The design of the spear came to Óðr in a dream, but the weapon was so intricate and potent that only a master craftsman could properly forge it.

First he visited Dvalinn who could not be roused from his nap; Sindri did not consider himself up to the task; Andvari politely declined since the weapon would be used to murder both Gods and Giants and he did not wish to incur the debt that would come of being its maker – instead he offered to craft him a jewel-encrusted rhyton or drinking-horn which never emptied, which Óðr gladly accepted. Finally he came to Brokkr who so rudely refused that it resulted in a bitter feud between them lasting nearly three thousand years, until Sigyn finally intervened, establishing friþ once more between the God and Dwarf.

One day while wandering near the sulfur springs of Thermopylai in the land of Greece Óðr encountered a creature with thick black fur, a bulbous nose, and prehensile tail. He was all trussed up and left hanging over a boiling pool, his fur singed and face terribly scalded.

Óðr carefully cut him down, freed him from his bonds and healed his wounds, whereupon the creature revealed that he was Adranos, King of the Kobaloi who were cousins to the Kekropes and Kabeiroi, and known in other lands as Kobolds or Goblins. He had been driven from his kingdom in Sicily by Hephaistos, and he and his people then wandered for a while, causing mischief and stealing what they needed until Herakles subdued them and sold them into slavery under Queen Omphale of Lydia. They eventually escaped and had been living in the underground caves around the Hot Gates until Adranos ran afoul of the hero Malis (after whom the Malians were named) who left him in the pitiable condition in which Óðr discovered him.

Adranos brought the God to meet his people beneath the earth, and a great feast was held, to which Óðr contributed his best wine. Afterwards Óðr explained his mission and Adranos and the Kobaloi pledged their allegiance to him, joining his Retinue or Furious Host. As a token of this pledge the wizard-smiths made for him the terrible weapon he had sought so long, the God-killing and Giant-destroying spear he will brandish at Ragnarök.

Another time Óðr was wandering through the Bosporus when he came across the idol of a deity he did not recognize. It was like a herm of wood, but the face had been covered in silver with a mustache of gold. Nevertheless Óðr took some bread from his traveler’s sack, carefully setting it before the idol with reverent words, and then poured out a large quantity of honey-wine from his magical drinking-horn that never emptied, crafted for him by the matchless Andvari. Óðr then sat down cross-legged before the idol and worshiped the unknown God in his heart, his mind and his soul.

A short time later the heavens grew dark and thick with clouds, wind whipped his hair and cloak about, sheets of rain fell and lightning like hastily sketched Runes lit up the sky. Then something shaped like a man stepped into the clearing; he was thickly muscled, with long hair and beard the color of flame and he carried a hammer that looked like a more primitive version of Thor’s.

“Greetings, Perun; it has been too long.”

“It has indeed been a long time since men have called me by that name instead of Saint Elias; longer still since they have given me proper worship.”

“I am only sometimes a man, but all that is divine deserves respect.”

At that Perun swung his hammer over his head and soon the two were engulfed in a cyclone. Then it was gone and Óðr found himself in royal chambers crafted entirely from oak.

“I have missed you, old friend.“ Perun said, pushing an overflowing tankard into the hands of his guest. “Are you here on the One-Eyed’s business or your own?”

Óðr drank deeply, for it had been a long journey. “I remember when we used to share our alcohol in bowls crafted from skulls of enemy tribesmen.”

“Times have changed.”

Óðr wiped foam from his beard and said, “And will continue to.”

“Do you still serve Óðinn?”

“Have you decisively defeated Veles?”

Both Gods answered “no” and smiled. Óðr added: “I remain on friendly terms with him, however.” Perun could tell much was being left unsaid. “With what’s coming, it is good to have allies in as many realms as possible.”

“Is that why you’ve come here?”

“No. I’ve already seen in a cannabis vision that you will fight beside me when the time comes.”

“But not him?”

“This is a war that will be fought on many fronts.”

“So why join you and not him?”

“Because I’ll be going after the one who harms Lada.”

“What do you say?” Perun’s eyes began to crackle and spark. “She had better be okay.”

“She is fine for now. That is not why I am here today.”

“Then why?” Perun finished off his tankard.

“Because you need one of these.” Óðr took one of three golden apples from his traveler’s sack and began juggling with it.

“What is it?” Perun demanded, and before he’d even gotten the words out Óðr tossed it to him across the room. Perun caught the golden apple in his large, calloused hands and immediately his eyes flickered open a couple times and then closed for good.

Óðr sipped his beverage and waited.

Finally Perun’s eyes opened and the God said, “I must have this.”

Óðr smiled. “What is it worth to you?”

“I would trade anything in my Kingdom for this treasure.”

“It is more than a treasure. I can teach you how to use it as a weapon.”

“With this I could finally defeat the dragon.”

“And many other dragons as well.”

“What do you want?” Perun asked, justifiably suspicious of his guest.

Óðr held up his tankard and said, “More brew.”

When foam was spilling over the sides Óðr added, “And for the apple, three boons.”

