I am the youngest of my mother’s children. My brothers are far better known than I. They were the original three, Oðinn, Vili, and Ve. I came along as they entered their early adulthood. I was a surprise, a gift if one asks my father now. It was not until much later that I discovered my brothers and I only shared a mother in our lineage.

Vili and Ve were close. Though not twins, they could have been. Alike in size, appearances, and demeanor they were most often to be found talking quietly with each other. It was a rare event to see Vili without Ve or vice versa. Though they generally preferred the company of each other over anyone else the only other person that could infiltrate their duality was our brother, Oðinn. His name will appear first when speaking of this triad but that is only because it had an alliterative sound to it. Contrary to what may have been implied, Vili is the oldest, with Ve close behind. Oðinn was born a few years later and then a few sisters that came quickly after each other. It became quiet in the caves where my family dwelt as all the children grew past infancy and into their adulthoods. It was not until my brothers began their wandering that I came along.

Our father, Borr, was not what one would call “hands-on” when it came to his children. He was even less so with me. As a child I didn’t realize that his attitude towards me was any different than the rest of my siblings since there was such a great difference in our ages. As I have gained in years it becomes more obvious with each telling of my story. It wasn’t common for all the family to be together at the same time, but my brothers always returned to share their deeds with our parents and the little boy in the corner. The only one of my brothers that made the effort to include me was Oðinn. Vili and Ve had no real interest in me aside from the occasional taunt when they came out of their own fog of existence. As the youngest I often waited to hear the tales of their explorations. Anything to carry me away from the dullness of my childhood. I would sit on my pallet, hidden from the family, listening to the tales my brothers spun. Great sheets of ice, valleys of fire that seemed to never end, and a giant whose body bridged the gap between the two. There were stories of discovery, fights, wooing of women they found along the journey. Oðinn would find me after the others had gone to sleep and fill in all the details that were left out at the table. We would sit in the dark absorbing the warmth from the banking fire and he would mesmerize me with stories of cunning and adventure. From the stories I felt that Vili and Ve were keen on the adventure itself while Oðinn seemed to be searching for something. He was always looking beyond what was at his feet. I think those times may be the greatest reason I grew up believing I owed him. Then again, knowing him as I do now, that may have been his intention all along.

Vili, Ve, and Oðinn had met the great giant on more than one occasion. None of them were impressed. They thought him lazy, useless (aside from randomly generating children), and lacking in any sort of intelligence. Our father would remind them that he was their great-grandfather through their mother and any grumblings would quiet down. They didn’t forget, though. Our people needed to be doing, building, and growing. One of the unusual traits that looking back I realize should have clued me in earlier as to the difference in our paternal lineage was in how we created. My brothers, and stepfather, “created” generally by a force of will. They crushed, beat, forced things into what they wanted to build. I, however, had a much easier time. The desire to create, or even destroy, seemed to flow from me with very little effort, and certainly wasn’t forced. My stepfather would glare at my mother when my abilities were on display causing her to quickly end whatever was happening and divert me onto some other menial chore that would take me out of sight. I didn’t do it on purpose. Having daughters of my own now I realize that my childhood was not one of normalcy or love. My creation and subsequent birth was not of any real emotion but rather an all-encompassing lust. I think this is part of why I fought so hard to control myself and my environment. I didn’t want to fall for that same lust and turbulence of character that my mother clearly had. If I had known who my real father was at the time so much heartache could have been avoided. In the years leading up to my adulthood I overheard Vili and Ve talking about my parentage. Looking back, I think I suspected but had no real name for it at the time. Hearing my brothers talk about me in that way suddenly made me want to know the truth. I asked my mother later that day whether I had the same father as my siblings. She became very quiet and a far-off look entered her eyes. The quiet moment stopped as quickly as it came and she gave me a hard look. She then said that some things were better not known and my brothers would do well to remember that. The matter was dropped immediately. I tried again several times and the same answer was always given. The far-away look, the quiet, and then the rebuke before I was instantly diverted to some other task. I never knew if she remembered my father fondly or not. Maybe she thought that knowing his identity would somehow hurt me. More likely she didn’t want any more reminders than me.

To a modern human this may sound harsh or neglectful. When I tell my story, I try to remind the listener that those were different times. The worlds as they know them didn’t exist. Feelings and actions were almost primal in their intensities. Relationships had no definition aside from a general understanding that if you had someone in your bed you didn’t go elsewhere. There was no need. The population was large and there were ample choices for a bedmate. That my mother had obviously “strayed” was something that my stepfather didn’t like, and my brothers looked down upon. That she had then borne me was a greater insult. I cannot really blame my stepfather. He didn’t ask for another mouth to feed or for his woman to find a lover other than him. So why didn’t he turn us out? There were few real “rules” as there are now. I may have been another mouth to feed but I was also another body that could build and bring to the table. There was a balance in that my stepfather could not argue. The societal rules designed to govern our thoughts and actions came much later after my brothers decided to do something about the giant, Ymir.

