sometimes the old ways are best

Siv Helsi · 07-05-2012, 11:45 AM

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Every bit of knowledge Siv had learned had taken what she believed of the Hearg and stripped it, bit by bit, until even her faith was gone. She believed now—she had heard and seen the gods the night she had broken Tlanti down to size—and while it was the no-nonsense faith of a true believer, it was tainted by the idea and knowledge that true magic would never be done. She was no prophet, no seer, but she was clever enough and willful enough to know how to impose her word on others.

The girl’s silence was enough to tell Siv to keep going. As her nimble fingers, long and pointed, worked through a larger knot, the story was told. “Odin-All Father has always wanted to know,” she began, emphasizing this point. Wisdom always was better than simple strength. If not, why would the gods have kept Loki around? “He rode his horse to the tree that grows in the center of all worlds, Yggdrasil, and there found the Nornes—these women,” and again, she emphasized this point. “Weave together the fates of gods and mortals. Odin asked them about these things, and they told him many secrets of the past and future. They told him that the mad-wolf, Fenrir, who is himself the son of Odin’s brother Loki, would be the one to destroy him when Ragnarök came.”

With the larger knot loosened, Siv took the comb to her daughter’s hair again. Though Draugr was obviously taking care of herself, the tangles and bits of dirt and leaves caught in her locks were proof she was not being idle. This too, pleased Siv. “What the women told him was not enough for Odin, and he asked for more. They told him to speak to Mímir, who lives at the spring of wisdom. It is from this spring that all knowledge comes, and this spring that feeds the world tree. When Odin came to this place, he asked to drink from the spring—Mímir would not allow it. You see,” her tone shifted, and she looked down at her daughter sternly. “Wisdom comes with a price. Odin tore out his own eye and traded it for a single drink of water.”

This was not where the story ended, but Siv found her voice weary. Unwilling to let the tale end, she released her hold on Draugr and moved towards one of the many leather bags hanging from the strong wood that made the foundation of her yurt-like home. It was made from an animal bladder, carefully cleaned and re-purposed. She did not need to sniff it to determine what was inside, and picked up two shallow bowls made from carefully smoothed wood. She settled next to the young girl and the low-burning fire, and continued to speak as she undid a knot and gingerly poured warm water forth. “Even this, child, was not enough for All-Father. He hung himself, as a sacrifice, upon a branch of the World Tree. All sacrifices must be made of flesh and blood, and so he thrust his own spear into his side.”

Her voice stopped, only long enough for the she-wolf to lap at the water in the bowl. It soothed her throat, though she sorely wished it was cool. “For nine days, he hung there—even the gods are not immortal, and Odin’s spirit left his body. For nine days his spirit traveled the nine worlds. At the end of those days, the Norns came and restored his life. Odin learned the Futhark—the sacred runes—and knew them for their true names. They say he learned nine songs as well, though I’ve heard many songs called magic, and none yet that produce any.” A small, secretive smile crossed her face. One day she would teach Draugr the truth about magic, but not yet. She was still a child, and it was sometimes easier for stories to be told before truths.

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