The Journey to Find Mimir

Chapter Fifteen: Enjoying a Quiet and Peaceful Time as We Prep for Our Doom

For the next three weeks, Hearthstone and I prepared for our trip to Jotunheim -- the land of snow, giants, illusions and, most likely, our untimely death. 

There are no stores in Eddaborg that sell snow gear or traveling supplies, so all of our necessities had to be collected from secondhand shops or handmade by me. Also, since Hearthstone is the tallest mortal in all of Nidavellir by about a foot, I had to make him both a wardrobe of traveling clothes and normal clothes to wear. I started with some sweatpants and a shirt for walking around the house. By the way he chucked his stained, white suit into the trash, I could tell that he was happy to be rid of it. 

Hearthstone's first walk through the city was also his last. On our way back from Náinn's home that morning, we caused chaos in the streets. The two of us were quite a show -- the city's outcast and a living, breathing elf. Tiny, Nidavellir dwarves kept asking to take pictures with him. A biker crashed directly into a dumpster, then got up and asked Hearthstone to sign his helmet. Several children cried upon seeing him; one little boy burst into tears and sobbed, "Monster!" By the end of the day, we had reporters knocking on our door, asking for interviews. I shooed them all off. There was no way I was working with the press after the way they slandered my family. 

After that, Hearthstone spent most of his time inside with me. That's when I noticed some things about him that were different. First, I found out why he was so skinny. The elf rarely ate. I would leave for a day of buying supplies and come back to find the food in the fridge untouched. I was worried that he wasn't eating enough, but he kept insisting that he was fine. He blankly stared at me when I asked if there was anything he would like me to get him from the store. 

Being trapped inside the apartment would have driven me crazy, but Hearthstone didn't seem to mind at all. He spent most of his time vigorously cleaning the apartment. The floor was swept three times a day. From the bathroom sink to the kitchen countertops to the floors, everything sparkled. Even that weird smell in the fridge had finally disappeared. When he wasn't cleaning, he was sitting. Just sitting. I would find him staring out the window to the square below, watching dwarves on the street. Or tucked away in the corner of the apartment, fiddling with some small object, like a pen or a screwdriver. More than once I found him sitting very still on the couch, staring off into space. To try and keep him busy, I gave him free range of my bookshelf. He wouldn't touch anything unless I put it in my hands, so I kept piling books into his arms until he picked one. I did not like him reading my stack of romcoms, but it was better than the weird staring. 

All of this was preferred to how he acted when I left the house. He only practiced magic when I was gone. I always found this odd. It was like he was embarrassed about being literally the coolest, most powerful mortal in all the Nine Worlds. Practicing magic while home alone always led to interesting finds upon my return. First, Hearthstone would be unconscious. (The first time he was knocked out on the wooden floor. After that, he learned to set up the couch cushions in front of him.) Then, there would be something in the apartment that was not there when I left. Sometimes it was a pile of spears. Another time it was a chariot. One time I walked in, hands full with groceries, to discover only a passed-out Hearthstone. No strange items. I was relieved until I tried to open the fridge door. It was only then I realized every item in the apartment had been covered in a thin layer of ice.

Despite his love of reading, Hearthstone was a closed book. Even after much pressuring, I was only able to compile a small amount of information about him. He was nineteen, only one year older than me. His dad was an author and artifact collector; his mom didn't work. He was homeschooled. His best friend was a sprite named Inge, who lived nearby. When I asked how his parents felt about him leaving Alfheim to find Mimir, he excused himself to the bathroom. No information about his life was offered after that. I had to piece together the rest. On paper he looked like a rich kid, but something was off. I knew rich kids from school; many were entitled and rude and loved to have people look at them. Hearthstone didn't act like that at all. It seemed like he wanted to fade into the background. Like he wanted to disappear in a puff of smoke.

The majority of our time together was spent learning ASL, or Alfheim Sign Language. I had taken (and failed) a mandatory sign language class at University of Alviss, but it had been Nidavellir Sign Language. Thankfully, NSL is incredibly different than ASL. The two worlds had been separated since the beginning of time, which meant almost no signs overlapped. Hearthstone taught me from scratch. I learned the alphabet, then hundreds of new signs. We started with signs we thought would be most useful in Jotunheim (snow, giant, stop, run, dangerous, tent, coat) before branching off to everyday phrases. I had forgotten how direct and efficient sign language was. Something as simple as Hearthstone signing, TIME. WHAT. translated to, what time is it? You could even cut out the word WHAT, by just scrunching your eyebrows. I'm not sure why but learning ASL was way easier than learning NSL. Maybe I was picking things much faster now that I had a live-in teacher. Or maybe it was because I practiced all the time, signing words to myself when I was out in the world and practicing fingerspelling at any chance I got. 

When we weren't talking, we were using the notebook to go over all of the information that Náinn had given us. We came away with three very important tips:

One, giants use illusions. They have tricked the gods into thinking that wildfires are people and cute little kittens are Jörmungandr, the serpent that wraps around the world. We have to keep our eyes peeled.

Two, giants will always try to eat you. Yell, "hospitality!" when in their home -- it is a promise that they will not eat you. (But they will always try and find a way around it.)

And three, Giants are very literal. If you say, "we have to keep our eyes peeled", they will peel your eyes.

Even though I was extremely busy, the ache of dad's abscense constantly plagued me. I would make sure to focus hard on whatever task was at hand, so I didn't have to think about how he wasn't here. This worked during the day, but while asleep nightmares slipped into my subconscious. Giant wolves of snow, with icicles for teeth, snapped my dad in two. Eitri Junior trapped me in a purple grenade with a wolf. My dreams were made of fangs and claws and ropes that always snapped. To my surprise, even Hearthstone made his way into one. I woke up with a start, breathing hard, the image of him trapped in the hands of a giant still emblazed on the back of my eyes. I did my best to push the thoughts and dreams away. Dreading the future or mourning the past would get me nowhere. I focused on the task at hand.

It was strange having someone in the apartment that wasn't dad. Especially considering the fact Hearthstone and I were two mortals from different worlds with a language barrier. Yet, among the chaos of living with someone who constantly bonked his head on the low-hanging doorways and blew up the tea kettle with his runestones... Well, let's just say it wasn't all bad having him around. In fact, it could be pleasant. There would be these small moments. I would find him asleep on the couch, a book on his chest. Or we would do the dishes together after dinner. And during these quiet, peaceful scenes, a fleeting thought of mine would wonder why we were going to look for Mimir at all. Then the pressure from the outside world would come crashing in again. Hearthstone had sacrificed everything to learn runestones, while the absence of my father, and my ostracization in Nidavellir, made it clear that I could use help from Mimir as well. We couldn't spend the rest of our life hiding out in the apartment -- especially Hearthstone. I was surprised he didn't have a concussion from hitting his head so often on the low-hanging ceiling.

Every day I tried to enjoy our bubble of peace in the apartment, even though I knew it would have to pop.