Loki had many offspring, but three were horrendous: the wolf Fenrir, fated to kill Odin in the battle Ragnarok; the serpent Jormungand, whose venom would kill Thor in that battle; and hungry Hel, who would keep Odin’s son, Balder, prisoner.
Loki had many offspring, but three were horrendous: the wolf Fenrir, fated to kill Odin in the battle Ragnarok; the serpent Jormungand, whose venom would kill Thor in that battle; and hungry Hel, who would keep Odin’s son, Balder, prisoner.
Loki made everyone edgy.
Loki was the son of the giant Farbauti and the goddess Laufey. Several gods took giantesses as wives, and their offspring did fine. But it was taboo for a goddess to take a giant as a husband; thus, Loki was born with a giant (so to speak) strike against him. But at one point he and Odin mixed blood and thus became blood brothers. Odin, in fact, promised that he would always share drink with Loki. This meant that Loki was counted among the Aesir.
From the start, Loki was spiteful, and that spirit proved to be inheritable. Hapless wives bore him wretched children, three notable for their evilness: the chaos monsters, children by the frost giantess Angrboda. The first was the vicious wolf Fenrir; the second, the serpent Jormungand; and the third, the horrible hag Hel. At first, the children lived with their mother in Jotunheim. But everyone in Asgard knew they were destined to cause cosmic misery eventually. The gods couldn’t kill these children—for no one can interfere with fate. But they wanted to be rid of them in the meantime. So the one-eyed Odin had a band of gods sneak into Jotunheim one night and gag and bind the giantess Angrboda and kidnap the children.
The wolf Fenrir was the son of Loki and a vicious, frightful creature. Odin had him bound in chains and brought to Asgard. But it was hard to capture him: The god Tyr lost his right hand in doing it.
Tricksters appear in many traditions. Some native tribes of North America have Coyote, a well-known prankster, but he reveals people’s weaknesses, so he’s listened to. The Greek god Hermes was a liar and thief, yet he was eloquent and could convince anyone of anything. Coyote, Hermes, and Loki are shape-shifters. But Coyote is neither good nor evil, Hermes is simply an annoyance, and Loki is wicked. Both Odin and Thor seek Loki out sometimes, however, to use his ability to deceive for good goals.
Odin decided the wolf Fenrir should live in Asgard, perhaps so he could keep an eye on him. After all, Fenrir was destined to kill Odin at the final battle of Ragnarok. The inhabitants of Asgard were not delighted with the prospect of this beast living among them. The only one who dared get close enough to the wolf to feed him was Odin’s son Tyr, whose mother was a giantess and who was bolder than others—a true god of war. Still, as Fenrir grew, fear of him grew until people wanted to tie him up. But they didn’t want Fenrir to realize he was being tied up. They pretended they were having a bet, to see if the wolf was strong enough to break binding chains. Fenrir agreed, and immediately burst from his fetters. The gods made a second chain, twice as strong as the first. Fenrir burst out of it easily. So Odin sent Frey’s servant Skirnir to the dark elves, to ask them to forge a chain strong enough to bind Fenrir. The chain they forged was of the sound of a cat footfall, the beard of a woman, the roots of a mountain, the sinews of a bear, the breath of fish, and the spit of birds. This chain was called Gleipnir, and it brushed against your skin soft as silk. The gods took Fenrir to the island Lyngvi in the lake Amsvartnir and asked him to submit to being tied with Gleipnir.
The wolf was no dummy; he recognized this was a special chain. So he agreed, but only under the condition that one of the gods should hold his hand on Fenrir’s muzzle, as a show of good faith. Only Tyr dared do this. The gods bound Fenrir, and this time the wolf couldn’t break free. When the gods refused to loosen the chain, Fenrir snapped off Tyr’s right hand. Thenceforward, the beast howled and slavered—knowing he’d get no freedom until the battle of Ragnarok. And poor Tyr, he lived his days mutilated by a wolf only to die in canine jaws in the final battle, but not Fenrir’s, no, the jaws of Hel’s hound, Garm.
Odin dealt harshly with Loki’s middle child, Jormungand, as well, for this child was fated to fight Odin’s son Thor at the battle of Ragnarok, and Odin knew Thor would die from the serpent’s spewed venom. Odin hurled the young serpent toward the sea, where it crashed through the iron surface and plunged to the bottom. Jormungand grew and grew until his body encircled all Midgard and his own tail reached his jaws, which clamped down on it firmly. Thereafter, everyone was afraid to fish too close to the sea’s edge; Jormungand might get them! The only one who ever purposely baited Jormungand was Thor himself, who threw an ox head on a hook into the sea and pulled up the monster serpent. They eyed each other in hatred, but then the terrified owner of the boat, the giant Hymir, cut the line and Jormungand sank back underwater, much to Thor’s fury.
The serpent Jormungand was another of Loki’s children, and he was destined to kill Odin’s son Thor. So Odin threw him into the sea, where he grew so long and strong that he circled all of Midgard.
Loki’s only daughter was Hel, the spiteful, sour mistress of the underworld. She gathered all the dead who were not warriors—just the ordinary dead—into her cold, joyless realm and held on to them till the end of the world.
As for Loki’s third child by Angrboda, Odin banished her to the depths of Niflheim. So Loki’s daughter, Hel, was none other than the mistress of the underworld, half alive and half dead. She received all those who died other than in battle—the ones who grew old and feeble, the ones who withered from disease, and all the monsters, animals, giants, and dwarfs. She did that job with a sour taste in her mouth, but never with remorse. She was greedy for prey. Her dish was named Hungr—Hunger; her knife, Sult—Famine; her couch, Kor—Sickbed; and the curtains that surrounded the couch, Blikjandabol—Glimmering Mischance. Once anyone entered her world, she was loath to let them leave. At the start of Ragnarok, her sooty-red cock would crow the announcement of doom.
Loki did many wretched deeds, but his worst involved the assistance of his daughter, Hel. That full story will come later. Through a perverse trick, Loki caused the death of two of Odin’s sons, and Hel made sure they remained in her frozen realm until the terrible battle of Ragnarok. The hearts of the gods were wrenched.
The gods had their revenge on Loki … but that also is another story.
The death of Odin’s children is the saddest moment in the gods’ history, made even sadder by the fact that the wise Odin was clairvoyant. Remember? That father of the two doomed sons knew these deaths were coming, just as he knew that the destruction of the cosmos was coming. And there was nothing at all he could do to prevent it. In everything Odin did, every breath, every step, he carried with him the knowledge that all of us are helpless in one way or another, even the god known as Allfather. Maybe that tragedy is, after all, the iron nugget of wisdom.
