Chapter 6
Freydis
We left the house after consoling him. He had walked into the room to see his sister after she died. She had shifted back to her human form, and blood oozed from her neck.
The man cradled her in his arms, tears streaming down his face. After an hour of consoling him, he told us this was what his sister would have wanted. She would have rather been killed than turn into a beast.
Afterward, we helped him bury his sister under a tree.
We left the house quickly, but I couldn't shake the dreadful feeling in my chest.
"Your gown... well..."
I didn't need to look down to know what he was talking about. The gown had small bloodstains on it. It shouldn't be that noticeable, but if the guards saw me, they would want to know what happened.
"I'll tell Siggy to help you with a new gown," he said.
"That won't be necessary," I replied, because then Siggy would also want to know what happened. "I'll hide it with the veil." I removed the veil from my head and wrapped it around my shoulders.
He started to speak but went quiet when a group of people walked along the road and entered the woods. They were farmers—women and children.
"This land has been ruined by the Hounds. Our people were always safe going into the woods until they came," he said. "I don't understand why they would risk their lives when it's not safe out there."
"These are their means of survival. You know that," I said. "My papa, the king, is trying to find a way to rid the beasts from our land. But you and I know he's been saying that for a long time. If anyone can figure out a way to end this, it'll be the gods—if they even hear our cries."
"But could the farmers not find another way to survive? Can they not turn to the sea to fish?" he asked.
"They could," I said, "but if all the farmers turn to the sea, how do we survive without crops?"
My father had the idea of feeding hundreds—thousands—of people in Fellur, but the coffers were not what they once were before the Hounds. They spent what little they had arming the walls and forging new blades. Every coin went to steel, not grain.
Every now and then, the forgers burned flames in the night, the sound of steel ringing as they created new weapons.
But winter was fast approaching, and if we didn't prepare, many people would starve to death. We didn't know how long the winter would last.
"The king believes that to feed the people, we need to protect them first."
"Protect them from the beasts?" he asked. "Is there any point in forging steel every single day when the Hounds still kill so many of our people?"
"He also believes we should be prepared for war since the South has been drawing closer to our land for quite some time," I said, shaking my head.
"Fuck war," Ake muttered. "The people are starving because they're too afraid to hunt or go to their farms. They whisper that the king and gods have turned their backs on them."
I sighed. The only help the queen offered was telling people to continue praying until the gods answered. She wouldn't offer them food, only claiming there were no coins in the coffers or grains in the kitchen. Yet every market day, she was seen buying a new gown.
...
After changing my clothes, I didn't feel like staying in my room. It was small, isolated, and felt like a box. So I thought of the library, where books about the old gods were stored.
I walked in, and the usual scent of old parchment hit my nostrils. I wandered around, looking for something to read, and was surprised to find Ragnar leaning against a shelf with a book in his hand.
A smile appeared on his face as he looked up from the book. I felt goose bumps rise on my skin. I wanted to turn around and leave, but then he called me.
"Freyja," he said. "I'm surprised to see you here this evening."
I walked toward the shelf. "I was going to check out some books," I said. "What are you doing?"
"Reading," he replied.
I raised a brow.
"That's a new book—not from this library."
"Yes. It came with me from the North," he said.
He met my gaze, and I sucked in a sharp breath at how dark his eyes were. It felt like staring into a deep, endless pit.
My eyes fell to the book, and I saw drawings of Hounds.
"What book are you reading?"
"It's about the creation of the beasts," he replied. "You've heard stories about them—but do you really know how they were created?"
I took a step closer. "And what does it say?"
"That the beasts were created from the blood of a god."
"A god?" I almost laughed.
"Back in the era when gods existed, there was a male god, one unlike any other. He was tall and beautiful, with golden hair. Every woman wanted him," he said.
"But he committed a crime and was sent to the dark prison, where gods who were wild and went against the rules was sent," he continued.
I had read about the prison. They said it was dark and gruesome, a place no human could survive. It was meant only for gods who broke the rules.
"However, he managed to escape, and the first gods cursed him. He was never meant to return to the realm of the living, but he did—so they cursed him."
"What was the curse?" I asked.
"They drove him mad. He grew claws and fur and turned into a beast. The first beast," he said.
A small sound echoed through the air, and Ragnar turned toward it.
"Rats," I said, and he looked back at me.
"He went to the land of the gods and went wild, killing people. They called him a 'Wolf' because of the sound he made—woof."
"So this wolf god is the reason we have Hounds?"
"They're not called Hounds—but Werewolves," he replied. "Wolf was captured by the gods and locked in a tomb. But when war broke out among the gods, they needed him. So they took his blood, his teeth, and his venom."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because the god ruling at the time, Bjorn, wanted a loyal army—one as fierce as the Wolf but obedient. He had a female god perform a ritual using those things, and they created a new army. Not gods. Not mortals. Something in between. Beasts that could obey but still destroy on command."
"Werewolves," I whispered. How did Ragnar know so much about them? How did he get the book? I wanted to ask but was too intrigued by the story.
"But what Bjorn didn't know was that the werewolves would carry Wolf's curse too—because his blood was not clean. The curse was passed down to them. But Bjorn was too paranoid about winning the war to care. He is the reason every werewolf carries that madness... the urge to kill."
I fell silent. Was that the reason the gods never answered our cries? Because the beasts were their own creation—and they couldn't destroy them?
Ragnar closed the book and walked toward me, staring intensely.
"Why did you decide to come to Fellur after so many years in the North?" I asked.