A Final Offering (Short Story)

I got sidetracked because of the hurricane, but everything came out fine. This appeared previously in "The Heavens Within Our Grasp" with the furry historical fiction society. I posted an excerpt of the poem form this last year, so I'm pleased to finally present the whole story.

It was in the third year of Sten’s rule as jarl when the gods finally sent the one foretold. The sky was gray, and the sun was hidden by thick clouds when the longship came into sight of the island. There was no one on shore looking for the boat, not that her arrival had not been foretold, but no one on the island believed the ship would ever come. It was a fool’s errand this time of year to make the voyage, and while the vision had been given, the high priestess thought it was a lie. Their visions no longer came true anymore, so why should this one?

Yet when Sten first saw the longship, sail high, making toward his shores, he knew this was the boat from the vision. This was the end of everything for him, and the beginning of an age without. Without what though, he did not know.

The wolf went to his small sod covered home and picked up the sword his forefathers had given him and the shield his ancestors had survived behind, and he marched down to the shore ready to face the boat and whomever it disgorged onto his shore. The others of the settlement saw his purpose, and having seen the sail, they too came, a soft murmur of voices behind him.

They were thirty strong when they reached the desolate shore, and Sten got a good look at the coming longship, the oars rhythmically dipping into the water. He was worried these would be Christians, followers of the shepherd, but no cross adorned the sail. Instead, the sail was blank, and who it bore to their shore a mystery, except to Sten and the high priestesses.

As the ship approached, he realized the crew were wolves, foxes, lynxes, and bears, hearty northern folk, and they waved. Catching sight of a friendly lupine face, he relaxed. This boat looked to be carrying late season traders. Perhaps they had been blown off course and were seeking shelter. The first snows were soon to come, and no one wanted to brave the water when the ice froze to the lines.

The crew put their back into it, and the longship slipped to a halt up on the beach. Ropes were thrown, and villagers greeted the new arrivals. They were from the mainland, he knew that by looking at them, but when they called out a blessing to the gods for letting them make this journey and the ravens for having guided them, Sten know they still clung to the old ways like him. With a nod, he directed his people to grab the ropes and pull the longship up so she could be unloaded and secured on the beach. There would be no conflict with this crew. None needed to fall and journey to Valhalla today.

Over the side of the boat came a figure in a long cloak, who landed with a splash in the shallows of the cold sea. His fur was not gray or brown like those on the boat. Instead, his fur was sandy colored, and it was thinner, the frame less furred. Immediately Sten was drawn to the stranger as he had obviously traveled quite a distance to get here, and he wondered why. Maybe he was a trader from the south who was willing to trade with the northerners, seeking to exchange coin for goods. Or maybe his ancestors were from the south and he’d simply grown up further north than most jackals seemed to live.

The stranger glanced around, and the wolf headed toward him. Then the jackal turned to look at Sten, and Sten froze.

The jackal’s eyes were bright, even in the dull gray light of the cold and gray day. His eyes shone, as if they gathered light that was not there, and Sten felt his chest tighten.

This one knew. This one saw.

Sten knew immediately he had not made the journey to trade. The sword Sten’s ancestors had passed to him could do nothing against a threat like this, for this would not be a battle of strength. The jackal had come to the edge of the world to pray with some of the last holdouts of the old faith, even if his own faith was different.

The vision that Sten had seen was true, and the instrument of the god’s bane had arrived. The fire he’d seen would soon follow.

#

They went up the hill, and Sten welcomed the traveler into his small home, who happily warmed himself by the low fire, trying to get feeling into his paws.

“What do they call you, friend?” Sten asked.

“Tamir,” said the jackal. “You?”

“Sten. I am jarl of this little island like my father was before me. My mother Bodil is the high priestess of the hof here.” He paused. “Winter comes soon. It is dangerous to make a trip like this during this time of year. You are also a long way from home.”

“I know,” said the jackal, “but I have needed to come here and pay my respects for a long time.” His pronunciation was different, but he spoke well, as one who had spent a lot of time learning a different tongue.

