THE CREATION OF THE COSMOS

Ymir being slain by Odin and his brothers (Lorenz

Frølich)
The Norse creation myth or cosmogony (an account of the origins of the cosmos) is perhaps
one of the richest in all of world literature. First, let’s look at this exceptionally colorful story
itself, then consider how the Vikings may have interpreted it and found meaning in it.
The Origin of the Cosmos
Before there was soil, or sky, or any green thing, there was only the gaping abyss
of Ginnungagap. This chaos of perfect silence and darkness lay between the homeland of
elemental fire, Muspelheim, and the homeland of elemental ice, Niflheim.
Frost from Niflheim and billowing flames from Muspelheim crept toward each other until
they met in Ginnungagap. Amid the hissing and sputtering, the fire melted the ice, and the
drops formed themselves into Ymir (“Screamer”[1]), the first of the godlike but
destructive giants. Ymir was a hermaphrodite and could reproduce asexually; when he slept,
more giants leapt forth from his legs and from the sweat of his armpits.
As the frost continued to melt, a cow, Audhumla (“Abundance of Humming”[2]), emerged
from it. She nourished Ymir with her milk, and she, in turn, was nourished by salt-licks in the
ice. Her licks slowly uncovered Buri (“Progenitor”[3]), the first of the Aesir tribe of gods. Buri
had a son named Bor (“Son”[4]), who married Bestla (perhaps “Wife”[5]), the daughter of the
giant Bolthorn (“Baleful Thorn”[6]). The half-god, half-giant children of Bor and Bestla
were Odin, who became the chief of the Aesir gods, and his two brothers, Vili and Ve.
Odin and his brothers slew Ymir and set about constructing the world from his corpse. They
fashioned the oceans from his blood, the soil from his skin and muscles, vegetation from his
hair, clouds from his brains, and the sky from his skull. Four dwarves, corresponding to the
four cardinal points, held Ymir’s skull aloft above the earth.
The gods eventually formed the first man and woman, Ask and Embla, from two tree trunks,
and built a fence around their dwelling-place, Midgard, to protect them from the giants.[7][8][9][10]
Order from Chaos
Thematically, Ymir is the personification of the chaos before creation, which is also depicted
as the impersonal void of Ginnungagap. Both Ymir and Ginnungagap are ways of talking
about limitless potential that isn’t actualized, that hasn’t yet become the particular things that
we find in the world around us. This is why the Vikings described it as a void (as have
countless other peoples; consider the “darkness upon the face of the deep” of the first chapter
of Genesis, for example). It is no-thing-ness. But it nevertheless contains the basic stuff out of
which the gods can make true things – in this case, the primal matter is Ymir’s body, which
the gods tear apart to craft the elements.
It’s extremely fitting for Ymir to be the progenitor of the giants, for this is the general role the
giants occupy in Norse myth. They are the forces of formless chaos, who are always
threatening to corrupt and ultimately overturn the gods’ created order (and at Ragnarok, they
succeed). But the giants are more than just forces of destruction. In the words of medievalist
Margaret Clunies Ross:
Characteristically […] the gods covet important natural resources which the
giants own, then steal them and turn them to their own advantage by utilising
them to create culture, that is, they put the giants’ raw materials to work for
themselves. These raw materials are of diverse kinds and include intellectual
capital such as the ability to brew ale as well as the cauldron in which it is
made, and abstractions made concrete like the mead of poetry and the runes
of wisdom.[11]
Not only does Ymir fit this pattern; mythologically speaking, his death and dismemberment is
the paradigmatic model for this pattern.

This also explains why Ymir is depicted as a hermaphrodite who can reproduce on his own
asexually. Differentiation, including sexual differentiation, didn’t exist yet. The gods had to
create that as part of their task of giving differentiated forms to what had previously been
formless and undifferentiated. Various other creation myths from other peoples have used a
hermaphroditic being to illustrate this same concept,[12] so we can be confident that this is also
what the Norse meant here – despite the superficial counterexample of Audhumla and her
udder. (After all, Norse mythology was never an airtight system.)
Ymir’s name provides an additional – and rather poetic – instantiation of this role as the
personification of primordial chaos. Recall that Ymir’s name means “Screamer” (from the
Old Norse verb ymja, “to scream”[13]). The scream, the wordless voice, is the raw material
from which words are made. By taking formless matter – represented by Ymir’s body – and
giving it form, the gods were, metaphorically speaking, making words out of a scream.
The metaphor is completed by the description of the act of creation in the Old Norse
poem Völuspá. There, the verb used for the action by which the gods create the world is yppa,
which has a range of meanings: “lift, raise, bring up, come into being, proclaim,
reveal.”[14] The primary sense in which yppa should be understood here is “to come into
being,” but note the additional shade of “to proclaim.” Given the poetic symmetry with
Ymir’s name, this is surely not coincidental. The gods proclaim the world into being as they
sculpt it out of the Screamer’s corpse.[15]
The Centrality of Conflict
The Vikings, like the other ancient Germanic peoples, were and are notorious for their
eagerness for battle. It should come as little surprise, therefore, that conflict is such a central
theme in their creation myth – and that conflict is itself a generative force.

Ymir is born from the strife between fire and ice – and we can surmise that that particular
opposition would have had a special poignancy for people living what was more or less a
subsistence lifestyle in the cold lands of Scandinavia and the North Atlantic.
In order for the gods to fashion the world, they must first slay Ymir. This is the first
intentional taking of a life in the universe, and it’s performed by the gods themselves. It isn’t
presented as a crime or a sin, as in the Biblical myth of Cain and Abel. Rather, it’s a good and
even sacred task. This isn’t to say that the Norse valorized killing as such; clearly, they
distinguished between lawful and appropriate killing and unlawful and inappropriate killing.
But they embraced what they saw as the necessity of having a warlike approach to life, for
the sake of accomplishing great deeds that brought honor and renown to one’s name.

Of course, gods forming the world from the corpse of a being of chaos is a fairly common
element in myth. But the precise set of meanings contained in such an act varies from culture
to culture. Surely this glorification of honorable aggression, and its status as the defining act
that makes the world what it is, were central components of the meaning the Vikings found in
their particular myth.
Both Giants and Gods Define the World
The Norse saw their gods as the “pillars” and “vital forces” that held the cosmos together.
When the gods created the world, they imparted both order and sanctity to it. And since the
Norse gods are frequently portrayed intervening in the world’s affairs, their gifts to the world
weren’t thought to end with creation. Their defining role in the cosmos was thought to
continue as long as the cosmos itself continued – that is, until Ragnarok.
And yet, since the world was formed from the corpse of a giant, it would seem that the world
is what it is largely due to the influence of the giants as well. Aspects of Ymir – his might, his
uncouthness, his tendency toward entropy, the ambivalence of his character – remained
present in the world, even after the gods had shaped it in accordance with a different set of
traits and aims. The giants, too, were thought to intervene in the world; the slaying of their
ancestor by no means vanquished them.

In the Norse view, the world is a battleground between the gods and the giants, whose power
is more or less evenly matched. Mankind is in the middle, torn between the opposing claims
of holiness, order, and goodness on the one hand, and profaneness, chaos, and wickedness on
the other. This tension is ceaseless because it’s been a feature of the world itself since its very
beginning. The strife will only be alleviated by Ragnarok, when the world will be destroyed
altogether, and nothing will remain but the stillness and darkness of a new Ginnungagap.

RAGNAROK
 “Battle of the Doomed Gods” by Friedrich
Wilhelm Heine (1882)
Ragnarok is the cataclysmic destruction of the cosmos and everything in it – even the gods.
When Norse mythology is considered as a chronological set of tales, the story of Ragnarok
naturally comes at the very end. For the Vikings, the myth of Ragnarok was a prophecy of
what was to come at some unspecified and unknown time in the future, but it had profound
ramifications for how the Vikings understood the world in their own time. We’ll explore
some of those ramifications below.
The word “Ragnarok” comes from Old Norse Ragnarök, “Fate of the Gods.” In an apparent
play on words, some pieces of Old Norse literature also refer to it as Ragnarøkkr, “Twilight
of the Gods.” The event was also occasionally referred to as aldar rök, “fate of mankind,”
and a host of other names.[1]
Without further ado, here’s the tale itself:

The Fate of the Gods

Ragnarok (Franz Stassen, 1920)

Someday – whenever the Norns, those inscrutable spinners of fate, decree it – there shall
come a Great Winter (Old Norse fimbulvetr, sometimes Anglicized as “Fimbulwinter”) unlike
any other the world has yet seen. The biting winds will blow snows from all directions, and
the warmth of the sun will fail, plunging the earth into unprecedented cold. This winter shall
last for the length of three normal winters, with no summers in between. Mankind will
become so desperate for food and other necessities of life that all laws and morals will fall
away, leaving only the bare struggle for survival. It will be an age of swords and axes;
brother will slay brother, father will slay son, and son will slay father.
The wolves Skoll and Hati, who have hunted the sun and the moon through the skies since
the beginning of time, will at last catch their prey. The stars, too, will disappear, leaving
nothing but a black void in the heavens. Yggdrasil, the great tree that holds the cosmos
together, will tremble, and all the trees and even the mountains will fall to the ground.
The chain that has been holding back the monstrous wolf Fenrir will snap, and the beast will
run free. Jormungand, the mighty serpent who dwells at the bottom of the ocean and encircles
the land, will rise from the depths, spilling the seas over all the earth as he makes landfall.

