The Codex Lacrimae (7 page)

She stared at him, frustration in her voice and eyes.

“Whatever you say,
mio Capitano
.
”

“Oh ho, there's the biting side.
Buona notte, mia bella
.
”

Back in the present, Clarinda finally raised her head, her father's chuckle still heard in the near-empty basilica of Hagia Sophia.

After another night spent dreaming of the underground rainbow pool and the young man, she'd risen before the dawn to find that Pasquale had brought the ship to the great chain that barred the Harbor of the Golden Horn when it closed each night.

That morning had been the last time she'd seen her father in over four weeks. She'd received various messages while in the Stratioticus house, but had yet to see him in person, or the
Maritina
,
for that matter.

“Clarinda Trevisan.”

Clarinda turned at the voice coming from somewhere in the deeper shadows of the basilica. A group of worshipers stood talking quietly between Clarinda and some broad columns, but past the pillars she saw a cloaked person standing near the entrance to one of the side chapels. The figure raised an arm and beckoned, repeating her name so that it echoed loudly in the church.

Clarinda passed the altar and approached the figure by the columns. It was a woman, the contours of her body unmistakable even under the turquoise, ankle-length gown she wore beneath the black cloak. The woman pulled the cowl from her hair when Clarinda drew near and the sight made the adolescent gasp — the stranger's deeply tanned and ovaline features, sea-green eyes, and slightly bemused expression reminded the Venetian girl of her mother.

Clarinda greeted the stranger in Greek. “Good evening, did you call me by name?”

“
Sì, ho chiamato da uno dei suoi nomi
,
” the woman replied with a shake of her head. “I called you by
one
of your names, but, Child, no evenings shall be ‘good' for you until your monk returns to the northern lands of his father's father. Your meaning is understood, however.” A slight smile played across her lips as she gave a small bow. “
Buona sera
,
Signorina
.
”

“You speak Greek, Italian and the language of the
franj,
yet with the accent of a Norseman,” Clarinda commented, noting how richly dressed and coiffed the woman was.

The linen of her gown seemed luminescent in the half-light, and Clarinda didn't know if that effect was from silken threads twined throughout the patterned fabric or if the woman was, indeed, slightly glowing with an otherworldly aura. The tailor in her wondered at the strange material because she'd never seen its like. Perhaps the woman would tell her where she, too, could get a bolt. If she could return to Venice with that kind of cloth to share with her girlfriends, at least something good would have come from this interminable house arrest in Constantinople!

The glowing effect became accentuated when the woman raised her French-braided head to regard Clarinda with intensely green eyes. The stare brought Clarinda back to the moment — enough thoughts about her sewing and weaving! There was something strange in the woman's knowing gaze, and Clarinda felt a need to solve this puzzle. But, the sensation of familiarity almost disarmed her completely. Rather than feeling awkward or uncomfortable, the girl felt as if she were meeting a distant member of her own family after a long absence.

“And you, Captain's Daughter, you speak many languages, don't you? More languages than all the looms at your family homes and ships combined?”

“I do,” Clarinda replied with a start. Did the woman know she'd been thinking about the nature of the gown's cloth? Impossible. “How...how is it that you seem to know me,
Signora
?”

The woman chuckled, then beckoned for Clarinda to get even closer.

Surprisingly, Clarinda let the woman put a motherly arm around her shoulder as they began walking along the columns. She felt comforted at the woman's touch.

“You've also been to Mimir's Well, haven't you? In your dreams.” The woman stopped and turned to look at Clarinda. “You've seen the Seer – well, his head, at least — and you've seen a Huntsman, as well as one who might become a Codex Wielder. Peculiar phenomena, but you'll become accustomed to them if you're to master the threads of space and time.”

“What are you talking about?” Clarinda interrupted. “How do you know these —”

“You saw my sisters, your Hospitaller, and even Morpeth at that pool, although I imagine
that
nasty one appeared in the vision as a dark shadow. All this is the future, which is rushing now to the present. I'm here to help you prepare.”

“Wait,” the girl said, recognizing the woman. “You're the one lying in the pool! I thought you were dying.”

The woman nodded. “Perhaps I will be. I am Urd. You'll take my place after that Huntsman takes his due.”

“
Mi scusi
?”

“I am you in that time which will be, as you even now are me in the triad of Fate, Being, and Necessity.
Noi siamo il Norns, cara
.
We are the Norns, Dear. The time has come for you to take up the skein and assist in matters that have import in all the Nine Worlds.”

“We have called you in your dreams, Clarinda,” Urd said, “now listen in the waking.”

Chapter 4

The Words of Urd

Clarinda said nothing, astonished that the woman knew what she'd been dreaming for the past couple of months, but unable to reply.

“Your plan to find your father has merit because it will carry you eastward across the Great Sea. Angelo Trevisan is no longer in Constantinople, but in Caesarea. South and east from here lay the lands where you must go, where even now the Codex Lacrimae will soon confront its potential master. Gain your ship with the help of the Stratioticus children, and take the warrior-born, Alexander, with you. My sister has traced a thread where he may serve you well, if not without some frustration on his part. I must warn you now, though — even if you reach Caesarea, hope not for your father. Live not for him, but for your Fate yet to be. Yggdrassil's roots run deep,
Bambina
, and sisters you now have who will help you.”

