5
The Council of the Gods
I had never been in the Great Hall of Asgard before. Even from outside, it was the most amazing building I had ever seen, vaster and grander than I could have imagined possible before I crossed the Rainbow Bridge in Thor’s goat cart.
We approached it as a household—Thor; Sif; their two sons, Modi and Magni; the other servants; and me. Loki came with us as well, as he had been waiting at Bilskirnir for Thor to report on his meeting with Freya.
The other gods and goddesses were also arriving, each followed by the mortals who served them. Entering the hall just ahead of us was Baldur. The most beautiful of the gods, and also the most gentle, Baldur was loved by everyone—with the possible exception of Loki.
Close behind us came Tyr, the god of war. His face was grim and stern. Though you would never want to anger him, you could also tell—just by looking at him—that there could be no one better to have at your side in battle.
Striding behind Tyr came Heimdall, guardian of the Rainbow Bridge. If I had not already been convinced that the situation was serious, the fact that Heimdall had left his post would have told me how deep the trouble was.
The great wooden doors of the hall, which were carved with interlocking designs and images of monsters, swung open as if of their own accord. We entered an enormous chamber, though as it turned out, this was only the outer hall, and a mere fraction the size of the main room. The chatter of the gods filled the air. Some were aware of the catastrophe, some just finding out. I could hear scandalized shouts as word of Thrym’s outrageous demand reached each of them.
Then the next set of doors swung open. My heart nearly stopped at the sight. Ahead was the most beautiful room in the world—or, at any rate, the most beautiful I had ever seen. Great beams of polished wood, golden brown, held up the sky-distant ceiling. From those beams dangled gorgeous banners, marked with the insignia of the gods. Along each side of the room were sectors divided by intricately carved rails. In each sector stood one or two beautiful chairs—two if the god or goddess was married, one if he or she had no spouse.
But it was not these sectors that caught and held my attention. At the end of the room sat Odin, and what mortal, seeing him, could tear his eyes away? The Allfather wore a cloak of gray, the gray of the sea, of fog, of stormy skies—all these grays and more, for it seemed to shift and change even as I gazed upon it.
On his shoulders sat the ravens Hugin and Munin. With his one good eye—and who did not know the tale of how he had traded the other for a drink from the Well of Wisdom?—Odin gazed out on the gathering of his children. And in that gaze was such wisdom, and sorrow, and unexpected joy, that I felt tears well up in my own eyes, for I had seen something greater and more wonderful than I even knew existed. But I also shrank back, fearing that his gaze would fall upon me, and he would know my secret sin, and call it out for the gods to hear.
When all had gathered, each in his or her place, each with his or her household, Odin spoke. His voice was deep as a valley, serious as a grave. His words were simple. “We have a problem.”
It was all I could do to keep from bolting out of the room.
“The problem,” he continued, “is this: Thor’s hammer, Mjollnir, which is our greatest defense against the Jotuns, has been stolen. It is being held by a Jotun named Thrym, who has demanded that to ransom it we send Freya to be his bride. This, of course, we shall not do. The question is, what shall we do? We must regain the hammer or all of Asgard is in peril.”
A deathly silence fell over the hall. I longed for someone to speak, to provide a solution.
The silence went on.
Just as I was feeling that if someone did not speak I must fling myself forward with a confession, Loki cleared his throat.
All eyes turned in his direction.
“Yes, Loki?” said Odin.
“Oh, never mind,” said the mischief maker, waving his hand. “I had an idea, but . . .”
Odin sighed. “Let us hear it, Loki.”
Stepping forward, Loki said, “Thrym has demanded a bride. Freya will not go, nor can we blame her. Yet we must gain the hammer. Therefore, one of us must go in her stead.”
Odin wrinkled his brow, as if trying to understand. “What do you mean, sly one?”
Loki spread his hands as if the answer were obvious. “I mean one of us must dress as Freya and go to gain the hammer.”
