Scandinavian sagas. Vikings are the people of the saga. Life and manners Scandinavian myths read

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viking

Chapter first,
which, in fact, is both the beginning and the end of the history of dreng1
Dreng- junior warrior of the Scandinavian squad. Ulf the Blackhead

Noreg 2
Noreg- Norwegian. Ancient. Accordingly, Dan is a Dane, Svei is a Swede. Although they themselves were more often called not by nationalities, but by regions. Jutlanders, Halogalands, etc. Outsiders called all this Scandinavian brethren collectively: Normans or Nurmans, that is, people of the north. It is likely that later the Norwegians were called that in the first place. They are the northernmost of the Scandinavians. Noreg also means the northern way.

He was as big as a rearing Subaru Impreza. Huge, wide, and as fast as the car I drove in that world.

Noreg had a glorious name - Thorson, which means - the son of Thor, and I would not call him glorious. In any case, in my usual sense of the word.

The fame of this pirate (sea, as they said here) jarl was of an exceptionally unpleasant quality and was determined by the number of people that Thorson Jarl chopped with his hefty sword. And the sword of the red-bearded Viking was impressive. A long "one and a half" blade, very similar (although noticeably heavier) to the one that would later be called the "bastard". In the local way - a bastard.

There was nothing humiliating either in the word or in the sword. Any jarl (including mine) has a whole brood of bastards.

Even born to slave mothers, they are still bigger, stronger, and faster than their uterine relatives, and can even count on a military career. Of course, if dad deigns to give mother freedom. Here in Denmark, by law, the son inherits the mother's lot.

Thorson's "bastard", which was a little short of a full-fledged two-hander, was as much larger than my sword as the red-bearded one was myself.

However, in practice, my blade was in no way inferior to the “bastard”. The mark "Ulfberht", familiar to me from toy life, says a lot to a knowledgeable person.

It was because of the stigma that I acquired this wonderful sword six days ago.

If a weapon can last a thousand years, it will definitely last for my lifetime. The wondrous blade was worthy of its own name, and I gave it that name. Widowmaker. So to speak, in the spirit of the era. I don't know if Earl Thorson is married. But, even if he is single, this will not interfere with the Widowmaker. In any case, I hope so.

Yes, let me introduce myself: Ulf the Blackhead. Why black-headed, it is understandable. And Ulf called himself at one time for opportunistic reasons. Vikings favor wolfs. Feel the natural affinity.

AT toy My life was called not so figuratively. Nikolai Grigorievich Perelyak, it was listed in my passport. But in the local society it is better not to present yourself with a "Rumiian" name. And the last name doesn't fit at all. Perelyak in the local Slovene dialect means "fright". Do I need it?

... Noreg waved his shield, blocking my line of sight, and immediately cut down. With such a blow, you can cut off both legs at once. My legs are very dear to me, so I jumped in time, letting the “bastard” pass under me ... And in the next moment I realized that the two-meter killer was just waiting for such a high jump from me. Grinning joyfully, the red-haired bastard moved me with a shield from below.

I didn't go upside down just because I kicked off Thorson's shield just in time. Hop - and I'm back in a solid stance at a decent distance.

Thorson was surprised. I even stopped smiling. It must be assumed that until now the feint with the shield had turned out to be more effective for him. No doubt, the trick is good. Fortunately, I already knew some of the tricks and tricks of the hefty sea robbers, who inspired fierce fear in everyone, except for the same thugs as themselves. And many more tricks. Hundreds, and even thousands of tricks invented by mankind over thousands of years of polishing the art of unearthing an important piece for life from the carcass of one's neighbor. And only thanks to this knowledge, I have so far managed to save my only and very beloved skin from irreversible damage. The Bastard, which the red-bearded thug Thorson swung with the ease of a French duelist wielding a thin skewer, tore and shredded the air with the power and speed of an industrial fan. A two-meter-long fellow in pood armor, with a pood shield in his hairy paw, jumped easily, like a ballerina. And at the same time he managed to inflict almost two blows per second. Yes, such a blow that would have destroyed a railway sleeper. And this is not hyperbole, but reality. Five minutes ago, I saw a red-bearded meat eater in two swings, effortlessly, finished off a great guy and a strong combatant Frolav, who was certainly stronger than a sleeper.

