Loki and the Master Builder's Wall

High above our heads, far beyond the reach of the highest clouds, there once stood a city made of gold and silver, called Asgard. It was the home of the Norse gods, a place of bright halls, green fields, and endless feasts. But even the gods, with all their strength and magic, knew what it was like to be afraid. This story comes to us from the cold, snowy lands of the north, where the winters are long and the nights are painted with the dancing lights of the Aurora. The people who lived there, the Norse people, sat around roaring hearth fires to tell tales of their gods, writing them down in great collections, like the Prose Edda. They told of Odin, the wise and one-eyed all father, of Thor, the defender with his mighty hammer, and of Loki, who was half god, half giant, and entirely trouble. In those old days, the gods lived in constant danger. Their home was beautiful, but it was also wide open to the cold, wild world outside. You see, not long before this story begins, there had been a terrible war. It was a war between the gods of Asgard and another family of gods. And though peace had finally been made, the battle had left the city's ancient defenses in ruins. Asgard lay exposed. To the east and to the north lay Jotunheim, the land of the stone giants and the frost giants. These giants were colossal, ancient creatures who hated the warmth and light of the gods. They wanted nothing more than to march into Asgard, tear down its golden halls, and plunge the universe into eternal winter. Every night, the gods looked out over the edges of their mountain home, and saw the dark, jagged peaks of Jotunheim gleaming in the distance. They knew that without a wall, it was only a matter of time before the giants gathered their strength and marched. But building a wall around a city as vast as Asgard was a task too great for even the gods to contemplate. It would take centuries of backbreaking labor, and they were warriors and rulers, not stonemasons. Then, on a crisp autumn morning, a stranger arrived at the gates of Asgard. He did not look like a giant, nor did he look like a god. He was a tall, quiet man, wrapped in a heavy gray cloak that smelled of mountain dust and pine needles. He rode a horse that was nearly as remarkable as he was, a magnificent, muscular stallion with a coat as black as coal, and eyes that seemed to spark with a strange, fierce intelligence. The stranger stopped before the great hall of Valhalla, where the gods had gathered to look him over. He bowed respectfully, but there was no fear in his eyes. "I hear you are in need of a wall," the stranger said. His voice was deep and steady, like the grinding of tectonic plates deep beneath the earth. "I am a master builder. I can build you a wall so high, so thick, and so strong that not even the strongest frost giant, nor the most cunning mountain giant, will ever be able to scale it or break through. It will be an unbreakable fortress, and I will build it for you." Odin, sitting upon his high throne, leaned forward. His single eye gleamed with interest. "Such a wall would take lifetimes to build," the all father said. "How long do you claim this would take you?" "Three seasons," the builder replied calmly. "I will begin on the first day of winter, and I will finish it before the first day of summer." The gods whispered among themselves. To build a wall around Asgard in three seasons was impossible. It was a task that should take a thousand men a hundred years. "And what?" asked Freya, the goddess of love, beauty and spring. "Do you ask in return for this impossible work?" The builder turned his gaze toward her, and for a moment, his cold eyes softened. "My price is simple," he said. "If I finish the wall on time, I want three things. I want the sun…

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