“The gods of this land are different from your gods. They might not speak to you.”

The jackal looked up, ears lowered. “My gods are gone, erased. They do not answer us anymore, not that there are many believers of the old faith left. The people of my land have forgotten the old ways.”

“As they will here someday it seems,” said Sten. “Each year, the missionaries seem to creep closer, and more take up the faith of the shepherd. Where do you come from?”

“A hot land by a great river that floods frequently. It is called Kemet. It means black land, named after the soil the river gives us.”

The wolf nodded. It made sense if his ancestors had lived for generations in a dry hot land why the jackal had sandy colored fur. His fur was finner too than the grizzled gray and black fur Sten had. “You came a long way to get here it sounds like.”

The jackal sighed. “I did indeed. My countryman once believed in the shepherd, but now most seem drawn to the prophet. The children of the god of Abraham fight, and yet no quarter is given for the pagans there, or anywhere. I have traveled through their holy land, and I felt the questions upon me. Even in the shade of the great dome of Constantinople there is no peace for a man like me. The old faiths still hold sway among the Rus, but it is probably only a matter of time.”

Sten realized the jackal was barely older than him, and yet he seemed tired beyond his years from his long journey. “A pilgrimage to the Allfather is noble, but why?”

The jackal had turned back to the fire, but he looked up at Sten with eyes bright. “Because I saw myself here, and I knew I had to come. I would like to make an offering of incense and pray. If the gods are willing, I might see more of what fate lies ahead for the old faiths.”

The wolf felt his ears dip.

“You’re afraid,” said the jackal. “Don’t be.”

“I am,” replied Sten, “because my visions come to naught. Nothing comes to me to save the faith I love. Yet the only vision I have had in years that has had a remote bit of truth is of you.”

“I can show you the old ways of seeing I was taught, passed down from time immemorial,” replied the jackal. “It might help.”

Sten was a silent for moment, thinking before he spoke. “I saw the altar to Odin burning and you and I standing before it. I thought it was my foolish pride, but now that you have come, and you are real flesh and blood, what is there for me to do but make this real, and let my gods be forgotten?”

The jackal was quiet for a while. “Perhaps you don’t understand the vision, or perhaps I am to be your ruin.”

The wolf had unbuckled the sword of his ancestors when he’d brought the jackal into his home and placed it back where it normally rested. He glanced toward it now. “We’ll see, it seems.”

The jackal followed his gaze toward the sheathed sword “Do you think my death will bring them back?”

“I would say hope is all I have at this point, but my ancestors fought and died to push back the coming of the cross. They saw some success, but slowly those around them were seduced by its promises. I lack the conviction to believe such bloodshed would change things.”

The jackal’s bright eyes looked him over as he thought for a moment. “The faithful march to slaughter, hoping to kill the faithful they believe unworthy in a land they call holy, and yet here we are, holdouts of a dying era with dying beliefs,” he said. “My great ancestors once ruled a land of sand in a nation built of stone, and yet their works lie broken by time now. I came here because I heard rumor that the old gods are still strong here, and I could offer my vision. When I saw myself here, I knew I must make the journey as soon as I could. Before the ancient beliefs of my people are lost to time, let me see with you what is to be.”

Sten dipped his muzzle. “You have come a long way, and I would not deny you the right to pray here, Tamir, but I must consult with the others first. Your arrival heralds something I do not understand.”

“I am happy to wait a few days, but the boat must leave in the morning. They did not make this journey without trepidation.”

The wolf looked at the jackal, meeting his gaze. There was power in those eyes he had only glimpsed briefly before. He knew then whatever happened, it would happen here. It was his fate to see to it, and yet in those eyes there was warmth, and a soul who had followed a long road to get here. “I have room here in my household, if you are willing to stay through the winter.”

The jackal wagged his tail. “I would like that.”

#

The old hof on the island had a peaked wood frame with a sod roof. It had a simple altar, and a small fire was kept burning before it. It was swept daily, and prayers given to the gods. The Hof was surrounded by a low stone wall covered in moss that marked the building and the grounds as sacred to the gods.

