I think the most confusing thing about me in the written history is that most individuals believe that I am the personification of the moon, Mond or Måne. I’m not. I am the caretaker much like my sister, Sunna, is the caretaker of the sun, Sól. I am aware that my name is similar in spelling, but we are not one and the same just as Sunna is not Sól. Our father, Mundilfæri, is a member of the Vanir tribe. At least, the main one. He gave us our names to be mirrors of these celestial orbs. Our house is now separate from the Vanir and is known as a faction devoted to the keeping of time. To utilize a modern turn of phrase from a popular 21^st century television show, we could be referred to as the “House of Mundilfæri.” In the beginning, though, our father was one of the Vanes who had a hand in kicking things off with that initial bang. He was the one that got the energies churning which would eventually create the land of fire and the land of ice. Curiosity and hubris are a couple of the main traits that tend to get my father in trouble. He is a tinkerer, a stirrer of the pot. After Ymir’s death the eyes were cast over the heads of Odinn, Vili, and Ve where they hung motionless, one golden and one silver. The golden sphere became Sól and the silver sphere, Mond. Yes, the sun and the moon in their physical forms. They have a consciousness but do not take any sort of physical shape aside from their spherical one. When our father saw this, his curiosity peaked to see what would happen if they moved. As they were, the light emanating from them went everywhere and overlapped in multiple places. Neither the sun nor the moon knew which way to go or shine.

My sister and I, like many in the Vanir, are twins. Our mother was a daughter of the one known as Iðalvari, part of the tribe now recognized as the Ljóttalfar. Her name has been lost to history. She has long since rejoined the cosmic energy that surrounds all things so to speak it brings bittersweet pain though we keep it close to our hearts. As her children we will one day join her in that collective. Our energy will blend once more with the whole and the end of days will begin. But in those early times before the splits, the Vanir were still a collective whole and had not begun separating into clans. Our parents were quite proud of us. We were part of the first births to the Vanir after the worlds began. I have never thought much about how this came about, only that it did. We had a mother and a father and a host of what man refer to as cousins. I can say that only the original Vanic tribe had siblings that mated with one another. The rest of us tended to seek our partners outside of familial lines. I suppose it only stands to reason that we are all related at some point. It’s one of the reasons we didn’t judge the Vanes once Vanaheim became a reality. As a Vane the rules are a little blurry. The way we reproduce has a few additions to just a physical act. Relation isn’t limited to a physical bloodline but an energetic one. If you do not share both then the familial relationship is not as complete. I only add this because there were rumors that my sister and I had such a mated relationship. Let me assure you we do not. I will let Sunna tell her story.

The recorded tales state that my father’s pride (notice my mother isn’t mentioned at all) angered the gods of the Æsir and they sought to punish him. Please. History is written by those in charge to appear the way they want it to be seen. Yes, my father AND my mother were proud of us. We had a kind and loving childhood. In the beginning though, the Vanir had not done a lot of world building, that was the Æsir with the slaying of Ymir. My father, who wasn’t fond of the way the Æsir were bullying their way through decided to take a hand in the organization of things. So, he made a big deal about us. Painted us as these powerful forces that rivaled that of the sun and moon the big three had created from Ymir’s eyes. It wasn’t an accident. Our father wanted us to be in control of those celestial orbs, so when the Æsir decided to snatch us and place us in the heavens to pull them around, he was pleased but couldn’t show it. Our father then arranged it so that as we rode the heavens pulling the sun and the moon behind us it would begin the Mill of Time to grind. He outfitted us with steeds and chariots to make our journey easier. My sister began the counting of the days and I the nights. Our father wasn’t done with his meddling though. Our brother, Dellingr, was put in charge of announcing the dawn. His son, Dagr, rode out from the rosy hues spilling out of Dellingr’s halls and brought the hours of day. Our cousin, Nótt, began the hours of night after our sister, Skúma, brought dusk to the lands. Thus, our father set into motion the counting of days.

Now that is not all to reckoning the passage of time, but I can guarantee that my father had his fingers in every piece. In that light, calling him Father Time only makes sense. For the most part, those involved in my story, aside from my own personal nemesis, have now been introduced. My cousin and I are pretty close. She is a wondrous beauty. Dark as ebony and oh so graceful. Her voice is husky and soft, her skin a shiny jet. She is tall and well-formed. Just being in her presence can calm one into a relaxed state. She’s been joined three separate times that I can count so far. Her children; Auðr, Dagr, and Jorð all have impressive jobs. My connection to my cousin is based in understanding and compassion. While Nótt loves bringing the calmness of night to the worlds, she misses her children and lovers. I miss my sister and the companionship of other Vanes. I suppose that we are more alike than I originally thought.

