Then Odin, looking into the future across the open grave, saw all the days to come.

“Who is this,” he said, seeing that which no mortal could have seen; “who is this that will not weep for Balder?”

Then the prophetess knew that it was none other than the greatest of the gods who had called her up.

“Thou art not Vegtam,” she exclaimed, “thou art Odin himself, the king of men.”

“And thou,” answered Odin angrily, “art no prophetess, but the mother of three giants.”

“Ride home, then, and exult in what thou hast discovered,” said the dead woman.  “Never shall my slumbers be broken again until Loki shall burst his chains and the great battle come.”

And Odin rode sadly homeward knowing that already Niflheim was making itself beautiful against the coming of Balder.

The other gods meanwhile had become merry again; for had not everything promised to protect their beloved Balder?  They even made sport of that which troubled them, for when they found that nothing could hurt Balder, and that all things glanced aside from his shining form, they persuaded him to stand as a target for their weapons; hurling darts, spears, swords, and battle-axes at him, all of which went singing through the air and fell harmless at his feet.  But Loki, when he saw these sports, was jealous of Balder, and went about thinking how he could destroy him.

It happened that as Frigg sat spinning in her house Fensal, the soft wind blowing in at the windows and bringing the merry shouts of the gods at play, an old woman entered and approached her.

“Do you know,” asked the newcomer, “what they are doing in Asgard?  They are throwing all manner of dangerous weapons at Balder.  He stands there like the sun for brightness, and against his glory, spears and battle-axes fall powerless to the ground.  Nothing can harm him.”

“No,” answered Frigg joyfully; “nothing can bring him any hurt, for I have made everything in heaven and earth swear to protect him.”

“What!” said the old woman, “has everything sworn to guard Balder?”

“Yes,” said Frigg, “everything has sworn except one little shrub which is called Mistletoe, and grows on the eastern side of Valhal.  I did not take an oath from that because I thought it too young and weak.”

When the old woman heard this a strange light came into her eyes; she walked off much faster than she had come in, and no sooner had she passed beyond Frigg’s sight than this same feeble old woman grew suddenly erect, shook off her woman’s garments, and there stood Loki himself.  In a moment he had reached the slope east of Valhal, had plucked a twig of the unsworn Mistletoe, and was back in the circle of the gods, who were still at their favourite pastime with Balder.  Hoder was standing silent and alone outside the noisy throng, for he was blind.  Loki touched him.

“Why do you not throw something at Balder?”