The Bleeding Worlds: Resonance Part 34

"I'm back," he said, partly to Sophia if she was still here, but just as much to himself.

"Welcome back," she said. "You decided to stay."

"Yeah. I guess I'm no better than Woten after all."

"Silly boy." She gave a tiny, pitying, laugh. "You stretched out into all existence. For the briefest moment, you were everywhere and within everything. And then you had the strength of will to pull yourself back. Do you really think you're inferior to anyone? Odin never let himself go-he never experienced what you just did."

"But what was the point?"

"You probably won't fully understand until you've returned to the physical world. Just trust me, it'll make things easier for you."

Gwynn laughed. It sounded weary to his ears.

"You're not selling this very well."

"What is the meaning of this?" a booming, deep, male voice said.

"Good luck," Sophia whispered into his ear.

A summer sun in a cloudless blue sky met his open eyes. The water, which seemed an endless ocean, turned out to be only three inches wider than his extended limbs and surrounded by a wall of stone. Years of water lapping at the sides smoothed the stone and left smears of green algae growing in the grooves between.

Gwynn splashed his way to the edge and pulled himself up and over. Solid ground delivered a shocking return of a definitive sense of up and down-he nearly threw up in response.

The fragrance of hundreds of flowers a.s.sailed him, like walking into one of those perfume sections in department stores. Walls of green and color surrounded him on all sides. A tunnel of trees appeared to be the only exit, and it was filled with a man who stood ten feet tall, and nearly as many wide.

"Did you drink any?" the giant asked.

Gwynn took a hesitant glance back at the well behind him. I was kind of a part of it, but I don't think I drank any.

"Uh, I don't think so," he replied.

"And you think swimming in the well is allowed?"

"I..." didn't mean to? "I wasn't aware where I was. I really didn't mean any offense."

The giant took several thundering steps forward. By a man's standards, he was already huge, but his footfalls made him sound several times larger. His eyes narrowed, studying Gwynn, and he nodded after a few moments as though having decided on something.

"You are the one the Norns have been twittering about," the giant said. "A fool's errand is all following their advice will earn you, boy. You should leave this place and find whatever peace you have left."

"They say the world is going to end."

The giant shrugged.

"Perhaps it is. Having never soiled myself with fleshy attachments, I fail to see the problem. We will continue-perhaps even thrive. After all, what have you taught us-how to fight and die, petty jealousy, and l.u.s.t for power? I suppose you'd argue love, but let's be honest, that's a fleeting emotion usually replaced by one of the others I mentioned."

"Even if you're right, what gives you the right to act as our executioner?"

Laughter more akin to a lion's roar made the branches shake.

"Me? Oh no, you have accomplished that all by yourselves. All I'm saying is I see no reason in allowing your existence to continue, or even be restarted. Whatever purpose you served has run its course."

"I was told my arm would be here," Gwynn said. "If you don't want to help, then at least stand aside and let me do what I can."

"Your arm?"

Another few rumbles as he stepped closer. A white beard trailed over faded robes and bounced off the giant's knees as he walked. Years had chiseled deep grooves into his cheeks and beneath his eyes-which didn't s.h.i.+ne with life, yet felt deep and magnetic, like two black holes, twisting in the silent fury of s.p.a.ce. He leaned closer to Gwynn's amputated arm.

"I see. Well, the gift of your arm would ent.i.tle you to a drink." He offered a cup carved from some great beast's horn-gold adorned the rim and the tapered end. "I gave the All-Father sips for his eye. In the scale of equality for parts given, your arm should ent.i.tle you to several gulps. You might gain some insight-perhaps even the way to save your world."

The horn's thirsty mouth beckoned to Gwynn-to quench the mind as well as the body. Knowledge, understanding, maybe even a way to save everyone without some d.a.m.n Holt. His hand traveled halfway to grasping the cup before he caught himself. Indecision left him frozen, his hand open, inches from grasping the horn.

