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Image: Freja och Svipdag (1911) by John Bauer

My text "Freyja en Svipdag" published in Covidnine-zine, a magazine edited by the wonderful Winnie Sluis, idealized by Winnie and Lisa @oppergod, with collaboration of several amazing artists.

“With her eyes closed and very sleepy, she could feel the sea breeze on her face and hear the sound of the tide breaking in nine waves, one after the other, until she finally managed to open her eyelids.

At first, she discerned arches and pillars through the blurred image, which she later identified as the ruins of an old cathedral. The stone foundations of this structure immediately reminded her of Glastonbury Abbey. The sound of the violin came to her, as well as the seagulls’ song and the gallop of a gray horse mounted by a masked young man, who headed in her direction. On the beach, an old lady recited the stanzas of ancient poems. Coffins swept across the sand like fragments of a shipwreck. The corpse of the violinist, who once was Yorick, the court jester, suddenly stopped the music, marveling at the horizon and contemplating his next song, as follows:

'Oh Páter if I only knew who she was... I swear I would have sought her earlier! Oh Páter, here comes Gwena, who traces This plot, full of diminished chords...

Tis fire, aye, ‘tis pipe’s ember, Burning slow and steady, steaming And if I inhale, choke and clear my throat Bitter-sweet is her surrender, such a delight This woman...

Yet I think she keeps Something restrained For the One of the strings...

She dares not look but only glimpse

Her bearing ever so high, Still entrapped in a gilded cage From which one tries to break With a treble clef... Egnis! Egnis!

Aye, see as it burns strong,

It is painful for Gaius, Her way of walking and fluttering Always a promise of the foreign

Though beware not to cut yourself; For she is like As-Sirāt, Even if broken, she remains sharp.

More so she is intricate and complex, Full of ardor and nothing else, And seems entirely anti-flustered Ah! ... but if there is a breach...

“Tis for sure the apple-tree” I answer myself. Since when I wandered haphazardly, Wandering, wondering, though not seeing If there was indeed an olive tree...

Thus, if the fire she already brought; And I always have some cider; Only the gold is wrought...

What fire is that? Mighty and aristocratic, Convoluted and anti-pragmatic.

Alas, we get to the story’s end,

If you expected me to be light-hearted

To speak of her beauty or noble

character,

You don’t see me for who I really am

For only the sublime pain of a burn

Compares to shall be required

To conquer her troublesome

Spirit.

Nevertheless, if I allow myself

A final indulgence, I think it goes

Without saying.. that she’s beautiful,

Dignified, and a relief to the eyes,

(Though quite difficult to contain)

That’s why I have fallen...O Páter!”

The rider dismounted and removed his mask, revealing a quite familiar face.

Then he burst into tears, moans, and screams, calling out the name “Sophie! Sophie!” A cacophony of chimes and carillon began at an Episcopal belfry, the imposing figure of a castle appeared behind the mist. Brísingamen, the fiery torque, sparkled around her neck as she rose, entirely dressed in white. The young man, who wore black garments, offered her his hand, and spoke:

“Dear Sophie, your father awaits us.”

The strangest thing happened; she felt her lips moving without having ordered so. “My darling Joris, at last you have come for me.”

Although she did not know exactly how, she remembered the young man in front of her was her betrothed, and that they referred to each other by the names of the saints which the ephemeris fell on their respective birthdays. His on the feast day of Sint-Joris van Cappadocië, and hers on that of St. Sophie van Rome.

“Sophie, the owl told me the baker shall hold a banquet in our honour!”

“O, here, have a daisy” she said, taking a flower from the garland adorning her long blonde hair. “I would give you give you some violets, but they all withered when the fishmonger sailed to Crete.”

“Indeed, Aerope told me that Catreus’ ashes are still warm.”

They walked side by side, with hands intertwined, wearing wicked smiles as they climbed the hill where the castle's Tor stood. Upon arriving, they were received by the King of Guilder and the rest of his progeny.

