(This is a chapter in my novel, Gridhr Jotun-Kin. These chapters can be seen in order, by clicking on the menu title “Gridhr Jotun-Kin: A Serial Novel”, above, beginning with the Prologue.)
Winifred Hodge Rose
Gridhr’s ire rose again as she saw Odin striding back toward her cave-dwelling in the last light of the day. She had hoped that he had left for good, when he had taken off with the wolf’s head that morning. Now he was back again to claim further guest-right, unwelcome though he was. Gridhr ground her teeth and growled softly under her breath. But, as he neared her steading, she arose with what dignity she could muster and walked toward him. She took no courteous care, this time, to contract her size when she met him. Face to face, the two stopped and took each other’s measure.
“So, Odin, you are back for more of my begrudged hospitality?” Gridhr challenged him.
A small, ironic grin creased Odin’s beard as he responded. “You are a seeress, are you not? Young yet, but showing skill already.” He brushed past Gridhr’s shoulder and headed for the cave, Gridhr one stride behind him.
“How do you know that?” she asked his broad back. “And what has that to say to anything between us?”
As they passed into the cave, Odin dropped his bundle by the firepit. “Roots, stems, shoots,” he said, “wild garlic root and many others. Even things buried in the dark earth can feel the sap of springtide flowing through them. I brought those for the soup.”
“For the soup, eh?” Gridhr gritted through her teeth. “You expect soup, do you?”
“Yes,” he answered, “since I intend to make it myself.” Squatting by the fire with his back to the fuming giantess, Odin began rapidly chopping up the bundle of plantstuff. “You could bring the water, Gridhr, since you’re standing there,” he remarked.
Casting bitter glances at his vulnerable back, Gridhr banged the iron stewpot down into the water barrel that stood near the entry to her cave, then brought it back to set on the fire.
“You are a seeress, are you not?” Odin resumed.
“I am, for all it matters to you,” she growled. “How do you know that, anyway?”
Odin glanced around her cave with its mysterious wall-paintings, but did not answer her. He continued his chopping finely and evenly, mounding the chopped plantstuffs toward one side of the cutting board as he finished. He stirred the pile absently with his long fingers, waiting for the water to boil, and remarked, “I should think a seeress would know how to look below the surface of things.”
“A seeress can do that,” answered Gridhr.
“I should think a seeress would have some understanding of the workings of wyrd in the Worlds,” Odin continued, “and that she would give some thought to the wyrd that underlies odd and unexpected occurrences.”
Gridhr thought about that for a moment. “Like you coming here, you mean?” she asked. “Are you saying that your visit came about through wyrd, and not because of your own love of mischief and meddling? I find that hard to believe, Odin!”
A cynical smile curved the bearded lips as Odin began to sprinkle the chopped plantstuff into the pot, now boiling over red-hot coals. “How about some cracked oats or barley, Gridhr?” he asked. “That would add a lot to this soup.”
Turning toward the large storage crocks that lined the back wall of the cave, Gridhr fetched a measure of cracked oats and sifted them slowly through her fingers, watching the fine grains fall and froth as they blended with the bubbling soup. After a moment’s pause, she brought out one of the wolf’s marrow bones from its hide wrapping, cracked it between her hands and dropped it into the soup with a splash.
“No, Gridhr,” resumed Odin, “my visit here is by my own will. Yet there is wyrd at work here, as there is in most things I do, whatever others may think about my motives.”
“That’s an easy excuse to give, Odin, to justify your deeds,” sneered Gridhr.
“Then look for yourself,” snapped Odin in some irritation, slewing around to glare at her. “Why stand there and argue with me when you have the skill to seek the truth yourself?”
Gridhr regarded Odin with doubt and mistrust, saying nothing. She strode to the doorway of the cave, standing there to breathe the cool air and gaze at the Great Wain, shaped in stars across the night sky. Odin, meanwhile, stirred the soup and breathed upon it, his craggy features outlined by the red light of the coals, intent and mysterious.
~~~
“Gridhr,” Odin called softly, “the soup is ready. Come!”
Distractedly, Gridhr turned back toward her firelit home. She got out her big wooden bowl, two small loaves of hard rye sourbread, and a cheese. Squatting near Odin, she set the bowl between them and filled it with soup. Handing Odin a chunk of cheese and one of the loaves, she broke off a piece of the other loaf and dipped it in the soup, waiting for it to soften. Gridhr ate mechanically, paying little attention to the food, and instead darting mistrustful glances at Odin. His intent gaze in her direction was unnerving, the flickering firelight across his features causing them to take on one aspect after another: masks flitting across his face. His clouded eye seemed now white as mist on the marshes, now dark as the deepest well.
Gridhr felt a shiver creep down the nape of her neck, setting her heavy mane of hair on end. She closed her eyes to shut out the sight, stuffing her food into her mouth and swallowing almost without chewing. She wanted nothing more than to finish this uncomfortable meal and get away from him. Gulping the remainder of her food, she stood up abruptly and turned toward Odin. Her eyes were dark and strange, and shadows walked across her face as well. Odin nodded slowly to himself.
