The Journey to Find Mimir

Chapter Two: Printed Lies

Mossglow dawned across Nidavellir, the underground world of dwarves, lighting up the cavern ceiling with warm, glowing hues. In the distance, the city of Eddaborg stood proudly. Tall buildings rose like stalagmites. Smoke curled upwards like many strips of long, dark ribbon, signaling the start of the firing forges. The day should have been new and fresh and promising. I could barely breathe. 

I watched the city from Náinn's front porch. His home overlooked the cemetery. Headstones dotted the rolling hills. Obelisks honoring the dead marked their crafting accomplishments. As groundskeeper, Náinn's job was to keep the land clean and organize funerals. He was old now, but still sharp. 

Náinn sat on the wooden porch swing, with my paper bag on his lap. Gently, he pulled a piece of green fabric from the bag. Pity ran clear across his old, weathered face. He ran a wrinkled hand through his tightly coiled, gray hair.

"Blitzen," he said softly. "You know that a proper svartálfar burial can't be held with only this."

"Can you try?" I asked. 

Náinn opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. 

Never had I felt so hopeless, so pathetic. We both knew it was impossible to hold a funeral without my father's body. I might as well have just handed him two pieces of garbage and asked him to spin them into gold.

"Let me think a moment," Náinn said. 

I couldn't keep my eyes off the green piece of cloak. I had sat with it in my lap all night, and into the following day. My love for dad was my only motivation to leave the apartment and walk to the cemetery. If he was dead, some sort of burial must be held to let him be at peace. Now, as I looked across the cemetery, I wondered if they would even allow my father a plot of land. Dwarves rarely died outside of Nidavellir. But if anyone could pull strings, it was Náinn. He knew my dad as a kid and had treated him like a son; this was especially true after his son Brokkr disappeared ten years ago.

Náinn seemed to have found his words again. He patted the bench next to him. I sat. 

"You are a strong kid, Blitzen." His eyes were sad. I looked away. "I think we both know that even if we had your father's body, we wouldn't be able to hold the proper burial."

Anger flooded through my body. I jumped to my feet.

"You're wrong!" I said. "My dad was well-loved in Eddaborg! Even with all that's going on, he still has friends and supporters who would do the burial chant. You think that even after all that's said about him, they would still want his soul at peace!"

If Náinn had been affected by my outburst, he didn't show it. I didn't think it was possible, but I suddenly felt worse. My emotions swung like a pendulum. 

"I- I'm so sorry," I said, holding back tears. I sat heavily on the bench. "I want my father to be remembered. I want him to be at peace. Don't you think that there are still some people that would still want that for him?"

Sadness and pity filled Náinn's eyes.  His weathered hands grabbed mine. 

"I am so sorry, Blitzen. Have you not read the paper?"

I thought about the untouched stack of newspapers piled next to the front door. I had stepped over them on my way here.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Your father..." The old dwarf swallowed. "He's in Inventions Today. The last two days he has been on, uh, the front page--"

"The front page?" My mind whirled. 

Inventions Today featured the newest dwarven inventions and their creators. The paper only strayed from its usual content when major events took place in Nidavellir, like the arrival of a god, or a new way to forge iron, or updates about Ragnarök, the inevitable battle that would end the Nine Worlds. What was my dad doing on the cover?

Náinn began talking again.

"I only get Inventions anymore, but if he's on the front I can only assume..." Náinn coughed. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. "I can only assume he's on them all. The Daily Dwarf. Nidavellir News. The Jormungand Journal. Everyone must be running the same story."

Dread took hold of me. My voice shook. 

"Can I see your copy?"

Náinn sighed and patted my hand. With a grunt he rose and went inside his home, quickly returning with his folded copy of the paper.

There on the front page, under Inventions Today was a huge photograph. A sandy island beach was framed with crime tape. A dwarven patrol officer stood looking out at the water. 

The main title loudly proclaimed:

DELUSIONAL DWARF DOUBTS EITRI'S GREATEST CREATION, THEN DIES

My hands began to shake. I unfolded the paper. An old picture of my father frowned at me. I had never seen a photo of my father looking anything but happy. Whoever found the photo must have look very hard for it. I began to read:

The whereabouts of Bilì, son of Ljómi, were discovered on Thursday, when the dwarven patrol recovered bits of his tattered clothes off the island of Lyngvi, the permanent prison of Fenris Wolf. The owner of the shop 'Bilì's Best' in Kenning Square has been missing since his public meltdown two weeks ago. He was last seen leaving the making court at Kenning Square after losing a making to Eitri Junior, son of Eitri. This sparked a tirade that consisted of Bilì's well-known, delusional belief -- that Gleipnir, the unbreakable rope crafted to constrain Fenris Wolf, son of Loki and harbinger of Ragnarök, should be replaced. 

Gleipnir does not need to be replaced. This delusion is entirely false. Eitri Junior's father Eitri, the famous craftsman, was responsible for the creation of Gleipnir along with thousands of other inventions, the most famous being Thor's hammer Mjölnir. The talented... 

I grimaced, then skipped three paragraphs gushing about the crafting skills of Eitri. My dad was better. 

Bilì's outspoken delusions were designed to create unease among dwarves and slander the Eitri family name. His actions are what brought him to his untimely demise--

I tried to read on but couldn't. Feeling sick, I flipped to the end of the article. 

Bilì is survived by his only son, Blitzen son of Freya, who recently graduated from University of Alviss with a degree in "fashion". Bilì is also survived by his (immortal) ex-wife Freya, Norse goddess of love, and well-known lover of dwarven jewelry. 

Shame filled every particle of my being. Not only had the papers tarnished my dad's reputation, but my own. Even with my eyes closed I could see 'a degree in "fashion"' flash behind my eyes. And the jab about my mother loving dwarven jewelry? I let the paper fall from my hands. 

Náinn watched it drop to the floor. I didn't look at him as he spoke.

"There is a group that performs the svartálfar burial chant for those who die without family or friends,"Náinn explained softly. "They are a great group of dwarves, but they fear for their reputations... Unfortunately, Bilì's death is now entrenched in politics. I am sorry to say that I don't think I could convince anyone to perform the rights at this time. I could do the rights with you, but we would need more than us with just pieces of his clothes."

The gentleness in Náinn's voice only cut me deeper. He knew the importance of honor and tradition among dwarves. The article was horribly damaging. But the inability to bury my father? Unfathomable. In that moment, I knew my family's reputation was ruined.

What family? my brain asked. You're alone, Blitzen. 

"I-" 

My voice was hoarse.

"I- I- need to go home."

I took the pieces of dad's cloak from Náinn's hands and gently folded them back into the bag.

"Could you hold onto this for me?" I asked weakly. 

"Whatever you need, Blitzen,"Náinn said kindly. His calloused hands grabbed mine, and gave them a little pat. "Your father was a good friend of mine. Know that you can always come here."

Fearing that my voice would crack, I nodded. 

On numb and shaking legs, I pointed myself in the direction of Eddaborg, Nidavellir's largest city and my home.