“How can you say such a thing?” Clarinda asked, horrified. “I'll find him...my entire reason for getting out of this city is to find him.”

“Unfortunately, Angelo Trevisan's greed brought him into Nightmare's orbit. There's naught we can do for him.”

“I won't believe that! I can't.”

“Believe what you will, Sister,” Urd sighed, “but, you
will
stop protesting every sentence I speak, and
listen to me
.
” At the last words, the woman's eyes fixed on Clarinda's and the girl stepped backward. Irritated, she resisted the impulse to keep retreating.

“You...you pushed me!” she glared. How had the woman moved her with only her voice?

“And you stopped yourself,” Urd observed, smiling slightly. “There are few in the worlds who can resist a Norn's voice. It seems my dreams and Skuld's predictions prove out, after
all.”

“I'll not hear anymore about my father dying,” Clarinda persisted.

“Then find him strung up in a galley of dead men!” Urd retorted. “The matters of which I speak go beyond Angelo Trevisan's poor choices, Clarinda. I speak of artifacts lost that are now found, of witches undone who are now remade, and allies betrayed who march to war.”

“I don't know what you're talking about!”

The woman caressed Clarinda's cheek. “I may be able to speak more clearly after Caesarea, but to do so ere that time might be to forewarn our enemies. I can say this: enlist the aid of the Codex Wielder to destroy the caskets at the Krak des Chevaliers. If you do so, Morpeth and Farbauti will be much hindered in their efforts on this world, and Surtur delayed long enough for your training to be completed. Do not underestimate them, nor the machinations and traps that they've set in place to retrieve the Codex Lacrimae.”

“Clarinda?” Genevieve's voice broke the silence that followed the woman's last statement. Clarinda knew her friend stood near the western portals, but stayed focused on the stranger.

“We are Urd, Clarinda.
Tu ed io, ora e per sempre
.
You and I, now and forever.” The woman clasped the merchant daughter's hands tightly. “Be brave. Follow your plan and get to Caesarea. During your journey, we shall meet again. My sisters and I –
le nostre sorelle
—
our
sisters, we'll train and prepare you along the way.”

Clarinda looked at her left hand. A broad, silver brooch rested there. Serpentine runes flowed in an intaglio around the circular base, the complex design resting beneath four curved triangles that made the entire piece look like a cross. Within each of the four triangles, three unified arcs pointed inward toward the green onyx stone in the brooch's center.

Urd nodded at the piece of jewelry. “Pin it to your cloak, and keep it with you always.”

“I've seen these designs before, the connected arcs...,” Clarinda murmured, then made the connection: “The Northmen. They wear these on their belt buckles and cloak pins.”

“The three arcs are
triquerta
,
and they have special meaning for the Norns. I think that you and your Hospitaller will find an…unexpected use for their trajectories, but we shall see.”

The woman took the brooch back briefly, frowned at the embroidered dress Clarinda wore, and then fastened the brooch to the fabric at the Venetian girl's hip. “That will have to do for now, at least until you're traveling again and wearing a cloak.”

Urd looked at the girl thoughtfully. “Be wary of Servius Aurelius Santini, Clarinda.”

Clarinda started. “Why? He died at the Battle of Mecina — everyone knows that.”

The Norn shook her head. “No, he's alive. He's the second, black-robed Hospitaller knight in your vision of Mimir's Well.”

“What?” Clarinda exclaimed. Disappointment vied with anger as romantic hopes from a month of fantasizing seemed to burst into flames within her. “That's impossible! Saladin killed him, and he was much, much older than the boy I've seen. The Santini of Mecina was a madman, a killer so afraid to show his true face that they called him the Hooded Hospitaller!”

Urd shrugged. “Believe what you will.
Your
Hospitaller at Mimir's Well is Santini.” Urd paused. “Walk with me, sister.”

Clarinda let herself be taken arm in arm with Urd and they walked southward toward the great imperial door and narthex beyond.

She knew that the Stratioticus family would be waiting outside the entrance to the basilica, but her thoughts were on fire. Of all the possible identities she'd imagined for her heroic knight by the pool, the possibility that he might be Servius Aurelius Santini never occurred to her. Why should it? The man was more myth than anything else, a knight in a strange land battling in religious wars that held no interest for Clarinda — as far as the Holy Land was concerned, she and her father just needed safe ports in the Levant to dock their ships.

The Norn seemed to hear her thoughts and spoke quietly to her as they walked past gigantic mosaics of past emperors and empresses, whose tiny tesserae glass and stone tiles glinted in a multitude of colors from the torch light.

“I know what you're thinking, and you'll find that it's that very feeling of disbelief which has kept him alive in the crusader lands these past five years,” Urd continued. “Trusting that no one would believe he survived Mecina, Santini's protectors have hid the youth in plain sight from the vengeance of Saladin's armies and agents. Also, remember this: Aurelius is far younger than anyone expects, and none in this generation of men matches his skill with a sword. Get used to the idea. Don't be deceived by appearances in any of the months ahead, be they the sight of your Hospitaller knight, or of others whom you meet. Deception and betrayal lie everywhere, like thorns of bushes along a narrow trail that will prick at your ankles unless —”