The next day Arnljótur appeared where the girl sat, separating brushwood. “You did well not to part with the objects that I gave you and have proven your loyalty to me,” he said. “Now do as I bid you; come with me and live with me, you shall want for nothing and no harm shall ever befall you.” However, as before, the girl flatly refused. Then the man said, “You are stubborn; others will also find you so and it shall prove a burden to you. Your life shall never be prosperous, yet those women whom you assist in childbirth shall always be safe and in that way you shall earn your living.” He then vanished. When the girl returned home she found that both her mother and the objects had disappeared; Arnljótur had taken them with him. And Arnljótur’s words came to pass: the girl did not have a prosperous life, was restless and nomadic, yet was considered an exceptional midwife.
Kráka the Ogre
In former times there lived an ogre known as Kráka in a cave at Bláhvammur hollow, in Bláfjall mountain. Remnants of this cave are still visible. The rock face leading up to it is very steep and virtually impossible for mortal beings to climb. Kráka was a menacing creature who preyed on the area farmers’ sheep and caused numerous deaths, both of animals and people. She had taken a liking to the masculine sex and had an aversion to being alone, thus she frequently abducted men from the inhabited regions and kept them in her cave. The majority of them could by no means resign themselves to their fate, however; most either ran away or took their own lives.
On one occasion Kráka abducted a shepherd named Jón who lived at the farm Baldursheimur. She kept him in her cave and offered him the best food and drink, but he would have none of her hospitality. She tried her best to make him eat, but to no avail. Finally the shepherd said that he would only regain his appetite if he were given twelve-year-old cured shark to eat. Kráka, through her powers of witchcraft, knew that the only place to obtain twelve-year-old cured shark was in Siglunes, in the north. And though that was a mighty long way off, she decided that it would be worth her while to see if she could get the shark.
She set off, leaving the shepherd behind in her cave. When she had gone a fair distance it suddenly occurred to her that the shepherd might have tricked her and run away as soon as she was out of sight, and that it might be best to go back and check. She ran as fast as her legs would carry her, only to find that the shepherd was still in the cave. She set off again, but when she had gone slightly further than before she began to have the same nagging doubt that the shepherd might have betrayed her. Again she rushed back to the cave as fast as she could but, as before, she found the shepherd still there. A third time she set off, utterly convinced this time that the shepherd would not be up to any tricks. She took the shortest route to Siglunes, crossing Eyjafjörður fjord to the north of Hrísey island. Her journey was uneventful; she obtained the shark and set off home by the same route.
Meanwhile, the shepherd waited until he estimated Kráka to be at her destination, then got to his feet and ran off in the direction of home. Shortly afterwards Kráka arrived at the cave to find him gone. She turned on her heels and rushed after him. As the shepherd was approaching Baldursheimur farm he became aware of rumblings in the ground behind him and guessed that it was Kráka. When she was within shouting distance of him, she called out, “Here is the shark, Jón, cured not 12 but 13 years,” to which he made no reply. When the shepherd at last reached the farm he found the yeoman working iron in his forge, and he ran in past him, just as Kráka appeared in the doorway. The yeoman took the red-hot iron from the furnace and rushed at Kráka, threatening to drive it into her unless she turned around that very instant and never ventured to disturb him or his people again. Kráka saw that she had no choice but to turn back and she is not known to have bothered the Baldursheimur farmer after that.
On another occasion Kráka abducted a shepherd from the farm Grænavatn and took him to her cave; as with his predecessor this one refused anything that Kráka offered him, much to her disappointment. In the end the shepherd told her that the only thing he could possibly eat was the fresh meat of a male goat. At that time goats were kept on only one farm in Iceland, Hafrafellstunga in Axarfjörður. And although that was a long distance from Bláhvammur hollow, Kráka decided she would try and obtain what the shepherd wanted. Before she left, however, she took a huge boulder and placed it at the mouth of the cave, for under no circumstance did she want to lose this shepherd like the last one. She took the shortest route to her destination and when she came to the glacial river Jökulsá á fjöllum she leapt over it, from one cliff to another. Today that place is still known as Skessuhlaup, which may be translated as Ogre Sprint.
