“They did, truly. Yet until I look Apollo in his glory, how can I tell? Maybe the gods returning to nature is the natural progression of their divinity. Maybe that is what Wyrd sings and what the Lord wants. He’s giving them the choice to return to his council and bring forth glorious light onto earth.” I tilted my head and listened past the crunch of our feet through icy snow. A light hum warbled in the heavens. I looked up but the sky was still awash with gray. I nodded. I must have been on to something. Was Wyrd watching me as she sang? The breezy melody whispered away and I looked to Hesiod, who was still searching the sky as I had. “We must tread this path Apollo set before us. Whatever awaits us at the end, we can face together. I will not bow to him. We both hear her song.” I held out my arm and set my face stern and proud.
“Neither will I, brother.” Hesiod grasped my forearm and held it tight. He nodded and let go. “Let’s get you some cover finally.” He laughed and I joined in.
“To the armor of light!” I cried, letting my voice lift high and shrill like a child’s.
I turned away and walked faster as we came to a steep crag slick with ice. I’d been so distracted by Fjolsvith, Apollo’s schemes, and the strange wall Gastropnir that I hadn’t clearly taken in the land beyond it all. This wasn’t more vanilla tundra with occasional crumbs of stone, but an incline culminated here at this crag. We’d been steadily moving upward without knowing. A glance at Hesiod revealed a similarly puzzled face. I shrugged and scrambled up the stone, scraping through the ice till I precariously balanced myself on the precipice. A valley of impossible light blanketed out before me, unfurling in gold-sparkled snow. The light came not from a sun, but instead from a tree that emanated a natural effulgence of gold. The tree dominated the valley, its trunk extending to the heavens and its branches spread out far, bulging together and shooting out like giant muscles and veins. The clouds had somehow obscured this glorious sight when we’d approached, but now at this precipice, all was revealed. And what a glory this valley was. The tree’s branches cast no shadows, and it had nine pulsating roots that burst out through the ground as high and wide as mountain ranges.
“The World Tree,” Hesiod said as he struggled up to the precipice and stared ahead. “This tree, called Yggdrasil, connects the nine realms of Norse mythology. We are in Jötunheimr. This land we walk is of the Norse people’s old religion. I do not know where Odin sits in our day, but I think it wise to remain here. Fjolsvith made no mention of leaving the realm to find this staff and armor.” Hesiod scratched at his forehead, and ruffled his stiff and stubborn bangs in perplexity.
“No, but the number nine was mentioned. Nine locks, nine spells. There are nine roots of this tree, clearly corresponding to the nine realms,” I said.
“You aren’t wrong. But if this realm, this mythology still holds so strong, I do not believe Apollo capable of holding sway here. Maybe in this land of the Jötunn he can, some lost Hyperborean connection strengthening his might... but I do not think it wise to dally here. The staff and armor must be of some importance for us to land here. But this does not seem to be the place Ra spoke of in his temple.” Hesiod sighed and shook his head.
“A frayed rope still has many strings that snag together, resisting the one undoing it all. This struggle is not ours, but the might of Hyperborea runs strong through this people—I feel it. The air here is alive with light and it exudes from that tree.” I breathed in the air, which tasted of pine and rushing water. I smiled and let the pristine light lift me along with that lively scent of eternity, which permeated the air and surged forth from the tree.
“The root closest to us, the white one, is the one in which Jötunheimr belongs. The Norse kind is Hyperborean, just as much, if not more than, we beings of light from Hellas. It was there in Egypt, though it had undoubtedly strayed far from the path,” Hesiod said.
“Here... I feel almost at home,” I said.
“I feel it too, Rangabes. Let us use this singularity and watch for whatever it is that kept Apollo at bay.”
“Nine spells to overcome. What then is first? Or perhaps who?” I said.
