A Secret Deal

The Olympian god Apollo pays a visit to an old colleague in prison for eternity to make him an offer. Freedom? Or war? Or both?

Apollo moved his pawn in a double step opening. He was feeling bold, and his tanned face broke into a smile as he looked at his opponent. A sight that would dazzle any mortal with the brilliance of his looks. 

The wolf growled in response, “Pawn D7 to D5.” The wolf did not like Apollo’s face, nor was he impressed by its brilliance. 

On his behalf, Apollo moved the corresponding pawn.

“I’ll bet you miss hands don’t you,” he said with a smirk. The wolf looked at him with tired annoyance.

“I would eat you if it weren’t for these shackles, Sun-Boy. I’ve rent more dangerous gods than you, and coming here to mock me does you no credit,” the wolf ‘spoke’, “The only impressive thing about you at all is that you found this accursed place and took the risk of coming here.”

The wolf was massive, and bound in dark silk ribbons, covered in the enchanted runes of the elder dwarves. He was hung like a marionette, his bindings attached to massive metal hooks buried in the ceiling. 

The binding ribbons, known as ‘Gleipnir’, glowed with power and were deceptively strong. They needed to be, as they carried the weight of the son of a giant and a god, and their failure would signify the approach of Ragnarok, the Aesir day of judgement.

Fenrir didn’t ‘speak’ so much as words escaped his clenched jaw like thoughts that bubbled out and popped into sounds. His muzzle was wrapped and sealed by the same ribbons that bound him to the cave ceiling, preventing him from speaking. He hung there, imprisoned as he had been for as long as Apollo could remember. 

While Apollo could ‘remember’ when this god was free… It had been so long now that the memories had grown fuzzy. It was more like he could remember remembering, and those days were like a black and white two dimensional version of a memory. It just wasn’t the same.

Apollo sighed, contemplating the unfortunate realities of immortality, combined with the limits of memory. Perfect memory came with its own unfortunate consequences - and not all gods were gifted with that unique curse. Forgetfulness is a gift.

Apollo absent mindedly moved one of his pawns. 

“I saw a vision the other day. A troubling one. Of you,” he said to the wolf, his eyes bored into the chessboard as though seeing a different world. Which being a god, he probably was.

“Is that why you’re here? To tell me my future, oh god of prophecy, and sun, and music, and blah blah blah?” the wolf said, amusement and derision in his voice. There was far too much rage in this god for his amusement to sound anything other than terrifying and scornful.

“Something like that,” Apollo said with a smile, while waving his hand nonchalantly in a bobbing motion. “I saw you free. In a time not so far from now.”

Fenrir became quiet. Unusually so. Still in a way that only an immortal being trapped in a mountain cave for 10,000 years can accomplish. Not even his fur moved.

“How?” said the wolf, the word coming out in slow deliberation.

“Well, that information… would be worth rather a lot, wouldn’t you think?” Apollo said with a smile. His real reason for being here beginning to show. Fenrir’s eyes narrowed.

“I am not your pawn Apollo, and I have no wish to be wrapped up in your machinations. I have seen what happens to those you gift with your favour,” Fenrir says with a snort. It was an undignified thing. There is no good way to ‘snort’ when your mouth is bound shut. Too much nostril involved.

“Oh no, I don’t want you to be my pawn. I want you to be my adversary.” Apollo said with what sounded like a genuine laugh, but it’s difficult to tell these things when it comes to the god of poetry and the arts.

Fenrir’s massive eyebrow raised. The orange flames of Fenrir’s eyes curled in a manner that almost formed a question mark before disappearing into the ether.

So Apollo told him a story. 

It was a whisper, a secret, and we don’t actually know what it was that Apollo told him, and even if we did hear it, you wouldn’t believe it. 

And by the end of Apollo’s story, Fenrir was laughing, as he didn’t believe Apollo either. Fenrir’s imprisoned body vibrated in a way that shook the mountain that was his dungeon. The whole world this mountain stood upon, if you’d believe it. And all with his mouth and body wrapped in unforgiving enchanted silk ribbons. 

“I’d heard you’d gone mad, Apollo, but I’m amused to see it on display. I would know about it if what you said was true, which it’s NOT. I’ve been out here far longer than you have, and would know if such a thing lived out here in the darkness.” Fenrir said, with his scornful amusement.

“And yet… I will accept your deal and its terms. Who is your champion, and where will I find him.” Fenrir continued, hunger and violence in his voice.

“My champion is a boy, not yet born, but coming soon. His name is Travis, and he lives on Earth.” Apollo says, moving his last piece into place. “And yours?”

“There is a man who has been shouting for my attention, though he does not yet know who I am. His name is Lloren, and he is a powerful wizard who lives in the realm you wish to contest. He will do.” Fenrir said with satisfaction, glancing at the board. Apollo saw what he was looking at and smiled.

“Check.” Apollo said, with satisfaction.

Fenrir chortled with contemptuous laughter. “Knight B6 to D5.” 

Apollo frowned.

“Checkmate, Apollo,” Fenrir said. “For your sake, I hope you play better on the battlefield than you do in chess.” 

Apollo stood up, anger stamped across his face, turning around to leave and saying nothing.

“I’d say come again, but I wouldn’t want you to be left with the wrong impression! Stay on your mountain and wait for me. I’ll see YOU soon enough.” The wolf, himself the size of a small mountain, roared with laughter, within his much larger mountain prison. 

As he ‘stormed out’, Apollo allowed himself the smallest smile. He DID play better on the field of battle than on a chessboard. And he’d gotten -exactly- what he came for.

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Editorial Note;

There are no notes.

I’m going to publish a non-fictional newsletter in the near future so I’m saving updates for then.

Have a good weekend!

Cheers,
Robin George