I came up on Loki’s side of the table. He grabbed me as I tried to go past, pinching my arm so hard that it hurt. Leaning close, he whispered, “Where have you been, Thialfi? And how did you get so filthy?”
I started to explain, but he snapped, “Oh, never mind that now! We’ve got bigger problems than your dress. Thor is getting restless. He’s already wolfed down all the dainties set aside for the women, and Thrym is starting to suspect something. I’ve got all I can do to keep him calm. I need you to keep Thor in line!”
I wanted to tell Loki what was going on with the hammer, but at that moment Thrym shouted, “To your places! The feast arrives!”
A horn blew—sounding more like a fart than like the golden trumpets of Asgard—and from the kitchen came a parade of lady giants bearing platters of food. A deafening cheer went up from Thrym’s friends.
One of the women set a plate with an enormous salmon on it in front of Thor. Then she held out a knife, waiting for the bride to indicate how much of it she wanted for herself. Thor waved her away and pulled the platter closer. Within minutes the entire fish had disappeared beneath his veil.
Clearly he was making up for the sparse meal we had eaten the night before, when I’d prevented him from killing the goats.
Banging his hand upon the table, Thor gestured for another salmon.
And then another.
And another!
Thrym watched with wide eyes as fish after fish disappeared down his bride’s gullet. I could hear the other giants begin to murmur thanks that they were not going to have to feed such a ravenous wife. But it wasn’t until Thor ate the better part of an ox that Thrym cried, “Did ever a bride have such an appetite? She eats like a dragon!”
“Oh, Thrym,” simpered Loki, putting a hand on the giant’s arm. “You have to understand. The giddy girl has been so anxious for her wedding to your powerful self that she has not swallowed a single bite for eight days. Is it any wonder she’s starving?”
“Well, that’s easy to understand,” said Thrym proudly. Raising his tankard he bellowed, “Here’s to Freya, and her love fer Thrym!”
The giants roared their approval and had another drink. The sight of all that liquid flowing, or perhaps the great meal itself, must have made Thor thirsty, too. Handing me his tankard, he pointed toward the vats of mead.
I scurried to fill it for him. When I returned, he drank it straight down and indicated that he wanted a refill.
Soon I was trotting steadily back and forth between the mead barrels and the bridal table. Thrym watched in horrified fascination as Thor emptied the first barrel, and then a second, and then a third.
I heard one of the other giants murmur, “Three barrels of mead at a sitting! She drinks like a sea serpent!”
But Loki whispered to Thrym, “The poor dear is all dried out. She has sobbed without ceasing these eight days, from love and longing for you!”
Thor belched in agreement.
“Oh, the darling!” cried Thrym. “No wonder she was thirsty. Let her drink all she wants!” He gave his bride a loving pat on the head, which caused Thor’s veil to slip. The fiery, red-rimmed eye that glared out made Thrym jump back so quickly he nearly upset the table.
“Did ever a bride have such burning eyes?” he cried. “She looks like an eagle!”
Quickly I leaned over Thor to adjust his veil. As I did I whispered urgently, “You must restrain yourself, master, or Thrym will guess you’re not Freya after all!”
Thor sighed so heavily it caused his veil to flutter, almost revealing his beard. But he nodded his understanding.
At the same time, Loki was twittering, “Ah, Thrym, you must understand. The lady has not slept a wink for eight days, so consumed was she with love for Thrym. Is it any wonder her eyes are wild?”
“Oh, how great is Freya’s love for me!” cried Thrym. “How cruel it would be to make her wait! Let us marry right this moment!”
“Ah, ah!” said Loki. “First the ransom, then the reward. Despite her love, faithful Freya may not marry till you prove it was you who outsmarted Thor.”
From behind the veil, I heard the sound of Thor’s teeth grinding together.
“Steady, master,” I whispered. “It won’t be long now.”
“Bring the hammer!” cried Thrym. He lurched to his feet. “Bring in the hammer! Lay it upon my bride’s lap, to bless our wedding day!”
Two giants left the hall. I knew they were heading for the stable to fetch the hammer. I held my breath, hoping that Sindri and Brock had been able to make the switch—and also hoping they had thought to haul Hralf’s unconscious body someplace where it would not be noticed. I nearly went mad with worry, half expecting the giants to come raging back into the hall, announcing that there was treachery at work. But when they finally staggered in, they were holding the hammer between them.