Hesiod didn’t answer as he edged off the cliff and slid down its steep surface. He whooped and hollered like a young boy riding a sled. The other side of the crag dropped decisively, but not so much as to prevent such showmanship as Hesiod displayed. But the man at least had some cloth to prevent scraping his skin! I shook my head and toed my way off the top, trying to stay on my feet as I raced down. My racing quickly devolved to stumbling. As the gray face of stone rose up to greet my tipping body, I held out my arms and shot a burst of light, flinging me into the air and somersaulting me away from solid rock and straight down for icy snow. I winced as the white buried my sight, but came up laughing at the soft cushion the snow had provided. A far different texture from the icy tundra above, this snow was impossibly lukewarm, and even better, felt like feathery cotton. So much for showmanship! I laughed louder. Hesiod chuckled as he pulled me upward.
“Did you know the snow down here was going to be so soft and cozy?” I asked, smiling as I stood up.
“No idea.”
“Of course,” I muttered.
“I’m also not the one who flung myself through the air like a drunken jester.” Hesiod laughed, slapping my back as I just shook my head and stretched my body, feigning hurt.
Now that we were down in the valley, there wasn’t much to see around the giant tree other than the light-dazzled snow with the shadowless branches glowing green above, the ancient bark saturated with bright leaves and bunches of red flowers. There wasn’t anywhere to go but to the white root that clung to the realm and reached out closest to us, the root belonging to Jötunheimr.
The strange murmur of Wyrd’s lulling strings sang in the heavens once more, this time louder than before. Hesiod and I continued onward in silence, the murmur rising to a screech against the peace of the valley. Whether it was a warning or simply the strange song of fate falling out of tune to our finite ears, we moved faster regardless.
“Wyrd, again? Is this a good omen?” Hesiod shouted.
I shrugged. I’d been told to listen to her song, but not what to do if the song screamed at me. My walk turned into a jog so as to outrun the painful music. Hesiod raced ahead of me. Our jogging morphed into a sprint as the screeching continued high up in the heavens.
At last we reached the white root and as I placed my hand upon its warm wood, the cutting screech of Wyrd was snipped, and it faded into a sharp retreat as if her strings had all broken free. I sighed, relaxing at last at the welcome quiet. I let go of the root, which soared over me so high that I was like a mere insect beside it. Ahead, there was a divot underneath the mountain-sized root where a strange well stood. The well was a large circular construction built of raven-black stone with a purple luster embedded in its material. I made my way to the edge of the well and peered into its black insides. I couldn’t see the bottom and I had no intention of falling in to find the answer.
Fall. A sacrifice was once given by the Allfather himself. Wisdom. The shame of Mímir, his headless body lies inside. Wisdom. Fall. Drink of me and knowledge will be yours.
I clutched my head at the shrill piercing of the well’s whispers, unwelcome thoughts pricking my mind. I had to fight with all my will at the sudden urge to throw myself headlong into the well. I would not fall prey to such sorcery. But how was I to pass this first spell, this first test? I looked to Hesiod for suggestions, but the poet’s eyes were quivering and fixed upon the well. I reached out my arm and grabbed him by his robe just as he scrambled over the well’s edge to plumb its depths. The whispers had won him over but I remained. I yanked him hard before he could go completely over and pulled him onto his back. He shook his head violently, proceeding to bang it on the thankfully soft snow.
“Mustn’t get too close,” he mumbled weakly, holding his head as he stood. He took several steps backwards while still eyeing the well hungrily, thirsting for its dark depths.
I
leaned back over the well, clinging to my own self and thoughts. I plunged my arms into the darkness and lit the well with red and blue. As soon as my light filled the well, two yellow eyes glared up at me, flickering first and then shooting out in a burst as a black wolf leapt up at me. I flung myself backwards to dodge it. Nothing came out of the well and after lying on my back and holding my breath, I got up and peered into the well once again. The wolf was gone and the darkness in the well had been banished, abated in the heat of my light. There at the bottom of the well was a headless corpse, and sitting beside it was a naked man, his skin green like pond scum, holding a large and ornate oak fiddle. He had long pointed ears and his smooth-skinned, hairless body tensed as he turned his gaze away from the corpse and stared directly up into my eyes from his depths. His eyes were slit vertically black like a reptile.
