Jehanne stayed in Halle’s arms, her smooth skin against his rough body that’d seen many wars. She marched her fingers letting them take tiny steps from his chest to his lips. “These are mine to keep.”

Halle agreed, bringing Jehanne’s possession to her own lips. “Of course.”

“There’s only one thing that l don’t wish to keep.”

“What will that be, my princess?”

“Your sins.”

“What?” Sweat ran down Halle’s back.

Jehanne’s head twisted at infeasible angles, eyes and mouth gone. Faceless as complete black shrouded her facial features, a shadow of its former self. The evil spread down her limbs like ants in search of food whilst the body became denser. Conformed to a shorter height as if it was being squished within a box. What was left was only an amalgamation of sin the size of a boy.

“How many have you killed?” A boy’s familiar voice rang out.

“No!” Halle thrashed backwards too late realising there was nowhere to run.

“You’ve killed men, too many, even me, a child.” The boy akin to a demon plagued with pitch-black skin trooped closer.

The figure shapeshifted to different sizes of men from weak to strong but showed no faces. Halle had forgotten everyone he’d slain, the details had become blurs, banished memories.

“How can l ever love you?” Jehanne’s voice resounded again in Halle’s ears.

The room turned a darker shade hiding inner-devils long forgotten, walls and ground turned into empty fields of grass. Full moon within the night, it’s celestial light shone brightly for Halle to see.

There laid a faceless monstrosity of a human laying down for him to devour. He saw the outline of female features belonging to this entity, it shapeshifted into Jehanne with no face to catch sight of.

Sheep everyone was to him when he in secret kept fangs for teeth, claws for nails and fur for skin—a wolf in hiding. The faceless Jehanne had nowhere to run as Halle the monster he was. Not human nor scared, Halle ate at her arms first so she could not fight back.

She shouted repeatedly pleading for him to stop.

“YOU’RE NOT A MONSTER!”

Legs second to go so she could not run, her yells became soft murmurs for him to hear.

“You’re not a monster.”

The bones crunched, cracking as Halle’s fangs ground body parts to mush, incomprehensible to guess what was what. Her words became whispers nearly impossible to hear.

“You’re not a monster.”

All that remained was a mutilated corpse of the one he loved, faceless like all the others he’d slain and forgotten.

Silent, no words to hear.

Halle spoke with the weight of sin tying him down, heavier than the stones making up mountains, “I am a monster.”

The moon’s light shined brighter overshadowing everything in white eradicating the desolate night for Halle to regain his sight.

He slept easily and his dream was sweet at first until murky thoughts became nightmare fuel.

Wiping at the sweat dripping down his eyebrow, Halle came to see Jehanne sleeping on her bed of straw and fur. The images of horror replayed in his mind. Biting his lips, he reminded himself of Jehanne’s words, “You’re not a monster.”

He hoped it was true. Halle escaped his room quietly to not wake up Jehanne who usually woke up earlier than him. Seeking solace in training, he ran deep into the woods. His punishment lifted after winter and summer touched the lands. There he entered, where silence was all you heard and growls of warriors—Ulfhednar territory.

Ulfhednars, an enigma to most save for their common love for ale and mead that Norsemen could relate to. Their methods of training could be considered bizarre, as Gunhild with a group of younglings ran with haste amongst the woods alongside an allied wolf pack. Not all wolves were welcomed in these parts outside the Ulfhednar borders.

Ten children between twelve and sixteen sprung off the heels of their feet sprinting through bushes and past trees. The wind brushed against wolf hides they wore, they followed behind Gunhild chasing grey wolves. Coming to a fast halt, shield and spear in hand for all the young Ulfhednars save for Gunhild who also held an axe. They addressed the black wolf pack coming close to the shaman’s hut.

An alpha wolf with night sky masqueraded for its pelt stood on all fours easily taller than a child the age of five winters. The leader of the pack growled at the wolves opposite to him and the humans beside them. Gunhild bared her fangs, signalling for the children and grey wolves to indicate that this was their place to rule.

Growls on both sides.

Fifteen to twenty. Ulfhednar children, Gunhild and four large grey wolves experienced enough were stacked against the odds of opposing twenty beasts hungry for blood.

The black alpha wolf crept closer. It’s paws marking steps forward, confident it would win against the other leader of wolves and humans—Gunhild. They judged each other with glares waiting for the other to make the first move. Gunhild stood patient provoking the leader striking her round shield with the end of her axe bashing against it.

In the blink of an eye, the wolf pounced with jaws aiming at her throat. Shield positioned at an angle, she slammed it against the sharp teeth that could shred her skin in seconds.

Total war broke out, Grey wolves paired with some of the weaker young children fought to the death against invaders.

The alpha male circled Gunhild pivoting in steps as it leapt once more to be met with a shield blocking its fangs. Seeing the children were having a hard time dealing with nineteen wolves even with the aid of grey wolves, Gunhild hurried up with her fight. She swung her axe and glanced at the wolf’s body while she hid behind the protection of her shield.

Blood dripped down staining black fur, the alpha male hesitated, sensing Gunhild’s true strength. Seeing the large smile flashing sharp teeth of blue, it howled signalling to retreat.

Too late, Gunhild charged forwards throwing her axe which was dodged easily by the alpha but that was the beginning of her strike. Spear flung from the accurate hands of Gunhild. The surprise attack landed piercing the leader wolf’s fur, halting its chance to escape. Red splattered across the grass, some of it splashed onto her face.

Gunhild began attacking other black wolves. Their numbers dwindled before they left with tails between legs leaving behind the alpha wolf to die. Young Ulfhednars howled alongside their companion of grey wolves drenched in blood. Some of the children were unable to defend their shoulders properly with the angle they held shields. Wolves often bit at the shoulders, throat or flanks.

Seeing the grin of the children's first victory against a pack of enemy wolves, she smiled as well.

A boy growled, “Gunhild...wasn’t l great?”

“No. Too slow in directing the shield to the proper place.”

Seeing the boy pout, Gunhild ruffled his messy hair dirty with soil and leaves.

“Collect the remains and bring it back, you didn’t do good but not bad either.”

The boy danced before other children came in search of compliments only to be disappointed with Gunhild pointing out their flaws as well. Grey wolves licked at wounds, their saliva bore antibacterial properties helping the process of healing faster. Blood stained their fur, Gunhild would have to take them to a river later to rid their stench of battle.

Gunhild’s closest companion, pet and friend pawed towards her. She’d named this female wolf as ‘Skína’, meaning to shine. Her fur being the lightest tinge of grey and at times almost shined with lustre in winter. The Ulfhednar sat on her heels, stroking her fingers through fur dirtied crimson.

Enjoying the touch of her master, Skína nosed at Gunhild’s face bumping her chin. Lapping up the enemies blood on Gunhild’s cheek and once finished, she tried to slide it’s long tongue into her mouth kissing Gunhild. She was happy and excited to see her master safe. When that failed, Skína attacked the unguarded nostrils.

“Skína stop,” Gunhild growled. The Ulfhednar did not want any more drool on her.

Skína stayed still, listening to her master. Submissive for a wild wolf as it’d been raised and tamed since it was a newborn, this was Gunhild’s second companion to teach as wolves lived to up to twelve years. Her first one died long ago of old age.

“Good, you did well. I will feed you elk meat when we get back.”

Skína wagged its furry tail, more than satisfied to hear of delicious food.

Dead black wolf on each shoulder. Gunhild managed to run back to the home of Ulfhednars, past her father’s hut. The children who’d been brought out to train in fighting, carried killed wolves as well to skin for hides and to eat the meat.

They respected a slain animal by eating anything that could be salvaged. Even if they owned wolves as companions, those that weren’t were eaten during rituals or to pay homage to the Norse gods.

Returning the children to their homes cleaned, they rested sleeping alongside other yawning wolves. Wolves were nocturnal who hunted during night and slept during the day unless awoken to fight or placed in danger.