The rest of the journey was uneventful. When Kráka reached Hafrafellstunga farm she caught two bucks, tied them together by the horns and threw them across her shoulder. She then headed back the same way she had come, crossing Jökulsá á fjöllum in the same place as before. When she had leapt across the river the second time she found that she was weary from her trip and decided to rest. She untied the bucks and set them out to graze in a ravine that since has been known as Hafragil, or Buck Ravine. When Kráka had rested a while she tied the bucks together once more and continued on her way.
Meanwhile, after Kráka left, the shepherd tried all he could to escape from the cave, but found neither a crack in the cave wall through which he could flee, nor a space to hide. At length he stumbled on a large, sharp sword belonging to Kráka. With it he was able to carve an opening into the boulder blocking the cave opening, large enough for him to slip through. He made his way back to the inhabited area as quickly as he could and is presumed to have arrived there safe and sound.
Another time Kráka was planning a large Christmas celebration, for which she took great pains to prepare. The only thing that was missing, in her opinion, was a bit of human flesh, which she considered the greatest delicacy. Thus on Christmas Eve she set off for the inhabited region to see what she might find. But when she came to the uppermost farms in Mývatnssveit district she discovered that they were all empty of people, for everyone had gone to attend mass at Skútustaðir. As Kráka was not satisfied to go back empty-handed she carried on until she reached Skútustaðir. By then everyone was already inside the church. Kráka went to the church door and spotted a man sitting on a corner pew near the door. She reached for him, hoping to snatch him from the church, but he fiercely resisted and shouted at the top of his lungs for help, which came instantly. In the end the entire congregation was working to free the man from Kráka’s grasp, but she held on so long that one of the church walls cracked. At this Kráka reportedly became very angry and declared that the church wall should never be steady again. This is thought to have had all the power of a curse, for the southern wall of Skútustaðir church has been rickety ever since.
People also say that Kráka swore to wreak all the destruction that she could on the people of upper Mývatnssveit district, more than they would ever forget. At that time there was a large lake on one of the district’s summer pastures. Kráka went there and uprooted a large number of trees and shrubs, which she placed in a heap. Next she loaded rocks and turf on top, so that the heap was both broad and heavy. Then she dragged this massive load away from the lake, down into Mývatnssveit and the length of the district to where the Laxá river flows out of Lake Mývatn. It made a deep and wide indentation in the countryside into which Kráka directed water from the lake, while at the same time she pronounced that, from then on, the river should ravage the pastures and other land belonging to the people of Mývatnssveit. The only materials that might stem the tide of destruction would be the same as were used in her load, though the river would nevertheless wreak havoc in the upper part of the district.
Today that river still flows along the same indentation. It is known as Krákuá river and it has proven to be the bane of the people of Mývatnssveit district. It flows the length of the Mývatnssveit pastures and each spring tears large chunks out of its own banks, depositing sand and clay onto the pastures. As a res
ult, parts of Mývatnssveit district are being turned into a wasteland, even though each year the holes are filled with shrubs, rocks and turf – the same materials Kráka is said to have used in her load. Thus some old and wise people suspect that Kráka’s proclamations and curses are coming to pass.
Þorgeir’s Bull
There once was a man named Þorgeir whom many called Geir the Sorcerer. He had a brother named Stefán, sometimes called Stefán the Chanter, for it was said that he chanted and sang exceptionally well. Their surname was Jónsson. There was also a third man whose name was Andrés; he was their maternal uncle. All three came from Fnjóskadalur valley in the north of the country and sailed out to fish from Hrísey island in Eyjafjörður fjord. These men are all reported to have taken part in creating the bull.
