Volume 2
Baldur, the God of truth and light and the most handsome of the gods, was the son of Frigg and Odin. Baldur was also knowledgeable about healing herbs and runes, which made him a favorite among the people of Midgard. Baldur lived in the Palace of Truth with his wife, Nanna.
Baldur had been having frightening nightmares, although he didn’t complain because he didn’t want to upset his mother. Everyone noticed that he didn’t look like his usual cheerful self. Finally, his mother, my lady Frigg, pressed him to tell her what the matter was. He confessed that he’d had nightmares about being killed by someone or something in the most unexpected way. He never saw who or what or how … only felt pain and falling into a dark void.
No lie or bad thought could pass through the walls of the home of the God of Truth, so when Baldur spoke of having frightening nightmares about his own demise, the other Aesir gods took them seriously. Even a Norse god could be killed by some extraordinary event.
I was standing behind Frigg’s throne when he told his sad tale, his voice faltering, his face drawn and exhausted. I will never forget his demeanor, his look of misery.
Frigg was horrified and went to her husband, Odin, the king of the Norse gods. All three of us handmaidens accompanied her. Odin sat upon the throne of the Aesir gods with his companions, the two ravens, Hugin—Thought—and Munin—Memory—whispering in his ears. From this position, he could look over all of the nine worlds.
After she told him the story, he said he would consult the Goddess of Death to see what could be done. He had his eight-legged steed saddled, rode to the gates of Hel, and summoned the Goddess. He alone knew how to call her from her lair.
“We have grand rooms ready for Baldur,” intoned Hel. “He will soon be amongst us.”
Sorrow flooded Odin. “What can we do? He is the most beloved of all the Aesir. We must keep him with us, no matter the cost.”
“You must have the promise of every living thing and every other thing not to harm Baldur. That is the only way to save him.”
Odin went to Frigg’s palace and told her what the old woman said. He was worried, not only for his beloved son’s life but for the universe, as he knew Baldur’s death would be the beginning of the end, as prophesied so long before.
“I will call every living creature to my palace and make them swear not to harm our son. I will then seek out everything and everyone who has not answered the call and demand their agreement not to hurt Baldur.”
Odin gave her his blessing.
First, the gods came to Frigg by Odin’s command, all eager to show their love for Baldur. Next, the call went out far and wide, and Frigg’s palace was surrounded by a mob of humans, gnomes, elves, and spirits, eagerly waiting their turn to pass by her throne and give their assurances for Baldur’s safety. In flew Sickness and Poison, Water and Fire. All knew the terrible price to pay for going against Frigg and Odin. But in any case, Baldur was so universally loved, no one thought of refusing.
Asgard days were very long, but even so, the procession went on for weeks.
It was no good asking the Jotuns and other far-flung enemies to swear an oath, but they got the message that harming Baldur would result in war, one they could not hope to win.
Finally, Frigg went down into Midgard to secure the promise of every creature, be it bird, reptile, insect, mineral, or mammal. Then she pleaded her case with every plant large enough or poisonous enough to pose a threat and any others she came across. One day, she came to a large tree laced with mistletoe. She got the tree to take the oath but didn’t bother with the insignificant mistletoe. Her journey had been grueling, and even gods could get tired. She wanted nothing more than to go back to her own spinning wheel.
As she made her way out of the forest toward the sea, she came to a rocky outcrop where she saw a giantess sitting at the back of a huge cave. Relieved to have found this last being, she entered.
“Good day, I am the goddess Frigg. Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”
“I have no name. I am just an ugly giantess tossed aside by my kin.” Her voice sounded surprisingly high for such a massive individual. She made no polite greeting as expected when addressing a goddess. She didn’t even smile but sat on a vast cushion that ballooned around her massive hips.
“I am sorry to hear that,” said Frigg, thinking that maybe she should do something nice for this poor exile. She went on to tell her story and asked the giantess to give her word she would not harm Baldur.
“I will do no such thing,” was the shocking reply. “Why should I? I’m not one of you, nor do I care for anyone or anything.”
“It is not wise to refuse a god,” said Frigg.
“I do not care,” replied the giantess. “I never leave this cave. You are the first visitor I have ever had. What harm can I do?”
