Myths and Legends from Around the World

by Robin Brockman

  “There is not a goddess here who has not betrayed her husband. Very few that I haven't enjoyed the favours of myself” he boasted. “Which means just about all of them who aren't too damned ugly to stomach.” On his feet again, swaggering, a bit unsteadily, around the hall, he was getting into the faces of people, breathing on them. Until now he had hidden the fact that he was already drunk when he arrived.

  “You were good,” he singled out one goddess after another. “You were very good, but you were an utter bore. A yawn. Glad she's not my wife,” he turned to her astonished husband. “Ha! Not bloody likely.” Between Loki's good looks and tricky ways, no one doubted the truth of any of this.

  Everyone tried to defend themselves however, make excuses to others, talk Loki down, or return insult for insult. Certainly he had done far more shameful things than anybody else. The trouble was he was shameless. Nothing touched him. Gleefully Loki himself recounted every crime he had committed against all of them, both known ones and many unknown.

  Even the poetical and wordy Bragi was struck dumb by the onslaught and yet more surprisingly, Odin. Renowned for his presence of mind and his eloquent speaking, he failed to silence Loki. Completely flabbergasted, Odin too fell victim to Loki's mockery and abuse.

  Sif approached him with a cup of mead, trying to placate him, get him to sit down and desist. He only laughed at her, grabbed her by the waist and danced her around, spilling the mead on those nearby.

  “And here is another beauty I have bedded,” Loki squeezed her rump. “The wife of good old Thor. Yes, you've been in my arms before, haven't you, willing, nay desperate, for my particular attentions.”

  As if by evoking his name the thunder god had been summoned. Thor was heard as a rumble in the mountains, then in moments, outside the hall as his chariot drew up. Bursting in full of life and merriment, an apology to his host for being late on his lips, Thor instantly sensed the strained atmosphere and looked around confusedly. His eyes alighted on Loki and, slowly, understanding dawned.

  “Ah the very fellow,” cried Loki. “That look on your face just now reminded me of the time the enchanter giant Utgardaloki hoodwinked you so badly. Friends, I saw through him quickly enough but played along. He had Thor going for ages, though, convinced him his hammer blows on his head hardly left an impression, felt like leaves landing, cheated him in eating and drinking contests and then foot racing … Why poor naive Thor was well and truly flummoxed. What a picture his face was when he found out. Of course, Sif,” Loki turned to Thor's struggling wife, whom he had not yet let go, “we can hardly complain about him being naive, can we?”

  Without a word Thor raised his mighty hammer and deliberately started for him with fire in his eyes. At this point Loki realized he had gone too far, challenged the wrong person and bitten off far more than he could chew.

  “Only joking. No harm done, everybody. Just a bit of fun. Doesn't time fly. Must dash. Good night all.” Smiling broadly, patting backs that shrank from his touch, he made for the exit, away from Thor around the other side of the great table.

  At the door he turned to them once more and leered at the assembly.

  “Enjoy this feast, my friends. It may be your last. I prophesy that soon this hall and all in it, outside it, and everywhere else, will be but ashes.”

  Whether this parting shot was truly a prophesy or he was already plotting with the enemies of the Aesir to bring about their downfall and the end of the world, is uncertain. The truth of what he said is indisputable, however. Soon, the end would come in a great all-consuming battle.

  The final straw in his relations with the Aesir was what Loki did to Balder, a handsome god like Loki, but unlike him, well loved and popular with everyone for his wisdom, kindness and gentleness. In a warlike race an individual with such attributes must have a great deal of goodness, charm, integrity and fortitude to be so well thought of, and Balder had all this and more.

  Like Heimdall, whom among all the gods, Loki also particularly despised, Balder was a god of light. But while Heimdall's duty was to stand watch over the gates to Asgard and guard them from surprise attack, Balder seemed to perform the function of a mediator, and represent gentility and civilization within a divine but nevertheless tough and brutal society. In Heimdall, Loki hated and mocked the selfless sense of duty, standing sentinel in all weathers, uncomplaining while others had fun or slept warm in bed. In Balder he deprecated that seeming softness, sweetness of nature and lack of malice which his fellow-gods found so oddly admirable.

