Click above For Contents
Utgard Online Magazine of the Northern Tradition is ©1998-2009 Skergard |
Issue #5 June 1999-5102 The Fosters
Story Long ago my foster-uncle would sit at the end of a long day and stir the fire, and if he were prodded with a horn and a nudge he would recite stories for us in his own thoughtful style. Below is a sample: Upon th_night rode wild an_ ‘igh twere bringing up Mani whole where Svardalfari pushed th_stones they laid light hoofbeats down t_watch as if_t _appened then what _appened long ago what greed an_ wretchedness could buy against th_Vans a hold his evil worked at treacherous pace he pried the rocks and pulled the reigns while They sat watching all around and by mid-season spoke amazed of how such one could drive so hard for prize of Freya’s soul Sol an’ Mani they could lose if’t hide the sight of tears of gold Build up pile up push up an_ up until no mortal eye canst see to build th_wall _round th_gard of gods ‘e’s asking precious fee ‘e’s asking priceless fee And so They sat in council there an’ wondered at the worker’s speed full sure now twas no mortal mere but locked in promise daren’t fare for t’ disclose his inner plan wouldst somehow break the vow all looked to Lodhur resting there who’d sworn them all it ne’er could be upon his head they challenged now this mason stop, or Lodhur flee so on th’ night of summer’s eve the stallion spied a glorious mare he broke his halter at the clasp and ran to join her in repast build up pile up push up an’ up until no mortal eye canst see beyond th’wall ‘round th’gard of gods ‘e’s asking priceless fee ‘e’s asking precious fee he ran until he’d sunk at last th’ stallion gone, his edges blown his strength wast shot an’ all for naught he’d warded well th’ Ases’ home a wall stood gateless firm and fast not thurse nor wight wouldst e’er get past for Svadalfar his muscle wast an’ underneath his apron’s hide lay lying giant’s bones when no rocks moved that day They knew an’ set upon him Thor come home his promise made in greed an’ guile could not sharp Lodhur’s mind outguess to form the Gate They took his frame an’ for th’ lock his skull inlaid an’ for th’ hinge his jawbone’s mount an’ for th’ chain his lies engraved for _ow else wouldst such greed yeild good? _ow else but vile deceit _e_ll suffer fore_er asking such a trade now _e_s paying Lodhur_s fee now ‘e’s paying Lodhur’s fee © 1993-1999 Atrith |
