otunheim,
grim mountain giants seamed with scars from Thor's hammer, and frost
giants who saw in the death of Balder the coming of that long winter in
which they should reign through all the worlds.

A deep hush fell on all created things, and every eye was fixed on the
great ship riding near the shore, and on the funeral pyre rising from
the deck crowned with the forms of Balder and Nanna. Suddenly a gleam of
light flashed over the water; the pile had been kindled, and the flames,
creeping slowly at first, climbed faster and faster until they met over
the dead and rose skyward.

A lurid light filled the heavens and shone on the sea, and in the
brightness of it the gods looked pale and sad, and the circle of giants
grew darker and more portentous. Thor struck the fast burning pyre with
his consecrating hammer, and Odin cast into it the wonderful ring
Draupner. Higher and higher leaped the flames, more and more desolate
grew the scene; at last they began to sink, the funeral pyre was
consumed. Balder had vanished forever, the summer was ended, and winter
waited at the doors.

Meanwhile Hermod was riding hard and fast on his gloomy errand. Nine
days and nights he rode through valleys so deep and dark that he could
not see his horse. Stillness and blackness and solitude were his only
companions until he came to the golden bridge which crosses the river
Gjol. The good horse Sleipner, who had carried Odin on so many strange
journeys, had never travelled such a road before, and his hoofs rang
drearily as he stopped short at the bridge, for in front of him stood
its porter, the gigantic Modgud.

"Who are you?" she asked, fixing her piercing eyes on Hermod. "What is
your name and parentage? Yesterday five bands of dead men rode across
the bridge, and beneath them all it did not shake as under your single
tread. There is no colour of death in your face. Why ride you hither,
the living among the dead?"

"I come," said Hermod, "to seek for Balder. Have you seen him pass this
way?"

"He has already crossed the bridge and taken his journey northward to
Hel."

Then Hermod rode slowly across the bridge that spans the abyss between
life and death, and found his way at last to the barred gates of Hel's
dreadful home. There he sprang to the ground, tightened the girths,
remounted, drove the spurs deep into the horse, and Sleipner, with a
mighty leap, cleared the wall. Hermod rode straight to the gloomy
palace, dismounted, enter