I remember the morning before it happened. It was my job to collect milk from Audhumla and bring it to my mother. I saw my brothers heading out, serious looks on their faces. I caught Oðinn’s eye and he slowed for a moment so I could catch up. It was then I saw the weapons. Sharpened stones adorned their belts. I asked him what was going on and what the weapons were for. Oðinn turned away from my gaze, a trick he would use often in the future to keep others from seeing the whole truth, and merely said, “It’s time to carve some order into things. We cannot go on this way. We need to build and grow but its in the way.” Before I could ask what “it” was he turned back to me, intense blue eyes that mirrored my own fixed steadily. I hadn’t seen such a look from him before and I admit to being a little afraid of my brother for the first time. He searched my face and faster than I could blink he masked the look and smiled briefly. “Go home, little brother. Take mother’s milk to her. Do not venture out until you hear from us. You’ll be safe there.” He then lightly punched my shoulder and hurried to catch up with Vili and Ve. I almost followed them but there was something in his words that caused me to remember his intense glare. I felt myself shiver and turned back to home. I had a sinking feeling in my gut that I would learn always meant fell things were coming.

The slaying of Ymir was the first truly wrong thing to happen. I don’t know how the idea came into the minds of my brothers or how long it had been growing there. I knew they weren’t fond of our kinsman but to outright kill him wasn’t something I thought them capable. Death was not a concept we knew much about. At that time everything was about building and growing, not ending. When my brothers took their stone blades to Ymir they introduced, for the first time, Death. Did they know what would happen? Did they understand what they were doing? If I had to guess, Vili and Ve simply saw something in their way and were easily swayed to be rid of it. Oðinn, however, always had a reason for the things he did. I can easily see it as his idea and the way he would wind his words to convince the others. He was always an excellent storyteller even then. I won’t recount the horror that ensued when the cuts were made. Rather than building they destroyed. Whole groups of our people were swallowed by the floods. My mother and stepfather among them.

The skalds that came later to share the tale of Ymir’s death would have you believe that all life was crushed out of existence. It wasn’t. It was only those in the immediate vicinity. The gap collected most of the blood and filled to the brim. The overflow is what caused the flooding to the surrounding plains. My brothers wasted no time in putting to use the left-over flesh, bones, and organs. Not once, in all the millennia we have been alive, have they ever expressed remorse. This was a kinslaying of epic proportions. As the rules were later established such an act was the worst that could be done. I might try to justify what they did by describing all the worlds and creatures formed from our great-grandfather’s corpse but it is too macabre to think on. Suffice it to say that they left nothing to waste. And no one stopped them. Not the other tribes still living, not the guardians of Niflheim or Muspelheim, not the Vanir that watched it all from the edges of consciousness. My brothers destroyed in order to build just like their father had taught them.

After their work was done they seemed content to wait and see what would happen next. I don’t know how much time passed but eventually they became curious to see the new worlds and realms. I confess that I also wanted to see what they had built. My brothers set off in one direction and I in another. Perhaps I would have stories to tell them when we met again. I immersed myself in each new land. I would arrive and it would be quiet with little to see. The longer I stayed the more the world would develop. Lush forests, bubbling brooks, and soon life. The type of life would vary from place to place. Some of our original people would find the worlds I was on and begin to build for themselves homes and tribes. I left soon after. I enjoyed the solitude and the joy of discovering. The restlessness in my spirit would grow to almost a frenzy right before I would leave for another horizon. I would then settle and feel at peace once more as soon as my feet touched a new place. Occasionally I would come across one where it was clear my brothers had been there. There were walls and buildings, monuments, and the life was much more advanced than what I generally encountered.

I did my share of exploring, building, fighting, and wooing following along in my brothers’ footsteps. I tried to leave a place without causing damage or hurt. But there were those who would see me and immediately think I was Oðinn. They would remember what he did and attempt to accost me thinking to do to me what he had done to Ymir. Once they got close, however, they would suddenly realize that I wasn’t him at all. It’s strange. I have the same coloring in hair and eyes as Oðinn. In certain lights I resemble him greatly. I’ve been told that in other lights I resemble my father and brothers in everything but hair and eyes. I have the physical build of my mother’s people…broad and stocky, with the height of my father’s tribe. A perfect blend of two races. Vili and Ve are tall but narrower of frame. Odinn is built like me but perhaps a bit shorter. If you aren’t looking too closely it is easy to mistake us for one another. I realized after a few times of nearly losing my life that I could either avoid people I encountered or learn to introduce myself as the brother who took no part. I chose to avoid. The odds were not in my favor that they would believe me anyway.