Þorgeir is said to have obtained a newborn calf from a woman on Hrísey. He slit its hide where he thought best and skinned it as far back as the loins – some say even further back than the loins – so that the calf dragged its hide on its tail. He then endowed the beast with magical powers. Still, the three men were not satisfied and so they set into the wound the characteristics of eight different entities: air, bird, man, dog, cat, mouse and two different sea monsters. Thus the bull had nine natures, including its own. It could travel through air just as easily as through sea and across land, and it could appear in the guises of all nine entities at will. Despite all this Þorgeir could still not be sure of the bull’s invulnerability, so he obtained a baby’s caul to cover it with. And as it was primarily Þorgeir who had created the bull and endowed it with magical powers, the beast became known as Þorgeir’s Bull. Besides, it was mostly Þorgeir who used the bull to carry out various misdeeds.
As it happened, Þorgeir had proposed to a woman named Guðrún Bessadóttir, but she had refused him. Thus the three men sent the bull after her. It took some time for the beast to begin disrupting Guðrún’s life, but before too long she was scarcely able to turn around without being harassed. When she went from one farm to another she often had to be escorted by six to eight men, for not many felt safe around her. Sometimes she would be torn from her horse and flung three or four yards despite being accompanied by so many men; at other times she was completely left in peace. In the end she was killed as a result of injuries inflicted upon her by the bull.
On one occasion Guðrún was in church when the bull took to tormenting her so aggressively that she developed intense convulsions and nearly injured herself. A man who left the church said that when he came out he saw the bull lying on the side of a nearby house. One side of the house faced the church, the other away from it, and the bull lay on that side. It had its nose resting on the ridge of the roof so that the man could see into its open nostrils. To him it seemed as if there were a grey current running from the nostrils to the church. When he went around to the side of the house on which the bull lay, he saw it disappear.
There was a farmer at Sund in Höfðahverfi district whose name was Magnús. His wife Helga was a close relative of Guðrún Bessadóttir. After Guðrún’s death the bull took to tormenting Helga. A sorcerer named Torfi who lived at Klúkur in Eyjafjörður fjord was sent for. He was asked to slay the bull, to deliver Helga from her predicament. When Torfi came to Sund he could see the bull lying above Helga in the main room. She was distressed about the weight that was on her, particularly on her naked feet, on which the bull seemed to be lying. Torfi could not slay the bull because, according to him, he did not know whether the baby’s caul had been removed from the head down or the feet up; the method for removing it varied. In any case the bull would be difficult to overpower while the caul was still on. In the end the bull is said to have caused Helga’s death and to have hounded her relatives for a long time after that.
Although Þorgeir originally planned to use the bull only to kill Guðrún, he continued to have it harass those on whom he wanted to avenge himself. The beast was exceedingly loyal to Þorgeir, who often sent it out to ride and pester other men’s cows so that they were frequently led astray. Also, the bull could often be heard howling in darkness and fog. Once, Þorgeir was a guest at a farm called Hallgilsstaðir during the evening reading. He had a tendency to leave the premises while the evening readings were taking place, for they were usually from the Scriptures. After that particular reading the yeoman walked outside with Þorgeir. Off in the distance they noticed something resembling a strip of fog, though the sky was otherwise clear. Þorgeir then remarked, “Damn, it sure has stretched itself out.” Those who were with him took Þorgeir to mean the bull and assumed that it was appearing in one of its guises, that of fog. A short while later there was a fierce blizzard and the farm people whispered that the bull must have known that it was coming. Indeed, after that such a phenomenon was said to frequently precede bad weather or other remarkable incidents. There were also reports from the north of Iceland that two infamous ghosts, Húsavíkur-Lalli and Eyjafjarðar-Skotta, teamed up with Þorgeir’s Bull, travelling the length of the Fnjóská river while sitting on the bull’s hide, which it dragged along behind it.
When the bull started having trouble carrying out Þorgeir’s orders, it returned home and turned on its master, playing various pranks on him and even threatening to kill him. And although Þorgeir certainly knew a thing or two about sorcery, he was often at a loss when it came to defending himself against the bull’s assaults. If the beast was feeling particularly aggressive he was forced to double his efforts. Once the bull tried so hard to kill Þorgeir that he fled helplessly into the farmhouse where his wife sat with their infant child in her arms. Þorgeir, in his desperation, wanted to take the child to give to the bull, hoping thus to pacify the beast. His wife begged him not to, telling him instead to take a newborn calf from the barn to give to the bull. Þorgeir assented, loosened the calf and sent it out of the barn. Some time later it was found dead nearby, torn into tiny pieces.
