The gate was decorated with elaborate and beautiful wood carvings ingrained with silver and gold. Most of the scenes on the wooden panels represented a stormy night, with lightning and thunderclouds dominating a farmland or woodland. Beautiful as the carvings and panels were, they were also frightening. Most people who passed through the gate made a sign of safe passage according to their faith.
A large, massively built youth walked boldly up to the gate. His hair was red-gold, his eyes brilliant blue and his features were regular without being handsome. He sported a sparse beard. It was of a reddish hue, brightly colored like blood. He wore a black tunic laced with gold trim, and over his left shoulder he hefted a massive oak club. As he came up to the gate he stopped and swung his club before him, and leaned on it. It was nearly six feet long and he laid his left forearm on its top and rested his chin at this place.
He did not rest because he was tired. Rather he studied the gate with a bemused smile on his broad face. When he found nothing frightening or interesting, he shouldered his club again and passed through.
Gasping from his exertions, the giant released his grip on the stone and staggered away. He wiped the sweat from his face with one hairy hand.
"Impossible," he grunted. "No boulder this small could be so heavy. There is more to this than meets the eye."
"Indeed there is," offered a calm voice. A tall man walked over to the boulder and placed his hand on it. He was dressed in fine clothes stitched from the skins of the finest animals. A magnificent bow and a quiver arrows hung from his back. There were runes engraved on the bow that whispered of magical power.
The giant squinted at the man. "What do you know of this, stranger?"
The archer was unaffected by the giant�s booming voice. His face was unusually handsome and even more so when he smiled up at the giant.
"Oh, just a little. It takes more than strength to lift this stone. Did you think it would be that easy? Hundreds of others have tried. Many stronger than you could imagine," he said.
"Ha, I am Worntag, strongest of my brethren. I can imagine few stronger," boasted the giant. He raised his mighty arms to the sky and exhibited their muscular power. The truth be told, Worntag was a magnificent giant. Many of his kind were misshapen, oddly constructed humanoids, often having parts made out of nature like stone or wood. Worntag was perfectly proportioned, almost handsome, and looked like a man just many sizes larger. A high intelligence was attributed to these sort of giants which made them all the more dangerous.
The archer shrugged and walked around the boulder. They had drawn a crowd now. People had appeared from the wooden houses and the tavern. Most were human sized but there were a giant or two among them. This place was open to all. Runes of peace and non violence were burned into its cornerstones, and this prohibited any attempt to act violently by anyone within the hostel. This being the case, the much smaller humans were not overly frightened of Worntag as they might have been outside the encampment's walls.
"You've come here hoping to learn the secret of Thunder. Perhaps you have heard that one has only to lift a large boulder for that secret to be learned. But, alas, that is not true. It is not strength of arms alone that will lift this boulder. Strength is required, but more is needed," explained the archer.
"So you say," commented Worntag, standing with his arms akimbo. "Speak on, then little man. What else is needed?"
"A plethora of ingredients. Things such as courage, ferocity and valor," began the archer.
"Ah, these things I have aplenty," roared the giant.
The archer showed no irritation at being interrupted. "Many men do. All warriors must. But there are other things. Justice, fair-mindedness and a touch of gentleness."
One of the spectators, a powerfully built man who had already tried and failed to lift the boulder, stepped forward. "Gentleness? Of what use is that?"
"He who is gentle, is caring. One who wields the Thunder must be caring. Great power must be tempered with gentleness," said the archer.
The man, who was of the Vanir race, shook his head in disbelief. "Thunder and rain, lightning and wind care not who they strike. Why should any man who wields them care?"
"Because the elements you name strike without pattern, while a man strikes according to his will. He must be careful where he strikes with such power," explained the archer.
Worntag growled and lowered his large face until it was right before the archer. "Who are you who spouts so much wisdom?"
"I am a traveler, a hunter and a thinker. Once a ruler, twice a wanderer , and now an interested party in this significant affair. My name is Ull."
The Vanir man frowned. He examined the archer more closely as was the giant. "Just an ordinary Ull, or the Ull?"
The archer laughed. "The Ull! Or an ordinary Ull. Removing the binding of modesty I must say that I am the Ull. Once ruler of ten years in Asgard. Magician, master of runes, inventor of conveniences and hunter of all beasts. Yes, I am Ull."