“Who would do such a thing, Loki?” demanded Tyr. “Dress in bridal clothes! Think of the shame!”
Loki shrugged modestly. “Perhaps he who lost the hammer should be the one to go and fetch it.”
An awful silence fell over the hall, only to be replaced by peals of laughter.
“Aye!” cried Heimdall, laughing so hard he had to wipe tears from his eyes. “Aye, let Thor be Thrym’s bride!”
“Let Thor be the bride!” cried voices on every side. “Let Thor be the bride!”
I saw Freya laughing and clapping her hands as she joined her voice with the others.
Thor sprang to his feet, his red beard curling and uncurling. A dark cloud formed over his head as he raged, “This time you go too far, Loki! Thor is not to be laughed at in this fashion, not to be mocked, not to be—”
“Oh, tut-tut, Goat Lord,” said Loki. “If we do not regain what you lost, there will be no laughter in Asgard at all. Do what must be done. I will even go with you. I shall be your bridesmaid, and help you maintain your . . . maidenly modesty.”
I was amazed that Loki would make this offer, until I realized that his love of mischief was such that he would go to any lengths to embarrass Thor—even if it meant putting himself in line for a bit of mocking, too.
And so it was decided: In order to regain Mjollnir, Thor must disguise himself as Freya. Then with Loki as his bridesmaid, he would go to Jotunheim and pretend to marry Thrym.
It went without saying that, as Thor’s goat boy, I would be going with them.
6
Goat Girl
Odin sent a pair of messengers to Jotunheim to say that the gods had agreed to the bargain, and to arrange the terms of the marriage. Not being able to fly, as Loki had, it took them two days to go and two days to get back.
Everyone in Asgard was on edge while the messengers were gone, and none more than Thor, who roamed around Bilskirnir muttering angrily to himself.
At night we heard him making thunderstorms.
“The mortals down in Midgard must be wondering what they’ve done to make Thor so angry,” said Gat on the morning of the fourth day.
It made me think of my parents. I hoped they were all right.
Late that afternoon, the messengers returned. Unfortunately, their news made Thor explode again.
“Four days!” he roared after he returned from the Great Hall, where he had gone to hear their report. “Those dratted giants want another four days!”
He was inside the house, but the goats and I could hear him plainly enough outside.
“Naturally they want some time,” muttered Grinder—not speaking directly to me, of course. “Weddings take arranging. Even I know that, and I’m only a goat!”
If Thor had fretted and fumed during the first four days, he was even worse during the two days that followed. My own state of fuss was almost as bad, since I continued to worry about whether I should confess to letting Ragnar into the house.
Gat continued to advise against it.
“What good will confessing do at this point, Thialfi? It’s not as if it will bring the hammer back—or even reveal where it is hidden. If it really is eight miles deep, as Thrym claimed, I guarantee you Ragnar is with it. Eight miles deep is dwarf work, not giant’s doing. Think of what Thrym said: ‘Eight miles deep, hidden where neither god nor elf can find it.’ Neither god nor elf—but definitely dwarf. I’m surprised no one else thought of that.”
“Well, they didn’t know there was a dwarf involved.”
“Nor do they need to know. That’s not going to get the ham
mer back.”
“If I told what I’ve done, it might make me feel better,” I said miserably.
“That’s only because you’re burdened with a conscience. Too bad you’re not a goat. Then you wouldn’t have that problem. All confessing now will do is make Thor angrier than he is already. Even if he doesn’t do something awful to you, he’ll probably send you packing, and I’d much rather that not happen.”
“Why?” I asked, genuinely puzzled.
Gat snorted. “Much as I hate to admit it, you’re the best goat boy we’ve ever had.”
“Grinder doesn’t think so,” I said, glancing at the other goat, who was dozing in the morning sun.
“Yes he does,” said Gat softly. “He just won’t admit it because he’s still mad about what happened back when we met you.”
“Isn’t three years a long time to hold a grudge?”
“Not for a goat. Now look, you’re coming with us, right?”