All the girls of the village were wearing white linen dresses and crowns of flowers they had collected and woven that morning down by the riverside, while the boys practiced the traditional dances, jumping over logs and generally looking handsome and virile. Later in the evening the logs would be replaced by a bonfire, and the truly pious (or inebriated) amongst them would walk over the glowing coals in their bare feet. The bravest and best of the fire-dancers would be awarded a crown and a kiss by one of the fair maidens; and sometimes more. Often, nine months or so later, the village would be blessed with a plentiful crop of happy, healthy and lucky babies who were cherished by all, whether their fathers were known or not. (And most were not, as the celebrants were free to take as many partners as they pleased on this most special of nights.) The old men were already deep in their cups, belting out lewd songs and telling even lewder jokes. The young men would be joining them shortly, as soon as they’d finished hanging the red, black and white streamers and other decorations wherever there was space for them. Óðr watched the leisurely preparation as he strolled through the village, enjoying the wafting scent of baking honey-cakes, pork sausages and other phallic shaped delicacies each household was preparing. All this they were doing for him, though most could not have said why. Óðr smiled despite the memory of sulfur, rotting flesh and mouldering treasure. How sweet their reunion had been.

As you may recall I wrote down some myths which I deleted because I wanted the material here to be of a more academic tenor. That was a pretense, which doesn’t really reflect how I receive this material, so I’m bringing it all back.

After putting the copies in their appropriate folder I pretty much forgot about them. It’s a little spooky to see how well they fit with the stuff that came later.

However, it would seem that I need to concoct a connecting myth – Óðr and Freyja are married in Vanaheimr but not in Ásgarðr.

That suggests that at the conclusion of the Æsir-Vanir War Óðinn dissolves the union between them, and takes Freyja as his mistress – which would explain the situation the daughter of Njörðr finds herself in in Sörla Þáttur. I do love when diverse threads can be tied together. Plus it amps the pathos up to Ukrainian soap opera levels. #Жаданживи

Now Óðr must win his beloved back a second time – this time from his father!

 

The Hyndluljóð is synopsized by Wikipedia thusly:

In the poem, the goddess Freyja meets the völva Hyndla and they ride together towards Valhalla. Freyja rides on her boar Hildisvíni and Hyndla on a wolf. Their mission is to find out the pedigree of Óttarr so that he can touch his inheritance, and the lay consists mostly of Hyndla reciting a number of names from Óttarr’s ancestry. The poem may be a twelfth-century work, though Bellows believed the material of which the poem was compounded must have been older.

But you can read the full thing for yourself here. It’s one of the shorter but more important of the Old Norse poems, if you ask me. 

And that’s because I believe that Óttarr is doubly disguised in it. First as the battle-boar Hildisvíni and secondly as Óttarr himself. Her champion is actually Óðr. He has been returned to her finally, but with significant gaps in his memory, which she hopes the Jötunness  Hyndla can repair. It’s so bad, in fact, that he actually believes himself to be the mortal hero Óttarr. Which, at least is an improvement on when he was first brought to Sessrúmnir and thought he was somehow Ohthere and Ótr simultaneously.

It’s been a long, frustrating road for them. As much as she had missed him in his absence (she shed tears of red gold for her husband) all the Tívar need him now, for he plays a pivotal role in the Final Battle, one unknown even to Óðinn, Frigga and the Nornir. If they knew, it would be possible for their enemy to learn of it, and make the appropriate corrections.

Which makes Óðr’s partial amnesia bad. 

At least it only seems that bad. In truth, it is much worse. You see, he’s only pretending to believe he’s Óttarr – he really thinks he’s Amlóði.

Why would Óðinn arrange things like this?

Because he is engaged in a game of chess against the vast, devouring nothing and if all the pieces aren’t in play precisely where and when he needs them to be the consequences will be most dire.

And he’s even willing to let the enemy take out one of his most important pieces, if it gains him a strategic advantage.

Which is how Óðr was for a time lost to the Tívar, and mostly to history’s pages as well.

He never would have sent him on that final quest, knowing what lay ahead for him and all of them, had it not been absolutely necessary.

Alaís‘ name can either be pronounced /ˈæl.ɪs/ as in Alice, from Old High German Adalheidis (adal, “noble” + -heit, “nature, character”) the titular character of Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland as well as Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There; a key example of the Girls Underground archetype. 

Or /aˈlajs/ as in Old French lai (“song”), from Old Frankish *laik, *laih (“play, melody, song”), from Proto-Germanic *laikaz, *laikiz (“jump, play, dance, hymn”), from Proto-Indo-European *loig-, *(e)laiǵ- (“to jump, spring, play”). Akin to Old High German leih (“a play, skit, melody, song”), Middle High German leich (“piece of music, epic song played on a harp”) and Gothic 𐌻𐌰𐌹𐌺𐍃 (laiks, “a dance.”)

Appropriate considering her son’s name signifies “mind”, “soul” or “spirit” (so used in stanza 18.1 of the Völuspá). Additionally óðr can mean “song”, “poetry” and “inspiration”, with connotations of “inspired, possession”. It is derived from a Proto-Germanic *wōð- or *wōþ- and related to Gothic wôds (“raging”, “possessed”), Old High German wuot (“fury” “rage, to be insane”) and the Anglo-Saxon words wód (“fury”, “rabies”) and wóð (“song”, “cry”, “voice”, “poetry”, “eloquence”). Old Norse derivations include œði “strong excitation, possession.” Ultimately these Germanic words are derived from the Proto-Indo-European word *wāt-, which meant “to blow (on), to fan (flames)”, fig. “to inspire”. The same root also appears in Latin vātēs (“seer”, “singer”), which is considered to be a Celtic loanword, compare to Irish fāith (“poet”, but originally “excited”, “inspired”). The root has also been said to appear in Sanskrit vāt– “to fan.”

Óðr being the son of Óðinn certainly clears up a number of scholarly theories that have been circulating.

