Monsters of Norse Mythology

by Bernard Evslin

  “Fish and game both!” cried Loki. He turned to Regnir. “You’re quite a guide, little fellow. Now let’s see what kind of cook you are. Clean those creatures and roast them. And be very careful when you’re skinning the otter. If you harm that magnificent pelt, I’ll take your own hide off with my bare hands.”

  “No use to do all that out here with night drawing on,” said Regnir. “Noble sirs, if you would but follow me, I’ll lead you to my home. I have a superb flaying knife there, newly sharpened. And a proper roasting pit. Also a keg of mead and soft beds for you to sleep on.”

  “Good gnome,” said Odin. “We accept your invitation.”

  “I’ll run ahead to inform the servants,” said Regnir. “Just follow me down this path about half a mile, and you’ll come to my house.”

  “Do you live there alone?” asked Loki.

  “No sir. My father lives there also. And my two—I mean my one brother. We do not often have the honor of entertaining such noble guests. You will find a warm welcome.”

  And he raced off. Odin and Loki followed, bearing the body of the otter between them.

  Regnir ran as fast as he could and burst into the house. “Father, father!” he cried. “I bring bad news! Strangers have murdered Oter. They’re coming now with his carcass and expect us to roast it for their dinner.”

  Hreidmar’s bellow of fury rattled every bone in the house. “To work!” he roared. “To work! You, Regnir, prepare the keg and the cups. Cast sleepy herbs upon the fire. Rig the Hreidmar hammocks. You, Fafnir, put on your most fearsome form and await my signal.”

  The sons obeyed their father without hesitation. They knew that he was a master of such painful hospitality, and that they would profit from whatever he planned for his guests.

  Odin and Loki had slung the body of the otter from a long pole which they balanced on their shoulders as they plodded through the woods, Loki in front. They came out of the forest into an open space and stood staring at the house of bone. Loki immediately recognized it for what it was and let his end of the pole slide to the ground.

  “Quickly, my lord, let us flee!” he cried. “This is an ogre’s den!”

  “Flee? Me?” said Odin. “Not likely. I’m hungry and thirsty and mean to dine here, Ogres or not.”

  Just then they saw two skull cups floating toward them. A huge keg floated after the skulls. It was brimming with mead; they could smell the honey and malt of it. Each skull hovered within arm’s reach of the men. The keg tipped itself in the air and carefully poured mead into the skulls, not spilling a drop. Odin reached for his cup but it retreated slowly before him, floating toward the house. Odin followed, reaching for the skull that stayed just a bit beyond his reach. Loki had to follow. The skull stopped at the pelvis archway, allowing Odin to catch it. He emptied it in one long swallow.

  Crying, “Regnir, we’re here!” he strode through the archway, Loki following. They came into a huge chamber. A fire crackled in the hearth. “They’re burning fatwood,” Odin thought, for the fire cast a strong, sweet smell. Suddenly, he felt sleepy, as though he had already dined. He turned to look at Loki, and saw only a blur. He dropped into a large hammock that seemed to have slung itself from wall to bone wall.

  Immediately, the hammock began to twirl, wrapping him in its folds. He tried to rip his way out but the slender ropes were like cable. He was caught. Netted like a fish. Helpless. He, who had been power itself, could not endure being helpless. Blackness took him.

  He awoke to find himself chained to a rock outside the house. An iron ring had been sunk into the rock. Heavy iron chains passed through the ring and were bolted to iron collars about his neck, his waist, his wrists, and his ankles. Loki was beside him, chained in the same way. Planted in front of the rock were two legs, thick as tree trunks. Odin’s gaze traveled up, up the whole length of the gigantic body to the ugliest face he had ever seen—something like a bearded warthog, complete with tusks. But the eyes were not animal eyes; they were dancing with malice.

  His voice rumbled down at Odin. “I am Hreidmar, Lord Ogre of this domain. The carcass you have dropped in my yard was my son, Oter, who chose that form for his salmon fishing. Yes, you have murdered my best son, but I have two useful ones left. I can’t introduce you to Regnir; he seems to have vanished for the moment. Grief-stricken, no doubt, by his brother’s death. But Fafnir, my youngest, is eager to meet you.”