The creature smiled, showing its pointed teeth. It began to play its instrument, the notes foul and wretched in their perfection, as if the unnatural nature of it marred what was otherwise a heavenly sound that not even a cathedral full of chanters could match. And then, the odd creature began to sing.
Wise, wise, you don’t look so well
Eyes, eyes, you don’t look to smell
Nose, nose, you sniff my sanitized song
Woes, woes, you know thyself is wrong
Steal, steal, my heart a captured metal craft
Feel, feel, the beat of hammered strings’ draft
Wind, wind, blowing against all the senses
Skinned, skinned, nothing left, no pretenses
I will eat your flesh. I am Fossegrim of well.
Mímisbrunnr my home, this body can you tell?
Give me your skin, I hunger much
An offering of meat for wisdom’s touch
There isn’t any other way one may pass
Unless one is willing to take all but half
You see my stomach wanting and cold
You hear my stomach empty and old
Come down and feast, it’s the least you can do
Give me more and shut the door—
For nothing is new
I will eat your flesh. I am Fossegrim of well.
Mímisbrunnr your grave, wisdom will never tell.
Hesiod wept, gnashing his teeth and wrestling with the snow, thrashing in madness and melancholy at Fossegrim’s ravenous and stale song of sinister perfection. I tried to wrap my mind around why this creature sang such a song and what spell was behind it all. Was wisdom still to be found here, or was the corpse’s absent head the last fount of such water? There was nothing to drink. There was the darkness and this well, and its spell to try and coax one into it. I stared at the creature, who was licking its fangs in anticipation of a sacrifice.
What sacrifice? I would not give my eye for darkness, for would I not be trading my own light for a twisted light of supposed wisdom that was darker even than when I had such an eye? Was it wise to seek such wisdom? A wise man sacrifices himself only if the price is of eternal weight. No wisdom could be worth such price, for all such wisdom was of the world. Wisdom wed to the world, was in the end, someone else’s folly. My wisdom was earned, not bargained for in a moment. I realized what this well was meant to do, and how it was that I would unlock this first seal. I knew what virtue was needed here. Of course. Not wisdom, but what wisdom required.
I grinned at the hungry creature and dove headfirst into the well, no coaxing needed. As I descended, his hungry maw opened grotesquely like that of a freshly dug grave. I continued downward in a pointed dive, straight for his mouth. He snapped his teeth greedily at me and I let my body go limp. He sunk his teeth into my flesh and tore at me, throwing me about like a sack of cloth. I grimaced but did not resist as he dug his teeth in further. His mouth and throat had distended grossly, and he had the look of a giant beast now, hardly the trim, green-skinned bard he’d been before. But I welcomed the pain and did not cry out as he carved into my flesh.
“Resist!” he snarled.
“What is perfect courage but to willingly plunge into the darkness with only your skin as a shield?” I spoke calmly, my voice a soothing balm to my chewed body.
He growled, shaking his head back and forth. My limp body flailed, but spiritually I remained unmoved. “Is it courage to not resist? Is it courage to blindly throw yourself to the wolf?”
“I resist you fool, by choosing this. You tried to sing me into the darkness. You tried to offer up wisdom that was mere folly to me. I resist you by leaping into the darkness instead of letting it catch me unaware. I acted first, of my own will. Your bite is weak and I do believe my act of faith and movement was enough to weaken your hold on this spell-locked well.”
“And what would you call this spell that you think you’ve unbound? Answer correctly, or lose the momentum you’ve gathered.” He stopped gnawing me, and held me there gingerly, his mouth surprisingly soft and limp like a hammock.