The Vanirman considered this. "The wisdom of Ull is well known. There may be truth in what he says." Worntag laughed. He was a giant, and the advice of the Vanir, or the wisdom of an old Asgardian King was less than truth. It was garbage. All he wanted was to lift the boulder. Girding himself, he tried again and failed.
The Vanirman smirked when he saw this. Others in the square openly laughed. All this served to stroke Worntag's anger.
"Ants. None of you are worth the bones in your body," he roared. All he could do was roar for the spell of Peace was strong in this place.
"And none of you are strong enough to lift this stone. Surely no man could if we giants fail."
The youth had been content to stand by and listen and learn until the giant had issued his challenge. His sparse red chin hairs bristled at the challenge. With great proud strides he soon stood between the boulder and Worntag.
"You boast unwisely, giant. There is one who can lift this pebble. And I am he," shouted the youth. Tossing his club aside, he bent over and seized the boulder. He pulled with all the power of his mighty arms, muscles bulging with effort and sweat bursting from his brow like rain. The boulder trembled, shifted slightly and then settled back in its bed.
The giant roared. "Ha, look, here is a boy who cannot lift pebbles. Go home to your mother's girdle before you try to play a man's game."
Fire blazed in the youth's eyes as he rose from leaning over the boulder. He lifted his massive club and advanced on the giant with the intent of bashing his brains in. Each step became more and more difficult as a sudden weakness overcame his powerful muscles. Only when he dropped the club did the weakness subside.
"This is a place that does not abide violence," warned Ull. He studied the youth closely as if he had found something he had been searching for.
"Then let us step away from this place," challenged the youth. "I'll find another way to silence his insolent tongue."
The giant was eager to receive the youth's challenge. Ull was against it. "Not now, young man. You came here to lift the Boulder of Thunder. Keep to your task. Save the giant for later."
"Who are you to direct my actions?" asked the youth.
"As I said before I am Ull. And I do not direct, I advise. Many have accepted my advise much to their advantage," said the archer.
The youth considered this. Every fiber in his being wanted to go outside and smash the giant's head in with his club. Yet, something in Ull's words or the tone of his voice suggested the foolishness of that action. The archer was right: the Boulder came first.
"I have tried to lift the stone and failed. It is too heavy," said the youth.
"Perhaps you lifted for the wrong reason. Were you not listening to what I told the giant? There is more than strength at task here."
The youth looked over at the boulder and reminded himself why he had come to this place. The Aesir of Asgard were sorely pressed by the giant races, even with the protection of their mighty lord, Odin. While the men of Asgard fought valiantly, a warrior champion was needed. A Warrior God. Men had whispered to the youth that such a warrior might be made through the trial of Thunder. And so he had journeyed many miles to come to this place where the Boulder of Thunder lay nestled at the seat of the Mountain of Lightning. He had journeyed many miles to fail.
Shaking his head, the youth found that unacceptable. A champion was needed. He felt that he was that champion, or could be. All he had to do was lift this little stone.
Grasping the boulder again, he pit his muscle, heart and will into lifting it from the ground. All that he was and all he wanted to be strengthened his body. Straining his utmost he began to fear his blood would burst from his veins. And then the boulder moved, stirred, and lifted from its nest of dirt until it cleared above the youth's knees.
It was then that he saw the runes. Appearing suddenly on the face of the rock and were like no other runes the youth had ever seen. Like lightning streaking across the sky, the image of the runes burned into his mind. A lance of agony pierced his mind and soul. He dropped the boulder then, fell to his knees holding his head with both hands. And then the pain was gone.
The others crowded around him, slapping his back and shouting congratulations. He had succeeded. That was important.
"A fine deed," said Ull, putting his long arm across the youth's back. "A deed that needs a name to go with it. What is yours?"
The youth shook his head to clear it of remaining confusion. He was uncomfortable on his knees so he lifted himself up before answering with a triumphant smile.
"I am Donar. An Aesir, or so I am told."
There was a mystery here that interested Ull. The archer was a creature of insatiable curiosity. He spent most of his time investigating the mysteries of the world, and this time had been well spent. Like Odin, he had found the secret of the runes and the power they represented. There was power in every thing in existence whether it was living or dead. Even thoughts and ideals had power. When one found the rune for a thing a man could share in the power of that thing.
But there were other mysteries in the world than runes. Forces moved to bring things together and construct patterns of destiny that linked the mighty to the small. Ull loved to follow the spoor of destiny for he was a hunter of more than ordinary game.
"And why not?" commented Ull, " men are either Aesir or Vanir in this land."
