Loki And The Golden Hair

In Asgard, the home of the gods, Thor, the mighty god of thunder, lived with his beautiful wife, Sif. Sif had long, golden hair that gleamed in the sunlight, and she was very proud of it, for it looked so beautiful.

Now Loki, the god of fire, who was cunning and crafty and always ready to play tricks, however unkind, knew how vain Sif was and how much she prized her long hair. He thought it would be a fine joke to cut it off.

While Sif lay sleeping, Loki crept into her room and snipped off all her lovely hair. When she woke up and saw in her mirror what had happened, Sif burst into tears. She was still weeping for her lost hair when her husband, Thor, returned from his travels. He took one look and rushed off in a great rage to find Loki, for he knew, as did all the gods, that Loki was usually behind any mischief.

“Did you cut off Sif’s hair?” he thundered. “If you did, I will break you into little pieces and hurl you across the sky.”

“What good will that do?” asked Loki, who did not dare defy the powerful Thor. “Whether I cut off Sif’s hair or not makes no difference. Only I have the skill and cunning to find new hair for her.”

“Find it at once,” roared Thor. “Or there will soon be one god less in Asgard.”

Loki left Asgard and went down to the caverns below the Earth, where the dwarfs worked at their crafts. He sought out two dwarfs famed for their skill as smiths and asked them if they could make fine golden threads that would grow into hair when placed on Sif’s head.

“We can do that and more for you,” replied the dwarfs. Loki thought how fine it would be to take back presents for the other gods, which might lessen their anger, so he replied, “Make me also a ship which is better than any other and a spear which will always find its mark and will be worthy of a warrior like Odin, king of the gods.”

The dwarfs heated up their furnace and hammered away at the metal. After a while, they brought Loki a cap of long, silky gold threads. “When Sif puts this on her head, it will grow as if it had always been there,” they said. Then they went back and heated up their furnace again, and Loki could hear them hammering away.

Next, they brought out a ship made of wood and metal, with shields flashing along the sides. “This ship is big enough to hold all the gods of Asgard, and she will always have a favorable wind,” said the dwarfs. “But when no one wants to sail in her, she can be folded up small enough to fit into a pocket.”

Loki was delighted. “I will give this to Frey, god of the elves of light,” he said.

Again the dwarfs returned to their furnace, and this time they brought out a shining spear. “It can never miss its mark,” they told Loki as they handed it to him.

Loki was very pleased. “I shall tell everyone you are the finest smiths of all,” he told the dwarfs.

As Loki turned to leave, a harsh voice came from the shadows. “That is a lie,” it said. “I am Brokk, and my brother Sindri can make finer gifts than these.”

“That he could not,” replied Loki, turning around.

“Will you wager your head that he cannot?” asked the little dwarf, and the amused Loki agreed.

“Your head against my head, then,” said Brokk, “and when Sindri has finished, we will take all the gifts to Asgard and let the gods be the judges.”

Brokk went to find his brother, and Loki followed him secretly to the forge and listened at the door. He heard Sindri say, “I will surpass those three gifts, but I need your help. Pile the furnace high with wood and do not cease to blow with these bellows of mine, for if the fire dies down for even one moment, my work will be spoiled.”

Brokk blew on the bellows, and when the fire was red-hot, Sindri threw on it a pigskin, but Loki meanwhile turned himself into a gadfly and stung Brokk in the hand. Yet the dwarf’s skin was so thick and tough that he hardly felt it. Then Sindri returned and told Brokk to stop blowing the bellows, and from the furnace, he took a boar, whose bristles were golden wires that shone like fire.

Brokk returned to the bellows again, and Sindri dropped a bar of gold into the furnace when it was red-hot. This time Loki flew down and bit Brokk on the neck, but Brokk only shook his head and went on blowing until Sindri took from the fire a beautiful golden arm-ring.

Then Brokk blew on the bellows once more, and Sindri put a bar of iron into the furnace. Loki settled on Brokk’s head and stung him so that the blood ran into his eyes, and he could not see. For a moment, Brokk paused to wipe the blood from his eyes, and for that moment, the furnace cooled. When Sindri returned, he took a great hammer from the furnace, but when he looked closely at it, he saw that the handle was shorter than he had meant it to be because for one moment, Brokk had ceased blowing the bellows.

That night, the gods gathered in Asgard to judge between Loki’s gifts and Brokk’s. Loki put the cap of gold on Sif’s head, and it grew there, like her own golden hair. Then he gave Frey the ship and Odin the spear.

Brokk, in turn, gave Odin the golden arm-ring. “Every ninth night, eight rings exactly the same will fall from it, and in a year, you will have a great treasure,” he said.

He gave the golden boar to Frey. “He will go through air and water, as well as on land,” he said, “and when you travel by night, you will always have light from his bristles.”

Then Brokk gave the battle-hammer to Thor. “It will always return to your hand when you throw it,” he said.

The gods found it hard to judge between the gifts, but they agreed that Thor’s hammer was the best of all, for though not perfect, it returned by magic when thrown. So Brokk was declared the winner. Loki had lost his wager, and at once Brokk seized him by his red hair and drew out a knife.

“Wait,” cried Loki. “Only my head is yours, remember, so take care you do not touch my neck.”

The gods laughed at Loki’s cunning. Angrily, Brokk released him. “I have been cheated,” he said, “but as your head is mine, I will still your mocking lips for a while.” With a needle and thread, Brokk sewed Loki’s lips together, but it was not long before Loki was free and was up to his old tricks again.

“The trouble is, he thinks you’re frightened of him, Mr. Jom,” someone remarked, echoing the sentiment shared by many who had encountered the trickster god.