by Alan Garner
Idun hit him with the casket. “Tell me! You’re hiding something from me!”
“Ouch! Well – er – ay – um—”
“Please!”
“Well, you see,” said Loki, “I was coming back through the forest just now towards Asgard, all hot and bothered like, and there was this apple tree with golden apples on it. Don’t fret yourself, Idun, my dear. It was probably because I was feeling so parched. You’ve some grand apples.”
“You think those on the tree were better! Where is it? Show me! Take me there now!”
“Hey, it’s not as bad as that. You don’t want to be trailing out into the forest.”
Idun began to cry.
“Ah, you’d charm the spots off a thrush,” said Loki. “Come on, then. You’d best bring your apples with you to compare. It’s quite a way we’ve to go—”
So Idun went with Loki, and he took her through a dark forest that endured from the morning to the setting of the sun. As the darkness grew, Idun stumbled and wept with exhaustion, yet she would not touch her apples, in case she ate the best. But at last they came to a clearing, and Loki made her sit on a tree trunk.
“You rest there, my dear, while I find the place. It’s just by here somewhere in the thicket. I’ll give you a shout when I’ve found it.”
Idun nodded, too tired to speak.
She waited.
And waited.
“Loki?”
Waited.
“Loki?”
A wind grew in the forest, coming nearer.
“Loki! Lo-ki-i-i—”
“Idun! Iduu-u-u-uun!” droned the wind.
“Who’s that? Who’s there?”
“Idunnnnnn—”
Thiassi folded his wings around the clearing. “Idun. Come with me.”
The wind and the screams died away, far to the North.
“Well, that’s it,” said Loki. “You can’t say I don’t keep my promise.”
At first, no one noticed that Idun was missing from Asgard. But soon, one by one, the gods began to feel a stiffness, a heaviness, a weary weight of years. Brightness went from the eye, spring from the step. Winter was in their bones. Messengers rode through Asgard, and then through all the world: but Idun was not found.
Then Odin summoned Loki to a meeting of the gods.
“Where is Idun?”
“I wish I knew,” said Loki. “I wish I knew.”
“Where is Idun?”
“I’m telling you, Allfather. I wish I knew. She’ll be somewhere, no doubt.”
“Loki, I have asked, and no one has seen Idun since the day you returned to Asgard, the day you returned so quickly to Asgard after fighting the Storm Giant.”
“Please,” said Loki. “It was nothing. You’ll embarrass me, Allfather. He didn’t take much finishing off.”
“So you told us. I think that you may be the cleverest of the gods, Loki: but that does not mean you are wise. Where is Idun?”
“How should I know?”
“I think that you do know,” said Odin. “Loki, there is an ash tree that grows above this hall.”
“Yes, Allfather. You made it yourself. It’s the biggest thing in the world. Oh, it’s a grand ash tree.”
“Yggdrasil.”
“Yes, that’s its name, Allfather: a beautiful tree up there in the sky. It’s a real credit to you.”
“And its root is deep.”
“It is. It is, to be sure. Well, it has to be, doesn’t it?”
“It goes deep,” said Odin. “It reaches far below the world, beyond the Strand of Corpses, far into the darkness. And there in the darkness lives the serpent Nidhug.”
“Oh, that terrible monster! Don’t mention him, Allfather. There’s no luck in it.”
“And the serpent gnaws at the root to kill the tree. And we know that when Yggdrasil falls, the gods will die.”
Loki saw that the doors of the hall were now guarded. “Shall we talk about something more cheerful, Allfather?”
“And the gods will die unless Idun returns. We shall grow old, and Yggdrasil will fall. We must do all we can to save ourselves, Loki.”
“They’re bad times we’re in; yes.”
“Loki, if you do not tell us what has happened to Idun, you will be bound with iron chains to the root of Yggdrasil, far from the light. Nidhug will eat you first. And that way we shall win a little time.”
“You wouldn’t do that, Allfather—”
“Where is Idun?”
“Now wait a minute, Allfather—”
“Take him,” said Odin to the gods.
“Allfather—!”
“Bind him.”
“Allf—!”
