The Well of Mimir: Eschaton Cycle (Gods of the Ragnarok Era Book 5) by Matt Larkin

Author:Matt Larkin [Larkin, Matt]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Incandescent Phoenix Books
Published: 2018-05-24T00:00:00+00:00

32

Together, Sigyn and Mundilfari made the long climb up the mountain to Sessrumnir. Once, smaller palaces had dotted this slope, offering rest stops to those making the ascent. Odin had ordered all such places torn down, unwilling to stomach the reminder of the civilization he had destroyed. Now, some paltry shelters remained where palaces once stood, but neither of them seemed to even consider rest.

Sigyn had found Eir in the city, and the healer had confirmed that Hödr had not returned to Asgard. She dared to hope he yet lingered in Andalus, and, given the choice, would have headed straight there to search for the boy. Mundilfari, however, insisted he could not do aught for him without a talisman hidden in his sanctum. And so, once inside Freyja’s old hall, they descended into the lower levels.

The Mad Vanr raised an eyebrow when Sigyn triggered his secret passage without even having to search for it, but made no comment. Now that she knew where to look, her enhanced senses made locating the switch trivial, and she had spent years traipsing down here, though she remained always careful to ensure no other found this place. Even Eir, who had now learned so much of the Vanr healing Art, Sigyn did not trust with Mundilfari’s secrets.

Not after what had happened to Hödr.

The Vanr lit the brazier, then drifted around the room, tracing his fingers along the spines of books, wiping dust from vials. His wistful looks concealed thoughts Sigyn could not begin to imagine. Given the apple had already extended her life beyond what most people experienced—and she must now be older than Father had been when he died—already the years had begun to blur. And Mundilfari had not walked in this place in nigh to a thousand years. What would it feel like to tread such halls of memory? Sigyn shook herself. It didn’t matter. She had no time to indulge the Vanr in his reminiscence.

“Where is this talisman?”

“Oh. Oh, yes. Uh, well … I might forget such things. Might … might have forgotten, that is.”

“You forgot?” Sigyn worked her jaw. “You forgot where you kept the talisman that might save my son?”

“Oh. Uh … Yes! Yes! I have definitely forgotten.” He smiled as if that solved some great puzzle.

Sigyn wanted to weep. This was the man she turned to in her last, desperate hope of saving the one who was most precious to her. This was Hödr’s salvation: a half-mad buffoon. The very same man to whose writings she had turned in her own Mist-madness.

“What does it look like?”

“Hmm? Oh. Yes, uh, a wand. A stick, that is, carved from a fallen branch of Yggdrasil. Very useful.”

Sigyn hesitated, then snatched a book off one of the shelves, flipping through the pages. One of Mundilfari’s more cryptic passages had mentioned a small branch that had inexplicably broken from the World Tree, and he’d included a sketch. There, this Gambanteinn, he’d named it. The sketch depicted a wand the length of her arm, one wiry and twisted, and carved into in spirals.

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