427: Norse Legends: Wither or Not

This week, on Myths and Legends, it's the story of a king who doesn't want to remarry. Until he really does, and how, if you think your stepmom might be a monster from another world, maybe be nice to her. You know, because of the monster part. The creature this time is a merman. A large, stinky, hairy merman sporting a trendy mustache. This is Myths and Legends, episode 427, Whither or Not. 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. Today's story is, ostensibly, a fairy tale from Iceland. But it's one I've been wanting to do for a while, because I was able to weave some Norse myth into it, at appropriate spots, and we get to see what's been going on with the giants, who fled Thor's hammer and ended up in our world. We'll jump in with a father and son talking about a tragedy that happened to them both, and how the father needs to make a change. Like, anything. Do literally anything different. because sitting and crying by a burial mound for two years straight is getting very old. Hey, Dad. Sigurther, the 12-year-old prince, said to his dad. The king wrung out his beard and wiped his nose with his sleeve. Oh, Sigurður. Oh, his boy. Oh, Sigurður looked so much like, like her. Oh, he could feel it. He could feel it coming again, he said, glancing back at the mound before diving on it and hugging it. Sigurður looked so much like his mother, who was dead. Sigurður sighed. yep, yeah, she was, and it was also traumatic for him. When he was 10, he was 12 now, and while grief hits in waves, those waves do eventually abate, until it's more of a solemn, loving remembrance than a fresh, painful experience, but, well, his dad hadn't gotten there yet. Everyone processes their grief differently, son. Oh, one minute. The king waved a waiting servant over, who poured the water skin into his mouth. Gotta hydrate when you're crying this much. No, I get it. It's just, maybe there are healthier ways to grieve than staring at mom's grave mound all day for two years straight, Sigurður offered. Oh, really? Like what? The king challenged. I mean, most other ways, Sigurður said, but the king waved the boy off to go back home. Didn't he have a kingdom he needed to learn how to rule. Yes, the kingdom that you're supposed to be ruling. Sigurður rejoined, but his dad couldn't hear him. Over the sobs. When Sigurður got back from his riding and arms training later on that afternoon, he... Wait, you're back? He said to his dad, the king, who was sitting on the throne, conversing with his jarls. What are you doing here? The king smiled and dismissed his advisors, rising from his throne and walking over to the fire. "'Son, I know I haven't been around a lot these past two years, "'but grief works on its own timeline, and I couldn't... "'I wasn't ready to let go,' the king said. "'You don't have to let go, Dad. "'I still hurt, too. "'We can remember her but not be overwhelmed by agony. "'She wouldn't want us to forget her, but she wouldn't want that either,' "'Sigurther hugged his dad. "'I know, son, I know, so wise. I feel like I knew that all along. It just took someone special to help me see it. The king must his son's hair as Sigurður looked up with a smile. Like a super hot widow I just happened to meet on my 2pm water break today, the king said as he made his way back to the throne. Sigurður stepped back. Wait, what? And then Sigurður heard a groan from behind a curtain, and a woman stepped out. This was not the wording we talked about, she said. Tall, beautiful, and graceful, she walked with a respectful reticence to the king's side. Hi, she said through a grimace. Who are you? Sigurther pointed as he backed up. This is your new mom, the king smiled. No, no, no, no, both Inge Bjork, the woman, and Sigurther said in unison. That was way too soon. I'm sorry, I just met the second love of my life today, and I am delirious with happiness, the king said. Sigurður demanded an explanation, and the king was more than happy to give one. It was kismet. He, there mourning his wife for years on end, her husband having died the previous day, they were truly twin flames. That's not the same, Sigurður turned from his dad, Ingeborg, who had just happened to walk by the well-known place where the king sat mourning his wife every day for over 24 months in her most beautiful clothes after losing her husband the previous day. Your father is a sweet man. He loved your mother and I recognized his grief as the same that I feel, Inky Bjork pleaded with Sigurther. But yesterday, Sigurther narrowed his eyes in suspicion. I, unfortunately, don't have the ability to mourn for two years. Yeah, it's called gender inequality, Sigurther, the king shook his head. He thought he raised his son to be more empathetic than that. It's more of a class issue than anything. This is, I'm sorry, ridiculous and insane. You met her, what, a half hour ago? And her husband is barely cold and you think this is on the level? Son, these are the middle ages. Life moves faster here because I could be dead tomorrow from a cold from sitting out in the winter mourning your dead mother who is dead, the king shook his head. Dad, leave the mound. Dad, you left the mound, but I don't want you marrying that suspicious stranger you just met. Ugh, you couldn't win with this kid. I love you, Mom, Sigurther said. And Gibi Ork took a deep breath and rolled her eyes. See, I knew you'd warm up to her. The king clapped and then chuckled. All right, he was feeling great as usual. Who wants to go hunting? Not me. I want to stay home with mom because I love mom, Sigurður spat. The king said that while he was a little saddened that his son never wanted to come with him, he was happy that his boy and his second soulmate were getting along so well. I know you don't like me, Gibyork said after the king left. Oh, how'd you figure that out? you use your witch sorcery sorceress witch sigurther sat back and crossed his arms secretly unhappy with that particular insult but he was committed to it now got me and ybjork raised her hands anyway did he actually want to help or was he just going to sit there again and i heard suspiciously until his dad got back home like he had been doing for years i think we both know the answer to that sigurther said and then did his eye warm-ups the next day though