Halgard, the Grey Wolf, and the Journey to the Pulpit Rock

“Never wish for anything and your sacrifice in life will be your reward in the hereafter.” These were the words that Halgard’s mother whispered in his ear every night from the day he was born. He was never handed his father’s axe but rose to be chieftain through merit and tenacity though it cost him an eye, two fingers on his left hand, and a permanent limp. His torso was also pockmarked with scars from arrows and bludgeonings and he wheezed terribly from the ribs that had collapsed in on his lungs. But his family and his people, who lived by the sloping shores of the Nørdsjoen, were safe and, since the birth of his sons, had known over twenty winters of good harvests and prosperous fishing.

Halgard’s wife could not stand the sight of his ugliness but roared at him terribly when he told her that he would leave the tribe and travel to the highlands to make the ättestupa. With the birth of his grandson, his mind was made. “Øle and Sune are grown and strong,” he told her. “It is time and I have decided. I require no more children from you.” 

On the day of his departure, he handed his axe to Øle that henceforth he should be the tribe’s chieftain. He wrapped his arms around his son in an uncharacteristic display of affection for Øle had never met his grandmother, did not know her secrets, and had already wished for much in his life so there would be no place for him at Odin’s table.

Halgard had carried his mother’s words with him his whole life. He knew the path. All that was left now was to make the journey into the highlands and find the fabled rock overlooking the Lysefjord, pay homage to the Thunder God, and make the only wish of his life that he would be able to enjoy for all eternity. He had handed over his axe. He would not need his armour. He took an apple from the cold store they kept under their cabin by the sea, cracked a branch off a nearby tree that he could use as a staff, and headed north.

As he passed through the villages of the Westlands, seeing that he was unarmed, the villagers offered him not only passage through their lands but food and shelter as well which Halgard declined. Instead, he ate the apple he took with him as his last meal and rested by any tree he happened upon along the path but only when he felt it necessary.

After four days, Halgard arrived at the Lauvikk and paid the boatman to ferry him to Oanes where his journey would continue to the foot of the mountains by Jørpeland. The sun rose and set twice more as Halgard hobbled along the seaside before making his way through the valley to the Revsvatnet around which the mountains rose.

His mother’s words echoed in his mind:

“Never wish for anything and your sacrifice in life will be your reward in the hereafter. Cross the Westlands and travel through the valley to the lake over which the mountains keep watch. Ascend the mountain and travel to the far side. When you see the thunder of Odin flowing down the side of the mountain you will know you are almost there. If you are worthy, Odin’s breath will rise from the fjord to catch you. You will be afraid. You will see the rock pointing you to Valhalla. You must surrender yourself to the Gods.”

Halgard had not eaten for a week and became thin and emaciated. His leg that had been broken in a battle by raiders from across the sea had never fully healed and now the flesh around the break began to swell and ache. Still, he marched on, up the foothills putting one foot in front of the other and keeping his thoughts on his mother’s words. This last journey was the shadow of his life. He had renounced every joy and comfort he might have known to press forward and survive in the unrelenting winds and tides of the Westlands and now it clung to him, waiting to be released by eternal darkness.

He fell for the first time in a marsh where the mountains begin to grow tall. He sat in the cold wet grass listening to the trickle of the mountain streams as beads of rain ran down his brow and into his thick beard. From the wood came a grey wolf who spotted Halgard resting upon the trunk of a fallen tree. The grey wolf, seeing that Halgard had no hunt left in him, stood by the foot of the mountain and waited. When Halgard saw the grey wolf he stood up. He was not afraid. Halgard leaned upon his staff and walked toward the grey wolf. The grey wolf understood and turned toward the mountain to lead the way.

The grey wolf climbed the rocks leading up the mountain slowly and deliberately and indicating to Halgard where to place his staff and where to put his feet as he negotiated the way one rock at a time. The first hundred metres took an entire day before Halgard decided he needed to rest. As Halgard did not eat, neither did the grey wolf who sat watch on the hillside. In the morning, the grey wolf was waiting when Halgard awoke and slowly got to his feet to continue the journey.

The grey wolf led Halgard up to the first ridge where the terrain flattened out into smooth weather-beaten rocks that sat along a small mountain lake. A fire was burning by an outcropping on the far side. Halgard and the grey wolf made their way across the lake by fording the narrowest part of where the stream ran down the side of the mountain. Three men sat by the fire and were startled by Halgard’s presence. They grabbed their axes and logs from the fire that were burning in the embers and prepared to defend themselves.

“Why do you raise your axes and these branches like they are weapons? Have you not, like me, come here to die?” Halgard asked.

“We have been on the mountain many days,” one of the three men answered. “But we are too afraid to make the ättestupa.”

“Does the breath of Odin rise in the fjord?” Halgard asked.

“No. It has been clear many nights now.”

“You look well-fed.”

“There are many birds and small rabbits up here in the mountain. They are easy to trap. It is almost nighttime. Come, sit and eat with us. The fire keeps the wolves away. They fear it.”

Halgard looked down at the grey wolf and knew that he could not stay with these men and must press on even through the night.

“You should return to your villages,” Halgard said. “The ättestupa is not for you.”

“But we want our place at Odin’s table!” one of the three men cried out. “I was a chieftain and I won many battles! It is my right! I wish only to be granted what I am owed for the sacrifices I have made for my people.”

