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1 Yggdrasill the World Tree

In the northern lands the summer is short and the winter long and cold. Life is a continual battle against the grim powers of nature: against the cold and the darkness – the snow and ice of winter, the bitter winds, the bare rocks where no green thing will grow, and against the terrors of dark mountains and wolf-haunted ravines.

The men and women who lived there in the early days needed to be strong and much-enduring to survive at all. They were tillers of the ground, but also warriors who did battle against the wolves, and against men even more savage who came down from the mountains or up from the deep sounds or fiords of the sea to burn their homes and steal away their treasures and their food, and often their wives and daughters as well.

Even when there were no wild beasts and wilder men to fight, it seemed that the very elements were giants who fought against them with wind, frost, and snow as weapons. It was a cruel world, offering little to hope for; yet there was love, and honour, courage and endurance. There were mighty deeds to be done and bards or skalds to sing of them, so that the names of the heroes did not die.

And, just as the deeds of men were remembered in song and story, tales were told of the gods, the Æsir, who must surely have fought even greater battles in the beginning of time against those Giants of Ice and Frost and Snow and Water who were still only kept at bay with difficulty.

In the very beginning of time, so the Norsemen believed, there was no Earth as we know it now: there was only Ginnungagap, the Yawning Void. In this moved strange mists which at length drew apart leaving an even deeper Gap, with Muspelheim, the Land of Fire, to the south of it, and Nifelheim, the Land of Mist, to the north of it.

Surtur the Demon of Fire sat at the world’s southern end with his flaming sword, waiting for the Day of Doom, to go forth and destroy both gods and men.

Deep down in Ginnungagap lay the Well of Life, Hvergelmir, from which flowed rivers which the cruel breath of the north froze into grinding blocks of ice.

As the ages passed the grinding ice piled up mysteriously above the Well of Life and became Ymir, the greatest of all Giants, father of the terrible Frost Giants, and of all the Giant kin.

Ymir grew into life, and with him appeared the magic cow Audumla whose milk was his food. And very soon the ice of Ymir broke off in small pieces and each became a Rime Giant – a father of witches and warlocks, of ogres and trolls.

Audumla herself needed food, and she licked the ice about her and found in it the salt of life that welled up from Hvergelmir.

On the first day that she licked the ice there came forth in the evening the hair of a man; the second day she licked, and in the evening there was a man’s head showing; and by the ending of the third day the whole man was there.

He was the first of the Æsir, and his name was Buri; he was tall and strong, and very fair to see. His son was called Borr, and this Borr married the giantess Bestla, and they were the mother and father of the Æsir who planted the World Tree, Yggdrasill, and made the Earth.

Borr had three sons called Odin, Vili, and Ve, and of these Odin, the Allfather, was the greatest and the most noble.

They fought against Ymir the great Ice Giant, and slew him, and the icy water gushed from his wounds and drowned most of the Rime Giants, except for one who was named Bergelmir. He was wise and clever, and for this reason Odin spared him.

For Bergelmir built himself a boat with a roof, and took shelter in it with his wife and children so that they escaped being drowned in the flood.

But Odin and his brothers thrust the dead Ymir down into the void of Ginnungagap and made of his body the world we live in. His ice-blood became the sea and the rivers; his flesh became the dry land and his bones the mountains, while the gravel and stones were his teeth.

Odin and his children set the sea in a ring round about the earth, and the World Tree, the Ash Yggdrasill, grew up to hold it in place, to overshadow it with its mighty branches, and to support the sky which was the ice-blue skulltop of Ymir.

They gathered the sparks that flew out of Muspelheim and made stars of them. They brought molten gold from the realm of Surtur, the Fire Demon, and fashioned the glorious Sun Chariot, drawn by the Horses Early-waker and Allstrong, with the fair maiden, Sol, to drive it on its course. Before her went the bright boy, Mani, driving the Moon Chariot drawn by the horse All-swift.

