While I felt a certain responsibility for the Humans who had settled in the barren plains of the north, a strange sense of kinship at the stubborn ingenuity it took to survive here, I was not one of those benevolent fools down in Lyrheim. It would take more than a pretty plea and a few bows to secure my support.
“No. No.” Fenrik raised his hands in a placating gesture, his eyes flicking to the shadows twisting around me. He took a deep breath and pulled something from his fur-lined tunic. Copper-haired head bowed low, he hesitantly approached, holding up his palm. “I needed to feed my people,” he said. “Thelyr-stone helped me create this.”
I examined the heap of small grains in his hand, their smooth surface contrasting sharply with his rough, calloused skin. “What is that?” I asked, curiosity piqued.
He smiled, noticing my renewed interest. “We call them ice oats. The grains we knew from the south didn’t grow here. While the stone is a formidable weapon, it excels most at changing things. After a few tries, I found a combination of plants that works well.” Another proud look flickered over his face. “These oats can grow underneath the snow, like the lichen covering the plains.”
I picked up a few grains, rubbing them between my fingers. “That is fascinating,” I said slowly, my eyes shifting to Masir, who had leaned forward, his green eyes gleaming.
Fenrik had no idea how ingenious his little experiment really was. He had created something new, when the power of creation had always been the sole domain of the Allfather.
The young thane licked his lips nervously. “So you will grant me anotherlyr-stone?”
“No.”
Fenrik’s face fell at my curt answer, his shoulders slumping in defeat. A sly smile tugged at my mouth.
“Better,” I continued, my voice filled with promise. With a wave of my hand, the grains floated to my second-in-command, who examined them closely. “Masir and I will help you create enough grain to supply the entire north.”
Fenrik’s eyes lightened with an amber glow as the realization of how much that would increase his influence among the other tribes dawned on him.
I snapped my fingers, the sound echoing sharply in the grand hall. “First, something else,” I said, in a low, commanding growl. “Come closer.”
He approached reluctantly, tense but obedient despite his fear. I moved with otherworldly speed, gripping his jaw in a vise-like hold. He instinctively tried to pull away, his lips lifting in a snarl that revealed elongated canines. I didn’t allow him to escape.
“Those seeds weren’t the only thing you changed, were they?” I asked, my smile deepening.
A soft whine escaped the Human, but after a moment he relaxed, submitting to my questioning. “When a boy becomes a warrior, he hunts alone on the ice plains. The prey he catches shows his strength. Only the bravest go after the great hunters: the bear, the wolf, the snowcat.” His wolf-eyes blinked, reflecting the dim light of the hall. “I was never the strongest, but with thelyr-stone…”
“You thought it would give you an advantage.” I released him and leaned back on my stool. “Did it?”
Fenrik shook himself, a wry look on his face. “In a way. It had some… unexpected side effects.”
I laughed. “Power always does.” I scrutinized him, taking in the coiled strength in his body, the potential simmering beneath his weak mortal flesh. A potential that had come to me like an unexpected gift—a potential I could use.
“I might give you anotherlyr-stone after all, Fenrik of the Frostfang tribe,” I decided, my tone thoughtful. “Choose the warriors of your tribes you trust most and take them on a hunt. A few with abilities like yours should be sufficient to defend your lands.”
The thane’s face twisted, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. He seemed less content with my orders than I had expected. “And what if they use those powers to overthrow me?”
Ah, the great fear of those who had so little: losing it all to someone just as ruthless. “Lesson number one,” I told him. “If you rely solely on brute force to keep your subjects in check, your reign will be short. Rely on your mind; it will serve you better.”
I signaled Masir to fetch anotherlyr-stone. He did so swiftly, though I noticed a pensive shimmer in his eyes.
“Tell them this is a gift from their god that you have secured under great risk,” I advised, handing the pulsing stone to Fenrik. “It should make them quite grateful to us both.”
After the Human had left with many bows and exclamations of thanks, I turned to the Anima beside me.
“You disapprove?” I asked.
Masir didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he brought forth anotherlyr-stone, filled with Darkness and Chaos, its shadowy flames tinged with amethyst and emerald. It had taken us many attempts,but together we had mastered capturing the essence of our powers inside the stones. The Anima had proved nearly as skilled as I was in weaving Chaos magic, bending it to his will. While the stones he created lacked the raw power of mine, they were still useful. We called themlyrin-stones, littlelyr-stones.
“He claimed the soul of a snow-wolf, preventing it from ever returning to the Allfather’s light to be reborn,” Masir said after a moment.
“Indeed, that is the most logical explanation,” I commented. “Though if he dies, both souls should return.”
“But changed,” Masir said, his expression still unreadable. His singular golden-green eyes met mine. “Not as they were created. With Chaos already strong in Humans, there’s no way to predict how this will alter their very being. You might be creating—”
“A new race. A race of warriors, as cunning as they are strong,” I interrupted, excitement rising within me at the thought. I had balked at the plans the Allfather had wanted to impose on me. But to create beings of my own…
