And where else to attain it than from the sacred tree Yggdrasil itself? Odin pierced himself with his spear Gungnir, perhaps so that he could come close to understanding the pain the tree experienced from its daily wounds. Then he hanged himself from a high bough. For nine long days and nine long nights, he swung there. He allowed no one to ease his suffering—not a drop of water passed his lips. In this delirious state, near death, he saw below him runes. He knew runes; some were carved on the tip of Gungnir—mysterious letters. But now those letters formed in the tree roots and they yielded their meanings to him and taught him nine precious songs and magic charms and the art of poetry. He looked out at the nine worlds in a new way. He shuddered at the knowledge he now embodied—at the miseries that lay ahead, at the deeds that lay behind, at all the difficulties of getting from day to day in a decent way.
Healing Waters
Holy water in the Hindu Tirta Empul Temple in Bali
Sacred wells, rivers, and springs appear in many religions, including those of several indigenous people of the Americas, ancient Rome, and India, as well as Christianity. Likewise, sacred words—here in the form of runes, those mysterious letters that took wisdom to decipher—come up repeatedly. Both are associated with the ability to heal, and, sometimes, to destroy. The Norse poem “Hávamál” claims that runic words heal better than leeches, a hint that old Norse medicine was fighting against the newer Christian methods.
Odin chose to hang himself from Yggdrasil for nine days and nights in his quest for wisdom. He was rewarded with a vision of runes that granted him knowledge of nine magic songs, charms, and poetry.
Odin proclaimed:
Cattle die, kinsmen die,
The self must also die;
but glory never dies,
for the man who is able to achieve it.
Odin determined to achieve glory. In this new state he could connect his own ancestry among the giants to the present race of gods, and with that connection he made a whole of the cosmos. To each its time, its place. Everything fit.
Odin, the clairvoyant, now conversed with everyone. People made human sacrifices to the mighty god. They hanged men from trees and pierced them with spears—mimicking the passion of Odin dangling from Yggdrasil those nine days. Who were these hanged men? Some were dying of disease, and so they dedicated themselves to Odin, to end their lives in the glory of talking with the highest god. Others chose to avoid a natural death by embracing this ceremonial one. And while the men hung there, Odin came to talk with them, to glean what they might know of this life and this death. Odin found solace and pleasure in these shared words. He was proud to be god of the gallows, for dying men told truths.
Odin engaged in this same kind of intimate talk with those fallen on the battlefield. Dead men revealed mysteries—this was an extra advantage of surrounding himself with warriors for the huge war ahead, the one that would come eventually, the dreaded Ragnarok.
Odin thus put his quest for information and, ultimately, understanding of that information before all else. A harsh choice, indeed.
Loki had many offspring, but three were horrendous: the wolf Fenrir, fated to kill Odin in the battle Ragnarok; the serpent Jormungand, whose venom would kill Thor in that battle; and hungry Hel, who would keep Odin’s son, Balder, prisoner.
LOKIS MONSTROUS CHILDREN
Loki made everyone edgy.
Loki was the son of the giant Farbauti and the goddess Laufey. Several gods took giantesses as wives, and their offspring did fine. But it was taboo for a goddess to take a giant as a husband; thus, Loki was born with a giant (so to speak) strike against him. But at one point he and Odin mixed blood and thus became blood brothers. Odin, in fact, promised that he would always share drink with Loki. This meant that Loki was counted among the Aesir.
From the start, Loki was spiteful, and that spirit proved to be inheritable. Hapless wives bore him wretched children, three notable for their evilness: the chaos monsters, children by the frost giantess Angrboda. The first was the vicious wolf Fenrir; the second, the serpent Jormungand; and the third, the horrible hag Hel. At first, the children lived with their mother in Jotunheim. But everyone in Asgard knew they were destined to cause cosmic misery eventually. The gods couldn’t kill these children—for no one can interfere with fate. But they wanted to be rid of them in the meantime. So the one-eyed Odin had a band of gods sneak into Jotunheim one night and gag and bind the giantess Angrboda and kidnap the children.