Bach - and flattening on the ground. Bach - and half of the second shield in the same place. And along with it, half the skull of a nice Danish guy who volunteered to go out against a two-meter machine of self-mutilation named Thorson Jarl.

If I had my way, I would shoot this bipedal lizard from a safe distance. I think three good archers would be enough.

But such an option was, according to local concepts, in bad taste. My jarl would lose face forever and, with it, the respect of the "electorate".

But to put up a volunteer-combatant instead of yourself is normal.

I was the second candidate for the meat grinder.

It's nice to see the astonished faces of King Ragnar and his thugs as I stepped forward.

Ragnar's son, Bjorn Ironside, even muttered something ironic...

I understood him. They wanted a beautiful fight and doubted that I would succeed.

And I didn't doubt it. Even if the bloodthirsty "son of Thor" dismembered my mortal body, this process would take much more than a minute. Thorson will have to deal with me. I'll bet he'll be sweating and out of breath before one of us leaves for Valhalla. And if that one is me...

Also not useless. By tiring Thorson, I will make it easier for my Jarl to survive.

...At first, I hoped that the furious Viking wasted himself before me. Jarl did not live up to expectations. We've been raising the dust for about ten minutes now, and the red-bearded mixture of orangutan and industrial meat grinder is cheerful, like a young cockerel on a warm May morning. But I'm an uncomfortable opponent for him. Atypical. First, I fight without a shield. Second, I'm doing it wrong.

Here, as is customary: when such a working model of Gigantopithecus rushes at you with a greedy roar, you (if you, of course, are a specific local kid in authority) rush towards you with the same lustful roar. Bang-boom - and someone's shield (this is with a bloodless result of a collision) turns into stove kindling. Since each combatant has a couple more spares, the procedure is repeated until everyone is smashed to pieces. Or earlier, if the owner of the shield did not show the necessary agility. Whatever it was, the ending is clear. One less meat lover.

With me, the traditional number did not work. When the bestial Viking, with gaping toothy maw, rushed at me, I dodged to the side with the elegance of a torero and gently poked him in the kidney with my sword.

To indescribable regret, the named son of the goat-loving god 3
For those who are not in the know: the god Thor, who loves aiming hammers, rides a team of carnivorous goats, which he devours from time to time. However, with proper observance of the technology of eating, the goats successfully regenerate from a pile of bones, and the procedure can be repeated anew.

Turned out to be much more agile than a bull (I know, with a bull in toy I also played my life), turned around at full gallop and not only covered my mighty lower back with the edge of the shield, but also kicked me. True, it did not last.

That's how we've been dancing ever since. Jump-jump, puff, puff. Each "fut" could be the last for me, because it was a "fut" of a helicopter blade. I didn't even try to fend off Thorson's valiant blows. All my art, all the filigree honed ability to knock out the opponent's sword turned out to be powerless against a paw, strong as a carriage hitch.

He tried once - and did not try again, almost being left without a sword. He just spun and galloped like a mountain goat, dodging either a sword or a shield, with which the red-bearded killer wielded like a tennis player with a ping-pong racket.

However, I have already mentally thanked God several times for the fact that the Noreg King Kong armed himself with a shield, and not with an axe. Retreat he, like me, from the glorious traditions of holmgang 4
Holmgang duel in Old Norse. More details below.

- and with a high degree of probability I would have already settled on the grass with a bunch of viscera sauced with the contents of my blood vessels rich in hemoglobin.

Finally, the living blender with a meter-long blade paused. Not because I'm tired. He became interested. How so? He has been wielding his wonderful fly swatter for five minutes, and the harmful insect is still alive?

Now he should be cheered up. Best of all - to mortally offend. Which is what I did.

Noreg did not condescend to a verbal skirmish.

This is right. In such cases, arguing and making excuses is a sure way to become a laughing stock. It's easier to kill the offender. Let the sword have its say. The corpse of the enemy is the most convincing victory in intellectual discussion. This is real life here. And I like this life. Bye. Because the red-bearded Thorson has a very serious chance to add the unpleasant verb "was" to the name Ulf Blackhead. Well, if I am destined to burn in the flames of a funeral pyre today, I still do not regret anything. The months that I spent here are worth many years of life there.

And it all started like this...

