Legend of the North

Chapter 1: A Desolate Landscape

Cristian stared out at the white landscape spread out before him, gripping his sword in his right hand. His eyes scanned for any signs of movement through the falling snow. Long moments passed before the white wolf next to him nudged his side. He reached out to pet its head, a smile forming behind the mask covering half his face.

“It looks like there’s nothing out here, buddy. Let’s head back,” he said, running his hands through its thick fur.

The wolf puffed, its tail wagging. Cristian removed his hand and turned to retrace his steps back to their shelter when the ground rumbled. In an instant, he spun around with his sword held in both hands. The ground continued to shake as his eyes darted around for the source. Then he spotted it. A dot was moving along the horizon.

He couldn’t be sure if they had been spotted yet, but he wasn’t going to stick around to find out. Since he could even see something from this distance, it meant that whatever it was had to be huge.

“Fenrir, we got to go,” he hissed as he fled.

The wolf easily kept up, running alongside him. Footsteps trailed behind them as new snow fell to fill the holes. Cristian cast several glances back to track the dot. Fortunately, it didn’t appear to be getting any closer, but that didn’t stop his racing heart from trying to jump out of his chest. They traveled a good distance when he heard a whistling sound. His head shot up, and he caught sight of something moving through the air. He shoved himself into Fenrir just as the boulder landed right where they had been. They rolled a few feet across the snow.

“Ugh,” Cristian groaned, pushing himself off the ground.

Looking down at his hands, he cursed. He had dropped his sword and frantically scanned the nearby area. His eyes spotted the weapon not far from where he knelt, and she scrambled to his feet. However, before he could even take a step, he heard more whistling.

“Fenrir,” he barked, cursing their horrible luck.

It must have been a giant he spotted in the distance. He didn’t know how the dratted thing noticed him from so far away, but it was clearly attacking them. If they didn’t get away, this was going to be their last day.

The wolf jumped in front of him and howled, its howl echoing in the desolate landscape. Cristian winced, bemoaning the fact that Fenrir wanted to challenge the giant.

While he appreciated his companion’s desire to protect him, it didn’t stand against a giant. Unlike its namesake, it was just a regular wolf. It had nothing special about it other than being bigger than an ordinary wolf, but it was nowhere as big as a giant.

Reaching out to the wolf, he said, “Fenrir, we’ve got to—”

Cristian didn’t get to finish his sentence before something struck where they stood, knocking them off their feet. It took him several moments to recover from the shock of the surprise attack before he moved to get up. However, his legs refused to obey, and when he glanced down, he saw that he was missing his legs from the knees down. He stared in disbelief before the pain hit. A scream tore from his throat as blood poured from his stumps.

His legs. His legs were gone. How could his legs be gone? He needed to get away, but his legs were gone.

Fenrir rushed to his side as his hands gripped his thighs. The wolf barked at him, nudging his side, but Cristian was in too much pain to even speak. All he could do was cling to his thighs as pain wracked his body.

No, he couldn’t just wallow in the pain. This small pain was nothing compared to what he had gone through over the years. He had been beaten, starved, burned, and suffered all kinds of horrific things a human shouldn’t endure because of Fenrir, but he never blamed the wolf. It wasn’t the wolf’s fault that its master was incompetent. No, if he wanted to survive, he had to man up and do something.

He forced himself to turn his screams into a breathing technique he had learned to calm himself. It worked as he felt his mind cleared up slightly even as his heart pounded in his ears. Cristian gritted his teeth and pushed himself into a sitting position to get a better look at the situation. The sight of the stumps nearly made him hurl, but he endured and removed his belts. He tightened them around his thighs and grunted. Once he had them secured, he did a quick survey of his surroundings.

Luckily, the giant seemed to have stopped its attacks. He wasn’t sure why, but he wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip. This was the break they needed.

“Fenrir, grab my sword,” he commanded, holding his hand out to his wolf.

It puffed and ran for the sword. Once the sword was securely into its mouth, Fenrir sprinted over the snow towards him. The sword was dropped into his hand. After sheathing it, he used it as a makeshift cane. The cold aggravated his wounds, sending stabs of pain up his body.

With a grimace, he asked, “Fenrir, can you do one last thing for me? Can you carry me?”

Given the wolf’s size, it wouldn’t be hard, but the predicament they were in made it a dangerous request.

Of course the wolf didn’t bat an eye and lowered itself to allow Cristian on its back. He grunted as he sat on top of Fenrir, feeling more pain shoot up from the stumps. Blood dripped down from the stumps, staining the snow and some of Fenrir’s fur red. After securing his sword to his hip in a way that shouldn’t mess with Fenrir’s running, he gripped the wolf’s white fur to hopefully keep himself from falling off.

“Go,” he ordered.