something changed Ingebjörg wasn't her usual resigned, annoyed self. She seemed upset, preoccupied. She didn't go for their usual back-and-forth banter. You will go with your father hunting today, she said, as the king strode in the room. The king said, hey, what if he, the king, didn't want to go hunting? Well, don't you? Ingebjörg asked. I mean, I do now, the king said, and shrugged. Cool! Father, son, and courtiers, and servants, and hangers-on, and berserkers hunting trip. Great idea, dear. I'm not going, Sigurður said. Yes, you are, Ningibjör commanded, and with the king going along with it, they ordered Sigurður to get ready to go. Hey dad, mind if I ride back with people my own age? Sigurther asked. The king sighed with a smile. They told him this day would come when he wanted to spend time with his friends more than his dad. Yeah, he'd go back and ride with his buds, but if mom asked, they spent the day having father-son time. I really don't think she cares, Sigurther said. Sounds great, bud, the king replied, already waving for the mead. Sigurther rode past the kids his own age to the rear guard, saying that his dad left... A thing back at home? What sort of thing? The guard narrowed his eyes. A thing used for hunting? Sigurther cocked his head. The guard thought about it. Yeah, they were out hunting and needed things for hunting. All right, that checks out. Go ahead. That being easier than he thought it was going to be, and he already thought it was going to be pretty easy, Sigurther made his way for home. Creeping up, he could hear his stepmother preparing for something, but she was completely alone. Not a single servant or enslaved person in the house. What was she doing? Panic consumed curiosity when an arm reached out of the window and gripped Sigurther by his cloak, and he marveled as it lifted him bodily up to face her, his stepmother. I knew it, he struggled to say through a mostly closed trachea. Swinging him through the window, she set him down gently on the table, the ferocity of her face not matching the gentleness of her actions. What are you doing here? I knew you were a sorceress, Sigurður cried before a hand found his mouth. It wasn't that simple, she whispered, and looked around frantically. Sigurður felt the room fall away as, again, she lifted him bodily into the air and bounded to the back room, where he nearly rolled to a stop under the bed. Stay there and don't say a word, she demanded. But before Sigurður could spit more accusations, there was a sound at the door. Ingeborg rushed to open it, and the house seemed to rumble when she entered. A giantess. One who shrunk down a fit inside the doorway, but grew, once again, until she was inches from the ceiling. Good morning, sister, the giantess said, then froze. Is Prince Sigurður at home? No. Like I said, he insisted on going out hunting with his father this morning. I couldn't keep him. Inge Bjork didn't even look back to the far room, to the shadows where Sigurther watched. He laid there, trying to choke back coughs from the dust and will himself to believe those were bits of dirt and not mouse droppings. Why were there so many mouse droppings? That's the best lamb and beer I've ever had. I can see why you'd marry a human king, the sister said. And Inge Bjork smiled. The humans, while foolish and oftentimes prejudiced, she did manage a glance back under the bed for that one, did have their charms and her husband, though silly at times, was a wonderful man whom she loved very much. Yes, but does he love you? The real you, the sister asked. He knows the real me, even if he's never seen me, Inge Bjorg assured her sister. Well, I must be off before these people who love you for you, but who can never know your true nature return, the sister declared, but was she sure that Prince Sigurður was not in the home? Certainly, Ingibjörg flashed a smile. She wouldn't betray herself, let alone her sister. Very good, the sister smiled and rose. After she embraced the woman and left, Ingibjörg went to work cleaning up the meal. Sigurður emerged. You're a giant? A Jotun, She corrected the prince, not a sorceress. So you're from Jotunheim? Engibjörg shook her head. No, her father was. She and her sisters were born here on Midgard, the world of the humans. Things with Thor and Odin, they got bad. Or so she had heard. Her parents got out when they could. It came to this world where the Aesir rule with a lighter touch. Does my father know? Like I said, he knows me, but no. He doesn't know what I am, Inky Bjork said. You could have killed me, Sigurther replied. He had been thinking about it under the bed. The whole kingdom thought he was out hunting. She still could. But what kind of mother would I be? Inky Bjork smiled. Sigurther smiled back. It was nice having someone know her secret, and things with the boy were different after that afternoon. He didn't tell the king that night, who thought he had been out hunting the whole time, and the next day, when she asked if he wanted to go hunting, he said he would rather stay with her, but not in the way where he hurled the word mother like a curse, but out of genuine affection. She had a spot for him that time. She had been up early that morning crafting a sling to go under the table, the table the two giantesses would sit at and eat dinner. He would be able to look up through the cracks and see them. Hear every word. This made the usually adventurous Sigurther quiet enough for Inge Bjorg to laugh. Oh, first he wanted to know all about her and now she was showing him too much? His dad was right, he really was impossible. She elbowed him with a smile and then helped him get into the sling. It went as the previous day did, with the sister eating lamb and drinking beer and asking, twice, if Prince Sigurður was there. When the sister left, Sigurður helped Ingibjörg clean up while learning all about her homeland, hearing the stories of how her ancestors fought Thor and caused the god of thunder to wet his pants in fear and how he has a whetstone shard lodged in his forehead because of them. When the next day came around, though, Ingibjörg was insistent. He could not stay there for this one. The sister was, well, she was thorough, and she would know he was there. But Sigur could not be persuaded With a sigh Inge Bjorg went to work on an