The Journey to Find Mimir

Chapter Thirty-Three: The Origins of Sacrifice

I breathed a sigh of relief the moment I saw Hearthstone. He was propped up in bed, leaning against a bunch of pillows. A fuzzy navy blanket had been wrapped around his shoulders. He looked much less green, but still a little disoriented. Our eyes met when I walked in the room. I could have been wrong, but I thought I saw his shoulders relax the tiniest bit.

I couldn't even open my mouth and ask if he was alright. All I could do was give him a questioning thumbs up. Hearthstone nodded sleepily, returning the thumbs up gesture. I took a breath, long and slow, then released it. He was okay.

Brokkr sat in the chair next to the bed. He looked a little concerned.

"He still seems to be out of it," Brokkr said. "He's not responding to anything I say."

I had forgotten something.

"That makes sense," I said. "Hearthstone can't hear you. He was born deaf."

The tiniest flash of surprise crossed Brokkr's face. It left as quickly as it had appeared. 

He nodded. "Thanks for telling me." 

"Hearthstone can read lips pretty well. But ASL is best."

"I know a little," said Fár, from the doorway. "We had a demigod on staff who was deaf. I wasn't in her department-- well, I never did spend much time in the office. But I did learn the basics."

Brokkr was staring at me. "You know ASL?"

I nodded. "I learned about a month ago for this guy."

I turned to look at Hearthstone. He must be feeling better -- his skin was starting to look pinker. 

Fár looked back and forth between me and Hearthstone. Then, she went and put a hand on Brokkr's shoulder. 

"We're going to let you two catch up. Come on, love. Let's get dinner ready."

They left. Hearthstone and I looked at one another. He sat up a bit more, looking more clear-eyed. I sat in the chair Brokkr had been in.

How are you feeling? I asked.

I'm fine, Hearthstone replied. Why are you asking? Did something happen?

For a moment, I thought something was seriously wrong. Then the ghost of a smile crossed Hearthstone's face. I rolled my eyes.

H-A-H-A, I signed. Very funny. 

He nodded, the smile quickly disappearing. His eyes flicked to the bedside table, where the notepad and pen were sitting. He held out his hands. I handed them over. He began to write.

Who are they?

Náinn's son Brokkr. And Fár, his wife.

He nodded. His second question left me shocked. 

Why are we in a nursery? Hearthstone asked.

For the first time in several days, I turned to examine the room. I had been so concerned about Hearthstone that I hadn't paid any attention to anything else. But he was right. The room I had been sitting in was, in fact, a nursery.

A beautifully crafted wooden crib sat in the corner of the room. A stuffed maggot sat at the foot of the little mattress. Soft navy curtains hung from the window, shimmering with golden suns and silver moons. I turned to the ladder above Hearthstone's bed and saw that the twinkle lights hanging over Hearthstone were delicate strings of blinking stars.

I would have to ask Brokkr and Fár about this later. I turned to Hearthstone.

I don't know, I signed.