The wolf Fenrir was the son of Loki and a vicious, frightful creature. Odin had him bound in chains and brought to Asgard. But it was hard to capture him: The god Tyr lost his right hand in doing it.
Tricksters and Sneaks
A Native American rock painting, possibly of Coyote
Tricksters appear in many traditions. Some native tribes of North America have Coyote, a well-known prankster, but he reveals people’s weaknesses, so he’s listened to. The Greek god Hermes was a liar and thief, yet he was eloquent and could convince anyone of anything. Coyote, Hermes, and Loki are shape-shifters. But Coyote is neither good nor evil, Hermes is simply an annoyance, and Loki is wicked. Both Odin and Thor seek Loki out sometimes, however, to use his ability to deceive for good goals.
Odin decided the wolf Fenrir should live in Asgard, perhaps so he could keep an eye on him. After all, Fenrir was destined to kill Odin at the final battle of Ragnarok. The inhabitants of Asgard were not delighted with the prospect of this beast living among them. The only one who dared get close enough to the wolf to feed him was Odin’s son Tyr, whose mother was a giantess and who was bolder than others—a true god of war. Still, as Fenrir grew, fear of him grew until people wanted to tie him up. But they didn’t want Fenrir to realize he was being tied up. They pretended they were having a bet, to see if the wolf was strong enough to break binding chains. Fenrir agreed, and immediately burst from his fetters. The gods made a second chain, twice as strong as the first. Fenrir burst out of it easily. So Odin sent Frey’s servant Skirnir to the dark elves, to ask them to forge a chain strong enough to bind Fenrir. The chain they forged was of the sound of a cat footfall, the beard of a woman, the roots of a mountain, the sinews of a bear, the breath of fish, and the spit of birds. This chain was called Gleipnir, and it brushed against your skin soft as silk. The gods took Fenrir to the island Lyngvi in the lake Amsvartnir and asked him to submit to being tied with Gleipnir.
The wolf was no dummy; he recognized this was a special chain. So he agreed, but only under the condition that one of the gods should hold his hand on Fenrir’s muzzle, as a show of good faith. Only Tyr dared do this. The gods bound Fenrir, and this time the wolf couldn’t break free. When the gods refused to loosen the chain, Fenrir snapped off Tyr’s right hand. Thenceforward, the beast howled and slavered—knowing he’d get no freedom until the battle of Ragnarok. And poor Tyr, he lived his days mutilated by a wolf only to die in canine jaws in the final battle, but not Fenrir’s, no, the jaws of Hel’s hound, Garm.
Odin dealt harshly with Loki’s middle child, Jormungand, as well, for this child was fated to fight Odin’s son Thor at the battle of Ragnarok, and Odin knew Thor would die from the serpent’s spewed venom. Odin hurled the young serpent toward the sea, where it crashed through the iron surface and plunged to the bottom. Jormungand grew and grew until his body encircled all Midgard and his own tail reached his jaws, which clamped down on it firmly. Thereafter, everyone was afraid to fish too close to the sea’s edge; Jormungand might get them! The only one who ever purposely baited Jormungand was Thor himself, who threw an ox head on a hook into the sea and pulled up the monster serpent. They eyed each other in hatred, but then the terrified owner of the boat, the giant Hymir, cut the line and Jormungand sank back underwater, much to Thor’s fury.
The serpent Jormungand was another of Loki’s children, and he was destined to kill Odin’s son Thor. So Odin threw him into the sea, where he grew so long and strong that he circled all of Midgard.
Loki’s only daughter was Hel
, the spiteful, sour mistress of the underworld. She gathered all the dead who were not warriors—just the ordinary dead—into her cold, joyless realm and held on to them till the end of the world.
As for Loki’s third child by Angrboda, Odin banished her to the depths of Niflheim. So Loki’s daughter, Hel, was none other than the mistress of the underworld, half alive and half dead. She received all those who died other than in battle—the ones who grew old and feeble, the ones who withered from disease, and all the monsters, animals, giants, and dwarfs. She did that job with a sour taste in her mouth, but never with remorse. She was greedy for prey. Her dish was named Hungr—Hunger; her knife, Sult—Famine; her couch, Kor—Sickbed; and the curtains that surrounded the couch, Blikjandabol—Glimmering Mischance. Once anyone entered her world, she was loath to let them leave. At the start of Ragnarok, her sooty-red cock would crow the announcement of doom.