And with that Halgard knew that the man would never dine with the Gods.

“I must continue my journey,” Halgard said as he took up his staff and lumbered past the men and their fire. He turned to the men and spoke with directness and without emotion. “When I reach the sacred rock. I will jump. I deserve nothing for anything I have done. I will die somewhere between here and the fjord.”

Halgard and the grey wolf continued around the side of the mountain along a perilous ledge that dropped off straight into the valley below. Halgard could hear the thunder of rushing water and in the twinkling moonlight caught the reflection of Odin’s lightning crackling along the side of the mountain across the valley. He knew that he was close now. He laid down in the stillness of the night one last time preparing his mind to make the leap.

The grey wolf cried out when the morning came. It was late autumn and the arc of the sun could no longer rise past the height of the mountains. All it could do was light up the mist in the valley. Halgard awoke and could feel his heart slowly beating. He could still make out the streak of lightning upon the mountainside faintly glowing through Odin’s breath which had risen from the valley expecting his arrival at the sacred rock. He heaved himself up the mountainside slipping along the way to the very top. An outcropping opened wide as the rain began to fall sending rivers of water between his feet. He could no longer grip the mountainside with his feet and had to use his eight fingers to pull himself to where he needed to go. The grey wolf came to Halgard and with his fangs gripped his sleeve and helped with all of its might to pull Halgard to the top of the mountain until Halgard fell again and lost consciousness.

The fog was still alight when Halgard’s senses returned to him. He opened his eyes and could feel the cold wet nose of the grey wolf on his cheek. Noticing that Halgard had awakened, the grey wolf looked him in the eye, turned, and ran up the side of the mountain and Halgard never saw the grey wolf again. Halgard rose to his feet and summoned the strength of the Gods and his ancestors and, following in the steps of the grey wolf, walked up alongside the mountain. Turning the corner, he could make out in the distance the fabled rock hanging over the fjord. There was no confusing it for there was no other rock like it in the known world. This was indeed the rock his mother spoke of every night of his childhood.

Her words echoed in his mind one last time:

“Never wish for anything and your sacrifice in life will be your reward in the hereafter. You have the heart of the grey wolf whose spirit will guide you to your end. He will protect you when your will is gone and he will steady your nerve at every moment on your journey. Cross the Westlands and travel through the valley to the lake over which the mountains keep watch. Ascend the mountain and travel to the far side. When you see the thunder of Odin flowing down the side of the mountain you will know you are almost there. Keep every treasured moment of your life in your heart. Carry them with you wherever you go. Never forget who you are, what you have done, and where you belong. We all have but one chance to ask the Gods for that which we treasure most. When you arrive at the sacred rock, if you are worthy, Odin’s breath will rise from the fjord to catch you. You will be afraid. You will see the rock pointing you to Valhalla. Bury your memories deep down until the final moment. You must surrender yourself to the Gods. Leap into the fjord and make your wish and you will live forever.”

Halgard fell to his knees at the base of the rock. His breathing was heavy and unsteady as it had been 17 days since his last meal – that one apple, the last meal of his life.

“Hej!” cried a voice suddenly from behind him. Crouching by a small pile of stones was one of the three men Halgard had met the night before by the lake. “You will make the ättestupa? You are not afraid?”

“I will make the ättestupa,” Halgard replied.

“And you will follow the grey wolf?” the man asked. “The others could not see him last night. I saw, but I said nothing. The grey wolf is with you now.”

Halgard did not reply. He stared out over the abyss feeling the wind rush through his hair one last time.

“What will you wish for?” the man asked.

“I do not know,” Halgard replied. “I have never wished for anything in my life so there is no way for me to know what it is I desire in eternity. When the time comes, I will know.”

Halgard looked back toward the man crouching by the pile of stones but there was nothing but shadow. “Go!” Halgard cried. “Leave a dead man to his duties.”

Halgard turned back to the rock and summoned the last of his strength and launching his body forward lept into the mist. In the fraction of a moment before his toe left the ground for the last time, he saw all of his life’s achievements. He had fought alongside his father, only to watch his head cleaved by an enemy axe. He fled into exile to begin life anew, but never again saw the lands of his birth. He earned his rights of adoption into a new tribe by prevailing in their trials but was always seen as an outsider. He ascended to chieftain through his valiance in battle but forever had to fend off less-capable pretenders. He had slain many enemies, the faces of whom haunted him all of his life. He had won many battles, but never glory. He had had three wives but never loved. He had many daughters, all of whom he traded for the security of his tribe. He had many sons, all of whom he had left so that they could become men. There would be no skald sung in great halls by which to remember his name and that was the life of a true Viking.

And as Halgard’s toe scraped along the rock and rose into the air his thoughts wandered back to his village and to the shapely face of a dark-haired maiden, Telgivelse, whose womanly figure glinted in the summer sun. In the flowering of their youth, they had shared romantic glances and small kisses away from the watchful eyes of the village. In a time when less was expected of them, they were truly free and their hearts were open. That’s when the longships came and Telgivelse was taken away and Halgard never saw her again – at least not in life. Halgard’s body never fell into the fjord and his ättestupa continues on. He does not dine in the great hall with the Gods at Valhalla. Instead, he sits by a small fire on a rocky shore by the sea of an endless summer with Telgivelse by his side having lived and died like a Viking. Their hearts are open and they are free. There is nothing to wish for.