undetectable hiding spot Our other sisters warned me that you would lie. Have the humans rubbed off on you that much? The elder sister asked. "'I'm not lying, he's not here,' Ingi Bjork said. "'It had been ten minutes of this without much more than a hello.' Finally, when it looked like she was satisfied, Ingi Bjork laid out the lunch. Beer and lamb, I guess if it isn't broken, you know. They sat at lunch and, though they chatted, Ingi Bjork could tell her sister was holding back about something. As things wound down, the sister rose. Are you quite sure? Prince Sigurður is not at home. Quite, said Inge Björk. I've told you already that he rode off with his father this morning to hunt. Hmm, you said that he was off enjoying himself in the forest, and now you say he's hunting? The sister glanced around the house. He's enjoying himself on a hunt in the forest. Inge Björk shrugged. What was going on with them? The sister looked down at Inge Björk. What was going on with them? What was going on with her? She married a human and now she was defending one? Lying not just to her own kind, but to her family. I'm not lying, she lied. The giantess gritted her teeth and took a deep breath, calling out loudly enough for her words to echo throughout the house. If he is near enough to hear my words, I lay this spell on him. Let him be half scorched and half withered, and he may have neither rest nor peace till he finds me. She then paused. Hmm, it seems her sister may have been telling the truth. Great lunch. Bye, sis. Inky Bjorg stood like stone until the door closed behind her sister. Then she ran to the wall and tore off the slats that hid Sigurther, where she found him huddled there, twitching, half scorched and half withered. She took him into her arms and he cried out in agony. We'll see Sigurður set out on his quest, but that will be right after this. We moved recently, and now we have a guest room. We didn't have one at the old house, so you know what that means? We needed to get stuff for a guest room. You know what that also means? We still haven't gotten anything for a guest room. I've been taking the guest room furniture box on my to-do list and dragging it a few weeks into the future for months now. But with the new year and having missed having people over for two major holidays now, we were like, okay, it's not going to be easy or fun, but we're going to get this thing figured out. And it turns out it was both easy and fun. Carissa and I were hanging out. I pulled up Wayfair and no joke, 15 minutes later, that's probably overestimating it, the guest room was done. bed frame, nightstands, light fixture, all on the way, and it will be here in like the next week. When it comes to decor, I am aesthetically challenged, but Wayfair suggests things that look good together, and they have such a massive selection that you will find what you're looking for. Okay, we got the Ashley Solid Wood Platform Bed, W Solid Wood Nightstand, and the Janto Janto three light glass mount light fixture, and the room is done. It looks amazing too. It went from this thing I didn't look at as I passed by because it was like something I didn't want to deal with to something I'm legitimately excited about. All thanks to Wayfair. And I can finally check that box off and we can finally have family from out of town. And it was like not that much. Trust me, we have paid way more for things that do not look this good. So I'm excited. Get organized, refreshed and back on track this new year for way less. Head to Wayfair.com right now to shop all things home. That's W-A-Y-F-A-I-R dot com. Wayfair. Every style, every home. You know what I learned today? I love cooking. More specifically, I like standing over a hot stove and opening up a warm oven because the wind chill today was like negative 14 Fahrenheit. You know, when it comes to cooking, I don't care for the planning or the going out in a foot of snow, shopping, or finding recipes. Luckily, Home Chef can help me to stand near warm things, but not have to do all the other stuff I don't like. Because they send these amazingly simple meal kits, oven-ready options, and way more that are perfectly warm and hearty without me having to stress about what's for dinner. Home Chef makes cooking simple. Fresh food delivered right to your door, plus easy recipes even I can follow, equals home-cooked meals that actually taste great. And Home Chef is rated number one by users of other meal kits for quality, convenience, value, taste, and recipe ease. And if you have dietary needs or preferences, really take a look at Home Chef because they have over 30 meal options a week. So for whatever type of day it is, they have it. They have the classic meal kit, oven-ready trays, microwave options. There's even a family menu for hassle-free, delicious dinners that are hassle-free. Oh, did I mention they're hassle-free? No, I know. I know I said it like three times. That's just how much I personally value hassle-free. For a limited time, Home Chef is offering my listeners 50% off and free shipping for your first box, plus free dessert for life. Go to homechef.com slash legends. That's homechef.com slash legends for 50% off your first box and free dessert for life. homechef.com slash legends. Must be an active subscriber to receive free dessert. Sigurður winced. Zingy Bjork lightly touched the side of his scorched face. Oh, he went all two-faced, like the Batman villain. She said she was so sorry, but she did warn him not to stay. He began to rise, though that itself appeared to be torture. What are you doing? He steeled himself for speech. He was leaving. He was going to find her sister. At least stay and gather your strength. The spell is still fresh, she pleaded, but Sigurður shook his head. He couldn't. If he stayed, his father would know. The king might be open-minded, but even if he was, the people weren't. Regardless, he wasn't willing to stake his mother's life on it. A tear found Ingi Björk's eye, but only for a moment. Okay. She rushed to the other room as he stood and found his cloak, and when she returned, she opened a chest. revealing four items, three gold rings, and a ball of string. Once he was out of the town, he needed to roll that ball of string, follow the direction it unrolled, re-roll it, and roll it again. That would lead