The Codex Lacrimae (31 page)

Urd fell thoughtfully into silence, then said: “Clarinda, we lost Sight of you when you boarded your ship in Constantinople, and didn't find you again until you were outside the walls of Caesarea, some time after the battle had passed. When was this Kenezki with you?”

“During that time you just said: from the Harbor of the Golden Horn to Caesarea.”

“The last time you saw him was in Caesarea?”

“Yes, when he disappeared off that galley,” Clarinda said.

“We'll look into this matter,” Urd said to her sisters, “and discuss it with Mimir.”

“But, I don't understand,” Clarinda persisted. “Weren't you...speaking to me at the dinner table? I heard your voice in my head.”

Urd stared blankly at her. “Clarinda Trevisan, we are not in the habit of repeating ourselves. I told you, this contact is the first time I've spoken with you since Constantinople.”

“What about the man at the forge?” Clarinda asked, ignoring the warning tone. “And the warnings that you (that
some
one) gave me about the place called Annen Verden? Dietrich the Mad? Veröld Matröd?”

The three Norns looked at each other. Skuld spoke first, peering questioningly at Urd.

“Sister, you told us you'd not yet begun her training.”

“I haven't!” Urd said, then with eyebrows arched, she asked, “Clarinda, where did you learn those names?”

“I thought from you. The voice in my head sounded like your voice.”

“It would…”

“The Sight comes to her,” Verdandi observed, then smiled. “You are catching flashes from Urd's past, I think, Sister. Those people and places are long gone.”

“The warning...wherever it came from, it sounded like they were coming back.”

“Impossible,” Urd interjected with finality. “Taliesin bound them beyond space-time when he took care of the Codex Lacrimae. Before he...trust me, Clarinda. No one can reach Annen Verden, nor can the Nightmare Lord and Mad Arch-Mage harm anyone again. I was there — I saw them cast out of the Nine Worlds.”

But, it seemed so real!
What's happening to me?

“Then back to my questions,” Clarinda said instead of pursuing the matter further. She could tell that she'd upset all three women, and no satisfactory answer seemed to be forthcoming from them. “Why am I going to the Krak des Chevaliers with the two caskets? How do you expect me to destroy them when I couldn't pry them open or set fire to them?”

Urd nodded. “As I said before, the Codex Wielder will help you, but to find him you must first meet Saladin, who has allied himself with the Huntsmen.”

“Who
are
these Huntsmen and what do they have to do with me?” Clarinda spoke with some irritation, fighting against the calm detachment that overcame her in the Norns' presence.

“The Huntsmen are Sons of Muspelheim, sent by Surtur the Fire-Lord to retrieve the Codex Lacrimae,” Skuld said bluntly. “Those caskets contain more than just their earthly forms. Within each lay components to create —”

“What? Then they
are
coffins? I told Padre that they were, and he wouldn't believe me…,” Clarinda's voice surged with fear. At Skuld's words she looked behind her, expecting to see the offending cargo. Instead, she saw grey mist swirling all around. The winds were gone, and the air felt bitterly chill. She didn't recognize the landscape and she saw in it some confusion that Khalil's camel-trading
bedouin
were nowhere to be seen.

“
Aspetta,”
she said,
startled at the sight,
“
wait — where's the caravan?”

“We're traveling between the worlds,” Verdandi said, as if the comment was explanation enough. “Only a few from Midgard may come here,”

“Where is Midgard and what do you mean that those two caskets are coffins?”

“The places where you grew up, Clarinda, this road we're traveling on,” she swept an arm in the air, “all of this. Venice, Constantinople, Caesarea...the seas you love so much, all is Midgard,” Urd said. “Of the Nine Worlds that rest within the boughs of Yggdrassil the World-Tree, Midgard is the least magical, but perhaps the most complex because of that fact.”

“The chests are, indeed, coffins of a kind,” Verdandi added, the earlier challenge in her voice changed now to impatient exasperation, “and their occupants, the Huntsmen, Farbauti and Morpeth, aren't dead, nor are they truly alive.” The slight woman glanced at Urd. “Can't we simply dip her in the Well and be done with it, Urd? This is taking too much time.”

“Time enough for that later, Verdandi. I would rather her come to know us in this fashion. It has been foreseen and you
will
be patient.” Urd halted her horse and dismounted. The grey mist retreated with plumes and swirls as she advanced in front of the three steeds and approached a darkness that loomed ahead.

“Is that a cave?” she asked. “What's in there? Where's the caravan?”

“Many things will be answered at the Well of Mimir,” Urd said, indicating that Clarinda should follow Skuld, who'd already passed into the darkness of the cave. The ship-captain's daughter hesitated for a moment and then stepped forward into the shadows to the soft chuckling of Verdandi behind her.

“You are now stepping into the future,” Verdandi said, “informed as it is by the present you depart, and the past that came before it. Welcome, sister, to the paths that lead to the Well of Fate. You may have had glimpses of the future with the Sight, but know now that your true training begins here.”

ii. Second Morning: A Hike in the Homs Gap

On the second day from Caesarea, Khalil slowly ascended a steep slope in the Homs Gap, starting to feel hope for the first time in a month as his caravan broke camp.

He reached downward and helped Fatima skirt the rockslide to join him on the hidden path they'd both found years ago.

“The tribe, at least, seems to be improving in spirit,” he commented as they began climbing again.

“Well,” Fatima replied, “they've certainly recovered from the battle with the Templars at Caesarea, and I know that they want to sell the camels.” She paused. “It's the alliance with Saladin that they don't like.”

