I will tell you now the story of that fateful day, the day I killed my son so that others might live:


Sunna's arrows rained down among the golden fields, baking the already dry earth. I was surprised that any grain still lived after the scorching drought that this summer had brought to the worlds. But then again, this was our Home, the most fertile lands in all the Nine Worlds, and then some. If grain didn't grow here, there was no chance for any others, and the famine would worsen even more than it already had.

My father had stepped down from his Kingship a long time ago, shortly after my golden son Ingui was born, and my brother Njord and I co-ruled the people, with the Council of the Wise advising us. Things had been running very smoothly in the years since then. Until now.

The omens from the winter sacrifice had been bleak, but none of us had expected what was to come. When spring arrived, it was to torrential downpours, washing away any flowers and seeds that people planted. When the rains stopped, they left. And didn't come again. The farmers in Midgard were struggling to make crops grow in earth that was now dry as sand; the animals grew thin as the grasses dried out and withered. Even the fish seemed to suffer, as their numbers grew fewer and harder to catch.

The crops in Vanaheim were doing a little better – some had sprouted, and we had a series of irrigation systems that served better than the ones in Midgard. But even those crops would not be enough to feed our people this coming winter, let alone anyone else. We had much food stored away, but that was quickly dwindling with no hope of replenishment.

Sif had been in the high seat on and off for weeks now, trying to find a cause or solution for the massive famine and drought, so far to no avail. All she kept saying was “Oh, darkness, darkness. All I see is darkness.”

As the summer days lengthened, the people of Midgard began to break down. Theft and murder abounded, and they called out for deliverance, sacrificing animals they could not afford to spare, in a desperate attempt to stay the death that loomed before them.

Finally, my grandmother came down from her cottage in the the high forests, and consulted with the Council. It was all we could do to keep the life from flowing out of the soil, and it was taxing every last bit of power we had. If the drought continued, we would lose the fight, and everything would die. She listened gravely as the various council-members listed all the things that were going wrong, and what we were trying to do to alleviate the burden. Then, she got up and went to where Sif was sitting on the high seat, frantically trying to pierce the veil of darkness that was blocking her Sight. Holda went up to her, laid her hands on the seeress and closed her eyes.

We waited for what seemed an eternity, until Sif screamed and wrenched away from Holda's grasp, almost falling out of the high seat. My brother caught her before she fell, and gently lowered her to the ground, where she went into a fit. When it gradually subsided, she was carried off to the healing place.

Later that night, Holda came to me. “We Saw, my child, what must be done,” she told me sadly. “Your boy, Ingui. He carries the life of the world in his blood. It must be shed, or we will all die.”

I stared at her in shock. “But, he will never agree to that. I won't let you!” I screamed at her, defiantly, images of my other lost children in my mind. “He's mine, my replacement, my golden son!”

“He will die, child. And you will be the one to do it. I will not have you slaughter all the worlds through your wanton foolishness!” Holda snapped, looking angrier than I ever remembered seeing before. We stared at each other, tension flying, before I broke down crying.

Holda held me as the tears flowed, her presence solid and sure, but silent. When I had finished drying my eyes, she stood up and helped me to my feet. “You will tell him tomorrow, child. It must be done as soon as possible.”

“Yes, Grandmother,” I whispered, my throat swelling up with emotion.



The next day, I confronted Ingui as he was setting off on a walk. I told him what Holda had told me, and he laughed.

“Is it as simple as that, Mother? Then let them have my blood!” he said, cutting his arm with his knife.

“It is not as simple as that, Ingui. This is no mere food shortage. The world needs all of your blood; it needs your life.”

He stared at me in shock and horror. “Never! I could not do such a thing!” he yelled at me, running down the path. I watched him go, my heart heavy in my chest, knowing that I had failed. “If you will not do it, my son, then who will save us?” I whispered to his shadow.

I do not know what my son saw that day, or what voice called out to him, but the next morning, he was outside my door weeping. I opened the door, and there he was, beating on the ground, while storm clouds gathered overhead.

“What is it, my son? What ails you so?” I asked, dreading his answer.

“I have Seen, Mother. I know what I must do. I will die for them. To live while everything around me dies, that is not life, especially when I would know that I could have saved them. May Hel have mercy upon me.”

I hugged him close to me. “May she, indeed, my Ingui.”

Three days later, all the tribes of the People gathered in the fields. I and Ingui were last to arrive, carried to the place by a great wagon. In my sorrow, I was wearing the veil I had adopted after the loss of my first son, and had vowed in the secrecy of my heart never to go without it again among the living, no matter the circumstance; the pain was too great, and my heart, broken long before, could now never be healed.

Ingui was dressed all in green and scarlet and gold, a veritable king in splendor, and he wore a crown of grain upon his head, the last of the stored supplies. If this were to fail, we would all join him in Hel.

There was much singing, all of it somber and melancholic, dirges and keenings. Ingui and I dismounted from the wagon and I led him to the sacrificial rock. As I held my sickle to his throat, I looked him in the eye and whispered the words I had been repeating in my heart for the past three days: “I love you.” Then, tears streaming down my face, I slashed his throat, and he fell, pouring away his life and mine into the soil.

I watched him bleed, feeling distant and cold, the world fading from my awareness. When he was dead, I turned and left, my heart feeling as though the Void itself were squeezing down upon it. I locked myself into my chambers and vowed to starve myself until I joined him, even as I heard the patter of raindrops beginning on the parched earth.



Three long, terrible days passed. And I wept and raged and swore oaths against all things living and dead, and wept again, knowing I could not fulfill them. My body, once strong, began to waste away from the lack of nourishment. And still I wept, until I felt as though I would surely drown in my tears.

On the third day, there came a knocking at my door. “Open up, child, and stop carrying on like a toddler. I have news for you.” It was Holda.

I reluctantly opened the door, and she swept into the room, Sif close behind her. Seeing the prophetess, I flew into a rage.

“What? Have you come to tell me that more blood must be shed? Whose? My daughter's? My brother's? Mine? Take it, take it all! I am done with living,” I screamed at them. Holda's sharp slap stunned me into silence.

“Quiet your mouth, girl! You are being petulant and foolish. No more blood must be shed. What was done is done, and all the worlds live again. No, our news is happier. Sif has seen again. Tell her, child.”

Sif looked sympathetically at me as she spoke. “I was in the high seat this morning, looking at the Worlds, seeing the life that grew. And I saw a wonder – on the path from which no man returns, I saw him coming. Your son is coming home again.”

I stared at her, unbelieving. Then, before they could say any more, I shoved past them and ran into the fields, now bursting with grain, to the place where my son had fallen. And there he was, slowly staggering to his feet, looking worn and tired, but alive!

He told me what Hel had said to him, and I wept at her mercy. He then told me the rest. And I wept again – how could I bear this pain, year after year, not knowing if this might be the year that her mercy is gone?

And so, in the celebration that followed, I remained distant. And when the feasting was over, I left the main village, and headed back to the island of my youth, where I remain to this day, never leaving except to bless the land and kill my son. The pain is too great otherwise. Better he be dead to me than me seeing him live, knowing that his death is in my hands.

And that is what became that fateful and fatal Lammastide.