Chapter two
in which the hero takes an unequal battle and suffers the first losses

My dad is a businessman. Small, but enough to live on. For food, mistresses, the 200th Mercedes and skiing in Switzerland. Dad is a smart man. Didn't burrow.

Even when I became a recognized authority (sports, not criminal) and got very respectable friends, dad still paid for the "roof" and the cops, and officials, and "blue". Little by little, but carefully. But all the same, the governor's "reforms" survived him from his hometown. I offered to help (“check out” the gift blade was required by many city “bumps”), but dad refused. And a year ago he went to the outback.

How did it happen to me? And here it is! There are people who always get what they want. I am one of them. The main thing here is how you want to. I wanted it qualitatively: the current life is tired to the point of nausea.

That is, everything was not bad for me, but around ... Damn!

In a word, I felt that a little more - and I would kill someone. Someone who just turned up under the arm.

It was possible to go beyond the cordon ... But that would be an escape. And an admission of defeat. I didn't like to lose since childhood.

In general, once, after another role-playing game, where, in general, nice guys, they are not very skillfully hitting each other with blunt swords (an average candidate for a master of sports in saber would “chop” them all in five minutes), and then they drink vodka very skillfully under a fragrant kebab, I did everything.

He despised his duties as an arbiter, moved away into the woods, closed his eyes and prayed to the One Above: "Make my life such that I am in it - like a blade in a well-fitted scabbard." And my desire was so sharp and unbearable that my head was cut off completely.

However, the One Above, heeded. And even showed a remarkable sense of humor.

When Kolya Perelyak (that is, me) woke up, his ears were ringing, and his back was naked and bitten by mosquitoes.

And Kolya lay naked and barefoot, on the bare ground, or rather, on bare dry thorns, and good-natured forest goosebumps paved the path along the tender parts of his chilled body.

Contrary to common clichés, I did not begin to think about the fact that I was cracked in the head and robbed. I somehow immediately, purely mystically realized: the heart-rending cry of my yearning soul was heard and satisfied.

Therefore, I raised the chilled organism to a vertical position, shook off the ants and needles from it, straightened my shoulders and, with a trembling heart, set off in search of adventure.

Which did not keep you waiting.

From time immemorial, when brave men beat the beast and each other, their beautiful girlfriends are gathering. Having huddled together in a cheerful flock, the lovely girls go to the dense forest to pick mushrooms and berries. In order not to lose each other and prevent other unpleasant surprises, the girls are supposed to call each other loudly. Or at least go around... Otherwise, as we know from fairy tales, they run the risk of running into an unpleasant surprise.

Like a naked man, for example. Me, that is.

A young girl, a rosy-cheeked, strong blonde in an archaic (as I then decided) outfit, with a basket and a staff, suddenly appeared on my way for both of us.

What does a blonde think when she stumbles upon a naked man in a suburban forest?

She thinks: maniac.

Rather, MANIAC!

So I naturally opened my mouth to explain that it was not at all the one she thought. That I am good...

Did not have time.

Seeing my muscular torso and everything that grew from this torso, the girl did not scream heart-rendingly, did not groan and did not turn away delicately, but glanced tenaciously - as if she had photographed ... And whistled so that a football referee would envy her. And then she belligerently took the staff, one and a half meters long, at the ready.

At the whistle from the nearest bush, growling fiercely, a dog the size of a South Russian Shepherd Dog and about the same woolly broke out. Without bothering to bark warningly, she immediately began to clack her teeth and definitely expected to bite off something.

If I had at least a baseball bat at hand, I would easily prove the priority of the higher mind over the wild animal elements. But, being in euphoria from the miracle that happened (and not everything settled down in my head yet), I, careless, did not even bother to get a simple stick. For which he paid.

Have you ever tried to fight off a dog weighing three pounds, being what the mother gave birth to?

Didn't have to? Happy for you.

Before I contrived to grab the dog by the tangled fur and partially immobilize it, she managed to grab me by both hands (I was just lucky - she was aiming in a completely different place) and tear her stomach with her claws. The result is a stalemate. As long as I hold the dog, he cannot bite. But I can’t do anything to her either, because my hands are busy. However, I would not dare to call it a draw. The dog was intact, and the moisture of life flowed out of me in vigorous streams.