Sten sat in the hof and studied the low fire.

“What do you see?” his mother, Bodil asked. When she was young, her fur was brown with only a bit of gray. He’d taken after his father’s coloration, but he’d inherited his mother’s abilities. Now her fur was whitening due to age.

He said nothing, looking at the way the flames licked at the charcoal, before he looked up. “Nothing,” he said to the other wolf.

“Did you throw the bones?” she asked him.

“I did, as you taught me.”

Bodil nodded. “You are the most talented seer we’ve had in a generation, and yet you do not see.”

“I try hard to, Mother.”

She raised her paws. “It is not you. The gods speak to us less and less. I too have tried, and I see very little myself. In my dreams, you are there, and someone else.”

Sten looked at the flames, licking the charcoal. “You think we should grant his request?”

“You vision showed you this stranger. You would be foolish not to grant him what he asks.”

“But the consequences…”

“Our faith is old, but it is fading. The gods do not speak to us I fear for too many of us have lost our way.”

Sten was quiet, thinking about this.

“It is not your burden to carry,” she responded softly. “Here, we are strong. Here we still sing in the old ways, and for as long as we can, we will. Our songs and our beliefs will outlast us here.”

“I will have the priests prepare to make an offering then,” said Sten.

“No,” she said softly. “Only you and the stranger shall make this offering.”

Sten looked at his mother and frowned. “Why?”

“Because that’s what your vision showed you. That much is clear.”

“The fire—”

Her reply was sharp. “Would you not do what the gods asked of you?”

There was no need for Sten to respond, and she got up then and left him with the low fire before the altar. The fire crackled softly, but in the dancing flames, he saw what he must do. Maybe all that was left to him was fire.

#

Before they could do the ritual and make the offering though, they needed to prepare. Sten brought Tamir to the hof the next day to commune with the gods. While Bodil would not participate in the ritual, she began the preparations for Sten.

The fall harvest was already complete. Sten had already collected herbs for the winter and dried them. His mother packed the bundle as Sten sat in silence, letting her prepare the sacred herbs. The jackal for his part, took to writing his thoughts in a book, using a script far different than the runes Sten knew. He’d asked the jackal about it, and he’d blushed, surprised Sten had noticed.

“This is Coptic. It’s what I learned growing up. I still record my personal thoughts in it.”

“I have never heard of it before.”

“It is not as oft spoken as it once was,” said the jackal. “Things change.”

“Indeed,” said the wolf. “I have spoken to Bodil and the other acolytes. We can do the ritual tomorrow.”

“Do you have another seer, or am I the only one here?” asked Tamir.

“Only Bodil and I can see,” said Sten. “The others do not have the power of vision.”

Tamir nodded and looked over the carved runes of the altar. “This place is very sacred to your people. I can feel the power here.”

“You are wise,” Bodil said, looking up from the careful twining of rope she was doing.

“Indeed,” responded Sten. “This is but a remnant of the old ways. The great temples of our faith have been burned, replaced by the churches of the nonbelievers. Our kings no longer worship the Æsir anymore. Soon they will come and demand tribute from us and expect us to bend the knee before their God, and who am I to say their ways are wrong? My gods no longer give us visions of glory, but visons of death. Ragnarök has come for them, but not in the way they ever feared.”

“My faith is gone,’ said the jackal. “Only a few still believe, and the Roman Emperors destroyed much of it when they converted. Only the old stones remain, our sacred writings lost. Now even Rome has fallen and only the east holds on.”

“Many of my ancestors served the emperors of the east, but the faith did not flourish there. At best it was tolerated among the heathens. If so much of your faith is lost though, why make such a long journey?”

“I have long wanted to make a real offering, and to pray to my gods in a place sacred that understands the world has not one face but many. A place that we are many, and yet in our many, we are one. Where the old stories still live, even if the gods no longer walk the earth like they once did. Finally, I saw where I would do that.”

