Of Course I Killed Baldur!

For a length of time so immense that it is unimaginable to the mind, they have existed. They are one with that cold sea, those snow-capped mountains, and the bright-shining Northern Star. They reign over the order of the very cosmos themselves. In the beginning of time, they were birthed, and still they do not grow old.

Surely, you have heard tales of Asgard's sparkling, towering fortresses; of its victorious battles and the powerful Aesir and Vanir gods: Thor, the mightiest; Odin, the wisest; Freya, the fairest; Tyr, the bravest; or The Einherjar, souls of brave warriors who died honorably in battle. Perhaps you know of Yggdrasil the World Tree, the nine realms it carries on its outstretching branches and the all-seeing eagle who sits atop it, or the serpent Nidhoggr who at the bottom eats away slowly at its roots and sucks life away from all bit by bit.

My dear reader—from Midgard, the world of ignorant reality that you call Earth—I'm here to let you in on the marvelous secrets of these celestial worlds, far older and bigger than the little world you know; thus I tell you a tale of the gods. But the biggest secret of all, you may find, is that the gods were not just made of gold and glory as they are seen in so many of their tales. They, I can tell you, were monsters as filthy as the giants of Jotunheim and as greedy as the dwarves of Nidavellir. The gods would do anything to get their way: Cheat, lie, steal, betray, kill— They were not all honor and oath. And I am one of these gods.

* * *

Dinner table noise made a decrescendo from loud chatter and laughter to hushed whispers and silence as a hand raised at the far end of the feast, awaiting attention. Everyone, quiet and listening, was anxious for what they would hear. An unsettling feeling had been following them around for the past several days.

The man with his hand raised cleared his throat. "First thing tomorrow morning," he announced, goblet of mead raised to his long, silky grey beard, "I will leave for the Underworld and consult the seeress about these dreams of Baldur's. It could be a prophecy predicting great disaster, and it is crucial we take action as soon as possible." He took a sip before setting down the golden goblet gently. His name was Odin, and he was the All-Father of Asgard. Odin gazed around at the members of the table, as did his birds, with their beady black eyes; a jet-black raven was perched upon either of his shoulders— one named Huginn, the other Muninn.

Frigga, his wife, and mother of Baldur, nodded eagerly in agreement. "Yes. The seeress will be able to tell us more . . . before it is too late."

"Too late for what?" a young blond woman piped up.

Strangely, there was no response, so someone else asked instead, "And this is not just another Ragnarok prophecy, to clarify?"

"No, Sif," then responded Odin with a dark graveness in his voice. "Ragnarok prophecies do not pass through the Wall so easily the way Baldur's dreams have been." With his one eye, Odin looked at Baldur, who sat to his right. "Perhaps you should tell everyone about your dreams."

Baldur nodded a response and rubbed his red hair nervously. "I . . . Well, I'm having dreams that are showing me the future; my future. And they tell me that in the very near future, I am. . ." he drew an uncertain breath, "going to die."

Several gasps and cries erupted among the gods. "Die?"

Someone banged their fist on the table loudly. "Father Odin!" he exclaimed irritably. "What are you telling us? It doesn't make sense. How could Baldur possibly be foreseeing his own death? And in the near future?" He glanced at Baldur. "This has never happened to any of us before, not even with Ragnarok prophecies. Gods do not die for no reason. What's going on here? Is there something we don't know?" His piercing blue eyes narrowed at Odin.