Odin left the head at the well beneath the Tree. There daily it slaked its thirst with the water of wisdom in which lay his eye. Often afterward did he seek the head out and take counsel from it.
When he returned to Asgard and found what had become of the hostages, he was frightful in his wrath. Too much trouble was afoot already, without sundering the bonds between the gods. As grimly as on the battlefield he shouted his orders for the freeing of Njord, Freyr, and Freyja. That was not easy. The witchcraft clung to them and could only be lifted slowly, after terrible strivings. But at length they were hale again. The sons of Odin led them home to him, begged their forgiveness, and offered them a huge redress.
Freyr and Freyja were willing to take it, among other treasures a wonderful sword for him and a car drawn by cats for her. It pleased them to dwell in Asgard and work unhindered in Midgard. They acknowledged that their kin had also done wrong.
Njord, though, was in no soft mood after what he had suffered. He spurned the holding called Ship-haven that was offered him, along with everything else. He. forswore the friendship he had plighted and readied himself to go back to Vanaheim.
Odin foresaw a new war among the gods that would bring doom on them all. He must try to fend it off. Calling upon his utmost powers, he reached forward in time—which is not the same for gods as it is for men—and brought that to pass which had never happened before and never would again.
II
Up into the hills that rise north of the Scanian lowlands came a small troop riding. At their head fared Braki Halldorsson, chieftain in Yvangar and thane of the Dane-king Gram. He was a burly, weather-beaten man, his beard gray below shaggy brows and blunt nose. A byrnie hung rustling and darkly gleaming from his shoulders. Behind him went a youth of fourteen winters, more lightly clad, the king’s older son, Gudorm. Unhelmeted, his hair shone in the woodland shadows like another spot of sunlight. Rearward of him rode a young thrall-woman who clutched a suckling babe to her breast. Her eyes were wide with fear.
A half score of men wound after them. Few had other armor than a helmet, a wooden shield hung at the horse’s rump, maybe a leather coat with iron rings sewn on it. Most bore axes or spears, not swords. They were sons of yeomen, called by the chief of their neighborhood to follow him. Withal, they were tall and strong; their legs reached down around their shaggy little steeds almost to the ground. No robbers or roving Norsemen would have attacked this band.
Yet uneasiness was upon them. It grew with every step forward. None let himself seem daunted, but glances flickered to and fro. Often somebody ran tongue over lips or swallowed hard. The only sounds were from hoofs on earth and wind in boughs. When suddenly a raven croaked, men started and knuckles whitened over spearshafts.
They had reached wilderness. The path was hardly more than a game trail, writhing upward. Brush hemmed it in beneath trees, gray-barked beech, gnarly oak, gloom of fir, granite boulders strewn among them. Where for a short span the wood thinned out, sight swept across slopes, ridges, and dells murky with growth. Wind shrilled cold. It harried clouds over a wan sky, making the sunlight blink. It soughed through leaves going yellow with fall. Most wanderbirds had already flocked south; a hawk wheeled alone aloft.
The wood again crowded thick where a great branch stretched high above the path. Nailed to it, bleached by many years, the skull of a bear grinned downward. Braki drew rein, lifted a hand, twisted about in the saddle, and said through the wind noise, “I know this mark. We near the giant’s house. Hold still when we get there and make no sudden moves. You’re too few to withstand him. Let me talk.” He clucked to his horse and trotted on.
His men set their teeth together and followed. Regardless of the words, Gudorm could not keep hand off sword hilt. The thrall wench whimpered. When the babe cried out, she bared a breast and held him tightly to the nipple as if it were she who drew warmth and strength from him.
The path bent past an outcrop of rock. Braki rounded it. His horse reared and neighed. There stood two hounds, wolflike but coal black, well nigh as big as it was. Their eyes smoldered, their fangs glistened. A man yelped. “Hold still, I told you!” Braki flung back. He fought his mount to a standstill while the hounds bristled and growled. “Vagnhöfdi!” he shouted. “Call off your dogs! Braki is here. We have sworn peace, you and I.”
Someone ahead winded a horn. The deep sound of it echoed from hillsides and shuddered in men’s bones. The hounds lowered their ears, turned, and trotted back. Braki made his horse follow them. His men could do no less.
They came out on a hillcrest. Cleared, it overlooked the highland wilds from ridge to ridge. The house that stood there was roughly built of stone below and logs above, chinked with clay and moss, roofed with turf But few kings owned a hall so huge. Smoke from a hole overhead blew off across the treetops like storm clouds. Through an open door passed glimmers of fire, with heat and rank smells.
The giant waited outside. Thrice the height of a big man he loomed, and more than broad enough to match. Unkempt black hair fell around a shelf of brow, craggy nose, and cave of a mouth. Beard spilled halfway down to a belt studded with spikes. His coat, breeks, and boots were of hide. A nine-foot club was in his grasp and
