The Prophecy

I know that an ash-tree stands called Yggdrasil,

a high tree, soaked with shining loam;

from there come the dews which fall in the valley,

ever green, it stands over the well of fate...

I saw for Baldur, the bloody god,

Odin's child, his fate concealed;

there stood grown- higher than the plain,

slender and very fair- the mistletoe.

-Seeress' Prophecy, The Poetic Edda

The hall was fraught with merriment; mead and beer were flowing freely and the hearts of men were elated. The Einherjar had been fighting all day; shields had been splintered, swords broken, and limbs severed, all in preparation for the day of the final battle, when the fate of the very world would be decided. When the sun had set, chased out of the sky by the ravenous wolf that pursued it, the fires of battle in the men's hearts had dwindled. Subdued into complacency, they picked up their fallen limbs and reattached them, sinews and tendons crawling in a snake-like fashion to secure errant forearms back onto their respective elbows and lost heads back onto the necks which once held them. The men picked up their fallen comrades, helping them limp back to Valhalla as their wounded bodies regenerated. They were all allies now; the grisly sport of the day had subsided, and all sides joined together to dine and drink.

The hall was immense; its ceiling fashioned from shields and its beams sturdy spears. Weapons of all sorts decorated the walls, and the warriors sat alongside each other, many of them leaning forward, striving to catch a glimpse of the one who sat at the head of the table, which stretched in both directions, seeming nearly infinite in its prodigious length. Fires were lit in the many fireplaces, and laughter echoed through Valhalla as the beautiful Valkyries plied the weary warriors with an endless supply of good food and drink. Mead flowed freely from the udder of the magical goat, Heidrun, one of the best meads one could find in the Nine Realms. A cool fog had descended outside, and its fingers crept into the hall through the massive oaken gates, winding past the clamor and drunken revelry through the entirety of the massive building, up to the head of the extensive table where the mist finally settled around the host of the great feast.

Odin was an old man, weary after a lifetime of wine, women, and battle, his aged face missing one of its eyes. His armor was steel and silver and his cloak was a faded pale blue; his hair and beard were long and grey, with streaks of white. He smiled as his battered army made merry around him, thanking the Valkyries who filled his flagon and stacked his plate with roast mutton as mischievous grins played on their ruby lips. Though he guzzled his mead faster than any of the heroes in his great army, Odin barely picked at his food, instead emptying his plate onto the floor where two wolves fought over the succulent morsels of roast lamb that their master had abandoned. Though Odin smiled, his eye was cold, as if it had been left out all night and glazed with a new morning's ice. His son Thor, sitting next to him, sensed his displeasure and was filled with apprehension.

"What troubles you, father?"

Odin turned and beheld his son. Thor's mother was Jorth, the spirit of the earth, and it showed in his appearance: he was tanned, calloused, and mighty, his hair and beard a fiery red, his eyes an icy blue. He was as famous for his strength as he was for his short temper, and his great battle hammer Mjollnir was always slung across his back, in case he should chance into a brawl during his travels. Beneath his armor his muscles shifted nervously under his father's cold and piercing gaze. Thor gnawed loudly on a roast leg of beef as he looked up at his father in puzzlement. Odin turned away, draining his cup in a single swill.

"It's your brother, Thor..."

Thor paused in his chewing. Odin had been far from celibate throughout his long life, so it was difficult to say exactly who he was talking about. Thor had many brothers, all of whom had different mothers than Thor.

"Which one?" he managed through a mouthful of beef. A blonde Valkyrie walked by with a pitcher brimming with ale. She filled Odin and Thor's cups and sauntered away.

"Baldur."

"Baldur?" Thor was confused. Baldur never caused any problems; indeed, he was peacemaker, generous, and very well liked. "Are you angry because he won't fight, One-Eye?"

"No... it is not in his nature to fight. He is different from the rest of us, Thor. He doesn't have a temper like you or I. Indeed, in many ways he is a wiser man than me."

"But he doesn't know all of the spells, All-father! None of the Æsir are wiser than you!"

Odin laughed and his eyes seemed to grow warm for a brief moment. "My wisdom is overrated, Thor. No, I am not angry that Baldur refuses to fight."

"Than what of Baldur, sire?"

"His dreams, Thor. Baldur has seen his own death in his dreams."

"As I have seen mine, and you have doubtless seen yours! We are all fated to die in the battle of Ragnarok."

"Yet Baldur is no warrior, he will not fight. It is not in his destiny to die at Ragnarok. Thus dreams of his demise are a bad omen." Odin's brow was pursed and he finished his flagon again in one quick draught.

"At whose hands did he fall in his dream?"