There are no reports of the bull committing ill deeds after that; at worst it is said to have driven cows mad. However, it preyed upon Þorgeir’s relatives and Þorgeir insisted that his daughters, who were both named Ingibjörg, carry magic runes in their aprons for protection. When the bull appeared it did so in various guises, sometimes in the form of a man or a dog, but most often in the likeness of a bull with horns, skinned back to its tail and dragging its bloody hide behind it. Regardless of its guise the beast was considered utterly hideous in appearance and most people were terrified of it. It is also said that the bull outlived Þorgeir, for he had not managed to slay it before he died. Some say that, when he lay on his deathbed, a grey cat – some say a black pup – lay curled up on his chest, and that this would have been one of the bull’s guises. Some people claim that the bull was created at the beginning of the eighteenth century; others say that it was near the middle of that century.
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Note: If you find yourself completely baffled by this story, don’t worry – you are in good company. As I mentioned in the introduction, my first thought when I read this was: What were those people on? (I mean, seriously: two daughters – and both named Ingibjörg?) The more times I read it, the more I find it likely that these folks had partaken of that rotten flour my husband mentioned, or some other hallucinatory substance. Incidentally, a kind reader has put up a very interesting analysis of the story on this book’s amazon.com page, in case anyone is interested.
The Outlaw on Kiðuvallafjall Mountain
Once in bygone days a man and his wife lived at the far end of a valley in the east of the country. Their names are not known, but they had a young daughter named Helga who was both fair and wholesome in appearance. The couple kept a hired hand named Jón, a loyal, hard-working young man with a keen mind who was well liked by all who knew him. Jón and Helga formed an attachment and fell in love. When Helga’s parents learned of their mutual affection they opposed it, claiming that Jón was not a suitable husband for their daughter and, moreover, had neither security nor property. Yet under no circumstances did they want
to lose him, for they prized his diligent and loyal nature. Thus they treated him well. Jón did not relinquish his position, for to do so would mean leaving Helga behind, and so he remained at the farm for many years. They continued to love one another, albeit chastely, and waited for an opportunity to be united.
At the furthest edge of the farm property was a valley named Kiðuvalladalur, after the Kiðuvellir plains that lay at one end. A great mountain named Kiðuvallafjall rose there. This was bounteous land where in spring and autumn livestock was put out to pasture. It was also very remote. One day when Jón was herding livestock down the mountain he heard a loud voice calling from somewhere further down, “Kiðuvalla, Kiðuvalla, alone I live on a mountain!” Jón was greatly perplexed, for he could see no one and there were no hiding places in the area. He concluded that he must have been mistaken and drove the livestock home.
The following day he was once again herding livestock on the mountain when he heard the call again in the same place, even more clearly than before: “Kiðuvalla, Kiðuvalla, alone I live on a mountain!” Jón thought the voice came from a large boulder and ran there but saw nothing. He sat down and all at once was seized with a curious intoxication and drowsiness, so that he fell asleep. It then seemed to Jón as though a kindly stranger appeared before him, greeting him amiably. Jón returned the greeting and asked who the man was. “I am an outlaw,” the apparition answered, “and I live inside this large boulder. I am the one you have twice heard calling. I did it to draw you to this place but I could not meet you, for I am on my deathbed. Today the boulder is not open but tomorrow when you come to do the herding it shall be. Meet me then.” It seemed to Jón that he agreed to this. He then woke and drove the livestock home. Once there he told Helga all about the boulder dweller. She replied that the man was surely in dire need and entreated Jón not to let him down. Jón promised to do all he could.
Icelandic Folk Legends: Tales of apparitions, outlaws and things unseen Page 4