The Sun and Moon move quickly, never pausing to rest. They dare not stop, even for a moment, for each of them is pursued through the day by a fierce wolf panting to devour them – and that fate will befall them on the day of the Last Great Battle. These two wolves are the children of evil, for their mother was a wicked witch who lived in the Forest of Ironwood: her husband was a giant, and her children were werewolves and trolls.

When Odin had set the stars in their courses and had lit the earth with the Sun and Moon, he turned back to the new world which he had made. Already the Giants and other creatures of evil were stirring against him, so he took more of the bones of Ymir and spread the mountains as a wall against Giantland, or Jotunheim. Then he turned back to the land made for men, which he called Midgard or Middle Earth, and began to make it fruitful and fair to see.

Out of Ymir’s curly hair he formed the trees, from his eyebrows the grass and flowers, and he set clouds to float in the sky above and sprinkle the earth with gentle showers.

Then for the making of Mankind, the Allfather Odin took an ash tree and an elder upon the seashore and fashioned from them Ask and Embla, the first Man and the first Woman. Odin gave them souls, and his brother Vili gave them the power of thought and feeling, while Ve gave them speech, hearing, and sight.

From these two came children enough to people Midgard: but sin and sorrow overtook them, for the Giants and other creatures of evil took on the shapes of men and women, and married with them, despite all that Odin could do.

The Dwarfs also had a hand in this for they taught men to love gold, and of the power that comes with riches. They were the little people who lived in Nifelheim, the region of mist, and in great caves under the earth. They had been made out of the dead flesh of Ymir, and the Æsir gave them the shape of men but a far greater cleverness in the arts and crafts of working with iron and gold and precious stones.

These Dwarfs, with Durin as their king, made rings and swords and priceless treasures, and mined gold out of the earth for the Æsir’s use.

For after Midgard was made, wise Odin turned to the shaping of Asgard, his own strong and beautiful land, high in the branches of Yggdrasill the World Tree. The first palace was all of shining gold, and it was called Gladsheim, the Place of Joy: there Odin sat on his high seat, with beautiful Frigga his queen beside him.

Next they made palaces for their children, the great gods and goddesses who were so soon to play their part in the long struggle against the Powers of Evil: for Thor the Lord of Thunder and his wife Sif of the golden hair; for brave Tyr the young and battle-eager, guardian of the gods; for bright Baldur, fairest of all the Æsir, and sweet Nanna his wife; for Bragi and Iduna, who delighted in music and youth; for Uller of the Bow, and Vidar the Silent, and many another.

Round about Asgard stood great walls and towers, halls and palaces; and in the middle was the fair plain of Ida, where grew gardens of delight in front of Odin’s palace of Gladsheim.

Every day Odin and the Æsir rode forth over the Bridge Bifrost, which appears to men on earth as the rainbow, and went down to the Well of Urd beneath one root of the Ash Yggdrasill – all, that is, except mighty Thor who dared not tread on that delicate arc for fear his weight might break it. He had instead to go round by the rough road over the mountains, and the Giants ran in terror whenever they saw him coming. Bifrost Bridge glows in the sky, for at its foot burns a bright fire to prevent the Giant kind from crossing it and so reaching Asgard.

Down in the shady gloom at the foot of the World Tree the Æsir held their council, to decide how they might bring help to mankind, and what must be done in the long war against the Giants. Down there under the Ash, beside the Well, stood a fair hall where dwelt the Norns, the three weird sisters Urd, Verlandi, and Skuld, who knew more even than Odin himself. For Urd could see all that had chanced in the past, while Verlandi had the power of knowing what was being done in all the worlds at the present; but Skuld was the wisest of all, for she could see into the future – and that not even Odin himself could do.

Often in time to come the Norns appeared at the birth of a hero to spin his web of fate and give him gifts of good and evil that should determine his future life.

They could tell Odin of the course of the world, and from them he knew, as well as from his own wisdom, of Ragnarok, the Last Great Battle, which must come at the end of the world when the Æsir and their Giant foes would fight out to the bitter end the great contest between Good and Evil.