Should not forget about the blonde. This brave girl resolutely crept up from behind and hit me with a stick. It was aimed at the head, but I dodged, and the blow fell on the ridge. Not pleasant either. But I got a chance. Pulling myself up, I threw the dog away, gaining a second and a half. This was enough to disarm the blond warrior and meet the shaggy biter at its true worth: with a biting blow across the muzzle. Got lucky. On the nose.

While the dog was in trouble, I knocked out of the girl’s hand a decent-sized knife that replaced the taken stick, stopped the dog’s high jump with this very stick (the bloodthirsty beast was aiming at the neck) and undertook to teach the man’s friend the basics of good manners. I started with a full-fledged poke in the belly and further on the program.

It took a minute for the lesson to be learned, and the dog retreated with a plaintive squeal. I never thought that the shaggy monster was capable of taking such high notes.

Unfortunately, while I was teaching, the owner of the dog also gave a tear.

I, however, got a trophy: half a basket of blueberries and a linen rag, which would have been quite suitable as a loincloth. However, I found another use for it: I tore it in half and bandaged the bites, after disinfecting them with my own saliva. Fortunately, the dog's fangs did not damage any major vessels, so the bleeding soon stopped. But the bites didn't stop hurting. A knife would have come in very handy, but the girl managed to pick it up.

I had to settle for a stick. A strong stick with a burnt tip is also capable of much in skilled hands. The furry dog will confirm if in doubt.

Then I ate the berries, carefully put the basket on the stump and went to where the dog had fled. And having stumbled a little later on a well-marked path, he completely perked up. I really hoped that she would lead me to a place to live. And there waiting for food, clothing and medical care. I really hoped that the natives would be more disposed to a modest guest than to a forest savage.

Oh, how wrong I was!

chapter three
in which the hero meets the natives and tries to build a dialogue

The first thing I found was a cutout. Someone walked with an ax through a young birch forest. And he did it rather carelessly: twigs, branches and even smaller birch trees were lying in disarray on the ground.

The path rounded the clearing (luxurious clean boletus trees adorned its “roadsides”) and led to the field. That is, this meadow planted with some kind of cereal could be called a field with a big stretch. Its area was ten acres, no more. Around there were trees with burnt trunks and in the corner - a bunch of burnt stumps.

This is where it dawned on me. Yes, you, Father Nikolai Light Grigorievich, have failed in the past! Slash-and-burn agriculture, that's what it's called. Inherent in primitive cultures. The technology, by the way, is simple: we cut down the forest, what is larger - we remove, what is smaller - we leave for a year, then we burn it. A year later (where to hurry?) We tidy up the site a little, then harrow, sow and harvest a meager crop. Why meager? Because that's how I remember it from the history textbook. It's with historical fencing I'm doing well, but with agriculture - so-so. On top. Excuse me.

However, it doesn't matter. It was more important that further, beyond the field, a wonderful view of a small lake opened up, on the shore of which nets dried on sticks and the carcass of an overturned boat blackened next to the walkways. And higher, on a hillock, a strong log house stood proudly, surrounded by an equally strong fence. The rural idyll was supplemented by domestic animals nibbling grass: a big-headed small horse and an equally small cow, around which a spotted bull the size of an old dog was spinning.

Aha! And here is the dog!

The shaggy dog flew towards me with a familiar menacing roar... Have you really forgotten your lesson?

No, I didn't forget. She slowed down at a respectful distance, but did not stop rage.

I thought about making a birch bough legging, but I imagined what my vidok would be like in such an outfit and decided: it’s better to stay naked. Anyone who does not like naturalism can turn away.

I was met. Squat, wider across himself, bearded, like an overgrown gnome, and a guy with brace haircut, who has not yet acquired such lush facial hair (due to his youth), but is just as wide and stocky. In the hands of the young man he held a hefty bow with a superimposed cut-arrow. His whole posture expressed readiness to shoot.

The elder bow did not have. But there was a spear with a thick shaft and a leaf-shaped tip the size of a gladius blade 5
gladius(gladius) - a short Roman sword.

Judging by the grip and stance, the bearded man was not a novice in spear combat.

And his paws were such that the shaft (thicker than my wrist) seemed to be a child's shovel in them.

I stopped.

For some time we looked at each other to the accompaniment of dogs barking.