Loki breaks free (Ernst H. Walther, 1897)

These convulsions will shake the ship Naglfar (“Nail Ship”[2]) free from its moorings. This
ship, which is made from the fingernails and toenails of dead men and women, will sail easily
over the flooded earth. Its crew will be an army of giants, the forces of chaos and destruction.
And its captain will be none other than Loki, the traitor to the gods, who will have broken
free of the chains in which the gods have bound him.
Fenrir, with fire blazing from his eyes and nostrils, will run across the earth, with his lower
jaw on the ground and his upper jaw against the top of the sky, devouring everything in his
path. Jormungand will spit his venom over all the world, poisoning land, water, and air alike.

The dome of the sky will be split, and from the crack shall emerge the fire-giants
from Muspelheim. Their leader shall be Surt, with a flaming sword brighter than the sun in
his hand. As they march across Bifrost, the rainbow bridge to Asgard, the home of the gods,
the bridge will break and fall behind them. An ominous horn blast will ring out; this will
be Heimdall, the divine sentry, blowing the Gjallarhorn to announce the arrival of the
moment the gods have feared. Odin will anxiously consult the head of Mimir, the wisest of
all beings, for counsel.
The gods will decide to go to battle, even though they know what the prophecies have
foretold concerning the outcome of this clash. They will arm themselves and meet their
enemies on a battlefield called Vigrid (Old Norse Vígríðr, “Plain Where Battle Surges”[3]).
 “Odin and Fenrir, Freyr and Surt” by Emil
Doepler (1905)
Odin will fight Fenrir, and by his side will be the einherjar, the host of his chosen human
warriors whom he has kept in Valhalla for just this moment. Odin and the champions of men
will fight more valiantly than anyone has ever fought before. But it will not be enough. Fenrir
will swallow Odin and his men. Then one of Odin’s sons, Vidar, burning with rage, will
charge the beast to avenge his father. On one of his feet will be the shoe that has been crafted
for this very purpose; it has been made from all the scraps of leather that human shoemakers
have ever discarded, and with it Vidar will hold open the monster’s mouth. Then he will stab
his sword through the wolf’s throat, killing him.

“Thor and the Midgard Serpent” by Emil

Doepler (1905)
Another wolf, Garm, and the god Tyr will slay each other. Heimdall and Loki will do the
same, putting a final end to the trickster’s treachery, but costing the gods one of their best in
the process. The god Freyr and the giant Surt will also be the end of each other. Thor and
Jormungand, those age-old foes, will both finally have their chance to kill the other. Thor will
succeed in felling the great snake with the blows of his hammer. But the serpent will have
covered him in so much venom that he will not be able to stand for much longer; he will take
nine paces before falling dead himself and adding his blood to the already-saturated soil of
Vigrid.
Then the remains of the world will sink into the sea, and there will be nothing left but the
void. Creation and all that has occurred since will be completely undone, as if it had never
happened.
Some say that that is the end of the tale – and of all tales, for that matter. But others hold that
a new world, green and beautiful, will arise out of the waters. Vidar and a few other gods
– Vali, Baldur, Hodr, and Thor’s sons Modi and Magni – will survive the downfall of the old
world, and will live joyously in the new one. A man and a woman, Lif and Lifthrasir (Old
Norse Líf and Lífþrasir, “Life” and “Striving after Life”[4]), will have hidden themselves from
the cataclysm in a place called the “Wood of Hoddmimir” (Hoddmímis holt), and will now
come out and populate the lush land in which they will find themselves. A new sun, the
daughter of the previous one, will rise in the sky. And all of this will be presided over by a
new, almighty ruler.[5]
The Meaning of Ragnarok for the Vikings
As the above implies, two versions of the myth of Ragnarok seem to be present in the Norse
sources. In one of them, Ragnarok is the final end of the cosmos, and no rebirth follows it. In
the other, there is a rebirth. What are we to make of this conflict?
In my book The Viking Spirit: An Introduction to Norse Mythology and Religion, I argue that
the version in which no rebirth occurs is the older, more purely pagan view, and the rebirth
story is an addition that developed only late in the Viking Age under Christian influence.
Ragnarok had been reinterpreted to describe the religious transformation the Viking world
was undergoing, in which the old gods were indeed dying, but were also being replaced with
something else. A relatively short article such as this isn’t the place to present this argument
and the evidence for it as I do in the book, so if you want to see my reasoning, read the book.
Half a chapter is devoted to this topic. But here’s the gist: the rebirth addition comes only
from three late sources, one of which was dependent on the other two, while all previous
mentions of Ragnarok speak only of the destruction, and never of any kind of rebirth.
What would such a belief have meant for the Norse?

Imagine that you’re a Viking. You live in a world that you know will one day be obliterated.
The very gods themselves will perish with it. Nothing of value will be spared – not even
the memory of anything that ever had value. How does such a world look to you in the
present moment, given that the seeds of that final destruction have already been sown, and
the world is careening inexorably toward that final decisive moment? Would this not cast a
dark hue of tragedy, senselessness, and futility over the world and everything that occurs
within it? Indeed, it’s hard to escape the conclusion that this was how the Vikings saw the
world on one level.
Yet Ragnarok also carried another meaning for them, one which complemented yet altered
this tragic view of life.

In addition to being a prophecy about the future that revealed much about the underlying
nature of the world along the way, the myth of Ragnarok also served as a paradigmatic model
for human action. For the Vikings, the tale didn’t produce hopelessness as much as
inspiration and invigoration. Just as the gods will one day die, so too will each individual
human being. And just as the gods will go out and face their fate with dignity, honor, and
courage, so too can humans. In this view, the inevitability of death and misfortune should not
paralyze us, but should instead spur us to hold noble attitudes and do noble deeds – the kind
worthy of being recounted by bards many generations after we ourselves are gone.

THE DEATH OF BALDUR

 “Baldur’s Death” by Christoffer Wilhelm
Eckersberg (1817)
Baldur was one of the most beloved of all the gods. The son of Odin, the chief of the gods,
and the benevolent sorceress goddess Frigg, Baldur was a generous, joyful, and courageous
character who gladdened the hearts of all who spent time with him. When, therefore, he
began to have ominous dreams of some grave misfortune befalling him, the fearful gods
appointed Odin to discover their meaning.
Baldur’s father wasted no time in mounting his steed, Sleipnir, and riding to
the underworld to consult a dead seeress whom he knew to be especially wise in such
matters. When, in one of his countless disguises, he reached the cold and misty underworld,
he found the halls arrayed in splendor, as if some magnificent feast were about to occur. Odin
woke the seeress and questioned her concerning this festivity, and she responded that the
guest of honor was to be none other than Baldur. She merrily recounted how the god would
meet his doom, stopping only when she realized, from the desperate nature of Odin’s
entreaties, who this disguised wanderer truly was.
And, indeed, all that she prophesied would come to pass.

Odin returned in sorrow to Asgard, the gods’ celestial stronghold, and told his companions
what he had been told. Frigg, yearning for any chance of saving her treasured son, however
remote, went to every entity in the cosmos, living or nonliving, and obtained oaths to not
harm Baldur.
After these oaths were secured, the gods made a sport out of the situation. They threw sticks,
rocks, and anything else on hand at Baldur, and everyone laughed as these things bounced off
and left the shining god unharmed.

The wily and disloyal Loki sensed an opportunity for mischief.

