Angrboða had started her day like any other. She woke long before first light as she had ever since the passing of her first husband. Upon waking, she made her offering to Hel and to Freya as thanks for allowing her to be present at his hour of death and to give him comfort in his final moments. It was in the midst of completing this offering that a heavy knock fell upon her door three times.

She had no idea who could be calling at her door in this hour. The villagers would often sleep for at least an hour after her own waking. Perhaps someone had taken ill in the night and she was needed to provide remedy or intervention. Quickly, she gathered herself up and went to the door.

If Angrboða had lived a thousand years, she still would never have guessed who it was that stood before her that morning in the brilliant golden light of dawn. She was rendered speechless by the sight as she stood in the glory of the king of Asgard. It was Odin – his very self. When he spoke it was as though the heavens themselves opened up and thunder clapped above, shaking the whole of her house.

“You are the healer Angrboða,” he said. “We seek your skill in healing. Several of my daughters have fallen with a sickness unknown to us. Death does not dare take them, but we are at a loss. Even Eir has made her best effort to heal them. You will help us.”

It was not a request, but a command. This was clear to Angrboða. What was unclear was any clue as to what the illness may be and less clear was who it was she was expected to heal.

“Oh, great Odin,” Angrboða began. “I am unworthy to treat your kin for I am a mere mortal healer with mortal skill. I have no training or experience in healing divine beings such as yourselves.”

“Your training and experience will suffice,” Odin’s voice boomed. Angrboða felt his words reverberate right through to her bones. “You will come with us now.”

Odin turned, trusting Angrboða to follow him. She would never consciously disobey an order from any god, let alone Odin. However, her mortal flesh remained frozen in fear and uncertainty. What would become of her if she failed to cure his daughters, she thought.

Loki stepped up to her threshold and held his hand out to her in a chivalrous sort of manner. He smiled and she couldn’t help but smile back. Angrboða knew from lore that this god was a trickster and not to be trusted. However, his charms worked on her in spite of herself.

“Take my hand,” he instructed her. “You will ride to Asgard with me.”

Loki led her out of the house and into the center of the village where all had gathered to play witness to whatever might unfold. Together, they walked hand in hand with him leading her on.

Upon reaching the village square, he dropped her hand as she’d noticed it was transmogrifying into the soot-black hoof of a horse. Angrboða looked down and saw the same was happening to his feet. Loki’s long flowing hair turned black as ash and his skin became ghostly pale. His nose grew into a snout and took the features of a stallion. His shoulders and buttock became the flanks and his white skin became silver-white fur with grey spots. Before her stood the most magnificent steed Angrboða had ever laid eyes on.

With a shake of his mane, Loki glanced at a pair of men standing at the edge of the crowd. Instantly, they gleaned his meaning. They leapt into action and lifted Angrboða onto his back. Angrboða was not accustomed to riding horseback and was terrified beyond measure. As the beast lifted into the air, her terror gave way to an inexplicable sense of calm. She knew deep within herself that she would not fall. She could not fall. She was the appointed healer to the gods of Asgard. She would not fall and she would not fail.

Odin mounted his chariot and withdrew a thunderbolt from his satchel. Looking to the sky, he threw it with his might and pierced the heavens opening the gate between Asgard and Midgard. The gods ascended once more and through the portal disappeared.

For hours afterwards, the villagers stood stupid and dumbstruck at what they had seen. The young boy who had pointed the way to Angrboða’s longhouse went blind after that, but the memory of all he had seen was forever etched in his memory – a tale he told to his children, his grandchildren, and his great grandchildren.