A while back I mentioned that Víðarr had been on my mind, but didn’t really go into why beyond that I was pondering Snorri’s comparison of him to pious Aineías, how he serves as the Æsir’s winepourer, and that the sword he’ll use to avenge Óðinn at Ragnarök was stolen by Óðr from a dragon.

But there was more.

Remember how I mentioned in The Old Man of the Sea that I’ve been shown a couple different ways that Óðr may have become Njörðr’s son, and then proceeded to tease one of those threads out here, here and here?

Well, that was only one possibility.

In another Víðarr and Óðr are half-brothers, seed that Óðinn strategically sowed among the Jötunn and Ljósálfar lines.

Men remember the terrible war waged between the Æsir and Vanir, and how this ended with the exchange of hostages and the formation of the combined Tívar pantheon. Almost nothing has come down to us concerning the time when the Dökkálfar and Ljósálfar attempted to conquer Vanaheimr and were soundly defeated. Víðbláinn, the gleaming capital of Álfheimr became a vassal state of the Vanir. Though its Court remained intact and the King decided matters of internal importance they were ultimately answerable to Njörðr and later his son Freyr, when the realm was given him as a teething present. The situation proved advantageous to both parties leading to peace, prosperity and cultural enrichment. Indeed, there was so much blending of customs – not to mention miscegenation – that the two were practically indistinguishable by the time they met the Æsir in battle. (The Dökkálfar were granted more autonomy than their pale cousins but swore to share their technology and provide military support whenever the Vanir went to war.)

One way that the felicitous relationship between the Ljósálfar and Vanir was maintained was through the exchange of hostages, or as it is more politely referred to fosterage. Each King sent one of his children along with some nobles to be raised at the Court of his counterpart. This both strengthened the bonds between them and gave each leverage over the other so that they had a vested interest in keeping the peaceful equilibrium going.

And this is how Óðr came to live with the man who one day would be both his adopted father and father-in-law. His real father was a mystery to all, for he was not the son of  Álfheimr’s King but rather one of the nobles who accompanied Merowech to Vanaheimr. Óðr’s mother was Alaís, cousin of the King and regarded by many as the loveliest Lady at a Court full of some of the loveliest creatures in all of the Nine Worlds. With as many suitors as Alaís had no one was especially surprised when she became pregnant, except perhaps Alaís herself.

You see, one evening the Ljósálfar were holding a masque with indescribably beautiful costumes, and feasting and dancing that lasted until sunrise. Though everyone was a spectacle Alaís’ eye kept being drawn to a handsome fellow in purple, gold and green motley, with boots to his knees, a rhomboid patch over one of his eyes and a tricornered rat-catcher’s hat. He carried a long, knobby walking stick which he seemed not to need for the grace of his movements. Alaís was not alone; most of the Court Ladies were drawn to the stranger as if he were a magnet and they cold iron, and many of the Lords too. Several times he caught her watching and gave a wolfish grin in return. When Alaís saw that the stranger was making his way towards her through the crowd she excused herself and retired to her chambers, fearing that she would be entirely under his power should he corner her, and fearing more that she might enjoy it too much. 

Once asleep, Alaís dreamed that she was lying upon a barrow-mound and that a great ash tree grew overhead, in whose branches were perched a pair of night-black ravens. The roar of a bear made her entire naked body tremble but she did not remove herself. She heard the shambling brute approach and then his face entered her field of vision. It was as if two images were overlaid, each bleeding through and then dissolving back into the other. In one a magnificent brown bear towered over her and in the other was a man as savage as he was handsome, wearing a bearskin cloak and Rune-carved bones in his braids. “You found me,” Alaís said, “even here in this place.” He merely extended a hand, helping her to her feet, and then scooped her up in his arms as if she were weightless. 

The next thing Alaís knew they were entering a cave and the stranger was setting her down on a bed of pelts. With her keen eldritch sight she watched the stranger undress in the darkness and then he was beside her and she was opening her legs to receive her bearish lover. 

The rest of the dream she did not recall upon waking alone in her own bed the following morning (or so she claimed) though her belly was swollen with miraculous fruit, and by mid-day her labor had commenced. The son she bore was as clever and fearless as he was beautiful and charming, taking equally after each of his parents. As a youth he excelled at archery, hunting, poetry and the magic of the Álfar, and more he might have learned in Víðbláinn but when it came time to ceremonially exchange hostages once again he was at the top of the King’s list. The boy was strange and preferred his own company or the solitude of wild places; more, he was prone to sudden fits of uncontrollable rage and violence. The King wasn’t just trying to get Alaís’ child as far from his Court as possible, he genuinely believed that the war-loving Vanir might have something to teach him about controlling and harnessing this fury of his.

And the King was correct. 

Óðr, as the boy was known outside of Álfheimr (though he had a different name in the tongue of the Ljósálfar) thrived at the Court of Njörðr who indeed knew the ways of the Svinfylking. Óðr mastered the battle-madness of the boar, and in time became one of Njörðr’s fiercest rani. He forged an unbreakable bond with Freyr and Freyja; indeed the three were rarely found apart, and also close friendships with Njörðr’s adopted daughter Sigyn, and Skírnir, Wanlan, Tryskí and Skyðis who also were being raised at the Vanic Court.