to the cliffs. There was no other way to the eldest sister except by passing the first two. The rings were sized smallest to largest, and he was to give the progressively larger rings to the progressively larger sisters as gifts. That would win their favor. Then it would be the most difficult part. He would need to wrestle with them. Each one? Sigurður grimaced. Yes. Sigurður nodded. Okay. Cards on the table. He had never wrestled with anyone before, but he could do this. Engibjörg cocked her head. What was he talking about? She saw him wrestling all the time with his friends out in the fields. Oh, wrestling. Okay. Yep. Got it, Sigurther chuckled awkwardly. What did you think, Inky Bjork asked before gasping. Oh, no, gross, those are my sisters. I wasn't excited about it. If that makes you feel better, Sigurther replied. Nothing about where this conversation is going makes me feel better, Inky Bjork clarified. You said it would be difficult, Sigurther shook his head. Yeah, because you're half burned and withered and they're giants, she replied. The pain would be the most challenging part. How will I win or even survive? Like you said, they're giants. Sigurður shrugged. You're stronger than you know, Inge Bjork hinted and then continued. After the first match, they would give him a horn to drink out of. For a normal human, it would just be a horn. But to him, it would make him so strong that he would easily be able to win. She paused. What? They still had stuff to get through. why was he looking at her like that? Obviously, what you just said, Sigurther pointed out. I've been fortifying you since I got here in the event that you came in contact with them, my people, Inge Bjork said. Little things, food, drink, various herbs and tinctures in his ears while he slept. She wanted him to be safe. He was her son, after all. There's one more thing, she said, pressing the thread into Sigurther's scorched hand, wincing with him. After Sigurður left, things might not go so well. Here, if her little dog that she kept, but the story hadn't mentioned up until this point, so neither did I, if her dog found him in the wilderness with tears in his eyes, she, Inge Björk, needed Sigurður because her life was in danger. Shouts went up from the edge of town. The hunting party had returned. If he was going to leave, he needed to do it now. Sigurður limped out the back door, each step an agony, as she told him goodbye and asked him not to forget his stepmother. When he was far enough out, he threw the ball forward and it rolled to his right. His journey began. The first few moments of the day were the worst for Sigurther. He learned the following morning after a night of fitful sleep. Walking throughout the day, he couldn't not feel the agony of his scorched side. But it wasn't a surprise. In the moments before he opened his eyes, when his body was on fire and his brain didn't yet remember what happened, it was like the curse was occurring all over again. It got both better and worse after that. better because he could will his steps forward, and there was a place to go. He had hope. There was an end to this agony. Worse because of, well, the agony. Each step was pain no matter how much he tried to block it out. Sometimes the string just fell from his withered hand, but he knew he had to press onward, or else this would be his life forevermore. He arrived at the first cliff around midday. Ah, just what I wanted. The head that peeked over the edge cried out when she saw him. Here is Prince Sigurður He shall go into the pot tonight Sigurður had seen the cliff to which the string pointed And readied the smallest ring As he saw a giant fish hook swinging through the air On the cliff above You're not gonna run? The woman asked Sigurður yelled a, uh, nope Oh Sounded from atop the cliff And the fish hook slowed I'm just gonna lower it then If you're okay with that The giant said honestly sounds a lot better than being hooked while running away Sigrether said as he stepped onto the hook I wouldn't know personally but from all the screaming and pleading it's probably better the giant's words were getting closer and closer that could be the me eating them part though there's a lot of confounding variables there you did hear that right about putting you in my pot yep yep yep Sigrether said they could talk about that he stepped from the fish hook to the grass of the cliff and dug in his pocket Before they got to that, he had something for her. His fingers came out of the pocket with a golden ring, the smallest one, and a message. As the first giant sister read the message and inspected the ring, she nodded. All right. Not eating, at least not immediately. Apparently Sigurður loved to wrestle? That's weird. Sigurður said he didn't love to wrestle. He was told she... It says right here, you love to wrestle. The woman pointed to the letter. Wrestling fiend. Can't get enough of it. I'm curious why you think wrestling a giantess is a good idea. So I want to see how this plays out for you. That's actually the only reason I'm not putting you directly into the pot. Sigurther sighed. Yeah, whatever. Wrestling it is. Tap out or I knock you out. You can take a flying elbow drop and a pile driver, but not a sleeper hold. The giantess guffawed. Sigurther tapped her forearm and she released him. You sure you're not secretly into wrestling? Sigurther asked when he caught his breath. There was no shame, really. It's kind of pretty fun. I have no idea why you'd think that. The giantess shook her head. Sigurther pointed out that she knew a lot of wrestling terms and famous wrestlers, and oh, also, the wrestling ring she had in the basement area of her cave. That's actually a natural formation. It came with the cave, she said. Sigurther said, yeah, okay. Hey, did she happen to have anything to drink? She smiled, but it was one of those Grinch smiles. The one that curls halfway up your face and does not look good or safe. Sure, she had just the thing. Oh, wow. She was right, Sigurther said after he guzzled the liquid. What did my sister tell you? It wasn't poison, if that's what you're wondering. The giant's eyes grew wide. Weird thing to say if it's not poison, Sigurther's own eyes narrowed. Why? I'm just stating what the drink is, or rather, what it is not, because it's not poison. It