"Maybe, maybe not," replied Donar with a shrug of his massive shoulders. "Perhaps one can only be sure of his mother's blood, and if she is neither Aesir, Vanir or giant, then what may a man be?
"Now is not the time for thinking," laughed Donar. "It is a time for drinking, eating, and if the Norns are kind, wenching. I have done good work today, and I am hungry." The huge youth walked away from the Boulder of Thunder and went directly into the Hall of Hospitality which was easily recognized by its structure and the buxom serving wenches standing outside.
Inside Donar was greeted like the hero he was and the celebration began.
"What's for breakfast?" Donar asked. He enjoyed stroking the silky blondness of her hair.
"Breakfast? Glutton, I haven't even washed my face yet," said the girl. Her name was Glainda. She was the best the hostel had to offer. She was pretty, wholesome, and Donar liked her.
"Well, get up and do it, girl. I'm hungry. Nothing like a good breakfast to set a man right. The whole day depends on it."
"Men," the girl muttered. She scrambled to her feet. Donar enjoyed watching her walk away.
Brang lost no time in broaching Donar at his breakfast table.
"I come in the name of Odin. Let us speak," said the rune user. Donar paused in the act of stuffing his mouth with a big spoonful of eggs. He was in a good mood so he invited the man to sit.
"Congratulations on your victory. The Aesir have waited a long time for someone to be successful at lifting the boulder. Have you seen the Runes of Thunder?" asked Brang. He held in his hand a medallion of Odin as if it gave him some authority over average men. Donar laughed.
"My suspicious dame warned me against telling strangers things they need not know. Who are you?" he asked.
"I am Brang, servant of Odin, Lord of Asgard and king of the Aesir. I wear his metal to confirm this. These other men are my servants. We are here to wait for one who has succeeded in lifting Thunder's Boulder. I appears that you are that man," explained Brang.
"Well, there's no doubt that I lifted it. Don't know how that concerns you though. Or Odin," said Donar. An old dog, probably belonging to the keeper of the inn, watched as Donar ate, hoping for some scrap of food. The red haired youth made a funny face at the hound.
"This is a serious matter," said Brang. Asgard needs champions. As accomplished as our warriors are, we are still plagued by giants too many to contain. Outside the walls of the city, these giants make life miserable for the common folk. The farmers and fishermen. A champion is needed to strike fear in their hearts. Odin believes the Thunder will deliver such a champion. I repeat, have you seen the Runes of Thunder?"
Donar growled at the old dog in mockery and tossed him a piece of meat. With the ease of much practice, the hound caught it in the air and swallowed it quickly. The dog glanced around suspiciously, knowing that other hounds of the keeper would soon converge on the generosity of the dining man.
"What I have seen is my affair. I need not reveal anything to you."
"I speak in Odin's name in this matter. To speak to me is to obey your king, Odin of Asgard," advised Brang.
"Asgard is far away. Odin is far away. When Odin comes here and lifts the Boulder of Thunder, then he will see the runes. I don't owe Odin the secret for which I have labored to acquire. Do you think me a fool!" grunted the youth.
Brang remained calm. "Is it wise to discount Odin's authority? Besides, you do not have the power of Thunder yet. You must journey to the Mountain. There may be danger on the way. Giants and monsters. I can arrange for the men of Asgard to aid you against these dangers."
Donar shook his head. He tossed a scrap to the old hound. A second dog tried to steal it away and both dogs broke out into a fight. With a wry smile, Donar watched them fight for scraps.
"You must think me a fool. The journey must be taken alone. It is a short journey, for the mountain is nearby. The hilly land upon which this encampment is built leads directly up to the Mountain of Thunder.
And besides, I need no escort. It is not my way. If I encounter villains along the way, then let them beware," replied Donar with a laugh. He lifted his right hand up and closed it into a fist.
"This is all I need, men of Odin. None of your guardsmen can match it."
Brang frowned. This meeting was not going as well as he desired. The boy was too well schooled in the legend of Thunder and the matter of runes.
"As you wish. I only hope that you succeed. I am not fearful that you will become the warrior champion of the Aesir. That became your destiny when you lifted the boulder. In the end you will serve Odin, as you must serve the people of Asgard," said Brang as he rose from his chair. "It will be the same in the end."
Donar's eyes became cloudy with thought. "Be off with you, Brang. You have nearly ruined my appetite."
Brang left and his servants followed. Donar went back to watching the hounds fighting over his scraps. His mood was melancholy when Ull came to him.