A meeting was called between senior Ulfhednars at Gorm’s hut and Gunhild was called upon to stop any possible interruptions.

She strode towards her father’s home after feeding Skína. Opening the door, there laid two aged Ulfhednars wearing wolf hides on their heads, wise with eyes that’d seen many winters full of blood and peace. Most shaman-warriors had yet to ever see more than thirty winters, death in battles was too common amongst them.

“Welcome Gunhild,” Egil said.

Youngest of elder Ulfhednars at forty winters, he had a scar slashed across his eyelids. He’d lost an eye in an attempt to mirror Odin as a wanderer seeking knowledge.

“Child are you hungry?” Gaute asked. Kindest of all Ulfhednar seniors and second to Gorm in age, offered Gunhild smoked Elk.

He had retired from fighting and studied war tactics instead. Strategies to employ with the smallest number of elite warriors against larger armies.

“Daughter, have the black wolves been scared away from here?”

“Me alongside the grey wolves and younger Ulfhednars slew more than half of their numbers,” Gunhild answered her father.

Gorm had aged with winters into his late fifties as the oldest among Ulfhednars. His skin sagged with scars stretching across his body.

“Good. Their numbers had grown too much, that was most likely why they ventured deeper into our territory. Make sure none trespass,” Gorm ordered.

“Understood,” Gunhild affirmed.

She sat beside her adoptive father listening to talks of Ulfhednar’s future, she had no power in swaying their choices. Yet as the child of Gorm, she knew many secrets, thus allowed to hear, unlike other shaman-warriors. The three elders continued bickering.

“Why must we fight for this Halle’s protection?” Egil questioned Gorm, they followed him solely because of his power.

“Because he bears the aura of a vargr. When he was born on the blue moon, the beast sank its teeth into his soul.”

Gaute’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Hati Hróðvitnisson, one of the three vargrs that will cause Ragnarok.”

“Where are the other two?” Gunhild inquired.

The three vargrs: Fenrir, Hati, Skoll. Fenrir being the son of Loki, while Hati and Skoll were the sons of Fenrir, each would cause havoc to where no moon or sun would rise ever again.

“We do not know,” Gorm sighed. “I only know that Fenrir is chained down by Gleipnir and Hati by the bindings of Dromi.”

After years Gorm finally recognised the chain that bound Hati during his shaman calls for spirits was Dromi. The second binding on Fenrir to be broken. It must’ve been repaired by dwarves. The shaman did not know if the mythical race were still alive, he only knew of spirits.

“In the tales, it is stated Odin threw Hati and Skoll into the sky to chase the moon and sun. But if Hati is chained down here then it is safe to assume Skoll is trapped as well by Lædingr instead,” Gaute judged.

“I have heard of Fenrir being chained down by Gleipnir, what of Dromi and Lædingr?” Gunhild was not as knowledgeable as any of the three men here when it came to the tales of Norse faith.

“Unlike the legendary Gleipnir made from the sound of a cat’s footfall, the beard of a woman, the roots of a mountain and...what else was it Gorm?” Gaute could not recall.

“The sinews of a bear, the breath of a fish and the spittle of a bird. Made from things that could not exist, therefore it would never be broken,” Gaute sagely nodded at Gorm’s words.

The shaman continued, “Whereas, the other two chains. Dromi and Lædingr had been easily snapped by Fenrir in history.”

Gunhild was confused. “Then why use these chains for Hati and Skoll?”

“Because Hati and Skoll are not as strong as their father Fenrir. The chains will hold and there is proof. When l had taken Halle’s blood and burned it with Hampr when he was but a boy, l saw visions of Hati Hróðvitnisson. Bound down by the chains of Dromi.”

Gorm shuddered remembering the wolf. In the shamanic visions that allowed him to see spirits, Hati’s growl alone sent him running back into the human realm. Sapphire fur, cobalt eyes and the blue moon’s light reflected in its irises. The wolf’s stomach grumbled, wanting to devour Gorm.

“To think the ancestors of the Hati clan who claimed to be slayers of the vargr were not able to kill it. Instead, failing and deciding to trap it,” Gorm said.