When it came time for Merowech and the other Ljósálfar nobles to return to Víðbláinn Óðr pleaded with his King to be permitted to remain with Njörðr and his family. The King graciously agreed, and not just because he could see that being parted from the golden-haired beauty Freyja would make the youth miserable and lovesick, but in Óðr’s absence the fair Alaís died. There had been little enough tying Óðr to Víðbláinn before; now there were only sad memories pregnant with his mother’s absence. 

Njörðr was more than happy to adopt so strong and courageous a warrior into his family; not only was he gaining a son, but Vanaheimr was getting a loyal and fearless defender in Óðr.

After proving his worth through a series of adventures, quests and skirmishes with his cohort Freyr, Skírnir, Wanlan, Tryskí and Skyðis Óðr found the courage to ask Njörðr for his daughter’s hand in marriage. This was not considered necessary according to the customs of Vanaheimr but there were times when his Ljósálfar upbringing shown through, and this was one. Njörðr thought it absurd that they hadn’t been wedded much earlier, and so joyously gave his blessing to their union, becoming father a second time over to Óðr.

It was not long after he made his sister Freyja his wife that Óðr first met his biological father, Óðinn. And that was at the marriage of Sigyn and Loki. The next after that was when he rode with the Vanir and their allies to avenge Njörðr’s sister Gullveig, but these are tales for another time.

Likewise the Vanic name he was known by, for he only came to be called Óðr after the way he conducted himself when his people warred against the Æsir.

All of this was the design of Óðinn, and occurred as he willed it.

Óðinn was preparing and manipulating him to perform the role he will need to come Ragnarök as if he were pulling a puppet’s strings – and in so doing fulfilled a pledge he had made to his good friend Hermes. 

I like the word Tívar for the combined Æsir and Vanir pantheons, by the way; it prioritizes neither side (and also leaves room for the inclusion of Skythian, Slavic and related deities, which we do in Starry Bear.)

Here’s the entry from the Skaldic Lexicon Poeticum. (Their entry on óðr is also pretty interesting.)

Though I also like Æsir since the word for Gods in Etruscan is 𐌀𐌉𐌔𐌄𐌓, despite their non-Indo-European status, which might otherwise explain it. 

I have an embarrassing admission.

Do you have any idea how many times I’ve listened to this without realizing the bit at the end is from the Hávamál?

The answer is a lot. Like, a lot a lot.

That … adds a whole new level to it – especially since it’s the Gestaþáttr. 

Fuuuuck.

I love Sólstafir, and I love Valhalla Rising – and the combination of them together, especially condensed and excised like this, is sheer Odinic perfection. Just like the LÁGNÆTTI conjures Iceland like nothing else. My all-time favorite is Fjara, which is so Freyja-Óðr it’s painful to watch at times.

Ovid, Fasti 5. 164 ff
When darkening twilight ushers in the night, the whole flock of Hyades is revealed. Taurus’ face gleams with seven rays of fire, which Greek sailors call Hyades from their rain-word. To some they were the nurses of Bacchus, to others granddaughters of Tethys and old Oceanus. Atlas did not shoulder the load of Olympus yet, when lovely, eye-catching Hyas was born. Oceanus’ daughter, Aethra, bore him and the Nymphae in timely births, but Hyas was born first. While his beard was fresh, stags trembled in terror before him, and the hare was welcome prey. But when years matured his manhood, he bravely closed with the shaggy lioness and the boar. He sought the lair and brood of the whelped lioness and was bloody prey to the Libyan beast. His mother sobbed for Hyas, his sad sisters sobbed and Atlas too, whose neck would haul the world. The sisters surpassed both parents in pious love and won heaven. Their name is from Hyas.

Apollodoros, Bibliotheka 3.28-29
At the proper time Zeus loosened the stitches and gave birth to Dionysos, whom he entrusted to Hermes. Hermes took him to Ino and Athamas, and persuaded them to bring him up as a girl. Incensed, Hera inflicted madness on them, so that that Athamas stalked and slew his elder son Learchos on the conviction that he was a dear, while Ino threw Melikertes into a basin of boiling water, and then, carrying both the basin and the corpse of the boy, she jumped to the bottom of the sea. Now she is called Leukothea, and her son is Palaimon: these names they receive from those who sail, for they help sailors beset by storms. As for Zeus, he escaped Hera’s anger by changing Dionysos into a baby goat. Hermes took him to the Nymphai of Asian Nysa, whom Zeus in later times places among the stars and named the Hyades.

Photios, Lexicon s.v. Hyês
‘Rain-bringer’. An epithet of Dionysos, as Kleidemos says. Since we perform sacrifices to him during the time when the God makes it rain; but Pherekydes says that Semele is called ‘rain-bringer’ and that the children of Dionysos are the Hyades. Aristophanes lists Hyês among the foreign Gods.

Scholiast on Homer, Iliad 18.486
They say that the stars in the forehead of the constellation of Taurus are called the Hyades, but those on the half flank are called the Pleiades. For as Mousaios says, Atlas son of Iapetos and Aithra daughter of Okeanos had twelve daughters and a son, Hyas. A serpent killed him during a hunt in Libya, and five of the girls died while mourning their brother. The rest? Zeus placed among the stars and named the Hyades, taking their name from their brother. Most say the seven are slowly, † (text corrupt) the ones that died are called the Pleiades. And Pherekydes, as was noted previously, says that the Hyades are the Dodonian nymphs and Dionysos’s nurses, who entrusted Dionysos to Ino for fear of Hera, during which time Lykourgos also chased them … And Hellanikos in the first book of the Atlantidai says that the six joined with Gods, Taygete with Zeus, from whom was born Lakedaimon; Maia with Zeus, from whom was born Hermes; Elektra with Zeus, from whom was born Dardan; Alkyone with Poseidon, from whom was Hyrieus; Kelaino with Poseidon, from whom was Lykos; Sterope with Ares, from whom was Oinomaos; Merope with the mortal Sisyphos, from whom was Glaukos—for this reason she was faint.