  As he spoke, an enormous weasel was gliding toward them; it was as big as a war-horse. Its eyes were pools of red fire; its mouth was bloody.

  “In this form,” said Hreidmar, “he can open you up and rummage among your entrails as a weasel does to a hare. My household, however, has a reputation for hospitality, even toward unwelcome guests. So I offer you an option.”

  He spoke to the weasel. “Be something else,” he said.

  Odin and Loki watched in horror as the weasel’s skinny tail hooked itself, lost its hair, became a sting. Its body widened, grew hairy as a bee, sprouted antennae; it became, in fact, a giant scorpion.

  “Contact with this one is more horrid, perhaps,” said Hreidmar. “But the death it deals is less painful than what the weasel offers. For one touch of its sting will inject you with a paralyzing venom, and you will feel little pain as you watch yourself being devoured. You may choose between weasel and scorpion. Before you do that, though, consider a third option.”

  He snapped his fingers. The scorpion sprouted wings. Not the gauzy wings of an insect, or feathered bird wings, but ribbed leather ones. And its body changed as it rose—slimmed down, became long and sleek. Its face grew pointy. Its ears swiveled and tilted. Its feet wore talons, its narrow mouth was crowded with fangs. It had become a gigantic flying rat, bigger than an eagle.

  “Fafnir’s third incarnation,” said Hreidmar. “A vampire bat. Should you choose his attentions he will dive upon you, sink his fangs into your throat and drink your rich blood. A colorful death, less messy for us in a way, allows us to strip the bloodless flesh away and begin drying the bones for construction. But, as I promised, I shan’t consult my own convenience, but give you the chance to choose. So choose, strangers. Choose your death—weasel, scorpion, or bat. Which is it to be? Don’t ponder too long, or I shall have to choose for you.”

  Regnir had been hiding, melting into a shadow as only Gnomes can do, listening to his father’s threatening, and watching Fafnir change shape. Now, he knew, he had to act. While he wanted the captives to be thoroughly frightened, he didn’t want them killed—not yet. For he smelled wealth upon them.

  Swiftly, he began to dig. He drove his spade-shaped hands into the earth, scooping out great clumps until a hole yawned at his feet. He dived into the hole, and crouching on stumpy, twisted legs began to tunnel toward the rock where Odin and Loki were chained. He dug his way to a spot directly under Loki. He heard his father’s voice.

  “You won’t choose? Very well, I shall choose for you.”

  Loki, frozen by fear, heard another voice speak out of the ground. “Offer blood ransom! Quickly!”

  “Blood ransom!” croaked Loki to Hreidmar.

  “Blood ransom, yes,” rumbled Hreidmar. “Your blood for my son’s.”

  Odin’s voice rang out fresh and clear. “Weir gelt he means, good Ogre. Gold in payment for your son’s life, much gold.”

  “How much is much?” growled Hreidmar.

  “You name it.”

  “Enough to cover my son’s hide, every hair of it.”

  “But that hide is as big as a tent,” said Odin. “I don’t know if I have enough to cover it.”

  “Then what you have will be going to your heirs,” said Hreidmar. “And I mean immediately.”

  “Well, perhaps I can scrape up enough. Unchain us and we’ll go fetch it.”

  “Do you take me for a fool?” roared Hreidmar. “You’ll be unchained when I see the color of your gold, not before.”

  “But how can we get it for you unless you let us go?”

  “That’s your proble
m,” said the ogre. “And you’d better solve it quickly. I’m growing impatient and the bat is very thirsty.”

  Again the underground voice spoke: “One must stay, the other go. Tell him, tell him!”

  “Wait, Sir Ogre,” groaned Loki. “There’s a way to do it. Let one of us go to fetch the gold and hold the other until he returns.”

  “Very well,” rumbled Hreidmar. “I’ll keep the old one. He seems more important.”

  “Where is it?” whispered Loki to Odin.

  Ordinarily, Loki would have been the last one Odin would have trusted with the secret of his hoard. But now, he knew, there was no other way out.

  “It’s far to the south,” he whispered. “In a cave under the river Rhine, where it makes its fourth bend. Here, take my ring so that those who guard the trove will know you come from me and let you into the cave.”