  So beloved and valued by the Aesir was Balder that when he reported having strange and disquieting dreams and presentiments of evil, everyone was deeply concerned. His usually harmonious and blissful life was suddenly darkened by these feelings of impending danger and the gods resolved to do something, so worried were they by the idea that something bad should happen to Balder.

  Though the son of Odin and the goddess Frigg, Balder would have been everyone's favourite whatever his parentage, but as it was, concern ran even higher and his mother took steps, with the approval of all, to forestall any harm to him. She begged every being and thing on earth never to hurt him. She beseeched elements like fire, metal, water and stone, minerals, plants, trees, illnesses, animals, snakes, fish and all else. Every single one of them swore an oath never to harm Balder, and the gods were satisfied.

  Eventually they made a sport of attacking him with weapons, to which he was now invulnerable. He would stand in a ring at their feasts and gods would throw spears, and hammers, shoot arrows and sling stones at him and laugh as he smiled and let them strike, causing him no pain or damage. It was a great trick to pull on guests of other races, too, and everyone delighted in it but Loki.

  Going to Frigg during one of these sessions disguised as an admiring old lady, Loki praised and questioned her carefully about how she had protected her son so well.

  “Incredible! And you left nothing out? In all the world?”

  “Nothing,” Frigg said with pride. “Well, there was one thing, I suppose. A little plant called Misteltein, or mistletoe. It seemed too young to be made to swear an oath. Just a baby, as plants go.”

  “Of course,” laughed the old woman, as did Loki inside the image, for what he had learned might be useful. “But where does such a rare little plant grow?” the old lady wondered gushingly.

  “Oh, to the west of Valhalla,” the unsuspecting Frigg replied. Loki left, changed back into his own image at once and set off to find the mistletoe.

  As time went by the plant grew enough for him to cut a hefty wand from it. The next time the gods played the game of flinging things at Balder, Loki was ready. He had had to be patient, as the novelty had worn off by now and the game was rarer.

  Seating himself beside Hod, who was blind, Loki asked him why he was not joining in the game.

  “Why do you think?” Hod turned vacantly to him.

  “I'll help you, direct your arm.”

  “I don't have a weapon …”

  “Try this stick. Come on, let's get closer,” Loki said taking Hod's elbow.

  The other gods saw Loki lead Hod nearer to Balder and guide his arm, though the stick missed. Each time Loki retrieved it and helped Hod again and everyone thought it nice but out of character for Loki to help the blind god to enjoy the game.

  “A bit higher, Hod,” Loki would whisper. “Head height, you know. More fun.”

  Then suddenly the stick struck Balder in the temple. Between the unaccustomed noise of real impact and seeing the gentle god go down as if pole-axed, everyone gasped and stared a moment in disbelief. As they saw the look on Loki's face, understanding dawned. After first rushing to Balder and finding him dead, as one they closed in on Loki.

  The only thing that saved him was the fact that they stood on sacred ground. It was the law that in this place dedicated to peace, no blood could be spilled, even in righteous revenge. As grief and lamentation assailed the assembly, Loki slipped away and stayed hidden for a long time.

 
; “Who will volunteer to go to Hel, goddess of the kingdom of the dead, and try to rescue Balder for us?” Frigg cried. “I will give myself to any man who will attempt it, in advance, no matter who he is.”

  Hermod, one of Odin's sons, by another mother needless to say, volunteered with alacrity. After enjoying his reward he mounted his father's famous charger, Sleipnir, and set off at the gallop. He had liked Balder as much as the next man and now a life-long desire had been fulfilled. Full of vim and vigour, he felt he could face Hel and even win a hostage back from her.

  In the meantime, the gods carried Balder's body to the sea and built a funeral pyre on a boat, which had belonged to him in life. Here they placed the body and as Thor gravely raised his hammer, consecrating the ritual, the pyre was set alight. Balder's fully equipped horse was led to it so that the flames consumed the animal at the same time as its master. Nearly all the gods, and even many giants, were in attendance, so greatly loved was Balder. No one made a secret of his or her sorrow.

