Linda Evans - Sleipnir

Instantly the bastard launched forward into a dead run.

Again, my grip on his mane was all that saved me. I managed to get my feet hooked around his sides again, and gripped harder than I'd thought possible as he picked up speed. We raced through the freezing blackness of Niflhel—straight at a solid wall of rock.

I yelled and screwed shut my eyes.

We burst through a barrier of solid stone. I received a fleeting impression of bone-chilling, smothering cold; then we lurched into green light. Niflheim again...

Wind whipped tears from my eyes. I was nearly blind. Sweat from Sleipnir's coat drenched my legs. His muscles surged, and his breath whistled in my ears like a freight train. Sleipnir's hooves pounded against stone, casting sparks that blasted upward and smoldered in the remnants of my trousers. The wind blew the embers into ash. I could feel their burning sting by the hundreds. I gritted my teeth.

We roared past a sluggish, bubbling green river that poured over a cliff face like oozing lava. What looked like a serpent had reared up out of it. Enormous fangs had gouged black scars in the ceiling. Then we were airborne, in a leap that nearly slid me off Sleipnir's haunches. By the time I'd dragged myself back into a halfway secure position, we were hell-and-gone from sight of the snake.

I was ready for the leap across the black-acid Gjoll. I stayed on, and the long tunnel I'd found a lifetime ago tilted wildly toward us. Then the world again turned into darkness. The cold of the mountain blasted into the wind of our passage. Compared to Niflhel, it was almost balmy.

Sparks white as burning magnesium erupted toward my face. I tried to shield my eyes, and ignored the ache in my teeth where my jaws had cracked shut during Sleipnir's latest tremendous leap. My ass was growing numb from the eight-legged gait, and still the horse swept on through the darkness. My fingers froze in his mane until I couldn't feel them. I couldn't breathe real well, either; we were going too fast. Dizziness became the next threat to unseat me. I clasped my knees tighter, praying to whatever was listening that I not fall off while we raced through the heart of a living mountain.

Abruptly Sleipnir skidded sideways. His tight turn would've done a barrel racer proud. It damn near unseated me. Then he got all eight feet under him and was off again. Moments later his muscles bunched— here we go again —and he leaped forward. Light exploded into being. We were in clear air. Gale-force wind snatched my breath away. Brilliant— ruby red —light blinded me.

Where—?

Sleipnir bucked. I sailed toward his ears, damn-near airborne. Then I came down hard on bony double withers. The shock jarred what little breath I had left out of me. I started to slide sideways, and knew I was in trouble. Then he began to grow. His mane swallowed my arms, and I dangled from a neck that was suddenly larger than I was, and getting bigger... .

He sunfished midair, and I was gone. I fell away beneath eight churning hooves that receded with frightening speed. I had time to scream one obscenity at the bastard, then twisted and hurtled into the glinting surface of a bloodred ocean.

I came to in bits and pieces: first my butt, which felt like raw meat; then my scalp, which felt detached. My clothes were soaking wet, and my nose and throat burned as though I'd tried to breathe water—which, I thought groggily, I probably had.

My ears woke up a moment later, to a howl that chilled me to the marrow of my living bones. At least, I hoped they were still living. Compared to this unearthly sound, Loki's bellows were nothing but the mewlings of a newborn infant. Every hair on my body stood on end as the cry died away into silence. It was neither human, nor quite animal... . I tried to roll over—wanting rather urgently to find out where it had come from—but was too stiff and sore even to get my eyes open. So I lay where I was, and decided the best course of action was playing dead.

Human voices reached through the reverberating vacuum left behind by that howl. The voices sounded excited, laughing and shouting in anticipation. Of what? Given my possible location—land of the frost giants, or the dark dwarves' realm, or even Muspell —whatever fun was anticipated probably didn't bode well for my immediate future.

One voice emerged, distinct from the general babble: "This is gonna be great!"

"Great! Ha-ha!"

"Five flagons says he soils himself!"

"You're on!"

"Ten says he pisses first!"

My immediate future was getting rapidly bleaker. Warm liquid splashed across my face. I peeled back one eyelid—it felt bruised—and saw fur. I managed to pry open the other eyelid, and confirmed it. A vast expanse of matted, grey-black fur rose above me, to the silver-furred throat of the biggest damn dog I had ever seen. A little wearily, I wondered if the Norse gods ever did anything on small scale. Then I decided they did: humans.

I was sprawled between Big Daddy Doggy's forelegs, on my back. My throat was bare to the world—and his fangs—but given his size, he wouldn't need to tear my throat out. All he had to do was step on me. His nearest paw was the size of my head, with claws like railroad spikes digging into reddish-black mud. Like the child who sees an elephant for the first time, all I could think was "Big..."

I wondered what Garm, the hellhound, was doing away from the entrance to his cave. Had Odin dragged him off duty? Garm certainly wouldn't hold me in high regard; not after chopping him in half with the Biter in Frau Stempel's parlor.

I lifted my gaze to glittering green eyes. They met mine without flinching. Lock gazes with a dog long enough, and he'll either flinch, or attack... . I dropped my gaze to the animal's jaw. His teeth glittered; but the saliva that splashed onto me was streaming crimson. The cruel point of a sword stabbed into the roof of his mouth. The hilt was lodged in the lower jaw.

I swallowed once. This wasn't Garm.

In fact, it wasn't a dog at all.

A stab of ice-cold adrenaline was enough to wake up my brain, but not enough to run. I needed to run ... .

The Fenris Wolf crouched lower. He watched me intently, head cocked to one side. Fenrir's eyes glittered with a madness born of unbearable pain, and even worse betrayal. The faint beginnings of a growl rumbled in his throat, half deafening from my vantage point. His green eyes were—like Sleipnir's—more than animal, but not quite human. One blow from his paw would crush my skull. After a convulsion of muscles that were far too abused to obey, I relaxed. There really wasn't much point in being afraid. Either he'd kill me or he wouldn't, because the unending abuse to which I'd subjected myself had finally caught up. My body was on strike.

A chain around the wolf's neck held him. He'd stretched as far as it would reach. Breath rasped in his throat against the pressure. The far end of the chain disappeared into the earth, pinned there by a huge, jagged boulder. Gleipnir, the chain created from six elements: "...the noise a cat makes when it moves, the beard of a woman, the sinews of a bear, the breath of a fish, the roots of a mountain, and the spittle of a bird."

I hadn't considered precisely what that list of components meant until now, but seeing how very slender the chain was—in fact, almost invisible, when the light fell on it just right...

The Fenris Wolf was held by... nothing.

And the day he learned it, the nine worlds would fall, all living men and gods would die, and everything I had ever loved would become as ashes before Surt and the sons of Muspell.

(Whoever the hell they were.)

Unless, of course, I killed Odin first. That was, I reflected drolly, what I was here for; though my chances of pulling it off were looking slimmer and slimmer.