Glenn Rahman has been a student of legendary lore and mythology as far back as high school. He is the designer of several board games, including the award-winning DIVINE RIGHT, the third edition of which is expected out this year (2020). As a fiction-writer, sword and sorcery has been his favorite genre. Glenn is the author of HEIR OF DARKNESS (New Infinity), THE GARDENS OF LUCULLUS (Sidecar), and THE MINARIAN LEGENDS (Right Stuf), as well as numerous short stories. His tale “The Rune-Sword of Jotunheim,” which features Volund, will appear in an upcoming anthology from DMR Books.

Nordic mythology, as a scholastic study, has been read for enjoyment for a long while. Yet, if truth is told, its current state represents only a ruin of the mighty edifice that it used to be, back in the days when the ancients recited its songs and drew wisdom from them. All that we are told of the myths comes from a few Christian-era stories and a smattering of poetry from a somewhat older era. But even these diminished remnants fill two decent-sized books. But it is obvious that saga of the Northmen once upon a time had been an epic along the order of the Homeric epics or India's Mahabharata. Of course, the ravages of time are largely responsible for the loss of knowledge, but not entirely. A good deal of the missing story has been preserved in a form that the scholarly Establishment, in its pride, clannishness, and obstinacy refuses to recognize.

But we should not be surprised when modern scholars serve us badly. Usually, it is not credentialed scholars who make the discoveries or receive breakthroughs of inspiration. The men who live remotely in their ivory towers do not see their role as one of continuing discovery, but of being preservers and protectors of what they were taught by rote as students. The advocacy of new insights, even from within their own ranks, is not encouraged. Those who break this passive pattern are usually from that rare class of maverick scholars.

The learned maverick is not welcome among the ranks of Establishment academics. He's an outsider, and outsiders are given the cold-shoulder. Within the insider, the outsider does not rate. Though the man who challenges their ideas might be just as learned – or even more learned – as they are, he is shown the door and must carry on without the Establishment's support or friendly advice. But the maverick is usually worth several conservative scholars in one. He is usually the master of several disciplines, and this gives him a broad perspective on any question her seeks to answer. In contrast, the specialist's approach to a subject is limited by his restricted knowledge and his devotion to preserving the mistakes made by past scholars, those who wrote the books that he has read, or who taught in the classrooms that he attended.

A capable maverick occasionally appears, even in hard science. One such who has attained lasting fame was the electrical engineer Nikola Tesla. In the field of Nordic mythology, the paramount genius was Viktor Rydberg. Rydberg was one of Sweden's most respected writers of the late Nineteenth Century. One of his biographers states, "He had a hard struggle to satisfy the thirst for learning which was a leading passion of his life, but he finally attained distinction in several fields of scholarship."

Rydberg, in fact, was possessed by a zeal for understanding his people's origins. In his latter years, he turned his full attention to the study of the Scandinavian sagas. The results of his analysis and delvings fill volumes. His greatest work, Teutonic Mythology, was translated into English by Rasmus B. Anderson during the author's lifetime. But whether read in Swedish or English, Rydberg's findings were noted with dismay by the hidebound conservatives in the field. They considered themselves specialists in their own field. Rydberg, they felt, no matter how accomplished in other disciplines, had no right to tell them what to think. Unfortunately, they had no valid refutations to his discoveries, and so replaced debate with scoffing. Instead of winning their case by persuasion, they refused to let it be discussed in their presence, hoping in that way to strangle it in the crib.

Rydberg did all he could to fight his lone battle against the stubbornness of the insiders, but in the midst of the wrangle, he died – in 1895 of natural causes – at the relatively young age of 66. After the heretic was out of their way, the mythographers declined to remember Rydberg at all, or to draw anything from his deep and revealing studies. To this day, what writers have to say about the sagas of the North hardly differs from what has been available since the middle of the Nineteenth Century.

This writer became acquainted with Rydberg's Teutonic Mythology in the 1980s and was immensely impressed. He presented his facts with verve and skill, and the proofs he offered seemed hard to deny. Rydberg's books rang true whereas the books of the old school did not. Rydberg's volumes convincingly made the scattered fragments of ancient lore fit together and make sense. In his pages, many striking characters emerge from the fog of time, able to live again. Among these was Volund, a hero and a villain in one. Like Loki, Volund was in essence a Satanic-type character. As with Satan, Volund's pride was his downfall, but also like Satan, the tragedy of his career was not confined to himself alone. In anger and hatred he had lashed out in all directions, inflicting great suffering and death. His goal had been nothing less than the destruction of the gods and all who honored them.