The wolf was silent for a moment, thinking. He looked over at Bodil carefully knotting the bundle of herbs, and he made a decision. “We will do the ritual in a week’s time. First, let us show you the old ways of our people and celebrate your arrival, not with trepidation, but with joy. The old hall still stands, and it has been a while since we’ve celebrated in it. We will feast, and tell you our tales like my ancestors. There are still those among my people who have the tongue of a skald. Let us give them a chance to speak the old stories.”

#

Sten’s sleep was disturbed, but the vison had come back to him, clearer and stronger than before. He was there before the hof as it burned, his sandy-colored paws covered in blood. A bloody dagger was in one paw, and a heart was in another. The heretic who believed in the other gods was dead. The heretic was gone. The ravens called out the loss to the Allfather, and in his dream he knew that Odin could hear them.

Off in the distance, he could see the seas shaking. The serpent was pleased. The storm was coming. Unearthly howls echoed in the distance as the roots of the world tree shook. Sten knew then that the gods would fall. High in the sky, a wolf was closing in on the sun, jaws ready to strike.

Sten sat bolt upright with a gasp. Ragnarök! He’d seen it. Was what he was about to do going to start the end of the world?

The gods gifted him his visions, though. That was what Bodil had always told him. They knew what they were telling him. Perhaps this all was a trick by Loki, but why would he want to bring about Ragnarök. His death, like Odin’s, was foretold.

Sten sighed. He looked over at the sleeping form of Tamir and shook his head. His mother had warned him not to deny the gods, but he had been delaying. Hoping to buy time to understand his own fate.

He looked down at his gray-colored paws. They shook nervously. The time had come. He would do what they wanted. The vision seemed wrong, but finally, the vision was clear.

Sten lay back down and watched the form of the sleeping jackal, and closed his eyes, wet with tears. Soon, he told himself. The time was coming, and Tamir would complete his journey.

#

The old mead hall was swept clean, and fresh straw laid down on the earthen floor. Firewood was brought in and stacked inside for the hearth. At dawn, on the day of the festival, the fire in the hall was stoked and a feral pig was slaughtered for its meat. Dried cod and herring caught earlier in the season were prepared into hearty porridges.

The promise of snow was in the air, and the villagers came into the old hall to warm up. Even shepherds from the far side of the island were there, ready to celebrate the old songs. As beer was poured and more people arrived, the space became lively, reminiscent of the days of old when raiders had come back to the island with their rewards. Sten led Tamir to the dais at one end of the hall and poured mead for the jackal. He gave the jackal a blanket of wool to drape over his shoulders because even in the shelter of the hall, he shivered a little due to the cold.

After a while, a fox with white fur stood up and went to the center of the room before the lit hearth. The voices died down.

“Oh, dear friends,” he started, “we have gathered today to tell tales and remember ourselves. Today we sing for we must sing, and we sing because we can sing. We howl because we can howl, and we feast because we must eat. Because we are!”

“Because we are,” called back many in the room.

“We live because we live. We love because we can. We fish because we hunger, and we hunger because we live. And why do we do all this?” he asked the crowd.

“Because we are!”

“Yes, because we are. Because we always were, and because we will always be for as long as we can be, because we remember our gods, and our faith. We remember the old stories, we remember the past, and we honor it as surly as the skalds of old did, for here, the skalds still sing!” said the fox, finishing with a flourish.

The crowd cheered, and the fox walked back to where he was seated. A drum and horn were brought out, and a young wolf stepped forward and began to howl a wordless tune to the beat of the drummer along with the horn blower. It was both haunting and beautiful what she did with her voice, letting it follow the horn.

Tamir leaned over to whisper to Sten. “Your people sing beautifully.”

“We sing as we always have, or at least as long as far back as I know we have. The tradition has been passed down to each generation,” responded the wolf softly, so as not to disturb the singer. “What songs do they sing where you come from?”