In disguise, he went to Frigg and asked her, “Did all things swear oaths to spare Baldur from
harm?” “Oh, yes,” the goddess replied, “everything except the mistletoe. But the mistletoe is
so small and innocent a thing that I felt it superfluous to ask it for an oath. What harm could it
do to my son?” Immediately upon hearing this, Loki departed, located the mistletoe, carved a
spear out of it, and brought it to where the gods were playing their new favorite game.
He approached the blind god Hodr (Old Norse Höðr, “Slayer”) and said, “You must feel
quite left out, having to sit back here away from the merriment, not being given a chance to
show Baldur the honor of proving his invincibility.” The blind god concurred. “Here,” said
Loki, handing him the shaft of mistletoe. “I will point your hand in the direction where
Baldur stands, and you throw this branch at him.” So Hod threw the mistletoe. It pierced the
god straight through, and he fell down dead on the spot.
The gods found themselves unable to speak as they trembled with anguish and fear. They
knew that this event was the first presage of Ragnarok, the downfall and death, not just of
themselves, but of the very cosmos they maintained.
At last, Frigg composed herself enough to ask if there were any among them who were brave,
loyal, and compassionate enough to journey to the land of the dead and offer Hel, the death-
goddess, a ransom for Baldur’s release. Hermod, an obscure son of Odin, offered to
undertake this mission. Odin instructed Sleipnir to bear Hermod to the underworld, and off he
went.
The gods arranged a lavish funeral for their fallen friend. They turned Baldur’s ship,
Hringhorni (“Ship with a Circle at the Stem”[1]), into a pyre fitting for a great king. When the
time came to launch the ship out to sea, however, the gods found the ship stuck in the sand
and themselves unable to force it to budge. After many failed attempts they summoned the
brawniest being in the cosmos, a certain giantess named Hyrrokkin (“Withered by Fire”[2]).
Hyrrokkin arrived in Asgard riding a wolf and using poisonous snakes for reins. She
dismounted, walked to the prow of the ship, and gave it such a mighty push that the land
quaked as Hringhorni was freed from the strand. As Baldur’s body was carried onto the ship,
his wife, Nanna, was overcome with such great grief that she died there on the spot, and was
placed on the pyre alongside her husband. The fire was kindled, and Thor hallowed the
flames by holding his hammer over them. Odin laid upon the pyre his ring Draupnir, and
Baldur’s horse was led into the flames.
All kinds of beings from throughout the Nine Worlds attended this ceremony: gods,
giants, elves, dwarves, valkyries, and others. Together they stood and mourned as they
watched the burning ship disappear over the ocean.
Meanwhile, Hermod rode nine nights through ever darker and deeper valleys on his quest to
rescue the part of Baldur that had been sent to Hel. When he came to the river Gjoll (Gjöll,
“Roaring”), Modgud (Old Norse Móðguðr, “Furious Battle”[3]), the giantess who guards the
bridge, asked him his name and his purpose, adding that it was strange that his footfalls were
as thundering as those of an entire army, especially since his face still had the color of the
living. He answered to her satisfaction, and she allowed him to cross over into Hel’s realm.
Sleipnir leapt over the wall around that doleful land.
Upon entering and dismounting, Hermod spotted Hel’s throne and Baldur, pale and
downcast, sitting in the seat of honor next to her. Hermod spent the night there, and when
morning came, he pleaded with Hel to release his brother, telling her of the great sorrow that
all living things, and especially the gods, felt for his absence. Hel responded, “If this is so,
then let every thing in the cosmos weep for him, and I will send him back to you. But if any
refuse, he will remain in my presence.”

Hermod rode back to Asgard and told these tidings to the gods, who straightaway sent
messengers throughout the worlds to bear this news to all of their inhabitants. And, indeed,
everything did weep for Baldur – everything, that is, save for one giantess: Tokk (Þökk,
“Thanks”[4]), who was none other than Loki in another disguise. Tokk coldly told the
messengers, “Let Hel hold what she has!”
And so Baldur was condemned to remain in Hel’s darkness, dampness, and cold. Never again
would he grace the lands of the living with his gladdening light and exuberance.

THE MEAD OF POETRY

 Odin in eagle form obtaining the mead of
poetry from Gunnlod, with Suttung in the background (detail of the Stora Hammars III
runestone, c. 700 CE)
This is the story of how Odin came to possess the Mead of Poetry (Old Norse Óðrœrir,
“Stirrer of Inspiration“).
At the conclusion of the Aesir-Vanir War, the Aesir and Vanir gods and goddesses sealed
their truce by spitting into a great vat. From their spittle they formed a being whom they
named Kvasir (“Fermented Berry Juice”[1]). Kvasir was the wisest human that had ever lived;
none were able to present him with a question for which he didn’t have a satisfying answer.
He became famous and traveled throughout the world giving counsel.
Kvasir was invited to the home of two dwarves, Fjalar (“Deceiver”[2]) and Galar
(“Screamer”[3]). Upon his arrival, the dwarves slew Kvasir and brewed mead with his blood.
This mead contained Kvasir’s ability to dispense wisdom, and was appropriately
named Óðrœrir (“Stirrer of Inspiration”). Any who drank of it would become a poet or a
scholar.
When the gods questioned them about Kvasir’s disappearance, Fjalar and Galar told them
that Kvasir had choked on his wisdom.

The two dwarves apparently delighted in murder. Soon after this incident, they took
the giant Gilling out to sea and drowned him for sport. The sounds of Gilling’s weeping wife
irritated them, so they killed her as well, this time by dropping a millstone on her head as she
passed under the doorway of their house.
But this last mischief got the dwarves into trouble. When Gilling’s son, Suttung (“Heavy with
Drink”[4]), learned of his father’s murder, he seized the dwarves and, at low tide, carried them
out to a reef that would soon be covered by the waves. The dwarves pleaded for their lives,
and Suttung granted their request only when they agreed to give him the mead they had
brewed with Kvasir’s blood. Suttung hid the vats of mead in a chamber beneath the mountain
Hnitbjorg (“Pulsing Rock”[5]), where he appointed his daughter Gunnlod (“Invitation to
Battle”[6]) to watch over them.
Now Odin, the chief of the gods, who is restless and unstoppable in his pursuit of wisdom,
was displeased with the precious mead’s being hoarded away beneath a mountain. He bent
his will toward acquiring it for himself and those he deemed worthy of its powers.
Disguised as a wandering farmhand, Odin went to the farm of Suttung’s brother, Baugi.
There he found nine servants mowing hay. He approached them, took out a whetstone from
under his cloak, and offered to sharpen their scythes. They eagerly agreed, and afterwards
marveled at how well their scythes cut the hay. They all declared this to be the finest
whetstone they had ever seen, and each asked to purchase it. Odin consented to sell it, “but,”
he warned them, “you must pay a high price.” He then threw the stone into the air, and, in
their scramble to catch it, the nine killed each other with their scythes.

Odin then went to Baugi’s door and introducted himself as “Bölverkr” (“Worker of
Misfortune”). He offered to do the work of the nine servants who had, as he told it, so basely
killed each other in a dispute in the field earlier that day. As his reward, he demanded a sip of
Suttung’s mead.

Baugi responded that he had no control of the mead and that Suttung guarded it jealously, but
that if Bölverkr could truly perform the work of nine men, he would help the apparent
farmhand to obtain his desire.

At the end of the growing season, Odin had fulfilled his promise to the giant, who agreed to
accompany him to Suttung to inquire about the mead. Suttung, however, angrily refused. The
disguised god, reminding Baugi of their bargain, convinced the giant to aid him in gaining
access to Gunnlod’s dwelling. The two went to a part of the mountain that Baugi knew to be
nearest to the underground chamber. Odin took an auger out from his cloak and handed it to
Baugi for hill to drill through the rock. The giant did so, and after much work announced that
the hole was finished. Odin blew into the hole to verify Baugi’s claim, and when the rock-
dust blew back into his face, he knew that his companion had lied to him. The suspicious god
then bade the giant to finish what he had started. When Baugi proclaimed the hole to be
complete for a second time, Odin once again blew into the hole. This time the debris were
blown through the hole.

Odin thanked Baugi for his help, shifted his shape into that of a snake, and crawled into the
hole. Baugi stabbed after him with the auger, but Odin made it through just in time.

Once inside, he assumed the form of a charming young man and made his way to where
Gunnlod guarded the mead. He won her favor and secured a promise from her that, if he
would sleep with her for three nights, she would grant him three sips of the mead. After the
third night, Odin went to the mead, which was in three vats, and consumed the contents of
each vat in a single draught.

Odin then changed his shape yet again, this time into that of an eagle, and flew off
toward Asgard, the gods’ celestial stronghold, with his prize in his throat. Suttung soon
discovered this trickery, took on the form of another eagle, and flew off in pursuit of Odin.
When the gods spied their leader approaching with Suttung close behind him, they set out
several vessels at the rim of their fortress. Odin reached the abode of his fellow gods before
Suttung could catch him, and the giant retreated in anguish. As Odin came to the containers,
he regurgitated the mead into them. As he did so, however, a few drops fell from his beak
to Midgard, the world of humankind, below. These drops are the source of the abilities of all
bad and mediocre poets and scholars. But the true poets and scholars are those to whom Odin
dispenses his mead personally and with care.

THE AESIR-VANIR WAR

 “The Aesir Against The Vanir” by Carl Ehrenberg (1882)
In Norse mythology, gods and goddesses usually belong to one of two tribes: the Aesir and
the Vanir. Throughout most of the Norse tales, deities from the two tribes get along fairly
easily, and it’s hard to pin down firm distinctions between the two groups. But there was a
time when that wasn’t the case.
The War of the Gods
The Vanir goddess Freya was always the foremost practitioner of the art of seidr, the most
terribly powerful kind of magic. Like historical seidr practitioners, she wandered from town
to town plying her craft for hire.
Under the name Heiðr (“Bright”), she eventually came to Asgard, the home of the Aesir. The
Aesir were quite taken by her powers and zealously sought her services. But soon they
realized that their values of honor, kin loyalty, and obedience to the law were being pushed
aside by the selfish desires they sought to fulfill with the witch’s magic. Blaming Freya for
their own shortcomings, the Aesir called her “Gullveig” (“Gold-greed”) and attempted to
murder her. Three times they tried to burn her, and three times she was reborn from the ashes.
Because of this, the Aesir and Vanir came to hate and fear one another, and these hostilities
erupted into war. The Aesir fought by the rules of plain combat, with weapons and brute
force, while the Vanir used the subtler means of magic. The war went on for some time, with
both sides gaining the upper hand by turns.

