Extract taken from ‘The Host’ a novel by Matthew James
Deep within Valhalla, Marcus was watching the sun go down over enchanting mountains of purple and pastel blue. He had already decided, many days earlier, that what he saw was illusion. Imagery cast by his brain to explain what it could not perceive logically.
He was deep in thought, musing over his recent encounter with the three Norn sisters. He had made his way back along the winding roadway alone, disappointed not to have met up with Odin. The mysterious beggar Gangrad had parted company with him, and bid him farewell.
Marcus had then elected to explore the wondrous lands he found himself travelling through. His initial intention had been to find Mimir's Well, but he knew not where it was located. He had pulled out his dog-eared copy of atlas pages that showed Iceland as it was six thousand years on in time from the time zone he was currently in, and then decided against the idea. He had decided that the terrain would bear no resemblance to that which was shown on the map.
He had a rough idea of where Mimir's Well was to be found, the mighty waterfall, “’Gullifoss“’, close by to his entry point from the link lane. Thus he had proceeded back along the pathway towards the entrance point to Asgard. In no time at all he had come across the rainbow bridge, Bifrost, and had called out to Heimdall, but had gained no reply. He had then passed The towering Ash, Yggdrassil, before venturing out once more into Niflheim. Once there he had glanced southwards into the black volcanic clinker waste lands, for sight of any landmark. He had glanced down at his feet, through the swirling mists of water vapour, and had noticed a narrow, but worn pathway leading downwards off the plateau to disappear in the entity of wastes that stood before him.
The weather had been fine, but cold, so he had quickly fastened up his anorak, took a deep breath, to take in the sea air he could smell, and then had walked with a steady pace along the pathway into the clinker lands. He had encountered the grey robed priests some hours later. They had appeared suddenly, from around a rocky outcrop ahead of him. There had been three of them, all dressed identically. The middle priest, had stepped forward and stared at Marcus in fear and disbelief. ”Master?” The scared priest had asked, the translator behind Marcus's right ear deciphering the scared youth's whispered question.
“Nay, my brethren it is not.” One of the priest's companions had said, the tone in his voice distinctly challenging in itss open defiance of Marcus's sudden appearance. Marcus had had to think quickly. He could not reveal his mission to strangers. He recalled Heimdall's mention of dark ones walking the lands. He chose to remain silent, and carried on walking past the three priests. The third, who had remained silent until then, had produced a short knife which he then pointed in Marcus's direction, “I think you are Loki, my friend. If so I shall slay you lest you remain silent.”
Marcus had chosen his words carefully, suddenly fearing for his life. “I come as messenger from thy forefather's. I have sought out The Mighty Odin, but have been unable. Could you direct me to Mimir, I seek counsel there. Perhaps Mimir will locate Odin.” He had spoken slowly and firmly.
The priests reaction had been to drop to the floor at his feet and sob uncontrollably. All Marcus's attempts at calming them down had failed. He made to leave them, the first priest had looked up once at him before resuming his bowing. “Half a days walk from here is a mighty place. The Hvãatã plunges deep into the underworld, a path leads down beside through the cliffs there.
It is said The Wise God Mimir will come if he chooses.”
Marcus had thanked the priests and smiled then at himself at his sudden good fortune. With a rush of energy and a feeling of euphoria he set off once more along the narrow pathway through The Interior of The Lands Of The Nords, towards Mimir's Well, which he was now positive was The waterfall, GullFoss. Perhaps four sweaty hours later, Marcus could not be sure, he came to a wide, fast flowing river which he had taken to be the River Hvãatã , the priest had mentioned earlier. In no time at all, he could hear the distant dull roar like thunder, which he took to be the Gullfoss. It had not been long after that point, that the river had widened still further, and had begun to descend into the depths of the earth. Either side of the river had been unclimbable cliffs and areas of steep scree. Passage had become difficult for Marcus.
The sound of a mighty waterfall filled his ears. He peered down deep into the chasm formed by the maelstrom below hs feet. He could see nothing in the darkness. It did indeed look to Marcus like the river was going down deep into the underworld. And then, by pure chance he noticed the narrow track that went down and over the edge of the cliff into the dark lands below. Marcus had taken the path without hesitation, and had spent the next few hours clambering down a slippery and saturated rocky path, barely more than several inches wide, in places, deep down into a musty and damp smelling overgrown world, beside the steaming and foaming waters of the Gull Foss.
The sound had been deafening and progress had been slow. On numerous occasions, Marcus had thought that his number had been up, when he had found himself slipping and sliding towards the edge and over into the darkness, but each time at the last moment he had managed to find a secure foot or hand hold to steady himself with. He had then remembered his torch, which he retrieved from his pack, and had been rewarded with a rock face covered in runic symbols and designs. On one wall he can managed to decipher a section, after much scrubbing and pulling away of vegetation.
“’Here be the pathway down into the lower world,
Enter with clear mind and lightened heart,
Here find Mimir the wisest of all the gods,
May his voice be heard but at a price,
Think brother on that which ye shall willingly sacrifice.“’
Marcus had been puzzled at the meaning behind the inscription and then had continued his way further down into the clammy and damp depths. Not long after that he had come across his destination. The pathway came to a sudden halt at a precipitous cliff that overlooked a step section of the waterfall. Marcus had gazed upwards at the foaming, falling waters of the GullFoss, forced into a narrow vertical section of rock face. Below him was the same. He had been puzzled. It was truly his destination, but there seemed nothing.