would be weird if I was like, that drink is not a squirrel, because it's clearly not. The giant laughed. Okay, I'm going to let you think about that afterward, because that line of reasoning does not help your case. Ready to get back to it? Sigurther stepped back into the ring, and pinned the giant with one hand behind his back. The not-poison, which was actually poison to anyone who hadn't been prepared for it, had the opposite effect, temporarily increasing his abilities 20-fold. Sigurther won Not too surprising with some performance poison but very surprising to the giantess who had new respect for the kid and the mother that raised him to literally tackle any obstacle especially with half of his body burned and the other half withered. That night, with Sigurd as a welcomed guest in the giantess' house slash cave, he told her all about the life that Ingi Bjork had with the king, and left the following morning, the giantess waving from the hill behind him. Sigurður took out the red gold ring, the largest one that Inge Bjorg had sent with him. He stood before the third giant sister as she read the missive from Inge Bjorg and looked the kid up and down. Without a word, she waved him into the following room. Oh, wow, another cave with this completely naturally formed rustling ring. Crazy. The giant just squinted. Was he making fun of her? What was he talking about? Naturally forming rustling rings? That's ridiculous. She built this. It cost a ton of money, but she loved wrestling. Did he have a problem with that? Sigurther, catching up to this giant's confidence and self-assurance, said absolutely not. It was just, you know, never mind. Because if he did, she had something for him. And that something was a flying elbow as their wrestling match started. And sorry to repeat moves, I don't know too many wrestling moves. It ended the same way as the other two, slowly and exhaustingly, and then very quickly when the giantess gave him the drink from the horn that multiplied his strength. When Sigurður finished counting and let the third giantess go, she smiled. But it wasn't a sinister smile, like when they all offered him the drinks. It was genuine. He followed her eyes as she gestured to his left side, and, looking down at his hand, he watched the burns come together and disappear, like water evaporating in the sun. He took a deep breath and found the agony that plagued him for the last few days gone. He had been healed. I see now, Sigurther said, as he stretched his fingers and then balled his hand into a fist, marveling that he could do that without pain with the left hand and make a fist at all with the right, the one that had been withered. I see now that you never intended to hurt me. You were maybe just stung that your sister had this whole life without you, and you just wanted to be a part of it. So you encouraged her to send me to learn more about me and her. Sigurther smiled. What? No, I definitely meant to hurt you. I don't like it when people lie to me or are sneaky and you two are both. And getting you to come here was basically getting you to admit that, the giantess said. Oh, but seeing how she cared for you even with how nasty you were to her, I'm happy for you both, the giantess smiled. Sigurther unrolled his bedroll while the giantess was in the other room getting some mutton and mead, and she came back. Um, what was he doing? Staying? Nope, she said to the kid, who was clearly misreading a number of things regarding her appetite for heartwarming family togetherness. Okay, like, don't make a show of awkwardly packing up your bedding. You were the one who took it out and wanted to sleep here uninvited, the giantess said. Plus, he had to go meet her. Sigurður spun, Her? Yes, her. There's always a her. Helga. She described Helga, a young giantess who, like the sisters in Ingeborg, had been born on Midgard. As Sigurður packed up and made ready to leave, the elder sister told him how to find her, and if he hurried, he might be able to catch her while she was still out exploring the forest. Go, Sigurður, son of Ingeborg. You are one of us now, one of the Jatnar. you are stronger than you've ever been she cupped his face in his hands before waving at him as he strode off down the hill stronger than he'd ever been? yes stronger than Helga's father one of the greatest of the Jotun a king in exile? absolutely not and he would do what neither she nor her sisters had been able to We'll see what happens when Sigurther tries to woo a giant princess with her angry giant dad around and able to smell humans, but that will, once again, be right after this. This episode is sponsored by BetterHelp. You know, we're not snakes, this might come as a surprise to you, or phoenixes. It's not like a new year happens and we shed our skin and bam, it's a new you. 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That is how you get to the best in your electric Ford Explorer. To load it again. Ready, vanaf 35.950 euro. Met een rijbereik tot wel 602 kilometer. Boek nu jouw proefrit op Ford.nl. Ready, set, Ford. Helga was a girl. About his age, maybe a little younger, she was playing with a boat on the seashore when Sigurður called out a... Hello? Helga? She looked up with a smile, mainly because she and her father had been living in this lonely forest her whole life, and he had spared her the terrors of their homeland, so she didn't know that if strange dudes who know your name approach you on the beach, you don't necessarily need to be wary, but maybe learn a little bit more about them before inviting them to play. She was younger than Sigurther, but old enough so it wasn't like, oh, boys are gross, but more, boys are gross, but also, hello. The fact that Sigurður was a very handsome, slightly older boy went a long way winning her trust. Given the customs around hospitality in the ancient medieval world, it's less weird that Sigurður asked if he could stay at her house than it would be, say, today. But, well, not to be inhospitable, but her father was extremely inhospitable. He had been hurt before. By Thor. A lot. She didn't know this, and only saw him being paranoid of the world that had, at the very worst, only been extremely boring for Helga, never dangerous. As they chatted and walked, she said yes. He could stay. He didn't see her slip on her