Spain is a little confused, it seems. Saint Boniface Day is in June, not February. 

From the BBC:

According to one legend the famous Devon Saint, St Boniface, was the creator of the very first Christmas tree. In the early part of the 8th century, St Boniface was sent into Germany as a missionary, with an aim of converting the pagans to Christianity. St Boniface was later to become the patron saint of brewers, so sending him to beer loving Germany may well have been a masterful mission. He worked tirelessly in the country destroying idols and pagan temples across Germany and building churches in their place. He was named Archbishop of Mainz and founded or restored the diocese of Bavaria. It was on this trip, around the time of Winter Solstice, that he was said to have come across a group of pagans worshipping an old oak tree. Horrified by what he saw as blasphemy, the all-action St Boniface grabbed the nearest axe and hacked down the tree. As he did this he called to the pagans to see the power of his God over theirs. Pagan feelings were understandably mixed, but Boniface’s actions were obviously taken in good spirit, with some of the tales saying he converted the pagans on the spot. This is where the tale now divides. Some say St Boniface planted a fir tree there, but the most common idea is that a fir tree grew spontaneously in the oak’s place. The fir was seen as an image of God and many believed its evergreen symbolised the everlasting love of the Maker. According to the myth, the next year all the pagans in the area had been converted to Christianity and hung decorations from the tree to celebrate what they now called Christmas rather than Winter Solstice. The legend spread and soon Christmas trees became the norm in the newly converted Bavaria, and then spread out to become the tinsel strewn, electric lit, bauble hung festival we know today.

Saint Boniface, like most of his delusional ilk, had a profound death-wish which the Heathens of Frisia graciously helped him fulfill. From Butler’s Lives of the Saints:

This apostle of so many nations thought he had yet done nothing, so long as he had not spilt his blood for Christ, and earnestly desired to attain to that happiness. Making use of the privilege which Pope Zachary had granted him of choosing his successor, he consecrated St. Lullus, an Englishman, formerly monk of Malmesbury, archbishop of Mentz, in 754, leaving him to finish the churches which he had begun in Thuringia, and that of Fuld, and conjuring him to apply himself strenuously to the conversion of the remaining idolaters. 

[…]

The saint, looking upon himself as devoted to labour in the conversion of infidels, and being at liberty to follow the call of heaven, would not allow himself any repose, so long as he saw souls perishing in the shades of darkness, and his extreme desire of martyrdom seemed to give him a foresight of his approaching death. Having therefore settled his church and put all things in the best order possible, he set out with certain zealous companions to preach to the savage infidel inhabitants of the northern parts of East Friesland. Having converted and baptized some thousands among them, he appointed the eve of Whit-Sunday to administer to the neophytes the sacrament of confirmation in the open fields in the plains of Dockum, near the banks of the little rivulet Bordne. He pitched there a tent, and was waiting in prayer the arrival of the new converts, when, behold, instead of friends, a band of enraged infidels appeared on the plain all in arms, and coming up, rushed into his tent. The servants that were with the holy martyr were for defending his life by fighting; but he would not suffer it, declaring that the day he had long waited for was come, which was to bring him to the eternal joys of the Lord. He encouraged the rest to meet, with cheerfulness and constancy, a death which was to them the gate of everlasting life. While he was thus employed, the Pagans attacked them sword in hand, and put them all to death. St. Boniface suffered in the seventy-fifth year of his age, on the 5th of June, in the year of Christ 755. With him were martyred fifty-two companions, of whom the principal persons were Eoban, bishop; Wintrung, Walter, and Adelhere, priests; Hamund, Strichald, and Bosa, deacons; Waccar, Gunderhar, Williker, and Hadulph, monks; the rest were laymen.

I came across an obscure Germanic deity I have a hunch is related to Óðr, and possibly even his son. This guy:

The God’s name is Stauff or Stuffo, and he operated a popular oracle at Stuffenberg (currently known as Hülfensburg) a mountain between Heiligenstadt and Eschwege, near Geismar in Thuringia. Johann Vinzenz Wolf argued that he was originally a Mountain God (stouf meaning something like “sharp mountain peak”) specifically of the Stuffenberg, and only later developed oracular associations, while others derived his name from the Middle High German sûfen (“drinking to excess”) and a related term meaning “drinking cup.”

He seems to have been represented in the form of a pillar or tree similar to the Irminsal or Donar Oak, around which the population would dance and sing on festival days. His priest would drink to the point of intoxication, and then move through the crowd giving out spontaneous prophecies. 

His cult was ended by that piece of shit Saint Boniface who cut down the pillar or tree, and then backed by Frankish forces slaughtered a bunch of his devotees who had gathered on the mountain. Stuffenberg was renamed Hülfensburg so that the memory of him would be eradicated and the pillar/tree was either thrown into a deep crevice (afterwards known as “Stuffo’s hole”) or else used in the construction of a church on the former site of his worship. Boniface appointed a priest to work out of the church and instruct the neighboring populations in Christianity and then continued his march through Germany committing murder, vandalism and innumerable other atrocities as part of his program of cultural genocide.