Eventually the two tribes of divinities became weary of fighting and decided to call a truce.
As was customary among the ancient Norse and other Germanic peoples, the two sides
agreed to pay tribute to each other by sending hostages to live among the other tribe.
Freya, Freyr, and Njord of the Vanir went to the Aesir, and Hoenir (pronounced roughly
“HIGH-neer”) and Mimir went to the Vanir.
Njord and his children seem to have lived more or less in peace in Asgard. Unfortunately, the
same can’t be said of Hoenir and Mimir in Vanaheim. The Vanir immediately saw that
Hoenir was seemingly able to deliver incomparably wise advice on any problem, but they
failed to notice that this was only when he had Mimir in his company. Hoenir was actually a
rather slow-witted simpleton who was at a loss for words when Mimir wasn’t available to
counsel him. After Hoenir responded to the Vanir’s entreaties with the unhelpful “Let others
decide” one too many times, the Vanir thought they had been cheated in the hostage
exchange. They beheaded Mimir and sent the severed head back to Asgard, where the
distraught Odin chanted magic poems over the head and embalmed it in herbs. Thus
preserved, Mimir’s head continued to give indispensable advice to Odin in times of need.
The two tribes were still weary of fighting a war that was so evenly-matched, however.
Rather than renewing their hostilities over this tragic misunderstanding, each of the Aesir and
Vanir came together and spat into a cauldron. From their saliva they created Kvasir, the
wisest of all beings, as a way of pledging sustained harmony.[1][2][3][4]
This storyline continues in the tale of the Mead of Poetry.
A Paradigm for Social Relations
Whatever other meanings this tale may have had for the Vikings, one seems to be that it set a
divine precedent for Norse social relations. The famed Old Norse scholar E.O.G. Turville-
Petre offers the following summary of the meaning of the tale, which he places side by side
with similar tales from other branches of the Indo-European family: “[T]he Norse, Irish,
Roman, and Indian tales seem to serve the same purpose. They explain how gods and men,
who have such different interests and ambitions, as the agriculturalist, the merchant, the
warrior, and the king, can live together in harmony.”

THE FORTIFICATION OF ASGARD

 “Loki and Svadilfari” by Dorothy Hardy
(1909)
Asgard, the celestial stronghold of the Aesir tribe of gods and goddesses, is encircled by a
high, protective wall. This wall (the -garðr element in the Old Norse name Ásgarðr) defends
the Aesir from incursions by the giants and other beings who are often the enemies of the
gods. But this wall wasn’t always there. This tale recounts how the wall was built – and this
riotous story is probably one of the raunchiest and most scandalous tales in all of world
mythology.
The Fortification of Asgard
A certain smith arrived at Asgard one day and offered to build the gods a high wall around
their home to protect them from any who might wish them ill. The smith (certainly a giant
himself) said he could complete his work in a mere three seasons, but demanded a steep
compensation: the hand of the goddess Freya in marriage, as well as the sun and moon.
The gods took counsel together. Freya was adamantly against the giant’s terms from the start.
But Loki suggested that the builder should obtain that which he desired, although only if he
could complete his work in a single winter, with no aid from anyone but his horse. After
much deliberation, the gods consented to Loki’s plan. Of course, the gods had no intention of
actually giving Freya away, nor the sun or the moon; they thought that the task they
demanded was impossible.
The giant smith, however, agreed to their terms, provided that the gods swear oaths to ensure
that, if their conditions were met, they would fulfill their end of the bargain, and that he
himself would be safe in Asgard while he worked.

The builder set about constructing the wall, and the gods marveled at how quickly the
structure was raised. What was even more perplexing to them was that the giant’s stallion,
Svadilfari (“Unlucky Traveler”[1]) seemed to be doing almost twice as much work as the smith
himself, hauling enormous boulders over considerable distances to add to the edifice. When
the end of winter was only three days ahead, the wall was strong enough to be impenetrable
by almost any enemy, and – alarmingly – lacking little before it was finished. Only the stones
around the gate had yet to be put in place.
The anxious gods seized Loki and rebuked him for giving them such foul advice. They
threatened him with death if he couldn’t find a way to prevent the giant from finishing his
task and making off with their beloved goddess Freya and the sun and moon, bringing
neverending darkness and dreariness to the Nine Worlds. Loki pleaded with the gods to spare
his life, and swore an oath that he would do as the gods desired, come what may.
That night, the giant and Svadilfari ventured into the snow-draped forest in search of stones.
Along their way, a mare, who was none other than Loki in disguise, whinnied to the stallion
from a short distance away. When the stallion saw the mare, his heart wasn’t the only organ
that was roused by delight and lust, and he snapped his reins and bounded into the woods
after her. The mare ran all night, and all night Svadilfari chased after her. When morning
came, the giant’s horse was still missing, and the now-despairing giant knew that there was
no way that he could now finish the wall in time.

The Aesir then paid the giant the wages they deemed he deserved: a fatal blow
from Thor’s hammer, which shattered his head into pieces no bigger than breadcrumbs.
Meanwhile, deep in the forest, Svadilfari had caught up with Loki, who soon gave birth to a
gray, eight-legged horse – Sleipnir, who became the steed of Odin.

ODIN’S DISCOVERY OF THE RUNES

 The Codex Runicus, a law code written in runes (c. 1300 CE)
The Norse god Odin is a relentless seeker after knowledge and wisdom, and is willing to
sacrifice almost anything for this pursuit. The most outstanding feature of his appearance, his
one eye, attests to this; he sacrificed his other eye for more wisdom. The tale of how he
discovered the runes is another example of his unquenchable thirst for understanding the
mysteries of life, not to mention his unstoppable will.
The runes are the written letters that were used by the Norse and other Germanic peoples
before the adoption of the Latin alphabet in the later Middle Ages. Unlike the Latin alphabet,
which is an essentially utilitarian script, the runes are symbols of some of the most powerful
forces in the cosmos. In fact, the word “rune” and its cognates across past and present
Germanic languages mean both “letter” and “secret/mystery.” The letters called “runes”
allow one to access, interact with, and influence the world-shaping forces they symbolize.
Thus, when Odin sought the runes, he wasn’t merely attempting to acquire a set of arbitrary
representations of human vocal sounds. Rather, he was uncovering an extraordinarily potent
system of magic.
Odin’s Discovery of the Runes
At the center of the Norse cosmos stands the great tree Yggdrasil. Yggdrasil’s upper branches
cradle Asgard, the home and fortress of the Aesir gods and goddesses, of whom Odin is the
chief.
Yggdrasil grows out of the Well of Urd, a pool whose fathomless depths hold many of the
most powerful forces and beings in the cosmos. Among these beings are the Norns, three
sagacious maidens who create the fates of all beings. One of the foremost techniques they use
to shape fate is carving runes into Yggdrasil’s trunk. The symbols then carry these intentions
throughout the tree, affecting everything in the Nine Worlds.
Odin watched the Norns from his seat in Asgard and envied their powers and their wisdom.
And he bent his will toward the task of coming to know the runes.

Since the runes’ native home is in the Well of Urd with the Norns, and since the runes do not
reveal themselves to any but those who prove themselves worthy of such fearful insights and
abilities, Odin hung himself from a branch of Yggdrasil, pierced himself with his spear, and
peered downward into the shadowy waters below. He forbade any of the other gods to grant
him the slightest aid, not even a sip of water. And he stared downward, and stared downward,
and called to the runes.
He survived in this state, teetering on the precipice that separates the living from the dead, for
no less than nine days and nights. At the end of the ninth night, he at last perceived shapes in
the depths: the runes! They had accepted his sacrifice and shown themselves to him,
revealing to him not only their forms, but also the secrets that lie within them. Having fixed
this knowledge in his formidable memory, Odin ended his ordeal with a scream of exultation.