"He couldn't say for sure, Thor. But he fears he will die soon."

"Who could kill Baldur, father? He holds no grudges, he has no enemies."

"I know not, Thor. But should he die, it would herald the beginning of the end."

Thor put down the roast leg, now cleaned to the bone. His red brow furrowed in an unconscious imitation of his father and he scratched at his thick and matted beard.

"Then what should we do, man?"

Odin rose from the table and set his wide brimmed hat atop his head. The nearby warriors raised their cups in toasts to him as he rose, and their shouts echoed throughout Valhalla. Odin nodded as humbly as he could and managed a smile, raising his hand to the throng in salute. He spoke to Thor as he looked out across his smiling army.

"I'll handle it Thunderer, worry not. For he who stays up all night worrying will find that when the morning comes, he is strained and weary, and everything is just as bad as it was before."

Thor raised an eyebrow while mist closed around Odin as he backed away from the head of the table. Shrouded in fog, Odin shifted his shape into that of one of the Einherjar soldiers, and, navigating anonymously through the crowd, made a quick exit through one of the doors near the back of the hall.

After his meal was finished, Thor bandied words and toasts with a few of the Einherjar and Valkyries before staggering home and climbing into bed with his wife, Sif. He did not fall asleep.

Odin crept out from the shadows behind Valhalla, his one eye gleaming brightly, and watched as the moon rose in the sky. His two wolves joined him shortly on silent, padded paws, as two ravens cawed loudly from the skies, flying circles around Odin’ head before landing on his shoulders. They crowed softly in his ear, whispering secrets that only he could understand. He wound his way through the paths that lined the gardens of Asgard and saw his hall, Valaskjalf, looming out of the darkness in front of him. The ravens, Hugin and Munin, flew through the night alongside him, landing periodically on his shoulder.

He neared the tall arcs of Valaskjalf and passed under the open gates into its courtyard, where a moonlit fountain sparkled quietly. Odin entered a door adjacent to the courtyard and began ascending a stone staircase as the wolves ran ahead of him. He climbed the stairs until he was at the highest level of the tallest tower in the hall; there he emerged onto the roof of the tower.

The top of the tower was encircled with somber columns held together by graceful arches, and it was there that Odin's throne loomed ominously, perched at the very top of the world. The high-seat, Hlidskjalf, was a work of art, ornately carved from the wood of Yggdrasil, the World-Tree, beneath which the nine layers of the world grew. At the foot of the throne were Odin's two wolves, Geri and Freki, who smiled enthusiastically as he approached. Odin scratched the wolves' heads and they licked at his palms as the ravens wheeled in the night sky above them. Soon Odin sat at his high-seat, and the ravens roosted at his shoulder while the wolves lay calmly at his feet.

From the enchanted seat of Hlidskjalf Odin could see anywhere into the Nine Realms. As he sat in the throne the world unwound around him, losing form and shape, dissolving into cool chaos and mist. Odin was barely conscious of himself, his wolves, and his ravens, and he exhaled as his mind relaxed and he began to see once again.

His surroundings began to reform as his gaze pierced through the glens of Asgard, where he currently resided, the god-home nestled in the highest boughs of the world tree. He saw that all of the Æsir, his fellow gods, were asleep, save for Thor, who tossed and turned as he lay in bed. Storm clouds gathered in the skies of Midgard, the realm below at the foot of the World Tree, as Thor the Thunderer grit his teeth with anxiety.

Odin turned his gaze to the home that Baldur, his gentlest son, shared with his wife Nanna and his son Forseti. Breidablik, the Broad-Gleaming, was the name of Baldur's hall of gold and silver, nestled in the tranquil woods of Asgard. Odin saw as Baldur sweat in his sleep, and he was troubled. Baldur the Glorious was a kind and generous man; indeed, flowers blossomed wherever he tread on the earth. He was undeserving of these unpleasant dreams.

"Munin," Odin called quietly to his raven. "I have named you memory. You must fly to the Broad-Gleaming and comfort my son with the memories of his childhood. Whisper softly in his ear, softly so that he will not wake, but will be assuaged of the nightmares that plague him. Go now in peace."

Munin flew off into the night, and Odin turned his gaze outside of his realm, past the beautiful realm of Alfheim, the home of the elves, piercing the shadows that lay off the edge of Asgard, plunging down into the darkness below. Looking through his one eye he saw the gnarled and hulking trunk of Yggdrasil as it grew amidst the void. He followed the trunk down to Midgard, the base of the World-Tree, where Yggdrasil was rooted. In Midgard lived mortal men, and he watched as they dined and talked, plotted and schemed. Some were in love, some were at war, some were kings, some were thralls. Odin loved Midgard in all its variety, but his thoughts were bent on one person.