The jackal took a sip of his mead. “We do not recite the great poems of your skalds, but we do sing and dance. The wind in the desert where I was born blows incessantly, and one of the favorite instruments from my home village is the ney. It is a flute made from a hollow reed plucked from the banks of the Nile. It is said you can sing to the dunes with one, and the old god Seth will still call back to you. The desert is his domain, but very few still know how to read the signs. I am the last that I know of. The sight has not been seen in a generation before I was born. I was lucky one of the village elders remembered what the old seers used to do, and could teach me a little. The rest I learned from an old codex given to me.”

The wolf nodded. “And it brought you here.”

The jackal sighed. “That is fate and fear. I wandered for a while. I don’t know if I would be welcome home anymore, and few probably would remember me there. My talents always brought me suspicion, but there were those who sought to use them.”

“To see beyond is a blessing.”

The jackal turned. “Do you really think so? I have wondered long about that. Perhaps the world is better off without it for we are to meet our fates on our own merits.”

Sten shifted uncomfortably. “Perhaps. Yet do we not long to know?”

“We do, but do we not trust our gods?” he asked.

The wolf turned back to the singer who was finishing up her first song. “I do know what fate they have for me, and I trust whatever the ravens of the Allfather see and tell him. Perhaps these are the last days of my people and the three wolves who will bring the end of the world will finally come.”

“Three wolves?”

“Yes. One is large and monstrous, and goes by the name of Fenris. It is said he will bring about the final battle, Ragnarök. While he fights Odin and kills him, his children Skoll and Hati will devour the sun and moon. Afterward, the world will be reclaimed, but many will die before that.”

The singer started in on another song.

“My people do not believe the world will end,” said Tamir, “at least not in the old faith. Our gods fought a struggle to maintain the order of the world every day, but it was never said they would fail in their daily trials. If they must keep the world moving, then so must I keep myself moving.”

“You are a strange man, but I respect you for that,” responded Sten.

The jackal shrugged. “It is not strange to me, but I can only hope that this journey was wise. I came here to pray to your gods, but I do not know if they would be willing to hear my voice.”

Sten watched the singer lift her muzzle to the rooftops and hit a particularly high note with her wordless howl before he responded in a whisper. “Perhaps not, but tell them about your gods, and they will listen. The Allfather has always favored poetry and enjoyed a good story. Odin went to great lengths to acquire the mead of poetry, and the Æsir treasure it so. Someone will at least listen if you speak well.”

They lapsed into silence, and the wolf sang for two more songs before she stepped away. A bear stepped up, and the room focused on her. “I wish to speak of our guest,” she called out.

Tamir’s ears went up and he turned to Sten. The gray wolf spread his paws out, unsure what she’d say. The bear walked over toward them. “I have been running these lines in my head since you arrived. Please, let me honor your journey.”

“Of course,” said Tamir.

The bear spoke.

“Oh sandy furred one,

I see you have come far,

And with purpose,

With desire and hunger,

With wisdom,

And with need.

Oh sandy furred one,

What do you seek,

For what purpose did you come,

What can the gods say to you,

That brought you so far,

To sate your desires?

Oh sandy furred one,

What do you seek in this winter,

In this cold land,

So far from your home,

What can you hope to find here,

Here with us on this island?

Oh sandy furred one,

With eyes so bright and clear,

With fur so soft and thin,

With cold seeking out your bones,

Why come here,

To the edge of the earth?

Oh sandy furred one,

With dreams so long,

With so much unknown,

With sight to guide you,

What can you tell us,

What can you say?

Oh sandy furred one,

With tail here in the cold,

What you must have seen,

What you must have heard,

What you must have known,

What you must still do?

Oh sandy furred one,

With ears tall and pointed,

With fur unlike our own,

With bones tired from the road,

Please accept this verse,

To help warm your heart.

Oh sandy furred one,

Of faith not our own,

But just as old,

Let our gods speak to you,

Let you show us your truth,

Let the dawn light your way.

Oh sandy furred one,

Let not the harsh winter freeze you,

Let not the cold chill you,

But let the mead warm you,

Let the fire light your night,

Let the ravens guide you.

