The wind billowed Odin’s cloak at his back and tore at his beard where he stood high on a ridge overlooking Asgard. Clouds wind-sculpted into fantastic shapes raced by in the blue arch of sky, but he had eyes for nothing but the great many-towered wall rising around his beloved fortress-palace, blushing with rose-color in the first rays of the rising sun.

  The wall, growing under the laborers’ hands even as he watched, was the culmination of his dreams for Asgard. Behind its massive towers the Aesir would dwell in safety for time beyond imagination, and the dread day of Ragnarok would be pushed even further into the distant future. He ran his fingers through his beard, filled with deep satisfaction as he contemplated the scene below.

  There, nearest the gate, stood his own hall Gladsheim, where he and the twelve mightiest Aesir held feasting from their high seats. Its roof gleamed with a blinding golden glow in the sun’s rays, and hard by it glittered the boughs of Glasir, the golden-leaved wood. Beyond it lay Heithskjolf, roofed with silver, the high vantage point on which he could stand and look out over all the worlds. Scattered within the walls were other halls: Breidablik, where Nanna lived in lonely splendor now that Baldr was gone; Bilskirnir, where Thor lived with his beautiful Sif; and Vingolf, with its high seats for his wife Frigga and the other women of the Aesir. There he could just catch the movement of the leaves in Freya’s garden, where grew the tree with golden apples, the secret of the Aesirs’ youth and strength. Beside it stood Valhalla, many-doored, where the heroes lived who had been brought from many battles; his heart swelled at sight of it. Far beyond the cliffs, shrouded in cloud now on this blustery day, gleamed Bifrost the rainbow bridge, its smooth shape shifting and shining with color as it arched down to the lands of men.

  Amid all this splendor and color, the muscled backs of the two huge creatures toiling among the blocks of stone seemed insignificant. Odin’s gaze rested on them for a moment, but he looked away again uneasily, far beyond the cliffs of Asgard to where the icy lands of Jotunheim lay unseen, shrouded in white mist; and his jaw hardened.

  He heard a step on the rock behind him, and turned to see his wife Frigga, drawing her cloak around her against the chill of the height. He felt resentment stir at this invasion of his eyrie, but subduing it he greeted her with dignity.

  She made no reply, but turned to look out over the bright roofs below, her gaze remaining longest on the tower where the laborers were at work. Her eyes were bright, her lips taut, and he sighed, recognizing the signs. Frigga was silent by nature, speaking little, preferring to sit in her hall Fensalir and spin her interminable golden threads; but when she did take an interest in the affairs of the Aesir, he found himself going in awe of her lucid, often acrid judgment.

  At length, without looking at him, she said, “Is it worth the price we will pay?”

  “We will pay them a fair price. That was agreed.”

  She turned to face him, and he felt the anger beating behind her quiet words. “Will you tell me the truth? Rumor has it that Freya is the price agreed on for the building of the wall.”

  He frowned. “Would I be foolish enough to pledge our Freya?”

  “I do not know. Would you?”

  “Hold your tongue, wife,” he said angrily. “Do you think I do not know what I am doing?” He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and looked up to see his two ravens flying to him. Like black raindrops they plummeted from the sky to land one on each shoulder, Hugin on the right and Munin on the left, Mind and Thought. He turned his head to hear in turn the news each brought him from the world of men, in the harsh croaking language that only he could understand.

  “What news is there from Middle-earth?” asked Frigga.

  He looked sober. “News that today we have greater need of a secure fortress than we had yesterday. The dwarves are toiling under a new leader, readying for war. The giants are hard at work on the Ship of Nails that will bear them to the battle; they have laid the keel.”

  “That ship will be a long time building,” said Frigga with a smile, “if they build it all from the nails of dead men.”

  “Forever is none too long,” he murmured. “That is why they choose to build it so, to show us how long their enmity endures. What are a few lifetimes of men in the reckoning of Jotunheim?”

  “Is there no other news?”

  He hesitated, then said with pride, “The Volsungs have won another battle.”

  “Your pet tribe!” she said in exasperation. “Does it really matter what feats a handful of quarrelsome barbarians achieve?”

  “They are a great race of warriors,” he said sternly. “From their line will come one day a hero mightier than any other, a hero for all the world; I have seen as much in a draught from the Well of Wisdom. And we would do well not to speak lightly of them; they carry the blood of the Aesir in their veins.”

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  “More shame to us,” she said wearily. “Which of the Aesir was it who stooped to mingle our seed with that of men?”

