‘When did Ragnarøkkr begin?’
‘Did Sharp Axe get married to Mithrén?’
‘What happened to Fynn?’
‘Did they have any more adventures?’
‘Did Sharp Axe and Mithrén go to live in Grimstad?’
‘What happened to Fearless Wolf Slayer?’
The storyteller held up his hands to stem the flow of questions from his young audience; far from being annoyed, he could not resist feeling more than a little pleased with the reaction to his evening’s work and he rewarded the children with a satisfied smile for their enthusiasm.
‘All very good questions,’ he said, encouragingly, ‘but please let me answer them one at a time... now, hands up.’
A dozen hands immediately shot into the air. The storyteller looked around the audience at the bright eyes and at the reddening faces, the owners of which were straining with the effort of trying to be chosen to ask their questions.
‘Yes... er... Broddi,’ announced the storyteller, finally.
‘Oh – er... er... ’ stammered Broddi, having found herself unexpectedly selected to ask her question, ‘… did... did Sharp Axe and Fynn have any more adventures?’
‘A very good question, Broddi!’ declared the storyteller, to all those seated before him. ‘But, unfortunately... I don’t know the answer.’
[Groans of disappointment from the children.]
‘You see,’ continued the storyteller, ‘I know of no more tales of Sharp Axe or Fynn, after their exploits with Frygga’s List and Loki.’
[More groans from the children.]
The storyteller shook his head, gravely. ‘No, children,’ he said, ‘you see, Fynn the Fortunate wrote down the stories of how Sharp Axe and his men found the hammer of Thor and how Sharp Axe, with Fynn by his side, retrieved Frygga’s list from Hel and did battle with Loki, to try to prevent the Trickster God from bringing about the start of Ragnarøkkr… but, after that, well… I have no idea what happened to the two friends.’
[Louder groans of disappointment from the children.]
‘Although that is not to say that no more stories of Sharp Axe and Fynn were ever written – and, indeed, some of you might one day meet a teller of tales who knows of them,’ added the storyteller hoping, in vain as it turned out, that this might serve to take the edge off the children’s obvious disappointment. ‘Now… ’ he said, sounding and looking more cheerful, having decided it was probably best to move on, ‘… you had a question, Trud.’
‘Yes,’ replied Trud, with a smile and an enthusiastic nod. ‘Did Sharp Axe and Fynn marry the elf maidens?’
‘Why, certainly!’ confirmed the storyteller triumphantly, relieved to be on safer ground. ‘This we know from the very last chapter Fynn wrote in his account... and,’ he continued with a wink and a grin, ‘it was a wedding – and a double one, at that – the likes of which Álfheimr had never seen before!’
The children stared at the storyteller with puzzled expressions, which he took as a sign that he really ought to elaborate on his last comment.
‘Typically, Fynn mentioned nothing about his own family, but Sharp Axe’s mother and father made the journey from Grimstad... and so did Sharp Axe’s brother, Fearless Wolf Slayer... and his uncles – Olaf, Svein, Lars and Sigurd and their families. All the men who had accompanied Sharp Axe on his quest to find the hammer of Thor came, too – Randver Woodenleg, Alfgeir Stargazer, Jormunrek the Exaggerator, Ulric the Unwilling, Hodbrodd the Odd and even Hamdir the Halfling and Hedin Dogbiter… although there is no indication as to which of them – if any – had actually been invited. The beautiful Kolfinna Cat Strangler was there, too, as Hodbrodd’s ‘plus one’… ’ at which point, the storyteller leaned forward, winked and lowered his voice conspiratorially, ‘… and, by the way, Fynn tells us that Mithrén didn’t let her get too close to Sharp Axe for very long.’
After a short period of reflective silence, a solitary hand was then raised.
‘Yes, Helga,’ smiled the storyteller.
‘Why hadn’t Mithrén been able to contact Aldaron by using her powers of thought, when she tried?’ asked Helga.
[Murmurs from the children, who had all been wondering the same thing during the story, but who had, until now, all forgotten about it.]
‘That is also a good question!’ responded the old man, expertly disguising the fact that he would rather not have been asked it. ‘Sadly, the writings of Fynn do not give us any clues about that.’
[Groans of disappointment from the children.]
‘But I think... ’ continued the storyteller, ‘... that it was the long distances between the two of them which prevented Mithrén from contacting her brother, whilst Sharp Axe and his men were travelling in one or other of the Nine Worlds. If you remember, once Mithrén had arrived outside of Jarnvidr, the Iron Wood, when the men were inside it, she was able to let Aldaron know she was there.’
