Lay of the Werewolves

There's a story I know about the first Werewolf.

It's not a happy story. There are no happy stories of werewolves.

There's a story I know about the first Werewolf. They say the first werewolf was Nari, son of trickster Loki, son of faithful Sigyn. They say that the gods turned Vali into a wolf; that Vali then ripped out the throat of his brother Nari.

See what I mean about there being no happy werewolf tales?

There's a story I know about the first Werewolf. They say the Gods used the entrails of the murdered Nari to bind Vali's father until Ragnarok, in revenge for the foul slaying of Balder, most beloved of the Gods, in revenge for condemning the Bright One to the murk of Helheim.

But this is tangential to our saga.

There's a story I know about the first Werewolf. They say that Vali ran from Asgard that day, over the Bifrost and into Jotunheim, the land of the Giants.

For Vali was a man in a wolf's body, and had the full knowledge of the horror of what he had done.

There's a story I know about the first Werewolf. They say that when he arrived there, he did not run with the pack. Wolfpacks will not trust a brother-murderer. They say he was turned out, to live only through his blooded teeth.

The one who'd turned me had been driven from his home. He'd been safe there, walls three foot thick and shackles as strong as they could be made. He was no threat to them, but he was driven out anyway. Toward me.

"Werewolf! Get away from here!"

There's a story I know about the first Werewolf. They say that he came upon a child and devoured it; young blood coated his head.

I cried out to my mother, there was a wolf in our garden, and I was alone

"Mama!"

There's a story I know about the first Werewolf. They say that the child's mother came upon the beast; it's head in the belly of her babe.

"Remus!"

I don't recall the pain of the bite, or the violence of the attack. I recall the anguished scream of my mother as I felt warm blood pool underneath my tiny body.

There's a story I know about the first Werewolf. They say that the mother was a giantess, and that she fought the wolf for the remains of her infant.

My mother also fought for my body. But unlike that child, I had not yet vacated it. My mother had her wand, and stopped the wolf in its tracks.

I remember the force with which its stupefied weight hit my chest.

There's a story I know about the first Werewolf. They say that Sigyn's son took a measure of her flesh, but that she did not die.

That measure of flesh was mine. My mother was untouched. Physically.

There's a story I know about the first Werewolf. They say she stove in the skull of that first man-wolf with a blow of her fist.

Mama was no giant. Mama was a witch, and a good one at that.

There's a story I know about the first Werewolf. They say that she snapped the traitorous jawbone therein, and placed it above her door, as warning, as a trophy.

Father called the ministry and they came to collect him. He was to be executed, they told me later. But my wolf-sire killed himself first.

And our trophy? A terse letter from the Werewolf Support Services. Sorry your son survived.

There's a story I know about the first Werewolf. They say that the next full moon she felt the pull of that whirling wheel, that she felt the urge to join Hati Fenrisson in his chase of that Bright Rider.

My first turning was more traumatic than the event of the bite. I felt the pull of the moon, but like that first wolf, I had no idea what was happening.

There's a story I know about the first Werewolf. They say that on the night of the moon's full wax, that she did lose her true form and turn into the wolf that bit her.

I was a were-cub, tiny and weak. My wolf-sire had been fully grown, strong and healthy. He was already dead.

There's a story I know about the first Werewolf. They say that the morning saw her hall replace the dew of the dawn with slaughter-dew and that there were none alive in that hall save her.

And in this I am lucky. My parents locked their monstrous son in a bare room, where the only one who could have come to harm was myself. But of course, they knew what was happening to me.

There's a story I know about the first Werewolf. They say that the next month, the fate of Nari's killer stayed with her, and that the lust for corpse-mead was not still.

'Corpse-mead'. Such a poetic way of saying blood. My second moon was no less traumatic.

There's a story I know about the first Werewolf. They say that the next month, she did not kill all that she met, though not for lack of trying. They say that one gave up his wrist, his wolf-joint to her ravening mouth, as Tyr did to the slayer of Odin, Loki's monster son.

To this day, I have never bitten another person.

There's a story I know about the first Werewolf. They say that the next month, the two shared in the curse of Vali, and that they did not kill everyone they met, and that four more joined the torment of the wolf.

If I were to introduce another into this curse, I would have to follow my wolf-sire into death. I could not live with knowing what I had done.

There's a story I know about the first Werewolf. They say the Giants chased the blighted from Jotunheim to Midgard, the land of men at the darkest night of the moon, when the wolf-hex was at it's weakest.

A New Moon. It's true. The pull of the wolf is linked to the waning and waxing of the moon. I've not yet met another wolf that likes the new moon. It's too much of a reminder of what will happen in fourteen short days.

There's a story I know about the first Werewolf. They say that the children of Heimdall put those originals to the sword, but that they were not fast enough, and a score more joined the torment.

If only they had been faster. What an evil the world would have been spared.

There's a story I know about the first Werewolf. They say that son slew afflicted father, and that mother choked cursed daughter to rid themselves of this joy of Loki, but that the curse was now spread too far and too wide to be eradicated thus.

Neighbour drove out neighbour, and friend cursed friend. No quarter for a monthly monster.

There's a story I know about the first Werewolf. They say that this was the start of the werewolves, the bite-brothers of Vali, descendants of Loki, as chained as he.

But this is of course, just a myth.