The Journey to Find Mimir

Chapter Eighteen: A Forced Pit Stop

Bright light flashed before my eyes. As I gasped for air and coughed water onto the ground, I had one thought: Jotunheim is much warmer than I expected. 

As my eyes adjusted, I saw that I was sitting in the world's most picturesque stream. Beautiful, blooming lily pads dotted the water with white flowers. Perfect little frogs sang out their ribbets! on key. But most importantly, the light shining directly onto my skin did not turn me to stone. My stomach flipped. We weren't in Jotunheim. We were in Folkvanger, the Field of the Army. Freya's realm. My mom's place.

Judging by the fact we were in a tiny trickle of a stream and not the mighty Vimur River, I knew that she had brought us here. 

"No!" I shouted. I slapped the surface of the stream fiercely. A spray of water caught the light, sparkling into a vibrant rainbow. Irritation filled me. Why did this world insist on being so beautiful, even when nothing was right?

Hearthstone was waist deep in the clear water. A lily pad sat atop his head like a cheery green cap. He scrunched his eyebrows and shook his pointer finger back-and-forth at the sky.

Where are we?

I tried to smother my scowl. 

"We are in Folkvanger," I deadpanned. "Which means that we have to go and find my mom before we can get out of here."

Without waiting for Hearthstone, I grabbed my backpack and began climbing the hill towards my mom's palace. I hadn't been here in two years, but I knew that if I followed the warmth and radiance of Folkvanger, I would find my mother. 

Doves and falcons soared above my head. Rich light touched every wildflower, igniting the colors to make a kaleidoscope of flora. Music floated in on the lavender-scented breeze. It was revolting. 

Hearthstone's long stride quickly caught up to mine, but at the top of the hill, he froze. I snuck a glance at him as he took in the view. 

Lush green fields stretched to the horizon. Crowds of people, the fallen soldiers of Folkvanger, milled about the meadow doing a variety of different activities -- sitting on picnic blankets, flying kites, knitting scarves, and playing music. I could see armor and weapons scattered about the crowd, but they weren't being used to fight. They were more like deadly fashion accessories than weapons of war. I tried to imagine Ragnarök, when the vicious, blood-thirsty warriors from Valhalla and the mellow population of Folkvanger joined forces with the gods to fight at the end of the world. A bongo drum played in the distance.

I watched Hearthstone's eyes flick towards my mother's place. It was about a half mile away from where we stood. The silver and gold palace, an upside-down Viking boat, gleamed in the light. I tapped Hearthstone on the shoulder to get his attention. 

"That's Sessrumnir, the Hall of Many Seats," I said. "My mom will be there."

Hearthstone nodded, looking a bit dazed. We made our way down the hill, then began to wade through the crowd of fallen dead. One guy juggled brightly colored hacky sacks. Two woman played cat's cradle with a piece of yarn. Hearthstone and I had to walk around a big pile of people taking a communal nap. Finally, we were at the door of the palace. I went inside. 

Sessrumnir is one big room with high ceilings. Soft light poured in through the oar-hole windows. Clusters of beanbag chairs, sofas and stand-alone hammocks featured snoozing and chilling warriors. Some called out to say hello to me, but I ignored them all. Irritation with my mother made me focused. I headed straight down the center of the hall. An aisle of Persian carpets was flanked by braziers with flowing spheres of gold light. 

My mother's throne stood at the far end, raised on a dais. It was crafted from linden wood and draped with her long, falcon-feather cloak. Her many cats surrounded it, asleep on a variety of blankets and cat beds. My mother was sitting on her throne, absentmindedly scratching the ears of the calico in her lap. Its loud purr seemed to fill the great hall.