To the storyteller’s relief, this explanation seemed to satisfy the children.
‘Right... Aeskil,’ said the old man, pointing to a boy at one end of the group.
‘What happened to Loki?’ asked Aeskil.
‘Ah, now... ’ said the storyteller gravely but, at the same time, pleased that the subject had been raised, ‘... the fate of Loki!’ and there came a sudden, excited buzz of interest from the audience. ‘Well,’ he continued, ‘that is, most definitely, not a story for the squeamish!’
[Gasps of optimism from the children.]
‘Are you sure you’re all up to hearing it?’ teased the storyteller, inclining his head slightly and appearing to regard all of the children with one eye, under a raised eyebrow.
[Unanimous, noisy response in the affirmative from the children.]
‘Loki,’ went on the storyteller, clearly pleased with the children’s reply and, now relishing the sight of their wide eyes and gaping mouths, ‘was captured by Odin and Thor, as he was about to finish off Sharp Axe. Injured though he was, however, he later managed to escape from them, as they were passing Franang’s Falls, by shapeshifting into a salmon and throwing himself into the pool beneath the waterfall, where he tried to hide.’
[Gasps of outrage from the children.]
‘But Loki’s freedom was short-lived. Odin quickly fashioned a net and had Thor fish Loki out of the pool. They took him back to Asgard and immediately went about discussing with the other Aesir what should become of the Trickster God.
‘It was decided that, for killing Baldr – thus committing the very crime that would, one day, bring about the destruction of the Aesir – Loki should be punished... in a most horrible and... excruciating manner!’
[Muffled, tentative cheers from the children.]
‘The Aesir also captured Loki’s two sons, Vali and Narfi. They turned Vali into a vicious wolf and watched as he tore out his brother Narfi’s throat.
[Horrified gasps from the children, more than one of which was delivered in a tone suggesting the Aesir might have gone a bit too far on this one.]
‘Loki was taken to a place upon which stood three rocks,’ continued the storyteller, with more than a trace of satisfaction in his voice, ‘and the Aesir used Narfi’s entrails to bind him tightly to them, so that he could not move a muscle. Then, the giantess Skadi placed a large, venomous snake above his helpless body... ’
[Yet more horrified gasps from the children.]
‘... but the snake did not bite him... ’ said the old man, in a serious, almost disapproving manner, with a slow, deliberate shake of his head, ‘... oh, no... this snake did not mean to kill Loki... it dripped venom, from its hideous fangs… into... his eyes!’
[Open-mouthed silence, followed by much incredulous face-pulling from the children… and the occasional horrified gasp.]
‘Now, Loki,’ went on the old man, ‘was very lucky.’
[Looks of surprise from the children, who failed to see how the term ‘very lucky’ could possibly be applied to Loki, whilst in this particular predicament.]
&nbs
p; ‘Oh, you might not think so,’ conceded the storyteller, looking intently at the collection of intrigued faces before him, ‘but, you see, Loki had a wife.’
‘Angrboda!’ came a confident cry, from somewhere towards the back of the listening group.
‘Actually, no,’ replied the storyteller, with a more rapid, even vigorous shake of the head, ‘I am talking about the lawful wife of Loki – both lawful and loyal, as it turned out. Her name was Sigyn... and she would tend her husband, day and night... comforting him, as the snake hovered above his face. She would catch the dripping venom in the bowl she held in her hands before it could reach her husband’s eyes.’
‘So,’ called a voice, much more tentatively than the previous one, ‘Loki didn’t have to suffer very much for killing Baldr?’
‘Well,’ replied the old man, after a moment’s deliberation, ‘most of the time, Sigyn caught the venom in her bowl... but... whenever the bowl was full, she would have to leave her husband, in order to empty it – carefully, so as to ensure that none of the dangerous venom would be spilled. It was then that the snake’s venom would reach its intended target. When this happened, Loki’s pain would be unbearable! He would writhe uncontrollably on the three rocks where he was bound; so much so, in fact, that he would even cause the Nine Worlds to tremble, until Sigyn returned with the empty bowl and began to catch the snake venom in it, once again.’
The group of children now seemed quite satisfied with the Aesir’s apparently balanced approach to justice, at least where Loki was concerned.
‘Now,’ resumed the old man, ‘who else had a question...? Yes... Herdis.’
‘Did Sharp Axe and Mithrén go to live in Grimstad?’ asked Herdis.