Having been initiated into the mysteries of the runes, Odin recounted:

Then I was fertilized and became wise;

I truly grew and thrived.
From a word to a word I was led to a word,
From a work to a work I was led to a work.
Equipped with the knowledge of how to wield the runes, he became one of the mightiest and
most accomplished beings in the cosmos. He learned chants that enabled him to heal
emotional and bodily wounds, to bind his enemies and render their weapons worthless, to free
himself from constraints, to put out fires, to expose and banish practitioners of malevolent
magic, to protect his friends in battle, to wake the dead, to win and keep a lover, and to
perform many other feats like these.[1]
“Sacrificing Myself to Myself”
Our source for the above tale is the Hávamál, an Old Norse poem that comprises part of
the Poetic Edda. In the first of the two verses that describe Odin’s shamanic initiatory ordeal
itself (written from Odin’s perspective), the god says that he was “given to Odin, myself to
myself.” The Old Norse phrase that translates to English as “given to Odin” is gefinn Óðni, a
phrase that occurs many times throughout the Eddas and sagas in the context of human
sacrifices to Odin. And, in fact, the form these sacrifices take mirrors Odin’s ordeal in
the Hávamál; the victim, invariably of noble birth, was stabbed, hung, or, more commonly,
both at the same time.[2]
Odin’s ordeal is therefore a sacrifice of himself to himself, and is the ultimate Odinnic
sacrifice – for who could be a nobler offering to the god than the god himself?
So, it seems that a statement above is in need of qualification. Part of Odin survived the
sacrifice in order to be the recipient of the sacrifice – in addition to the runes themselves –
and another part of him did indeed die. This is suggested, not just by the imagery of death in
these verses, but also by the imagery of rebirth and fecundity in the following verses that
speak of his being “fertilized,” and, like a seedling, “growing,” and “thriving.”
Even a casual browsing of the Eddas and sagas alerts the reader to how accomplished, self-
possessed, and inwardly strong many of their central figures are, especially the most Odinnic
of them (such as Egill Skallagrimsson, Starkad, Sigurd, and Grettir Asmundarson). Perhaps
their strength of character was largely due to the example set by their divine patron, with the
songs sung in his honor telling of how he wasn’t afraid to sacrifice what we might call his
“lower self” to his “higher self,” to live according to his highest will unconditionally,
accepting whatever hardships arise from that pursuit, and allowing nothing, not even death, to
stand between him and the attainment of his goals.
WHY ODIN IS ONE-EYED
 Odin in an Icelandic illuminated manuscript (18th
century)
Odin’s quest for wisdom is never-ending, and he is willing to pay any price, it seems, for the
understanding of life’s mysteries that he craves more than anything else. On one occasion, he
hanged himself, wounded himself with his spear, and fasted from food and drink for nine
days and nights in order to discover the runes.
On another occasion, he ventured to Mimir’s Well – which is surely none other than the Well
of Urd[1] – amongst the roots of the world-tree Yggdrasil. There dwelt Mimir, a shadowy
being whose knowledge of all things was practically unparalleled among the inhabitants of
the cosmos. He achieved this status largely by taking his water from the well, whose waters
impart this cosmic knowledge.
When Odin arrived, he asked Mimir for a drink from the water. The well’s guardian, knowing
the value of such a draught, refused unless the seeker offered an eye in return. Odin –
whether straightaway or after anguished deliberation, we can only wonder – gouged out one
of his eyes and dropped it into the well. Having made the necessary sacrifice, Mimir dipped
his horn into the well and offered the now-one-eyed god a drink.[2][3]
An Interpretation
The most general and obvious message of this tale is that, for those who share Odin’s values,
no sacrifice is too great for wisdom. The (unfortunately fragmentary) sources for our current
knowledge of the pre-Christian mythology and religion of the Norse and other Germanic
peoples are, however, silent on exactly what kind of wisdom Odin obtained in exchange for
his eye. But we can hazard a guess.
The fact that Odin specifically sacrificed an eye is surely significant. In all ages, the eye has
been “seen” as a poetic symbol for perception in general – consider the astonishing number
of expressions, both in everyday usage and in the works of the great canonical poets, that use
vision as a metaphor for perceiving and understanding something. Given that Odin’s eye was
sacrificed in order to obtain an enhanced perception, it seems highly likely that his pledge of
an eye symbolizes trading one mode of perception for another.

What mode of perception was exchanged for what other mode, then? The answer to this
question lies in the character of Mimir. Mimir, whose name means “The Rememberer,”
seems to have been the being who told the gods how to live in accordance with ancestral
tradition, and with wisdom more generally.
In the tale of Odin’s discovery of the runes, Odin sacrificed what we might call his “lower
self” to his “higher self.” Here, his relinquishment of an eye should surely be understood
along similar lines: he exchanged a profane, everyday mode of perception, beleaguered with
countless petty troubles, for a sacred mode of perception informed by divine, ancestral
wisdom.

LOKI BOUND
 “Loki” by Mårten Eskil Winge (1890)
Loki had always been more of a burden than a help to the other gods and goddesses. But after
his contriving the death of Baldur and ensuring that that fair god would remain in
the underworld until the cosmos is destroyed during Ragnarok, he went about slandering the
gods at every opportunity. At last, the gods decided that his abuse had become too much, and
they went to capture him.
Loki ran far away from Asgard. At the peak of a high mountain, he built for himself a house
with four doors so that he could watch for his pursuers from all directions. By day he turned
himself into a salmon and hid beneath a nearby waterfall. By night he sat by his fire and
weaved a net for fishing for his food.
The far-seeing Odin perceived where Loki now dwelt, and the gods went after him. When
Loki saw his former friends approaching, he threw the net in the fire and hid himself in the
stream in his salmon form so as to leave no traces of himself or his activities. When the gods
arrived and saw the net smoldering in the fire, they surmised that the wily shapeshifter had
changed himself into the likeness of those he intended to catch for himself. The gods took up
the twine Loki had been using and crafted their own net, then made their way to the stream.
Several times they cast their net into the stream, and each time the salmon barely eluded
them. At last, the fish made a bold leap downstream to swim to the sea, and while in the air
he was caught by Thor. The salmon writhed in the war-god’s grasp, but Thor held him fast by
his tail fins. This is why, to this day, the salmon has a slender tail.
Loki was then taken, in his regular form, to a cave. The gods then brought in Loki’s two sons
and turned one into a wolf, who promptly killed his brother, strewing his entrails across the
cave floor. Loki was then fastened to three rocks in the cave with the entrails of his slain son,
which the gods had turned into iron chains. Skadi placed a poisonous snake on a rock above
his head, where it dripped venom onto his face. But Loki’s faithful wife, Sigyn, sat by his
side with a bowl that she held up to the snake’s mouth to catch the poison. But every so often,
the bowl became full, and Sigyn would have to leave her husband’s side to dispose of its
contents, at which point the drops that fell onto the unrepentant god’s face would cause him
to shake violently, which brought about earthquakes in Midgard, the world of humanity. And
this was the lot of Loki and Sigyn until, as fated, Loki will break free from his chains at
Ragnarok to assist the giants in destroying the cosmos.
THE BINDING OF FENRIR
 “Tyr and Fenrir” by John Bauer (1911)
The Norse pseudo-god Loki, who is by turns the friend and the enemy of the other gods, had
three fearfully hideous and strong children with the giantess Angrboda (“She Who Bodes
Anguish”). The first was the serpent Jormungand, and the second was the death-goddess Hel.
The third was the wolf Fenrir.
The gods had terrible forebodings concerning the fate of these three beings. And they were
absolutely correct. Jormungand would later kill the god Thor during Ragnarok, the downfall
of the cosmos, an event which would be largely brought about by Hel’s refusal to release the
radiant god Baldur from the underworld. During these cataclysmic events, Fenrir would
devour Odin, the chief of the gods.
In order to keep these monsters at bay, they threw Jomungand into the ocean, where he
encircled Midgard, the world of humankind. Hel they relegated to the underworld. Fenrir,
however, inspired too much fear in them for them to let him out from under their watchful
eyes, so they reared the pup themselves in their stronghold, Asgard. Only Tyr, the
indefatigable upholder of law and honor, dared to approach Fenrir to feed him.
Fenrir grew at an alarming rate, however, and soon the gods decided that his stay in Asgard
had to be temporary. Knowing well how much devastation he would cause if he were allowed
to roam free, the gods attempted to bind him with various chains. They were able to gain the
wolf’s consent by telling him that these fetters were tests of his strength, and clapping and
cheering when, with each new chain they presented him, he broke free.

At last, the gods sent a messenger down to Svartalfheim, the realm of the dwarves. The
dwarves, being the most skilled craftspeople in the cosmos, were able to forge a chain whose
strength couldn’t be equaled; it was wrought from the sound of a cat’s footsteps, the beard of
a woman, the roots of mountains, the breath of a fish, and the spittle of a bird – in other
words, things which don’t exist, and against which it’s therefore futile to struggle. Gleipnir
(“Open”) was its name.
When the gods presented Fenrir with the curiously light and supple Gleipnir, the wolf
suspected trickery and refused to be bound with it unless one of the gods would lay his or her
hand in his jaws as a pledge of good faith. None of the gods agreed, knowing that this would
mean the loss of a hand and the breaking of an oath. At last, the brave Tyr, for the good of all
life, volunteered to fulfill the wolf’s demand. And, sure enough, when Fenrir discovered that
he was unable to escape from Gleipnir, he chomped off and swallowed Tyr’s hand.
The fettered beast was then transported to some suitably lonely and desolate place. The chain
was tied to a boulder and a sword was placed in the wolf’s jaws to hold them open. As he
howled wildly and ceaselessly, a foamy river called “Expectation” (Old Norse Ván) flowed
from his drooling mouth. And there, in that sordid state, he remained – until Ragnarok.[1][2][3]
Tyr’s Character and Role
Of all of the surviving Norse myths, this tale is the only one that prominently features Tyr.
Without it, we wouldn’t understand Tyr’s character or role nearly as well as we can with the
help of this myth.