The elder's loins were covered with leather, well-worn loose-fitting trousers, and the torso was covered with a washed-out embroidered shirt. On the hairy chest of the “gnome”, as wide as a tennis table, instead of a cross, there was a bunch of amulets. Role-playing reenactors have a lot of such goodness, but I smelled with my nose: these are not reenactors. These clothes and weapons differed from the "reenactment" ones, much like a theatrical sword from a real one. The couple was thoroughly authentic, primordial and natural, like an oak tree on a nearby hillock. Well - one more brick in the building of my hypothesis about the failure in the past.

- Yeah, - with an original accent, but quite in Russian, the elder finally spoke. “So you attacked my girl. Not good.

The young man immediately raised his bow. I got ready. But will I be able to repel an arrow fired from twenty paces? Big question...

“It’s like looking at who attacked whom,” I objected. - Is it okay to poison me with a dog?

- From what? - immediately changed the subject to "gnome".

Hmm… Strong question.

- Human.

“I can see for myself that he’s not a Leshak,” the bearded man grumbled.

“And Snowball is bullying him like a wolf,” said the young man.

The dog, guessing that it was about her, went into a fit of uterine rage.

Yes, Snowy. However, if this pile of wool should be washed properly ...

- Shut up! growled the dwarf.

Both shut up. Both young and doggy. How cut.

- Who are you? the bearded man said sternly. - Lyudin? Is it a runaway serf?

The choice, as you know, is obvious.

The gnome chuckled. Skeptical.

- What do you want?

Yep, that's the real question.

- Clothes, food, bites to heal! I showed the bandages on my hands.

- Viru, do you want to demand?

The young man snorted, but immediately made a stern face again.

I didn't understand the joke.

“Please help me,” I said humbly. - I'll work it out.

– Can you do what?

I shrugged.

- A lot.

How do you know that I can heal?

“I can heal myself. It would be than...

“Good,” the bearded man lowered his spear. - Byska!

The old blonde looked out of the gate.

“Give this one some ports and an old shirt. And then he walks like in a bath.

We played a little more silence while the blonde ran for clothes.

They didn’t invite me into the house, and I didn’t ask for it myself.

The blonde returned and brought the ordered ports and a shirt.

Pants were peculiar: no pockets, no buttons. On the belt there are holes through which the rope was passed. The shirt turned out to be even more primitive: two pieces of coarse linen, cut along with the sleeves and sewn together. There is a hole for the head.

All three of them, including the blonde, watched intently as I dressed.

Well, to hell with you, dear hosts! No, it's just amazing how much the presence of pants adds confidence. Some more shoes...

I looked at the feet of my benefactors. Yeah, the older one has something like leather sandals, and the younger one has ... bast shoes! From birch!

To my beautiful Elizabeth, Viking princess, who still has the blood of true Normans in her veins

Thanks

I express my sincere gratitude to Steve Cromwell, who created a magnificent cover for the book “The Viking Boat. White Strangers, which greatly contributed to its success, and who kindly agreed to create the same miracle with this novel. I am indebted to Cathy Lynn Emerson, author of the terrific Confrontation series and many other historical fiction novels, for generously sharing with me information about the use of medicinal herbs in the Middle Ages, and to Nathaniel Nelson, who has a truly encyclopedic knowledge of Norse mythology. . I am grateful to Edmund Jorgensen for helping me navigate the unfamiliar waters of Internet publishing.

And, as always, I bow to Lisa, who has been giving me her love and support for more than two decades.

Prologue
The saga of Thorgrim son of Ulf

Once upon a time there was a Viking named Thorgrim son of Ulf, who was called Thorgrim the Nightwolf.

He did not differ in either gigantic growth or shoulder width, but he possessed great strength and was considered an experienced and respected warrior, and at the same time earned himself the resounding fame of a poet. In his youth, he went on campaigns with a jarl, a wealthy husband called Ornolf the Restless.

Engaged in raids and robberies, Thorgrim became rich and married the daughter of Ornolf Hallber, a fair-haired beauty of a meek and gentle disposition, who bore him two healthy sons and two daughters. After this, Thorgrim decided to stay on his farm in Vik, in the country of Norway, and no longer go on raids.

As a farmer, Thorgrim Nightwolf also prospered. He won universal love and respect here.