glove. As the sun faded, and the trees were little more than black veins and plumes on a blue-purple sky, Sigurther approached the house, the house that, for a cabin in the woods with two people in it, was grander and stronger than any longhouse or palace he had ever seen, mainly because he had seen exactly zero palaces and only his father's longhouse, and one other when he was four and went to the all-thing with his father, but he barely remembered that. This was like something out of legend. Massive timbers hemmed with gold stretched into the darkness, beyond torches burning before him, and a large, heavy, ornately carved wooden door stood up only a few short stone stairs. Sorry in advance, Helga said, and raised her hand. Why? You've been nothing but loving, Sigurther said as she waved her hand over his head, but he didn't get to finish that sentence. When her arm completed its arc, the bundle of wool that used to be him bounced softly on the path. Helga scooped it up, took off the glove, and brought Sigurther inside. Oh, what is that smell? The giant father's scraggly beard contorted, and his nostrils flared. Then he stood and went for his club, wiping the grease from dinner on his furs. Human. He smelled human. Father, please, Helga said. Did you speak to a human today? Is there a human here? The giant spun, tossing another log toward the hearth so he could see better. It's sheep, father. I sheared sheep today. You're smelling sheep, Helga said. Raising up the bundle, he eyed it suspiciously. You always told me that humans smelled like sheep, but worse, so that's probably it? The giant dad relaxed. Yeah, they did smell horrible. He cracked a smile, but she was sure she hadn't seen a human out there, right? Humans worshipped the Aesir, and they hated giants because all they believed about them was what Thor and Odin told them to believe. Don't giants eat humans sometimes too? Helga asked. Sometimes we'll eat sheep and they're still cool with us. The giant went back to his porridge that did not contain any human. Helga went to bed excited that night. Excited that she had a friend. Excited that she had managed to sneak him past her father. And excited that she had met a boy. Lovely to me. Sigurther said the following morning, after Helga waved her glove over the bundle of wool, after breakfast, and after her father had gone off in the forest to cut wood. Wait, wasn't it just night? Helga pressed a bundle into his hands, saying it was breakfast. Come on. She packed him breakfast. They had the whole day to play. Breakfast, he looked down at the apples, bread, and cheese. You mean dinner, right? Helga? Sigurther called after her, and then took off in a jog to go find her. Okay, I still have a lot of questions, Sigurður said after the pair spent the whole day together, exploring and playing and talking. They had more in common than either of them thought, and at the end of the day, when she invited him back to stay at her father's house, He didn't want to leave her side. But he was confused. Last night she put on a glove, and mid-sentence, night became day. Yes, that is what's happening. Helga smiled as she slipped on the glove. Okay, but... Sigurður watched with trepidation. As her outstretched hand waved over his head, in an instant, it was morning. See, just like that. My father's gone and we have the whole day. He traveled on Yggdrasil, the world tree, so he wasn't even on Midgard at the moment, which meant she threw open the door. Sigurður could come inside. Okay, but Sigurður continued what he had been saying the night before, or to him, about 12 seconds ago. If the time just passed like that for both of us, how do you know where your dad went? And where'd you get breakfast for me? And how are you wearing different clothes? She laughed and waved for him to come inside. The house was amazing, and this was from a kid who was an actual prince. Riches and storehouses of food, games he had never heard of, tomes, probably, though the cultures of this time and region weren't known for their written records. Helga showed him everything, looping keys from one side of the ring to the other as they went through the rooms. Well, that's it, Helga said, squinting out the window. Some was still in an okay spot, but she had been keeping an eye on it, for both of their sakes. Um, but you have a key remaining, Sigurther pointed. Helga looked down. Yes. He followed her furtive glance down some darkened stairs at the end of the hallway. It's not something I can open. Helga called out after him as he descended the stairs. She caught up to him in front of the heavy iron door. Okay, we gotta open it. Sigurther stood inspecting the door. I can't. I promised I would never open it. Helga crossed her arms. Sigurther knocked on the door. Wow, it just, like, ate the sound. It must be thick. He turned. Do you know what he wouldn't do if he wanted you to never open it? He wouldn't have given you a key. Besides, don't you want to know if there are bodies behind it? What? Why would there be bodies? Okay, if it's not bodies, I'll tell you the story of Bluebeard. If it is bodies, that's pretty much the story of Bluebeard. All right, come on, open, open, open. Sigurther slapped the door. To Helga's credit, it took about 10 more minutes and all Sigurther's persuasive powers to get her to put the key in the lock. And when she did, a click that was more of a thud echoed throughout the house. Couple things, if you've never felt an old bank vault door, like one of those Scrooge McDuck circular ones that are about a foot thick, they are heavy and hard to move, even if they're on an oiled hinge. So, opening an iron door is a choice, and it requires a ton of effort. Secondly, this does make me think of Bluebeard, and the 1989 movie Little Nemo Adventures in Slumberland, where Little Nemo turns a key to a forbidden door and awakens the Nightmare King. That scene messed me up as a six-year-old, and I posted a link to it in the show notes. Inside the Giant's Vault, though, wasn't a Nightmare King or piles of corpses, but four things. A lantern sputtered to life when they entered the room revealing a horse stall and a horse Goldfoxy his horse It means golden mane It was a beautiful horse but Sigur was more interested in the sword that hung above it. Battle plume, Helga said. Gunfjður. And