  As the body of the dead god was being wept over, Hermod was making his way down to the realm of the dead. Riding through dark valleys and deep crevasses, he did not leave the saddle for nine full days. At last he came to the river Gjoll, which bordered the underworld. This could only be crossed by a bridge of gold. In conversation with the guard, he learned that Balder and five hundred others had passed over only the night before.

  Hurrying onward Hermod came to the gates of the Kingdom of Hel. Here he dismounted a moment, tightened his saddle's girth, threw a leg over Sleipnir once more, collected himself and his magnificent steed and rushed at the wall. Leaping majestically, the fantastic horse cleared the top without even brushing its hooves on the stone.

  Once inside, however, Hermod was somewhat intimidated and bewildered by all he saw. Going as near as he dared to the throne, he sought after his half-brother and spotted him seated in a place of honour beside Hel herself. It was late in the day by now and Hermod felt all his weariness settle upon him. He resolved to wait until the morning to speak to Hel. He knew he would need all his wits about him and full command of his nerves.

  Early the next day, but not too early, Hermod presented himself respectfully to Hel and explained his mission. He did not see Balder anywhere nearby and that made it easier. He would not have wish to get his hopes up if they were only to be dashed and, equally, he did not want to risk the embarrassment of asking if Balder had no desire to return to the land of the living.

  He need not have worried, nor about his interview with Hel in general. She took pity on him and on the sadness of the gods and everyone else at Balder's death, and she explained that Balder had not been with her long enough to truly wish to stay or even be utterly required to.

  “If, as you say,” she told Hermod. “the mourning for him is universal among all things in being, and if all agree – and I mean all – that they desire his return to life, then I will set him free. But remember, if just a single creature, object, element or what-so-ever in the universe refuses to weep for him, then he must stay.”

  “Oh, none will, I assure you.” Hermod bowed low, kissed Hel's hand and hastened back to Asgard with the happy news.

  The Aesir sent out messengers all over creation to canvass the opinion of all things in it and to beg them to shed a tear for Balder and thus display their grief so that Hel might see that the sorrow was truly universal. At the god's behest everything – men, animals, wood, stone, plants, fire, water and the rest – began to cry honest tears for Balder.

  Just when the messengers were about to return to Asgard to proclaim the success of their efforts, it was discovered that there was yet one who would not grieve for the so beloved god. A certain giantess called Thokk, living in a cave deep inside a high mountain, had refused all their pleading.

  “I'll not shed so much as one tiny tear for him,” she swore. “Not while he lived, nor now he's dead. Let Hel have him. What did he ever do for me?”

  No one knew at the time that this supposed cruel giantess was Loki in yet another disguise, but he surely enough prevented Balder's return to life among the Aesir. When the truth came out, it was as if Loki had murdered Balder twice. The gods moved heaven and earth to find and arrest him. In the end, they chained him and threw him in to a deep dungeon to rot.

  Almost inevitably the crafty Loki escaped and fled to Jotunheim, where he allied himself with the Aesir's greatest enemies, whose forces were already gathering. A final showdown was threatening, for the giants and other races felt that a reckoning was overdue. The haughty Aesir had had the upper hand too long.

  For some time now they had been rather too cavalier in their treatment of others. If Loki was the trickster and villain of Asgard, the Aesir were the Lokis of the world at large. Indeed, they'd often enough used that wily god's talents for their own ends against giants and other races when it suited them.

  In the early days of creation the gods in their palaces in Asgard had led peaceful and industrious lives. They had taken pleasure in building temples, erecting alters, working in gold and forging tools with hammer and anvil or playing draughts together. This blissful existence might have gone on forever had they been able to control their passions. As it was, they brought down on themselves the grave destiny that was about to overtake them.

  There had been the day in Valhalla when in order to extract her gold, they had tortured the Vanir goddess Gullveig, who had come to them as an envoy. This crime had precipitated the first wars. Later they broke their word to a giant who had constructed their celestial dwelling. As the price of his labour he had been promised the hand of the goddess Freyja, along with the sun and the moon, if he could complete the project in a specified time.