“Tradition,” Khalid said curtly, adjusting the two fabric rolls under his left arm. “Every time I suggest something that breaks with the elders' definition of ‘tradition,' you'd think that I'd challenged the order of the cosmos.”

“In my opinion, Khalil,” Fatima said, “it's not our elders' traditions that you should be worried about — you should worry about Saladin's expectations of us after the deal's made.”

“I'll be clear on the terms,” Khalil said defensively.

“Clear?” Fatima stopped hiking. “Khalil, he's besieging a Crusader castle where my father, Marcus, and Ríg live! We
can't
join the fight, even if Saladin offers to buy all of the camels at three times their value.”

“He
is
known for buying well when a tribe joins him,” Khalil murmured appreciatively.

“Khalil! I'm in earnest!”

“Of course we're not going to march on the Krak, Fatima,” Khalil said. “But, there are very few choices for what to do with our camels. Saladin can buy them, and then we'll return to the Nafud.”

“I'm simply raising the point that this plan has risks all around it,” Fatima said quietly, “and none of the risks bode well for our family.” Her voice caught. “What's left of our family, I should say.”

Khalil reached for her hand again, letting pass the unspoken reference to her recently deceased brother, Thaqib. He himself was still grappling with the suddenness of his brother-in-law's death and didn't trust his emotions just yet. Thaqib had been Khalil's best friend since childhood, and if they entered a full conversation about him, the sheik knew they wouldn't be able to regain their composures by the time they returned to the caravan.

Suicide, though, Thaqib? Why? There was no reason…

He found that he'd withdrawn the amulet that had been on Thaqib's corpse; it now dangled from a simple leather thong around his neck, the intersecting arcs of its strange design providing some comfort as he remembered better times.

Palomides.

Khalil gave a start, dropping the amulet as if he'd been shocked by it.

“Did you say something, Fatima?”

“Just that I miss my brother,” Fatima said quietly, watching him and staring at the amulet.

“I do, too,” Khalil said, tucking the jewelry back under his shirt. As he touched the metal, he heard the dry voice in his mind again, whispering one word:
Palomides
.

“Did you...,” he started to say, but faltered. He didn't want his wife to think him crazed, so he'd say nothing for now. “I mean, we must hold rein on the grief. We must lead.”

“I know, I know, but I keep wondering how are we going to tell Father?” she asked. “I still don't believe it, and he certainly won't be able to. We were all together the night before he headed out.”

Khalil thought briefly about Khajen ibn-Khaldun and knew that the old man would believe anything that his beloved daughter told him. He also knew that the scholar possessed a strength that would see him through even a grief-stricken darkness.

“I'm more worried about Marcus,” Khalil said as he tossed the rolls on top of a boulder and found a handhold in the granite. He pulled himself up to the last trail, and then reached down to assist his wife.

“He won't know what to do,” Fatima agreed when she'd reached Khalil's side. “
Any
change throws him out of sorts, and he dearly loved Thaqib...almost as much as he loves you.”

“Fatima,” Khalil grunted as his eyes grew moist, checking his emotions, “we can't talk about any of this right now — family matters...those feelings, they're a gate held together by fragile reeds. I can only bend so much.”

She said nothing, simply caressing his cheek. He kissed her hand and let her lead the final way to the summit.

When they reached the clearing, they unrolled the prayer rugs and, lowering themselves to a kneeling position of
sujud
,
they awaited the rising sun to make their
salah
devotions, or prayers to Allah. He reached across the few feet to retake his wife's hand and they both centered themselves as they took this moment to enjoy the unveiling beauty of the morning. Mist rose from the small pools and waterways that marked the floor of valley oasis, and the vapors on the waters briefly appeared pink in the first lancing rays of the rising sun.

The sound of a person inhaling deeply caused both Khalil and Fatima to turn and peer into the shadowed gloom that lay at the base of the cliff face to his left.

“Good Morning, Clarinda,” Khalil greeted.

“
Buon Giorno
,
” Clarinda replied, her voice distant. Khalil noticed she had her arms huddled tightly over her chest, warding off the morning chill. “It's beautiful here, isn't it?”

“We find it a comfort whenever we pass this way,” Fatima said, scooting aside and making room for her friend to sit. She patted the fabric in invitation, and Clarinda came to sit beside her with a murmured ‘thank you.'

“
Multo opportuno
,
” Clarinda said, “I need to pray more.”

Khalil smiled and looked at her. He eased himself from kneeling into a cross-legged seated position. “You're religious? Somehow, I didn't get that impression from our discussions.”

“Recent events have driven me back into the fold,” Clarinda admitted.

“Your father's passing?”

“That, and other things. I've made some friends whose beliefs are making me question those that I grew up with.”

“Ah,” Khalil said, believing that he understood her, “you've been speaking with some of the elders in the tribe. They can be very persuasive, and would welcome such a convert from the way of the Nazarene. You think about Muhammad and Allah often, then?”

Fatima gave her husband a surprised look. “Do you?”

Khalil spread his hands with a pained expression. “Do I not sit on the prayer rug?”

“You do,” Fatima said, “but only because I drag you out of our tent to meet the dawn.”

“I know
my
religion,” Khalil insisted, his tone hurt. “I know that it says quite clearly in the Koran that, ‘Men have authority over women because God has made the one superior to the other.'” Eyes calculatingly mirthful, he added, “and because we spend our wealth to maintain them, the Koran tells us that, ‘...good women are
obedient
.
' You know, if you were both my wives, you'd have to listen to everything I said.”