The Norns also tended the Ash Yggdrasill, and watered the greatest of its roots daily from the Well of Urd. For the evil ones strove continually to destroy the World Tree: down in Nifelheim, where one root grew, the evil Nid Hog was forever gnawing at it, while serpents twined and bit. Higher up four harts ran upon its branches and nibbled at the leaves, while at the top sat a wise eagle watching all that was done, and Ratatosk the mischievous red squirrel scampered up and down it, carrying news and gossip between Nid Hog and the Eagle.

In the midst of this strange and complicated world sat Odin the Allfather, like a kindly spider, in the centre of his web. His seat, high above Asgard, was called Lidskialf or Heaven’s Crag, and there he sat and surveyed the world, with his two tame ravens Hugin and Munin perched on his shoulders. To them he owed much of his knowledge, for day by day they would fly forth throughout the world and return in the evening to tell what they had seen: Hugin, swift as thought, and Munin, unrivalled for memory.

Odin looked forth and saw how the Giants plotted evil behind their high mountains in Jotunheim. He looked towards Midgard, and saw how the race of men toiled in their fields, with scarce a thought of war and battle-glory, and he felt that more must yet be done and speedily – so that there might be warriors to stand beside him on the day of the Last Great Battle against the Giants.

So he called to him his son Heimdall, the White God, who had been born mysteriously in the morning of time, and who had nine mothers, wave-maidens from the world’s end. His teeth were of pure gold, and he could see as well by night as by day. Indeed his sight was so keen that he could see things a hundred miles away; and his ears were so sharp that he could hear the grass growing in the earth and the wool on the backs of the sheep. Odin had made Heimdall the Watchman of the Gods with a dwelling-place on the brink of Asgard beside Bifrost, with the great Giallar Horn beside him to blow if the Giants attacked Asgard – a horn that could be heard in all the worlds.

‘Heimdall, my son,’ said Odin, ‘go forth into Midgard, taking upon you what disguise seems good. Go among the men who dwell there: good and simple people they are, but not yet to my purpose. Choose among them those who are most deserving, and see to it by the magic arts which are yours that from them come the three orders of mankind – so that ever afterwards a man shall be born with those gifts which he can best use in his life, to do excellently that for which he was made, and not as now to do many things but none of them well. Let them be doers, makers, or leaders in due numbers – born each to play his part – so that a mighty race may arise from which I may draw those Heroes of Midgard who shall stand beside us at Ragnarok.’

So Heimdall disguised himself as a sturdy wayfarer and went over Bifrost Bridge and down on to the Middle Earth, where he strode gaily along the green paths through the woods and fields until in the evening he came to a house.

The door was ajar, and in he walked. On the hearth a fire burned, and a pot hung over it, and on either side sat the master and mistress of the house, the peasant Ai and his wife Edda in her hood of coarse home-woven cloth.

‘Welcome, stranger,’ they said. ‘Tell us how you are named, and then make yourself at home.’

‘I am Rig the Walker,’ Heimdall answered, and he sat down on the middle seat with his host and hostess on either side of him.

Then Edda broke the loaf, heavy and thick and mixed with bran, which was their usual supper, and served it to the guest with broth from the pot.

When darkness came Rig the Walker did indeed make himself at home. For he lay down in the middle of the bed where it was warmest and softest, while Ai and Edda were forced to lie on either edge.

Three nights the strange guest lodged there, and then he went on his way, smiling to himself.

But nine months later Ai and Edda had a son whose name was Thrall. He grew quickly and became a strong and sturdy man, with hard hands and thick fingers, broad back, long feet, and ugly face. He married a wandering girl who came across the moorlands with bare feet and sunburnt arms, and they had children who built fences and tilled the fields, tended pigs and herded goats and dug peat for fires. Their sons had names like Clumsy and Clod and Lout, while their daughters were called Cloggie, or Cinders, or Lumpy-leggie.

Meanwhile Heimdall went on his way through Midgard, and on the next evening he came to another house. The door was on the latch, and he walked boldly in – to find a fire burning on the hearth and the good folk sitting there busy at their work. They were called Gaffer and Gammar, and were well-dressed and tidy – he with his beard trimmed and his hair cut, and she with a clean smock and a kerchief round her neck.