Stuffo survived in folktales and clandestine customs until he experienced a modest revival of interest under the 18th and 19th century German Romantics and later the  Völkisch movement. Mostly this was an artistic phenomenon and today he has largely been forgotten, even in his home region – though the Stauffenberg family of Swabian nobility still claim descent from him. Colonel Claus Schenk Graf von Stauffenberg, as you may recall, was a key figure in the 1944 “20 July plot” to assassinate the Austrian artist Adolf Hitler, a fellow some consider nearly as wicked as Saint Boniface.

Esoptron

It’s funny. The entire time I’ve been a polytheist I’ve had friends and romantic partners who venerated the Norse deities, and my interest in Scandinavian literature even predates that. (There’s a story there, but I’ll save it for another time.) Consequently I’m pretty familiar with the description of Þorbjörg’s regalia and preparations as a Völva found in Eiríks saga rauða:

A high seat was set for her, complete with a cushion. This was to be stuffed with chicken feathers. When she arrived one evening, along with the man who had been sent to fetch her, she was wearing a black mantle with a strap, which was adorned with precious stones right down to the hem. About her neck she wore a string of glass beads and on her head a hood of black lambskin lined with white catskin. She bore a staff with a knob at the top, adorned with brass set with stones on top. About her waist she had a linked charm belt with a large purse. In it she kept the charms which she needed for her predictions. She wore calfskin boots lined with fur, with long, sturdy laces and large pewter knobs on the ends. On her hands she wore gloves of catskin, white and lined with fur. When she entered, everyone was supposed to offer her respectful greetings, and she responded by according to how the person appealed to her. Farmer Thorkel took the wise woman by the hand and led her to the seat which had been prepared for her. He then asked her to survey his flock, servants and buildings. She had little to say about all of it. That evening tables were set up and food prepared for the seeress. A porridge of kid’s milk was made for her and as meat she was given the hearts of all the animals available there. She had a spoon of brass and a knife with a handle of walrus-tusk, which was mounted with two rings of brass, and the point of it was broken off.

Many contemporary Heathen spiritworkers have modeled their practice on this passage – but between you and me I’ve always kind of wondered if this was fairly standard for Völur at the time, something particular Þorbjörg’s Gods and Spirits had requested of her or just random shit the author of the saga cobbled together, figuring it sounded like the sort of thing magical types would be into (possibly influenced by Homer and Vergil, depending on his degree of Classical literacy.) I’m generally of the opinion that it’s a combination of one and two, with the caveat that it likely reflects contemporary practices of the time when this incident was set, rather than the 14th and 15th century when this saga was included in the Hauksbók and Skálholtsbók and published.

But that’s not why I’m writing about this. I probably haven’t read the full Eiríks saga rauða since shortly after I got out of high school, so I’d forgotten the framing story this scene appears in. Here is Wikipedia’s synopsis:

The events of the Saga of Erik the Red occur in the late 10th century, by which point Christianity had entered the Norse world from Norway to Iceland and Greenland. Upon Thorbjorn and Gudrid’s migration to Greenland, they find themselves facing a famine. A group staying at the farm of Thorkel summon a seeress by the name of Thorbjorg to relieve them. Thorbjorg wears a string of beads around her neck, a yonic symbol associated with the goddess Freyja. Upon her head she wears a hood lined with catskin and on her hands she also wear catskin gloves. Freyja’s chariot was pulled by cats and the goddess is associated with fertility and magic. The settlers hoped that appealing to the fertility goddess would relieve them of their famine. Gudrid learned magic runes from her heathen foster mother, but is reluctant to help the seeress with the ritual for she is a Christian. Gudrid is convinced to sing the chant for the seeress anyway, relieving the famine and also reaffirming the belief in pagan gods.

That’s really quite lovely.

There needn’t be enmity between worshipers of the Old Gods and those of the White Christ. Christians just need to give up the kind of arrogance, malice, and love of conquest that Galina and Tetra recently wrote about – or remember the story of Freydís.

I was watching a documentary this afternoon that suggested the Christianization of Norway and its dependencies pushed worshipers of the Old Gods to Greenland and later Vínland. Looking for verification of this led me down a rather interesting rabbit hole. 

The Icelander Leif Eríksson is credited with naming the Norse settlement Vínland nearly five hundred years before the Italian Cristoforo Colombo is said to have discovered the New World (and unlike the better-known explorer and colonizer Leif actually set foot on the North American continent.)

According to Adam of Bremen’s Descriptio insularum Aquilonis published in 1075 e.v.:

In that ocean there is an island which is called Winland, for the reason that grapevines grow there by themselves, producing the best wine.

This etymology is repeated in the 13th-century Grœnlendinga saga, after relating the miraculous discovery of wheat and vínber (“wine-berries” either grapes or currants which could be fermented into an alcoholic beverage) by the hungry settlers. Some scholars contest this, suggesting that instead of Old Norse vín (cognate with Latin vinum and Old Saxon or Old High German wīn, “wine”) the name comes from Old Norse vin (derivative of Proto-Norse winju) with the meaning of “meadow, pasture.” These people are wrong, however. It’s clearly Vínland because America is Óðr’s own country. 

