A huge eagle ate the gods’ meal. When Loki speared him, he found his hand was magically stuck to the weapon. In exchange for his freedom, Loki promised the eagle what he demanded: Idunn and her precious apples.
A huge eagle ate the gods’ meal. When Loki speared him, he found his hand was magically stuck to the weapon. In exchange for his freedom, Loki promised the eagle what he demanded: Idunn and her precious apples.
No one was guaranteed eternal life to their bodies. Death could claim anyone. But the gods, at least—unlike the humans, the giants, and the dwarfs—could go on living with youthful vitality unless something came along to cut them down. How the gods managed not to age and wither was no secret; it was because of the goddess Idunn.
Idunn had apples. And they were not ordinary. Anyone who had a bite became rejuvenated. How Idunn came to own those apples nobody knew, but she was a magician, for sure, and she fed her apples to the gods, and no one else. Everyone in the cosmos knew about Idunn and those apples.
Now one summer morning, Odin, Loki, and Hoenir went exploring a part of Midgard that was new to them. Odin was his usual bold self; Loki was his usual cunning self; and Hoenir—well, he was his usual taciturn self. Remember, he was the Aesir god, brother of Odin, who had been sent to live among the Vanir after the war between the two tribes of gods. It was Hoenir who made good judgments for the Vanir, but only with Mimir’s help. On his own, he kept his mouth shut.
The three gods tramped all day long. They followed a pebble-ridden glacier stream down into a valley and came across a herd of oxen—lucky for them, since they were famished. Loki killed an ox and Odin and Hoenir built a fire to roast it. The aroma was mouthwatering. But somehow the meat simply wasn’t getting cooked.
Wise Odin guessed the problem. “Someone’s working against us.”
“Me,” came the screech from an oak branch above them. The gods looked up at an enormous eagle. “Let me eat first. Then what’s left will cook to perfection for you.”
Since they had no choice, the gods agreed.
The eagle swooped down and set to eating a shoulder. Then a second. Then half the rump. Then the other half. What would be left? In a fury, Loki rammed his staff through the bird.
The bird screeched again and flew off, with the staff still piercing it and with Loki hanging on, for the god found that his hand was stuck to the staff. The eagle flew low to the ground and Loki banged along. Rocks and thorns scratched his legs and feet till they bled.
Nourishing Apples
The apple tree originated in central Asia and may have been the first tree to be cultivated. Apples have been grown in Asia and Europe for thousands of years. They were brought to North America by European colonists in the 17th century. The old saying “An apple a day keeps the doctor away” turns out to be right: Apples and apple products are important to child nutrition. So the appearance of apples in these old Norse tales, and their association to continued strength and vitality, is no surprise.
“Mercy!” called Loki.
The eagle flew close beside a glacier till Loki bled everywhere.
“Mercy!” cried Loki.
“Only if you swear …”
“What? I’ll swear to anything!”
“… to bring me Idunn and her apples.” The eagle smashed Loki against boulders now.
“I swear!”
“One week,” screeched the eagle. And he dropped Loki like a sack of broken bones.
The next week, as Idunn walked along with her basket full of golden apples, Loki ran up to her. “You won’t believe what I’ve seen,” he said.
And well she shouldn’t have, for Loki was about to lie, as usual. But Idunn paused and listened.
“A tree with golden apples that look just like yours,” said Loki. “Maybe they, too, are magical. The tree’s in the forest, on the other side of the bridge Bifrost. Come with me. Bring your apples to compare, and if those other apples really are the same, we’ll gather them for the gods.”
So Idunn crossed Bifrost with Loki. The instant she stepped off the flaming bridge, the eagle swooped down and carried Idunn and her basket of apples away, over the sea, straight to Jotunheim.
Loki met Idunn as she walked along holding her basket full of the golden apples that the gods nibbled on. Those apples kept the gods young and strong. He convinced her to cross Bifrost with him.
Loki wasn’t surprised at all. Jotunheim was the land of the giants, and Loki was already convinced that the eagle was in truth a giant. He was right: It was the giant Thjazi, who now locked Idunn in his home high in the mountains.
Soon enough the gods noticed Idunn’s absence. The alarming consequences made them shudder. They grew thin and weak. Their bones became birdlike. Their skin fell in soft folds. The eyes of some turned milky, their sight dim. The hands of some trembled. That one over there went bald. That one turned yellow with constipation, and that other one, red with the runs. They were tired, irritable, fragile. Now some spoke nonsense, while others couldn’t find the words they’d always known, and others had no voice even if the words danced in their head. Old age was no picnic.
Odin drew on what little energy remained within him and called a meeting in the hall Gladsheim. Everyone came except Idunn and Loki.
It didn’t take much to put two and two together and realize that Loki had stayed away because all of this was his fault. They had to find the trickster and force him to tell them where Idunn had gone.
While Idunn was locked in the home of the giant Thjazi, the gods suffered without her apples. They grew old and weak.
The decrepit gods shuffled along till they found Loki asleep in a field. They bound him and dragged him back to Odin. Weakened and helpless, Loki told all. He’d had no choice; the eagle, who was really the giant Thjazi, would have killed him if he hadn’t promised to bring him Idunn and her apples.
“Yes, you had to promise. But did you have to keep your promise?” asked Odin. It was a good question. For a liar like Loki, not keeping the promise should have been natural. So he’d kept that promise just to cause all this misery among the gods. “We’ll split your ribs,” said Odin. “They’ll spread like wings—like those of the eagle you befriended.”
“No!” screamed Loki. “I’ll bring back Idunn and her apples, if Freyja will lend me her falcon-feather cloak.”
Freyja handed the cloak to Loki, and wiped the few remaining fallen hairs from her shoulders. She was now completely bald, ravaged by old age.
Sneaky Loki had been responsible for Idunn’s being locked up by the giant. So he turned into a falcon and rescued her. Once the giant was dead, Idunn held out her hands, full of the apples of life.
“You’re not so beautiful anymore,” said Loki.
Freyja just wept those red-gold tears.
Enclosed in the feather cloak, Loki became a falcon. He flew to Thrymheim, high in the mountains of Jotunheim.
There Idunn huddled in a drafty room, waiting in fear for Thjazi to return from wherever he had gone. Loki turned Idunn into a nut and carried her in his claws back toward Asgard. Meanwhile, Thjazi came home with his daughter Skadi, saw that Idunn was missing, shape-shifted into an eagle, and flew after her. He was stronger than Loki—he gained on that falcon.
But Odin saw it all from his high seat, Hlidskjalf. He had all the gods gather wood shavings and set an enormous fire. Those teetering gods shook as they picked up a piece of kindling here, another there, but they did it. The fire was tremendous. Loki flew over it, but by the time Thjazi reached there, the flames were so high, they burned him up.
Loki chanted magic words to the nut.
Idunn stood among them again, young and fresh, and holding out apples.