Many people who have only a passing knowledge of Norse mythology think of Tyr as a war
god. That he certainly was, but virtually all of the Norse gods and goddesses had something
or another to do with war. Tyr, like all of the other Norse war gods, was far more than only a
war god.
This myth powerfully illustrates Tyr’s role as the divine legal expert and upholder of the law.
In the words of the celebrated scholar of comparative religion Georges Dumézil, when Tyr
sacrifices his hand, “he not only procures the salvation of the gods but also regularizes it: he
renders legal that which, without him, would have been pure fraud.”[4] The gods had sworn an
oath to Fenrir, and the guarantee of their intention to follow through with their pledge was
Tyr’s hand (or arm – the percentage of the limb bitten off by Fenrir is irrelevant). When the
gods didn’t follow through with their oath, Fenrir was entitled to Tyr’s hand as compensation.
By allowing the wolf to claim his limb, Tyr fulfilled the gods’ end of the bargain, grisly and
tragic though it was for him.

THE KIDNAPPING OF IDUN

 “Loki and Idun” by John Bauer (1911)
Idun is one of the most prominent goddesses in Norse mythology. She’s the keeper of
mysterious fruits eaten by the gods, which enable them to retain their youth and ward off the
process of aging. These fruits are commonly assumed to be apples, but, as Old Norse scholar
E.O.G. Turville-Petre has pointed out, the word used to describe them, epli, was applied to all
sorts of fruits and nuts. Proper apples were unknown in Scandinavia prior to the arrival of
Christian civilization, so we may assume that, in the original tale, epli referred to some form
of berries or nuts.[1]
What happens when the gods lose Idun and her life-preserving medicine?

The Kidnapping of Idun

Three of the Aesir gods, Odin, Loki, and Hoenir (pronounced “HIGH-neer”), were on a
journey that took them through desolate mountains far from Asgard. Food was scarce in this
uninviting region, so when the travelers came upon a herd of oxen, they slaughtered one for
their dinner.
When they put the meat over their fire, however, it didn’t cook, no matter how long they left
it there. Perplexed by this, they heard a voice addressing them from above. Looking up, they
saw a very large eagle perched on a nearby branch. “It is I,” he said, “who, by my magic,
prevent your catch from cooking. But if you will give me my fill of the meat, then I shall
release the remainder from my spell.” The gods, though irritated, agreed, and the eagle flew
down and took for himself the choicest portions of the ox.
Loki thought this to be beyond the terms of their bargain, and, in anger, took up a sturdy
branch and lunged at the eagle. The eagle snatched the branch in his talons, and, with a
bewildered Loki still clinging to the other end, flew up high into the sky. The terrified god
begged the eagle to release him, but the eagle – who was none other than Thjazi (pronounced
“THYAH-zee”) the giant in disguise – refused to do so until Loki swore an oath to bring him
Idun and her fruits.
When the trio made it back to Asgard at the conclusion of their travels, Loki went to Idun and
told her that he had found fruits even more marvelous than her own growing in a forest
beyond the walls of Asgard, and that she should follow him there and bring her own apples
for comparison. Idun followed the trickster, and when she reached the wood she was borne
up by Thjazi in his eagle form, and taken away to the giant’s abode. This place was called
Thrymheim (“Thunder-Home”), and was situated in the highest mountain peaks, whose icy
towers growled down at the fertile fields below.
In Idun’s absence, the gods and goddesses felt old age creeping up on them. Their skin
became wrinkled, their hair greyed, and their vigor waned. When they assembled together
and asked one another about the circumstances under which Idun was last seen, it was
reported that the last sighting of her had been with Loki as the two left Asgard together. Then
they seized Loki and threatened him will all manner of pains if he didn’t tell them what had
happened to the fair goddess. Loki spilled his story, and the gods informed him that if he
couldn’t rescue Idun from Thjazi, he would be put to death.

Freya lent him her hawk feathers, with which one can shift his or her shape into that of a
hawk, and he flew off to Jotunheim, the homeland of the giants, within which Thrymheim
was located. When he came to Thrymheim, he found, to his great delight, that Thjazi had
gone out to sea to fish, leaving Idun home alone. Without losing a minute, Loki turned the
goddess into a nut and sped away with her in his talons.
When Thjazi returned and found his prize missing, he assumed his eagle form and filled the
air with the thunderous beats of his wings on his way toward Asgard in pursuit of Loki. By
the time the god was in sight of his home, the giant was close behind him and furiously
closing the gap. When Loki’s companions caught sight of the chase, they built a pile of
kindling around their fortress. Loki, still clutching Idun, made it across the barrier. And then
the gods lit the fire, and it exploded so rapidly that Thjazi didn’t have time to turn around
before entering the flames. And that was the end of his flight.

THE MARRIAGE OF NJORD AND

SKADI
 “Njord and Skadi on the Way to Nóatún” by
Wilhelm Wägner (1882)
This tale begins where The Kidnapping of Idun ends.
While the gods were celebrating their slaying of the giant Thjazi and the return of the youth-
giving goddess Idun to their halls, an unannounced visitor stormed into their merrymaking.
This was the giantess Skadi, who had arrived with armor and weapons to avenge the death of
Thjazi, her father. The gods were patient with her, and convinced her to accept reparations
instead of seeking vengeance.
These reparations came in three parts. First, Odin took Thjazi’s eyes and ceremoniously cast
them into the night sky, where they became two stars.
Second, the gods were to make Skadi laugh. After many feats were tried, none succeeded in
bringing a smile to the grim face of the giantess. At last, Loki tied one end of a rope to a goat
and the other end around his testicles and began a game of tug of war with the goat. Each
screeched and howled in turn, until at last Loki fell over into Skadi’s lap. The giantess
couldn’t help but chuckle.
Third, Skadi was to be given a god of her choosing in marriage, but she was to select him by
the sight of his legs and feet alone. She picked the fairest pair of legs she could see, thinking
them to be those of Baldur. However, as it turned out, they were those of the sea-god Njord.
After Skadi and Njord’s magnificent wedding, it came time for the couple to decide where to
live. Njord’s home was Noatun (“The Place of Ships”), a bright, warm place on the beach.
Skadi’s home couldn’t have been more different: it was Thrymheim (“Thunder-Home”), a
dark, foreboding place in the highest mountain peaks where the snow never melts.

The pair first spent nine nights in Thrymheim. When this time had passed and they made
their way down from the mountains, Njord declared that, although brief, his time in
Thrymheim had been loathsome. He had been particularly dismayed by the sounds of the
wolves, to which he overwhelmingly preferred the songs of the swans to which he was
accustomed.

After the two had slept for nine nights in Noatun, Skadi had similar opinions to express
regarding the sunny home of Njord. The cries of the seabirds had been unbearably abrasive to
her ears, and she had found it impossible to sleep. So she departed for the mountains, and the
two parted ways.[
THE CREATION OF THOR’S HAMMER
 “The Third Gift – an Enormous Hammer” by Elmer Boyd Smith
(1902)
One day, Loki the trickster found himself in an especially mischievous mood and cut off the
gorgeous golden hair of Sif, the wife of Thor. When Thor learned of this, his quick temper
was enraged, and he seized Loki and threatened to break every bone in his body. Loki
pleaded with the thunder god to let him go down to Svartalfheim, the cavernous home of
the dwarves, and see if those master craftspeople could fashion a new head of hair for Sif,
this one even more beautiful than the original. Thor allowed this, and off Loki went to
Svartalfheim.
There he was able to obtain what he desired. The sons of the dwarf Ivaldi forged not only a
new head of hair for Sif, but also two other marvels: Skidbladnir (“Assembled from Thin
Pieces of Wood”[1]), the best of all ships, which always has a favorable wind and can be
folded up and put into one’s pocket, and Gungnir (“Swaying”[2]), the deadliest of all spears.
Having accomplished his task, Loki was overcome by an urge to remain in the caves of the
dwarves and revel in more recklessness. He approached the brothers Brokkr and Sindri
(“Metalworker”[3] and “Spark-sprayer,”[5] respectively) and taunted them, saying that he was
sure the brothers could never forge three new creations equal to those the sons of Ivaldi had
fashioned. In fact, he even bet his head on their lack of ability. Brokkr and Sindri, however,
accepted the wager.
As they worked, a fly (who, of course, was none other than Loki in disguise) stung Sindri’s
hand. When the dwarf pulled his creation out of the fire, it was a living boar with golden hair.
This was Gullinbursti (“Golden-bristled”), who gave off light in the dark and could run better
than any horse, even through water or air.