I still didn’t relax. Were they merely pretending to be weighed down? Or was it truly Mjollnir that was making them bend so low? A movement caught my eye—Thor’s fingers, twitching with longing to grasp his lost hammer.
“Steady, master,” I whispered. “Steady. Let them bring it to you!”
Thor growled, but so softly that only I could hear him.
Then the giants placed the hammer in his lap.
As Thor grasped it, a bolt of thunder sounded overhead. I sighed in relief. It was the real hammer all right!
Thrym cried out in astonishment. “What in—”
His words were cut off as Thor sprang to his feet and ripped away the veil that had covered his face. His beard sprang out as if released from captivity. Lightning flashed across the rafters. Thunder shook the roof, and a cold wind swept the hall.
“Oh, luckless Thrym,” roared Thor. “Sad for you the day you dared to touch Mjollnir. Sad for you the day you dared to draw the wrath of Thor. Now the charade has ended. Now the thief must pay!”
Then, with a single blow of his hammer, Thor sent Thrym flying across the room. The sleeve of his bridal gown burst open to show his mighty muscles. At the same moment, to my horror, the Brising Necklace broke. The string of stones went flying into the air like an escaped beam of light. Leaping atop the bridal table, I snatched it as it went flying by. Clutching it, I fell to the floor and rolled under the table.
Just as well. Under the table was the safest place to be at the moment. Chaos had erupted. The giants were all on their feet, bellowing in rage, climbing over one another to get at Thor. But the drunken fools were no match for the thunder god and his mighty hammer. Still dressed in his bridal gown, holding up the hem with one hand, Thor strode through the room, bashing right and left with Mjollnir. Soon the feasting hall was piled high with the bodies of unconscious Jotuns.
Someone’s hand grabbed my arm. I braced myself for a fight, but it was Loki. “Come on, Thialfi,” he said, hauling me to my feet. “We have to go, too.”
We scurried to catch up with Thor. Loki, lifting the ends of his dress, hopped nimbly over the fallen giants. I stumbled along behind, trying not to drop the Brising Necklace.
We reached the door. Thor shooed Loki and me out ahead of him, then turned and swung Mjollnir in a mighty crisscross pattern. The back of his dress split wide as he pounded the hammer in a single mighty blow against Thrym’s house.
Lightning danced overhead. Peal after peal of thunder split the sky. And the house of Thrym collapsed, trapping the giants within.
“Thialfi!” cried Thor triumphantly. “Harness the goats! It’s time to head for home!”
15
Just Rewards
There’s not much left to tell. As I hurried to the stable to get Gat and Grinder, I spotted Hralf’s feet sticking out from beneath a bush. Any guilt I might have felt about fooling him was swept away by the knowledge that he was far better off out here than he would have been in the ruins of his uncle’s house.
Thor and Loki didn’t bother to come inside the stable, choosing instead to stay outside and watch for stray giants. It was just as well, since Bro
ck and Sindri were waiting for me.
“Well, that seems to have gone quite nicely,” said Sindri when I came in. “Glad we were able to help make up for the trouble we caused.”
“Remember,” said Brock, “this must remain our secret. Swear that you won’t breathe a word of it to Thor.”
I sighed, and swore, giving up any chance I had of clearing my conscience by confessing.
Both little men bowed solemnly, then hurried into the darkness.
“Guess you won’t get to tell Thor what you did after all, Thialfi,” snickered Gat as I was strapping him into the harness.
“Oh, hush, Gat,” said Grinder. “Don’t bother the boy! You know as well as I do that Sindri would have found his way into Bilskirnir one way or other. All Thialfi did was make things easier for him. He’s done more than enough tonight to correct his mistake.”
“It does make for an interesting balance,” said Gat. “The misdeed goes untold and unpunished, the good work remains unsung and unrewarded. You can let your silence be its own punishment.”
Which it pretty much was.
As for our journey back to Asgard, it was swift and untroubled, and the celebration when we arrived was, I have been told, the greatest the city has ever seen. Odin himself hosted a great banquet, which was called forever after the Un-Wedding Feast.
We did have one tense moment: Just before the banquet, Freya came to Thor to ask for the return of the Brising Necklace. He put his hand to his chest, looking startled, then horrified. Fortunately, I was close by, so I was able to pull the necklace out of my dress and present it to her.
“My master asked me to keep this safe for you as we traveled home, lady,” I said solemnly. “The hasp is broken, but otherwise all is well.”
Freya frowned slightly, but did not swear or throw anything. Thor looked at me in wonder.
