How The Wild Hunt Came To Be | Odin & The Wild Hunt | Norse Mythology Explained

Long after the first spring of Midgard, eons since the war of Isa and Vanir that tore the land apart, the realm of the gods was filled with the lost souls of those who had passed the mortal realm. Poor wretches, confused and without direction. Their wails sent shivers to those who had wrought them from the first trees. Their sorrow reached the corridors of Odin's Hall, marring its golden glory with the grey wind of death. A poison lingered in the perfect realm of Asgard. The unbreakable curtain separating the dead from the living granted protection to those whose skin felt the breeze of air and the heat of the sun. But in the lands of the Isa, the force of the dead was a hurricane, a storm powerful enough to pull the great trees along with their roots, render the mighty celestial beasts to shreds, and turn the realm of eternal summer into a dark shadow of itself. All that the spirits of the dead touched was made broken. The responsibility lay with Odin. Were Midgard void of life, his halls would be in turmoil. The Allfather walked his now frigid and grey lands and saw the legion of husks gritting their teeth and moaning for all they had lost. With the simple joys of life gone, the souls knew only outrage and hatred. With every passing moment, the cold hearts of the dead reflected upon the world around them, bringing the first winter to Asgard. Furious, the Allfather demanded the spirits to cease the destruction of his home, but all he received in return were the screams of fleshless torment. To reason with the dead was hopeless. They were a force without direction, utterly enslaved to the cold grip of death, and sought to bring all around them to the same ruin. Only one being in the nine realms had an answer to this plight, but it would not come without a price. Upon his white steed of eight hooves, Slipnir, Odin left Asgard and flew north. The tree Yggdrasil shivered below at his passing. The snows of northern Midgard billowed like powder under the mighty horse's hooves until the final glacier passed and Odin soared over the void of Ginnungagap, the black cosmos. Slipnir galloped downwards, following a root of Yggdrasil, a tendril as grey as stone, and ripped with gnarled bark. This root reached far below the other realms, past the grace of the sun and moon, and beyond the reach of hope and light. At the end of its tip spread Niflheim, the land of frost and death. The ice under the hooves of Slipnir melted at its approach, bringing water to the frozen wasteland, but freezing just as soon as they passed. Odin knew only the presence of the divine could thaw the eternal ice, and thus searched for the single ocean in Niflheim and the land around it, known as Norstrund, the shore of corpses. The blue sea stretched and heaved below the gallop of Odin's mighty horse. After a while, the waves turned languid, and blotches of black muck and green sludge floated as foam until there was not a drop of water to be seen. The rank of decay surrounded the Allfather, and the weight of death loomed over him. The clear sky and its roof of shimmering stars turned lead grey. Every trot of Slipnir shattered bones, crushing through decaying corpses, until Odin reached a fortress whose walls of solid stone stretched beyond the tallest cloud of the surrounding vile vapour. The Allfather dismounted and called forth the lord of the castle. The shadows and fog before him congealed and gathered into a single mass, revealing a haggard woman, half of whom hanged limp and ruined and reeked of decay, while the other half of her body possessed the supple form of a lady. This was the Jötunn, Hel, daughter of Loki, and lady of the dead, standing before Odin. Even while hidden far in the depths of Niflheim, Hel knew what was happening in the realm of Asgard, that the souls of the deceased had come to bring misery and ruin to Asgard, and here before her was its mighty lord, now defenceless, alone, and far from his domain. Surrounded by the cloud of death, the great father of Asgard was at her mercy. Before Odin could speak, Hel raised her decaying hand, admitting that her guest's desire was already known to her. The dead listen only to one who calls themselves their master, and the master of the dead must take charge of his subjects, Hel said. Before Odin could ask how, he stopped himself. Of course, Hel had an answer for that as well. The question he should be asking was the price. Hel was not one to mince words. The price was simple. To give Odin the power to bind and unbind the dead, she demanded that as the dead travel to Asgard after their demise, half of these souls, the dishonorable ones, should be sent to her realm, to her shores. Hel was clever by choosing the dishonorable souls, and her reason was also simple. While powerful in her domain, the lady of the dead desired an unbeatable army, an army against