“Who knows with these mysterious monk-knights?” Angelo smiled. “They wear armor wherever they go. We’re sailors and don’t need such things. That’s why we live on the sea, Fair One. Our armor is its vastness — remember that.”
“How could I not? You’ve said it often enough,” Clarinda tried to keep her smile, but it faltered. “Now I’m getting a strange feeling, too, Father. Please, keep me by your side.”
Angelo held his daughter’s hands together as he kissed her fingers. “I’ve said what will be done. Tomorrow when we land, I’ll send a runner to the Stratioticus family. You should look at this as some well-earned time off, Clarinda. Admit it, it’ll be good to see Genie, and I’ve heard that Alex recently got promoted to a new position in the imperial guard. He might even ask you to marry him, eh? You could do worse than him, and our families would have one more reason to get together. I might even buy a permanent slip at the harbor if things work out between you. Come, now, no pouting — you’ll have fun.”
“Padre... .”
“Abbastanza, Clarinda!” Desperation snapped his voice into something else, but he regained control. “You have your orders.” He said, his smile a ghost of itself. “Besides, tua madre — were she still alive — she’d have strong words for me if I exposed you to unnecessary dangers. I won’t have you near this matter. That’s final.”
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 —”
“Basta ! Enough!” Clarinda interrupted, unable to restrain herself. “Please, I wish you’d quit saying that kind of thing! He’s not ‘my Hospitaller,’ and we’re only talking about dreams. If the knight at the pool really is the Santini from Mecina, he’ll have no place in my life. None. I’m leery of violent men as it is, and I certainly wouldn’t get involved with a religious fanatic.”
“We shall see,” Urd said agreeably, “but as friend, foe, or whatever you become to each other, know this — he’s surrounded by deceptions and half-truths. He was raised in falsehood, and he’s survived by those lies for five years. That time is at an end. Smoldering elements from his and your family backgrounds have ignited, and their fires will burn through the entire Mediterranean — from the walls here in Byzantium to the Arabian sands, from the Italic lands, to the fjords of Scandinavia.”
Urd paused, and Clarinda felt the skin on the back of her arms tingle in apprehension as the older woman stared into space. “Such fires, I see – fires everywhere. Fire on a ship in Caesarea and in a library at the Krak des Chevaliers. Fire in a forest glade in Svartalfheim while two huntsmen await their prey, and fire in a forge where a powerful Sampo is made….”
The woman shook her head. “The threads are consumed even as I watch, but this much is clear: your actions will influence much, Child. Heed me: if you let your heart command you instead of cleaving to your duty to the Well of Fate, if you don’t heed my warnings about the danger Santini poses, Creation itself may burn.”
“The Well of Fate? Creation burning? I don’t understand what you’re saying,” Clarinda said. “Can’t you speak plainly? I mean, when you say Creation, do you mean the world around us? How could it all burn because of Santini?”
“I put the visions from the Sight as simply as I can. When I say Creation, I mean all the worlds in the Multiverse; all worlds and realities will burn if you don’t learn to trust us and heed our counsel.”
“The Multiverse?” Clarinda asked, smiling indulgently. The woman seemed mad!
“You think me mad, do you? A second lesson, then: you will listen to me !”
Although she felt the power of the Norn Voice charging the air between them again, this time Clarinda couldn’t resist its persuasion. The girl stopped moving, and her throat closed as Urd’s words hammered into her mind.
I…I can’t breathe!
“I have your attention, Sister-Daughter? Buona.”
Clarinda gasped as air flooded into her lungs. She could move again.
“I will not tolerate this constant questioning, Clarinda,” Urd said calmly. “We’ve little enough time as it is, and certainly not enough to indulge your doubts. Know this: the truths you’ve lived by for seventeen years won’t help you survive the times to come. Those times are filled with worlds and peoples that are all under our watch, our protection. A Norn’s task is a sacred and extremely difficult duty, demanding sacrifices you can’t begin to imagine. I sense your disbelief, Girl, and it’s a feeli
ng rooted in arrogance. Arrogance based on an assumption that seventeen years of life have equipped you for assessing all situtations with a logic that leads to certain conclusions.”
Urd snickered. “Try those assessments when the Huntsmen come for you, Clarinda Trevisan. Let the fruit of your experiences sustain you when you see the serpent’s fang buried in your father’s breast. See if your life in Venice has equipped you to defend the worlds against Surtur and the Legions of Muspelheim as they march through Niflheim Gate to attack all realities! No, no. It won’t do. Those seventeen years have made you what you are, but you need to learn more if you’re to survive this and become a Norn”
“I’m not going to become a Norn —” Clarinda started to protest, but stopped herself before Urd could paralyze her again with that voice. “I mean, this is all very confusing. I don’t know what to make of it, especially that part about Santini. What’s his connection to the Norns? How could one fanatical crusader pose a danger to the…the Multiverse?”
“He must burn through the lies that make his life. For Santini, those falsehoods obscure the past, and his fond memories about the family he’s left behind; they distort the present, making him think he can hold onto his current existence as knight and monk; and they darken the future, because, like you, he’s sorely unprepared for the trials to come. For my part, knowing a bit more than you do now, I think that you will love him. Though shrouded by the dark times descending, Santini’s thread remains intact, and it’s of a strength I’ve not seen in a very, very long time. If there weren’t such a…darkness in his threads, I’d even put him among those knights whose exploits were chronicled by Gildas the Wise.
“But, for all that, Clarinda…,” the Norn hesitated, then added, “for all their greatness, never forget that even those knights were known to make mistakes. They ventured into places that would flay the skin of most men, and some did not come back. Quests rarely end where the seeker expects, and your Hospitaller won’t even know that he’s seeking something when this begins. I tell you this: Aurelius stands between madness and glory, and you must stay true to your course and our training if you are to survive him and the times to come.”
The Codex Lacrimae Page 5