Loki did many wretched deeds, but his worst involved the assistance of his daughter, Hel. That full story will come later. Through a perverse trick, Loki caused the death of two of Odin’s sons, and Hel made sure they remained in her frozen realm until the terrible battle of Ragnarok. The hearts of the gods were wrenched.
The gods had their revenge on Loki … but that also is another story.
The death of Odin’s children is the saddest moment in the gods’ history, made even sadder by the fact that the wise Odin was clairvoyant. Remember? That father of the two doomed sons knew these deaths were coming, just as he knew that the destruction of the cosmos was coming. And there was nothing at all he could do to prevent it. In everything Odin did, every breath, every step, he carried with him the knowledge that all of us are helpless in one way or another, even the god known as Allfather. Maybe that tragedy is, after all, the iron nugget of wisdom.
Loki cut off Sif’s hair and thus robbed her of her glory. Her husband, Thor, was ready to kill Loki, but Loki promised amazing gifts, which he then got the Sons of Ivaldi to make. One gift was the magical ship Skidbladnir.
WAGERS & TREASURES
Loki was known as the trickster god and a lot of his trickery smacked of malice, right from the start. The god Thor had a wife named Sif with a face so lovely men and gods were constantly longing for her. But even better was the hair that framed that face—long curling locks the color of sunlight and as thick and rich as summer wheat. One night, when Loki was bored, he climbed into the room where Sif was sleeping and cut off all her hair. It was just as a prank, so he said, but a nasty kind of prank. A woman’s beauty was judged by the glory of her hair, and blond hair was the most glorious. Worst of all, only slave girls went with bald heads. When Sif woke, she realized someone had stolen her beauty and humiliated her gravely.
Thor found a shoe outside Sif’s window and recognized it as Loki’s, lost in Loki’s scramble to get away. He grabbed Loki by the neck, ready to crush every bone in his body, but Loki said that only if Thor let him go would Sif’s hair grow back. Thor squeezed harder. Loki added that he’d also give astonishing gifts to the gods. Thor released Loki. The trickster god was granted one night and one day to do as he had promised.
Loki went to a group of dwarfs called the Sons of Ivaldi. They were known far and wide to be amazing craftsmen. He persuaded them to make wonders that would fulfill his promises.
The Sons of Ivaldi made new hair for Sif from real gold. And this hair was far better than Loki could have hoped, for it grew, like natural hair did, like wheat returning after harvest and winter.
They then built a ship called Skidbladnir. The vessel was huge. All the major and minor Aesir gods could sit in it with all their weapons. Its sails attracted the winds and it went easily wherever it was steered. And the best thing about Skidbladnir was this: The dwarfs had fashioned it of multiple tiny parts, so that when it was hauled onto land, it could be folded up as easily as a scarf and tucked into a pouch to be carried anywhere you wanted.
Next the Sons of Ivaldi crafted a fabulous spear. The master blacksmith dwarf Dvalinn looked on as they worked, giving pointers here and there. The spear’s shaft was so perfectly balanced that it struck whatever one aimed at, no matter the strength or skill of the wielder. They incised runes in its tip and named it Gungnir.
Beautiful Hair
Comb with animal and human heads, pre-Viking Sweden
In medieval Iceland it was illegal for free women to cut their hair short. An unmarried woman could wear her hair loose or braided. A married woman covered her hair with her cap, but her husband knew how lovely it was—just as Thor knew how lovely Sif’s long hair was. After the oval brooches that fastened her dress straps, a woman’s most treasured possession was her comb, often made from a single piece of whalebone or imported elephant ivory, carved or incised decoratively. Thus, Loki’s prank was beastly
Sif’s wig and Skidbladnir and Gungnir were all magical; there’s no other word for it. The Sons of Ivaldi strutted in pride at the obvious pleasure on Loki’s face. But Loki was surveying them with eyes that were just as keen. Dwarfs were not just powerful, they were prideful. Loki seized the opportunity. He laid a wager with another dwarf, named Brokk, that his brother Sindri could never make objects that matched in wonder the three just made by the Sons of Ivaldi. At stake was Loki’s head.