This is evident because Leif Eríksson wasn’t actually the first European to visit America – that honor actually belongs to a fellow by the name of Bjarni Herjólfsson who in 986 e.v. was blown off course while attempting to visit his parents Herjólfr and Thorgerdr in Greenland, as Wikipedia relates:

Bjarni is believed to have been the first European to see North America. The Grœnlendinga saga (Greenlanders Saga) tells that one year he sailed to Iceland to visit his parents as usual, only to find that his father had gone with Erik the Red to Greenland. So he took his crew and set off to find him. But in that summer of 986, Bjarni, who had no map or compass, was blown off course by a storm. He saw a piece of land that was not Greenland. It was covered with trees and mountains and although his crew begged him to, he refused to stop and look around. Eventually arriving in Greenland, he decided to settle with his father in Herjolfsnes. He remains there for the rest of his father’s life and does not return to Norway until about 1000 CE. There, he tells his overlord (the Earl, also named Eric) about the new land and is criticised for his long delay in reporting. On his return to Greenland he tells the story and inspires Leif Ericsson to organise an expedition, which retraces in reverse the route Bjarni had followed, past a land of flat stones (Helluland) and a land of forests (Markland). After sailing another two days across open sea, the expedition finds a headland with an island just offshore; nearby is a pool accessible to ships at high tide in an area where the sea is shallow with sandbanks. Here the explorers land and establish a base which can plausibly be matched to L’Anse aux Meadows, except that the winter is described as mild, not freezing. One day an old family servant, Tyrker, goes missing and is found mumbling to himself; he eventually explains that he has found grapes. In spring, Leif returns to Greenland with a shipload of timber towing a boatload of grapes. 

Bjarni’s name happened to catch my eye, as it means “the Bear.” Nor is this the only instance where the influence of Óðr may be discerned.

According to Eiríks saga rauða (The Saga of Erik the Red) after Leif returns to Greenland his sister Freydís is eager to lead her own expedition to Vínland and eventually convinces her brother to let her use the homes and stables that he has built there. Along with a large contingent of men she brings livestock and other supplies. One night a war-party of natives (called Skrælingjar by the Norse) creeps up on the settlement with the intention of massacring them, only to be frightened by one of the Greenlanders’ bulls who had gotten free of his pen and chases them back into the forest. They return the following day, eager to establish peaceful relations with their new neighbors, and the two parties become trading partners. 

Despite the wealth of goods they received from them the winter is harsh, and their supplies begin running short leading to another instance of divine intervention:

The winter months are harsh, and food is in short supply. One day an old family servant, Thorhall the Hunter (who has not become Christian), goes missing and is found mumbling to himself; shortly afterwards, a beached whale is found which Thorhall claims has been provided in answer to his praise of the pagan gods. (ibid)

Freydís (as one may surmise with such a name) like Thorhall the Hunter had remained faithful to her ancestral Gods and Spirits, despite the fact that her brother Leif Eríksson was not only an apostate but given a mission by the Norwegian King Olaf Tryggvason to forcefully convert any Heathens who had fled to Greenland. 

This likely was behind her dispute with the Icelandic brothers Helgi and Finnbogi and the contingent who had come with them to help settle Vínland as part of a joint enterprise with Freydís and her husband Thorvard. The situation became so strained that the Christians relocate to a settlement some distance from Freydís and her crew. After waiting a suitable amount of time Freydís goes to visit Helgi and Finnbogi to see how they are faring. They confess that it has been a hardship for them, but they are more grieved by the ill-will that has grown up between them and would prefer to find a peaceful solution. 

When Freydís returns to her husband she claims that the parlay went horribly, and that Helgi and Finnbogi actually beat her. Questioning his manhood and calling him a worthless coward, Freydís demands to know what Thorvard intends to do about it. In fact she goes so far as to threaten divorce if he will not enact vengeance on her behalf. So he gathers his men and goes to the settlement, killing Helgi and Finnbogi as well as all of their men while they’re sleeping. When Thorvard refuses to kill the five remaining women in the camp Freydis herself picks up an axe and finishes them off. 

In another instance Freydís’ settlement is attacked by more Skrælingjar:

The natives stealthily attacked the expedition’s camp at night and shoot at the warriors using what are believed to be catapults. Many of the Nordic invaders panicked, having never seen such weaponry. As men fled during the confusion, Freydís, who was eight-months pregnant, admonished them saying, “Why run you away from such worthless creatures, stout men that ye are, when, as seems to me likely you might slaughter them like so many cattle? Give me a weapon! I know I could fight better than any of you.” Ignored, Freydís then picks up the sword of the fallen Snorri Thorbrandsson and engages the attacking natives. She undoes her garment exposing one breast and beating the sword’s hilt on her chest gave a furious battle cry. With this, the natives retreated to their boats and fled. 

Eventually Freydís returns to Greenland to acquire more supplies and settlers, but word had reached them concerning the matter of Helgi and Finnbogi. When Leif inquired about the brothers Freydís explained that they had simply decided to stay behind in Vínland. Leif had Freydís’ companions tortured to get the full truth from them, however he couldn’t bring himself to harm his beloved sister, even if she deserved it just for being a Heathen. He forbade her to return to Vínland and proclaimed that the shame of her deeds would pass down to her descendants.

Final fun fact: although general consensus is that Vínland, Helluland and Markland were located in Canada (specifically Newfoundland and the Gulf of Saint Lawrence as far as northeastern New Brunswick, bolstered by the discovery of a Norse long house at L’Anse aux Meadows) Erik Wahlgren argues in his book The Vikings and America that L’Anse aux Meadows cannot be Vínland, as the location described in the sagas has both salmon in the rivers and vínber (a type of grape which had to be recognizable to the explorers) growing freely. Charting the overlap of the limits of wild vine and wild salmon habitats, Wahlgren suggests that the location was actually somewhere near New York.