Oh sandy furred one

Whose vision is strong,

Let us welcome you,

And let you welcome us,

And let the gods show you,

Whatever you came to seek.”

The bear stopped then and bowed. “May my words please you,” she said.

Tamir smiled and his tail thumped. “They do! I hope I can answer you back soon.”

“Excellent. Then let us pour you some more mead, and let us sing another song, for there are more songs to sing.”

Sten got up and stepped forward. “Indeed, a cheer for our guest!”

The room responded in a raucous cheer, and the wolf who had sung earlier stepped back up, and Sten seated himself again next to the jackal.

“We will go tonight,” responded Tamir.

Sten glanced at him and felt the ice in his stomach grip him. He nodded. “I had a feeling it would be after this.”

“Yes, when the others are asleep. I feel that is the right time.”

The crowd roared with laughter over something the singer said and she started a new song, but Sten’s attention was focused completely on Tamir. “So, at dawn?”

The jackal flicked his ears, and then nodded. Sten took a deep breath and nodded back. The time had been set. The time of the fire had come.

#

They left he mead hall when the last of the songs had been sung, and the last of the stories told. The day was just starting to brighten, as their paws crunched across the icy earth. Their breath frosted in the air. To Sten the cold was more an annoyance, but to Tamir, it ate at him. He still had the wool blanket over his cloak and had not taken it off all night.

“With the boat gone, I will need thicker clothing for the winter,” he remarked.

“As my guest, you are free to any cloak of mine.”

“I do not wish to impose. How will I repay you?”

Sten felt his heart twist, but it was almost time. “What we are about to do is payment enough. My visions are cloudy. Yours are clear. That will be enough.”

The jackal exhaled, looking at the cloud of his breath. “My visions do not always show me great truths. I’ve seen things that seemed of little importance before.”

Sten stopped and turned to him. “But you’ve seen.”

“Yes.” Tamir tiled his head. “Have you not?”

Sten’s ears fell and he turned to continue toward the hof. “Frustratingly little. The only thing I’ve really seen is a boat, your boat, and the fire. I thought the vision useless until you came.”

Tamir followed. “You said you saw a fire?”

"Yes.”

“What type of fire?”

The wolf didn’t say anything.

“I hate to ask you this, but what will you do if the gods show me nothing?” asked Tamir.

Sten stopped again and turned around, tail bristling. “You think they brought you all this way here for some cruel joke?”

Tamir shook his head. “No, I know they wanted me to come here. I just worry that what they’ll show me is that there is nothing more to show me.”

Sten didn’t say anything for a minute. He just looked at his paws. “They have shown me what must happen,” he said after a minute. “I’ve worried since you arrived that the Allfather brought a powerful seer to this island because I have failed my people, but two nights ago, I saw the truth of what must happen.”

“What did you see?” asked Tamir.

Sten looked down, tears in his eyes. “For long I worried that my gods are truly dead to me. I have done everything they have asked of me, yet they abandoned me. But now I have seen what must happen. I will show you how to speak to them.”

Tamir’s ears went back. “Gods are fickle. The desert is a harsh place, and when you travel through you pray to the gods you have enough water, and you packed enough food. If Seth wished me dead, he would have spun up a sandstorm and blinded me in the middle of the desert and waited until I ran out of water and food. Instead, I made those journeys safely, perhaps because Set needed me alive or my actions pleased him. I came here because I believed whatever the gods needed me to do, I could do. There would be no one else who would undertake this journey.”

“For how long have you traveled?”

“Ten years, if you count the time I spent in the court of the emperors on the Golden Horn.”

The wolf took a deep breath and clenched his paws. His tail bristled. “Come then, let us finish this journey for you. The end has come.”

They walked in silence the rest of the way to the hof and entered the sacred space. Sten directed his guest to sit at one side of the altar. The fire still burned before it, the charcoal fresh. One of the priests must have refilled it overnight. He picked up the bundle of herbs Bodil had prepared and tossed them on the fire. Then he reached behind the altar pulled out the dagger he had placed behind it. He laid it in front of the fire. Then he sat down in front of the altar and silently asked for Odin to give him the strength to go through with this, no matter what terrible thing it unleashed.

