The Codex Lacrimae

by A. J. Carlisle

  “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 tha
t 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.”

  Fatima stared at him, a fire coming into her eyes, and then she suddenly laughed. “Oh, Khalil, you must be a very frustrated man if you believe that.” She looked merrily at Clarinda. “What do you think of that, Clarinda?”

  “I’m not even going to discuss the part about more than one wife,” Clarinda said with a smile and shook her head. “As for ‘obedience,’ I think I’d make a very poor Muslim, Khalil. Thanks to my father’s business, I’ve too much of my own money and too used to men onboard our ships doing what I say.” She paused, reflecting. “No, I’ve never been one for unquestioning obedience.”

  “Obedience to what?” Alexander asked as he climbed over the boulder to join the two on the ridge.

  Khalil rose to his feet, brushing the dirt off his robes with some exasperation. He reached downward to help his wife to her feet. “It seems that the entire camp has followed us this morning!”

  Alex grinned. “I’m just following Clare, but everyone in the valley seems ready to go.”

  The sheik muttered something under his breath about there being no peaceful place left on earth to be alone, and by the time he’d rerolled his rug, Fatima was already briskly making her way back down the mountain path.

  Alex waited until the sheik clambered over the boulder and departed from sight before squatting beside Clarinda. “Good Morning, again,” he said.

  “Hello, Alex,” Clarinda replied. “I appreciate the protection, but you could’ve stayed at the bottom of the hill. They were just coming to pray.”

  “We’re in the wild lands,” Alex countered. “You shouldn’t go unaccompanied.”

  “Khalil and Fatima certainly seem to depart from what I thought of typical Muslims.” Clarinda stretched her legs. She smiled. I can’t see Fatima being part of any harem, can you?”

  “No, not that one,” Alex agreed.

  Clarinda looked at the landscape, frowning. “I’m not sure, but I think that Khalil might have been thinking about asking me to marry him.”

  “What?”

  “I’m joking,” she chuckled, enjoying a momentary return to the teasing ways of their friendship.

  “Well, since you brought it up,” Alex said expansively, “in matters of marriage I hope you know that I’d still like the first chance at that kind of proposal.” He straightened his uniform and grinned. “I’m a hoplitarch now, you know. Advancing in the world, getting things done.”

  Clarinda rolled her eyes in mock admiration, but then realized that he was speaking seriously. So much for kidding around. The tension of his attraction to her was a force that she couldn’t ignore forever. She’d already told him many times that her feelings for him were strictly within the bounds of a close friendship, more akin to siblings than lovers, but he remained steadfast in his devotion.

  “Alex, please — I love you as a friend, but only as a friend.”

  He winced at her bluntness, watching his dreams of a life together come undone by her matter-of-fact words.

  “We need to talk, Alex,” she continued, ignoring his pain. She had to tell him everything! “I’ve had experiences on this journey that you need to know about.”

  “Sounds serious,” Alexander commented. He began tossing pebbles down the declivity. She sensed his irritation at her changing the subject from marriage, and felt as he if were preparing to leave.

  “It is serious, but I’m not sure how much you’ll believe,” Clarinda reached out and closed her hand upon his, “or forgive.”

  “Forgive?”

  “Let me start from the beginning.” She withdrew her hand and positioned herself more comfortably on the ground.

  “How familiar are you with the Northmen?” she asked, focusing on the wakening world around them and avoiding his piercing blue eyes. As always, she could feel his need for her as an almost physical thing, and she needed to be undistracted by the effect that her own eyes seemed to have on him!

  “I know enough about the Norsemen to avoid them,” Alexander replied doubtfully. “What’s this about?”

  “Many of the Vikings’ descendants…they spread out from Normandy through the rest of Francia, and some even down into Sicily.”

  “The Guiscards?”

  Clarinda nodded. “And other families. Some of the Norman daughters married into Sicilian families there, and I’ve become aware of one family in particular – the Santinis – whom I need to talk to you about.”

  “Santini...why?” Alex looked at her in exasperation. “Oh, no — come on, Clare. Don’t tell me you have a crush on Paolo Santini? Is that why you sent him to Venice, so that he’d be there when you —”

  “No, Alex, no.” Even after observing men for a few years now, Clarinda still couldn’t believe how quick they were to jealousy. “Please, just listen to what I have to say before you judge it. I’ve been talking the last few days – well, weeks if you count the time in Hagia Sophia with Urd…” Clarinda hesitated, then continued quickly, “I’ve been in contact with three women from the northern countries. From Scandinavia. They call themselves the Norns.”