Sindri then set another piece of gold on the fire as Brokkr worked the bellows. The fly bit
Brokkr on the neck, and Sindri drew out a magnificent ring, Draupnir (“Dripper”[5]). From this
ring, every ninth night, fall eight new golden rings of equal weight.
Sindri then put iron on the hearth, and told Brokkr that, for this next working, they must be
especially meticulous, for a mistake would be more costly than with the previous two
projects. Loki immediately stung Brokkr’s eyelid, and the blood blocked the dwarf’s eye,
preventing him from properly seeing his work. Sindri produced a hammer of unsurpassed
quality, which never missed its mark and would boomerang back to its owner after being
thrown, but it had one flaw: the handle was short. Sindri lamented that this had almost ruined
the piece, which was called Mjollnir (“Lightning”[6]). Nevertheless, sure of the great worth of
their three treasures, Sindri and Brokkr made their way to Asgard to claim the wages that
were due to them.
Loki made it to the halls of the gods before the dwarves and presented the marvels he had
acquired. To Thor he gave Sif’s new hair and the hammer Mjollnir. To Odin went the ring
Draupnir and the spear Gungnir. And Freyr was the happy recipient of Skidbladnir and
Gullinbursti.
As grateful as the gods were to receive these gifts – especially Mjollnir, which they foresaw
would be of inestimable help in their battles against the giants – they nevertheless concluded
that Loki still owed the dwarves his head. When the dwarves approached Loki with knives,
the cunning god pointed out that he had promised them his head, but not his neck. Brokkr and
Sindri contented themselves with sewing Loki’s mouth shut, and returned to their forge.

THOR FISHING FOR JORMUNGAND

 Thor, Hymir, and Jormungand, from an 18th century
Icelandic illuminated manuscript
The gods had arranged a lavish feast with Aegir and Ran, two gracious and
hospitable giants who dwell beneath the sea. Aegir and Ran offered to host the banquet, but
only if the gods could provide them with a kettle big enough to brew mead for all of the
invited guests. The gods knew that, of all the beings in the Nine Worlds, only the giant Hymir
possessed a cauldron large enough for this purpose. Thor, the brawniest and bravest of the
gods, as well as the one most accustomed to dealing with the giants – not all of whom are as
friendly to the gods as are Aegir and Ran – volunteered to obtain this cauldron from Hymir.
Upon the god’s arrival at his house, Hymir slaughtered three bulls for provisions for the two
during Thor’s stay. The giant was shocked and dismayed, however, when Thor ate two of the
bulls in one sitting to assuage his legendary hunger. Because of this, the angry giant declared,
they would need to go fishing in the morning for the next day’s food.

In the morning, Hymir sent Thor to procure bait for their hooks. Thor went to Hymir’s
pastures and slaughtered the biggest of the giant’s remaining bulls, intending to use the head
as bait. Hymir was now more irritated than ever at the rash youngster, but hoped his strength
and daring would be of help on their fishing trip.

The two got into the boat, with Thor in the stern. The god rowed them out to Hymir’s usual
fishing grounds, where the giant, to his delight, caught two whales. But then, Thor began to
row the boat further out from land. His companion grew fearful and demanded that they row
back at once, “because,” he reminded Thor, “Jormungand lurks below these wild waves.”
Thor, the age-old enemy of that monstrous sea serpent, refused.
At last, Thor dropped the oars and cast his line into the water. After an ominous silence and
calm, Thor felt a mighty tug on his line. As he reeled it in, a violent rumbling shook the boat
and whipped the waves. The giant grew pale with terror, but Thor persisted. His feet were
planted so firmly in the bottom of the boat that the planks gave way and water began pouring
in.

When the serpent’s head, with the hook in his venom-dripping mouth, at last came up above
the water, Thor reached for his hammer. At this moment, Hymir panicked and cut the line.
The howling snake slunk back down into the ocean. Thor, enraged at having missed this
opportunity to end his greatest foe, heaved Hymir overboard.
Thor, with the two whales slung over his shoulders, waded back to land, picked up Hymir’s
cauldron, and returned home to Asgard.

THOR THE TRANSVESTITE

 “What a Lovely Maiden!” by Elmer Boyd Smith (1902)
One morning, Thor awoke to find his hammer, Mjollnir (“Lightning”[1]), missing. This was no
small matter; without the thunder god’s best weapon, Asgard was left vulnerable to the
attacks of the giants. In a rage, he searched everywhere for his most prized possession, but it
was nowhere to be found.
The goddess Freya owned falcon feathers, with which one could change one’s shape into that
of a falcon. She lent these to Thor and Loki so that the hammer could be located. Loki, who
knew how to shift his shape, donned the feathers and flew off in search of the treasure. He
quickly surmised that it had probably been stolen by the giants, so he rode the winds to their
homeland, Jotunheim.
Upon his arrival, he changed back into his god-form and approached the chief of the giants,
Thrym (“Noisy”[2]). When questioned regarding the hammer, Thrym answered that he had
indeed taken it, and that it was buried eight miles below the ground. And, added the lonely,
ugly giant, he had no intention of returning it until Freya was made to be his bride.
Loki flew back to Asgard and told this news to his fellow gods, who were alarmed and
furious – especially Freya. As they sat in counsel, Heimdall put forth the following solution:
that Thor go to Jotunheim disguised as Freya, and thereby win back his hammer and take
vengeance on its thieves. Thor protested, saying that this was a dishonorable and unmanly
thing to do, and that all of the inhabitants of Asgard would mock him for it for the rest of his
days. Loki pointed out, however, that if he didn’t consent to Heimdall’s plan, Asgard would
be ruled by the giants. The gods thereby obtained Thor’s acquiescence.
No detail was spared in the assemblage of Thor’s bridal dress. After the humiliated god had
donned the costume, Loki offered to go with him as his maid-servant.

The pair climbed into Thor’s goat-drawn chariot and made their way to Jotunheim. When
they arrived, they were welcomed by the Thrym, who boasted that the gods had at last
brought him the prize he was due.

At dinner, Thor and Loki found themselves in trouble. Thor singlehandedly ate an entire ox,
eight salmon, and all of the dainties that had been prepared for the women – not to mention
the many barrels of mead he drank. This made Thrym suspicious, and he declared that he had
never in his whole life seen a woman with such an appetite. Loki quickly devised a response:
“The fair goddess has been so lovesick for you,” he claimed, “that she hasn’t been able to eat
for a week.” Thrym accepted this answer, and was overcome by a desire to kiss his bride.
When he peeled back the veil, Thor’s eyes glared at him so intently that they seemed to burn
holes right through him. He exclaimed, “Never have I seen a maiden with such frightfully
piercing eyes!” Loki, the master of deceit, explained to the giant that while Freya had been
unable to eat, she had also been unable to sleep, so fierce was her longing for him.

The ceremony soon followed. As was customary, Thrym called for the hammer to hallow
their union. When Mjollnir was laid in Thor’s lap, he grabbed its handle and slew first
Thrym, then all of the guests before contentedly returning to Asgard and changing back into
his preferred clothes.

THOR’S DUEL WITH HRUNGNIR

 “Thor Slaying Hrungnir” by Ludwig Pietsch (1865)
Hrungnir (“The Brawler”[1]) was the mightiest of all of the giants, the spirits of darkness,
winter, night, and the grave, who are often the enemies of the gods.
One day Hrungnir was paid a visit in Jotunheim, the homeland of the giants, by Odin.
Hrungnir didn’t recognize the god at first, and instead wondered aloud who this stranger
might be whose horse could ride through the air and the water, as he had seen the horse do at
the god’s approach. Odin bet his head that his horse – none other than the eight-
legged shamanic steed Sleipnir – could outrun any horse in Jotunheim. Hrungnir was insulted
by this provocation, and straightaway accepted the bet and mounted his own horse, Gullfaxi
(“Golden-Mane”).
The two raced through mud and streams, over steep, rocky hills, and between the trees in
thick woodlands. Before the giant realized it, he had passed through the gates of Asgard, the
home of the gods. And, of course, he still hadn’t caught up with Odin and Sleipnir. The gods,
seemingly in good cheer, invited him to drink with them.
After he had become drunk, he became belligerent, and boasted that he would kill all of the
gods except for the Freya and Sif, the wife of Thor. These two lovely goddesses he would
carry back to Jotunheim with him. Freya alone was stout of heart enough to continue filling
his horn. Next he bellowed that he would drink every last drop of the gods’ ale. The gods
soon grew tired of his anger and sent for Thor, who had been elsewhere fighting other giants.
When Thor arrived and discovered the situation, he lifted his hammer and prepared to slay
Hrungnir there on the spot. The bellicose (and yet, we may suspect, inwardly fearful) giant
accused Thor of cowardice for intending to kill someone who was himself unarmed. “Your
name would be held in far higher honor,” the giant declared, “if you will accept my challenge
to a duel.” Never one to lose an opportunity to gain renown and prove his abilities, Thor
accepted.

When the arranged time had arrived, Hrungnir walked to the field near Jotunheim where the
duel was to be held. He wore stone armor, brandished a stone shield, and menacingly waved
a whetstone, his chosen weapon, in the air above him. Suddenly, he saw lightning and heard
thunder clap above him, and Thor roared onto the battlefield. Thor hurled his hammer at the
giant, and the giant slung his whetstone at the god. The stone burst against Thor’s forehead
and shattered into pieces, and this is the origin of all flint on earth. Thor’s hammer also struck
Hrungnir’s head, but this time it was the giant’s head that was shattered.
But a piece of Hrungnir’s whetstone was lodged in Thor’s forehead. So Thor sought out
the sorceress Groa (“Thriving”[2]), who sang spells over the stone to remove it from the god’s
brow. When Thor felt the stone moving, he told the sorceress many joyous things to
encourage her, chiefly that he had encountered her lost husband, who would soon be home.
But Groa was so overcome with emotion upon hearing this that she forgot her chants, and the
rock remained lodged in Thor’s face until his death at Ragnarok.