that? Sigurður pointed to a sign that read, he who rides this horse and wears this sword will find happiness. And the stone and twig that appeared to be in the highest place of honor? The sign was self-explaining, sort of like a Viking version of live, laugh, love, but the rock, stick, and twig less so. But Helga picked up the slack there, saying that the rock and stick and twig were even more valued than Gultfaxian Goonfuther. The twig, if thrown on the ground, would generate a massive forest no one could pass through. When it came to the stick and stone, if you struck the stick with the stone or the stone with the stick, transitive property, I guess, hailstones the size of pigeon's eggs would fall from the sky and kill everyone 20 miles around. Helga's face contorted in horror as Sigurther scooped up the sword, twig, and stone off the shelf with a single motion. What was he doing? Uh, riding the horse. It says if you ride the horse, you'll find happiness. I mean, who doesn't want happiness? Sigurther scoffed, grabbing a saddle from the wall. No, no, no, you can't ride it. He'll know. Helga scrambled. But Sigurður told her to relax. He wouldn't take it out, he would just ride it around the house. It was a test drive horse. Wouldn't even take it off the lot. Maybe Helga thought that this was reasonable. That her dad wouldn't be able to tell someone had ridden his horse around the house when he could smell humans even when they were in the form of a bale of wool. Maybe she wanted to believe him. That it would be okay. When the horse exploded out the front door of the house with Sigurður on top of it, she knew she had been so, so wrong to trust him. Sigurður knew he had at most an hour or two to put as much distance between himself and the giant as he could. It took the giant 45 minutes to catch up. Sigurður was happy the horse didn't need to take breaks and could gallop for 20 miles straight. He also hoped that this particular happiness wasn't the promised happiness because while it was nice, it was also just okay. The ground rumbled as Sigurður dared look behind him. The giant tore through anything before him in a mad dash to get his horse, sword, and magic items back. Maybe you're wondering why the giant would even need the horse when he could run 20 miles faster than it could gallop. Sigurður dug into his pockets and found... Grimast, hoping that the twig the giant had prized was more than just a twig. And it was. Where it landed, roots took hold. And from those roots, more trees sprouted until, in moments, a forest stood between him and the giant. And moments after that, the forest was in the sky. The giant, on his end, waved his hand, and the first half of the trees merely drifted off into the sky like dandelion seeds. While the second half exploded out in splinters, barely slowing the giant down. As the horse kept galloping, Sigurður was struck by two things. One, the first item worked, hey, that's cool, it made a forest. It hadn't worked in that he had been able to escape, but he could be assured the second would work. That meant killing him. the giant, Helga's father. He barely knew Helga, but she had been kind to him. It felt wrong, then, to kill her father. You know, he knew how he felt when his own mother... Oh my gosh, that guy was really close. Okay, he took out the stick and stone, raised the stick, and... thought better of it. No. He should turn around first. He did so, holding the stone off the back of the horse and tapping it with the stick. Mere inches from where his hand hung in the air, stones flew from the sky, pulverizing and pummeling the giant's outstretched arm. And also the rest of him, killing him in an instant under a hail of rocks the size of pigeon's eggs. Sigurður rode onward, not slowing for a moment until sunset, when he could finally stop and breathe. He had done it. He had escaped and slain the giant in the process, despite that really being more of a robbery and murder situation. Sigurður awoke the next morning to sobbing. At first he thought it was Helga and felt really bad. Then he realized it was a dog and felt really confused. Hey there, dog. Sigurther patted the dog on his head as its face streaked with tears. He sat up from his pack next to the cold black logs of last night's fire and said to himself that he knew there was something important about crying dogs and not just that dogs can't cry in the traditional sense unless you count watery discharge, which he didn't and- Mom! Inky Bjorg's dog, that he had been introduced to briefly right before he left, but he imagined had been there the whole time. He thanked the puppy, leapt atop Gutafaxi, and, recognizing the roads and the far-off hills in the daylight, knew the way home. Burn her! Burn! The nine men yelled. Burn her! Yeah, this is really fun, by the way. One said as he cinched the hands of Queen Inky Bjorg, behind a pole. I've been trying to get out more and meet people, and I really like the communal nature of mob summary executions. You know, I thought, like, pickleball or a book club would do it, but this really has all the same community stuff I'm looking for, plus an intoxicating level of moral outrage and violence that book clubs and pickleball only sometimes have. It's too bad witches can't kill the prince every week, you know? Oh yeah, burn her! So fun. Burn her indeed, one of the longer time members laughed. Fun thing about witches is that they could be anywhere. Inge Bjorg struggled against the ropes and chewed on the gag and the new guy, watching the spray of sparks catch the end of a torch, looked up. Hey, um, my first time, so you know, take my observations with a grain of salt. But what if the prince the witch killed is riding toward us, yelling with a sword out? Pretty specific question, but I like that you're curious, the more experienced guy said. Well, I would probably chalk that up to an illusion, you know, witch stuff. But what if we're wrong, though? The new guy watched as Sigurther, still a bit of a distance away, moved closer at a quickening pace. That's the thing. We have fail-safes for this sort of thing. The veteran witch hunter finished tightening the bonds. If the kid is an illusion, he'll disappear when we burn her. If he doesn't disappear, she wasn't a witch, he said with a wink. That makes so much