Balidur - who was rescued by a bird, a gannet

In the early times, when the seas were warm and the folk lived thick as smelt in the sea, their limbs silver and bronze, then there lived a boy of the folk, Balidur , who was an urchin, full of a fine mischief.
This boy Balidur was sturdy and straight-limbed and his face was open and his eyes full of light. He was a boy, honest and fair in deed, who never knew worry or care, but as a little one grew, close and comforted, strong at his mother’s side. Gentle he was and tender, guiding the steps of little ones but never heeding the words of the old: for within him lived an imp who wanted to laugh at all that he should have held good.
The old ones spoke to Balidur, his nan and the grandsires, saying, ‘Never hurt the birds, our friends. Never give them reason to fear us.’ But at this Balidur laughed:
‘Why would they fear us?’ he asked. ‘The birds can lie on the wind when we are tied to the waves. Let them rather learn to listen to us, who sing daily with more meaning than any bird, who cries his single song on the wind and then it is heard no more.’
So he laughed and would not see what the grandsires wanted to tell him, that we are all equal under the same light. And the nans told him ‘Love all creatures, Balidur, for we are all spawn of the Day Star.’ But he would not heed them, and saw in all the seas only matter for laughter and fun.
On the beach of his borning he came one day upon a large white bird. Afraid and forgotten was that bird, and white in every feather as a flake of snow. But Balidur, full of evil and fun, wanted to spoil the bird and took in his hands black lumps of clay. While the bird looked sadly on him Balidur held firm its feet, and while it could not fly spread black earth upon its wings thinking to make it heavy as he was, to make it cling to land and never more venture over the water. But the bird, staring sadly on him all the while, folded its mud-heavy feathers to flight and lifted away from Balidur, and the beach and from the folk entirely. No one saw it more for the bird knew shame with its mud-dark wings; and fear also, for no longer could he hide when on the snowy wastes of the north.
But Balidur cared nothing for the bird he had harmed in his youth. With his straight limbs and his charm he went on to hurt others, members of the folk, even the maids of his own borning, until none would be his close companion.
‘Leave us!’ said the grandsires. ‘Go now on your venture for here you hurt everyone you touch, and our hearts are made dark by you, just as you darkened the bird in the time of your childhood.’
Then Balidur went venturing, and far he swam and wide, proud in his head and too strong in his heart for any maid of the folk to hold him. So swimming he went due north, to try his pride on the ice.
Cold is the sea of the north waters, cold and hard. Ice fingers hold that sea and stretch out, unforgiving, to capture any who linger after Equinox. Yet Balidur lingered. He had seen no bear, the laughing lights had eluded him as they do so many who venture north in pride. Seals slipped away as he approached, And no birds sang.
At last the narrow grip of winter stretched across the snow, and wind from the Ultimate North scoured its surface. White drops were everywhere: up, down, before and behind, wherever he turned Balidur saw no surface any more, no snow, no sky, no sea. All, all was white.
That whiteness of the Ultimate North is all light. It is every light you ever saw, and it pierces the eyes as a beach grit would, ending all senses. In a cold white blindness Balidur circled, knowing no sense of homeward, lost and alone.
Then came the Bannern, friend of the folk. Flying ahead of him Balidur saw the dark mud wing that he himself had made. But our bird, in spite of all, held no hurt for him. Steady he flew, turning and returning until Balidur set after him. Then steady and slow he led the white-blind boy out of the snow, back to the sea, and gave him again to the waves, his home.
‘Go with the water,’ he whispered to the youth. And Balidur came home. Great the joy at that late return. Full the thanksgiving of mother and sister, thanks to the Bannern, whom none will ever harm again. Remember the Bannern, friend of the folk.

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