Frigg, drained after her weeks of travel, left the cave and stood outside for a while to compose herself. When she turned back, the giantess who never left her cave was gone. She cursed the wretch and willed herself home, where we handmaidens waited to bathe her, soothe her with fragrant oils, and sing her to sleep.
We all later realized that the giantess was Loki, the master shape-shifter. He had not come to swear the oath with the other gods. He told a few of his cronies that he was half Jotun and not a full god, so he didn’t count.
When she had completed her mission, Frigg returned to her palace, where she sat spinning the clouds that floated above Midgard. The palace also served as the afterlife home for married couples who wished to be together. It was a counterpart to the famous home of valiant warriors, Valhalla, where Odin spent much of his time drinking—he had stopped eating when he had been reminded of the inevitable doom of Ragnarok—with his feasting and fighting companions and the Valkyries.
After a good night’s rest, Frigg and Odin gave a celebration feast in Gladsheim, the gods’ meeting hall. After a few rounds of drinks and toasts, the gods decided to test Baldur’s invulnerability. A small rock thrown at Baldur bounced off without hurting him, true to its oath. Larger weapons followed, including Thor’s motley collection.
A few days later, Baldur was jousting on the sacred fields outside Asgard when one of the lances hit his chest. His partner was horrified until he realized the point had not pierced his flesh but had merely bounced off. The lance had also sworn the oath. After that, all his companions enjoyed themselves, throwing knives and spears at Baldur while he danced around, laughing.
I heard the commotion and came out to watch. Loki leaned against a fence, scowling at everyone having such a merry time. He was never invited to join their games because he was sly and mean. Baldur, on the other hand, was loved by everyone for his ready smile and happy nature, always ready to comfort and encourage. I saw the hate in his scrunched-up face and knew no good could come of it. Hodur, Baldur’s twin brother, stood near Loki, turning his head left and right, eager to catch the sounds of play. Hodur, the god of darkness, was blind.
Shortly after I returned to Frigg’s throne room, a very old woman came hobbling in, demanding in a shrill voice to see my lady. She was barefoot, dirty, and clothed in rags.
“I have been traveling far and wide, across the worlds, seeking shelter and food. I came to the sacred fields and saw a crowd throwing weapons at our beloved Baldur. Why are they doing that? They must be stopped.”
Initially annoyed by the interruption, she softened at the old woman’s concern for Baldur. Frigg explained Baldur’s nightmares and told her the story of her arduous journey.
“And did you secure the guarantees you needed, my lady? I pray that you did.”
“I did, save for a few insignificant plants.”
“Which ones, my lady?”
“Oh, I don’t remember. They were so small. There was one, though, that had wrapped itself around an oak, taking the oath. A mistletoe, nothing of consequence.”
“I’m so pleased that you met with success, my lady. I will leave your presence now.”
Frigg ordered one of my sister handmaidens to take the old lady to the kitchens so that she might be fed a good meal.
We found out later how the catastrophe was brought about. Of course, the old woman was Loki in disguise, as was the giantess. Loki was so consumed with jealousy and hatred of Baldur that he hatched an evil plan. He found the mistletoe, snapped off a strong limb that was not as big as a branch but larger than a twig, and carved one end to a sharp point. The next day, he went to the field of Ida and found Baldur’s friends playing the same silly game. He went over to Holdur and told him what was going on.
“Why don’t you have a go?” he said.
“But I’m blind. How can I throw something at my brother?”
“I’ll help you. I have a good dart here.”
And help him, he did. Hodur was so grateful to be able to participate in the fun he allowed Loki to guide him into the throng. Loki put the mistletoe dart into his hand, covered it with his own, and guided a throw right at Baldur’s forehead. Baldur died instantly. Loki slipped away as the others all stared at Baldur, horrified and silent. Hodur turned to those around him crying, “What’s happened? What’s wrong?”
Poor Hodur was inconsolable when he found he’d killed his brother. Odin descended to look at his son’s body and let out a howl of grief and fury.
“What have you done, Hodur? How could this happen?”
Hodur, his voice trembling, told his story.
“Loki!” Odin’s cry carried to all the nine worlds.
My lady Frigg and all of us came running. Frigg threw herself on her son’s body, weeping. She picked up the piece of wood that had killed him. “Mistletoe,” she shrieked.
It was a terrible scene, with the whole gathering weeping and crying for Loki’s blood. But Odin had made him a blood brother and immortal, so he could not slay him.