Which makes the fact that the Starry Bear tradition is being brought through in the Hudson Valley pretty nifty.

I would like to apologize for inadvertently misrepresenting the Goddess Vör in my post The History of the Sword. I wasn’t really familiar with her beyond Snorri’s brief mention in the catalogue of the Ásynjur from Gylfaginning, and so to flesh out her story I did some online research.

Much of the material I included came from the Northern Trad shrine to Frigga’s Handmaidens and from this page on her by Lofn’s Bard. I was a little concerned since both were short on primary sources or academic citations, and when I tried to verify the information elsewhere nothing came up, but I figured I’d give them the benefit of the doubt since the authors appeared to have more knowledge and experience of this deity than I do.

Well, upon waking this morning my wife explained (both in person and in this comment) that the material was not only pure UPG but borders on being insulting to  Vör since there is nothing to suggest she’s a Jötunn or aged, nor does she generally appear to people that way.

This is especially problematic since the entire reason I brought Vör into the story was so I could make a pretty obscure pun.

You see, there are a series of myths and folktales which scholars refer to as Bärensohnmärchen or Bear’s Son Tales. Although these are primarily Eurasian in origin, examples can also be found in North and South America, and elsewhere. For a number of reasons I’m not going to go into here I believe that Óðr’s lost backstory fits the archetype in certain ways (while also diverging from it in others.)

One detail that these stories often contain is the discovery of a magical weapon, usually a sword or walking stick. So in my version I gave Óðr an item that was both – a sword made from a walking stick.

The idea of this coming from a blind seeress resonated strongly – especially when the word for such an item is pāl and the seeress is named Vör.  Vör’s pāl = vorpal, as in the Vorpal Sword Lewis Carroll mentions in the “Jabberwocky” poem in Through the Looking-Glass: 

He took his vorpal sword in hand,
longtime the manxsome foe he sought
So rested he by the Tum-Tum Tree
And stood awhile in thought.

And later,

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

Note that this is why Óðr’s sword has a propensity for beheading people (“Off with his head,” cried the Red Queen) and also why it is stolen by the cousin of Fáfnir (aka Frænir.)

Though I do not outright name this dragon, I do explain that it comes from “voluble fruit.” Although Carroll gave multiple (often contradictory) explanations for both vorpal and the Jabberwock I was going by the ones cited at Wikipedia:

When a class in the Girls’ Latin School in Boston asked Carroll’s permission to name their school magazine The Jabberwock, he replied: “The Anglo-Saxon word ‘wocer’ or ‘wocor’ signifies ‘offspring’ or ‘fruit’. Taking ‘jabber’ in its ordinary acceptation of ‘excited and voluble discussion’, this would give the meaning of ‘the result of much excited and voluble discussion’…” It is often depicted as a monster similar to a dragon. John Tenniel’s illustration depicts it with a long serpentine neck, rabbit-like teeth, spidery talons, bat-like wings and, as a humorous touch, a waistcoat. In the 2010 film version of Alice in Wonderland it is shown with large back legs, small dinosaur-like front legs, and on the ground it uses its wings as front legs like a pterosaur, and it breathes out lightning flashes rather than flame.

[…]

Alexander L. Taylor notes (in his Carroll biography The White Knight) that “vorpal” can be formed by taking letters alternately from “verbal” and “gospel.”

So, again, my sincerest apologies to the Goddess Vör, and to any of her devotees who may have been offended. While I have no problem taking liberties where there is no lore or it is ambiguous Vör is a real entity and therefore I have an obligation to present her in as accurate and respectful a manner as possible.

Maybe I’ll just stick with the sword being the legendary Crocea Mors (“Yellow Death”) wielded by Julius Caesar during his war with the Britons, according to Geoffrey of Monmouth (Historia Regum Britanniae 4.3-4) which you can read more about here. He certainly has lots of Bacchic associations, so him receiving Óðr’s sword wouldn’t be too far-fetched. 

Upon this motion, our cavalry on the left fell upon Pompey’s right wing. Meanwhile the clashing of armor mingled with the shouts of combatants, and the groans of the dying and the wounded, terrified the new-raised soldiers. On this occasion, as Ennius says, “they fought hand to hand, foot to foot, and shield to shield;” but though the enemy fought with the utmost vigor, they were obliged to give ground, and retire toward the town. The battle was fought on the feast of Bacchus, and the Pompeians were entirely routed and put to flight; insomuch that not a man could have escaped, had they not sheltered themselves in the place whence they advanced to the charge. (Julius Caesar, The Spanish War 31.8)

In honour of his victory the senate passed all those decrees that I have mentioned, and further called him “Liberator,” entering it also in the records, and voted for a public temple of Liber. Moreover, they now applied to him for the first time, as a kind of proper name, the title of imperator, no longer merely following the ancient custom by which others as well as Caesar had often been saluted as a result of their wars, nor even as those who received some independent command or other authority were called by this name, but giving him once and for all the same title that is now granted to those who hold successively the supreme power. (Cassius Dio, Roman History 43.44.1-3)

This refers unambiguously to Caesar who, as is well-known, was the first to bring the cult of Liber Pater to Rome; thiasus stands for dances, the round dances of Liber, which means the Liberalia. (Servius, commenting on Virgil’s Eclogues 5.29 which is about Daphnis, the inventor of the Bacchic triumph)