He searched for the Seeress in his mind, roaming through the dark paths of Mirkwood to her thatched hut near the river. He looked inside, but found that the hut had fallen into disrepair. The thatched roof had holes and a think layer of dust covered everything; her pots had crumbled and her food stores had been plundered my animals. Her books were partially damaged by water that had leaked through the roof, and mosses had began to grow on the stone floor. Odin pursed his brow in thought. He looked outside the hut. At first, he found nothing, but as he explored he discovered faded tracks in dried mud leading to the woods behind the hut. Beneath a grove of elms he beheld a burial mound, haphazardly constructed by some distant relative and marked with runes of warding. So the old witch is dead, Odin thought to himself.

"Hugin," said Odin to his raven, "I have named you thought. Go find the family of the prophetess and express my condolences. See if any of her kin bear the talents of her legacy. Go now in peace."

The bird flew off in the night, a fleeting silhouette against the stars, as Odin the High One closed his eye and reflected on his throne. The wolves began to wrestle at Odin's feet, bored by the lack of attention shown to them by their master. They bit and pawed at each other as they played, and Odin opened his eye once again. The world ebbed and flowed like shifting water around him, and he released his gaze from his immediate surroundings and returned to the burial mound of the Seeress on Midgard.

He looked beneath the earth and saw that her skeleton was incomplete; many of her bones were missing, presumably stolen for various magical purposes or hauled off by wild animals. Her body was almost entirely decomposed. He could not focus his gaze well beneath the earth, however, and he soon found himself looking outside the mound once again. Frustrated, he rose from his chair, and the world snapped back into place around him. He found himself once again standing atop the highest tower of Valaskjalf, overcome with weariness.

Nine mighty spells I learned from the famous son

of Bolthor, Bestla's father,

and I got a drink of the precious mead,

poured from Oderir...

I know one spell if I see, up in a tree,a dangling corpse in a noose:

I can so carve and color the runes

that the man walks and talks with me.

-Sayings of the High One, The Poetic Edda

The next morning all of the Æsir and many elves met in council in the great assembly hall of Gladsheim. Baldur told the gods of his dreams, and all of the Æsir were disturbed, most notably his mother Frigg, the wife of Odin, and Nanna, Baldur's wife. All of the Æsir knew of Baldur's wisdom, and feared that his dreams were a foreshadowing of the inevitable.

"But who could harm my son?" Frigg asked. "Baldur is loved even among our enemies!"

"I am willing to ride to Jotunheim to make some inquiries," said Thor. "Perhaps there are certain frost giants there who bear him ill will."

"No, Thor, that will not be necessary," Odin interjected. Thor's visits to Jotunheim tended to result in violence and incite wars between the gods and the giants. "I will visit a prophetess and find out if she has had any premonitions that would shed light on the situation." He failed to mention that the Seeress was long dead.

As the Æsir talked in confusion, Odin slunk towards the gates. Many of the deities remaining consoled Baldur, who did not seem as perturbed as some of his contemporaries, including Hod the Blind, his fraternal twin. Frigg sat with Nanna and Forseti, attempting to comfort her daugher-in-law and grandson. Odin shifted his shape, changing form to a nondescript old elf, and left the hall, avoiding the questions and fears of his kin. His fearsome spear, Grungir, which never missed its mark, transformed into a gnarled walking stick, upon which Odin leaned as he exited Gladsheim. He walked towards Valaskjalf and looked up and the bright sky; off in the distance he could hear the sounds of the Einheriar clashing in battle. Odin called out across Asgard in an unknown language, and heard hoof beats approaching in the distance.

Over the crest of a nearby hill appeared the mighty figure of Sleipnir, Odin's powerful steed. Sleipnir galloped up to Odin on his eight strong legs, his silver coat gleaming in the sun. Odin grinned as he approached, and mounted Sleipnir in a flourish, pulling his wide brimmed hat out from under his cloak to shield his eye from the sun. Odin kicked gently at the stallion's sides and Sleipnir leapt into the air, his eight legs pawing at the morning mist as they soared through the sky. Off the edge of Asgard they rode, and they plummeted through the branches of the world tree, riding furiously through the clouds which encircled Midgard.

As they wove through the sky the clouds under Sleipnir's hooves burst with rain, and Odin heard crashes of thunder and beheld flashes of lightning in the distance.