‘Hmmm… ’ replied the storyteller, non-committally, ‘… rumour has it they lived in several places – Grimstad and Álfheimr amongst them. But, to tell you the truth, I cannot be sure. Yes, Saemund?’
What became of Fearless Wolf Slayer?’ enquired Saemund.
‘Ah, yes... ’ said the storyteller, now gazing distractedly into the distance, ‘... Fearless Wolf Slayer... scourge of the lupine race... pride of Grimstad... apple of his father’s eye.’
‘Yes… him,’ confirmed Saemund, rather uncertainly, having found difficulty in recognising the subject of his question, from the old man’s description.
‘Well, I should like to tell you of Fearless Wolf Slayer’s celebrated heroic deeds, in the years following the slaughter of the unfortunate creature which earned him his name... ’
[General surprise amongst the audience.]
‘... I should like to tell you of his unsurpassed courage, in the face of adversity... ’ continued the storyteller, his voice growing steadily in volume.
[General bewilderment amongst the audience.]
‘... I should like to tell you of his unparalleled bravery, as he pursued his selfless, one-man quest to fight injustice... to right wrongs... to help the needy... to free the oppressed... to vanquish evil and to stand up to tyranny, wherever it could be found!’
[Downright astonishment amongst the audience.]
The storyteller sighed.
‘I should like to tell you all that… ’ he continued, quietly, ‘… but, children, what I really think is that Fearless probably just went back to being the coward he had always been.’
[Sounds of profound disappointment from the audience.]
A small boy raised his hand.
‘What about Ragnarøkkr?’ he asked, once the old man had acknowledged him.
‘Aha! Ragnarøkkr!’ cried the storyteller, in a way that suggested that he had finally heard the question he had longed to be asked. ‘Ragnarøkkr, as had long been foretold did, indeed, mark the very end of the Nine Worlds, as they had been known, up to then.’
The storyteller scrutinised his young audience patiently, to gauge the general level of interest in his pet subject.
‘You wish me to tell you how the gods of Asgard faced their enemies, the Frost Giants and Fire Giants, in one, final, terrible, cataclysmic battle!’ he announced, eventually.
[Noises of agreement from the audience.]
‘You wish me to describe Odin’s terrible struggle to the death, with the giant wolf Fenrir, dreaded offspring of Loki and Angrboda!’
[Louder noises of agreement from the audience.]
‘You wish me to speak of Thor’s final, blood-stained encounter with that other, hideous product of Loki and Angrboda’s union: the giant sea-serpent, Jørmungandr!’
[Loudest noises of agreement yet from the audience.]
‘Children... children... ’ sighed the old storyteller, following an almost painfully-long dramatic pause, filled with absolute silence, ‘... those are tales of courage and treachery, heroism and infamy, all in equal measure, such as you have never heard in your lives! In fact – ’
‘Trud!’ came a sudden call out of the darkness, from a young adult woman. ‘It’s late!’
‘Gulli!’ shouted a similar voice, from the opposite direction, seconds later. ‘Bedtime!’
[Loud groans of disapproval from two of the children sitting in front of the storyteller.]
‘ – aaah!’ said the storyteller with a deflated voice, laced with all the disappointment of someone who might, himself, just been called in for bed. ‘I think I might have... gone on for rather longer than I had intended.’ He looked over the heads of his audience, screwed up his eyes to help focus his aging vision and noticed several mothers heading, with what appeared to be unshakable determination, in the direction of their seated children.
‘I am afraid,’ conceded the storyteller, somewhat reluctantly, ‘that the story of Ragnarøkkr will have to wait until another time.’
[Huge groans of disapproval contesting the decision from all of the children sitting in front of the storyteller.]
The old man allowed himself a brief smile of self-satisfaction, taking this unified display of defiance from his audience as another compliment to his storytelling-skills.
‘Now, now,’ he offered, soothingly, ‘no complaints; it’s very late and you’ve worked me so hard, my poor voice is almost worn out.’
Without the slightest trace of guilt, the children dragged themselves slowly to their feet, some yawning, though most complaining quietly to one another, as they resigned themselves to having to leave the fire and the old man’s stories of old.
‘I shall tell you the tale of Ragnarøkkr at the very next opportunity!’ vowed the old man grandly, which seemed to provide some small crumb of comfort to most of his audience. ‘And... oh, children... ’ called the storyteller, hoarsely, as the group which had occupied the space around the fire finally began to make its way back to the various houses of the village, ‘... what a tale it is!’
The End
Asgard Page 17