I was also a deep reader into Hellenic myth. Volund's tale also reminded me of another archetype, the story of “the Judgment of Paris.” In Greek legend, a trouble-making minor deity stirred up a competition between three proud goddesses. Each wanted to claim the title of being “the fairest.” No god wished to make a friend of one by making an enemy of two. Therefore, Paris, a consummate judge of woman-flesh, was called upon to decide the touchy matter. Paris's decision pleased one, but the other two decided that they would be satisfied with no less revenge than the destruction of Paris and all his people. The Judgment of Paris, of course, led directly to the Trojan War and the ruin of a great city. (If the story happens to be based on truth, the war changed the future of Western Civilization, since the Trojan stock, transplanted to Italy, were ancestors of the far-conquering Romans, the people who perfected even the alphabet that I use to write these words.)

Our subject today shall be Volund, but who is Volund? In the myths, he is a prince among the elves. But that begs the question, what is an elf in Norse lore? The old stories are vague about the specifics. We learn that it was common for one family to have gods, elves, and even giants marrying into it. Ivaldi, Voland's elf father, produced daughters by a goddess (a dis), and these girls were born “disir.” The king's three sons were, in contrast, born to a giantess, and yet were considered to be elves. Nordic elves, we observe, tended to be both heroic and creative. Giants, on the other hand, were mighty in war, but were often rude in lifestyle and evil. (Though the legends in fact show us that at least some were kindly and noble). Volund stood out as a master craftsman, but he was also recognized as a supremely powerful sorcerer.

His father's kingdom in Midgard was called Svithjod and it seems to have been composed of what we now call Sweden and Finland. While the younger brothers, Egil and Slagfin, protected the realm by maintaining a watch over the Elivogar, the gulf that separated the north of the realm from Jotenheim, which was the abode of the unpredictable giants, Volund, instead practicing war, preferred to spend his time crafting wonderful creations, including weapons that were fit for the gods themselves. Obviously, this wizard-artist could be a valuable friend and a dangerous enemy.

In the sketchy literature of conventional scholarship, Volund hardly appears. But Rydberg found that many ancient heroes continued to live in the legends of the Middle Ages, though they often bear different names. If we look at medieval legends (those stories where ancient characters appear as archetypes), there is a figure known as Wayland or Weland the Smith. Clearly, this dark and vengeful hero exists as a latter day version of Volund. What Rydberg relates gives us the impression that Volund was an intellectual but cold-natured “man,” quick to take offense and unable to forgive. While his hatreds could blaze fiercely, to his friends he appeared to be a decent guest, correct, if aloof. On the other hand, the prince's passionate side showed in his sense of family loyalty, and his siblings accepted him as the head of their clan after their father died. Egil, Volund's archer brother, was a very different sort, a hale and hearty warrior who was the boon companion of many. The other brother, Slagfin, though he holds an honored place in the myths, keeps a surprisingly low profile in context of the catastrophic and momentous events that Volund would soon put into motion.

Before the trouble began, Volund was esteemed by the gods. But the catastrophe that was fast approaching would not descend upon deities and men by mere accident. No, the flame that would set the tinderbox afire would be lit by the other Satan-figure of the North – the trickster god Loki.

As it happened, Volund had given three wonderful magical treasures to Odin and the gods of Asgard. Seeing an opportunity for mischief, Loki decided to set the powerful factions of all the Three Worlds at one another’s throats.

There was another great smith in Creation, one named Sindri. Though called an elf, he was the eldest son of Mimir, the very benevolent “giant” who ruled the underworld. His mother, probably called Sinmara, seems to have been a giantress. Loki didn't dare try to gull the canny Sindri himself, so he instead approached Sindri's brother Brokk, and offer the opinion that Sindri could not make better treasures than those that Volund had presented to the gods. Foolish Brokk accepted the challenge, on the condition that the head of Loki would be his prize should Sindri win. Undaunted, Loki agreed.

Whatever Sindri thought about his brother's rash wager, he agreed to craft three treasures that would please the gods better than Volund's had. Since the bet had involved only Loki and Brokk, not Volund, Ivaldi's son was entirely sidelined from the faithful contest. When the god-council decided that Sindri had indeed created the better treasures (these included the famous hammer, Mjollnir), Loki's head now seemed to be at risk. But the trickster was supernaturally clever and successfully concocted a sly argument to save his life. So Brokk's victory was a joyless one.

