“Kill them, you fools!” screamed Bolverk. “Kill them all, or I’ll strip you of the Red Man’s power and LEAVE YOU ALL TO STARVE!”
The threat had little effect on his pack. Oh, they got up again, renewing their attacks against Solvei – having placed herself between the seidrmadr and the others, it was obvious that any attempt to kill the pony would require going through her first – but their efforts were having little result.
Even as Bolverk watched, Turid and Kaja came at Solvei from opposite sides, trying to flank her as Sten and Ebbe fell back to regroup. Between the two of them, mother and daughter should have been able to tear Solvei apart; there was no way that the white wolf could defend herself in two opposite directions at once, especially when she could only fight with her teeth, lacking claws that were suitable as weapons like Turid and Kaja had now. She was outnumbered and overmatched.
But just like she had a few seconds ago, when the rest of her kin had rushed her, Solvei didn’t seem to realize that.
Instead, she waited until both moved in for the kill – claws darting out as they lunged forward to snap at her – and then threw herself directly at Kaja in retaliation. The sight made Bolverk grin, certain that Turid would tear that ungrateful little upstart to pieces now that Solvei had turned her back on her. But the smile dropped from his face a second later.
Solvei hadn’t leaped at Kaja. She’s jumped over her, her head nearly brushing the ceiling as she planted her paws across her sister’s back – almost knocking Kaja to the ground for the second time since the fighting had started – and bounded across her, twisting in mid-air as she came down so that she was facing Kaja’s unprotected rear.
That move had cost her, of course. Turid, despite her age, hadn’t missed a chance to swipe her claws across Solvei’s back legs, and even Kaja had managed to awkwardly raise her head and bite at her sister’s belly. Those should have been enough to cripple the rebellious wolf, slicing through her back tendons and leaving her innards on the verge of spilling out. But for some reason, just like when Sten had gone for killing blows against her, Solvei shrugged the hits off as if they were nothing. From his position across the cavern, Bolverk could only see a few drops of blood falling from where Turid’s claws had raked across Solvei’s legs, with Kaja’s teeth barely having left a bruise on her sister’s stomach.
Nor had Solvei simply been retreating. Even as her paws touched down, she was already leaning forward, jaws coming out to bite down hard on Kaja’s tail. Her sister let out a shriek of pain, one which abruptly rose in volume as Solvei suddenly spun around.
Bolverk watched, stunned, as Solvei whipped Kaja around as though her sister weighed nothing at all. Nor was he the only one surprised, Turid’s jaw dropping in astonishment as the runt of her litter performed an impossible feat of strength. That surprise worked against her, however, as she realized too late just where the arc of Solvei’s swing would take Kaja, and a second later mother and daughter collided, Solvei releasing Kaja’s tail as her sister and Turid went tumbling into a heap.
All Bolverk could do was stare. What was happening?! Were the others allowing Solvei to trounce them because they couldn’t bear to shed the blood of one of their own? That couldn’t explain how she’d just tossed her sister around so casually, but what other explanation was there?
It couldn’t have been because of that pony’s so-called seidr. He had just pointed his hoof at Solvei and told her to attack; there had been no appeals to any spirits like Frode had made, no presentation of runes the way the Red Man had made when they’d made their deal, nor any change in the white wolf’s appearance to show that she’d gained any sort of power. The entire thing had to be nothing more than a bluff, one that had obviously worked on Turid, Ebbe, and Sten yesterday if they’d thought that Solvei had actually grown larger. So why-
Bolverk didn’t have time to think of anything else as Sten suddenly threw himself at Solvei. Growling loudly, he curled his front claws around her front and rear right legs, clutching them in a way he never would have been able to if the Red Man hadn’t changed them from being simple paws. His grip was sure enough that Bolverk saw Solvei stumble as she tried to pull herself free. “What are you doing?! Let me go!” she yelped, apparently confused by how Sten was holding her rather than biting her; she wasn’t the only one, as Bolverk frowned, wondering what the younger wolf was thinking.
He had his answer a moment later as Sten opened his mouth. “Ebbe, go!” he yelled. “Get the seidrmadr! Hurry!”
“NO!” Solvei’s eyes widened in horror, whipping around to where her brother was already charging at the pony. “Lex!”
Finally, laughed Bolverk to himself, watching as Ebbe closed the distance between himself and the pony. “Lex” apparently had no reaction to the sight of death bearing down on him, regarding Ebbe evenly as the wolf shot toward him, but Bolverk had seen plenty of prey freeze up when they realized that they were about to die. This was no different.
And once he’d dead, that will be the end of Solvei’s defiance, sneered Bolverk, eager to watch the pony’s death. Maybe it will break her enough that I can take her to the Red Man and make her-, HUH?!
Bolverk’s thoughts came to a complete stop then, along with everything else.
All around the den, not a sound could be heard. No claws scraped the ground. No wings flapped. No one even dared to breathe.
All they could do was stare at the pony.
Or rather, stare at the living patch of darkness – as black as the night sky, with edges that billowed and roiled like clouds – that the pony had become.
Darkness that stared back at them with eyes that glowed.
“Pathetic,” announced the monster that the pony had become, turning its horrific gaze away from the terrified Ebbe to look instead at the pack leader. “None of you have the power necessary to harm me.”
At that moment, Bolverk knew what he was looking at, and it was neither a pony nor a seidrmadr.
It was a creature like the Red Man, a spirit that had somehow made the journey to the living world.
