The Hour of the Wolf

This flash piece is a rough draft of a scene from the prequel novel of The Prophecies of Ragnarok, a Norse mythology based new adult series I'm currently writing with Meri Benson. It may or may not end up in the final version of the novel.

Here are the shorts we've written so far for the prequel, in chronological order:

• Birthright
• Ice Queen
• Brother's Keeper
• Final Hour
• Resistance and Steps
• Forsaken
• Goodbye, Good Friend
• Inheritance
• A Winter's Bargain
• Death Finds All
• Homecoming
• Reconnection
• The Hour of the Wolf (this story)

Hotel Fen, the first published book of the series, follows after this point.

---

We drove up the snowy, winding road towards the cozy A-frame cabin. My father complained the whole time, but I already expected that of him. He’d always had quite a tongue, and solitary confinement had only made him cranky. It had been ages since he’d had the chance to stretch his legs.

“Is that it?” The cabin did not impress him. Nothing did. He had traveled far and wide, and he had dined with gods. But I at least thought he’d be glad for the change of scenery.

“It’s bigger than it looks.” I sounded defensive, and I hated it.

He unbuckled his seatbelt and limped out of the car, not saying anything more. Perhaps he hadn’t heard. Or he simply didn’t care.

The silence didn’t last, however. The cabin’s caretaker had rushed out to greet us, and she hadn’t even finished her welcome speech before my father started ordering her to haul our luggage out of the trunk.

“Don’t touch me,” he hissed when she attempted to take hold of his arm and guide him inside. I couldn’t blame her. Father didn’t look capable of walking around in the snow, let alone by himself. The years had made him scrawny. His blond hair had grown long and wild, and he had dark circles under his eyes. And he limped like many old men, his war-hardened pride refusing to allow him the comfort of a cane, or a pretty young maid.

I apologized and flashed the caretaker my most charming smile. Unlike him, I wasn’t about to turn away a pretty young maid.

I helped her retrieve our bags. Father had packed like it was the end of the world, and she struggled with the load. I took the golf bag from the pile she’d somehow wrestled into her arms, slinging it over my shoulder.

She eyed the clubs that peeked out from behind me like spears and battle-axes. “In this weather?”

“We just pretend.” Father enjoyed that sort of game. I winked to let her in on the secret.

She sighed in relief, then gazed towards the cabin. My father had already disappeared inside, but she stared long and hard, like she could still see him hobbling around. “The dining room has a satphone.” She looked at me anxiously. Maybe she was waiting for me to get offended, too. “Just in case.”

“Just in case.” But I was sure we wouldn’t need it. She, however, might. It was getting dark, and the drive downhill was dangerous, even in the daylight.

She offered to bring the bags up to our rooms, and I’d been ready to charm her into staying the night, but then Father shuffled out of the kitchen and snarled at her to leave.

"Be careful," she whispered, and I'd been convinced it was my father that had spooked her until she added, "of the wolves in the woods."

"Wolves?"

She held my gaze a moment longer, almost daring me to laugh at her. I didn't, though I was unconcerned. She caught that, and she looked at me with sorrow before walking out. Her car sounded like a wounded animal as it sped away.

I glared at my father. “I wanted her to stay."

"Someone will come looking if she disappears." He waved from the couch and gestured helplessly towards the TV with a grin, our previous exchange immediately forgotten. His excitement was akin to a kid about to open his presents on Christmas morning, and my anger swelled at the reminder of what his own family had put him through.

I picked up the remote, flicking through the selection of pre-loaded movies until we found one to his satisfaction. For a few minutes we watched the film together, though I couldn't quite sit still, unclenching and clenching my jaw to get rid of the pain my anger had summoned. Soon enough, the musical numbers grew too cheesy to bear. I stood up to leave.

“We can watch something else.” Father’s voice was soft. It was unlike him, and I couldn’t take it.

There was only one way to soothe my anger. Without waiting or even asking for his permission, I headed to the back door. I slipped off my shoes. I unbuckled my belt. With every step, I shed the skin they had forced me to wear, until I was standing bare in the snow.

Face turned towards the darkening sky, I unleashed my rage. I howled and howled, like the stories foretold I would at the end of days. I hated being human. Humans were small and frail. Yet I’d had no choice but to live among them, bound to a plane by chains that they had tricked me into wearing, chains that I could not yet break.

My kin promptly and eagerly returned my call. Our cries filled the air with danger and despair. It was beautiful.

Inside the cabin, Father started laughing.

My anger gave me the strength to once more assume my true form, though it was never enough. My chains always held me back. I was monstrous by human standards, with deadly jaws and an impenetrable hide, but I was not yet large enough to devour the sun.

Soon, however, I would be free.

We would all be free.

I took a deep breath and nearly gagged. The air was thick with magic. And it wasn’t just any kind of magic, but the most ancient and the most dangerous of all: the magic of Yggdrasil, the Tree of Worlds.

Father would be pleased. My siblings, too, and I couldn’t wait for them to arrive so I could tell them the good news. Right here, on holy ground, we would build a prison for our enemies, chaining them up in the same way they had chained us.

There was much work to be done.

But I was still mad. I had to hunt.