“Idun, Loki. Nidhug is waiting.”
“All right, all right!” wept Loki in anger. “But it’s your fault, too! You should have rescued me. You’d never have had that ox in the first place if it hadn’t been for me. ‘Higher and higher!’ he kept shouting. ‘Higher and higher!’ He was going to drop me so as I’d burn up. ‘Higher!’ he kept shouting. ‘Higher! – Higher!’ What else could I do? If I hadn’t promised to get Idun for him he’d have dropped me!”
“It was not an easy choice,” said Odin. “I can see that. So you will be given one chance to make things right. You will go to the Storm Giant’s castle. Go in the shape of a falcon. Bring back Idun and the Apples of Life.”
Then Loki flew far and long over the Back of the Sea until he came to the Storm Giant’s castle. He found Idun sitting in a high tower. He landed on the window ledge.
“Hey! Idun!”
“Hello, Falcon. How did you know my name?” she said.
“It’s me!”
“Loki!”
“Not so loud. Where’s that Thiassi?”
“He’s not here,” said Idun. “He won’t be back for a long time. Have you come to rescue me?”
“I have that. Are you all right? Where are the apples?”
“They are all safe. Thiassi is very kind to me, even though I can’t let him have the god’s apples. He’s very sad and lonely. He’s not really cruel.”
“I’ve not found him over fond,” said Loki. “Come up now: let’s be off.”
“But how?” said Idun. “I can’t fly, and – oh! What’s happened? I feel all small and round!”
“You’re a hazel nut, my dear,” said Loki. “That’s to carry you light and easy. I’ve no doubt that meek little Thiassi of yours will be after us before we reach Asgard, so here’s some magic to help us on our way.”
Loki grabbed Idun in his claws, and flew fast. But when he came within sight of Asgard he heard the wings of Thiassi behind him. But Odin had guessed at the pursuit, and the gods had piled brushwood on the walls of Asgard, and the moment Loki crossed the ramparts the bonfires were lit, and the flames shot upwards. Thiassi could not stop in time, and was caught in the fire. He fell dead in Asgard at Odin’s feet.
Idun stood by and wept.
“Now what’s the matter?” said Loki. “He nearly had us. You’re safe now. There’ll be no more trouble from him.”
“He was so kind, and so lonely,” said Idun. “He was splendid in the sky, and now he is charred plumes.”
“I am sorry for his death,” said Odin. “He should not have died. No one can be blamed for wanting to eat of the Apples of Life.”
“Don’t let him lie there,” said Idun. “Put him back in the sky.”
“I can’t give him life again,” said Odin. “But I’ll do what I can.”
And Odin took the Storm Giant’s eyes, and set them as two stars in the sky, so that Thiassi would not lie in the earth, but would soar for ever and look down upon the backs of eagles. For the gods held it no wrong to cherish Idun and the Apples of Life.
o Frigga the wife of Odin were born twin sons.
One was Hodur: he was dark and silent, and blind as winter. The other was Baldur. He was fair and full of song. His brow was like the day, and he knew the magic of trees and the virtues of summer flowers. He lived i
n Asgard in a hall of golden pillars thatched with silver. He knew the secret of buds. He knew the dance of the bees. He knew the heart of the rose. He knew all things but one. He did not know his own fate.
There had never been such light and laughter in Asgard before Baldur came; and the gods loved him – all except Loki, whose fame and wit were now like the flames of a fire that are paled by the sun.
Loki kept watch in Asgard: waiting.
“What’s the matter with Baldur?” said Odin one day. Loki heard, and came close, unseen. “He looks ill,” said Odin.
“He has had the same bad dream for nights on end,” said Frigga. “But he can never remember what it is. He wakes up exhausted and sweating and afraid. I think it’s a warning of some harm that will be done to him.”
“Harm!” said Odin. “Wife, we have a son who is the gold of Asgard! No one will hurt him! The streams are bright for his passing by, the skies blue. Only his hair is yellower than the corn that grows in our fields since he came to us.”
“But he is pale and ill,” said Frigga. “I think he may die.”
“He won’t. I forbid it.”