Although he avoided excesses and was restrained in his speeches, since he did not find much pleasure in unrestrained fun, he was known as a hospitable and hospitable host, he never refused tired travelers an overnight stay and a place at his table. During the day, Thorgrim was distinguished by an enviable good nature and benevolence towards his people and slaves, but in the evenings he was often depressed and irritable, and then no one dared to approach him. Many secretly believed that Thorgrim was a werewolf, and despite the fact that no one could say with certainty that he had seen Thorgrim turn from a man into something else, they began to call him the Nightwolf.

Years passed, Ornolf the Restless grew old and fat, but did not lose his enterprise or thirst for activity.

After the wife of Thorgrim, whom he loved very much, died in childbirth with their second daughter, Ornolf persuaded Thorgrim to go again to seek his fortune across the seas.

By this time, Thorgrim's eldest son Oda had already become a man and had his own household and family. Although he possessed remarkable strength and a sharp mind, Thorgrim did not take him with him on a raid, believing that it was better for Odd and his family to stay at home - just in case.

Thorgrim's youngest son was named Harald.

He could not boast of a special mind, but he was distinguished by loyalty and diligence, and by the age of fifteen he had become such a strong man that he was already called none other than Harald the Strong Hand. Thorgrim, going on a campaign with Ornolf the Restless, took Harald with him in order to teach him the art of war. It was the year 852 according to the Christian calendar, and only one winter had passed since the day when Harald son of the Black was born, who was destined to become the first king of Norway, nicknamed Harald the Fair-Haired.

At that time, the Norwegians built a fort on the east coast of Ireland at a place that the Irish called Oak-Lynn. Ornolf decided to go there on his drakkar "Red Dragon", not suspecting that the Danes had driven the Norwegians out of there and captured the fortress.

On the way to Dub-Lynn, the Vikings plundered several ships, including the one on board which was the crown, which the Irish called the Crown of the Three Kingdoms. According to custom, the king who receives the Crown of the Three Kingdoms must command the neighboring states and their rulers. The crown was supposed to be handed over to the king in a place called Tara, and he intended to use the power given to him to drive the Normans out of Dub-Lynn, but Ornolf and his people, having seized the crown for personal use, violated these plans.

The loss of the crown led to great unrest among the Irish, and the king at Tara declared to his subjects: "We will stop at nothing, but we will return the crown to throw out these oak gall outside of our country." Oak gall the Irish in those days called the Danes, and they called the Norwegians fin gall.　

The king and his warriors tried to recapture the crown, as a result of which they had to endure many adventures and desperate battles with the Vikings.

Around this time, Olaf the White expelled the Danes from Dub-Linn.

Ornolf, Thorgrim, and those of their men who were still alive, entered into this battle, after which they were given a warm welcome in the fort. Indeed, Ornolf liked Dub-Lynn so much that he forgot to think that he needed to return to his wife, who was famous for her sharp tongue and quarrelsome disposition.

Thorgrim, on the other hand, quickly became bored with Ireland, and he only dreamed of returning to his farm in Wyck.

But the sea took the longship in which they sailed to Ireland, and Thorgrim began to look for another means for himself and Harald to get home.

SCANDINAVIAN SAGA

PART ONE. TALES ABOUT THE GODS

CREATING THE WORLD

At first there was nothing: no earth, no sand, no cold waves. There was only one black abyss, Ginnungagap. To the north of it lay the realm of mists Niflheim, and to the south the realm of fire Muspelheim. It was quiet, light and hot in Muspelheim, so hot that no one but the children of this country, the fiery giants, could live there, in Niflheim, on the contrary, eternal cold and darkness dominated.

But in the realm of fogs, the Gergelmir spring began to spring. Twelve powerful streams, Elivagar, took their source from it and flowed swiftly southward, plunging into the abyss of Ginnungagap. The bitter frost of the realm of fogs turned the water of these streams into ice, but the source of Gergelmir beat without ceasing, blocks of ice grew and moved closer and closer to Muspelheim. Finally, the ice came so close to the realm of fire that it began to melt. The sparks flying out of Muspelheim mixed with the melted ice and breathed life into it. And then a gigantic figure suddenly rose from the abyss of Ginnungagap over the endless expanses of ice. It was the giant Ymir, the first living creature in the world.