“I am going out to sleep,” Gridhr told him.
“There is no need to leave your home, Gridhr,” Odin said softly. “Sleep here by your doorway, if you will. I’ll not disturb you.”
A laugh formed deep in Gridhr’s belly: Odin was nothing but one big disturbance after another. But she felt numb and entranced, and the laugh never surfaced. She turned away from him, dragged a pile of her fleeces toward the doorway and cast herself down upon them, with the cave spinning around her. She felt wisdom-trance come upon her, unsought, and clenched her fists in the thick fleeces, grasping for something solid to hold onto as visions began slowly to spin around her.
~~~
All night, part of Gridhr slept, while on another level of her mind she sought to weave the elusive strands of vision into something comprehensible. When she awoke to a cloudy morning, Odin was where she had left him, crouched by the dimming fire, his eyes focused otherwhere.
Gridhr stood and stretched, then turned toward Odin and said, “I need air to drive the fogs from my mind, and it’s time to let the sheep out. Come with me—I have somewhat to say to you, Odin.”
Odin followed her, leaning on his staff, and watched as the eager sheep fanned out across the sward.
After a thoughtful silence, Gridhr spoke. “I think, Odin, that I have some understanding of why you and your brothers killed Aurgelmir.”
Odin looked questioningly at her.
“Let me ask you this: did Aurgelmir ever wake up?”
Odin looked at the ground and smiled slowly. He absently dug his staff into the soil between his feet, scraping up a loose bit of dirt and then tamping it back into the ground again before answering. “No, Ymir never did wake up.”
Gridhr noticed that he did not use the giants’ name for Aurgelmir, and approved. She took a deep breath. “It must have been strange back then. I saw it through the Seeress’s vision, you know: the grey void, the mist and the dimness, the unsettled nature of space and time, defined only by a sleeping giant. Where did you all live and move, all you children of Aurgelmir and of Buri?”
“That is a good question, but there is no way for me to answer it.”
“I don’t suppose it was a very good way to live.”
Odin was silent.
“I suppose you dreamed of something different. More like this, like the Earth and the Worlds we know here.”
Odin looked into the distance, chewing the end of his mustache. “I suppose I did, at that.” He waited for her to continue, but she was silent. “….But….?” he prompted.
“But what?” She looked at him, puzzled.
“But there’s more to it than that, isn’t there? I and my brothers envisioned these Worlds, these beings and lives with their places in time and space, yes. And there we had a sleeping giant who wouldn’t wake up, taking all the space there was. He was Being without Consciousness, as I think you realize. By Ymir continuing as he was, Consciousness was forced to scramble for precarious little footholds here and there on that great Being, unable really to become established and grow.”
“Yes, I do understand that now.”
“We had to—or chose to—change things, rearranging to allow for more growth of what we most valued.”
“Yes,” she nodded.
“So what did we do?” he prompted.
“You and Vili and Ve slew Aurgelmir. You rearranged the parts of his body to become the Earth, where we could live and take root, and grow.”
“That we did. And what about the flood?”
“Yes, the flood.” Gridhr’s face took on a grim expression. “Many giants died in that flood.” Her sidelong glance at him was unfriendly.
Odin nodded grimly himself. “Gods died, too. Both my Jotunn-kin and my God-kin were lost. Yes, they died in all the blood that poured out of Ymir’s enormous body when we slew him. The tales would have it that only Bergelmir and his wife lived through it, which isn’t true, as you know. But most did drown—many more drowned than escaped.”
Gridhr looked away as he paused and glanced at her.
“So now there is enmity between giants and gods, isn’t that so?”
Gridhr had no answer for him, a closed expression on her face.
“And some of the giants speak of revenge, of a war against the gods. They speak of destroying the Worlds that we made at such a cost. Some of them think of starting on it themselves, right here and now. So my son Thor comes and hews them down so we’ll have fewer to fight when the time comes. Which makes the Jotnar even angrier, doesn’t it?”
Gridhr felt pain tearing at her. “I don’t know what to think,” she burst out angrily. “You shaped the Earth and Worlds so all of us could live and grow, have children and a place for them to be, so we could learn and live full lives. Maybe some of us understand this, and can’t help but be glad of it, whether we show it or not. But how can we say so? How can we leave aside our enmity towards you, when we’ve taken no vengeance for your deeds? I love not the Æsir, for all that I find you wise now that I speak with you. Could you not, in your arrogant slaying of Aurgelmir, have taken thought for the survival of the other beings there with you?”
A shadow of pain passed over the one-eyed face, and Odin gripped his staff with whitened knuckles. His voice when he spoke was low and grating, and he seemed to be avoiding her question as he stared into the distance and muttered.