“This is a test not of wisdom, for that is the trick. Nor is this a test of sacrifice, for there is nothing here worth sacrificing for.” I smiled, knowing I’d seen through the artifice perfectly. Hanging upside down from his mouth, I looked at his empty black eyes and laughed. “A test of courage, the strongest of virtues. Courage is action, and the act of courage must be proceeded by a will gathered in the infinite. I knew where I stood in terms of freedom, and with this agency, I leapt into being. In doing so, I became myself. Courage is to become oneself through the act of eternal will, through the act of risking one’s finitude in the face of darkness. For that is the only way one can truly act in absolute and pure light.”
“A philosopher,” he spat, tossing me onto the ground and turning away in disgust.
I stood up and glanced over at the corpse’s headless form. His skin was white like Roman marble, as if he were a fallen statue. I walked over to him and touched his flesh. The flesh was warm with life and it glowed at my touch. A bright, golden-white light burst from the body, filling the well and lifting me in a crescendo of ecstasy. My fingers and toes curled and I threw my head back and screamed at the terrible tremors of pleasure twisting my body. And in a lightning strike of blue, I landed on the snowy surface beside the well. The ancient well shook, its stones clattering into a heap as it collapsed on itself, the first spell broken.
“Armor,” Hesiod mumbled.
I stood up and looked down at myself. My body was encased in brilliant, red, form-fitting chain, linked together with reptilian scales interweaved. The scales glinted and glowed with a hot yellow fire like that of the midday sun. The armor was cut off at the shoulders, leaving my arms bared. It extended down to my waist and hung in pointed, white leather flaps that were studded with diamonds, dropping to my groin and backside in length. My legs were covered in thick cloth leggings the color of a deep, dark sapphire that coursed with the same subtle energy that my armor did, only this energy was an electric blue that would occasionally glint and gleam like stars in a clear midnight sky.
“A bit restricting,” I joked, bending and moving about. In truth, the armor and leggings surged with a life and energy of their own, making me feel as though they were powerful extensions of my flesh. I figured that rag I’d been wearing had been burnt off in the lightning strike, and good riddance! I’d have been better off unclothed than with that on any longer.
“Fafnir,” Hesiod mumbled, half reaching out his hand at my fiery armor, still in awe. “He was the son of a dwarven king and was cursed by his own greed and turned into a dragon. His own scales were added to this already immaculate armor after he’d been slain. Sigurd earned this treasure and slayed that dragon. I wonder where he’s gone.” He paused, looking around as if to find him. “He might have entrusted this to you. He might have known you were coming. He was a good man and undoubtedly carried the blood of Hyperborea in his veins.” Hesiod nodded. “He must have enlisted the famous dwarven smith brothers to make this. Brokkr and Eitri are the only ones capable of forging such perfect metal and scales so seamlessly together.” He sh
ifted his gaze downward at my sapphire pants. “Perchta, the weaving goddess known as The Bright One, hence the appearance of the stars hidden in a night sky—just as she hid herself through her craft and shroud. I know of her work, equal to and if not better than the spider Arachne’s weaving.”
“Your knowledge knows no bounds.” I paused, doubt creeping in the backdoor of my mind, and I itched my head at the spot as if to stop it. “I thought the armor was from Apollo? Is that not what that gatekeeper said?” I shook my head. “Did Apollo tell you about these trials? Did Apollo tell you who I’d meet, kill, and the rewards? Am I responsible for anything?” My suspicion proved founded as Hesiod paled and his eyes darted as he turned away flustered.
“His wisdom is truly unapproachable. He helped me so that I could help you. I told you that you might be correct in your suspicion of him, but perhaps he merely is another god lending his strength in his own way. He told me of the other myths, but I swear he never revealed in detail his plans other than for me to aid ‘your brother,’ as he said it. But it is you I follow, a worthy man who rightfully has proceeded on his own path.” He turned to look at me as he finished speaking but something was off—his eyes were guarded with an unfocused vacancy.
“There is still much to do.” I walked away from the well and the tree’s root, letting Hesiod scurry worriedly after me. I didn’t know what to think of him and Apollo, but my words were true and I wasn’t sure where this next spell trap would be.
Cerberus Slept Page 13