He had reached the conclusion that the pathway was ancient and that some time in the past the next section of rock face had been worn away by the erosive actions of the water, thus severing this section of pathway from the lower sections. He was about to begin his way back up the path, when he noticed a small Ash tree growing in an indentation in the cliff. A narrow ledge led from the pathway to there. Closer inspection of the ledge had revealed it to be in fact the continuation of the pathway. Marcus had made a precarious passage along the sheer walls of the cliff face. The ledge had proven to be slippery and extremely narrow, but he had managed to reach the Ash tree quite safely. Behind the Ash, Marcus had made a surprising discovery.
There had been a doorway of carved lintels and pillars. Beyond it had been a dark passageway that had led him deep into the cliff face. Along narrow and waterlogged winding tunnels he had literally crawled in places, before finally reaching a large cavern section of the tunnel, which on inspection by torchlight had numerous other passageways leading into it.
In the distance Marcus had heard the muffled roar of the GullFoss, from behind him, but also the sound of approaching footsteps from a passageway to his right. Marcus had froze, switched off his torch, and literally cowered with fright in the complete blackness. The cavern had suddenly been plunged into brilliant whiteness. Before him had stood a tall, bearded being that had resembled all descriptions of the mighty legendary sea giant, Mimir.
"Welcome mortal, to The Island of Lessoe, deep in the realm of Hlesey.“’ The giant had roared at him. Marcus had been rendered speechless. It had been several minutes before Marcus had spoken. For all intents and purposes, the being that was standing opposite him, extending the arm of friendship was the exact double of Osiris, the one god, who he had left behind in the labyrinth! “Are you Mimir?” He had nervously asked the being.
“I have been known by that name, yea...who art though, friend. Your attire and features be not from here. Who are you?” Mimir had asked.
Marcus had thought carefully and chosen his words in extreme deliberation before speaking. “I am known as Xesus, ambassador to Osiris, One God of Atlantis...I come in peace...” He had then had a strong memory flashback at that point, before Mimir could reply Marcus had continued, “.....this place is the remains of our culture isn’t it? You are the sole survivor of the culture. I know this place. I have been here before long ago, when I bore my true form. I travelled through passageways below the sea to here. We knew it then as Cassegarn.....I remember!”
”It is true my friend...I am indeed the sole surviving guardian, though it was my father áegir who was the first along with our people, The Poseideans, who built this place. You recall the times not long after the first disaster before the sea separated us forever from home. How have you got here?” Mimir had broken into tears half way through his reply, he had been obviously deeply disturbed by Marcus’s presence and his sudden flashback.
Marcus had then gone on in great detail about the existence of the inter zone and the labyrinth. Mimir had listened spell bound, hanging on Marcus’s every word. In the end, he had provided Marcus with a detailed way through the underground passageways back to the entrance to Asgard. Once there, Marcus was to find The Norn sisters who would direct him to Odin. Mimir had refused Marcus's aid, when Marcus had offered to give him directions that would lead him to the underground laboratory of the remains of Atlantis. Mimir had merely such his head and said that his guardianship was here, as a ward against ordinary mortals finding the passageways before time. The gods had not yet deemed it time for the passageways to be found.
On his way along the passageways, later, Marcus had thought about what Mimir had said about the right time for the passageways to be discovered. He had thought then about the earth six thousand years on from that moment, and decided that the gods had blocked the passageways then by land changes due to vulcanisation. Mimir had done his job, he had obviously been involved with the machinery deep within Lessoe that were responsible for the agents of the earth mankind knew as geysers, and lava activity, which would have by then blocked off the entrances to the underground Island forever, or until a time mankind was deemed fit to rediscover that knowledge.
After another undeterminable length of time, in which he had spent navigating the dark passageways of Lessoe, deep below Iceland, he came back to the entrance to Asgard, from a completely different direction to when he had left earlier in search of The Gullfoss.
There before him once again, had stood the white entity he knew as Asgard. He ambled slowly over to the mighty ash tree, Yggdrassil, and located the middle root. There, he traced an imaginary line down its centre with his mind, until his eyes came to rest on a point twenty feet from the mighty tree. He walked over, and looked for the end of the life force fibre that would be fastened there. He could sense the energy, though he could not see it.
Then, before his eyes appeared a small shining being of perhaps no more than two feet in height, a Lios-Alfar, who flittered over to him, and pulled with it the wyrd fibre that he had found. He had grasped the fibre which had turned in that instance into a perfect smaller replica of the rainbow bridge Bifrost. From its centre a ball of multi coloured light had emanated, which had soon become a spinning web of energy, spinning at a rate too fast for Marcus's eyes to perceive. After a time, the web had slowed and solidified into an oaken door. He had grasped the handle of the door, finding the door to open without any resistance. He had stepped over the threshold into a land identical to Valhalla. The portal through which he had stepped had then disappeared.