"Have you come to pry the runes from me?" he asked with a sneer. Ull shook his head.
"I heard your conversation with Odin's men. You were right to be secretive. The runes can be used by only one. If you have them, you are the one. Of course, having them is not enough. You must climb the Mountain of Thunder."
"I know. I will start out soon. After breakfast. Which is nearly over," Donar said. "I am eager to get this thing done."
Ull stared at the youth with piercing blue eyes. "I do not know who you really are, Donar. I do know that you lifted the Boulder. The first step to acceptance by the Thunder. I know you received a gift of runes. Trust no one. Trust the runes. This is the only advice I can give you at this time."
Donar opened his mouth to speak, perhaps to confide in this tall, majestic man who appeared so trustworthy, then restrained himself as he thought better of it. Instead, he simply nodded his agreement.
A giant was attacking a small party of dwarves. He had already killed two of them and was trying to catch the third. This spry little fellow was dodging the flying wagons, horses and stones that the giant was tossing at him. The giant was a monstrous type. His left hand was made of living stone. His legs were too short for his hulking shoulders and long arms. His ears were elephantine and wiggled away from his misshapen head. He was very large, standing over thirty feet tall. Seizing the last living horse in his normal right hand, he crushed it quickly and hurled it at the running dwarf. This time his missile struck the target and the dwarf was partially crushed by the horse's bloody corpse.
Witnessing all this, Donar wondered if he should interfere. Helping the dwarf would not further his cause. And he was not certain he could slay such a large fellow as this giant whose strength Donar had rarely seen matched. But thoughts of walking away were brushed aside by a rage that exploded in his breast. Donar had a feeling for the common people, and hated to see them victimized by others just because they were bigger and stronger. Roaring his battle cry, the youth raced down the hill to attack the inhuman behemoth.
The giant whirled to face this new threat, and laughed when he saw it was just another small human. From the deepness and loudness of Donar's roar, the giant had first thought that it might have been another giant coming to steal his booty. Instead, it was a foolish little man who wanted to die this day.
Reaching out with his stone hand, the giant tried to kill Donar with one quick strike. Never pausing, rushing forward, Donar swung his club with all his strength at the fist that was dropping on him. An explosive booming, splintering of oak, and fragments of stone resulted when club met hand. The giant bellowed in pain and paused in his attack. Donar looked at his shattered club in disdain, then stabbed the giant in the leg with the jagged piece of wood that had remained in his hand. Instinctively the giant kicked out, and catapulted Donar fifty feet into the air. The youth landed in a roll and up on his feet.
"Aesir gnat. I'll kill you slowly for that. Pull your arms and legs off you one at a time," promised the giant. Donar looked around for a weapon. His hand closed on a ten pound rock. Rushing forward he hurled his missile at the giant and struck him squarely in the chest. In sunk about six inches and set the monster back on his ass. Donar's quick eye spied another, larger stone as he circled around the behemoth. His right hand hefted a fifty pound rock and shot it at the giant's head. Blood showered as the rock entered his skull and dropped the giant dead.
"Ha," laughed the youth. Even a giant couldn't take a big rock on the head without falling. It was Donar's favorite method of fighting the monsters. Most Aesir fought with expertly fashioned weapons, preferring to hurl long spears at the giants. Of all the men in the nine worlds, the Aesir had a physical strength closest to the giants. It was not enough and had to be coupled with fanatic skill at arms for the Aesir to be a match in hand to hand combat with opponents so much larger than themselves. As a boy, Donar had learned to be an expert with more than conventional weapons. Anything heavy and solid was a weapon in his powerful hands. Many hours of practice had developed for him a deadly aim. As many giants had already learned.
The third dwarf was nearly dead when Donar reached him. There was little the youth could do. In his last breath the dwarf gave Donar the items in his wagon as reward for his attempt to help him. Donar paused an hour to bury the dwarves and look through the wagon's ruins for what might be of use. He found several things of interest. First was a good supply of traveling rations which he ate immediately so great was his hunger. Next he found a beautiful belt braided with gold and silver. Surprisingly it fit across his broad muscular belly. A pair of well constructed iron gloves was found next. These gloves fit on his large hands perfectly as if some magic were involved. Last, he found a hammer. Its head was large and made of a metal Donar was unfamiliar with. It seemed to be solidly made. Its only flaw was the shortness of its handle. The handle barely escaped from the bottom of his massive fist by several inches. Still, it felt good in his hand so he kept it.