Celebration turned to lamentation for the death of the most beloved of the gods. Odin alone was aware of how disastrous this event really was for them all. He knew that with the loss of light and truth, Ragnarok, the end of the world, would come about soon.
The gods lay Baldur’s body in his graceful boat and surrounded it with kindling, ready to be pushed out to the celestial sea to the end of the world where Hel waited. His body glowed white as if lit from within. There was loud wailing from some gods and silent mourning from others. Frigg and Odin stood before their son’s pyre as if frozen. Baldur’s wife, Nanna, collapsed suddenly, her heart shattered by grief. Freya wept her golden tears over Nanna’s face before Hoenir set her body in the boat beside her husband. The gods, exhausted by grief, did not have the strength to push the boat from the shore, even after placing great rollers to ease its way.
Odin raised himself from his torpor to call Hyrro, a giantess, to help. She arrived in a chariot drawn by a wolf with vipers for reins. Everyone kept their distance from this strange vehicle, and Odin called on the Beserks to guard the chariot, as he knew its vicious servants might cause trouble. Hyrro gave a mighty heave-ho, sending the boat into the water so violently that the rollers caught fire.
This made Thor very angry, as he felt the giantess had shown disrespect to Baldur. He wanted to slay her with his hammer, but his brothers calmed him down, saying that it was the gods who had summoned her after all. He still muttered resentfully.
Next, Baldur’s valiant stallion was sacrificed, his body cut up and thrown into the boat so he might carry Baldur wherever needed in the afterlife.
Odin roused himself to chant the spells of transition, leaning over Baldur at one point to whisper one into his ear. He blew on the kindling to set it alight and pushed the boat toward the horizon and Hel, who would be eagerly waiting for the royal couple.
A gnome, bored with the proceedings, ran in front of Thor to make his way back to the mountain labyrinth that was home. Enraged, Thor tripped him, so the gnome crashed face-first onto the stony shoreline. Thor picked him up and threw him into the boat, now a veritable inferno where he burned to death. He would serve Baldur and Nanna for infinity. Thor felt a little better after that.
A short while later, Odin leapt into the saddle and visited Hel again. She led him down into the underworld, where he found Baldur and Nanna dining in the place of honor at the head of the table. Although their faces were as white as snow, they looked well and were happy to see him.
He asked Hel whether she would release his son. Hel promised that Baldur could return to earth if every living creature shed tears of grief for Baldur. It looked as though it would be simple to arrange, for everyone loved Baldur, and most were still weeping for him, anyway.
Once again, Frigg travelled the world to ask every living creature to weep for Baldur. She made sure to visit the cave where she’d met the giantess but found it empty. On her way to the coast to meet the crabs and the fish, she ran into the old woman who had once professed such concern for Baldur’s welfare. She realized it was Loki who had tricked her the last time, so she was prepared.
“Will you weep for my son?”
“Never,” said the crone. “I weep for no one.”
Frigg slapped the old woman on one side of her face and then the other—a slap terrible in its power and sound. Loki screamed, reverted to his real, weaselly form, and fled, clutching his cheeks but refusing to let a single tear fall from his eyes.
And so it was that Baldur could not return to the land of the living. Baldur and Nanna remained in Hel, where Hoenir and I visited them often.
The all-seeing Odin found Loki where he was hiding, in that cave where Frigg had thought she was talking to a giantess. Thor and Hoenir captured him, and Odin ordered him to be bound to a rock in a cave with snake venom dripping onto his face—I told you about that at our first session in the last volume. His son Fenrir was bound to another rock nearby. You will remember that they finally broke free to take part in bringing our world to an end. Ragnarok.
Both Lin and Agna had tears streaming down their faces. I started crying, too. Somehow the tragedy that had such momentous consequences, all engineered by that loathsome Loki, touched my heart, too. They’d all lost so much. Hoenir lost his whole family. Lin lost her goddess and her sister handmaidens, who were, in truth, her only family. So much pain and loss. People in other parts of the world were in similar straits—not a whole world lost, but their worlds.
After this depressing session, we had more cake. Lin said we needed wine and went upstairs to get some prosecco. We felt much better once the bottle and cake plate were empty. The only problem was I needed a nap, and Rose was about to wake up. I sighed and ruminated on the sacrifices of motherhood.