“Welcome, my children, to Kasteel Groninger! Our earthly paradise. Pray, remember the road ahead is still long. Fredegund anxiously awaits Siegbert's return, in deep sleep at the Mountain of Obstacles. Do not forget that: Fafnir must yet perish and Sigrdrífa still needs to be stripped of her armour” King Aegir affectionately warned, embracing both Sophie, whom he recognized as his youngest daughter, and Joris, his future son-in-law.

"Your majesty, I assure you I shall be worthy enough to wed Lady Menglöð" replied Joris, referring to Sophie, the princess of Guilder, by her true name.

“Heer Valentijn,” asked King Aegir, also calling Joris by his birth name “I believe the sacrifice of Galswintha will not have been in vain: Faith, Hope and Charity shall be glorified, but do not forget to greet your new sisters.”

With their faces veiled and sitting on the stairs of an old church, the nine daughters of Aegir, presented themselves one by one. The oldest was called Schnecke, “Bloody-hair”, thus called in virtue of her red hair. The second went by the name of Mimi, the “Billow”, therefore known due to her being prone to fits of nervousness. The third was called Caroline, the “Comber”, because of her explosive temper. The fourth answered by Lily, “Pearl-transparent”, on the account of her translucent complexion. The fifth was named Henriette, the “Small-Wave”, due to her short height. The sixth answered by Olga, the “Lifting”, on account of her extraordinary intelligence. The seventh was called Hannah, the “Great-Wave”, thus known for her bulkiness. The eighth daughter was Jeannette, called the “Well of Origin” for having the habit of reciting prophetic riddles every time somebody asked her something. The last of them, Friederike, the “Cool-Wave”, was therefore called on account of her cold manners.

Each of them, as Joris approached, answered him with witty sentences related to each of their epithets. At the end of these parables, King Aegir once again addressed him:

“Valentijn van Florin, I give you my word as sovereign of Guilder that the most beautiful flower in my garden is your dear Sophie, who at this very hour tomorrow you shall take as your wife. Such a marriage will unite our two rival kingdoms under a single crown, as intended your kinsman, Prince Humperdinck, though in far less auspicious circumstances.”

The bride and the groom waltzed through the castle, covering the walls of each room with snow. Whenever Joris asked if she wanted to be his wife, Sophie burst into hysterical laughing, which echoed throughout the stairs. Sometimes she replied she first owed vassalage to another lord, who was certainly sterner and bonier. This ‘danse macabre’ continued until they faced the stained windows of the cathedral, when the black priest signaled them to stop. For this reason, the nine waves blew out the candles on the candelabrum, one by one, forming a fairy-ring around the two of them and joining their dance wildly.

Joris mused for a moment and said:

“Three times nine girls, but one girl rode ahead,

white-skinned under her helmet;

the horses were trembling, from their manes

dew fell into the deep valleys,

hail in the high woods;

good fortune comes to men from there;

all that I saw was hateful to me.”

For the celebrations to continue Sophie was taken to the hall of Suttungr, while Joris was given the task of finding the severed head of Mimir. Locked up in the chamber of Invitation to Battle, Sophie was punished for exercising her prerogative in choosing differently from what the All-father had commanded. There, Huginn and Muninn, her liege's ravens, whispered bad omens at her ears as she repeatedly painted a Byzantine icon of the Virgin of Mercy.

“Torture me all you want,” she said to her tormentors “a tearing joy overwhelms my soul. Plato's aesthetic dictates the beauty of forms is equivalent to the greater good and that which is purer. I merely follow the example of Paris in his preference for the ‘kallistei’; the beloved is always chosen for blind love, and only love. I admit I may be wrong, but I still believe that his heart is as good and generous as I sensed on our first meeting. The world is sustained by hope, we believe in what we want to believe and how we want to believe; it does not matter if nature and experience tell us otherwise. My dreams have never betrayed me, my heart has never lied to me: it is necessary to follow one’s deepest desires, for they are ordained by the Norns.”

