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This week on Myths and Legends, we're back in Norse myth with the story of Skithi. We'll see what happens when the smartest famous guy in the world gets called to Valhalla to fix a problem for Odin. And that if you're riding with Thor on his goat chariot, you probably shouldn't eat weak old fish right before the trip. The creature this time is yet another reason not to litter. You might get pulled under the water by an octopus shark with hands foreign. This is Myths and Legends, episode 434, the Old man and the Stick. This is a podcast where we tell stories from mythology and folklore. Some are incredibly popular tales you might think you know, but with surprising origins. Others are stories that might be new to you, but are definitely worth a listen. At long last we are back in Norse myth. We burn through those stories very early on in the podcast, with Ragnarok being episode 80. We always have the sagas, of course, but it is nice to be back in the world of Thor, Odin, Loki, Freya, Heimdall and others. What we call Norse myth was the predominant religion of the Nordic countries in northern Europe up until the 9th or 10th century, and we only have a few sources for it. The most comprehensive written by a Christian in the 13th century. Today's work was written in the 15th or 16th century, but we'll get to all that in the wrap up. Today we take a trip along the world tree to Asgard to solve a problem. That takes a famous smart man or a smart famous man. What's the difference? Well, you'll see. But before we get to Skeithe, our hero, we'll check in with Odin, who is still out looking for recruits to fight for him at the end of the world. Odin was flying home in the form of an eagle, having gone to go claim the last of the Volsungs. He kind of forgot there were still some of those guys milling around out there. Hamdir and Sorli were sons of the queen Guthrun, who worked them up to kill their half sister's murderer. She also gave them a cryptic message to not harm the stones on the road. The boys kept asking what was up with their mom's eye. Did she have something in it? She said, no, those are winks. Don't harm the stones on the road. They shrugged. Mom's so weird. Must be her tragic childhood. They let their mom's weirdness go, but they did not let the dismissive stranger that they met on the road go. When he was rude, kind of, he said something Cryptic about being a stepping stone, he too had a weird habit of winking. Must have been allergies. He didn't have to worry about those allergies anymore though, because allergies don't affect the dead. When they arrived at the domain of Jormunrek, the king who murdered their sister Sivan Hildr, they bravely killed him in his sleep, or meant to, wanting to make it last and savor the revenge. They cut off his hands and feet first, and then they found themselves wrestled to the ground by housecarls. Turns out when you cut off someone's hands and feet, they scream a lot, swearing. Hamdia remarked that Erper, their half brother they were supposed to meet on the road, but who never showed, wouldn't have made this mistake and just cut off the head sorely. The other brother, you know, just remembered how their mom said not to kill stones on the road and that guy called himself a stone and oh, we accidentally killed our half brother. This is the worst result of a road murder of all time. Hamdir said, as the housecarls were trying to no avail, to stab both brothers in the face. He was wrong, of course, because the story of Oedipus is a thing. And because the assassins, the Super Volsong bros, were actually enchanted. No weapon forged by human hands could bite them. They were invincible. Uh, why not just throw rocks at them? The one eyed wanderer who was not Odin, said he opened every conversation by denying he was Odin, so that issue should be settled forever. It was a little weird that they were so obsessed with him. He meant Odin. Throw rocks at the boys. Just throw rocks at them. So that's how Heimdir and Sorli died. And they were claimed by Valkyries to go to Odin's ever expanding hall, Valhalla, to prepare for the end of the world. On Odin's flight back, though, he spotted something. Wait, seriously? Those guys were still at it? Hogni and Hethon. It was a long story, one we've actually partially told on this podcast. To recap, Hogni had a daughter named Hildr, and Hogni was a great king. Hethen was also a great king, but he wasn't above a little light kidnapping when it came to wooing his future spouse. Really stretching the word wooing. I say light kidnapping because while yes, Hethen did invade Hogni's kingdom and take Hildr by force, she apparently wasn't into it, but didn't dislike Hethen, presumably. Let's assume all the motivations of the daughter in question were detailed Fully because they definitely mattered to the medieval writers, but were just lost to time. Can't really think of any other reason why it wouldn't be included. Hogni was not happy about Heathen kidnapping his daughter and followed word of the pair across the sea to the Orkney Islands in modern day Scotland, sloshing to the shore flanked by dozens of his best warriors to find his daughter. Hogni found her waiting. Hildr informed her father that her betrothed Heuthen did not desire reconciliation and Hogni should prepare for battle. So Hogni drew his sword. Daneleaf. Hey. Whew. Ethan said, jogging to meet the warriors at the shore. Wow. Nice sword. I think we got off on the wrong foot. Since I kidnapped your daughter, let me just say I don't want any bad blood. Dad, when you marry someone, you marry their family. So you want gold. Way too much gold. Huh? Huh? Hogni sighed. Yes, of course. Why didn't you come to me sooner? I heard you wanted to kill me, so I already drew Dainsleaf. Oh, it has a name too. That's so cool. Ethan bit his lip. Oh, wait, wait, wait, wait. Is it Dwarven Maid? Don't tell me it's Dwarven Maid. I just can't. I'm so jealous. I want the dwarves to make a sword for me too, but they're so hard to