Fenrir Moonscar's Arc

Chapter 3 of 8

The storm broke by morning. Fenrir followed Frost Silvermane out of the hollow, the pup tucked against his chest. She led him east across the ice for half a day. Then the land ended. Black water spread wide and flat before them, so cold it steamed. His birthmark pointed straight across it. Fenrir stared at the far shore he could not reach. "I can't swim that," he said. "It would kill me." Frost stopped at the edge. "No. It would." She looked at the water like it had teeth. "But there is a wolf who lives on this shore. He knows the crossing. He is the only one who does." She took him along the black shore to a low shelter of driftwood and stone. An old wolf sat outside it, mending a net with cracked gray hands. He wore faded overalls and heavy boots. His fur had gone white at the muzzle. He did not look up. "Turn around," he said. "Nothing across that water but drowned things." Frost bowed her head to him. "Grayson. He carries the mark." She pulled Fenrir's wrap open. The crescent showed, ringed with black symbols. Grayson Tideclaw dropped the net. He rose slow, joints popping, and crossed the ice to Fenrir. His yellow eyes moved over the marks. For a long moment he said nothing. Then he touched the scar with one claw. "I ferried the last one who wore this," he said. "Years back. Young. Sure of himself. I set him on the far shore and never saw him again." He stepped back. "I swore I would not do it twice." "Then tell me how to cross," Fenrir said. "I'll go alone." Grayson laughed once, dry. "Alone. In that water." He shook his head. "You'd sink in a hundred heartbeats." He looked at the pup, then at Fenrir's face. Something in it made him sigh. "There's a beast that swims these depths. Big as a boat. Tusks like spears. I've fed it since it was small. It carries me when I fish." He put two fingers to his mouth and whistled, high and sharp, across the black water. They waited. Then the surface split. A huge gray head rose, streaming, its back crusted with ice. Two white tusks curved down past its jaw. It grunted at Grayson and swung close to the shore. "It'll carry three," Grayson said. "Not more." He set a boot on the beast's broad back and pulled himself up. He offered a hand down. "I'll take you across. But I'm not staying. When you step off, you're on your own." Fenrir climbed on, the pup clutched tight. Frost followed. The great beast turned toward the far shore and began to swim. Cold spray struck Fenrir's face. The near bank shrank behind them. Ahead, through the mist, a broken shape rose from the water. Stone arches, half-fallen. A ruined bridge, and beyond it, the drowned shrine his mark had promised.