Is this the easy way? Gwynn wondered. Or worse, is this the cowardly way?

Gwynn clasped his hand shut and pulled it back to his body.

"I can't," he said. "I already know what I have to do, and this isn't it."

The giant gave him a thoughtful nod.

Then smashed the cup against the side of Gwynn's skull, throwing him a dozen or more feet into a bunch of th.o.r.n.y bushes.

"Do you take me so lightly?" the giant asked. "You think you get to choose? Did the Norns not tell you of Mimir-that what is mine remains mine? I have sipped this well's waters since before the first speck of dust existed. I know more, understand more, than any other denizen of the Veil."

Gwynn rolled from the bush onto his knees. Where bare flesh showed through his tattered clothes, it was scratched b.l.o.o.d.y and raw.

"If you're so smart," Gwynn said, spitting a clot of blood, "why is your first response violence? Why not understand why I'm here and what I'm trying to accomplish? And how is my arm-which was stolen, not given- your property?"

"Good," Mimir said through a chuckle, "you're trying to win with logic. What if I said I acted with violence because that is what you of the flesh seem to understand best? What if violence is me trying to express myself in a language I believe you will understand?"

Gwynn rose to his feet, ignoring the blurriness of his vision.

Just another few seconds from the Veil and I'll be fine.

"If that's what you think, then let me tell you, you're wrong. I've just come to ask for what's mine. I didn't give you my arm, and I didn't drink your water, so there is no deal between us."

"Deal?"

Mimir barked a mocking laugh and casually tossed his cup into the well.

"The truth is, I lied," Mimir said. "I was connected to the flesh once, so I do understand you vile things-I understand too well. I thought I understood loyalty, but then I was betrayed. And do you know what the All-Father did? Handed me over to my murderers. And then, as though I was nothing but a tool, he used the lessons he learned hanging on Yggdrasil and drinking from my well to preserve my severed head. He still has it and invokes me to give him counsel. I am neither able to be reborn nor to be entirely free of your reality. And do you know what Odin told me when I said I made no deal allowing him to keep me captive? He said the only thing which mattered was possession. Since he possessed my head, he was free to do what he wanted. So I say to you, I possess your arm, and it therefore belongs to me. I only offered you a drink from the well as a matter of civility. My civility has now ended. Leave."

Gwynn took a deep breath. A breath. He'd been breathing all this time in a place without air. It hadn't occurred to him this was impossible. Everything here was illusion. He might be stationary at this very moment, held in stasis with all these events playing out like a dream. Or perhaps it was a stranger truth. Maybe by entering the Veil he'd become energy like the creatures who lived here, and it was just his own sense of self which kept him feeling whole and separate. Whatever the answer, the Veil was sustaining him through a connection similar to air-it had to be surrounding his body and keeping him alive.

Time to see if I've learned anything.

He started with his hand, trying to sense the flow of energy around his fingers.

Mimir charged, his ma.s.sive hands reaching for Gwynn.

Thought becomes reality.

As the giant's momentum put him within an inch of Gwynn's throat, Gwynn s.h.i.+fted to the right. He didn't step, run, or jump-they wouldn't have moved him fast enough.

If he'd had to explain it to someone, he would've compared it to folding. The truth was, he'd just wished for it to be true and hoped.

Everything is connected.

Mimir's momentum carried him several feet into the brush. Coming to a stop, he turned back toward Gwynn but found himself trapped by tangled branches twining around his feet and legs. The ground beneath him softened and sucked his feet downward. Frustration tore from his throat and he tore at the branches. For every handful he pulled out, three more replaced them.

Mimir ceased his struggle, casting a wary eye on Gwynn.

"This is your will?" Mimir asked. "How are you able to do this?"

"Because everything is connected," Gwynn said, walking to the stone rim of the well. "But to make use of that knowledge, you have to accept everything. If what you say about Odin is true, I don't blame you for hating us so much. I can't begin to understand how betrayed and trapped you feel. But your hatred means you reject half of existence-you could never beat me like that."

