Another two hours' climb, and Heimdallr's voice boomed across the rainbow strands. "Is someone here? Identify yourself now, or I shall be forced to kill you."
Taziar slowed his ascent to a crawl. He felt the bridge shudder as the white god shifted position, presumably to block the passage of an invisible foe. Obviously, Heimdallr never even considered the idea that a man might be capable of climbing the underside of the Bifrost. Taziar dragged his aching limbs onward, beginning to understand why.
It took Heimdallr six more hours of angered challenges to dismiss Taziar's breathing and movement as wind. Now, at the peak of the arch, Taziar felt sweat dripping from him like rain despite the frigid gusts. Carefully balancing his grip, he raised his left arm and wiped his forehead. He noticed that blood smeared his fingertips. Aware an assessment of the damage to his hands and feet could only weaken his self-confidence, he forced himself to continue without looking. Searing pain made him curse the inexplicable force which drove him to feats of utter stupidity.
Taziar fell into a climbing rhythm. His limbs continued to draw him upward long after his mind had fogged with exhaustion. The scarlet prints he left with every movement blended into the red expanse of the rainbow band. But the pain never dulled. It remained, sharp and cruel as a knife cut, haunting each movement with accusation.
Nearly there. Nearly there, Taziar promised himself for hours. Finding the irregularities which no less skilled man could locate, let alone scale, became a constant, ceaseless obsession. His head throbbed from his unnatural position. His mind channeled fleeting thoughts only with heroic effort. He struggled against the threat of dark unconsciousness.
Oblivion overtook him on the downward slope. His soles lost the friction of the rainbow, and his body unfolded. He clung, fingers white with strain, suddenly fully awake. For an instant, he imagined himself tumbling, wind-whipped and dizzied, through leagues of open air. Then a deeper portion of his mind kicked in. You stupid, weak-willed bastard, don't let it beat you! Self-directed rage filled him. Exhaustion made him uncharacteristically awkward, but he swung his feet back into position. For an instant he hung, contemplating his near demise. And it gave him the strength to draw his aching body a few lengths farther.
A world beyond fatigue closed around him then. His mind bent away from reality, summoning rapidly changing fragments of memory. Taziar thought he caught a glimpse of grass and water beneath him before he collapsed into utter darkness.
Taziar awakened to a blur of black, white, and red, an evil smell in his nostrils, and the dull ache of every muscle and tendon. He felt chilled all over, except for his face which seemed oddly feverish. From habit, he assessed the damage caused by his fall. Blood slicked his hands and feet. Nothing seemed broken, just badly strained. And an unexplained pressure on his rib cage made every breath painful.
Gradually, Taziar's vision unswirled. The colors came together to form the countenance of a narrow-muzzled animal, uncomfortably close. Silver fur covered the underside of its snout and framed eyes like live coals. Black hair capped the upper side of its nose, head, and triangular ears. Rows of teeth as long and sharp as daggers protruded from its open jaw. Its tongue lolled, dripping foul-smelling saliva onto Taziar's face.
Wolf! Taziar gasped in alarm. His eyes followed the contours of the creature. It stood large as a plow horse, and its forepaws were planted firmly on Taziar's chest. Hairs of white and gray were interspersed amid the luxurious thickness of its ebony coat, especially on the legs; they tapered to cream-colored paws. A ribbon, which seemed scarcely strong enough to hold a house cat, en-wrapped one of the beast's hind feet. Taziar froze, not daring to move, and hoped a merciful man held the other end of the unusual leash.
As if in answer to Taziar's unspoken question, a malevolent voice broke the silence. "Dessstiny."
Taziar resisted the urge to wipe wolf spittle from his cheeks. "E-excuse me," he stammered carefully.
"Dessstiny." The words were louder, this time accompanied by a burst of the wolf's putrid breath.
Taziar forced a weak smile, and tried to sound matter-of-fact. "Would you mind calling off your dog? It would make it easier to talk."
The wolf's head drifted closer until Taziar could see only its vast forest of teeth. "But he hasn't eaten yet!" The furred muzzle opened and closed with each syllable, punctuated the words with blasts of rank, expelled air.
The same rational portion of Taziar's mind which still did not accept the existence of gods and magic would not allow him to believe in talking animals. Yet he could find no other explanation. You can speak? Taziar cut off his incredulous question before he uttered it. Stating the self-evident could only make him sound stupid. And this is no time to make a mistake. He met the wolf's fiery gaze as he spoke. "What did you mean by 'destiny'?"
The wolf's jowls twitched. "You've heard of the Fates, little man?"
"Call me Shadow," said Taziar, becoming annoyed with the references to his size. "And yes, I've heard a few things."
The wolf backed off slightly. ' 'Then you know the Fates determine the length of a man's life." Its red eyes sparkled. "Yours has come to an abrupt end. It's your destiny to become my dinner." The beast's jaws stretched wide; it soon became apparent that it could swallow Taziar whole and the world with him.
Taziar flinched to the ground. "Wait!" he called.
The wolf's mouth stopped opening.
Taziar continued quickly. "We could talk more easily if you let me sit up."
There followed a tense and jarring silence.
Then the wolf's muzzle snapped back to its normal size. "Very well," it said. It backstepped so that its paws no longer held Taziar. "But you had better have something important to say."
Gratefully, Taziar raised his torso.
Immediately, the wolf clamped his paws on Taziar's legs, pinning him into a sitting position. "Speak," it said, and its voice was like thunder.
Taziar wasted a moment freeing his eyes from spit-plastered hair with his hands and a toss of his head. He used the short time this maneuver gained him to evaluate his position. He and the wolf occupied an island surrounded by a narrow ring of crystal waters. The thin coil of string which enwrapped the wolf's hind leg was attached to a staunch chain which encircled a distant crag. Above Taziar, the Bifrost Bridge formed a gentle arch to end in a sun-warmed field of grasses just beyond the unnaturally calm lake. Taziar tried to shift position, but the wolf's padded feet held him with the strength of a giant's vise.
"Well?" the wolf demanded. Its ears swept flat to its head.
Taziar had made a career out of reading intentions and gestures. It could have eaten me and didn V… yet. That can only mean I have something it wants which I can use to barter for my life. "If you free me, I can supply you with a lot more meat than I have on my body.''
The wolf raised its jowls in a snarl. "Don't speak to me as if to some foolish mortal! If I let you go, I'll never see you again."
"You have my word."
The wolf snorted. "Of what value is 'word' to a man who would climb the Bifrost Bridge on a whim? Or was it a dare, Shadow? No, thanks for the offer." Its voice went louder with each syllable. "But I think I'll eat you here!"
Taziar's composure broke. "Wait!" he screamed. "There must be something I can do for you. Isn't there anything you need or want? Anything…"