With nothing more to do, Donar continued on his way.
Donar concentrated on one rune and felt a tingling of power. Nothing manifested so he concluded that the ritual of the Thunderer was not yet complete. Something had to be done up on the Mountain of Thunder. Looking up at the peak, he estimated he was only half a day away.
Someone was mumbling nearby. A thin crackling voice came from the trees up the path he was walking on. Soon a hunched over figure came into view. An old woman carrying a large bundle of firewood. A common sight in the wilderness of Asgard. When she came closer, Donar saw that she was more middle aged than old. A woman with brown hair mixed with golden streaks as well as a few gray. Her eyes were dark blue and her nose, which looked like it had once been straight, was now bent from a break in the past. Donar did not find her unattractive.
When she saw him she stopped, startled, and dropped her bundle. Anyone might have been frightened at the sight of such a large man standing in the shadows. She spent a few moments squinting at him and made a few quick signs with her hands.
"I mean you no harm, woman," announced the young man. "I hope we are well met."
Straightening out she understood that he wanted their meeting to come to no wrong. She brushed off her blouse and sleeves where some leaves and fallen bark had littered them with a woman's mind to appear attractive. Donar took this for a good sign.
"It isn't often I have visitors. Few come to the Mountain of Thunder. There are many fatalities from lightning strikes in this area," said the woman.
"Well, I have come to visit. And more, I've come to climb the mountain. Tomorrow will be a good time for it is growing dark. Do you live nearby? May I ask hospitality from you?"
The woman considered this. "I will give no hospitality to a man whose name I do not know?"
"I am Donar," said the youth with a laugh. "I really mean you no harm."
"Will you carry my bundle for me? You seem large enough for the task," she said.
"Many times over," bragged the red bearded youth. She led him down the path, diverging from the path that had led Donar up the mountain, until they came to a small cottage in a clearing. It was an idyllic setting. A cottage, a fence keeping in some poultry, a barn of sorts and a stream running nearby. The place was kept in fine condition, although Donar had seen no sign of a man yet.
She was a silent woman, obviously living alone, and prepared him a fine supper of the wares from her garden and barn. Perhaps she was unprepared for his voracious appetite because she frowned when he asked for a fifth helping. Taking this for disapproval he shrugged his shoulders and said he was full.
A time of awkwardness came. During supper she had removed her outer robe. She appeared to be much younger than he had first thought. The gray was gone from her golden brown hair, and there were no middle age lines in her pretty face. Her breasts moved freely under her linen blouse. The youth wondered why he had not noticed how attractive she had been before. Though his vision was excellent he attributed his misperception to the long day of marching and the poor light from the setting sun.
"You have no husband?" he asked, finally deciding to be bold.
"I am a bride of the Mountain. A virgin. I am not meant to be with a mortal man," she replied. She kept her dark blue eyes down.
Donar had heard of such strange things. Odd behaviors born from fanatical religious beliefs. It was a shame that so lovely a woman would never please a man. Especially the man in her house now. For a moment, Donar considered pressing his case, and keep trying to convince her that he should share her bed. The desires of his powerful body were very strong. They sat silently while he toyed with the idea. In the end the idea remained a toy, for it was not his nature to force women. And he had been taught that if people believed in things strongly enough, it was best to let them be. If that were possible.
"Well, your husband, the Mountain, is a lucky man. I have to start early tomorrow. I plan to climb up and meet your husband and need my rest. I will sleep in the barn."
She nodded shyly, grateful for his mercy. Rising to his feet, the young man realized how small the cottage was, especially when he felt as odd as he did. Retreating hastily, he left her home and went to the barn to bed down with her cow and horse.
It took a while for him to fall asleep. Thoughts of the woman, lying in her bed, ran lustily through his mind. To escape this he turned his attentions to the runes. Eventually he grew tired studying them and fell asleep.
In the morning she told him her name was Saeum, gave him a hearty breakfast, and wished him luck. She also told him that if he should win the Thunder from the mountain, it would free her from her marriage to the holy place. Long ago the spirit of the Mountain bargained with her father to place her as its wife upon its wooded side. She had been young then, too long ago to remember, and her father had been very poor. The mountain spirit had promised she would never be harmed. The lightning would protect her. All she need do is remain in her cottage and please the spirit by looking beautiful. Her father had many daughters, and this did not seem a bad fate so he had agreed. She had been a long time on the mountain. Too long.
