air, which seemed to tear into his very soul.

"What the hell was that?" the Sargent standing next to him gasped as he turned to face the officer, for he too felt whatever it was.

Across the war torn city, the shooting momentarily stopped while the combatants stared at each other in quiet shock at what they felt.

Far away in Kildare, a red fox was sitting on a chair being interrogated by what appeared to be a very angry small-sized human-looking creature in red clothes.

"You just expected Brigid to do what?" the leipreachān named Fergus fussed. "You waltz into town at daybreak, do you know what would happen if you had been seen by the mortals? Can you even comprehend the repercussions of what your actions might have caused?"

"I told you..." the fox named Nick began to explain once again, it seemed that he had been doing this for hours, which he had. Suddenly his ears shot up before he stood. "Did you feel that?" he exclaimed to the small sprite fluttering next to him. The sprite nicknamed Gant had given a small whimper of fear.

"Aye, it seemed to come from Dublin," Fergus answered in a solemn tone.

Not far away, the possessed body of a teenage boy watched when the hell hounds he was following suddenly began howling and looking eastward. "So the trail goes that way?" Nekron laughed.

The Hidden Village - 489

The briar patch which surrounded the village was seemingly impenetrable and the black-furred wolf became turned around, lost following trails that appeared to go nowhere. With his nose pressed close to the ground, he sniffed for the scent of foxes or coyotes in a vain attempt to follow a potential path out of the dense maze of thorny bushes. Finally, he stood up and tried to peer over the towering greenery but it was too tall. "This is impossible, there must be a path somewhere?" Fenrisúlfr growled in frustration. Just as he finished his statement, he saw an opening that he could have sworn was not there before. Kneeling, he squeezed himself through the gap among the prickly thatch and stumbled free into a clearing. When he turned back toward the briars, he was shocked to realize that the opening which should have been behind him had just seemed to disappear. Sniffing the air, he picked up the scent of smoke and that of animals not too far away and slowly he crept through the woods, seeking the pack of wolves he came to challenge.

Nestled in a small meadow was a war camp consisting of a large number of crudely built thatched circular huts. Amongst the canine warriors near those huts were dozens of naked foxes and coyotes, all female, and all steadily laboring. While he watched them, he came to the sick realization that they were indeed slaves, toiling for the pleasure of their masters and many of them showed signs that they had been beaten or otherwise abused. He stifled an angry growl at what he saw, for never in his long life had the wolf god ever seen a pack take slaves. There were no sentries posted and the campfires were large, it was very apparent that they did not fear an ambush and held those they were hunting in contemptuous disregard. The warriors themselves were lean gray and brown-furred wolves, dressed only in loincloths and armed with a variety of crude weapons. Deadly wooden spears with knapped flint points and blunt stone axes seemed to be their primary weapons, there were no signs of steel, iron, or even copper weapons that he could see. Fenrisúlfr realized that the canines were not much smaller than he currently was, but he gave a thin smile because they were not gods and did not have the thick supernatural hide that he had even at his much-reduced girth. "Let's get this over with," he muttered to himself before he stepped out into the open. Within moments he was seen and a cry that there was a stranger was heard from the camp. The warriors raced for their weapons and turned to face the unknown wolf who was boldly striding toward them.

"Who are you?" one of the warriors demanded in a very archaic wolf language, his accent was so thick with a brogue that it took a moment for Fenrisúlfr to realize what he was saying.

"Who am I? Who am I?" the black-furred wolf answered with a shake of his head. "I am the god of wolves, Fenrisúlfr Lokison, and I am displeased."

"There is no wolf god!" the mortal warrior scoffed.

"Foolish mortal, I have walked with the gods across the Rainbow Bridge…I have…" Fenrisúlfr began but a voice interrupted his boasting.

"Who is the idiot making so much damned noise?" a growl came from one of the makeshift huts and the deer hide which was hung over the doorway was shoved aside. From within, a huge gray and brown-furred wolf ducked under the opening before he stepped into the sunlight and scowled at the newcomer. When he drew himself to his full height, the muscular wolf stood at least a foot taller than the black-furred wolf did.

"My lord, this fool has wandered unarmed into our camp and claims to be a god," the warrior quickly answered as he bent slightly in submission to the larger mortal canine.

"A god? This puny wolf claims to be a god?"

"Who are you?"Fenrisúlfr demanded. He stood there with his arms crossed trying to appear casual and unimpressed.

"I am Howler, Chief of the Woodland Hunters! These are my lands now and I claim all who live here."

"Well, Howler, Chief of the Woodland Hunters, I've come to tell you that those who live behind the briars are under my protection and demand that you and your warriors leave this land."

"Demand? No one demands anything from me, especially a fool who dares to enter my camp alone and unarmed," he snarled. "But I don't need weapons to deal with the likes of you." Before Fenrisúlfr could react, the larger wolf swung his right paw's claws across his muzzle causing him to stagger backward and shake his head. The claws had failed to penetrate the black wolf's muzzle and the sight of his opponent seemingly unharmed momentarily shocked the larger wolf before he lunged at him again striking blow after blow. Fenrisúlfr staggard back before he blocked his attacker's next strike and shoved the mortal backward. Snarling, both attacked each other while they bluntly grappled and snapped at their opponent. Howler's fangs tried to tear the black wolf's furry neck but it was too tough to bite into and he lost his grip. With a growl, Fenrisúlfr tossed him into the wall of the hut which promptly collapsed.