‘Welcome, stranger,’ they said. ‘Tell us how you are named, and then make yourself at home.’

‘I am Rig the Walker,’ was the answer, and he sat down on the middle seat with his host and hostess on either side of him.

Then Gaffer served the supper of savoury soup followed by boiled veal, and afterwards showed their guest to the one bed of the house. There Rig the Walker did indeed make himself at home. For he lay down in the middle of the bed, with his host and hostess on either side to keep him warm.

Three nights Rig the Walker lodged with Gaffer and Gammar, and then he went on his way smiling to himself.

But nine months later a son was born to Gaffer and Gammar. He was called Karl the Craftsman, and he grew up a sturdy, ruddy-cheeked, laughing man. He was skilled at training oxen to pull the plough, at building houses, at smithying and making carts and ploughs. When the time came they found a wife for Karl the Craftsman, and the pair kept house together, farmed their land, wove their own linen and saved their money carefully. They lived happily and their sons bore such names as Yeoman, Farmer, Smith, and Neighbour, while their daughters were called Housewife, Spinster, Lassie, or Milkmaid.

Meanwhile, however, Heimdall continued on his way through Midgard, and on the next evening he came to a great house with its doors towards the south. In he went, for the bars were not down, and he found there two goodly folk dressed in fine clothes who could look him straight in the eyes when they spoke to him, and whose hands were long and white and shapely. Their names were Squire and Lady, and he was busy twisting a bow-string and setting it on his long-bow of elmwood.

‘Welcome, stranger,’ they said. ‘Tell us how you are named, and then make yourself at home.’

‘I am Rig the Walker,’ came the reply, and he sat himself down on the middle seat with his host and hostess on either side of him.

Then Lady spread an embroidered cloth of fine linen and set upon it loaves of white wheaten bread, well-cured ham and roast poultry on silver dishes, wine in a tall jug and silver-mounted beakers.

After the meal they sat and talked over their wine until it was bedtime. Then Rig the Walker did indeed make himself at home, for he rose first from the table and lay down in the middle of the bed, so that Squire and Lady must needs lie on either side of him.

Three nights Rig the Walker stayed with Squire and Lady, and then he went on his way smiling to himself.

But nine months later the son of the house was born, with yellow hair and rosy cheeks and eyes as keen as an eagle’s. His name was Warrior Lord, and as he grew up his skill was in bending the bow, hurling the javelin, riding on horseback, sword-fighting, and swimming.

When the boy was on the verge of manhood Rig the Walker came again out of the dark forest, to teach him further skills, and to show him his place in the world.

‘You are Lord of the Lands of Udal,’ he said, ‘and they shall belong to your sons and your sons’ sons for ever. For I am one of the Æsir who sit in Asgard, and I declare you my godson, and give you this lordship, and make you a ruler of men.’

Then Rig the Walker, who in Asgard was Heimdall the Bright One, taught Warrior Lord much wisdom, and led him to high adventures in Mirk Wood, the dark forest where trolls lurked. He showed him how to brandish his sword, shake his shield, and gallop into battle.

And Warrior Lord gathered fighting men about him and took lands from those evil men who sided with the Giants. He married Princess, and their son became the first king in Midgard, a King of Denmark. This king gathered his lords and warriors together and conquered the land and gave it peace.

After that he feasted his people in his great hall and gave gifts of golden rings to those who had fought most bravely. Thereafter they practised much with their swords, and rode their horses, and went forth to give battle against any who would have invaded their lands or done harm to their people. But the king learnt wisdom as well as valour, and knew something of the mysteries of life and of the will of Odin.

For Heimdall told his godson of the great war between the Æsir and the Giants, and of Ragnarok, the battle that was to be. He told him how Odin had decreed that all who fell fighting bravely in battle were to be brought after their death to Asgard to form the army of the Æsir which should fight on that last day.