  “Norns?” Alexander’s expression was blank. “Who are they, and where are they? Except for Fatima, Genevieve, and me, I haven’t seen you talking to anybody in the caravan the last few days.”

  She grimaced. “Maybe in this world, but there are other worlds beyond this one. Eight other worlds, to be precise. The Norns call this place Midgard, but I’ve been spending most of my time —”

  “Clare...Clarinda,” Alexander interrupted, “enough. This is crazy talk.”

  “I thought so, too, but I’ve learned some things in the last couple days. The Norns are the ‘Witches of Fate,’ or ‘Weavers of Destiny,’ and they’re three in number: Urd, whom we would call the Past, but who is better known as ‘Fate’; Verdandi, the ‘Present’; and Skuld, the ‘Future’. They’re sisters who observe and guide things in the Nine Worlds from their home at Mimir’s Well. That’s a pool — sometimes called the Well of Urd — deep in the earth beneath Mount Glittertind where it touches a root of Yggdrassil, the World Tree.”

  “What are you talking about, Clarinda?” Alex’s voice grew stern in the realization that she wasn’t making some kind of joke.

  “I’ve been there, Alex!” Clarinda grabbed the man’s forearm, seeking confirmation in his usually adoring eyes. “Time passes differently in the Nine Worlds. For every day we’ve been on this caravan trip here, I’ve spent a month studying there!” Clarinda knew that she was overwhelming Alex with information, but now that she’d started talking, she found that she couldn’t stop herself. “And, that’s not all. Verdandi — the Norn of the Present — she’s using Genie’s body and features to talk with me here, and sometimes Urd uses...well, she uses your form so that even when I’m not sleeping they can keep training me. I know it sounds impossible, Alex, but you’ve got to believe this: during the past two days, I’ve spent almost two months training with the Norns near Mimir’s Well!”

  Alexander averted his gaze, the cheeks on his face coloring in anger. “Why are you doing this, Clare? I knew that you were worried about your father, but I didn’t know you were so upset. You need to stop — no one can hear you talking like this.”

  “Talking like what? You’re my friend, and I’m finally telling you —”

  “What?” Alex yanked his arm from her. “What you’re telling me is madness.” He shook his head. “You’re in charge of your father’s fleet until you find him, and the sailors aren’t going to follow you if they get wind of…,” he interrupted himself and shook his head. “It’s bad enough that you make me beg for any sign of affection from you, Clarinda, but now that I’ve thrown it out there that I want to marry you
, did you think you had to go make up some kind of craziness so that I’m not attracted to you?”

  “Oh, my God,” she groaned. The man was insufferable sometimes! “You’ve made this about you, now?” she exclaimed. “I’m going through things I can’t even begin to describe, Alex — journeying through different worlds, and I thought that I could count on you to listen...”

  “No. Not about this. Clare, you can’t go from talking about Vikings to speaking directly with witches. I just don’t believe in such things. If I did, I wouldn’t be much of a Christian, would I?”

  “Alex, don’t leave,” Clarinda grasped his arm, unwilling to endure any awkwardness between them, and she could tell that he seemed fundamentally disappointed in her. “I’ve really got no one else that I can talk about this with...I mean there’s a squirrel, a rooster, and a couple of wolves in the Norn Grottoes, but, you’re the only — what?”

  He flinched and started to pull away at her words.

  “Talking animals, Clare?”

  “On our friendship, Alex, you’ve got to listen to me — forget about being a ‘good Chrsitian’ for a moment and pretend you’re hearing a strange story for the first time. Trust me, before I’m done, all of your beliefs about how the world works are going to be more challenged than you know.”

  Clarinda rose to her feet again when the man didn’t follow suit, unwilling to endure the awkwardness of talking up to him as he seemingly made himself ready to leave. “I’m serious, Alex. I’ve learned things in the Nine Worlds, even in the time since we left Caesarea. Do you remember when Kenezki wanted to sing a song, The Lay of Volund ?”

  “Clare, the dinner was only a couple days ago — of course, I remember….”

  “No, not a couple of days — that banquet was a couple of months ago for me, Alex!”

  She looked up at him in earnest, then took a breath to calm herself. She’d learned so much in such a short period, but she needed him to listen to her and not continue to become so…so... distracted by his feelings about her, by his expectations of her.