The servants returned to Frigga with all the vows and compacts that had been made, and the Mother of Gods and Men went back with heart at ease to her spinning-wheel. The Asa folk were reassured, and casting aside the burden of care that had fallen upon them, they resumed their favorite game upon the plains of Idavold, where they were wont to contend with one another in the throwing of golden disks. And when it became known among them that nothing would hurt Balder the Beautiful they invented a new game. Placing the young Sun-god in their midst, they would throw stones at him, or thrust at him with their knives, or strike with their wooden staves, and the wood or the knife or the stone would glance off from Balder and leave him quite unhurt.
This new game delighted both Balder and the Asa folk, and so loud was their laughter that Loki, who was some distance away pursuing one of his schemes in the disguise of an old woman, shook with rage at the sound. For Loki was jealous of Balder and, as is usual with people who make themselves disliked, nothing gave him such displeasure as to see a group of the Asas on such happy terms with each other.
Presently, in his wanderings, Loki passed by the house of Fensalir, in the doorway of which sat Frigga, at her spinning-wheel. She did not recognize Red Loki, but greeted him kindly and asked, “Old woman, dost thou know why the gods are so merry this evening?”
And Loki answered, “They are casting stones and throwing sharp knives and great clubs at Balder the Beautiful, who stands smiling in their midst, daring them to hurt him.”
Then Frigga smiled tranquilly and turned again to her wheel, saying, “Let them play on, for no harm will come to him whom all things in heaven and earth have sworn not to hurt.”
“Art thou sure, good Mother, that all things in heaven and earth have taken this vow?”
“Ay, indeed,” replied Frigga, “all save a harmless little plant, the mistletoe, which grows on the oak by Valhalla, and this is far too small and weak to be feared.”
And to this Loki replied in musing voice, nodding his head as he spoke, “Yea, thou art right, great Mother of Gods and Men.”
But the wicked Asa had learnt what he desired to know. The instrument by which he might bring harm to Balder the Beautiful was now awaiting him, and he determined to use it, to the dire sorrow of Asgard.
Hastening to the western gate of Valhalla, he pulled a clump of the mistletoe from the oak, and fashioned therefrom a little wand, or stick, and with this in his hand he returned to the plain of Idavold. He was far too cunning, however, to attempt to carry out his wicked design himself. His malicious heart was too well known to the Asa folk. But he soon found an innocent tool. Leaning against a tree, and taking no part in the game, was Hoder, the blind god, the twin brother of Balder, and to him he began, “Hark to the Asas—how they laugh! Do you take no share in the game, good Hoder?”
“Not I,” said Hoder gloomily, “for I am blind, and know not where to throw.”
“I could show you that,” said Loki, assuming a pleasant tone, “’tis no hard matter, Hoder, and methinks the Asas will call you proud and haughty if you take no share in the fun.”
“But I have nothing to throw,” said poor blind Hoder.
Then Loki said, “Here, at least, is a small shaft, ’twill serve your purpose,” and leading innocent Hoder into the ring he cunningly guided his aim. Hoder, well pleased to be able to share in a game with his beloved brother, boldly sped the shaft, expecting to hear the usual shout of joyous laughter which greeted all such attempts. There fell instead dead silence on his ear, and immediately on this followed a wail of bitter agony. For Balder the Beautiful had fallen dead without a groan, his heart transfixed by the little dart of mistletoe.
So on the floor lay Balder dead, and round
Lay thickly strewn swords, axes, darts, and spears,
Which all the Gods in sport had idly thrown
At Balder, whom no weapon pierced or clove;
But in his breast stood fixed the fatal bough
Of mistletoe, which Loki the Accuser gave
To Hoder, and unwitting Hoder threw—
’Gainst that alone had Balder’s life no charm.
Dreading he knew not what, Hoder stood in doubt for some moments. But soon the meaning of that bitter wail was borne in upon him, piercing the cloud of darkness in which he always moved. He opened wide his arms as though to clasp the beloved form, and then with, “I have slain thee, my brother,” despair seized him and he fell prostrate in utter grief.
Meantime, the Asa folk crowded round the silent form of Balder, weeping and wailing, but, alas, their moans and tears could not bring Balder back. At length, All-Father Odin, whose grief was too deep for lamentations, bade them be silent and prepare to bear the body of the dead Asa to the seashore.
The unhappy Hoder, unable to take part in these last offices, made his way sadly through Asgard, beyond the walls and along the seashore, until he came to the house Fensalir.
Frigga was seated upon her seat of honor before the fire against the inner wall, and standing before her, with bent head and woeful, sightless gaze, Hoder told her of the dread mishap that had befallen.
“Tell me, O Mother,” he cried in ending, and his voice sounded like the wail of the wind on stormy nights, “Tell me, is there aught I can do to bring my brother back? Or can I make agreement with the dread mother of the Underworld, giving my life in exchange for his?”
Woe crowded upon woe in the heart of Frigga as she listened to the story. The doom was wrought that she had tried so vainly to avert, and not even her mother’s love had availed to safeguard the son so dearly cherished.
“On Balder Death hath laid her hand, not thee, my son,” she said, “yet though we fail in the end, there is much that may be tried before all hope is lost.”
The End, Part Two