On the same day, a boy and a girl appeared under Ymir's left hand, and the six-headed giant Trudgelmir was born from his feet. Thus was the beginning of the family of giants - Grimtursen, cruel and treacherous, like ice and flame, who created them.

At the same time as the giants, the giant cow Audumbla arose from the melting ice. Four rivers of milk flowed from the teats of her udder, feeding Ymir and his children. There were no green pastures yet, and Audumbla grazed on the ice, licking the salty ice blocks. By the end of the first day, hair appeared on the top of one of these blocks, the next day - a whole head, by the end of the third day, the mighty giant Buri emerged from the block. His son Ber married the giantess Besla, and she bore him three sons-gods: Odin, Vili and Ve.

The god brothers did not like the world in which they lived, they did not want to demolish the domination of the cruel Ymir. They rebelled against the first of the giants, and after a long and bitter struggle, they killed him.

Ymir was so huge that all the other giants drowned in the blood gushing from his wounds, and the cow Audumbla also drowned. Only one of Ymir's grandsons, Bergelmir, managed to build a boat, on which he escaped with his wife.

Now no one prevented the gods from arranging the world as they wished. They made earth from Ymir's body, in the form of a flat circle, and placed it in the middle of a huge sea, which was formed from his blood. The gods named the land "Mitgard", which means "middle country". Then the brothers took Ymir's skull and made the vault of heaven out of it, they made mountains out of his bones, trees out of his hair, stones out of his teeth, and clouds out of his brain. Each of the four corners of the vault of heaven was folded by the gods in the form of a horn and planted in each horn according to the wind: in the north - Nordri, in the south - Sudri, in the west - Vestri and in the east - Austria. From the sparks that flew out of Muspelheim, the gods made stars and decorated the firmament with them. They fixed some of the stars motionless, while others, in order to find out the time, placed them so that they move in a circle, bypassing it in one year.

Having created the world, Odin and his brothers decided to populate it. One day, on the seashore, they found two trees: an ash and an alder. The gods cut them down and made a man out of ash and a woman out of alder. Then one of the gods breathed life into them, another gave them intelligence, and a third gave them blood and rosy cheeks. So the first people appeared, and they were called: the man - Ask, and the woman - Embla.

The gods and giants have not forgotten. Across the sea, east of Mitgard, they created the country of Jotunheim and gave it to the possession of Bergelmir and his descendants.

Over time, there were more gods: the eldest of the brothers, Odin, had many children, they built a country for themselves high above the earth and called it Asgard, and themselves Ases, but we will tell you about Asgard and Ases later, but now listen to how the moon and sun were created.

MUNDILFERI AND HIS CHILDREN

The life of the first people was unhappy. Eternal night reigned throughout the world, and only the dim, flickering light of the stars dispelled the darkness a little. The sun and the moon were not yet there, and without them the crops would not be green in the fields, and the trees would not bloom in the gardens. Then, in order to lighten the earth, Odin and his brothers got a fire in Muspelheim and made of it the moon and the sun, the best and most beautiful thing that they ever managed to create. The gods were very pleased with the fruits of their labor, but could not figure out who would carry the sun and moon across the sky.

At this very time there lived on earth a man named Mundilferi, and he had a daughter and a son of extraordinary beauty. Mundilferi was so proud of them that, having heard about the wonderful creations of the gods, he named his daughter Sul, which means the sun, and his son Mani, that is, the moon.

“Let everyone know that the gods themselves cannot create anything more beautiful than my children,” he thought in his arrogance. But, however, it soon seemed to him that this was not enough. Learning that in one of the villages nearby lives a young man whose face is so beautiful that it shines like the brightest star, for which he was nicknamed Glen, which is “shine”, Mundilferi decided to marry him to his daughter so that the children of Glen and Sul were even more beautiful than their father and mother, and all other people on earth worshiped them. The idea of the proud man became known to the gods, and on the very day when he was going to marry his daughter, Odin suddenly appeared before him.

You are very proud, Mundilferi,” he said, “so proud that you want to compare yourself with the gods. You want people to worship not us, but your children and your children's children and serve them. For this, we decided to punish you, and from now on, Sul and Mani will serve people, carrying the moon and the sun across the sky, whose names they are named. Then everyone will see if their beauty can outshine the beauty of what is created by the hands of the gods.