Tamir looked at the dagger. “What is this?”

Sten turned to face the jackal. “My final vision showed me what you must do. The most sacred thing you can offer the Allfather is a life. I will be that life. My body will be buried in a well so that you can gain the blessing and wisdom of my gods.

The jackal took in a sharp breath. “I will not kill you for this.”

“You must.”

“No,” said Tamir strongly. “I came to pray to the gods, but my own gods do not ask such brutality of us.”

The wolf growled. “Perhaps your gods are weak then.”

The jackal’s ears flicked. “Perhaps you have given up your faith.”

Sten looked at the jackal, and in that moment, he realized that while one of them had to die, which one didn’t matter. He reached for the dagger. “If that is your choice, then I must make the offering.”

Tamir’s ears went back. His hackles went up. “What do you mean?” he asked softly.

Sten’s hand closed around the hilt of the dagger. “Odin drank from the well of Mimir to gain great knowledge, but only after he sacrificed one of his eyes to do so. An offering must be made.”

Tamir shrunk back from the wolf, but the wolf pounced. Sten was heavier, he was a little younger, and he was stronger. He pinned Tamir down easily.

“Wait, this is not right!” screamed the jackal.

“One of us must die,” growled Sten grabbing the jackal and lifting him up, and then slamming him down in the dirt to stun him. “You know it to be true.”

“You don’t understand,” coughed Tamir, desperately trying to claw at Sten to get him off him. The blunted claws couldn’t break through the cloak Sten wore.

The wolf lowered himself down to stare into the amber eyes, noses almost touching. “You have powers I can only dream of. The Allfather sent you, to kill me. If you are not willing to use the blade, then I will do what the gods ask of us.” He pressed down on Tamir’s chest with his weight. “One of us must die. It is what brings us closer to the end of all things.” He pressed the edge of the dagger against the jackal’s throat, into the fur. “I’m sorry it comes to this.”

“I saw…” Tamir grimaced as the tip of the blade cut his throat, “your vision.”

Sten’s resolve faltered, and he pulled back the dagger slightly. “And?”

“We were together. The fire was a bonfire.”

Sten growled. “You lie!”

“I can show you.”

Sten looked at the jackal with the bright eyes and he snarled. “I saw your paws with my heart in them, I saw the coming of Ragnarök. What can you tell me that I have not seen?”

“We have two eyes to see with. Two seers can see much further than one.”

The blade in his hand was heavy. The paws in his vision had been bloody with his own blood.

“Please… I came here for you.”

“By the Allfather… Fine!” Sten sat up and lifted the dagger to his paw and slit the pad so it bled. He then grabbed Tamir’s paw and slit it open also. The jackal yelped and he pressed his bloody paw to Tamir’s bloody paw.

“My blood to your blood. My life to your life,” intoned the wolf. “I bind my fate to you by binding my blood to yours. Show me what you see, Tamir, and we will make the god’s fate manifest.”

“By the dark jackal, you are blind.”

“Show me!”

Tamir sighed. “Get off me, and I will show you.”

The wolf got off the jackal and threw the dagger aside. Tamir picked himself off the ground and resumed a seated position while Sten stood over him. He looked at his cut paw. “You do not wish to share my fate.”

“I wish to help my people. I wish to keep the gods in this world. I wish to make them happy.”

The jackal sighed tiredly. “So be it then. Sit,” he ordered.

Tamir waited and Sten got in a seated position in front of him. “Your fear blinds you,” remarked Tamir.

“My fear is what I have left,” responded the wolf.

The jackal huffed. “Look into my eyes, and what do you see.”

Sten looked. “A light that shouldn’t be there.”

“Look further.”

“That’s all.”

Tamir sighed and closed his eyes. “You have to want to see things you don’t want to see.”

“But I do.”

Tamir opened his eyes and clasped his bloody paw to Sten’s bloody paw. “Do you truly?”