“How would you know they failed?” Gaute couldn’t follow.

“I’ve seen the Gram sword in Erik Tokesson’s study room for war. It hangs on his wall beside a spear. The spirits have told me it is the one the Hati clan tried to use on the vargr in ancient times.”

Ulfhednars and Berserkir searched for the Gram sword lost to legends, as warriors of Odin they bid to find it even if broken.

“The Gram sword of heroes, the one that slew a dragon!” Egil gasped.

“Yes, but it was broken. If such a sword was damaged by the vargr, it meant the Hati clan could only resort to binding it down if they could not slay it. Perhaps the truth was lost in time and that’s why the people here believe they slaughtered it.”

“It makes sense.” Gaute’s pupils gleamed with understanding.

“Such a mythical sword existed here, even the vargr Hati Hróðvitnisson sleeps on these lands. It almost feels like fate itself is drawing the pieces together to form something never to be told in history. A new era.”

Gorm laughed crazily like a madman who’d swam from Valhalla to the underworld Hel.

“This is no laughing matter Gorm.” Egil glared with his one eye.

“At times when we do not know when Ragnarok will arrive, it is best to laugh. Or do you wish to die crying?”

“Fool! Do you not feel cruel sending Ulfhednars to their deaths? You will be the end of us all,” Egil scoffed wishing to spew even harsher insults.

“Egil be more respectful, our shaman has spoken and we are in front of child Gunhild as well.”

Gaute tried to calm everyone’s nerves with a kind tone. To the three elders, Gunhild still appeared to be a child in their eyes, even though she’d grown into a woman who owned curves that could catch any man’s eye.

“How can l be respectful when he wishes for Ulfhednars to die for this Halle?”

“Halle cannot die,” Gorm repeated. “Somehow Hati has used the blue moon to slither into his soul at birth. Fortunately, l had made him receive tattoos of magical runes on his arm to weaken the vargr.”

“You’ve never made us go on vikings with him though, why now must we care about him? Egil protested.

“Because we had nothing in my visions to fear during his vikings. But with the vision l saw of England and Hati’s mark on Halle. Gleipnir bindings will loosen if he dies yet—” Gorm paused, increasing the tension in the room.

“If he survives and overcomes the beast within him. He may banish Hati Hróðvitnisson from ever existing.”

“Why will Ulfhednars die?” Gunhild had not been here to hear of this, the three men had held many meetings when she had been forced to train the younger children. Their parents or other Ulfhednars were either out at sea viking or training.

“Because your father saw all of our deaths in his visions when burning the Hampr if we follow Halle into battle.”

“Will Halle survive if he goes to battle in England?” Gunhild had been at first curious of the boy when she was a girl on why he was so important to her father. Now they were decade-old friends.

“No,” Gorm answered solemnly.

“Then why must we follow Halle into our own graves when he will die? We should not have to die with him even if the Gleipnir will loosen!” Egil roared.

“It is our responsibility for us Odin followers to not let Ragnarok occur. My visions of prophecies are also not always fated to happen merely possible futures. It’s likely for Halle to die, but if we bring all the Ulfhednars with us to the upcoming battle. His chances of survival will increase.”

“But we die,” Egil did not want to see the death of brothers and sisters.

“That is a price we must pay then for Odin,” Gaute brushed his fingers through his beard.

Gorm nodded, “We will leave the children here. That is why l have had Gunhild train them more harshly.”

“Egil, understand Halle must survive is that clear?” Gorm added.

“Yes, shaman.” Egil bitterly left the hut.

Gaute pleaded, “Please forgive him Gorm for his prior words. He may appear violent but he is kinder than me, someone who cries over the death of any Ulfhednar.”

“He is allowed to cry but we must ensure Halle’s survival lest we put shame on Odin’s name as shaman-warriors. Ragnarok must not come any closer with the loosening of Hati Hróðvitnisson’s bindings.”

“Yes, shaman.” Gaute took his opportunity to leave after bidding farewell.

Guate rushed to step beside Egil. “You know the shaman has thought over this many times more than us.”

