![]() “Who, Thor?” Heimdall looked over his shoulder. “What in the name of me is my son doing?” I asked in bewilderment. Strapped to his ankle was a device shaped like a valknut, a design of three interlocking triangles. Legs spraddled and wearing nothing but a pair of leather short-shorts, Thor was bending, twisting, and squat-farting. “A movement in Hotel Valhalla’s garden caught my eye. ![]() “Heimdall,” I said tightly, “need I remind you what could happen if even one jotun snuck into Asgard?” Otis sighed something about the grass being greener on the other side, then jumped after him. “I’m going for a graze.” He hopped off the bridge and plummeted to almost certain death and next-day resurrection. “Can I finish my cute baby goat video first?” Heimdall pleaded. Heimdall’s job is to sound the alarm on his horn, Gjallar-a job he would not be able to perform if he were making Snapchat stories. “Put that phablet away and return to your duties at once!”Īccording to prophecy, giants will one day storm across the Bifrost, a signal that Ragnarok is upon us. Huge!” He spread his hands out wide to demonstrate. Cute baby goat videos are huge in Midgard. “I’m making a cute baby goat video as my Snapchat story. “Oh, hey, Odin!” Heimdall’s helium-squeaky voice set my teeth on edge. “Heimdall! What the Helheim is going on down there?” “So here’s what I want you guys to do,” he said to Otis and Marvin between hops. He was hopping around on all fours like a deranged lunatic. More disturbing was Heimdall, guardian of the Bifrost. He killed and ate them every day, and they came back to life the next morning. But there was no sign of Thor, which was odd. They were on the Bifrost, the radioactive Rainbow Bridge that connects Asgard to Midgard, wearing footy pajamas. Specifically, Thor’s goats, Marvin and Otis. I usually begin with a cursory look-see of my own realm, Asgard, then circle through the remaining eight: Midgard, realm of the humans the elf kingdom of Alfheim Vanaheim, the Vanir gods’ domain Jotunheim, land of the giants Niflheim, the world of ice, fog, and mist Helheim, realm of the dishonorable dead Nidavellir, the gloomy world of the dwarves and Muspellheim, home of the fire giants. I took a few deep breaths to focus my concentration, then turned to the worlds beyond. The seat cradled my posterior with its ermine-lined softness. “I mounted the stairs to my pavilion and sank onto Hlidskjalf, the magic throne from which I can peer into the Nine Worlds. Sacrificial feasts lasting nine days are mentioned for both Uppsala and Lejre and at these supposedly nine victims were sacrificed each day.” Thor can take nine steps at Ragnarök after his battle with the Midgard serpent before he falls down dead. Literary embellishments in the Eddas similarly used the number nine: Skaði and Njörðr lived alternately for nine days in Nóatún and in Þrymheimr every ninth night eight equally heavy rings drip from the ring Draupnir Menglöð has nine maidens serve her (Fjölsvinnsmál 35ff), and Ægir had as many daughters. ![]() In Odin's self-sacrifice he hung for nine nights on the windy tree (Hávamál), there are nine worlds to Nifhel (Vafprudnismal 43), Heimdallr was born to nine mothers, Freyr had to wait for nine nights for his marriage to Gerd (Skírnismál 41), and eight nights (= nine days?) was the time of betrothal given also in the Þrymskviða. Documentation for the significance of the number nine is found in both myth and cult. “Nine is the mythical number of the Germanic tribes.
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