At first, the journey around the worlds was just that. I would travel and shine the moonlight on the lands I rode over and followed my cousin closely. We would chat and share memories of what we had seen before our jobs took over and developed a bond. But even as we looked down there were others who turned their faces upwards. On one such journey I peered down to see two children at a well. They were sweet to behold, like children often are, and carrying what looked to be a very heavy pail of water. Instead of driving past I paused and spoke with them. Hjúki and Bil were their names. Their father, a woodland Alf, had charged them to carry such loads back and forth from the village. Maybe I felt sorry for them. Perhaps I was just lonely. I should have bid them farewell and moved along, but I felt drawn to them for some reason that only the fates know. They had been looking longingly at the chariot and the moon itself. Something reckless moved in me and I asked if they would like to ride with me across the skies. I did warn them that once they climbed aboard the moon they would not be able to leave and return home. They spoke to each other as siblings often do and quickly agreed. To see all the worlds would be an adventure! I didn’t share the knowledge that soon the sights would be nothing more than a pattern checked off each night. I should have as it might have changed their answer. I should have because now they are in danger nightly from my pursuer. Of all my regrets I believe that is the greatest. They made themselves comfortable on the moon, shifting the surface so that they had their own seats notched out. I believe from Midgard their little seats appear as craters. I owe these two small beings more than I can count. Companionship, adventure, and their extra eyes to watch the ways have kept us aloft in the heavens more times than can be remembered. Each dawn we return to Skúma’s hall, allowing a break in the journey. As I had warned them, Hjúki and Bil could not leave the moon. By climbing on and then making their seats they had combined their energies with that of the moon and could never again be separated. Instead they made little indentions for pillows and drew soft fluffs across them for blankets. Our rest is short-lived though. Quickly we harness my steed, Alsviður, and take to the heavens once more in the never-ending journey.

I said before that there were others who looked to the heavens. It had been many thousands of years that we had travelled the skies. Most of the worlds in the cosmos had been created, and for the most part were organized. Those descendants of Ymir have long memories. A woman lived in the Ironwood who had learned magic. Now, for the record, this was not Angrboða. No, she was mourning the loss of her children and her story is told elsewhere. She would, however, teach her own magic to those interested to ease the loneliness and grief. The witch of the Eastern Ironwood was one student. She had met and fallen in love with Fenrir. Yes, that Fenrir. Before he was taken to Åsgard he had a life in those woods. Contrary to popular belief he was a shapeshifter, not just a wolf. It was not until his binding that his wolf form became permanent. He had gained those shifting abilities from his father, Loki. Fenrir and the witch (whose name I will not speak) had several children. When he was taken away by Loki and Tyr the witch was pregnant again. She descended from the giant, Ymir and was one of the survivors from the slayings. With her primordial connections, and Fenrir’s lineage, she always gave birth to multiples. As she brought forth the last of her children by her lover the rumors of his fate reached the Ironwood. Broken-hearted she cast a spell on herself and their children to keep wolf forms until Fenrir could be avenged. I had seen all of this, as had my sister. They were rife with anger and the need for vengeance. It should have worried us far more than it did. We were blinded by our own paths and failed to notice when the tides began to turn against us. Seeing the sun and moon above, pieces of their ancestor, the witch was reminded again about the kin-slaying. She had heard the prophecy handed down that the orbs would be swallowed at the end of times and once the darkness falls the great ravener would be freed. Anxious to begin the reckoning that would free her lover she sent her sons, Hati and Sköll, to chase us down and devour our charges. Sköll lunged for Sól and Hati tried to take a bite out of Mond. Both of us urged our horses forward and the great chase began.

Hjúki and Bil keep constant watch to see how close Hati comes to catching us. Without them I am sure we would have lost the moon long ago. No one can go on forever, though. Alsviður and I need rest the same as anyone else. As our time in Skúma’s hall is brief it does not take long before we find ourselves lagging and the wolf’s jaws coming ever closer. My horse pulls to his greatest extent, desperately trying to outrun the gaping maw behind him. He runs so hard and so fast that when we pass over Miðgarð his sweat falls below causing dew to form upon the land and froth upon the seas. Nótt saw all of this and knew she needed to help us in some way. My cousin has always been a caring woman. She constructed a cloak that would help to hide us from Hati’s gaze as we ride the heavens. At first the disguise worked. Hati would howl in frustration trying to discover where we were hiding. But soon the clever shapeshifter found our scent and surged forward quickly trying to tear the cloak away. We had not stopped our ride, only slowed a bit, and thus only a piece of the cloak was torn off. Night by night, bit by bit Hati ripped the covering causing the cloak to slip further and further off Mond. Each night more of the moon’s light would shine until finally Hati managed to pull it off completely. Shining full and bright once more the wolf began to chase in earnest and I to stir Alsviður to his best once more. However, Nótt was not to be undone. Each time the cloak was removed completely she would search the path by our light and begin picking up the pieces of cloak. Night by night, bit by bit she would add the cloak to Mond’s orb dimming and hiding his light once more until fully covered. The wolf would begin to search for our scent and the cycle would begin anew. This is how we began to mark the months. As time progressed I, and my companions, looked forward to those quiet, darkened nights. On rare occasions my sister and I will cross paths in the heavens at the same time. During those periods, we are both hidden from our pursuers and can breathe as we quickly exchange news. It is over far too quickly for our liking, but this is our calling until our steeds can no longer outrun the grasp of Fenrir’s kin. The rest of our story I will leave to others.