“I do,” Egil answered.

“Then why must you argue with him when he is right? We are Odin’s followers.”

“Because he is too cruel, he did not even waver at the thought of all our deaths.”

“You know how he got his scars Egil.”

“And what of it, he is a fool for not fighting back but defending himself only.”

“He bears the burden for all those who are men that wish to practise Seiðr.”

“You say that, but no one desires to learn it anymore. What makes the matter worse is that his apprentices are all dead.”

“Not Gunhild.”

Egil only nodded. “You cannot change my mind Guate. See him as merciful for sparing children but l will call him cruel. For sending the last of our kind to die so soon.”

“It is to stop Ragnarok and for Odin.”

Egil kicked at stones frustrated. “Does Odin even listen to us anymore, I feel at times the Norse gods have forsaken us. The Berserkir have betrayed Noreg, we are so few and die too quickly no matter how strong we are.”

Egil complained further, “We are ruins of the past once plentiful in numbers across Noreg, now we stand alone as one pack left. The second as traitors and the third forgotten in time.”

There existed three variations of Norse shaman-warriors: Ulfhednars, Berserkir and the last group lost to war. Most had already forgotten the third name that once rivalled Ulfhednars and Berserkir.

“Do not let your faith waver Egil, Odin is always watching over us even in his silence.” Gaute patted his comrade’s shoulder.

Gunhild and her father left in the hut, Gorm started a fire so he could throw Hampr into it.

“Father, you shouldn’t overwhelm yourself with Hampr too often.”

“I need to see a better end,” Gorm replied.

Gunhild could only watch inhaling second hand the smoke of Hampr. The plant varied in use, relieving shaman-warriors of trauma from war, nightmares that plagued them. It’s properties when burnt also allowed for shamans to see spirits and the future.

“Father, will we truly die if we follow Halle into battle for England?” She did not believe the Ulfhednars would be wiped out, they were strong.

Gunhild had come to know they were one of the strongest fighters. Only other shaman-warriors could challenge their might or a large number of foes too many to kill.

“I need to see a different future,” Gorm repeated forgetting his daughter existed by his side.

The smoke of Hampr was anguish itself, a lesser pain than misfortune that he hoped to not gain. For he wanted to see a fate where everyone lived and not die, yet too cruel was fate. Through the Hampr combined with other special plants, he could see prophecies for his eyes alone to witness.

Hearing such an answer, Gunhild left her father to his own tools.

She did not think of him to be a fool of cruelty as Egil argued, instead merciful. His scars were proof of that. Before he was a full-fledged shaman, he was a shaman-warrior who’d gained scars from never fighting back, just defending himself.

The first shaman-warrior to be called a disgrace for practising Seiðr because he was a man, a man who loved other men. He'd been burned, bashed to near death, slashed and whipped by the outside world when he could’ve killed all those that deserved his wrath.

Never did he answer the mocking torture of shame where ever he went, always holding his head high to those who looked at him with disgust. He felt they were the ones in shame of their own body.

Gunhild’s adoptive father mercifully took on the brunt of anguish willingly for anyone that wished to practise Seiðr as a man under his wing. But he had no apprentices anymore, all dead save for her. Killed in an ambush on distant lands during their nomadic travels before the Hati clan.

Respecting her father, she pondered when Egil would realise Gorm felt more pain making the decision of sacrificing lives even if he did not express it. Thoughts interrupted when Halle came unannounced into Ulfhednar territory. Her ears perked up hearing his footsteps closer.

Twisting her body she dodged a strike directed towards her ribs. Gunhild kicked out her legs trying to sweep Halle off his feet.

“You should know, l bear the runes of Ginfaxi on my amulet. Never will anyone knock me off my feet,” Halle taunted as he blocked her sweep.

The Ginfaxi rune in the eyes of many Norsemen wielded the beliefs of two meanings. Courage in combat and to allow it’s owner to never be swept off their legs.

