Thor's Wedding Day

by Bruce Coville

Loki stopped, nodded, and spoke. “All right, here’s the story. Once I had transformed myself into a falcon, I flew far and wide, seeking any sign of missing Mjollnir. After some time, I passed into Jotunheim, where I spied a giant sitting on a hillside, surrounded by his hounds and horses. He was braiding a bridle made of gold, and now and then would flick a flea from one of the hounds. Coming closer, I could see it was that thickhead Thrym.

  “Settling to a branch of the nearest tree, I waited and watched for a while. Thrym seemed happier than ever a giant has been before—much too happy for me not to be suspicious. When I had watched long enough, I said, ‘Good morrow, Thrym!’

  “The great oaf started in surprise, which made the tree tremble. He squinted at me, then smiled so broadly I could see not only which teeth were missing but also what he had eaten for breakfast—though I could have figured that out from what was stuck in his beard.

  “‘What brings you here, Shape-Changer?’ he asked. ‘Problems in Asgard?’ Then he chuckled, which sounded like boulders rolling down a hillside.

  “That guess was too close to the mark for me to think him innocent, and I felt in no mood for his foolery, so I asked straight out, ‘Where is Thor’s hammer, Thrym?’”

  Loki shook his head. “O Thor, had you but heard his howl of laughter, you would have known at once he was the thief. ‘Mjollnir is buried eight miles deep,’ he roared, slapping his sides. ‘Hidden where neither god nor elf can find it!’

  “I flexed my feathers fiercely. ‘Do you not fear Thor’s wrath?’ I asked.

  “Thrym swept some slobber from his chin, then said, ‘Without his hammer, Thor is not so fearsome.’”

  “The arrogance of the brute!” cried Thor. “I’ll show him fearsome. Just let me—”

  Loki held up his hands to stop the tirade. “Arrogant he may be, but at the moment he has reason real enough to boast. Remember, he does have the hammer.”

  “What happened next?” demanded Thor.

  “I decided it was time to try some wheedling—which, as you know, I am very good at. ‘Ah, Thrym,’ I murmured, ‘can you be so sure that mighty Mjollnir will stay hidden? That hammer does have powers of its own, you know. Might it not be wiser, O wisest of giants, to bargain now and gain some reward for your trickery, rather than to wait and receive nothing but a bashing?’

  “‘Why should I bargain?’ he snorted. ‘Now that Thor’s hammer no longer protects the golden city, soon all of Asgard will be mine.’

  “‘Perhaps,’ I said, letting some droppings fall next to him. ‘Perhaps not. We shall see. You won’t be seizing the city solo, of course. Are you sure you would get your fair share from your brothers if the giants do assail Asgard and win?’

  “Thrym scowled, and I could see I was starting to make an impression on that stone skull of his. ‘Better a treasure in the hand than one but a dream,’ I continued. ‘Think again, Thrym. You might make a fine bargain for that hammer. And the ransom would be all yours. No need to share it with your clutching kin!’

  “At this a greedy light grew in his eyes. For a moment I hoped I had him.

  “‘Just think,’ I murmured. ‘You could own Skidbladnir, Frey’s magical ship that can fold to fit in the palm of your hand, yet open out to hold an army. Wouldn’t you like that?’

  “Thrym sniffed in disdain, which surprised me. I dug deeper into my bag of tricks. ‘Perhaps Draupnir would be more to your liking?’

  “‘What is Draupnir?’ he asked.

  “‘Have you not heard of Odin’s golden arm ring? Every ninth night, Draupnir sheds eight more rings, each as perfect as it is itself—a fortune that grows all on its own, with no wearisome work on your part!’

  “I thought he would take that bait—though, of course, I would have had to convince the Allfather to make the trade. But Thrym simply said, ‘I’ll have gold enough when the giants take Asgard.’

  “Out of patience now, I cried, ‘What do you want, you lumbering lummox?’

  “I thought he might get insulted and swing at me. In truth, I would have been glad to get him mad enough to chase me, as I could easily outpace him. I felt if I fled slowly enough to keep him coming after me, I might be able to exhaust him. My hope was that once he was truly tired, he might drop some clue as to where he had hidden the hammer. But he didn’t get mad. Instead his eyes grew eager, and a silly grin split his foolish face.”