In retaliation, the ravens of the one-eyed king pecked at her ears until her neck was covered in blood. Ignoring the pangs of pain, Sophie continued to draw the icon that depicted a beautiful sleeping maiden, whose closed eyes showed an expression of tenderness and parted lips outlined a tenuous, albeit provocative smile, as though she was caught in a sensuous dream.

Hence, Sophie chanted in low voice:

“What sort of dream is that, Odin?

I dreamed I rose up before dawn

to clear up Valhöll for slain people.

I aroused the Einheriar,

bade them get up to strew the benches,

clean the beer-cups,

the valkyries to serve wine

for the arrival of a prince.”

At the same time, Joris rode up to the Mountain of Obstacles, where the earth shook and a pit of flames reaching the sky surrounded the red gold of the gods. In this desolate place, the guardian at the gate, who was also the chieftain of the dwarves, gave Joris the sword of anger and the shield of wisdom with which he was able to defeat the horrible serpent, Jörmungandr.

After licking a drop of the creature’s blood on his finger, Joris was given the gift of understanding the ravens’ language, who instigated him to come to the chamber of Invitation to Battle. As soon as he entered the room, he blew on the horn he carried on his neck by a chain. The Virgin awoke from her feverish dream.

Sitting on a golden throne, the queen-like Sophie gladly received him in her father's hall:

“For nine lives I have awaited you, and for nine days you have hanged on the Sefirotic Tree. To you I give my gray horse, so you can ride to Gamla Uppsala; for Memory can only be restored when Gjallahorn descends to the well of origin. There, Heidr will offer you one of her full tits. Drink patiently, but steadily.”

“Frigga, my dear wife, all I ask is for you to grant me knowledge of the nine worlds.”

Before proceeding with her husband’s request, Sophie prayed for eloquence and intelligence, taking her lute in her hand, singing the most beautiful song of shadow and dawn. She praised the day, the night, the gods and goddesses, and the Holy Land where the Nazarene was crucified. After prayer, she harvested liquid from three of her father’s most precious cauldrons and prepared the elixir of life and death, stating it contained enchantments, blessings, songs and runes of power, manliness and pleasure of the flesh and soul.

Sophie told Joris that in the beginning there was nothing, and this nothing was called Njörun. When Njörun became aware of herself, she begot Njöðr. From the union between these two, Mardöll was born. The latter was self-suficient, loving herself and being therefore happy. However, curiosity caused the goddess to create a mirror from her own breath, and when she contemplated her own reflection, she fell madly in love with it. Since then, she divided herself in two: Mardöll of Fire, who saw the image, and Mardöll of Ice, the image seen. After tracing a runic symbol on her body and whispering over it, her reflection became Yngve, her twin brother. The two of them began a frantic dance that culminated in intercourse, from where emerged the rest of the runic spirits.

Sophie then told him how Mardöll first taught the runes to the All-father, how he held the head of Mimir and uttered wise words; and that from them flowed the worlds of the Æsir, Vanir, giants, elves, and humanity. She went on to count all the kinds of runes that Joris needed to know and how to use them. At last asking him if he would like speech or silence from her. To which Joris replied he was not afraid of knowing his fate, even if that meant death.

Shortly after, she took his horn, in which she poured the Mead of Poetry, while rambling: “The beautiful should not perish; the fair should not perish. Eternal love of immortal soul, glittering through my skin like fins. Drop by drop, your spirit will return to me, the first drop will be heavenly!”

The moment Joris took the last sip of this precious drink, the walls opened, and the drums played. King Aegir and the nine waves were finally welcomed to the wedding feast. Circling an oath-ring on a trunk, the sovereign of Guilder joined the hands of his daughter and son-in-law, making a cut on each of their palms so that their blood could mix. Joris and Sophie intertwined their fingers and together declared:

“Ubi tu Askr

Ego Embla;

Ubi tu Embla,

Ego Askr.”

“When thou art the Ash

I shall be the Elm;

When thou art the Elm

I shall be the Ash.”