“So now I walk the Worlds. Wanderer, they call me: always seeking, always asking questions. I ask of the living and the dead; I ask of Gods and Elves, of Man-kin, Jotnar and Dwarves, of all whom I can find. I pledged an eye for the wisdom of Mimir’s Well, and hung strangling and stabbed on the windy Tree to seek the runes of mystery.”
He looked at her with raised eyebrows, and she stared back challengingly, impatient with this seeming self-pity. Their fierce glares locked for a moment, hazel and blue; then Odin leaned forward intensely, demandingly.
“What am I seeking, Gridhr? What? Tell me what I seek!”
Gridhr stared blankly at him, benumbed by the tide of emotion and confusion sweeping over her. What was Odin asking? That single eye, looking into hers, pierced her to the marrow. It reminded her of something else, of a scene she had witnessed, though her recollection of it was dim.
Alone I sit as the Old One comes,
Ygg of the Æsir looks into my eyes.
Why do you question? Why test me?
I know all, Odin: Where your eye lies hid,
Valfather’s pledge in Mimir’s dark well.
Seek you more wisdom, or what?
I see for Baldr, for the bloody god,
Odin’s child: I see his hidden wyrd.
In Fen-Halls, Frigg weeps
For Asgard’s woe; all-wise Mother mourns.
Seek you more wisdom, or what?
Gridhr’s memory of her soul-flight with the mighty Seeress snapped back into her consciousness full-force. Flames again crackled around her, ravaging the Worlds. She closed her eyes, overcome, a storm of events sweeping across her vision. A son, unimaginably young, weeping for his parents who were drowned in gore, a bloody tide that he himself had drawn with his brethren. A father and mother mourning their son on his pyre, lashed by flames that reached out from his body to engulf the Worlds. A Wolf, and a mighty Wolf-Slayer: vengeance taken and given with flashing tooth and sword, leaving another god-son fatherless, and a giant-father avenged but son-bereft.
The visons spun about her, melding and weaving together, one into the other. Out of the maelstrom arose again the image of the young god, walking now with his kin in a world made new and green, speaking in tones of wonder together. The great Tree arose before them, washed clean of ashes and burns by its sojourn under the waters. From a gap in its woody side, a man and a woman stepped forth hand in hand, blinking in amazement at the new Sun and at the Holy Ones there smiling at them.
“A world made new,” she breathed. “It’s beautiful…” Gridhr drew a deep breath and opened her eyes, focusing on Odin’s face. “A world new-made, again. ….And where are you, Odin, in this bright new world?”
Odin glanced away and made no answer.
“And where are the Jotnar?”
Odin dug his staff into the ground, muscles tensing, again having no answer for her. While he pushed the loose dirt into little piles between his feet and smoothed them out again, Gridhr tried to collect her thoughts and make sense of the whirling images.
“Again you seek to craft a new world, Odin,” she said, groping to follow the clues. “The wyrd unfolds now, that you and your brothers set in motion when you slew Aurgelmir and drowned our kin to make this world. This wyrd wends its way toward the world in flames that I saw in the Seeress’s foretelling.”
She looked at him and he nodded. “So now you are seeking knowledge….” she was groping again. “Knowledge….of how to bring this new world about?” She paused, thinking. “Knowledge first to see what is coming–that’s why you called the dead Seeress, and that’s when I got caught up in her vision. You need to understand this wyrd, first.” She glanced at his set face, and went on. “But this time, you’re taking thought for the survival of others. So you’re seeking knowledge of how to bring it about, that a new world follows the burning of the old. A new world,” she added, “with no Odin in it, and no Jotnar.” Her eyes turned toward him, seeking his response.
“That isn’t all, Gridhr,” he answered. “Not only knowledge, but deeds also, go into the making of the new world. I do what must be done, to bring it about.”
In the back of Gridhr’s mind blossomed again the face of the young god, his blue eyes smiling. “Who are the ones I saw,” she asked tentatively, “the ones in the vision, who walk the new world in wonder?”
“They are the children,” Odin said, and a smile lit his face. “The ones who come after. The ones who remain when all else falls, who step from this world into that one through the veils of roaring flame.”
“The children?” she asked in puzzlement. “Whose children?”
His face was gentle. “Ours, Gridhr. Our children.” He smiled more broadly at her startled look. “The children of the Jotnar and the Gods together, who will walk where we may not go. My wyrd leads me to the end, but not beyond it. Your wyrd, too, will fade quickly in that new world. But our children will carry our kin-souls with them, to live there anew.”
Gridhr drew her arms around her knees, resting her forehead on them and closing her eyes. It was too much to understand all at once. She trembled, not knowing how to react. After a moment, she felt Odin’s hand on her heavy mane of chestnut hair, pushing it back from her face to stroke her cheek and bare shoulder. His hand was surprisingly warm and gentle, soothing and life-giving as spring sunshine after a long, cold winter. She gave herself over to his touch, while in the deep well of her mind a young god smiled at her.