Gwynn reached into the water and asked it, "Where is my arm?"

Initially, the water felt cold and empty. But after a minute pa.s.sed, he felt a slight ripple in the water-like feeling his heart beat through his chest. He willed the water to draw the source closer. As the sensation increased, the remaining part of his right arm began to throb and itch at the amputation point. By the time his fingers brushed what he hoped was his arm, it took all his effort to not tear the stump apart.

He grasped and pulled his right arm from the water. All color had been leached from the flesh. The point where it was severed, just above the forearm, revealed the inner workings of his arm. He couldn't help but think it looked fake-even plastic.

Is this really my arm?

Despite its appearance, he couldn't deny the near magnetic sensation between his right arm and this thing in his left hand.

The Norns said his body would remember how things were meant to be. He moved the end of the severed arm toward the stump of his right arm. When the two were nearly touching, he howled, as seven years of grown over flesh split and spread open on the stump of his right arm. Veins, muscle, and flesh extended from both, intertwining and drawing themselves together. It felt like thousands of knives carving his arm up-almost like that fateful night in the old Cameron house eight or so years ago.

He crumpled to his knees, tears streaming down his face and his stomach trying in vain to eject itself. It didn't seem right to experience such pain and not pa.s.s out. Anywhere from seconds to hours could've pa.s.sed, Gwynn had no concept. Only two times existed for him, pain, and then no pain. It took ten breaths past the pain subsiding before he felt he could breathe normally.

By that time, Mimir was almost on top of him.

25.

A Time to Mourn

Mimir watched with fascinated revulsion as the boy's arm reattached. He'd lived many years, had the well show him wonders, yet he'd never seen anything like this.

As the boy's screams echoed, the branches curling around Mimir's ankles began to wither. He took a measured step forward and found the earth solid.

The pain is interrupting his concentration.

He tried to suppress a smile, but he couldn't help but feel a smug sense of satisfaction. The very thing the boy desired would be his undoing. Mimir looked forward to feeling that skull snap between his hands.

Another step, painfully slow and not even a full stride. The bonds had lessened, but if he went too fast, drew too much attention, the boy might be able to fight through the agony and reestablish control. Which meant no satisfaction at breaking past the skull's initial resistance and feeling the soft innards pop and ooze from whatever exit they could find. He might hate things of the flesh, but they were far more satisfying to kill.

When his shuffling steps brought him near enough, he made a final lunge.

The boy's hand, the one he reattached, became a sword. Or maybe a sword came out of it. Mimir didn't dwell on this fact long as the blade pierced between his eyes and punched through the other side of his head.

Gwynn looked on wide-eyed at his right arm.

Had he heard Mimir coming?

A sword slid from his right palm, striking Mimir between the eyes.

"Ilu...Daku," Mimir groaned.

His weight caused him to slide forward another inch down the blade.

All light extinguished in the giant's eyes, his skin paled to the point of translucence. It took only another minute for his body to fade from sight.

"What the h.e.l.l?"

Gwynn eased to his feet and inspected his right arm. It appeared to have seamlessly reattached itself. He flexed the fingers.

Feels...normal.

Normal, except for the blade extending up from the center of his palm. Unlike Xanthe, this blade was forged in such a bright white, it was painful to look too close. Almost as white as the flesh his arm remained. He wondered if the color would ever return.

There was nothing left of Mimir-not even a fine layer of dust. Had this blade killed him? Could a being of pure energy even be killed? Maybe Mimir had fled.

"Ilu Daku," Gwynn said, looking again at the blade. What did he mean?

"It's Ancient Sumerian," Sophia's voice said behind him.

He turned, but she was nowhere in sight.

"Where are you?" he asked.

"In this place, I'm everywhere," she answered.

This time, her voice seemed to come from above. Instead of chasing her further, he closed his eyes and tried to calm the trembling in his chest.

"So what does it mean?" he asked.