Monsters of Norse Mythology by Bernard Evslin

Author:Bernard Evslin
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781497667013
Publisher: Open Road Media

7

Death with Father

After the gods had departed, Regnir felt himself bursting with a wild, joyous greed. So far his plan was working perfectly; now he was ready for the biggest step of all. He watched his father crouching over the pelt, scooping up great handfuls of gold and letting them sift though his fingers. Regnir turned to his brother. “Let’s go into the woods,” he said. “I have something to talk to you about.”

“Why can’t we talk here?” said Fafnir.

“I don’t want him to overhear,” whispered Regnir.

The sons of Hreidmar walked off into the forest. “Brother,” said Regnir, “which of your transformations is the most terrible—weasel, scorpion, or vampire bat?”

“Bat, I suppose,” said Fafnir. “I can rend and tear, munch and crunch in any of these forms. But things with wings seem to frighten folk the most. Sometimes, when the moon is bright, the very shadow of my wings will scare someone so badly that he will fall dead before I can sink my fangs into him. A disadvantage in a way, because I prefer to drink blood out of a living throat.”

“Well,” said Regnir, “suppose I were to tell you that there is a creature more frightful than any vampire bat—bigger, stronger, scarier, more deadly in every way. A creature whom even Giants fear and the Gods avoid.”

“I knew there was something somewhere,” cried Fafnir. “I knew it! I knew it! And someday I’ll be it!”

“Will you? It’s not easy to be.”

“I will, I will! But what is it exactly? Do you know?”

“I’ll describe it for you. In shape it’s like a lizard, but a gigantic one, bigger than our barn. Its hide is made of sliding leather scales, hard as iron; no weapon can pierce it. It has a ridged spine, a spiked tail that can flail down a phalanx of men, squashing them like beetles in their armor. Great ribbed wings it has, and claws that are huge hooks. A maw full of dagger teeth, and, worst of all, or rather best of all—”

“Yes, yes—what?”

“It spits fire,” said Regnir. “One gust of its flaming breath can incinerate a troop, or a fleet, or burn down a stand of trees.”

“Oh glory,” shouted Fafnir. “Gory, gory glory!”

“Its name is Dragon,” said Regnir.

“Oh wise little brother,” cried Fafnir, catching up Regnir and hugging him tight, “you have given name and shape to my dearest dream! Does your wisdom go further? Can you tell me how to achieve dragonhood?”

“Let me down,” said Regnir. “You’re breaking my ribs.… Thank you. Now, let us reason it out together. The dragon is of all monsters the most monstrous. To be worthy of such incarnation you must be prepared to do the most monstrous of deeds.”

“Murder? But I’ve killed and killed.”

“Only enemies, though, or those unlucky enough to have something you want. That doesn’t take a monster. Ordinary warriors do that all the time. No, my dear Fafnir. What we must consider for you now is murder most foul. A primal abomination.”

“Well, what? Tell me, tell me …”

“Patricide.

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