Asgard, if and when need be. And knowing that the dishonorable wicked souls would be twice greater than the honorable noble souls, if not more, Hel would cement her place as a force to be feared, a force to reckon with, with an army far much greater than any in the nine realms. Odin reluctantly agreed to the terms, he had no other choice. Thus, the damned and dishonorable in death would find their last resting place in Hel, while the noble and those who died in battle would find their eternal home in the Allfather's Halls. To bind Odin to his promise, the lady of the underworld tore her talons into the mound of dead flesh beneath her feet and snapped three tendons from it. From the tendons, she tied a three-stranded knot and presented it to Odin. With a heavy heart, the father of Asgard took the gift. The gory knot unraveled in Odin's palm and slithered into him. He felt the tendons wrap around his heart, binding him to the fate of the dead and to his oath. Henceforth, the Allfather felt everything the dead felt, the cold of the afterlife, the sorrow of death, and the regret of deeds undone. Odin thanked Hel and left, feeling neither triumph nor pride. He rode to Asgard in silence and faced the troubles of his domain. His fellow Æsir saw a change in him. What was once the golden lord now walked with solemn steps, and a cloud of cold misery followed him. Odin opened the great doors to his hall and bade the honorable dead to enter, sending the rest to Niflheim. In a wind of howling destruction, the dead obeyed and took places among the other Aesir, much to the Aesir's displeasure. Thus, the great hall of Asgard came to be known as Valhalla, the hall of the dead. Even under the gaze of their unquestionable master, the wrath of these dead beings plagued the gods, for they fought one another in the halls, robbed the food, and drank far more than was their share. Odin sat on his throne and felt the same need to tear everything apart, but the lord of death was also the lord of wisdom. He saw the unfocused power of the afterlife and knew he had to focus and spend it, else it slowly destroys all he and his brothers had built. Odin called his dead subjects to the yard of Valhalla, arming them with spears, bows, hunting hounds, and horns. Knowing that the wrath of the dead could only be appeased with more death and misery, Odin led them to Midgard. Like a shimmering gray wave of gaunt men and women, they rode off Asgard, into the lands below, into Midgard. There in Midgard, autumn had long passed, and winter had begun. Midgard had seen many winters, but this winter would be different. The days grew darker, and the wind howled, unlike even the oldest and wisest could remember. A terrible blizzard followed, turning Midgard white, and the sky ruddy gray at midday, and black as pitch at night. In the dark of the storm, a band of dogs bayed and howled. Thunder clapped from the sky, and the gates between the realms opened. A wild army of the dead, led by Odin, spilled from the heavens and into the world, the sound of their hunting horns and dreadful cries, gripping the warm heart of every mortal with the fear of death. Mortals who were not fast enough to seek shelter, found themselves at the mercy of these hosts of death. The wild hunt had begun. The honorable dead on their black steeds, tore a path of rampage and destruction throughout Midgard, with Odin at their front, leading the great party to strike in the direction of his spear, Grungnir. As Slippner approached, his gallop shattered ears, and his cry shook the spirit of the hardiest of men. Anyone foolish or unfortunate enough to find themselves in the path of the hunt, felt no more mercy than any other animal, meeting their gruesome end in the dark forests of the world. Odin saw that while his dead subjects slew all that lived, none of them took heal of the other, but heard only their master's call. And so, thenceforth, they would be known as Einherjar, those who walk alone. As all things end, so does winter. The sun of spring washed away the carnage of the wild hunt and dark season, revealing the green lands in all of their luster. Thus, Odin and the spirits of the dead turned their steeds and hunting hounds towards Valhalla and headed home. The wild hunt would come again every year, with its act of wanton destruction, gaining fame among the realms and enticing more creatures and beings to join the gruesome hunt. Fair and cruel elves lurked in the shadows, valkyries swooped from the sky in blazing trails, while ghostly hunting hounds lead them to their prey. The party of the wild hunt will change from time to time, from its first winter, but until Ragnarok, the great hunt of winter, would always tear its way through the mortal world, with a grey-cloaked old man in golden armor upon a horse of eight legs, wielding a dreadful spear. The mortals would see Odin the Allfather riding with him, an army of the dreadful dead.