The Journey to Find Mimir

Chapter Twenty-Eight: I Find Out I Am Worth One (1) Warthog Carcass

Dad's dead.

I kept my eyes shut a moment longer, swallowing my grief. I opened my eyes.

The tent was empty. I could hear Hearthstone bustling around outside. 

For a moment, I thought of nothing. Then yesterday's events came rushing back. I had learned more about Hearthstone yesterday than I had the entire time I knew him. After he disappeared into the tent, I had reread our conversation at least a dozen times. 

His family controlled all of House Alderman. A fourth of Alfheim. They must be incredibly wealthy. I wracked my brain. Didn't he say his dad was an artifact collector? An author? For a moment I wondered what he thought of the tiny apartment, cluttered with my dad's odds and ends. But then I remembered what I learned about Hearthstone's father.

Hot anger filled my stomach. I sat up from the sleeping bag with a scowl. How could you hate someone for being deaf? And to tell your son that the wrong son died over and over again until they believed it? Never had I felt such a burning hate from someone I had never met. From Hearthstone's words, it also looked like Alderman didn't allow Hearthstone to use ASL in the house -- only a whiteboard. I thought about Hearthstone's perfect penmanship and remembered something he had told me the first time we met: Father would not read sloppy handwriting. My head hurt just thinking about it. Who did Hearthstone talk to? Did he have any friends at all? The anger in my stomach churned and boiled. It's hard to believe that someone that evil exists, but the proof was there in writing. Alderman Alderman was a piece of trash. I hated him. I would always hate him for the way he treated Hearthstone.

My disgust and fire subsided as I thought of Hearthstone's brother. Andiron. He was only seven when he died, and Hearthstone thought his brother's death was his fault. But it couldn't be. I knew Hearthstone. I thought of his sarcasm and eye rolls and when he dumped snow down my shirt. I thought about how he had risked his life to save mine. That wasn't the attitude of a child murderer. I didn't believe Hearthstone could kill anyone. Not even for a second. 

The only part that I truly didn't understand from the conversation was near the end, when Hearthstone spoke of debts and owing his family. No matter how much I collect, it will never be enough. On first glance, it read like a werigeld payment, but I immediately dismissed the idea. It just couldn't be true.

A werigeld is a blood price. A long time ago if someone killed another, even by accident, they had to pay a sum to the victim's family. The price was determined by the deceased's status and rank in society. But this couldn't be the case for Hearthstone. Werigelds were outlawed in all the Nine Worlds generations ago. They were also only used for adults, and Andiron died when he was seven and Hearthstone was eight. Hearthstone's father was awful, but surely he wasn't cruel enough to have eight-year-old Hearthstone pay his little brother's blood price. Right? Still, the sentence made me uneasy. A deep current of anxiety ran underneath my soul, something I could feel but couldn't place. 

I took a deep breath. Yesterday had been a lot. I wanted to talk to him, but my guess is that he wouldn't want that. Still, I would have to go and see what he was doing. I got dressed for the day.

My hand was on the zipper of the tent, about to unzip the opening, when one last memory flickered into my consciousness. Sjöfn and Lofn. My face immediately caught fire. How embarrassing. I put a hand over my face and groaned. They had thought we were there to get married. For a moment, I could barely think. My emotions paralyzed me. Anger, sadness, mortification, grief. They ballooned in my chest. I felt as if I might explode.

Too much! shouted my heart. I swallowed it all down. A feeling of pressure pushed behind my ribcage, but I ignored it. I took a steadying breath, then unzipped the wall of the tent.