“Grímnir, the greatest of all gods, is here, he proclaims you to be one flesh, consecrated to him” decreed King Aegir as the newlyweds resumed their bridal dance, accompanied by the nine waves, who happily sang:

“Stampa hårt i marken,

Låt säden flyta runt,

Ta emot den unga flickan,

Frej i älskog,

Freja i älskog.”

“Step hard on the ground,

Let the seed fly,

Welcome the Young Maiden,

Freyr in lovemaking,

Freyja in lovemaking.”

Joris enveloped Sophie in a lustful embrace, with each whirl more ardent than before, ‘til they both lost their balance and fell backwards in the hay. At this moment, Thanatos, the black priest showed up uninvited:

“I am a polar bear who has floated here from Greenland on an iceberg. May the gods bless your matrimony with such perennial beauty as that from the coupling of Zeus and Leda. As a wedding gift, I bring you a veil made for an Arabian princess. Please, accept it. O Vanadís, daughter of the king of kings.”

Upon hearing this, Sophie let out a long shriek. She understood what those words meant. For three nights, she and Joris made love at moonlight, in the presence of the court of Guilder and all the creatures of the universe. On the morning of the fourth day, he had to leave her side to wander the nine worlds, bringing the sacred knowledge he acquired to whichever mortals he found. Weeping, Sophie bade adieu to her husband with the following greeting:

“My will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom as great. My sisters receive the heroes at Fólkvangr, serving mead to those slain in battle. When the ash commune with the elm, you shall return to me. Not a second after, not a second before.”

The black priest then proceeded to lead them to the calvary, placing two wreaths of thorns on their heads. “I crown thee, Freyja and Óðr.”

For nine days and nights, Sophie bitterly mourned her lost husband, crying tears of gold for his sake. Once again trapped in the Mountain of Obstacles, she cried out for mercy to the one who was older than time itself:

“That man hon fólkvig fyrst í heimi,

er Gullveig geiru studdu

ok i hǫll Hárs hana brendu;

thrysvar brendu thrysvar borna,

opt, ósjaldan, tho hon enn lifir!

Heidi hana hétu, hvars til húsa kom,

vǫlu velspá, vitti hon ganda

seid hon hvars hon kunni,

seid hon hugleikin,

æ var hon angan illrar brudar.”

“She remembers the first war in the world,

when Gullveig was hoist on the spears

in the High-One’s hall they burned her;

three times they burned the three times born

often, not seldom; yet she lives!

She was called Heidr at the village,

the wise völva knew how to cast spells

she practiced seiðr whenever she could

with ravished soul, she performed seiðr,

She was always sought by wicked women.”

As she asked for divine intervention, Sophie devoted herself to the hard work required by the spinning wheel. As though passing in a trance through Psyche's trials, she was accompanied by her sisters, who danced around her, hand in hand. The first branches of the elm emerged from her heart, which enwrapped her in just a few minutes. From her withered body, the most majestic tree of Fensalir was formed. Three times she was struck by lightning, three times she burned; only to be three times reborn the next dawn.

When Joris at last returned from his travels around the world, finding her in such a state he declared:

“Nu em ec aptr kominn,

fát gat ec thegiandi thar;

margom orthom melta ec i minn frama i Suttungs sǫlom.

Gunnlad mer um gaf gunom stóli á

drycc ins dyra miathar; ill ithgiold

let ec hana eptir hafa

sins ins heila hugar

sins ins svara seva.”

“Now I have come again,

I’d have hardly made it so far;

without speaking great words to my advantage in the hall of Suttungr.

Gunnlöð gave me, from her golden throne

The precious drink of mead; a poor payment

I gave her in return

for her whole soul

for her burdened spirit.”

With these sorrowful words he also turned into an ash tree, his roots becoming entangled with hers. From their union emerged a magnificent swan egg which cracked in two beautiful girls. The Æsir called them Hnoss and Gersemi, the Twin Treasures.’