Later that night, when the banquet was long ended, I sat alone in the goat yard, looking at the stars and thinking of all that had happened. To my surprise, Thor came to stand beside me. He was silent for a moment, but finally he cleared his throat and said, “Thialfi, by the promises made to me by you and your parents, you and your sister are bound to serve in Asgard for many years yet. These promises, made with sacred bindings, are not easily undone. Yet for your service on this trip, I can grant a freedom. If you wish to return to Midgard and your parents, you may.”
My heart leapt at the idea. To go home! To see Mother and Father again!
But, oh, how I would miss Asgard.
Having lived in two worlds, I wondered if I would ever be completely at home in either of them now.
And there was another thing, something bigger Gat had been right when he said things were in balance. To accept my freedom for solving a problem I had secretly helped create felt wrong somehow.
I was silent for a moment. Finally I said, “Master, you said you can grant one freedom?”
“One and one only,” said Thor.
“May I give it to my sister? It was my misdeed that brought her here. If one of us is to go home, it should be Roskva.”
Thor did not answer right away, and I wondered if I had offended him. But when he looked at me, I could see something in his eyes that lifted my heart.
To earn the respect of a god is no small thing.
“It shall be as you wish,” he said gently. Then he laid a huge, powerful hand on my shoulder and said, “You’re a good lad, Thialfi.”
Behind me, I heard the sound of two goats laughing.
I didn’t care.
Thor thought I was a good boy.
That was enough for now.
A Note from the Author
For as long as I can remember, I have loved the world of the Norse myths. Strange and wondrous, the tales of these gods always seemed to me to occupy a territory halfway between the elevated realms of the Greek myths and the closer-to-home world of fairy tales. Moreover, the underlying awareness in the Norse mythos of the doom to come, the knowledge that there will be a terrible day when the world of the gods shall end, gives these myths a haunting emotional resonance.
Yet not all was serious in this world. The bones of Thor’s Wedding Day come from an ancient Norse poem called the Thrymskvitha—a delicious burlesque of the gods, and the only truly funny myth I know.
I had long felt that the story would make a good picture book. (In fact, I’d worked on the idea off and on for nearly thirty years!) Then a conversation with my editor led to the idea that the story would work even better as a novel. Of course, since the original poem is only four or five pages long (you can easily find several translations on the Internet, if you are interested), it was clear I would need to add a great deal of material to turn it into a novel.
In adding that material, I tried to work largely within the context of the Norse mythos. So, for example, while Thialfi does not appear in the Thrymskvitha, we know from other stories that he and his sister, Roskva, were indeed mortal servants of the gods.
Similarly, while Thor really did drive a goat cart, Gat and Grinder’s personalities—not to mention the fact that they speak at all—are my own invention.
Loki does fly to Jotunheim and have a conversation with Thrym in the original story, but the matter of how this supposedly stupid giant actually managed to obtain Thor’s hammer is never addressed. While this plot point could be skated over in the brevity of a poem, a novel-length version of the tale demanded that it be dealt with. Trying to solve this puzzle led me to the dwarf brothers, Brock and Sindri. Again, though they do not appear in the Thrymskvitha, we learn from other poems that it was Sindri who forged Mjollnir, for the exact reasons given in this book.
Skalpa and Hralf, on the other hand, came from the depths of my own subconscious.
Readers who want to know more about the source stories would do well to look at D’Aulaires’ Norse Gods and Giants by Ingri and Edgar Parin D’Aulaire, which provides a very good introduction to this mythos. For a longer, more complex retelling of the complete saga of the Norse gods, you can do little better than The Children of Odin by Padraic Colum.
It’s been an enormous pleasure to revisit this world that I have so long loved. Thanks for coming along with me!
—BRUCE COVILLE
About the Author
BRUCE COVILLE is the author of over 100 books for children and young adults, including the international bestseller My Teacher Is an Alien, the Unicorn Chronicles series, and the much-beloved Jeremy Thatcher, Dragon Hatcher. His work has appeared in a dozen languages and won children’s choice awards in a dozen states.
Before becoming a full time writer Bruce was a teacher, a toymaker, a magazine editor, a gravedigger, and a cookware salesman. He is also the creator of Full Cast Audio, an audiobook company devoted to producing full cast, unabridged recordings of material for family listening and has produced over a hundred audiobooks, directing and/or acting in most of them.
Bruce lives in Syracuse, New York, with his wife, illustrator and author Katherine Coville.
Visit his website at www.brucecoville.com.
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