Fear slid down Bolverk’s spine then, for the first time since he’d become alpha and made Turid and her pups his. He’d never had any use for stories or legends growing up; why bother wasting time listening to tales of long-dead ancestors or warnings about wicked creatures that no one had seen in generations when there was delicious prey to hunt? But he’d overheard enough to know that there were many spirits out there, and that some of them would lend their power to those who forged a pact with them.
Frode had been the proof that those tales were true. He’d always called upon the spirits each time he’d accepted one of Bolverk’s challenges, and had subsequently won each and every one of their fights, despite being smaller and weaker. It had been a humiliation of unbearable proportions, made all the worse for the fact that Frode had never dealt the killing blow after besting him, instead asking him to join as the pack’s beta.
As if I’d ever submit to the younger brother who could barely hunt on his own when we were pups!
It was a cruel joke, all of it. Even if he was unpleasant to look at, Bolverk had still been the strongest of their litter, while Frode had been the runt. Before he’d seen ten winters, Bolverk had already been able to hunt enough food for all of them by himself, while Frode had been so weak he’d needed to stay behind and listen to their aging mother spin pointless tales of their ancestors, or the mythical Hrothvitnir and Vutok, or how their father had gotten himself and most of their pack killed with his ill-fated attack on the pony lands.
When she’d finally died, and it was time for them to go and seek mates to form their own packs, Bolverk had dallied, wanting to find the biggest prey he could so as to show off his skills to the winter wolves in the next valley over. While packs tended to stay separate so as not to compete for food, they weren’t completely isolated, which was why it was no secret that Turid – who lived up to her name, which meant “beautiful” in the Old Tongue – was finally coming of age. But by the time Bolverk had located and killed a woolly rhino, a rare beast, and one that was dangerous to hunt alone, but which had enough meat to feed even a large number of winter wolves for days, and brought it to the neighboring pack, he’d found that Forde had already gotten there ahead of him!
Worse, he’d already claimed Turid for himself, having wooed her with the useless stories that their mother had taught him!
It had been an insult, one that Bolverk – who’d long resented letting his weakling brother eat any of the food he’d brought home – had been unable to bear. Turid was his by right! So what if he was ugly? He was strong, and a provider! That was more than Frode could say!
Thus, when Frode had refused to stand aside, it had only made Bolverk even angrier. How dare that ungrateful wretch deny him anything?! Didn’t he know who his better was?! Issuing a challenge had been a way to mock his brother more than anything, knowing that Frode still believed in those pointless old rituals; defeating him on his own terms would make victory all the sweeter.
But instead, the impossible had happened: Frode had won.
It had been beyond Bolverk’s ability to understand, even after his brother had tried to tell him that mother had taught him how to speak to their ancestors, letting them guide him. What did it matter if he could speak to a bunch of dead wolves? Bolverk was bigger and stronger; that was everything!
And yet, Frode proved victorious the next time he’d challenged him as well.
And the next.
And the next.
Each time Bolverk would slink away, snarling at his brother’s offer to join as the pack beta. The thought of having to stay there as a subordinate while an unworthy wolf bred such a beauty was unbearable. Bad enough that all too soon – on one of his doomed attempts to become alpha of his brother’s pack – he’d discovered that Turid’s belly had begun to swell, and not long after there were four pups whom their weakling father was somehow managing to feed.
The injustice of it all was enough to keep Bolverk coming back, year after year, failed challenge after failed challenge. He could have journeyed out past the valley and found another pack to take over. But he’d long since put such thoughts behind him, unable to bear the knowledge of how he’d been cheated. Turid was supposed to be his mate! Her children were supposed to be his pups! But no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many dangerous beasts he killed or how many battle-scars he collected, he couldn’t defeat Frode, all because his weakling brother could talk to spirits!
IT WASN’T FAIR!
The score had only been settled when he’d met the Red Man, not even a half-cycle of the moon ago. With the hunting having gotten bad because of the increased snowfall, he'd been on the trail of what he’d thought was some bizarre new prey. When he'd caught up to it, however, the creature had demonstrated strange powers far beyond anything Frode had ever shown. It had been enough to leave Bolverk awed and more than a little unnerved, unable to help but ask if the creature was a spirit like the ones his brother spoke to.
That had been when the Red Man had smiled and said that he was indeed.
After that, they’d begun to talk, and a deal had been reached. Bolverk still didn’t know why the Red Man wanted to meet ponies so badly, or what all the runes he’d consulted on those strips of dead wood he carried around were for, but none of that mattered. All that mattered was taking back what was rightfully his, and if that meant putting his paw-print on some “contract” with the Red Man and bringing him ponies, that was a small price to pay.
Of course, Bolverk was no fool. He’d made sure to ask for more than simply having a better body. Being stronger and tougher, having wings, and resistance to the painful heat that melted the snows and made the valleys all but uninhabitable after winter ended were all valuable prizes. But Bolverk had wanted one more thing, a sure-kill weapon in case his brother – or any other winter wolf – ever managed to surprise him again.
The way Solvei had now.
The wretched little ingrate had clearly found her own spirit to form a pact with. That was why she was so much stronger and faster now; that creature that had disguised itself as a pony was lending her some sort of invisible power, and as much as Bolverk hated to admit it, it was stronger than what the Red Man had given them.
But that was fine. He still had the weapon that the Red Man had given him. He might not have needed to use it against Frode, but always kept it close anyway just in case something like this happened.
It would put an end to Solvei’s little rebellion, as well as her life…and that of the spirit named Lex.