Brokk and Sindri took the bait. Sindri threw a pig hide in the forge and told Brokk to blow the bellows without pause. A fly immediately came along and bit Brokk’s arm. Still, Brokk didn’t interrupt the puff of the bellows, and when he was done, Sindri lifted from the forge a golden-bristled boar named Gullinbursti who could race through both air and water faster than any horse and whose bristles lit up even the darkest cave. Then Sindri threw gold in the forge and gave Brokk the same instructions. Again the fly came; it bit Brokk on the neck harder than before. But Brokk was steady. Sindri lifted from the forge a gold ring called Draupnir, which every ninth night would drip from the finger of its wearer another eight rings just as splendid. Then Sindri put iron in the forge and Brokk worked the bellows. The fly came again. This time it bit Brokk between the eyes and stung his eyelids till blood blinded him. The writhing dwarf couldn’t bear it any longer; he swatted the fly away and in the process interrupted the puff of the bellows for just a moment. The result was a hammer named Mjolnir that was powerful enough to level a mountain, would hit anything the thrower aimed at, and would always return to the thrower’s fist. But Mjolnir’s handle was just a smidgen short because of that wicked fly—and who do you guess might have sent the fly? Or even been the fly himself? But, no matter by what means the wager had been won, Loki claimed victory.
The brothers Brokk and Sindri were skilled in metalwork. They turned an ordinary pig hide into the golden-bristled boar named Gullinbursti, who was swifter than horses and brighter than flames.
Loki wagered that Brokk and Sindri could not make marvels better than those of the Sons of Ivaldi. The Aesir council had to choose between wonders like the hammer Mjolnir and the spear Gungnir. Loki lost the wager and ran for his life.
Brokk and Sindri protested, leaving the matter up to the council of the gods to decide. At that council meeting, Loki showered the gods with gifts. He gave to Thor the gold wig for Sif, and to Frey, the ship Skidbladnir. To Odin he gave the spear Gungnir, which eventually became the source of much of this god’s wisdom, as he deciphered the runes on Gungnir’s tip in the nine long days and nights he hung from the mighty ash Yggdrasil. But Brokk offered presents, too. To Frey, he gave the boar Gullinbursti; to Odin, the ring Draupnir; to Thor, the hammer Mjolnir. The Aesir council wasn’t swayed by Loki’s gifts; it found in favor of Brokk.
Loki ran for his life. Thor seized him, and Brokk was ready to swing the blade, but Loki argued that the wager was only for his head, not his neck, and since Brokk couldn’t get his head without cutting his neck, decapitation was impossible. In rage, the thwarted dwarf sewed Loki’s trickster lips together.
Thus did the gods gain their most precious treasures.
But those treasures didn’t lessen
the hatred toward the source—Loki. Products of malice never do.
A rock giant came disguised as a mason to repair Asgard’s wall, which had been damaged in the war with the Vanir. His stallion helped him. What he wanted as pay was the sun, the moon, and Freyja as his wife.
SHAPE-SHIFTERS
Shape-shifters abounded. People were convinced that the visions of beasts and monsters that came to them in dreams were their departed loved ones. And even in ordinary life, you could never be sure who that particularly large bear spying on you might be, or that seal you were dueling with, or even that terribly annoying fly that bit you as you worked at the forge.
The very nature of shape-shifting is deception; thus, it’s no surprise that Loki, that disgrace of all beings, had perfected the art of shape-shifting. And sometimes he used it to the advantage of the Aesir. This may well be why some of the gods, especially Thor, enjoyed his company.
In the battle between the Aesir and the Vanir, the stone wall around Asgard was reduced to rubble. The gods wanted it rebuilt, but the task was onerous and no one stepped forward to do it.
Treasury of Norse Mythology Page 3