catch because they hate being, like, enslaved and forced to make things. Yes, they are crafty. It's a good sword, hogni said, admiring the blade. It never fails its stroke and must cause a man's death every time it's drawn. Moreover, the wound heals not if one be scratched with it. Ethan said. Oh, cool. That's neat. That's real neat. Hogni looked at him. What? He was gushing over the sword and then just stopped. I. You know, I really. I don't want to make this a thing, dad, but it's just. It's a little inconsistent is all. What is inconsistent? Hogni glared and looked nervously at his sword. Well, okay, so let's parse this out. It hits every time. Great. A scratch from it won't heal. Also great. But do you see how those two things don't really fit together? Hot cheeks framed Hogni's snarling teeth as Ethan continued. And I mean, some of us don't need magic swords. From what I hear, you're boasting a lot about your sword, but not your skill. So. Oh, we're fighting to the death. And they were. Hogni and Dainsleif would take a life and Many others that day. But so would Heathen and his side. They fought all day as Odin sat next to Hilder, watching. And they do this every day? Same conversation and everything, Odin said as the last member of Hogni and Heethan's Viking warriors lay dying at dusk. Almost down to the word. Hilder sighed and rose, waving her hands. The magic she knew snaked from her person to each and every one of the corpses on the battlefield. Severed hands crawled to their owners. Gaping wounds zipped back up. Death became sleep as they shambled back to their boats and camps. How many times have you. Too many. Way too many. Hilder interrupted Odin. Yeah, I mean, I know. I was here the first time you revived them, odin said. I thought, oh cool. She knows Sather magic and it'll be like a metaphor for the destructive rage that these undying cycles of revenge can bring. Kind of. I also got bored and went off to do other stuff. Why didn't she leave or only revive one side? Well, when it comes to only reviving one side, the magic doesn't really work like that. And I can't sail a ship on my own, so I need at least one of them. And I'd like it to be my dad. So here we are. Hildur scooped her knees up into an embrace and put her chin on them. Alright, I'm calling it. Odin slapped his own knee and rose. Dead. Dead, dead. They're all dead. Odin pointed. They all got to go to Valhalla. Hilder could come too. She didn't even have to die. Shrugging, Hildur said a sure, okay. Putting fingers on either side of his mouth, Odin whistled. Valkyries. Come and get these guys. Clean up an isle. Hoy. Odin turned with a grin. Because the island they're on is named Hoy, but it's also an isle that needs to be cleaned up so it works in both ways. You know what? Nevermind. It sounded better in my head. The hands of the beggar stretched toward the bishop as the man passed. The bishop left only a shadow and that for just a moment. Some pious man you are finding their way to the bishop's ear through Skeithe's crooked teeth and greasy beard. The words halted the man. Fine fabrics and fur spun over the stones as the bishop studied the vagrant resting on the bricks of the church. His church. What did you just say? The bishop asked, holding up a hand to silence the priest that walked behind him. Some pious man you are. Skeithe looked left and right. And who are you? What have you done? I'll Tell you who I am. I am a pious man. I was raised in the church and became a priest. I was so pious that I'm now a bishop, the bishop said, flecks of spit growing more numerous with the volume of his voice. This drew more eyes from the surrounding stalls and citizens. Oh, sorry. I think we might have our anachronistic wires crossed here. That was sarcasm, Skithe, the beggar said. I meant that you're not pious because you don't give to the poor. Me? Hold on, let me think. Who was it that said you should give to the poor? Oh yeah, God, Skithe said, shaking his head. Also, you best watch who you're talking to. I stood toe to toe with Odin for God. So yeah, maybe the bishop saw that the optics of getting into a shouting match with a beggar in the street who claimed to fight Odin weren't great. Maybe he was just tired. Whatever it was, the bishop turned and told the priest that he was walking with to resume speaking. Start from the beginning. Though he hadn't been paying attention to any of that. You met Odin? A voice chimed behind the bishop. A glance over his shoulder and he could see the child emerging from behind a stall to go speak with the beggar. More people were gathering. Oh, I did. I was taken to Asgard by Thor himself because Odin needed me, Ski said, throwing his arms out wide and standing to his feet. Would you like to hear the story of how I, Skeithe, saved Valhalla? A wave of head nods radiated out from the child, save for the bishop standing there like a rock in the stream. He this could get out of hand. Skeithe. This beggar was a troublemaker. And while the bishop reckoned that he couldn't do more to Sceithe than life had already done, he might need to assert control over the situation. And to do that, he needed to stay. Flatfish? Skithe asked, pulling something from his butter pig. Skeethe saw the child inspecting it. It was a big greasy leather bag that he carried his food in. It was kind of shaped like a pig. No takers? Skeithe laughed. Their loss. It wasn't. But the beggar looked up to the sky. You know what? He was actually eating flatfish from the old butter pig that night, too. We'll get into Skeithe's epic tale of heroism and indigestion, but that will be right after this. It can be a struggle to know what to get mom for Mother's Day. Flowers are nice. A fruit basket, sure. But what if it was more than one day? One moment. What if it could last a whole year and at the end of it you could have a physical book full of stories that only she could tell. Here's how it works. Each week Storyworth sends a question about her life. There are pre written questions or you can write your own. And there are so many ways for her to respond. Web, email, voice recording. New this year is a guided phone call. No apps, no logins, no tech headaches and you get her story in her own words. That Storyworth compiles into a hardcover book. Carissa's mom did Storyworth and it is fascinating. I pulled the book out again to write this ad and found myself just lost in the stories. I learned about her favorite smells, what Karissa's grandfather did when he was in college. He was a butcher, and how she has such peace of mind. It is so cool. I wish we had this for every family member. I'm so glad we did it and we totally recommend it. Also, fringe benefit. You can still get Storyworth for Mother's Day and she won't know that you waited until four days before Mother's Day. This year, give mom a gift that helps her reflect on her life with fresh perspective and gives your whole family the gift of her stories. Mother's day is Sunday, May 10th. Order right now and save up to $20 at StoryWorth.com Legends Save up to $20 at storyworth.com Legends storyworth.com Legends Grilling is by far my favorite way to cook. You're outside, there's so little cleanup. The food tastes amazing over an open flame. 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New listeners can get their choice between free sirloin tips, ground beef or chicken wings in every box for life, plus $20 off when you go to butcherbox.com legends. That's right, your choice of free sirloin tips, ground beef or chicken wings in every box for life, plus $20 off your first box and free shipping always. That's butcherbox.com legends. Don't forget to use our link so they know we sent. Years earlier Skeithe threw himself down on the bench. It was one of those nights, the type where you leave the outhouse, come inside, and then immediately have to go back to the outhouse. Give me that. Skeithe waved for a mead skin from a passing enslaved man, and fingers pressing in, he squeezed the liquid into his mouth. His tall, lanky frame never let him be much of a drinker, and it did make finding beds difficult. But he wouldn't have to find a bed. Not tonight, even though he was in the house of a prominent farmer who heard of how much help he was to Thorgils down the road, a farmer with beds to spare. Skeithe curled up on the stones and laid his head on the warm, slippery pillow that was Butterpig. Knowing that he was still a few minutes from having to answer the rumbles in his abdomen, he closed his eyes, handed his worries to the growing fuzziness of his inebriation, swore off eating three week old flatfish out of butter pig again, and fell asleep for exactly 15 seconds. A flash and a rumble and Skeathy awoke in a panic. Oh no. After a quick look down and seeing that the worst had not in fact happened, he breathed, okay, it was just a thunderstorm. Hmm, that came on quickly. He had just been outside. It was a nice summer night, a balmy 60 Fahrenheit, 15 Celsius and clear. While mentally parsing meteorological peculiarities, he glanced around the room and noticed some social peculiarities, or physical. He wasn't sure what had gone wrong when everyone in the room was frozen in the middle of what they were doing, but everyone in the room was frozen in the middle of what they were doing. Butter pig hanging off of his back, Skeithy grabbed a meadhorn from the hand of the host. It slid out, but the man's hands remained there, six inches from his mouth. Skeethy poked the hand and then tried to move it. It was locked in place, even the fingers. Nope, that pinky finger snapped right off. Oh my gosh. Skeethe nearly threw up and just let the pinky that was still attached by skin dangle there to heel on its own. A flash and another rumble and the doors at the end of the longhouse flew open as soon as the wind snaked past all the candles and flame, whisking them away to nothing. There in the doorway, a man stood nearly as tall as Skeethe. Sparks crackled through his scraggly hair, arcing from the hammer tucked in his belt. Outside, two goats chewed the grass in front of the man's chariot. You. You're Skithee? Pointed Thor? The stranger asked. Always nice to meet a fan. Skeithe cocked his head as his eyes adjusted to the moonlight. Oh. Hm. Well, he kind of expected Thor to be taller and buffer and blonder. Taking a deep breath, Thor said that he was a little annoyed that that's what people always led with he was an Aesir, an actual God. He controlled lightning and had a magical goat chariot that doubled as an all you care to eat daily goat buffet. But no, please focus on the fact that he was a little scraggly and had red hair. Thor from mythology has red hair. Please get over it. Hey, I love scraggly. Skeithy pointed to his own wild hair and his grease matted beard. Nodding with approval at Skeithy's sense of style, Thor informed the beggar that the Aesir knew all about him. They. They do ski. Thee was confident, sure, but even that seemed like a stretch. You're famous, thor said, as if he was stating that the sky was blue, or that he had a canonical shard of whetstone lodged in his forehead from his fight with Hrungnir the giant. King Odin has called on you to feast with him. He will give you gold for reconciling a dispute. Famous, it turns out, to the Aesir at least, was just a numbers game. Remember that this was the Middle Ages and most humans only knew, like, I don't know, 20 to 50 people tops. Skeithe had been traveling the country out of necessity since he was, well, a boy. And while yes, people like kings or jarls or even skalds, court poets might be more famous, when they were going down their list looking for the smartest famous person, Skeithe's name came up first. Skeithe was pretty smart, so while he might be able to see the error in their methodology and that he might be famous and he might be smart, but he wasn't famous for being smart. He was smart enough to not correct the error and told the God of Thunder that he would be happy to help. Skeithy tiptoed across the room. None of these guys were going to wake up while he was here. He had gathered that much, but he didn't want another pinky incident. Making it to the door, he found that he was nearly eye to eye with the God of thunder. He was maybe a little bit taller. Thor waved Skeithe to the Chariot. Skeithe stepped aboard and the goats pulled the pair into the night. Sky. Ski had to hand it to Thor. The guy was tough. Goat hooves galloped across the glacier fields, and the wind felt like it was slicing at Ski the face. You want a goat? Thor yelled out over the wind. Do you have one? Ski yelled back as best as he could through his teeth that were chattering on the verge of shattering. 2. Thor yelled. They regenerate each morning, so goat's always on the menu. Also, it's the only thing on the menu, skeithe said. He thought that, Thor said. Coat. He didn't want to eat the equivalent of the man's engine. They absolutely needed that to move. Thor laughed. Yes, that does make sense. So I guess. Sorry. Maybe later. You're a smart one. We had a guy who helped out with stuff like that. That's actually why we need you. The northern lights lit Thor's pleasantly smiling face. I have to ask, what happened to your last smart one? Skithee said as he tried to position his butter pig in front of him to block any of the wind. Oh. Thor looked surly. Loki used to be cool, but like a bud. You can't tell about your plans to wipe the giants the yacht Nar from the Nine Worlds without him getting all judgy is not a bud at all. Thor was yelling now despite the wind dying down. I mean, a friend who's willing to try to set you right even at the risk of the friendship itself is really is probably someone you want in your life, Skeithy mused aloud. Then he realized that Thor was glaring at him. Skeithe cleared his throat. Sorry. He was thinking about just a different situation entirely. Loki should definitely be more supportive of his genocide. That was not cool. The not supporting Thor part. Thor glowered and then softened. You're all right, Skeethy. Skeithy could acknowledge that saying that felt bad, but being pushed out of the Chariot into the freezing ocean would feel worse. The shores of Norway approached quickly, and then they were underneath the Chariot as it slowed on the beach in the middle of the night, an old man sat. You there? Thor pointed, crossed arms rested on the belly of the prophet sitting on a stool. Yep, ulmithurs said. The way is open for a few more hours. Just across Norway, Denmark, Finland, and then into Asgard beyond the World of Asia. You guys really need to update your maps. Good work. Thor called out. I know, ulmithr rejoined. What's so special about this dweeb that your dad had to wake me up in the middle of the night to watch these paths along the World Tree? A necklace is more special than him. Not even a nice one. You keep my name out of your mouth. Skiithy pointed. I didn't say your name, Ulmathur called back. I don't know it because I don't care who you are. No one does. The Aesir are going to chew you up and spit you out. Stop the chariot. Skeithe commanded Thor, unlooping butterpig and reaching for his staff. Thor thought that they probably should get on the road, but he wanted to see how this played out. Sure you want to go? Olmother said. Oh, hold on. His foot was asleep. I want the whole thing. Skiithe leapt from the chariot and then winced at that thing where you land flat footed and the pain shoots up your leg. I'm sorry, what? Ulmathur asked. What? You said you want a piece of me and I said I want the whole thing. Skeithe said. And he did want the whole thing. Omithyr rolled his eyes and Skithe raised his staff and attacked. Life isn't a D and D attribute sheet because it's not a zero sum game. There's something of a false dichotomy between intelligence and strength from nerds who do enough research in their teens to understand how building muscle works to middle aged men with divorced guy energy and beyond. Anyone can get jacked, and just because you're the smartest person in the world doesn't mean that you also can't be the strongest. That is not the case in the current situation though. Skithee was not strong. His constitution modifier was high because he had a lot of stamina and grit. But that blow bounced off Olmother barely even leaving a welt. Olmother was a strength guy, but his dexterity and therefore speed were low, so he had trouble hitting Skeithe. He caught the staff the next time Skeithe swung it, wrenched it from the beggar's hands and tossed it on the rocks. Thor had been watching fights for years, even fights that could barely be called fights, like when Vikings raided monasteries. He called out to the pair that this was making him sad, like even those fights didn't manage. There was way too much slapping and attempted biting here, spinning the chariot. He grabbed Skeithe, pulled him in, thanked Olmother and sped off east toward the world of Asia. Thor and Ski thee were in the forest until they weren't. Tree roots found their way to the surface until they joined together. Roots then became like the trunk of a tree that had fallen and half submerged in the dirt, but stretched still onward, joining others of that size until the entire forest floor was bark. When the shadow of the wood gave way to shimmering glorious light, Skeithe knew they were no longer on Midgard. Middle Earth, but not that Middle Earth. No worries Tolkien estate, no infringement here. They were no longer in Midgard, the world of the humans. They were traveling along the World Tree Yggdrasil. They were in Asgard, lessening the roots separated and submerged until Thor and Skithi were riding along a verdant field with the city of the Aesir shining in the distance. Skeithe looked back and only saw the endless expanse of the Asgardian realms behind him. You're probably wondering, hey, what about the Bifrost Bridge and Idris Elba and all that? For reasons we'll touch on a little bit later that are pretty relevant to today's plot, the authors of the medieval Norse sagas are a little cagey when it comes to the divinity of the Aesir. There are versions of this myth where Odin is not a God, but instead a king in Asia, a faraway land. The story doesn't mention them taking the Bifrost, but I also don't like Odin as just a king because that's not the story I'm telling. Many of the sagas have heroes just slip into other realms. They mostly find themselves inexplicably in Jotunheim. Many of the Jotnar find their way to Midgard, as in the story we told not too long ago. I thought that by using these sorts of rifts along the World Tree, I could keep it somewhat faithful while also ignoring the writers attempts to water down Norse myth so they could actually tell the story in a Christianized Iceland. In Scandinavia, they rode past the city gates and scythe marveled at the towers that shined like gold, the massive houses and the pristine streets that weren't absolutely flowing with human excrement like those in medieval Europe at this time. Up ahead, a longhouse grew. We have time. We should get you dressed, Thor said as he pulled his goats over. We'll see Skeithy's grand entry into Valhalla, but that will once again be right after this. This episode is sponsored by BetterHelp. Before I tried therapy, I thought I already knew everything. My therapist would say so why go when I could handle it all on my own, like I had been doing so successfully for never? Then you actually go. And having someone who listens without judgment, who gets it, who offers a perspective you couldn't see from the inside of your own head, it makes all the difference. The things I thought I was going in to talk about turned out to be just the surface of something bigger. May is Mental Health Awareness Month, a good excuse to check in with yourself and ask how you're actually doing. This past year for me has been a lot moves, big life changes, loss, and I'm grateful I didn't have to navigate it alone. And if you're going through something, you don't have to either. Therapy has been one of the best things in my life and if you're considering it, I'd encourage you to check out BetterHelp. They have over 30,000 licensed therapists across the United States all held to a strict code of conduct. Usually finding the right therapist can be the hardest part. BetterHelp makes that easier. And if it's not the right fit for you, you can switch anytime to their tailored recommendations. You don't have to be on this journey alone. Find support and have someone with you in therapy. Sign up and get 10% off at betterhelp.com myths that's betterhelp.com myths There is a lot wrapped up in what you wear. There's comfort, self respect, self care, and I do try to be intentional with what I wear. But it's also work. Mental work. What if there was a place where everything you got was great quality, stylish and everything just works without overthinking it? I bet you can see where I'm going with this Quince. Quince has luxury quality staples without the luxury price tag. You can look it up. Everything is 50 to 80% less than similar brands and they work with ethical factories and cut out the middlemen. Yes, all that's awesome. But what's also great is that I can throw on my organic cotton long sleeve peak polo or my organic cotton short sleeve oxford and I know it's going to look and fit great and it's going to go with everything I have. Carissa loves her Bella jeans, her sweaters, her second wedding ring that she bought on Quince because the first one apparently bounced out of existence in our kitchen. Quints quality, its style, its price and everything I've ever gotten from them is easy to wear on repeat. Refresh your everyday with luxury you'll actually use head to quints.com legends for free shipping on your order and 365 day returns. Now available in Canada too. That's Q-U-I-N-C-E.com legends for free shipping and 365 day returns. Quints.com legends. For the first time in his life, Skeithy was speechless. His beard was still scraggly, but now it shadowed resplendent robes and cloaks. The place was a marvel. Beams that seemed to stretch on for miles held floor upon floor of feasting warriors. Mead that flowed from the udders of a goat that lived on the roof and down wooden troughs past all who might dip their cup for a drink ended in a basin at the bottom, one that was never in danger of overflowing. The clash of swords and slosh of drink kept the men both sharp and complacent until the day they were needed. Until the end of the world, when the wolf and the serpent would come for them from beyond the enclosure. But that day would not be this day. This was a day of celebration because Skeithe had come to solve all of their problems. Or at least the main one. Thor pointed out everyone on the first floor Grettir and Hrof, Kraki, Osmund, Ragnar, Lothbrok and Ragnar's sons, including Ivar the boneless. Regen the dwarf made it somehow, and was sitting next to Thorstein Mansionmight the Viking that was bigger than doors. Sigurd Hring sat feasting at a table with his sons, though always within view of a darkened corner populated only by two hateful reptilian eyes that looked out on the heroes. What's with all that? Skeithy pointed. Thor looked nervously. That was Fafnir covered him back in episode 3AMy dad didn't technically invite him here, so that's his corner. We don't talk about the Fafnir corner. Skeithe didn't recognize them, but he knew the Volsung family when he saw them sitting up near Odin, Frigg, Freya, Heimdall, Tyr, and the others. It would have been a grand and stately photo op if not for the shouting. He took my daughter. Hogni shouted, spit, flinging on Odin's table. But this was before germ theory, so they were all actually pretty okay with it. She wants to be with me. Heathen yelled back. Who cares what she wants? That's not a value we have in this time period, Hogni shouted back. Scandinavia is surprisingly progressive when it comes to the rights of women in the Middle Ages when compared to the rest of medieval Europe and beyond, heathy rejoined. That's a very low bar. Hogni yelled. Agreed. But I'm still gonna marry your daughter after being betrothed to her in life. Over my dead body. Again. Hogni called out and made to draw his weapon. Thor turned to whisper to Skeithe. This is where you come in. You solve this and you're the guest of honor. You can ask anything you want of my dad. Odin's eye widened when he spotted Skeithe. Everyone. This was Skithe. Oh yeah, Skeithe. Let's all focus on this and not all the yelling and stuff from Midgard. You know, I am clever, but I hear you're the smartest famous person on earth. Odin blinked. Ski actually couldn't tell if it was a wink or a blink. Didn't matter. He would take the compliment. Thank you all. Father Skithe bowed. Now I have something to ask of you. Odin rose, his fur cloak swishing as he freed an arm to put it around Skithe. In God's name, I pledge to do anything you ask. Skeithe stood up tall. Odin paused. Oh, we actually don't talk about that here. Not a big deal. You didn't know, but now you do. Oh, I so sorry. Skeithy swallowed hard. Yeah, like I said, not a big deal. I understand you're sorry. Not as sorry as you're gonna be if you do it again. Odin laughed. Just joking. Just joshin. We're all buds here. But don't do it again. I'll smack you right in the mouth. So, Odin continued, before we get down to it, I heard you lost a staff on the way here. Seathee realized that. Yeah, he did. That jerk in Norway took it. I've had the dwarves working on something just for you. Odin stretched out his arm, Swinging open the heavy doors revealed a dwarf striding through, carrying a new staff for the smartest famous man. Skeithy felt it. It was light, but even just tapping the ground, he cracked a stone on the floor of Valhalla. Wow. He wouldn't have any issues dealing with snarky prophets now. He was sorry about the stone, by the way. Oh, don't worry about that. The dwarves will fix it. They love meaningless toil for others. Odin said, and then clapped. Loki. Loki. Worrying both a grimace and the cause of that grimace, Skeithe's butter Pig entered the room. We heard you had a weird greasy bag called a butter pig. It was stuffed with rotting food and shaped like a pig. We didn't know quite what to do with it. So I just dumped out everything in there and had Loki fill it with butter. A tear almost came to Skeithe's eye. He had never seen butter pigs so healthy and butterflies. Loki handed him the bag and then just went to throw out all those clothes because they were practically transparent with the grease. The hall clapped for Odin's generosity. Now I presume Thor has filled you in on our little Hiccup. I have one more thing to ask of you all. Father Skithee turned and announced to the hall. I kinda just gave you a staff of amazing craftwarf ship and topped up your weird pig bag. But sure. One more thing, Odin said for the hall to hear. I desire a wife. Skeithe strode. Sure, you have your pick. Anyone but my mistress, Freya and Frigg. My wife. I probably should have led with her. Odin backtracked. Skeithe leaned in, speaking once again only to Odin. I want Hilder the Slender. Wow. Not sure where this is going. Odin began to grow worried. That's why I'm the most famous smart man, skeithe whispered with a wink. Smartest famous man, odin corrected. But you better be sure about this. Oh, I'm sure. Skeithe looked his bride to be to be over. Odin informed the man that it would need to be cleared by her father. The fact that it wasn't last time had led to so much drama. You think I would have lasted this long if I couldn't butter up rich guys? They act like they're so smart and worldly and wise, but they care about one thing. Watch this. Skeithe whispered as he patted Odin's chest with the back of his hand and sauntered over. My Lord Skithe bowed. I humbly request your daughter's hand in marriage. 3 simultaneous what's of various pitches and intensities erupted from Hogni, Ethan, and Hilder. She is betrothed to me. Heathen shouted. Technically, you stole her. And you were mean about my sword, so no, she's not. Hogni said. Wait, is that your sword? Skeithy pointed. That is an amazing sword. The only thing that would make it cooler is if it had a name. Hogni smiled. Well, get ready. After about 15 minutes of listening to how cool Hogni's sword was and how cool Hogni was for having such a cool sword, hogni looked the 60 year old vagabond up and down and then asked why the man wanted to marry his daughter. Well, I'll be real. I hardly care about her. I just want to be in your illustrious family. I truly don't think it gets the honor or respect it deserves. It did. He was getting special treatment from Odin, the All Father in Valhalla. But the irony of people who kind of make it their whole life and personality to seek after fame and glory seems to be that to them there is no such thing as enough fame and glory. So Skeithe was speaking this man's language. Odin turned to Hildur, asking the young lady what she thought of the match. Well, I have pledged myself to Ethan, though I had just been kidnapped, so there was no small amount of duress in that pledge. I'm also really tired though, so if my father consents to it, I do not scorn Skithe. Really, heathen said. This is how it ends, huh? You rejecting me for a 60 year old beggar? He's the most famous smart man on Midgard, hogni the dad piped in. Smartest famous man, odin corrected once again. That was a really important point. Even still, Ethan said, I just it was worth fighting and dying day after day for you as I learned that we did, but never actually experienced. But all that was worth it if you loved me back. Now though, I'll find something someone else to live for and die for, Ethan said as he opened his arms and closed his eyes. What are you doing? Odin asked. I'm ready to go back. Ethan opened one eye. Oh, that's not something you can do. You died like a lot. You can stay here and party until the end of the world though. Odin gestured at the consolation party. Nice. Ethan grinned and went off to go fill his cup. And just like that, the eternal feud between Heathen and Hogni was over. Skeithy, the smartest famous man on Midgard, had solved it. He extended his the story tells us Grimy hand to Hilder and Odin began the wedding ceremony. When it was over, Odin provided the dowry India and presented the couple to sporadic claps, and praise, for the couple was strained through grimaces. There were whispers, of course, but it was the words that sparked the trouble when Sif whispered to Thor, Skeithe looks rather loudish to me. And that whisper found Skithee's ear. The vagabond who, yeah, did look rather loudish, gasped and instinctively crossed himself to ward off the evil of the remark. Heimdall, Odin said with a nod and Heimdall, who was standing next to Skithe, smacked him in the mouth. What in God's name was that? Skithee said as he spat out blood and a tooth. He got in a lot of fights. He couldn't lose too many more of those. With another nod from Odin, Heimdall hit Skeithe, this time with a closed fist, laying him out on the floor. How dare you hit my kin? I just met Hogni. His father in law cried out, raising his axe and bringing it down on Heimdall's armor. It glanced and chipped little more than scratching the surface, but Heimdall took it as the offense that it was and smashed his drinking horn over Hogni's head. Like World War I, a chain of alliances and family ties drew the entirety of the room and soon Valhalla in the conflict. Those that feared for Odin and resented anyone attacking the Aesir attacked Hogni's kin, who also had their own alliances and family ties, drawing all of them into the web of destruction. Skeithe, for his part, wasn't going to take this disrespect lying down. When he regained consciousness, he decided to test out his new staff. He immediately respected the Kraft dwarf ship when he put it through the chest of a famous Norse hero from the sagas. The fight got bloody for a room of guys who were already technically dead. Sigurd, the most famous of the Volsungs and the hero of legend, drew Graham the magic sword, and in an instant, though no one would have been able to tell, the darkened corner that held Fafnir was silent. The sword had a lengthy history, told in episodes 3A through 3D, I believe, but broken and reforged, it was wielded by Sigurd when he slew Fafnir. Now it was coming down hard on Skeithe's new staff, but that was all it did, nearly cracking a second time. The sword rang out on the dwarven metal, but stopped with the sweep of his arm and the magical staff, mostly the magical staff. Skeithe cracked the stones of the nearby foundation with Sigurd's body. With this, the dragon in the corner rose. Fafnir wasn't an aesir, Vanir, dwarf, or elf. He wasn't a frost or fire giant. He was something beyond comprehension and a danger even to Odin and Thor. And he was coming for Skiithy. We can't know what was going on in Fafnir's mind, but maybe the old scar on his belly was burning when he watched the sword that killed him fail against a scraggly wanderer. The room fled from the dragon's poisonous breath. Fafnir reared in victory that he would be vindicated by defeating the man who had defeated the man who had defeated him. The Dragon went down for the bite, the killing blow, and stopped. Chest heaving, Skeithy held the staff aloft, pinning it between the gum and the dragon's largest tooth. Skeithe grinned. Sigurd had to dive out of the way. But when Fafnir, flung by the staff, hit the wall, and as the dragon scrambled shamefully back to the shadows, Skeithe, still catching his breath, looked down. A giant tooth had landed by his side. He scooped it up and shoved it into his pocket. Odin, fighting off one of his own warriors, called to the Aesir. They had made a grave error inviting Skethi to Valhalla. They must force him out. Those allied with Skeithe and Hogni resisted, but everyone parted for him. Thor, Mjolnir. Crackle as he took it from his belt and striding forward, Skeithe backed up to the door. A yell and a crack from inside Valhalla blew open the doors and windows as the form of Skeithe rolled to a stop on the stones. Still holding the staff, Skeithe rose to his feet as he inspected the it. Even taking a hit from Mjolnir, there wasn't even a mark on it. Spitting out two of his teeth, he could not say the same for himself. The Aesir stood before the doors of Valhalla with Odin, Freya, Tyr, Thor, and others, though battered themselves, ready to fight to the end. But not if they didn't have to leave now. Thor commanded. Skifi spat out another tooth, ready to staff, and said no. He could see a worried glance pass between the most powerful beings in Asgard. Well, not without Butter Pig, at least. He yelled. What? Odin turned to his son. Butterpig. It's his greasy bag that he has. Thor said with a shrug. Loki. Freya yelled. And Loki answered. He was actually outside of Valhalla, coming back. He had missed the whole fight. Go get this jerk's grease hog bag. Butter pig. Skeithe yelled. I literally just changed. Loki said before he leaned near and wait. Were they fighting in there? He missed it. Then with a grumble, Loki said that he would go get the pig bag. A minute or so later, Loki emerged with Butter Pig itself, still laden with potent Asgardian butter, which was once again making a slick sheen on Loki's shirt. Handing it to Thor, he announced that he would go change again. I'll take that. Skeithe held out his hands. Yeah, you will. And never come back. Thor threw the bag. Skeithe caught the butter pig in the chest, and as he staggered backward, he thought he saw under his feet, the road shift and break into a whole spectrum of colors. That was the last thing he remembered. Skeithe awoke to weeping. He was lying in the grass. It was day and the sky was a dull gray, not the golden warmth of Asgard. He knew that he was back home on Midgard. As he sat up, his tongue found another tooth that was about to go and he ripped it out. Next to him, a man lay screaming, another worker on the farm. His arm dangled at revolting angles. Two more were still unconscious. No, no, no. Stop. Someone cried as another dog went for butter pig. They were too late, too rich for mortal stomachs, or at the very least, mortal dog stomachs. That dog joined all the others that had been lured to butterpig. In death. Skeithe had to hear his own story secondhand. After he hobbled to a nearby town on a fractured leg, every breath in agony through several broken ribs. The men sleeping in the hall had found him out there, shrieking about the old gods in the small hours of the morning. When someone finally tried to subdue him, he attacked. They sic the dogs on him, but all of them die by the poison that Skeithe carried in his bag. Five men who tried to stop Skeithe, if they weren't dead already, would need a miracle to recover. No one went after Skeithe because no one dared fight him. He traded some stone he had in his pocket to the physicians to let him remain in their care, claiming it was the tooth of Fafnir, the dragon of legend. I believe the doctor sold it to the cathedral in Holler. They carved part of a crozier out of it. Skeithy laughed as the crowd around him in the city stood rapt at his story. The irony wasn't lost that a bishop's staff would be the tooth of a great dragon, vital and symbolic, yet completely unknown by everyone who saw it. The bishop of the city, who had been standing there, sighed. Okay, I'm just gonna say it. You ate too much fish that went bad, got drunk and had a weird dream. Obviously, the bishop said, looking around. Is it? Skeithe's eye twinkled. Yes, the bishop replied. Are you sure? Skeithe smiled. Yes, Extremely. Okay, let's look at the two possibilities. On one hand you ate rotten fish and had a dream. On the other, you were called to Asgard by Thor, married a woman a third your age, and beat up a dragon. The bishop looked around to the crowd. I mean, really, was he the only one who was seeing this? It was obvious to everyone what actually happened, but Their shoulders deflated with a collective sigh. The stories were fun. They captured something that everyone felt was slipping away from their lives. For a moment, there had been magic in the world again. With murmurs, the crowd began to dissipate and the Bishop sneered. Then he looked to Skeithe and tossed the man a few coins. His work done, Skeithe rose, hugging Butterpig to his side. He put his cloak on and picked up the dwarven staff that had been underneath it, the one that he used as a walking stick, and heard the gasp from a nearby child. Skeethy responded with a wink and then hobbled off down the road. A few minutes later, he hobbled back. Oh, wait, wait, wait. The staff. That's how I can prove it. Look at my. Look at my nice staff. Everyone, but everyone who had listened to the story and had the context for it was now gone. Now he was just a man shouting in the street to no one about his walking stick. After a few more minutes, Skeithe finally gave up and continued on down the road. This story is interesting to me because it explores the tension between a Christianized Iceland and its Norse past that it still took pride in and held in high esteem, whether from trying to reconcile it with their true beliefs or to help those beliefs fit into society. The writers that chronicled Norse myth a lot of times made the choice to cloak the Aesir in euphemism, where, as we talked about, they made Odin an earthly king in Asia land or whatever they called it. I've always wondered how much of the inherent silliness of Norse myth was the Christian writer's editions, and how much of it was part of the mythology. For instance, Norse. Like we mentioned, Thor has a whetstone lodged in his forehead. And there was the story where he massacred a wedding party while dressed as the bride. Odin pooped himself one time he was so scared while flying away as a bird horse. Loki's attempt to lure a male horse away so that the Aesir could get a free wall backfired and he gave birth to Odin's eight legged horse, Sleipnir. That question, though, is kind of a moot point, because for the writer of today's story, hundreds of years after the sources were put down to paper by Christians, the silliness is part of the myth. But back to today's story. As someone who has read a lot of legendary sagas, there were more references here to saga heroes than I've ever seen in one place. More than I included, for sure. The author clearly loved the folklore and knew their stuff. While at first the story struck me as a rebuke of Norse mythology, what with a Christian wanderer with no discernible strength laying Valhalla low, I think there's something more nuanced here. The brooding, dangerous Odin and the Thor that massacred the giants, the gods that would lead to the world ending in fire and blood, and their values of fatalistic honor and violence were incompatible with the world that was taking shape for the Icelanders in the late Middle Ages, early modern period. The chieftains in the Commonwealth was gone, and Iceland had come under the rule of Norway and, critically, the influence of the Church. I initially read this story as a warning that there was a conflict coming between the old ways and the new, and in the ensuing battle, the old gods would lose. In reality, though, the old gods had already lost. Even the tooth of the great dragon Fafnir had been carved into a crosier wielded by a Christian bishop. And Christianity in this story isn't represented by an army of heavenly angels or an irresistible loving carpenter, but skeithy It's a slow, persistent, unglamorous change. The gods don't fall to a hero, but an old man with a stick who keeps invoking God, not out of true belief, but just because that's what he's always done. That's the world in which he lives. In that light, for me, the story doesn't read as a condemnation of the old Norse ways, but more of an elegy for a world that was almost gone. An elegy masked by the violence and humor that was yet another remnant of times gone by. Next week, we're back in the story of knights, and we'll see that no good deed goes unpunished when a knight rejects a proposition from the queen and is forced to be a fairy woman's secret boyfriend. Speaking of knights, as you no doubt know by now, Myths and Legends has a book coming out.