  Now Loki had long lusted for this ring of Odin’s. Of all the jewels that adorned the Gods and Goddesses of Aesgard, this one was the most magnificent. So cunningly wrought was it, of gold so pure, it seemed that some magical smith had caught a handful of sunlight and twisted it into the shape of a ring. And through his pain and fear Loki felt a glimmer of pure greed and told himself, “No matter what, I shall have this ring for my own, and never let it go.”

  As soon as he saw Loki being unshackled, Regnir climbed out of his tunnel and hurried to the river. One of the secret skills he had taught himself was to speak bird language. He whistled up to a gull now, and said:

  “See that orange-pated fellow heading south? Follow him for me; see where he goes. Then return with all speed and tell me. You owe me a favor for getting rid of Oter. Now you gulls can feast on the shoals of salmon he would have devoured.”

  “I am honored to do your bidding, O Regnir,” said the gull, and soared away. The gnome ran back to his tunnel and took up his post near Odin.

  Hreidmar kept Odin chained to the rock as they waited for Loki to return with the gold. Nor did he offer his captive food or drink, meaning to make him suffer until he was actually ransomed. But Regnir, who still lurked underground, popped out of his hole that first night, bringing Odin roasted ground-squirrel and a flagon of springwater.

  At first Odin would not accept the offering, but glared at Regnir out of his one eye. “You misshapen little fiend,” he grated. “First you betrayed us into killing your brother, then delivered us into the hands of your monster kin. I’ll accept no favors from you.”

  “As you will,” said Regnir. “But my father means to torment you with hunger and thirst until your friend returns with the gold—and that, as you know, may take a long time.”

  “So be it,” said Odin. “Begone!”

  “I do you no favor,” said Regnir, “but offer something for a price. Say nothing to my father about my part in Oter’s death, and I’ll keep you fed for as long as you are chained to this rock.”

  Odin was about to refuse again but the savor of the roasted squirrels overpowered him. He was just too hungry to keep any resolutions. He snatched the spitted carcasses from Regnir and gobbled them up. Upended the flagon and gulped the water.

  “More,” he grunted.

  “But do you agree to my terms?”

  “By the fire and ice of deepest Hel, I do. Kill off the rest of your charming family, for all I care. In fact, the death of your ogre father and monster brother would leave the world much improved—especially if you slit your own throat afterward.”

  “But do you agree to my terms?” insisted Regnir. “Will you keep silent about how I led you to Oter?”

  “I agree, I agree; I’ve already told you so. Now get busy and roast me more squirrels. Or a partridge, perhaps, or a fat hare. Something with a bit more meat to it.”

  While Loki was gone, Regnir kept to his burrow, coming out only at night with food for Odin. All this time, however, he was listening for the screech which would mean that his gull had returned. He waited and waited, wondering whether Loki had simply fled to save his own life, leaving his companion to be murdered. And Odin, chained to his rock, was trying not to think the same thought.

  On the sixth night, though, shortly before dawn, Regnir did hear a gull cry, and popped out of his hole. It was a moonless night, very dark, but a thicker darkness dropped, and Regnir felt a weight on his shoulder.

  “I am weary, weary,” gasped the gull. “I followed him south for three days and nights—to the fourth bend of a river called the Rhine—saw what he did there, then sped back faster than I had gone.”

  “Gold! Gold!” cried Regnir. “Did he find gold there?”

  “He took it from under the river, from a cave dug into the bank. Oh, good gnome, that cave holds a wondrous hoard of gold. He sewed two mainsails into sacks and filled them full, and the heap of gold in the cave seemed unshrunken.”

  “Did you mark the spot? Can you find it again?”

  “I can take you to it any time you want,” said the gull. “But will you do a watery magic and send fish my way? For I am weary with traveling and very, very hungry.”

  “You shall feast!” cried Regnir. “I’ll send you shoals of salmon, honest gull. Fine sleek males, females bursting with roe! Fly away now and start fishing! I’ll call upon you again when I want to go south.”

  6

  Ransom and Curse

  Loki returned to the bone house leading a gigantic ox. Slung over its back were fat sacks that clinked with every swaying step the beast took.