Struck with horror and grief, Mundilferi could not utter a word. One took Sul and Mani and ascended with them to heaven. There, the gods put Sul in a chariot drawn by a pair of white horses, on the front seat of which the sun was fixed, and ordered her to ride through the sky all day, stopping only at night. So that the sun would not burn the girl, the god brothers covered her with a large round shield, and so that the horses would not be hot, they hung bellows on their chests, from which a cold wind blows all the time. Mani was also given a chariot, in which he was supposed to carry the moon at night. Since then, the brother and sister have faithfully served the people, illuminating the earth: she during the day, and he at night. Bread is merrily turning green in the fields, fruits are pouring juice in the gardens, and no one remembers the time when darkness reigned in the world and all this did not exist.

Scandinavian sagas

TALES ABOUT THE GODS

Creation of the world

The gods and giants have not forgotten. Across the sea, east of Mitgard, they created the country of Jotunheim and gave it to the possession of Bergelmir and his descendants.

Mundilferi and his children

“Let everyone know that the gods themselves cannot create anything more beautiful than my children,” he thought in his arrogance. But, however, it soon seemed to him that this was not enough. Having learned that in one of the villages nearby lives a young man whose face is so beautiful that it shines like the brightest star, for which he was nicknamed Glen, which is "shine", Mundilferi decided to marry him to his daughter so that the children of Glen and Sul were even more beautiful than their father and mother, and all other people on earth worshiped them. The idea of the proud man became known to the gods, and on the very day when he was going to marry his daughter, Odin suddenly appeared before him.

Struck with horror and grief, Mundilferi could not utter a word. One took Sul and Mani and ascended with them to heaven. There, the gods put Sul in a chariot drawn by a pair of white horses, on the front seat of which the sun was fixed, and ordered her to ride through the sky all day, stopping only at night. So that the sun would not burn the girl, the god brothers covered her with a large round shield, and so that the horses would not be hot, they hung bellows on their chests, from which a cold wind blows all the time. Mani was also given a chariot, in which he was supposed to carry the moon at night. Since then, the brother and sister have faithfully served the people, illuminating the earth: she - during the day, and he - at night. Bread is merrily turning green in the fields, fruits are pouring juice in the gardens, and no one remembers the time when darkness reigned in the world and all this did not exist.

elves and gnomes

From the day when the sun first lit up in the sky, life on earth has become more cheerful and joyful. All people worked peacefully in their fields, everyone was happy, no one wanted to become more noble and richer than the other. In those days, the gods often left Asgard and wandered around the world. They taught people to dig the earth and extract ore from it, and also made for them the first anvil, the first hammer and the first pincers, with the help of which all other tools and tools were later made. Then there were no wars, no robberies, no theft, no perjury. A lot of gold was mined in the mountains, but they did not save it, but made dishes and household utensils from it - that's why this age is called "golden".

Once, rummaging in the ground in search of iron ore, Odin, Vili Ve found worms in it, which

Scandinavian sagas. Vikings are the people of the saga. Life and manners Scandinavian myths read

* * *

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Chapter first,
which, in fact, is both the beginning and the end of the history of dreng1
Dreng- junior warrior of the Scandinavian squad. Ulf the Blackhead

Chapter two
in which the hero takes an unequal battle and suffers the first losses

chapter three
in which the hero meets the natives and tries to build a dialogue

Thanks

Prologue
The saga of Thorgrim son of Ulf

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new entries

Scandinavian sagas. Vikings are the people of the saga. Life and manners Scandinavian myths read

* * *

viking

Chapter first, which, in fact, is both the beginning and the end of the history of dreng1 Dreng- junior warrior of the Scandinavian squad. Ulf the Blackhead

Chapter two in which the hero takes an unequal battle and suffers the first losses

chapter three in which the hero meets the natives and tries to build a dialogue

Thanks

Prologue The saga of Thorgrim son of Ulf

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new entries

Chapter first,
which, in fact, is both the beginning and the end of the history of dreng1
Dreng- junior warrior of the Scandinavian squad. Ulf the Blackhead

Chapter two
in which the hero takes an unequal battle and suffers the first losses

chapter three
in which the hero meets the natives and tries to build a dialogue

Prologue
The saga of Thorgrim son of Ulf