“Don’t I always? It’s not like Thor wants to tend the two of you himself on this trip.”
“Good. That means you’ll be on hand if there’s anything we need to take care of. Um, are you going to have to dress like a girl, too?”
“Not that I know of!”
“Might be better if you did. You’d have a little more freedom to look around that way. They won’t be as suspicious of a girl.” He gave me one of his wicked goat grins. “You can consider it punishment for your sins. Maybe it will help ease that dratted conscience of yours.”
The next morning—the day of our departure— Thor came into the goat yard and said, “Thialfi, come with me.”
“Where are we going, master?”
The thunder god sighed. “We must to Freya’s so the goddesses can dress us for our journey. You know well enough that I am to pose as Freya-the-Bride for the purpose of fooling Thrym. Alas for you, my lad, you’ll need to dress the part as well. Goat boy no longer, Thialfi, but goat girl you shall be until mighty Mjollnir rests once more safely in my hand.”
I glanced at my two charges. Gat only smiled and winked, but Grinder gave a snort of laughter that made me want to kick him.
With a sigh, I followed Thor out of the goat yard.
Loki was already at Freya’s home when we arrived. So were all the goddesses of Asgard—except Sif, who had chosen to stay at Bilskirnir. They were gathered around a table covered with gowns and other female things, and were clearly looking forward to their task. I never heard such giggling in my life!
“Do you think this would fit Thor?” asked Iduna, holding up a pale blue shift that looked like a piece of sky.
“Don’t be silly, dear,” tutted Freya. “He’d burst the seams in a moment.”
“Oh, but look!” exclaimed Frigga, snatching up a shimmering red scarf. “Won’t this be divine on Loki! Think of how it will go with his hair!”
The giggling stopped when we came in. All eyes turned in our direction. Then Freya smiled wickedly. In some ways, she reminded me of the goats. She was prettier, of course, but she had much the same personality. “Come here, Thor,” she said. “We must begin your transformation.”
Laughing merrily, as if they had forgotten the danger, the goddesses descended on him. A moment later, Thor was standing in nothing but his undershirt. (Fortunately, it hung well past his knees.)
“Obviously, the first thing we have to do is cinch in his waist,” said Freya. She grabbed an odd-looking device from the table, and they wrapped it around Thor’s middle.
“Ooof!” cried Thor as they started to tighten the laces from behind. “You’re killing me! I can’t breathe!”
“Nonsense,” said Freya with vicious pleasure. “You’re a god, Thor. You’re not going to die just from having your waist pulled in!”
“What is this thing? Some torture device you found somewhere?”
“It’s just a simple corset. Now, if you’re going to pretend to be me, you’re going to need to show a better figure than this. Suck in that gut!”
Thor sucked, and the goddesses tightened his girdle another inch.
“We’ll have to pin down that beard of his,” said Iduna fretfully. “We can’t have it curling out from under his veil.”
Once that was done—and a fair struggle it was—Frigga sighed and said, “Oh, Thor. Didn’t Sif ever teach you to use a comb? Your hair is wild as brambles.”
“I like it that way,” muttered Thor sulkily.
“Now for your bosoms,” said Freya.
“My what?” roared Thor.
“Why, Thor,” chided Loki. “You don’t think Thrym will believe you’re Freya without a little something extra up front, do you?”
Thor fussed and fumed as the goddesses worked at padding his chest. They tried one thing after another for the proper rounded effect, including balls of fabric, a pair of apples, and two sleeping rabbits. I thought the bunnies looked best, but Freya decided they couldn’t be sure the sleeping spell would last through the wedding. “If your bosom starts squirming halfway through the feast, even Thrym will get suspicious,” she declared.
In the end they went with the apples, which were provided by Iduna.
They were dressing Loki at the same time, but being decked out as a woman didn’t bother him at all. If anything, he seemed to enjoy it. But then, according to Gat-Tooth, Loki had once turned himself into a pretty little mare and was the mother of Odin’s horse, Sleipnir. So I suppose dressing up as a bridesmaid wasn’t such a stretch for him.