  When it seemed he would fulfil his end of the bargain, they set Loki on him. The trickster shape-changed into a fine mare in season and so distracted the stallion helping to carry the building materials that the work was not done on time and the gods reneged on the arrangement. From then on the word of the Aesir was deemed worthless. If that was how the gods behaved, it was natural that all treaties concluded in the world quickly lost their force and validity.

  An era began characterized by perjury, violence and war. Hatred and anger equally swayed men, giants and gods. Evil dreams began to trouble the sleep of the Aesir. Odin uneasily watched the sinister portents accumulate. He realized that the supreme struggle was about to unfold. Calmly and resolutely he made ready to face it.

  The murder of Balder, Loki's escape and defection and events in a distant forest where a giantess gave birth to a brood of wolves fathered by Fenrir, himself a giant wolf, were all dark omens for the immediate future. When one of these monstrous young wolves chased the sun, it found the pursuit long and difficult but eventually it caught up, coming near enough to take a bite from it. As with each season the wolf grew in strength it began to eat more and more of the sun. Its rays were extinguished one by one as it turned blood-red and finally disappeared. For many years the world was plunged into darkness, and yet still war raged as brother killed brother, snow covered the earth, all sense of family vanished and everything descended rapidly towards the abyss of nothingness.

  From everywhere, hostile forces of all kinds gathered. On the edge of the sky, Heimdall, watchman of the gods, looked out for their attackers. No one in the world had an eye more piercing or an ear more acute than he, yet Loki managed to steal his sword and to delay his sounding his horn to warn the gods until the giants’ army was already on the march.

  The great wolf Fenrir, whom the god Tyr had sacrificed his right hand to chain up, pulled himself free and escaped. As he shook off his chains he made the whole world tremble and the tree of life, the ancient ash Yggdrasil, was shaken from its roots to its topmost branches. Mountains crumbled or split from top to bottom, and the dwarfs who made their subterranean homes therein scrambled vainly to find exits once so familiar but destroyed now as the earth shook and fell in on itself.

  From the west, in a ship manned by a crew of phantoms, the gian
t Hrym came, ready and eager for battle, standing erect, his shield in his left hand and the tiller in his right. The ship was propelled by great waves created by the writhing of the sea serpent Midgard, an old enemy of Thor with a score to settle.

  Another ship appeared from the north, its sails bellying in the wind, carrying the inhabitants of the underworld. Loki was at the helm of this craft and beside him his fellow escapee, the dreaded wolf Fenrir, fire spurting from his eyes and nostrils, his great jaws dripping blood.

  From the south, Surt, lord of enormous land holdings in the giant kingdom, raised his flaming sword and led his innumerable fire giants toward the scene of the coming battle. Lightning flashed from this blade and all around him flames sprang from the cracking earth. As he passed nearby, rocks crumbled and people fell dead.

  The vault of heaven shook at the tumult of this hoard on the march. Scorched, then frozen, then baked by the fiery furnace below, it finally cracked in two. When the fire giants, last of the enemy host, rode their wild horses across the rainbow bridge linking earth with Asgard, it was set alight, and burned and collapsed behind them as they rushed joyfully to bloody combat and slaughter.

  Drawing up for battle at an agreed place, as was the ancient custom, they met at the field of Vigrid, which stretched before Valhalla, a square measuring a thousand leagues by a thousand leagues. Here gods and giants and all other races existent at the time, countless in number, met and clashed in pitiless and relentless, seemingly inexhaustible butchery.

  Odin, wearing a golden helmet plumed with eagle's wings, and gripping the good spear Gungnir, would lead the Aesir attack. Swarming endlessly out of the gates of Valhalla came the gods, the Valkyries closest behind Odin on flying chargers.

  Seeing Fenrir, Odin went for him personally, but the giant wolf's fangs were so large and powerful that the chief of the Aesir was torn asunder and gobbled up. Thus the father of the gods was the first casualty in the apocalyptic struggle, though his son, Vidar, avenged him. Pinning the enormous wolf's lower jaw to the ground with his foot, shod in leather that was indestructible and could not be penetrated by Fenrir's sharp teeth, he held the upper jaw aloft in his strong left hand. Driving deep with his sword he found the beast's heart with his thrusts, finally killing it.