THE TALE OF UTGARDA-LOKI

 “I am the Giant Skrymir” by Elmer Boyd Smith (1902)
Well-known though it may be, the story of the journey of Thor to the castle of
the giant Utgarda-Loki in Jotunheim is a confused jumble of elements from Norse
mythology, fun but flippant fairy tales, and the rather capricious pen of their compiler and
synthesizer, the medieval Christian Icelander Snorri Sturluson.
For one thing, as even the most casual and distracted of readers will no doubt
notice, Loki features in two different and contradictory roles in the tale. In one of these roles,
he is Thor’s companion and is tested by the giants in the same way that Thor is. In the other
role, he is the giant Utgarda-Loki. In fact, in a variant of this narrative, Utgarda-Loki appears
before Thor bound in chains, just as Loki was. Surely, in the original version of this story, the
giant whom Thor met in Jotunheim was none other than Loki himself.[1]
Furthermore, in the form in which it’s been handed down to us by Snorri, there are numerous
fairy tale elements that seem wholly out of place in any authentic pagan Norse myth: the gods
battle characters who are straightforward allegories for abstract concepts, the beings who are
typically called “giants” in English (whose Old Norse name meant “devourers”) are indeed
distinguished by being comically large, the tone is one of frivolous amusement, and the story
lacks any spiritual significance whatsoever. Its sole purpose is entertainment.
Nevertheless, given the existence of (equally spurious) alternate versions, at least some
elements in this tale probably do go back to heathen times and reflect something of
substantial religious import. However, in the bastardized form in which we know this story,
it’s impossible to disentangle those elements from the doggerel. Their significance, therefore,
can only remain unknown.

All of that is to say that this story is hardly a myth in any meaningful sense of the word, and is
probably more or less worthless as a source of information about the pre-Christian Norse
worldview.

The Tale of Utgarda-Loki

While Thor and Loki were traveling far from Asgard in Thor’s goat-drawn chariot, night
overtook them and they were welcomed into the house of a farmer and his family.
To repay his hosts for their hospitality, Thor offered his goats for supper, knowing that he
could bring them back to life afterwards and not be at any loss. After the meal, Thor laid the
goats’ hides on the floor and instructed his hosts to place the bones on the hides after the meat
had been gleaned from them.

The farmer had two children: a boy named Thjalfi and a daughter named Roskva. Despite the
thunder god’s instructions, Thjalfi broke open one of the goats’ leg bones to suck out the
marrow before placing it on the hide with the others.

When Thor awoke the following morning, he hallowed the goat hides and bones with his
hammer, whereupon the goats sprang back to life. One of them, however, had a lame hind
leg. Thor immediately intuited the reason for this, and was so furious at the farmer and his
family that he would have slain them all on the spot had the farmer not offered him his
children, Thjalfi and Roskva, to be his servants. Thor accepted, and he, Loki, and the children
pressed onward on foot, leaving the handicapped goats behind.

The party’s goal was to reach Jotunheim, the land of the giants. They crossed an ocean and a
thick, tangled forest. Just as night was falling, they came to a huge hall. They found no one
inside, and decided to spend the night there.

They were jostled awake by a great earthquake. Running outside, they found a sleeping giant
whose snores caused the earth to rumble and shake. Thor, who hated giants, clutched his
hammer and resolved to smite this sure foe of his. But the giant awoke at the last second and
seemed to be cheered, or at least amused, by the sight of Thor and his companions. The giant
introduced himself as Skrymir (Old Norse Skrýmir, “Boaster”), but said that he already knew
full well to whom he was introducing himself.
Skrymir picked up his glove, the great hall in which Thor and his company had slept during
the night, and proposed that he accompany them on their journey. To this the god agreed, and
off they went through forests and over hills.

At night, they took shelter beneath a venerable oak. Skrymir had been carrying all of their
provisions in his bag, and when the giant fell asleep and the task of opening the bag fell to
Thor, the god found himself unable to untie the giant’s knots. This so angered Thor that he
struck the dozing Skrymir in the forehead, hoping to kill him. The giant awoke calmly and
asked if a leaf had fallen on his head.

Later in the night, the giant’s snores grew so loud they echoed through the valleys like
thunder. Thor, annoyed by his inability to sleep, and wanting to kill the giant, anyway, tried a
second time to smite him by striking him in the head. But, much as before, Skrymir
awakened and asked if an acorn had fallen on his head.

Just before dawn, Thor decided to try one more time to end Skrymir’s life. But the giant,
awakened, asked if some birds had roosted above him and shaken some dirt from the
branches onto his face.

Skrymir departed from Thor and his companions, and the company pressed onward toward a
castle called Utgard (Old Norse Útgarðr – see Jotunheim and Innangard and Utangard for the
significance of this name).
Around midday, the travelers reached their destination. The gate was locked and no one was
there to open it, but Thor and the others found that they could fit through the very large
spaces between the bars of the gate easily enough. Once inside, they found a hall where men
sat eating and drinking. Amongst them was the king of this castle, the giant Utgarda-Loki
(Old Norse Útgarða-Loki, “Loki of the Útgarðr“), who immediately recognized his new
guests and set about taunting them for their diminutive size.
Wanting to salvage his dignity and that of his companions, Loki proudly asserted that no one
else in this castle could eat food faster than he could. Utgarda-Loki challenged him to prove
this boast by entering a contest with one of the men there, whose name was Logi (Old
Norse Logi, “Fire”). A trough of meat was set before them, with Loki at one end and Logi at
the other, and they were to see who could reach the middle first. They met in the middle at
the same time, but while Loki had eaten all of the meat between the end and the middle, Logi
had eaten the meat, the bones, and even the trough itself! Loki had clearly lost.
Thjalfi, who was an extremely swift runner, then offered to race anyone in the castle.
Utgarda-Loki led him out to a race track and appointed one Hugi (Old Norse Hugi,
“Thought”) to compete with him. By the time Hugi reached the finish line, he was so far
ahead of Thjalfi that he doubled back to meet his contestant. They raced a second time, and
once again Hugi beat Thjalfi by a long bow-shot. Still, they raced a third time, but Thjalfi
fared even worse; he was still at the midpoint of the track by the time Hugi finished.
Thor then challenged anyone in the castle to a drinking contest, something at which he had no
little skill. Utgarda-Loki had one of his servants fetch the kind of drinking horn from which
Utgarda-Loki’s men were said to drink. When it was placed before Thor, Utgarda-Loki
informed him that whoever could finish the horn in one drink was considered a great drinker,
whoever could do it in two was considered fair, but no one in his retinue was such a poor
drinker as to be unable to finish it in three.

Thor drank mightily, but by the time he had to pause for a breath, the level of liquor in the
horn had barely lowered. So he gave it a second try, straining to gulp and gulp until his breath
failed him. This time, the level had gone down appreciably, but the better part of the horn still
remained. His third drink was even more formidable than the previous two, but in the end,
much was still left. By that point, however, Thor could drink could no more, and gave up.

Then Utgarda-Loki suggested that Thor attempt to simply lift his cat from the floor, but Thor
proved unable to do even this.

In a rage, Thor challenged anyone in the castle to wrestle with him. Insultingly, Utgarda-Loki
appointed an old woman, Elli (Old Norse Elli, “Age”) who was one of his servants. But the
great god lost even this contest.
After this, Utgarda-Loki decided that there should be no more contests, and the company
spent the night there in the castle.

In the morning, they rose and prepared to leave. After Utgarda-Loki had shown them out of
the castle, he confided to them what had actually transpired in their contests, saying to Thor,
“Now that you have left my castle, I shall see to it that you never enter it again. The knot on
my provision bag that you almost succeeded in untying had been wrought in iron. I deflected
the blows you attempted to inflict on me with your hammer; instead of my face, you hit the
mountainside, and carved three gaping valleys into it. Had you struck me, I would have been
killed then and there.

“Loki held his own remarkably well in his eating contest, since his opponent was none other
than fire itself. So it was with Thjalfi, too – he raced against thought, which nobody could
ever hope to outrun. The far end of the horn from which you drank was connected to the sea,
and we were actually greatly afraid that you were going to drink it all. When you cross over
the sea again, you will see how much you have lowered its level. My cat was actually
the Midgard serpent, whom you succeeded in raising out of the ocean and into the sky. And,
finally, you wrestled against old age, and took a long, long time to fall.
“Now, for your sake and for ours, leave, and never come back.”

Thor was so angered by this humiliating trickery that he raised his hammer and prepared to
slay Utgarda-Loki and smash his castle to pieces. But when he turned to do so he saw no
giant and no castle – just a vast, empty plain.