  “Hoo hah!” roared Hreidmar. “Make ready for the ransom! Fafnir … Regnir … take hold of your brother’s pelt and spread it upon the grass!”

  They sprang to obey and the three ogres walked slowly over the meadow, laying the pelt. As they went, they sang a Rune of Increase:

  Corn-mother, Norn-mother,

  you who arrange and disarrange,

  and play with change,

  making big the small

  and small the big,

  enlarging raindrop to sea

  and seed to tree,

  calf to cow

  and piglet to pig—

  reducing the bright and strong

  to rust and dust,

  making death

  rhyme with breath …

  Corn-mother, Norn-mother,

  help us now …

  Stretch this hide

  to a bowshot long

  and a bowshot wide …

  And as Hreidmar and his sons passed over the grass they felt their prayer being answered—felt the pelt stretching in their hands. It stretched and stretched. For it must be understood that an ogre’s bow is the trunk of an ash tree split in half. This bow when pulled to the full reach of an ogre’s arms will send an arrow with such force that it will go through a stone wall a quarter of a mile away and kill whatever is hiding behind that wall. So … the otter’s pelt now covered the entire meadow.

  Loki, seeing the hide stretch like that, knew he didn’t have enough gold to cover it and that he would have to try a magic of his own. So he swiftly did a sun trick. He multiplied dazzles, making each gold piece cast a triple gleam, coining sequins of blinding golden light that confused the sight and seemed like gold itself.

  Hreidmar strode across the meadow and loomed over Loki and his ox. He looked down at them, grinning. “Unload your beast,” he said.

  “I can’t lift the bags,” said Loki. “They’re much too heavy. Perhaps you’re strong enough.”

  Hreidmar reached down, grasped the heavy ropes that lashed the sacks and broke them as easily as if they were thread, and took hold of a sack. But he couldn’t lift it off the ox’s back; it was too heavy for him.

  “Fafnir!” he called.

  Fafnir came to them and lifted one sack in each hand. He staggered slightly but walked off with them. When he reached the pelt he ripped open one of the sacks and upended it. Regnir gasped as he saw the gold spilling onto the hide.

  “Spread it evenly,” called Loki. “No double layers.”

  “Remember,” said Hreidmar, “every hai
r must be covered. Or you and your friend forfeit your lives.”

  “Every hair shall be covered,” said Loki.

  Indeed, when Fafnir had emptied one sack, opened the other and emptied it also, the enormous pelt was tiled with gold. But Regnir, watching greedily, saw one hair of the otter’s muzzle bristling in a chink of gold, a single hair under the shadow of its nose.

  “Not enough!” he cried. “One hair is still uncovered by gold. See here?” And he pointed to the muzzle.

  “I have no more gold,” said Loki.

  “Too bad,” said Hreidmar. “Fafnir, my son, you may kill them now.”

  “Wait!” called Regnir. He darted to Loki and seized his hand. “You have this ring—three loops of purest gold curiously twined. It will buy your lives.”

  “It’s not mine to give,” said Loki. “It belongs to him.” He pointed to Odin.

  “Let them have it,” said Odin. He didn’t raise his voice but it seemed to fill the meadow.

  Loki felt the blood draining from his heart as he allowed Regnir to twist the ring off his finger. But he did not dare refuse.

  Regnir ran to his father, holding out the ring. “Here, sire. It’s a kingly gem. It will look well on your finger.”

  “Unchain me,” said Odin. Regnir went to the rock and unbolted the shackles.

  Odin shook himself, flexed his arms and legs, and put on his wide-brimmed black hat. He stared at Hreidmar out of his one eye. And the ogre, who had never known fear, felt that eye go through him like a dagger made of blue light.

  “That ring is your doom,” said Odin. “Each loop a circlet of bane for whoever wears it except me. So you are triply cursed, mine host. But will die a singular death.”

  Hreidmar roared with fury and charged toward Odin. At this point, however, Odin decided that his first experiment with mortality was honorably concluded. With a wave of his hand, then, he resumed his godhead and vanished, taking Loki with him.

  On their way back to Aesgard, Odin said: “Loki, I want you to manage the curse.”