I didn’t have the attention of the goddesses myself, of course. That didn’t mean I escaped the skirts. Roskva was assigned to outfit me, which she did with the help of the cook, the chambermaid, and the goose girl.
“Come on, Thialfi,” said my sister, dragging me into the kitchen. She was enjoying herself more than I would have liked. “Scoot behind that door. Now then, it’s off with those breeches and on with this dress. I chose it for you myself!”
I sighed, and did as Roskva instructed.
I have to say, getting into the thing nearly baffled me.
When I stepped from behind the door, the four of them burst into peals of laughter.
“Oh, Thialfi, you shouldha been born a gel,” said Cook. “Look at those eyelashes of yourn. What a shame to waste ’em on a boy!”
“I can’t figure out how to fasten this thing!” I complained, fumbling with the dress.
Just then we heard a burst of laughter. Creeping to the door to peek through, we saw Thor standing in the center of the room, his great bulk swathed in a wedding dress, a long veil covering his face and neck.
Loki, who actually looked quite good in his bridesmaid’s gown, had raised his own skirts and was dancing around Thor in a circle. Blond braids bouncing about his shoulders, the mischief maker sang:
“Oh, ne’er was such a blushing bride
As mighty Thor, all Asgard’s pride.
With arm of steel and eye of fire—
What more could happy Thrym desire?”
“Peace, Loki,” growled Thor, pulling aside his veil. “I need no hammer to bash in your annoying head!”
“Pish-tosh, Thunderer,” said Loki merrily. “You’ll never convince those giants you’re the bartered bride without my help. For one thing, you’ll need me to do the talking!”
On these last words, the mischief maker shifted his voice to make it sound all sweet and feminine, a shift we all knew Thor could never manage. But I also knew that Loki meant Thor was sure to give himself away if he did any talking at all, even if he could disguise his voice. Trickery was not the thunder god’s specialty.
Neither was thinking, for that matter. We were definitely going to need Loki’s quick wits if we were to regain the hammer and return with our skins intact.
Suddenly the goddesses fell silent, then stepped aside. Freya came forward, her eyes shining. Stretched between her hands was a string of stones that glowed from within, as if fire and rainbows had been caught on a thread. I had never seen it before, but I knew at once this must be the f
amous Brising Necklace.
Her voice held no merriment now. “This is most precious to me, Thor. I paid dearly to gain it, and I do not give it easily. But the giants, fools though they may be, know full well that Freya would never come to be wed without the Brising Necklace. So you must wear it in my stead.”
She fastened it around his neck, then said solemnly, “Fare you well. May you return in safety, bearing both your hammer and my necklace.”
That was when I finally realized how truly dangerous this trip was going to be. Thor, Loki, and I were heading straight into the home of a giant. And we wouldn’t be facing just one giant. Who knew how many of the monsters would be there? After all, Thrym had been trying to get Freya for many years. This wedding was going to be his great triumph. If he discovered our deception before Thor had his hammer back . . .
I shuddered.
Roskva slipped her hand into mine. “Dear brother,” she whispered. “Do be careful!”
“I will,” I promised. “After all, I’m not the one who has to face the giants.”
I did not know, then, the things I would have to face before all this was over.
7
Journey to Jotunheim
“Oh, look, Gat-Tooth,” minced Tooth-Grinder, when I returned to the goat yard. “We have a new mistress. What do you suppose happened to that annoying boy who used to take care of us?”
Gat chuckled but at least spoke to me directly. On the other hand, what he said was, “Thialfi, you have got to be the ugliest goat girl in three worlds.”
“That’s not what they told me at Freya’s house,” I retorted, oddly stung. “Now come on, let’s get you two in harness.”
They were only mildly obstinate, considering that they were goats, so the work should have gone quickly. What I had not counted on was how annoying it would be to work in skirts.
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