  Loki paused, then said, “You know, of course, what he wants . . .”

  “Oh no,” groaned Thor.

  “Oh yes,” said Loki.

  “You can’t mean . . .”

  “I do.”

  “We’re lost.”

  “Nonetheless, you shall have to ask her.”

  “Ask who?” I whispered to Gat.

  “Shut up and listen!” hissed the goat.

  Though it was rudely delivered, I have since found “Shut up and listen” to be excellent advice for many situations.

  Thor sighed. “Will you go speak in my stead, Loki?”

  The lord of mischief laughed. “I’ve already discovered who has the hammer. Must I do all the work for you?”

  Thor grimaced. “I would rather wrestle a thirty-foot serpent.”

  “Nonetheless, it must be done.”

  Thor sighed. Then he hitched up his breeches and said, “Well, wish me luck.”

  “More than luck,” said Loki. “I wish for your survival!”

  Thor sighed once again, then strode out of the goat yard.

  “Where is he going?” I asked, finally daring to speak now that I would not be interrupting.

  “To Freya’s house,” said Loki, smirking slightly.

  “Freya’s? What for?”

  Loki’s smirk blossomed into a full smile. “Thrym says the only way he’ll hand back the hammer is if Freya agrees to be his bride. Thor has gone to deliver the message.”

  I was puzzled. “How did Thor know that was what Thrym wanted? You didn’t even mention her name.”

  “I didn’t have to,” replied Loki. “The giants are always after Freya. The fools are so blinded by the rumors of her beauty that they ignore the other tales, the ones about her temper.” He winked at me. “We know better, eh, Thialfi?”

  I certainly did. After all, my sister worked for Freya.

  Loki glanced at the sky. “Listen carefully, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you can hear the lady’s answer right from where you’re standing. It won’t be for a while, though. I guarantee you Thor is in no hurry to get to Folkvangar.”

  Flashing another smile, the god of mischief turned and strolled from the goat yard, whistling merrily.

  4

  The Wrath of Freya

  “Well,” said Gat, once Loki was gone, “this is a fine mess. What are you going to do about it, Thialfi?”

  My stomach twisted in fear. I had been found out!

  “Why should he do anything about it?” asked Grinder. Though he sounded astonished by the idea, he didn’t even bother to look at me while he was asking the question.

  “Because it’s all his fault,” said Gat.

  At that, both the goats looked at me.

  “You won’t tell on me, will you?” I asked in a panic.

  “What in the name of my grandfather’s left horn are you two talking about?” asked Grinder, turning back to Gat-Tooth.

  Gat flicked an ear. “You’ll have to ask Thialfi yourself. He doesn’t want me to tell on him.”

  “I’m not speaking to him,” said Grinder primly, “as you know very well.”

  Gat sighed. “For Odin’s sake, will you forget the past and forgive the boy, cousin? All of Asgard is at risk, and it’s going to take a bigger pile of brains than live in Thor’s head to set things right. We’ve got more important things to worry about now than your hurt feelings.”

  “Hurt feelings?” snorted Grinder. “Easy enough for you to say. You’re not the one who has a permanent limp!”

  “I almost wish I was,” snapped Gat. “It would be better than hearing you whi
ne about it all the time.” Then he turned to his manger, making it clear that if Grinder wanted to know anything more about the current problem, he was going to have to ask me directly.

  Grinder stared at me the way he might look at a tick he had just discovered on his belly. Finally he said, “All right, out with it, Thialfi. What have you done this time?”

  I hesitated. “Promise you won’t tell Thor?”

  He sighed. “Of course I won’t tell Thor! Haven’t you noticed that we don’t talk to him?”

  I felt myself blush. “I knew that,” I said. “I just thought in this case you might make an exception.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s not within our power. We can’t talk to the gods, as you would know by now if you’d been paying any attention.”

  “Why not?”