To make matters worse, Odin had chosen the same time frame to pay back Volund's father, Ivaldi, on account of an old grudge. Odin ruined the elf king's wedding and then robbed his house of its greatest treasure. The lord of Asgard did not exit the violated home until he had left the brother of the would-be bride dead. When the angry Ivaldi arrived at the scene, a dwarf servant of Odin diverted him into a well-laid trap, one which caused him to vanish forever. Unfortunately, the news of the murder arrived to Ivaldi's children at the same time as the report of the judgment that the gods had passed over Sindri's work. All of the royal elves were angry, but none more so than Volund.

The Asgardians (also called the Aesir) had reason to fear Volund and his brothers. They were implicated in both insults. But others were made anxious, too. The Van god Njord, the god of sea trade, had placed his son Frey into foster care with Volund some time before. Now the god feared that the elf might do violence to the boy, seeing as how the Vans and Aesir were close allies. The gods took council and agreed to offer Volund a gift of reconciliation. Njord would ask for the hand of Volund's daughter, Skadi, in marriage. As Njord's family was held in higher dignity than Volund's, it was a worthy and honorable gesture. Njord, accordingly, sent heralds to Volund to announce the proposal, but they never returned. The gods suspected that the elf prince was so angry that he had murdered them.

Odin and a small party, including Loki, attempted to head off the looming crisis with a peace mission. They journeyed toward Volund's fiefdom of Thrymheim, but the son of Ivaldi used magic to keep them lost in the wild. Then he visited their camp disguised as an eagle, though the keen-eyed Odin saw through the ruse. Volund at that point asked the gods for a full share of their meal, and the travelers agreed. But the bird-costumed elf claimed the entire lunch as his “full share” and wolfed it down. Loki, having been denied his supper, was so incensed that he grabbed a nearby rod and hit the eagle with it. But it was a magic rod that Volund had purposely placed within his reach. When Loki hit the eagle, the stick stuck to the bird and also to his hand. Volund flew off and carried Loki away. For his life to be spared, Loki had to agree to kidnap Idun, his captor's half-sister, and bring her to her brother. The liberated Loki then returned to camp, silent about his treasonous agreement. But the bad encounter with Volund had discouraged Odin and he consequently took his men home.

Despite this setback, Njord decided to seek a personal parley with Volund. With a bodyguard, he traveled to Thrymheim, but found it abandoned. Volund and his brothers were, in fact, on their way to Jotenheim. Being half-giant themselves, they were well suited to the making of peace with the giant kind. As part of the settlement, the elves agreed to open the way for their wild kind to come into Midgard.

Now Volund and his family set off to found a new home in Jotenheim. From there, they would wage war on the gods of Asgard. Njord caught up to them along the way and made an overture for peace, which Volund rejected. The elf prince even boasted that he had turned Njord's son Frey over to the giants as a hostage. The groups came to blows, but a troop of giants appeared and the sons of Ivaldi escaped with them into the north. Like Odin, Njord returned home in defeat.

In Jotunheim, the elf brothers subsequently built a new home for themselves, far away from the sight and power of Asgard. Volund quickly set to work on a plan of vengeance. First, he would use his rune magic to send cold and storms across Midgard, aiming to create hunger and chaos among all of its people. Secondly, he would create a weapon that would be superior to Thor's hammer, one able to kill the thunder god and all others who were beholding to Asgard. After that, whenever the hammer blows were not sounding from Volund's workshop, his voice could be heard shouting baleful spells crafted to send Midgard into an ice age, one that the ancients referred to as the Fimbul-Winter. Blizzards, hailstorms, and powerful whirlwinds became an everyday occurrence for the men of Midgard. Their fields produced only stunted grain, and even these poor beginnings could not survive the frigid nights. People sacrificed to the gods, but the gods could do little, and men started to lose faith in them as protectors. The awful deterioration of the climate touched even Asgard, though the presence of the sun-god there, Odin's son Baldur, made the situation somewhat better for the gods.

Meanwhile, Loki – fulfilling his oath – had persuaded Idun to leave Asgard and join Volund and his brothers. She did so, and even brought two of her dis sisters with her to Wolfdales. These were Auda and Sif (who would later be made famous as Thor's beloved). Idun's defection was a grave loss to Asgard, in so far as she was the one who controlled the magical remedy that kept the deities young. If the Aesir could not get the goddess back, they would eventually fade and die off, like the other races of the Three Worlds were fated to.

Part Two of this article can be found here.