“Allfather, you are strong, but you can’t change fate.”
“He will not die. He shall not die,” said Odin. “It’s only a dream—”
“So are the Shadowlands,” said Frigga. “Yet they are more real than life.”
“Then I shall ride to the Shadowlands!” said Odin. “They will tell me there, since they know the deaths of all.”
“But it’s so far to the Land of the Dead. A lot could happen while you were gone. Start at once,” said Frigga. “And I’ll do what I can. Baldur must be kept safe.”
Odin left Asgard and rode for the Shadowlands. And Frigga sent Hermod, the messenger of the gods, to the North, to the South, to the East, to the West, to the whole world, to ask all things to promise that they would not harm Baldur. And this promise was given.
Every living creature that walked or swam or flew or crept or slept, and every plant that grew, and the cold rocks, and the sea, and the winds of the air – all creation gave this promise, to keep Baldur safe from harm, for their love of him.
This was the promise that Hermod took back to Asgard, and Frigga’s heart was at rest.
But Loki put on the clothes of an old woman, and made his way disguised to Odin’s hall. Frigga was sitting by the door.
“Good day to you, my Lady.”
“Good day, old woman. Who are you? Are you a stranger to Asgard?”
“My name is – Thok,” said Loki. “Indeed, indeed, I have come to hear the wonderful news. Is it true what they are saying now, my Lady – that all creation has promised not to hurt your fine upstanding son?”
“It is,” said Frigga. “Baldur is loved by all.”
“Ah, what it is to have a son a mother can be proud of! And is it true what they are saying – not only bird and beast and fish, but even lifeless things?”
“They will not hurt my son.”
“Well, well, there’s a wonder. It’s lucky you are, my Lady, and a proud day for sure.”
“It is, Thok, it is.”
“And is it really true? Forgive me, my Lady, but poor old Thok’s brains can’t be doing with such a wonder all at once. My, what it is to be a mother! The whole world won’t hurt him. Eh –! The whole world. Not – even the – the smallest thing – not a grain of sand, not—”
“Well – there was just one—”
“Oh, my Lady—!”
“Well, there was one tiny shoot of mistletoe Hermod didn’t ask,” said Frigga. “It was too young to promise: such a weak thing. It’s probably dead already. It was growing by the doorpost of the Warriors’ hall, right where they charge in and out. Those men get drunk every night. It will have been flattened by now.”
“That’s a blessing, then, my Lady. Ah, Baldur’s the lucky young man.”
Loki went straight to the Warriors’ hall, and found the tiny mistletoe shoot among the rubbish by the door. And he took it, and reared it. He nursed it on black things without a name, on gravemound earth, and sang evil runes above. And the mistletoe grew straight as death and hard as frost, and when it was the size, Loki cut it, and from its wood made an arrow.
Odin returned to Asgard. His face was hidden below his dark hood, but he moved as if he carried bad news.
Frigga ran out to greet him. Her face was flushed, and she did not notice Odin’s slow tread.
“Come in, come in! I’ve so much to tell you!”
“I have been to the Shadowlands,” said Odin.
“Well, sit down and listen,” said Frigga. “While you’ve been galloping about I’ve been doing something useful. Everything is all right now!”
“How do you know?” said Odin. His voice was stretched over grief. “And what is that laughter? There should be no laughter!”
“That’s my surprise for you!” said Frigga.
“There should be no laughter!”
“Come and look out of the window. It’s the latest game. See. Baldur stands under that oak, and all the gods throw things at him. It’s all right. Look, he’s not hurt. It doesn’t matter what they throw – spears, axes, stones, knives. They all bounce off without hurting him. Isn’t he kind and patient to stand there so that the others can have their fun?”
“What does this mean?” said Odin.
“It takes a mother to look after her son. While you were riding up and down I made all creation promise not to hurt Baldur. See! Nothing touches him! He’s safe now. He can’t be killed.”
“Frigga. Frigga. There are tables laid in the Shadowlands, and couches, and gold rings. I have seen dark velvet spread, and the meadhorn filled with sleep for Baldur. They have made a banquet in the Shadowlands for our son. Let the gods play: it will soon be night.”
