Most precious in the eyes of Thor was his magic hammer, Miolnir, of which even the mighty Frost Giants stood in dread.
Always he laid it by his side when he went to rest, and always it was the first thing for which his hand was outstretched when he awoke. Judge then of his horror and dismay when, on opening his eyes one morning, the hammer was nowhere to be seen.
Starting up with a roar of rage, Thor commenced to search everywhere for the missing weapon. Up and down his wonderful palace, built of the thunder clouds, he tramped, with a noise that shook the whole city of Asgard. But the hammer was not to be found.
Then he called upon golden-haired Sif, his wife, and bade her help in the search, and still the hammer was nowhere to be seen. It was clear that someone must have stolen it, and when he realized this, Thor’s wrath broke all bounds. His bristling red hair and beard stood up on end, and from them flew a whole volley of fiery sparks.
Presently, as the angry Asa was shaking the palace with his thunderous voice, Red Loki came along to inquire into the trouble. He was not likely to sympathize with Thor, but always brimful of curiosity, he loved to have a part in everything that happened.
“What’s the matter, Asa Thor?” said he, and Thor replied, lowering his voice as he spoke, for he did not want his loss to be too widely known, “Now listen to what I tell thee, Loki—’tis a thing which is known neither on earth below nor in heaven above. My hammer’s gone.”
This news was most interesting to Loki, who had long owed Thor a grudge, which he was afraid to pay openly. “Ho, ho!” said he. “Then shall we soon have the giants turning us out of Asgard, brother Thor.”
“Not if you use your wits as you know how,” growled Thor, still in a very bad temper. “Come, you call yourself a clever fellow. Find out for me who has robbed me of my thunderbolt, my hammer, my Miolnir.”
Then Loki gave a grin and a wink, and promised to do what he could—not because he cared for Thor, but because he loved to be of importance, and was, moreover, really frightened as to what might happen to Asgard if the magic hammer was not at hand.
It was not long before he noticed that an extraordinary kind of tempest was raging in the regions below—not an orderly kind of tempest, with first some thunder, and then some rain, and then a gust of wind or two, such as Thor was wont to arrange, but a mixture of hail and wind and thunder and lightning and rain and snow, all raging together in a tremendous muddle, so that the earth folk thought the end of the world was come.
This gave Loki a hint, and he began to peer about between the clouds, until at length he saw that the trouble was coming from a certain hill which stood in the center of Giantland.
Now on the top of this hill lived a certain Thrym, prince of the Frost Giants, who for a long time past had been very envious of the might of Thor. He had, indeed, done his best to imitate him as far as he could, and had managed to get up a very good imitation of lightning and hail and rain, but he had not been able to manage the thunderbolts, for they could only be made by means of Thor’s hammer, Miolnir.
All this was well known to Red Loki, and he was therefore not at all surprised to find that, somehow or other, Thrym must have got hold of the magic weapon; for here were thunderbolts crashing about the earth and sky at a terrible rate.
When informed of the discovery, Thor flew into a still more tremendous rage, and wanted to rush off at once to try conclusions with the giant. But Loki, who loved rather to get a thing by trickery and deceit, persuaded him that violence would never do.
“Remember,” said he, “that Thrym with the hammer is much stronger than Thor without it. This is a matter which must be managed by clever wit and craft, not by force and loud talking. Leave therefore the whole matter to me.”
To this Thor very reluctantly agreed.
Then Loki bethought him of some disguise wherein he might visit Giantland in safety, for he was not at all anxious to risk his life. He betook himself to the House of Maidens, over which ruled Freya, fairest of all in Asgard, she who was wont to shake the spring flowers from her golden locks as she passed over the frozen uplands, leaving behind her a region of green and smiling beauty. Loki found the goddess, and begged the loan of her magic falcon plumes, in which she was wont to flit to and fro over the earth, and when she learnt for what purpose he needed them she gladly assented.
Then Loki took the appearance of a great brown bird, and spreading his wings he flew away toward Giantland.
It was a long journey, as he already knew, and although the tempest had now ceased to rage, he found the country of the giants darker and colder and drearier than ever.
The longest journey comes to an end, and at length Loki reached a mountain where sat the Giant Thrym, his huge legs dangling to the ground, playing with a puppy as large as an elephant.
Perching as near as he dared, Loki gazed at the giant with his bright, round eyes, and was wondering how to begin, when Thrym, who, at a glance, had seen completely through his disguise, said calmly, in a voice as much as possible like Thor’s thunderous roar, “Oh, ho! Loki, what are you doing so far from Asgard? Are you not afraid, little fellow as you are, to venture alone into our country?”
Then Loki, thinking to win his way by flattery, replied, “Sad indeed is it in Asgard, now that Miolnir has vanished. Clever was that one who spirited it away from the very side of Thor. Methinks none but you could have done it, O mighty Thrym!”
Pleased with the compliment to his cleverness the giant chuckled before admitting, “Ay, Loki, the hammer is mine, ’tis very true, and now men will know who really is the Thunderer.”
The End, Part One