“Yes?” offered Sten, with a bit of hesitation.

“Ah, there it is. The doubt, the fear. Look at me, Sten!”

“I am…”

“Deeper.”

“I…” he faltered. There was fire in the jackal’s eyes. Fire that had not been there before.

Tamir tightened his grip, their bloody paws intertwined. “No, you will see. You swore your fate to me. You will see then, even if it hurts, even if it burns every last strand of your fur. You will see!”

Sten wanted to protest, wanted to say something, but the fire reached into his sky, and he saw. He saw first a bonfire and he stood before it. And then he saw fire reaching into the sky in a land devoid of trees, and sounds, words, he couldn’t understand.

“Focus on what you see.”

He tried to, but there was so much, so much swirling.

“Focus!”

Everything was coming apart and everything was coming together. His vision was blinded, and he stood before the fire, and with him was Tamir, but everything didn’t make sense and…

Tamir let go of Sten’s paw and the wolf fell to the side, gasping, mind running.

The jackal shook his paw out and sighed again, letting himself settle. “And now you’ve seen. Your visions are confusing, but with time they might offer clarity.”

“What is all that?”

“I don’t know. That’s what I am here to explore.”

“Is that Ragnarök?”

“My gods do not believe in an end like that,” said Tamir, “so I do not believe it to be the end. A moment of something. A noise perhaps? Echoes of past visions or futures we can only glimpse at? Time tells all, but we may not live to see the story. Rest now, Sten, and tomorrow we will repeat this.”

#

The fires, the visions, none of it made sense. There were more things he couldn’t understand. Things Tamir couldn’t understand. The only thing he saw frequently that he did understand was a bonfire, so on the shortest day of the year, they built one.

“What does it mean?” asked Sten, watching over the flames of the bonfire.

“Do you think it has to mean something?” responded Tamir.

He turned to look at the fire. “It has to mean something. I keep searching for what it all means.”

“What does your mother think it means?”

“I asked. She cannot say. She says she is too old to make a judgment like that,” responded Sten.

“I think Bodil cannot say because it doesn’t mean anything. It’s at least not something we can understand.”

The wolf frowned. “But the visions have to mean something.”

“I thought so too for a long time, but I don’t know. The gods are fickle. Who knows if what they show us has to have a meaning.”

“You said the technique you use is ancient.”

The jackal pulled the wool cloak closer to himself in the cold. “It is.”

“Surely it would not have been preserved if it didn’t show some truth.”

The jackal chuckled. “I think there is truth in them, but my ability to understand it is lacking. I am not the seer who spoke to the Allfather and saw what was to be his fate. I am not the god Shai from my homeland who knows the span of each life and is there to observe the weighing of their heart, satisfied in their knowledge. The gods are fickle. What they show us are only glimpses of things.”

Sten turned back to the fire. “I worry the followers of the cross will one day supplant us.”

“Perhaps they will. Perhaps when spring comes, they will be here. All we can do is tell the stories of our gods to those who will listen.”

The wolf tilted his head. “How well do you write our language?”

“Not well, but I know how to prepare ink.”

“There is still a lot of winter left. If you are willing to help me, I’d like to write some of the old poems down. Maybe we can write some of yours down.”

“That’s not in the visions,” remarked the jackal.

“And are we bound to them? You’ve said yourself you cannot figure out their meaning. They’ve shown us places that were, and places that will be.”

Tamir considered for a minute. “With my blood to yours, with my life to yours, we will share our fate. I could not leave after a bond like that was forged in a temple. You’ve practically married us before multiple gods. So, if you wish to write, we will write.”

The wolf dipped his muzzle. “I… it’s a bit more than that.”

The jackal stamped a paw to get some more feeling into it. “It’s a bond forged in blood due to visions sent from the gods. With such powerful signs, I would be incredibly foolish not to accept you as my mate.”

“We’re just very good friends,” protested the wolf.

Tamir chuckled. “For now. I’ve had some visions that suggest otherwise.”