“Greetings, brother Suttung,” said Baugi. “This is Bolverkr, my servant for the summer and my friend.” And he told Suttung of his agreement with Bolverkr. “So you see,” he concluded, “I must ask you to give him a taste of the mead of poetry.”
Suttung’s eyes were like chips of ice. “No,” he said flatly.
“No?” said Baugi.
“No, I will not give away a single drop of that mead. Not one drop. I have it safe in its vats, in Bodn and Son and the kettle Odrerir. Those vats are deep inside the mountain of Hnitbjorg, which opens only to my command. My daughter, Gunnlod, guards it. This servant of yours cannot taste it. You cannot taste it.”
“But,” said Baugi, “it was blood compensation for our parents’ deaths. Don’t I deserve the smallest measure of it, to show Bolverkr here that I am an honorable giant?”
“No,” said Suttung. “You don’t.”
They left his hall.
Baugi was disconsolate. He walked with his shoulders hunched high and his mouth drooping down. Every few paces, Baugi would apologize to Bolverkr. “I did not think my brother would be so unreasonable,” he would say.
“He is indeed unreasonable,” said Bolverkr, who was Odin in disguise. “But you and I could play a little trick or two on him, so that he would not be so high and mighty in future. So that next time he will listen to his brother.”
“We could do that,” said the giant Baugi, and he stood straighter, and the corners of his mouth tightened into something that almost resembled a smile. “What are we going to do?”
“First,” said Bolverkr, “we will climb Hnitbjorg, the beating mountain.”
They climbed Hnitbjorg together, the giant going first, and Bolverkr, doll-sized in comparison, never falling behind. They clambered up the paths that the mountain sheep and goats made, and then they scrambled up rocks until they were high in the mountain. The first snows of winter had fallen on the ice that had not melted from the winter before. They heard the wind as it whistled about the mountain. They heard the cries of birds far below them. And there was something else they could hear.
It was a noise like a human voice. It seemed to be coming from the rocks of the mountain, but it was always distant, as if it were coming from inside the mountain itself.
“What noise is that?” asked Bolverkr.
Baugi frowned. “It sounds like my niece Gunnlod, singing.”
“Then we will stop here.”
From his leather pouch Bolverkr produced the auger called Rati. “Here,” he said. “You are a giant, and big and strong. Why don’t you use this auger to drill into the side of the mountain?”
Baugi took the auger. He pushed it against the mountainside and began to twist. The tip of the auger drilled into the mountainside like a screw into soft cork. Baugi turned it and turned it, again and again.
“Done it,” said Baugi. He pulled out the auger.
Bolverkr leaned over the hole made by the drill and blew into it. Chips and the dust of rocks blew back at him. “I have just learned two things,” said Bolverkr.
“What two things are these?” asked Baugi.
“That we are not yet through the mountain,” said Bolverkr. “You must keep drilling.”
“That is only one thing,” said Baugi. But Bolverkr said nothing more on that high mountainside, where the icy winds clawed and clutched at them. Baugi pushed the drill Rati back into its hole and began to turn it once more.
It was getting dark when Baugi pulled the auger from the hole again. “It broke through into the inside of the mountain,” he said.
Bolverkr said nothing, but he blew gently into the hole, and this time he saw the chips of rock blow inward.
As he blew, he was aware that something was coming toward him from behind. Bolverkr transformed himself then: he turned himself into a snake, and the sharp auger plunged into the place where his head had been.
“The second thing I learned when you lied to me,” hissed the snake to Baugi, who stood, astonished, holding the auger like a weapon, “was that you would betray me.” And with a flick of its tail, the snake vanished into the hole in the mountainside.
Baugi struck again with the auger, but the snake was gone, and he flung the drill from him angrily and heard it clatter on the rocks below. He thought about going back to Suttung’s hall and once he was there telling his brother that he had helped bring a powerful magician up Hnitbjorg, had even helped him to get inside the mountain. He imagined Suttung’s reaction to this news.
And then, his shoulders slumping and his mouth drooping, Baugi climbed down the mountain and trudged off home, to his own hearth and his own hall. Whatever happened in the future to his brother or to his brother’s precious mead, why, it was nothing to do with him.
Bolverkr slid in snake shape through the hole in the mountain until the hole ended and he found himself in a huge cavern.
The cavern was lit by crystals, with a cold light. Odin transformed himself from snake shape into man shape once more, and not just a man but a huge man, giant-sized, and well formed. Then he walked forward, following the sound of song.
Gunnlod, the daughter of Suttung, stood in the cavern in front of a locked door, behind which were the vats called Son and Bodn and the kettle Odrerir. She held a sharp sword in her hands, and she sang to herself as she stood.
“Well met, brave maiden!” said Odin.
Gunnlod stared at him. “I do not know who you are,” she said. “Name yourself, stranger, and tell me why I should let you live. I am Gunnlod, guardian of this place.”
“I am Bolverkr,” said Odin, “and I deserve death, I know, for daring to come to this place. But stay your hand, and let me look upon you.”
Gunnlod said, “My father, Suttung, set me on guard here, to protect the mead of poetry.”
Bolverkr shrugged. “Why would I care for the mead of poetry? I came here only because I had heard of the beauty and the courage and the virtue of Gunnlod, Suttung’s daughter. I told myself, ‘If she just lets you look at her, it will be worth it. If, of course, she is as beautiful as they say in the tales.’ That was what I thought.”
Gunnlod stared at the handsome giant in front of her. “And was it worth it, Bolverkr-who-is-about-to-die?”
“More than worth it,” he told her. “For you are more beautiful than any tale I have ever heard or any song that any bard could compose. More beautiful than a mountain peak, more beautiful than a glacier, more beautiful than a field of fresh-fallen snow at dawn.”
Gunnlod looked down, and her cheeks reddened.
“Can I sit beside you?” asked Bolverkr.