Halle practised glíma onto Gunhild, a form of wrestling trained between Norsemen. Caught off guard with so many thoughts in her mind, she was knocked to the floor. Halle’s pulverising grip on her forearm flipped Gunhild onto her back straight to the floor.

“That’s payback for playing dirty when I first came back from my viking.”

“You played dirty too!” Gunhild growled, she couldn’t accept this defeat.

“Are you not admitting defeat?” Halle grinned.

Gunhild knew her arm was in an awkward position for Halle to crank it up to cause pain. Sighing she said, “I lose.”

Halle smiled relieved before that second of relief caused him to be flipped and put onto the floor.

“Cheater!”

“There are no cheaters in a fight,” Gunhild replied.

Halle stood up dusting his clothes. “Damn it I nearly had you. What was on your mind to cause you so much distress that l almost beat you?”

“Nothing that concerns you.”

“Is that so?” Halle glanced at Gunhild in the corner of his eyes.

“Yes,” she said. “The more important question is why are you here?”

“To train, my punishment has been lifted and l need to prepare for the invasion to England. Where else but here can l find a sparring partner?”

“That is true.” Gunhild nodded.

“First, l will greet your father. It has been long since I’ve spoken to him.”

“You do not have to, he is burning Hampr right now.”

“That is fine by me.”

Gunhild shrugged her shoulders waiting for Halle to return.

A knock on the door did not alert Gorm awake as his senses were dulled. He glimpsed to see blurred visions warped in twisted colours and shades. Flowing water faster than the speeds of rushing elks, a barrel made of wood, a broad bridge and a spear’s point thinner than hair. Only when Halle banged on the door and opened it for himself did the shaman realise he sat beside him.

“Shaman, usually you do not let yourself be affected by the Hampr so much.” Halle was bewildered at the scene before him.

Gorm exhaled deeply before throwing water over the fire not responding to Halle. He killed the flames of its remaining life. Billowing smoke out and wiping remnants of Hampr effects from his body, he sang softly. Gorm was a shaman first and foremost, who’d grown accustomed to the Hampr smoke unless he let himself become a vessel to enter another subconscious world.

Clean of nullified senses, clear of thought, he became himself once more. Mysterious with no hints to why he was here at the Hati clan or why he’d ordered the Ulfhednars to remain on these lands.

The shaman felt as if fate was too possessive over control right now, Gorm voluntarily chose of his own freedom to not tell Halle all of the answers. Or else he may cause an earlier death for the boy now man chosen by Hati Hróðvitnisson.

“What brings you here Halle?”

“I wish for some Hampr for myself.”

“Hampr, what...are you having nightmares again?”

Halle wished to refute the claim, but he found himself stammering on his words.

“Do not be ashamed, Ulfhednars have seen too much from war and battle. Often we cannot sleep.” Gorm threw a leather pouch of Hampr to Halle.

Halle stared at the plants kept in the skin of animals. “I am not an Ulfhednar yet.”

“Yet? You still wish to become an Ulfhednar.” Gorm smirked. “Do not worry. We consider you and your mother as Ulfhednars even if you did not bear our teeth marks.”

“...Thank you.” The words touched Halle's heart, he who wanted someone to recognise his mother was a worthy fighter.

The people of the Hati clan had changed their tunes so quickly upon hearing her death, once admiring her strength too whispers that she should have taken care of the Jarl’s duties instead.

“No matter what reason you are here. I will take full advantage of it,” Halle announced to the shaman.

“We will see who will be taking advantage of who.” Gorm smiled.

Gorm seeing Halle saying his goodbyes said, “Beware of spears, bridges and barrels, warrior.”

“Did you see something in your visions?”

“Maybe, maybe not. It depends on you to make it false or true.”

“Then do not worry for I will become the greatest warrior.” Halle left clutching onto the pouch of Hampr. He grew anxious thinking nightmares would plague his mind once more like long ago when he’d killed his first victim or vikings.

Gorm stared at Halle’s back and whispered quieter than the falling of a feather, “In death or in living will you become a legend?”

He worked over the hazy details he’d seen in his prophecies: barrel, spear and bridge. How would they connect? Gorm did not know.