So Thor, too, rides this day, thought Odin. His son, the god of thunder, often reveled in his elemental powers. I hope my son controls his temper, lest all of Midgard be blasted into oblivion. Odin and Sleipnir rode down through the thick ceiling of clouds and into the rainy Midgard skies, and Odin's cloak soon glistened with water. He rode past the kingdoms of men, to a remote corner of the world, where Sleipnir landed on a moss covered path winding through a range of tall and jagged mountains, their distant peaks lost in the clouds.

A root of the world tree. It had been long since Odin had ventured down this hidden path. Such will be my passage into the realms of the underworld. He spurred Sleipnir on, and the eight legged steed leapt upon the prodigious root of Yggdrasil and began descending the steep incline.

When they entered the realm of Nifleheim a snowstorm had descended across the glacial landscape of the underworld. Sleipnir leapt off the root of Yggdrasil and sunk into the fresh, powdery snow. In the distance Odin beheld the black, steel gates that opened to reveal the necropolis of Hel.

"Sleipnir, it is best that you remain here. It would be unwise for us both to ride into this accursed land. I will return in a short time and then we will ride to more verdant lands."

The horse whinnied its consent, and Odin trudged forward through the snow, stooping more with each step as he leant upon his staff, until he appeared but a mere fraction of his former power and glory. Soon, the wizened old man trod under the shadows of the ominous gates, decorated with the macabre images of skeletons and beasts. As he drew nearer, a dark canine figure slunk from behind the gates and leered at Odin from glinting emerald eyes. Its sharp teeth clenched menacingly, the hell hound watchman's haunches bristled as it placed itself directly in Odin's path. The wolf's muzzle and chest were red with fresh blood, and soon the beast began to bark furiously at the stooped figure of the old man.

"Be gone, Garm, my business is not with you."

Odin continued walking forward. The creature's ears flattened back against its head, and it had readied itself to pounce upon the traveler's feeble figure when Odin twisted his hand and his gnarled cane transformed into Gungnir, the gleaming spear. The dog back away, snarling, and Odin continued on his way.

Odin trod down the streets of the grisly and polluted city of Hel as wastrels slunk amidst the shadows at his sides. He continued on to Hel's eastern doors, where he saw a mound that appeared to be a gruesome distortion of the Seeress' grave in Midgard. Bones poked out of the filth and snow, and Odin stopped. He began to trace runes on the ground, chanting arcane verses in a hypnotic rhythm, and initiated his spell of reanimation.

Odin recited his rhythmic rhymed words, and reluctantly the bones began to rise and draw together, pulling up earth and ice with them until they reformed into the rotted flesh of the withered and deathly Seeress. Her jaw creaked open and the corpse spoke with a voice ancient and grating in Odin's mind, her blue eyes glinting like frozen steel.

-Which man is that, unknown to me, who is making me travel this difficult road? I was snowed upon, I was rained upon, dew fell on me; dead I've been for a long time.-

"Grimnir I'm called, son of the Slaughterer," Odin replied. "Tell me the news from Hel, for I know what's happening in the real world. For whom is a plot being prepared, for whom are the benches decked with arm-rings?"

-For Baldur is the dais so strewn with gold, for Baldur is the earth being dug. His ornaments shall hang above, as despair will hang above the heads of the Æsir. Reluctantly have I told you, now I'll be silent.- She spat her words and her body began to disintegrate.

"Wait, woman! Don't be silent, prophetess! I still want to know more. Who will be Baldur's killer, who will steal the life from Odin's son?"

-Hod will be Baldur's killer, Hod the blind will dispatch the famed prince to this place and steal the life from Odin's son. Reluctantly have I told you, now I'll rest once again.-

"Don't be silent, prophetess! I want to question you further. Who will bring about vengeance on Hod for this wickedness, who will bring Baldur's killer to the funeral pyre?"

-Rind will give birth to Vali in the Western Halls; Odin's new son will fight as soon as he is born. The boy will not wash his hands nor comb his hair until he's brought Baldur's enemy to the pyre. Reluctantly have I told you, now I will sleep.-

"Listen Seeress, I must question you more! Will not Gungnir land upon the breast of Baldur's enemy?"

-You are not Grimnir at all, as I thought, but rather Odin One Eye, the ancient sacrifice,- the Seeress grinned through her rotted teeth.

"And you are not a Seeress, but rather the mother of three ogres." Odin raised his head and his eye glinted from beneath his broad hat.

-Ride home, All-father and be proud!- the hag cackled. - For none other will speak to me until the eve of Ragnarok, when the doom of the gods is at hand!-

The Seeress' body crumbled and collapsed, worming it's way back under the snow-covered mound. Odin was left staring at the ground as the snow fell on his hat and cloak. His head hung in despair, the All-father turned and slowly made his way back home.