Among the leaves of green holly Hodur stood apart from the merriment. The branches rustled, and a voice spoke in his ear.
“Now what’s all this? Hodur, is it you looking so sad and left out of the sport? You should be enjoying yourself with all the others. It’s a great thing to know we’ll be having Baldur with us always. Aren’t you celebrating?”
“It’s Loki, isn’t it?” said Hodur. “Oh, don’t worry about me.”
“Is it perhaps you’re feeling a wee bit jealous of brother Baldur the Bright?”
“No!” said Hodur. “I can’t help wishing I wasn’t blind, that’s all. They’re having such a good game over there, and I can’t share it.”
“You’re wishing you could see to throw something at Baldur, eh?” said Loki.
“Yes,” said Hodur. “They say it’s marvellous to watch. Things stop in mid air, or turn corners, or slow down, and he doesn’t feel any of it, because all creation has promised not to hurt him. Even Thor’s hammer was gentle.”
“Was it now? Ah, it’s a wonderful thing, indeed. But look, there’s no reason for you to be missing out. There is not.”
“But I can’t see!”
“I’ll help you,” said Loki. “Now here’s my bow. There. You’ve got it. It’s a good firm bow. That’s it. Oh, you’re bending it fine. Try again – that’s it!”
“Yes: I can do that. Yes: it’s all right.”
“Of course it is. You’re a natural. Now then. Here’s my very best arrow. Feel how long and straight she is: she’s made of very special wood. Oh, she flies like a bird. She goes where you put her. There’s the notch: now the string: and her point: – so. Have you got her? Now try her, but don’t shoot. Easy: pull back, smooth and gentle – that’s my boy. Oh, you’re the champion! Let her go slowly, slowly – and lower. There.”
“Yes! Loki, I can do it!”
“Of course you can! Now I’ll turn you in the right direction and aim for you.”
“Baldur will be pleased. He’s always trying to make me do things like the others.”
“Good. Good,” said Loki. “Now then. There. Like that: yessss—. A shade to your left. Now – draw – right – back, till you feel the
string on your nose. That’s it. Lift the point a bit. A bit more. Now – hold – steady – and – fire!”
In the cold silence after the scream Hodur swung his head, trying to grasp sounds. “What? What was that? What’s happened?” he said.
Loki’s voice answered him but now distant in space and heart. “I’m afraid, my dear, it looks like you’ve killed your brother.”
The gods took Baldur and laid him in Ringhorn, his own dragonship. They built his funeral pyre about him and brought garlands of flowers, and jewels, and precious work. They put his winged helmet on his head, and his sword between his hands. And then they set fire to the sweet pine branch, and they sent Ringhorn westward over the sea, and stood watching until the last flame of its burning faded from the sky. Then their hearts broke: and on the stark shore it was night.
“Baldur! – Come back!”
“Frigga,” said Odin. “Our son is dead.”
She stood in the foam of the water’s edge. “I won’t let him be dead! I won’t – let him! I – won’t!”
“We can’t change fate,” said Odin.
“I can! – Hermod! Hermod, you are quick, you are brave, you are strong. Hermod, ride to the Shadowlands now: bring him back: bring my son: bring Baldur.”
“But, my Lady,” said Hermod, “it is grief—”
“Go to the queen of the Shadowlands. Ask her. Ask Hela to give me back my son.”
“My Lady! Hela does not give up her prey. Baldur’s dead, my Lady.”
“Is Odin’s wife to bow to Hela? Bring back my son!”
So Hermod rode for Hela’s land. He rode down Asabru, the coloured bridge of fire and water and air that spans the sky, down to the Shadowlands of the North. Nine days and nights he rode without stopping before he crossed the boundary – a bridge of crystal arched with gold, hung on a single hair.
He rode through a wood with trees and leaves of iron, through the dark and the cold and the mist, over a river of naked swords, till he came to the hall of the queen of the Shadowlands. The name of her hall was Misery.
But Hermod was not afraid to give his message, and all night long he pleaded with Hela to let Baldur go free to Asgard.