"I play to win, Saeum. Pack your things, for you will be free of this mountain soon," said Donar as he started up the path.
The sky was darkening, not from the end of day, but because of an approaching storm. Donar had never seen the sky so black from storm clouds. Thunder began to boom, and lightning cracked. The young man found a path that was more ancient than the sky and walked along it until he came to a huge stone pillar. It was so dark now that he could only see when the lightning flashed. Thankfully it did so often.
The stone pillar was unmarked. Donar searched for some sign of what he was to do. There was none. Inside his mind the runes were burning hotly. Donar slapped the face of the great gray stone. It was very solid. He struck it with his fist. The only thing that happened was his hand hurt. Remembering the dwarf, he drew the short handled hammer from his bag and drew back his hand to strike the stone.
"Is that what you must do to steal the Thunder?"
Donar wheeled around. A flash of lightning revealed Worntag standing about one hundred feet away. He was a splendid figure, dressed in leather and fur, leaning on a mighty war spear fully thirty five feet long. His carving knife hung from his broad belt. There was a mocking smile on his large handsome face.
"How did you get here?" asked Donar. He felt naked before the well armed giant. All he had was a misshapen hammer in his hand.
"Did you think that only you could climb the mountain? Is there anything an Aesir can do that a giant cannot? I do not believe so. I followed you. You may have the runes, but I have you."
"The Thunder isn't for you. Don't you realize that?"
"I want it. If I can take it then it will be mine. We giants need an edge to combat Odin's rune-magic. With the Thunder we will retake the world. I will be the greatest hero of my kind."
"How do you propose to take the Thunder? You don't have the runes."
Worntag laughed. The little Aesir was talking too much. A talking man often meant a man afraid. "You were about to strike that boulder. I have watched you from afar. I think that is what must be done. My instincts tell me that. After I kill you, I will do it and the Thunder will be mine."
Donar tightened his grip on the dwarf's hammer. What a puny weapon to face this giant warrior with? "Killing me is something you shall never do, giant."
"If you beg for mercy and give me the runes, I may let you live. As my servant. Such a life is still better than death," offered the giant.
Donar felt the fear of a man faced with an uneven fight. He paled for a moment. Then his lip curled. "I offer you no such condition. I will kill you for your audacity, giant."
"With that little hammer? I think not. Reconsider and live," retorted Worntag. He wanted Donar to surrender to him. Alive he might insure that Worntag would obtain the Thunder.
"Consider this," laughed Donar, reaching down and scooping up an ice covered stone. He hurled this missile at the giant with a roar. Worntag dodged the missile by the barest of margins. The duel had begun.
The giant thought that he could easily kill the smaller man by charging him and skewering him on his spear. His long legs covered the hundred feet in seconds, the head of his war spear aimed relentlessly at Donar's chest. The red bearded youth looked death in the face.
Donar shifted his position at the last moment. The spear hit the boulder behind him and shattered with the impact. Splinters of wood showered both Donar and the giant. Worntag fell against the boulder, bracing himself against it with one hand, while the other drew his carving knife. Donar had only one missile at hand. The dwarf's hammer. With all his strength he hurled it at Worntag. The giant�s head exploded from the impact. His blood and brains splattered all over the great gray stone as his gigantic body fell in death.
Angry, Donar seized one of the giant's feet and dragged him away from the stone. When he returned, lightning flashed again and again and on the stone, where the giant�s blood had wet it were more runes. When he saw them, these runes leaped into his mind and burned him savagely. The pain was greater than any he had ever known. Donar screamed helplessly as the runes branded his inner self. But they wouldn't stop burning. Blinded by the darkness and the pain, the young man found his hammer attacked the stone. He feared it was killing him so attacked it as he would any enemy. As the hammer struck the stone, lightning flashed and hit the hammer's head. Thunder such as the world had never heard before erupted and Donar's world blackened as it went out.
It was morning on the mountainside. A beautiful rainbow curved over the mountain. The young man stretched his mighty arms and yawned like a great cat. Rubbing his jaw, he was amazed at how thick his beard had become. He seemed taller too. With a shrug, he started down the mountain.
"Is it over? Is it done?" she asked softly.
"Yes, it is done. And you are free." His voice boomed at her with a carefree wildness.
"That is wonderful. So wonderful, Donar," she said, clapping her hands before her pretty face.
The red beard glanced at her with a wry smile. "My mother calls me Donar, girl. Let the world call me Thor. Thor the Thunderer."