For when Heimdall had returned to Asgard, before Warrior Lord was born, he had found a new palace standing beside the Field of Light. This was Odin’s great hall of Valhalla with its five hundred and forty doors through which eight hundred warriors could pass at a time. Its roof was tiled with shields and the rafters were the shafts of spears. The pillar which held up the centre was a mighty living tree; its leaves fed the magic goat Heidrun who gave in place of milk an endless stream of mead, the sweet beer which the Heroes were to drink.

When there were Heroes ready to fall in battle, Odin sent out his Valkyries to choose the bravest of them for his never-ending banquet. These Valkyries, the Maidens of Odin, the Choosers of the Slain, were immortal women – some were Odin’s own daughters – who would ride through the clouds behind him when his hunt was out. At other times they flew about the world in the likeness of swans, to see who was fittest to sit in Valhalla. Sometimes they walked the earth for a while, letting fall their swan-cloaks, and bathing in solitary pools or rivers. If any man found them thus, and hid away their cloaks, the Valkyries seemed no different from mortal women, and could be wooed and wedded – as certain of the Heroes of Midgard were to find. But any Valkyrie who married a man of Midgard became from that moment an ordinary mortal woman.

Sometimes as Odin rode on his hunt strange things would chance. One night when the storm-winds raged and the thunder roared over the mountains, Olaf the Smith crouched over his fire in his smithy in Heligoland and prayed that no evil might befall him.

Suddenly he heard horse’s hooves clatter on the rocks outside, and a heavy knock sounded on the door.

Trembling, he rose and opened it, and there stood a mighty king dressed in gleaming black armour with a broad sword at his side. He was leading a great horse which snorted and neighed impatiently, pawing the ground and shaking its bridle.

‘Open quickly, master smith!’ cried the King. ‘My horse has cast a shoe, and I have far to ride before the break of day!’

‘Whither are you going, noble sir, in such haste and so late on such a night?’ asked Olaf the smith as he led the great horse into the smithy and examined its hoof.

‘The night is clear and I have no time to lose,’ answered the King. ‘I must be in Norway before day dawns!’

‘If you had wings, I might believe those words!’ replied the smith, laughing at what he took to be a joke.

‘My horse is swifter than the wind,’ came the answer, ‘and the wind will reach Norway more swiftly than bird can fly. But the stars pale: make haste, master smith.’

With trembling hands Olaf chose out his largest horseshoe and tried it on the hoof which rested on his knee. The curved iron was far too small: but as it touched the hoof it began to grow until it fitted into place. Filled with awe, the smith drove in the squared nails and marvelled to see the points rivet and buckle themselves down without his aid.

‘Good night, Olaf the smith!’ cried the king, as he leapt upon the horse’s back. ‘Well have you shod Odin’s steed! And now to the battle!’

Then, as Olaf knelt on the ground looking after him, Odin galloped away into the clouds, a light shining round his head – and once more the hunt went thundering by as he sped on his way to a great battle after which many a Hero would be chosen by the Valkyries.

So the numbers grew in Valhalla, brave men and mighty warriors who sat every night at the banquet board. The mead flowed freely, but however drunk they were, there was never a headache amongst them in the morning. When day came they would arm, and go out into Odin’s Field amongst the golden trees and there fight each other to the death, yet rise unharmed and return to Valhalla in the evening in perfect friendship.

While they fought, Andhrimnir the cook killed the great boar Saehrimnir and boiled his flesh in a gigantic kettle. Yet Saehrimnir was always alive again next morning, ready to be killed and eaten again that night.

Then the Heroes would sit down at the banquet board to feast on the boiled pork and the plentiful mead, while the minstrel of Asgard sang stirring tales of the beginnings of things – of the war between the Æsir and Giants, and perhaps of the battle that was to be when the day of Ragnarok should dawn.

PUFFIN BOOKS

Introduction by
Michelle Paver

Contents

Author’s Note

1

Yggdrasill the World Tree

PUFFIN BOOKS

Introduction byMichelle Paver

Contents

Author’s Note

1

Yggdrasill the World Tree

Introduction by
Michelle Paver