The wolf was sprawled on the ground below him and with a guttural snarl, Fenrisúlfr charged at him and tried to tear his throat out but the mortal had seized one of the large rocks which was being used in the hut's firepit and struck the black wolf across his head. Although the rock shattered, it had stunned the wolf god and sent him reeling backward with a yip. Howler quickly seized another stone and began bludgeoning Fenrisúlfr again and again, finally drawing blood. The black-furred wolf tried to shake off his attacker, who continued to beat him with yet another rock before a war club slammed into the back of his head and he fell muzzle-first onto the ground. A number of the other warriors had gathered around him and began beating him with their war clubs and stone axes.

It was late in the night when he finally awoke and Fenrisúlfr found himself lashed with a stout rope to a wooden post. He tugged against his binds, once again he found himself bound against his will, and in a panic, he struggled to free himself to no avail. Panting in fear and frustration, he hung there trying not to whimper.

"I don't know what you are but you are no god," Howler said after he approached the prisoner. "Our spears shattered when we stabbed you, so instead of a quick death, we are going to sacrifice you by flames to the sun god come daybreak."

"You mean to burn me alive?"

"It is an offering which will bring us favor with the real gods."

"I doubt that," the black wolf replied while he once again tried to break free.

Finally, he hung there in defeat watching the mortals leave him bound in the darkness. After a while, someone moved in the night's inky black shadows and he glanced to see it was the elderly coyote he had spoken with earlier in the village. She stepped toward him and halted while she looked him over. "Are you going to free me?" he begged.

"Why don't you free yourself?" she replied.

"I've tried, but I can't."

"Why not, you have broken magical chains stouter than these ropes?"

"That was when I was at my full strength and size."

"As I asked you earlier, are you not the son of Loki the trickster? Surely you have inherited some of his shapeshifting powers."

"I have never changed myself before. Jude..."

"Did you not stand up on your hind legs when you first met Judith?" the coyote interrupted.

"Yes, but..."

"Did you not break her spell on the boat when you saw her assaulted?"

"Wait...how did you know about that?"

"You are only limited by yourself and your fears," with that blunt statement she turned to leave.

"No...no don't go! Please free me!" he begged in desperation but she didn't hesitate to continue to disappear back into the night.

"Who are you talking to?" one of the wolves demanded after he approached him.

"There was an old coyote here, how did you miss her?" Fenrisúlfr replied.

"There was no one else here!"

He hung once again in the dark praying to all the gods, including Thor and Odin, that someone would come to rescue him but no one came. Just as the first rays of dawn began to peek over the horizon, several slaves appeared and began piling firewood around the base of the post. With sad eyes, the foxes and coyotes briefly glanced up at him. He could see the despair in their faces, they had surrendered their very souls to the bondage they endured and it reminded him how the dark-skinned mortals appeared on the riverboat.

"After we sacrifice you, we are going to hack our way through those pesky briers, and once we get through, rape and pillage the village. We will kill all of the males and enslave all the females," Howler boasted. The muscular wolf stood there with his arms arrogantly folded. "Bring me the flaming torch!" he commanded but no one appeared.

Finally, a very young vixen came running with a burning branch but she tripped and went sprawling on the ground, the fire on the branch went out. "Idiot!" Howler screamed before he seized her by the nape of her neck fur and pulled her upright. His right paw slapped her across her muzzle and she yipped out in pain. Infuriated, the much larger wolf began to brutally beat her.

Watching the poor child being viciously beaten to death was more than Fenrisúlfr could endure and he gave out a great howl while he yanked at the ropes which bound him to the pole. His anger grew as he twisted and snarled. A red mist, what could only be called a berserker rage, clouded his mind and he struggled to free himself. Suddenly the ropes he was straining against burst and he began to grow larger and even larger until even standing on his four paws he towered over all the others. With a guttural-sounding snarl, he snatched Howler in his now-massive jaws and shook him before he spat out the wolf's broken lifeless body. In his rage, he chased down and killed all of the other frantically fleeing warriors.

There was the sound of fluttering wings and he glanced up from mauling one of the wolves to see that Death stood there. "I thought you were bound by Gleipnir, it's too soon for you to be free?" she said, it was as if she did not really recognize him. He was still consumed by his blood lust and just stared down at her while he menacingly growled and gnashed his blood-stained teeth. "Look at what you have done!" she added while pointing at the devastation around them.

Fenrisúlfr sat back on his haunches and stared in shock at the havoc he had created. In all his long life, he had actually never killed anyone. Sure he had bitten off Tyr's hand in anger for his betrayal and fought other wolves for dominance but he had never directly taken a life before. Even the slaver, who had drunkenly attempted to molest Jude aboard the ill-fated riverboat, he had not really slain but instead had only hurtled the fool into the river where he drowned. Looking at the brutal carnage around him, he realized why the Northern gods feared him. It was then he saw the young fox he had tried to save, her lifeless body lay where he had accidentally trampled upon her in his berzerker rage. His ears flattened and he gave a small whine when he further saw that she wasn't the only innocent he had killed during his maniacal rampage, for all the mortals were now dead, both the slaves and their masters. "I...I lost control..." he softly muttered. "I...I didn't..." the words seemed to catch in his throat and for the first time since he was a young pup, he began to cry in his shame for he now knew that Odin was right and that he was unbridled savagery that even the gods could not tame. He truly was the harbinger of Ragnarök, the destruction of the gods.

After being chained for so long and then freed, I'm sure that Fenrisúlfr would have a panic attack when he finds himself bound once again.

Berzerkers were warriors who would work themselves into a psychological and drug-induced frenzy in battle.