  “‘Why not’ is not the point, you little git! The point is you’ve obviously done something stupid, yet again, and for some reason my cousin thinks we should help you. If we are going to help—I’m not saying we will, but if I’m even going to consider it—I need to know exactly what boneheaded thing you’ve done.”

  I glanced around to make sure no one was nearby. Once I was confident that we were alone, I leaned over and whispered, “Do you remember that dwarf who was here yesterday?”

  “Ragnar? Of course. It’s not like there are that many dwarfs wandering around Asgard. What did he want, anyway?”

  “He was selling some jewelry. It was good stuff, top-of-the-line dwarf. So Sif invited him into the house to show his wares. I think she bought a few things from him.”

  “She always had a fondness for dwarfware,” said Grinder, nodding. “So what’s the point?”

  I hesitated, but Grinder got that look on his face that means he’s about to nip me, so I blurted out the rest of it: “Ragnar returned just after twilight and said he had left something in the house. He wanted to know if I could let him in to get it.”

  Grinder looked at me in astonishment. “You didn’t do it, did you?”

  He didn’t wait for my answer, which was obvious, anyway. “Oh, you stupid, stupid, stupid—oh, never mind. We already know you’re a fool. All right, so it looks like Ragnar stole the hammer and took it to Thrym.”

  “You’re not thinking clearly, cousin,” said Gat, through a mouthful of oats.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, for one thing, dwarfs don’t like giants very much. So why would Ragnar help Thrym out that way?”

  “I see your point,” said Grinder.

  “But there’s an even bigger reason it doesn’t make sense,” continued Gat.

  “Which is . . . ?”

  “Ragnar couldn’t have stolen the hammer. Even most of the gods can’t budge the thing. The only reason Thor can lift it so easily is because it was specially made for him.”

  “That’s not the only reason,” snorted Grinder. “There’s also the fact that he has more muscles than brains.”

  “There is that,” agreed Gat. “There’s also his famous ‘belt of strength.’ Even so, my point remains. A mere dwarf is not going to be able to pick up that hammer and trot away with it.”

  “I see what you mean,” said Grinder, grudgingly. “But Thrym certainly couldn’t have slipped into Asgard without being seen. He’s too darn big! So he must have had help of some sort. If not Ragnar, then who?”

  “I don’t know,” said Gat with a sigh. “It’s a mystery. Some kind of magic at work, I suppose. Anyway, that brings us back to the real point: Thor’s hammer is gone. All of Asgard is in danger. And it’s probably because our goat boy was simpleminded enough to let that wretched dwarf into Bilskirnir when he should have sent the little intruder packing.” He chewed his oats thoughtfully for a moment, then turned to me and said, “Does that about cover it, Thialfi?”

  I nodded miserably.

  “You should add the fact that we need to do something,” said Grinder. “I’d suggest you start by telling the boy to trot over to Freya’s to see how it goes when Thor gives her Thrym’s demand.”

  Clearly, he was back to not speaking to me directly.

  “Oh yes,” said Gat, looking amused. “I would like a full report on that. Go on, Thialfi. Hurry over to Folkvangar and listen in. Then run back and tell us everything that happens.”

  He said this knowing full well that speed was my specialty, and one of the things Thor valued most about my service. Not that I needed much speed when it came to shoveling goat dung. But in addition to my job as goat boy, I had become Bilskirnir’s unofficial messenger.

  Scrambling out of the goat yard, I started toward Freya’s. Thor had a head start on me, and he had much longer legs. But he would be taking the road, and probably taking it slowly, given how he felt about this particular task. By running through the orchards, I had a much shorter route to Folkvangar and could get there well ahead of him.

  It was a golden afternoon, so beautiful it was hard to imagine that all of Asgard was in danger. The trees were heavy with apples, peaches, plums, pears, and cherries. This was no surprise; in the orchards of Asgard, the trees were always in bloom and always bearing fruit, both at the same time. Were things not so desperate, I would have loved to slip into the shade for a pleasant nap, lulled to sleep by the lazy hum of the golden bees. No time for that now! I leaped over brooks and streams, twice getting my feet wet as I did. In the distance I could see the gleaming arch of the Rainbow Bridge, that multicolored wonder over which Roskva and I had been brought to Asgard three years earlier.

