Join us at the campfire for tales from around the world, told by storytellers of all backgrounds and creeds. From the heros and heroines of old, let us relearn and rediscover the wisdom of our ancestors. Shhh..the story begins..
To Odin, the All-Father, and Frigga, the All-Mother, were born twin sons, Baldur and Hodur. The first was as beautiful and pure as the sunlight itself, while the second was as dark as night and as blind.
Baldur lived with his flower-like wife, Nanna, beneath a silver roof supported by golden pillars. It was located in the very heart of Asgard, the City of the Aesir. One day, however, Odin noticed that his favorite son's cheeks had grown pale and his eyes clouded with shadows.
"What ails you, my son?" asked the All-Father.
Baldur shook his head. "Nothing, my lord," he replied.
But Odin refused to allow the matter to rest until it was revealed that Baldur the Bright had fallen victim to bad dreams. When he awoke, he could remember no details, but they left him with a feeling of anxiety and dread. Odin and Frigga themselves had lately been disturbed by overwhelming fears of foreboding and were now more convinced than ever that some terrible catastrophe was about to befall them.
Odin set off at once to consult with a famous prophetess, while Frigga took the precaution of extracting oaths from every inhabitant dwelling within the Realm of Asgard, whether animate or inanimate, that they would not harm the beloved Baldur. The All-Mother neglected visiting only one thing: the mistletoe that grew high on an oak at the gate of Valhalla.
The prophetess resided in the Kingdom of the Dead and, when Odin approached her in disguise, he noted that Hel was preparing for a grand banquet, as though making ready for an honored guest. Odin asked for whom the feast was being prepared and was informed that it was for Baldur, the son of Odin who would be slain by his twin brother, Hodur, before very much time had passed. Odin questioned who would avenge his death and was told that it would be done by Vali, a stepbrother. Then, the All-Father asked in a deep and sorrowful voice, "Who will refuse to weep at Baldur's death?" He received no response to his query and, with a heavy heart, he turned for home.
Back among the living, Frigga comforted her husband by telling him how she had extracted oaths from all things that they would not harm Baldur. She showed Odin how the other gods were throwing things at their son, to prove that nothing could injure him. Even spears accurately flung glanced harmlessly aside.
Not long after, while Frigga was spinning her golden thread, she was visited by an old woman.
"Why are the gods attacking Baldur the Bright?" asked the ancient crone.
"They are not attacking," replied Frigga with a smile, "but merely playing. All things have sworn not to harm my son, so there is no danger."
"All things?" asked the old woman.
"Yes," Frigga responded. "All things except the mistletoe that grows on the oak at the gate of Valhalla." The goddess shrugged. "But it is so small and weak that I have no fear of it."
The old woman, who was really the trickster Loki in disguise and, of all the gods, was the only one who hated Baldur, moved off, delighted with the information so cunningly acquired. Removing the mistletoe from the oak, Loki crafted a dart from its wood and hardened it by magic spells. Then, he returned to where the gods were playing and suggested to the blind Hodur that, if Hodur cared to join in the game, then he would be more than happy to help him with his aim, given the fact that Hodur was unable to see.
In all innocence, Hodur took the dart and, with Loki guiding his hand, threw it straight and sure. Horrified, the others watched Baldur fall.
Baldur the Bright was dead.
"Who will be the swiftest to reach the drear Halls of Death in order to plead with Hel for the return of Baldur?" cried Frigga.
"Hermod," called many, for he was famous for the speed with which he could travel and had often been used as a messenger for the gods.
So, with the All-Mother's blessing and mounted upon Sleipnir, Odin's eight-legged horse, Hermod...the swiftest of all gods on the swiftest of all steeds...was dispatched to ask a boom of Hel, the fell goddess of the dead and daughter of Loki.
Hermod journeyed over rough roads and through chasms where there were no roads, to the coldest, loneliest regions of the North. Nine long nights and nine long days did Hermod and Sleipnir ride. At last, they reached the tumultuous River Gioll, the boundary of Nifl-heim...country of the dead. There, Hermod paused, contemplating the wildly rushing waters and the slender bridge of smooth, slippery crystal, arched with gold and suspended from a single hair. On the other side stood the grim, skeletal figure of Modgud, the guard, who demanded a toll of blood from everyone who crossed.
Taking a deep breath, Hermod ventured carefully forward. The crystal beneath Sleipnir's hooves shook and swung alarmingly but, step-by-step, horse and rider progressed. The violent and angry river far below seemed to reach up to grab at them, its voice echoing like the screams of a thousand berserkers in full battle-cry. When Hermod reached the far side, Modgud, though she challenged him, was so astonished at the feat, and his explanation of why he was there, that she allowed him to pass.
He entered the Ironwood, a gloomy and lifeless forest of dead trees with metal leaves. Thorns as sharp as well-honed daggers tore at Hermod's flesh and Sleipnir whinnied with pain, but still they did not stop.
At last, they reached the gates of Hel's kingdom, guarded by the vicious and slavering hound known as Garm...he whose howling in the end-days would draw all beings to the battlefield, the final conflict which would bring about the end of all nine worlds.
Hermod reined his steed out of reach of the savage creature, briefly dismounted, and tightened the girth. Then, he remounted and drove Sleipnir forward. With a great cry, Hermod and Sleipnir leapt over the gate, leaving Garm far below and powerless to halt them.
On the other side, they could see nothing, for the darkness was deeper than the deepest night. Underfoot, Sleipnir's hooves slipped and slid on the ice, just as they had on the crystal bridge. Around them, they could hear the rolling and grinding of glaciers, and the thundering of rivers far too fast-flowing to freeze, carrying along the swords of warriors turning over and over in the flood.
Cautiously, Hermod inched forward, knowing that any step out of place might well be his last. But care and persistence paid off and, finally, they reached the great mansion which was the home of Hel. There, in the banqueting hall, Hermod found Baldur and Nanna seated together, for she had thrown herself upon the body of her husband and died of grief, thereby sharing both his funeral pyre and the solemn sailing of his burning ship named Ringhorn to the land of the dead.
All night, Hermod spoke with Baldur and, in the morning, pleaded with the goddess Hel for his release. She listened in silence to his long and eloquent speech and, at last, agreed that she would grant freedom if all things, both animate and inanimate, without exception, would weep for him.
Much encouraged, Hermod set off for home to spread the news, taking with him the magic ring that Odin had tossed into Baldur's funeral pyre, to prove that he had indeed been to the realm of Hel and spoken with her and Baldur.
Rejoicing at the thought of Baldur's return, the Aesir sent messages around the nine worlds and everything, both animate and inanimate, wept for Baldur...everything that is, save one. In the guise of a bad-tempered giantess, Loki the Trickster refused to shed a tear.
Baldur did not return until after the great end-battle and the ensuing conflagration that destroyed all nine worlds. Then...and only then...when the mighty Aesir were no more and the magnificent palaces of the gods had crumbled to dust, did Baldur the Bright and Hodur, his twin, leave Hel's dark realm and, together, take part in the regeneration of the new world that rose from the ashes of the old.
Table of Contents
Letter to the Author: