The Jotun

by Cooper Heilmann, staff writer

The chill was there that day
Just as it ever was. It had been there yesterday and the day before that
For the past month.  It wasn’t just winter in the usually-peaceful
Village of Vinterhavn.
The snow had engulfed the huts in its cold arms.
The well had frozen, and people huddled inside their houses,
Warm bodies against the chill. The candles were out.
The Norsemen were used to such cold; Winter was harsh.
But they had seen nothing like this before.

There was rumor that a terrible beast lived halfway up the mountain
To the north of Vinterhavn. The word was uttered often
A frightened whisper in a dark place
Between the lips of the frightened villagers: Jotun*.
This, they thought, was the reason for the shroud of winter
Over the village.
Cows had gone missing, and occasionally even children,
But no one dared to find the Jotun’s lair.

When no one had hope, they turned to the village chief Hrothgar.
He had five sons.  The oldest was Olaf, who was strong
And a mighty warrior in the minds of the villagers.
Hrothgar, who would flee before a lamb,
Sent out his oldest son to find the Jotun’s lair.
People waited anxiously for news of his return...
Whispering minds, no, it must be the cold wind...
But none came.
The people of Vinterhavn waited for three days,
And it was as if a dead silence
Had passed through the village. Finally Olaf was seen,
But he was fleeing in fright. He had abandoned
His people. The chill still hung in the air.

The villagers, furious at this betrayal turned to Hrothgar
Once again.

And so Hrothgar turned to his next son,
Sven.
He was a very strong man as well, and he bragged about
How he would take down the Jotun.
But no news came from him either. Three days, three days
Later, his body was found under a sheet of ice in a pond;
He had no wounds.
The villagers again turned to the chief Hrothgar, whose tears
Turned to ice as they slid down the crevices of his weary face.
Hrothgar kept wondering
How he could have met his end, a man so cunning and brave?
The cold lingered.

So Hrothgar again turned to his next son Leif.
Leif set out to kill the Jotun, but he was never seen again.
Once again Hrothgar mourned the death of his son,
Who had been so strong and brave. The villagers were weeping as well.
They wept not in sorrow
But in hopelessness. The Cold still would not leave.

Hrothgar, in a final attempt, sent out his fourth son Niels
Who was always very charming and handsome,
Blessed by Freja
He was.
Yet he too was vain and he never returned again.
He was dashing into the winter mist, Winter biting
At his heels and his cheeks,
After his brother Olaf.
Hope was gone. However, Hrothgar
Had a fifth son; never spoken of,
Never thought of.
Yet while his brothers held their fists aimed to Valhalla and failed,
Eric had been strengthening his arm, and his spirit.
For years he had been overcast by man-shaped shadows
But Eric didn’t mind. He knew his time had come.

One day, Eric told the village that he would slay the Jotun.
Some laughed, but some looked hopefully up to him.  Perhaps the
Aesirs** would help them this time.
The next day, Eric prepared to find the Jotun’s lair. His father,
As a final goodbye gift offered him his sword,
But he declined. It was tainted with cowardice.
He took up a sword he had crafted himself,
And left the village of Vinterhavn behind him
Without a word.

He climbed up the mountain as the chill grew colder,
Winter grew nearer,
And began to creep up through his bones like little spiders
With legs of snowflakes.
He soon found the cave of the Jotun, buried deep
Into the side of the mountain.
He called into the cave,
Oh Jotun, du som har vondt mitt folk så kom
Og utfordrer meg, barn av vinteren!
And with a terrible roar like shattering ice, the Child of Winter,
The Jotun, nine feet tall and breathing frost,
Stormed out of the cave wielding his axe of ice
And bellowing curses in a language unknown to man.

The Aesirs looked down from their golden palace.
They took their eyes off the world and saw him
With humble beginnings, taking up a sword and fighting
For his people.  The All-Father*** said to his mightiest son, Here.
Here is a true hero.
And so Thor gave him strength behind his arms
As he swung his sword with a shout of triumph.
The roar could be heard for miles.
And the villagers cheered in victory.  The frost
Lifted from the village. The wells thawed,
The cows slept soundly, and the flames in the souls
and hearts of the Villagers blazed
Once again.
Vinterhavn was saved.

But Eric’s story was different.

He was lifted from the blur
Of the snow and the glory
Of the peak.
And he was soon greeted
With many hearty congratulations.
Midgard^ needs more warriors like you, they said.
He was sure he would be remembered.
Eric remembered his brothers,
And wished they could have followed him.
But they didn’t. Maybe someday.
As the flames of the torches and the
Reflection of the Golden Hall bounced around
In his eyes, he lay back in peace.





*A Jotun is a mythological Norse monster similar to trolls from folklore.
**The Aesirs were a race of gods that ruled Valhalla, the Norse version of Heaven, where all warriors who died in battle go.  The commonly known Aesirs include Odin, Thor, and Loki.
***Odin, the Norse god of wisdom, who gave life to mankind and many other creatures and races, hence the name “All-Father”.
^Midgard is the world of mortal men.