“My son,” spoke Odin, “it is not well that this gloom should rest on all the gods, and they not know the cause.  Perhaps we, your father and your mother, may help you.”

At last Balder told them that for two nights he had had strange, haunting dreams; what they were he could not remember clearly when he awoke, but he could not shake off their depressing effect.

“I only know,” he said, “that there was ever a thick cloud, which drifted between me and the sun, and there were confused sounds of woe, and travelings in dark, difficult places.”

Now the gods knew well that their dreams were messages given them by the Norns, or Fates, and not for a moment did Odin and Frigga venture to laugh at Balder’s fears.  They soothed him, however, by promising to find some means of warding off any danger that might be threatening him.  Somewhat cheered, Balder went home to his palace to comfort his distressed wife, Nanna, while Odin and Frigga discussed measures for their son’s safety.

“I,” said Odin, “shall ride to the domains of Hela, queen of the dead, and question the great prophetess who lies buried there, as to what Balder’s dream may mean.”  And mounting Sleipnir, his eight-footed steed, he rode away.

Across the rainbow bridge he passed, out of the light, and down, down, down into the dark, hopeless realm of Hela.  As he rode by the gate he saw that preparations for a feast were being made within.  A gloomy feast it would have to be in those drear regions, but evidently it was being spread for some honored guest, for rich tapestries and rings of gold covered the couches, and vessels of gold graced the tables.  Past the gate rode Odin, to a grave without the wall, where for ages long the greatest of all prophetesses had lain buried.  Here, in this dark, chill place, was to be spoken the fate of Balder, bringer of light.

Solemnly Odin chanted the awful charms that had power to raise the dead, and king of gods as he was, he started when the grave opened, and the prophetess, veiled in mist, rose before him.

“Who art thou?” she demanded in hollow, ghost-like tones.  “And what canst thou wish to know so weighty that only I, long dead, can answer thee?”

Knowing that she would refuse to answer him should she know who he really was, Odin concealed his identity, and simply asked for whom the feast was preparing in Hela’s realm.

“For Balder, light of gods and men,” replied the prophetess.

“And who shall dare to strike him down?” cried Odin.

“By the hand of his blind brother Hoder shall he fall.  And now let me rest.”  And the prophetess sank again into her tomb, leaving Odin with a heart more heavy and chill than the darkness which closed round him.

Meanwhile Frigga had busied herself with a plan which her mother love had suggested.  First to all the gods in Asgard, then through all the earth did she go, saying, “Promise me—­swear to me—­that you will never hurt Balder.”  Every bird, every beast, every creeping thing; all plants, stones and metals; all diseases and poisons known to gods and men; fire, water, earth, air—­all things gladly took oath to do Balder no harm.