sense, the new guy smiled. A supplementary sort of follow-up question. What if the illusion stabs us and it hurts? The more experienced man was waving for the torches to get this party started. Um, well, that's not really an illusion anymore. That's definitely some sort of dark, cursed magic, and thus a way worse offense. And it's a good thing we're burning her, you know? He turned back to the new guy. I really appreciate your interest. You're going to go far in the world of outrage-driven, baseless summary executions. Then he paused. Oh, oh, you're dead, he said to the new guy, who was sliding off the sore Goonfutur. He looked up in terror at Sigurður, the prince they were doing all this for, and screamed something about necromancy as the kid raised his sword. Sigurður squinted and tried to line the sword up to cut the knot that bound his stepmom's wrists. Yes, I'll try it. You're gonna cut my hands off. What? Sigurther leaned. Take the gag off. Take a good shot? Yeah, I'm trying, Sigurther said. Take the gag off. Oh, yeah, sorry, of course. Here, Sigurther took out the gag. Oh, thank you. Also, please don't cut the rope. My hands are right there. Just untie it. There's no rush now, Ingi Bjork said. And she was right. The nine men trying to burn her were all dead. They died committed to their delusion that the kid slaying them was the reanimated corpse of the prince the queen had killed and completely refusing to see that they had been wrong at all. Ingi Bjorg was silent when she looked on the sword. Oh, yeah, he gave that to me, Zurgurther chuckled. People only lie to someone when they fear them, and you have nothing to fear from me. He was a king in our lands, but he fled from Thor and ended up here. and Gibiorg looked on the ground. But if he was your king and fought Thor, Sigurður stood puzzled. Thor might be bad, but that doesn't make him good, she said. Now come, let's go find your father. As we talked about, the king doesn't have the healthiest of responses to grief. The execution of his wife, thankfully, was not one such response, because his reaction was to do what he did the last time. but without a burial mound to look on and weep. So he mainly wept in bed, not even rising when the mob came for Ingeborg. I don't know how, as a couple, you get past something like that, but I guess you don't marry someone who has been sitting crying by a burial mound for two years straight without some understanding of his response to stress. The king, happy that Sigurður was alive, marveled at his son's adventures. But Sigurður, at the end of his story, said he had one adventure left. Love. So there are two ways to look at Helga being forced to marry Sigurther, the kid who robbed them and killed her father. Actually, just one way that makes any sense to me, she was alone in a world that she wasn't prepared for. And upon seeing Inge Bjork, and knowing that at least one of her people was here, she could make peace with the idea of being married to Sigurther. It wasn't happily ever after, but it was better than the alternative. And for her, at least until Ragnarok, when the giants would have their revenge on the Aesir, that would be enough. Like I said in the intro, the specific Norse myth bits were just my additions, but it did help to add a little dimension to the giant characters. What's interesting, too, is that the story is fairly sympathetic towards the giants. Not the king who was killed, but Ingeborg definitely, who actually subverts the trope of an evil stepmother we've seen so much by being both a literal monster to the humans and also pretty cool. Also, the protagonist marries a giant, which, yeah, I don't think we're supposed to see it as forcing her into marriage against her will because, well, the story doesn't seem to care about her will at all. Not sure if that little wrinkle is a product of its time or the translation or what. If you're interested in Norse myth, we burned through those very early on the podcast. I haven't listened to them in years. I don't know how good they are quality-wise, but I did link to a bunch of those episodes in the show notes. The creature this time is the Ipupiare from Brazil. The creature is, ostensibly, a merman. The name apparently literally means Seaman, man from the sea. Yeah, it's about 15 feet long. Like most mythological creatures and some heroes, he enjoys crushing his enemies with a hug. Like almost no one but the Apupiata, he only eats eyes, noses, fingers, and other parts that sort of extend from the body, which, if you're wondering, yes. It's covered in hair and has a bristly mustache, apparently keeping up with the trends. If you're wondering how to defeat this creature, it has one weakness that we know about. Being stabbed in the stomach. I, and probably many others, also have that weakness. But the death of Anupubiara was apparently documented by a Portuguese historian and chronicler in 1564. And no, they didn't have photos back then, but they did the next best thing, and drew a picture. I posted that picture on the site. There has been a transition from the conception of merperson in Brazilian culture, from the Ipupiara, the big, hairy, and evil merperson, to the idea of the Iara, the mother of water, a beautiful, feminine creature that kind of represents the colonial influence of Europe. Since, according to a folklorist of Brazil, no one in colonial times would ever consider a merperson to be beautiful. And yeah, the Ipupiara is not beautiful. In fact, and this is just me saying this, 15 foot long, stinky, hairy guy with a mustache that crushes people with their weight. While my son would use this as a very solid burn and say something like, oh, is that my dad you're talking about? I did have a mustache last year, but to me it seems like just a walrus that somehow found its way down to Brazil. That's it for this time. Myths and Legends is by Jason and Carissa Weiser. Our theme song is by Broke for Free, and the Creature of the Week music is by Steve Combs. There are links to even more of the music we used in the show notes. Thank you so much for listening, and we'll see you next time. Starting a business can be overwhelming. You're juggling multiple roles, designer, marketer, logistics manager, all while bringing your vision to life. 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