  A few minutes later, I was scooting through the flower-speckled grass behind Freya’s home.

  Gasping for breath, I knocked at the kitchen door.

  I was relieved when it was Roskva who opened it.

  “Is Thor here yet?” I hissed.

  My sister shook her head. Then she narrowed her eyes, looked at me more closely, and said, “What have you done now, Thialfi?”

  “Nothing!”

  She stared at me skeptically, and I could tell by the heat in my cheeks that my blush was giving me away. “I’ll tell you later,” I sighed. “Right now Thor is coming, and I need to listen in when he talks to your mistress.”

  Roskva’s eyes brightened. There were few things my sister enjoyed more than eavesdropping on the gods. Taking my hand, she led me to a cupboard that stood near the door from the kitchen into the rest of the house. “We can hide in here,” she whispered.

  I slipped in beside her. There was, indeed, room for both of us, though just barely. As we crouched in the darkness, she asked again, “What’s going on, Thialfi?”

  Speaking quickly, I filled her in on what Loki had learned during his journey to Jotunheim.

  I decided to leave out my own role in the situation.

  I was just finishing the story when Thor burst through the door of Folkvangar and bellowed, “Put on your best dress and come with me, Freya! Thrym has stolen Mjollnir, and he won’t give it back unless you marry him.”

  “Have you gone mad?” cried the goddess.

  “Mad? I’m furious! But there’s nothing we can do about that now. We have to get the hammer back or Asgard itself may fall.”

  “Isn’t that just like you, you blundering thunderhead. Lose your hammer, then expect me to marry some slobbering fool of a giant in order to get it back for you. Well, I won’t do it.”

  “But Freya—”

  “Get out, you beast!”

  This was followed by a crashing sound.

  “Uh-oh,” muttered Roskva. “She’s throwing things.”

  Thor tried again. “Freya, you don’t—”

  “I said to get out!”

  Crash.

  “But—”

  “GET OUT!”

  Crash. Crash.

  “Once she starts throwing things, it’s hard to get her to stop,” whispered Roskva. “I’m going to have a lot of cleaning up to do after Thor is gone.”

  From the continued crashing sounds, and Thor’s yelps of distress, this seemed likely to be true.


  A moment later we heard the door slam.

  “And stay out, you great bumbling dolt!” cried Freya triumphantly.

  I thought that would be the end of it, but we heard two more crashes.

  “It takes her a while to calm down,” explained Roskva.

  “I have to get back to Bilskirnir,” I whispered. “I need to be there when Thor gets home. Will you be all right?”

  “As long as I stay out of her way until she’s settled, I’ll be fine,” said Roskva. Then she put her hand on my shoulder and said in a hushed voice, “It’s you I’m worried about, brother. These are bad tidings . . . and I fear you have something to do with it all.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I assured her, with more certainty than I felt. Pulling myself from her grasp, I added gruffly, “You’d best see to your mistress.”

  Indeed, Freya was shrieking for her servants to come clean up the mess she had just made.

  Roskva slipped from the cupboard. I followed close after, bolting for the outside door before anyone else could see me.

  As I pelted homeward through the orchards, I began to imagine those golden trees being uprooted by marauding giants.

  The thought made me shudder in horror.

  When I reached Bilskirnir, I vaulted over the stone fence and into the goat yard. I had almost caught my breath by the time Thor returned.

  I wanted to speak to him then, to tell him what I had done—though what good that would do, I didn’t know, since it wouldn’t change anything. But before I could say a word, a raven flew overhead, shrieking, “Council of the Gods! Council of the Gods! All of Asgard is summoned! Come now, come now!”

  I recognized the raven; it was Hugin, who usually sat on Odin’s shoulder. Now he had been sent out to cry a message to all of Asgard.

  In the three years I had been in the golden city, I had never heard a summons like this.

  Thor sighed. “Well, we know what this is going to be about, don’t we? Come along, Thialfi—you heard the bird. We’re all summoned.” He sighed again. “This is going to be embarrassing.”

  In that regard, my master was right.

  He just didn’t know how embarrassing.