  His voice grew harsh. “That woman is long since turned to dust; there is no need to concern yourself with what is past. And as for mankind, you think it dishonor to mingle with them, but you are wrong. They are more capable of greatness than you know; it may be seen in the end that they are as great-hearted as the Aesir themselves. Why do you think I send for warriors who die in battle to dwell in Valhalla and fight on the final day with us? Would I do that if they were savages?”

  “Yes,” she said with a gesture of resignation, “I know of that scheme of yours. You think it will do some good; well, I hope you are proved right. But just now we are faced with a more urgent dilemma. Tell me, what of these creatures at work on the wall, and their strange steed? Do you know where they come from?”

  He shrugged. “I know no more than you. They appeared one day last spring and offered to build a wall around Asgard that would keep it safe for a thousand lifetimes of men, and to build it in one summer. If they do not finish it in time, by dawn of the last day, they will forfeit their reward.” He looked down to where the two great-thewed toilers labored to set the blocks in place, while their huge white horse hauled stones from the quarry near the wood. “They call their stallion Svathilfari.”

  “They look to me as if they have giant blood.”

  “It may be,” he said carelessly, “that they are some distant kin of giants.”

  “Indeed.” She gave him a clear look. “And what of the price agreed on? Giants do not labor for nothing.”

  “That remains to be determined,” he said. “But if we do not like the price they name, maybe we shall have to pay them nothing.”

  “How is that?”

  “I have spoken to Loki about it.”

  “Loki!” she said with contempt. “When has Loki brought us anything but grief?”

  “He is mischievous, I grant you. But you are too hard on him; he is my sworn brother, after all, and he will not forget that.”

  “Strange,” she said. “It has slipped his mind before this.”

  “But this time he is right. Simply, if the work is not done on time, by dawn tomorrow morning, we pay nothing.”

  She looked down at the wall, where the laborers had begun work on the great arch spanning the entrance gate. The horse Svathilfari plodded in harness, straining to haul a huge white block of stone to his masters. His muscles gleamed, bunching beneath his hide. “It looks nearly done. What is to prevent it from being finished in time?”

  “Loki will see to that.”

  She shook her head with doubt born of long wisdom. In her face he saw faint lines, traces of weariness that her glowing skin and coronet of fair hair could not disguise.

  “My dear,” he said, moved with concern, “you look tired. You should visit Freya and ask her for an apple.”

  “It is not age,” she said with a cold and fleeting smile. “It is deceit that wearies me. Especially in the lord of the Aesir, who bears the spear carved with the runes of truth, and should set the standard of justice for the world.”

  He clutched his spear tighter, feeling the carved runes against his palm. “What would you have me do?” he asked harshly. “Give them our Freya, the guardian of our youth and strength? That would bring on the battle more surely than anything.”

  “I would have you do what you will do,” she said. “For men and Aesir alike are bound by their fate. But I would have you remember that there is one higher than even you, the one who caused the runes to be carved in the World-Ash tree. It is not for nothing that they are carved as deep as a spear is long.”

  With that she turned and went down the path from the ridge.

  Odin stayed on a few moments longer, watching the work progress. He found his pleasure in it diminished. Worry, that he had denied until then, began to gnaw at the edges of his thoughts. He had spoken with confidence enough to Frigga, but he was far from feeling as secure in Loki’s promises as he had sounded. What if Loki could discover no treasure that the giants would take in place of Freya? What if they lost her on whom depended the vigor and youth and joy of Asgard? With a shake of his head he started down from the ridge. He had not gone far before he glimpsed fire flickering among the rocks beside the path. He stood still to watch.

  The little flames flickered and leapt, scarcely visible in the bright sunlight; suddenly they merged and sprang up into a tall flame that became a human figure. Beside the path stood Loki, his red hair whipped by the wind and dancing mischief in his eyes.

  “Well met, my lord,” he said with a sweeping bow. “May I entreat the privilege of a word?”

  Odin grunted, leaning on his spear. “I am glad you have returned. Have you seen the progress that has been made on the wall?”

  “It moves on apace,” said Loki. “It will be the finishing touch to a magnificent dream.”

  “No doubt,” said Odin dryly. “Tell me, have you discovered anything that those two might accept instead of Freya?”

  “Alas, no. But my search is not yet finished. There are a few places I have not yet visited.”

  Odin bent his brows. “I was afraid of that. And what do you expect to find—a treasure irresistible to giants hidden in some obscure corner?”

  “Perhaps not,” said Loki with unquenchable cheer. “It does seem unlikely, now that you mention it.”

  “This was a bad bargain,” said Odin. “I wish I had never made it.”

  “But it seemed irresistible,” said Loki. “We all thought no price too great for the building of such a wall; and what could they ask? A few cartloads of gold, perhaps. Who would have dreamed that they would choose our Freya, the dear delight of all the Aesir?”