“Something felt wrong when Kenezki talked about Volund,” she said, not waiting to see if he’d comment about the difference in time between the Nine Worlds and here, “so that poem was one of the first things I researched in the Norn Grottoes. Volund was an elvish smith who got captured by King Níthoth and his Dark Queen in Norway and imprisoned at the family’s island castle of Sævarstath.
“Dark Queen? Alex repeated.
She took heart. In spite of his doubtful expression, he was listening to her.
“As dark as it gets. The queen told Níthoth to hamstring Volund, to slice the muscles in his legs so the elf couldn’t use his natural elven speed to blink out of sight. The maiming worked. They kept Volund in the cellar and forced him to stay at his forge, and make magical rings, swords, and jewels for the next twenty years.”
As she spoke, Clarinda’s thoughts returned to the waking dream she’d briefly experienced at Evremar’s banquet in Caesarea, when she’d seen Volund, the shadowed figure, and the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, in the mysterious glade. The elf and trickster had been watching Ilmarinen’s hammer rise and fall, the iron mallet clanging upon an anvil as someone beyond the scope of her Sight spoke harsh words.
No, not just spoken words, Clarinda knew. These were spoken sigils of ancient power. Runes not physically etched, but orally imparted in that profane spell-casting to whatever was forming beneath the hammer strikes in showering sparks of white-hot energy.
The words splintered into her mind as she thought about them, and she faltered in her account to Alex.
“Clare?”
Dio, for how long had she fallen silent?
“Sí, sí — mi dispiace, Alex.” She took a breath, but knew that the vision was returning. There was something crucial about that moment, and even discussing it was triggering something within her that impelled her to confront the dream’s import. “The children…,” she hesitated, remembering the tortured illustrations of the sibling’s fates in the tome where she’d read this story. “King Níthoth and his queen had three children, two sons and a daughter. They all mocked the crippled elf over the years whenever they’d come to watch him work in the basement forge, but always they coveted the beautiful things he made. As the decades passed, he came to hate the entire family and vowed to avenge himself on all of them.”
“I can’t really blame him,” Alex said, using the clipped tones of his military voice that attracted and repelled her. “Did he ever escape?”
She nodded. “Oh, sí — on his own terms, and in a rather terrible way. One day the two teenage sons went downstairs and, while greedily trying to stuff as many precious gems and magical items into their purses at the elf’s own invitation, Volund cut their heads off while they bent to their work!”
Alex raised an eyebrow. “That’s rather...direct.”
Volund did more than kill the children of kings, Clarinda realized, the dry voice of Urd imposing itself over the sight of the three men at the foundry in the meadow. The Dark Elf was present at the creation of each artifact of power. When you saw Ilmarinen and Volund at the forge in the glade, that wasn’t the first time they’ve worked together. Previously, they made things, things that can unmake the world.
“He’d planned his actions for a while,” Clarinda said. “He buried the boys’ bodies in the slag pit in the cellar, but not before fashioning a brooch from diamonds and the brothers’ teeth. He sent the thing by carrier pigeon to King Níthoth’s daughter, who had moved into a convent in another country. Then, ever the craftsperson, Volund took the boys’ skulls and dipped them in molten silver. He put jewels into the boys’ eye sockets for decorations, and then gave these Horror Goblets as special gifts to the King and Queen, Father and Mother.
Urd’s voice uttered a variation on what she’d told Clarinda at Evremar’s banquet. The smith’s named Ilmarinen, and this is the moment when those two beside him — Volund and the Stranger — they undo the covenants. Not a Sampo, but a Codex. In seeking paradise, they brought hell to Nine Worlds. Then, unexpectedly, the Norn’s voice added: While this moment can’t be undone, it must not be repeated, and the Codex must not be allowed to reawaken!
Clarinda held onto the presence of the Norn, not letting her recede as she usually did after visiting her.
Urd, or whomever you are, you keep showing me this moment, and then another moment with a madman dancing in a forest glade. I don’t understand. What’s a Sampo, and what’s it have to do with a Codex? Which one is worse? You keep speaking about them as if one were worse than the other, and then switching the emphasis. Which one should I worry about more?
Surprisingly, the Urd-Side gave a partial answer. You should be worrying about neither! These moments should be from the past, yet somehow the Codex Lacrimae has returned and comes into the hands of its new master. The Sight shows you both because the Codex returns and a new Sampo is being forged as we speak. Codex and Sampo are uniting in time and space as they did of old, but that should not be. Taliesin destroyed that possibility. He swore that the time of Codexes and Sampos was over. But, Ilmarinen’s Forge was where he worked, and where he defied Dietrich the last time. Its fires are burning again….I don’t understand. You see now the moment where the Codex Lacrimae was created. Its creation was worse than any Sampo — Volund and that other figure bound forbidden magics into the form of the Book of Tears.
“That’s horrible!” Alex asked, his voice in the present interrupting the Norn’s voice in Clarinda’s head. “Is it true? The parents drank from those goblets that Volund made?”
“Repeatedly,” Clarinda grimaced, “but the rest of Volund’s revenge on the rest of the family was just as vicious. When the king’s daughter returned from the nunnery to learn who’d sent her the brooch, she naturally went to the elf to see if someone had commissioned him to make it. Volund used his magic to seduce her, and they stayed together for a month before he finally sent her into the palace to find her father.”
“No longer a nun by then,” Alex guessed sardonically.
“Not at all,” Clarinda said. “In fact, she’d fallen in love with Volund and had gotten pregnant by him. But, that was in the future. At the time, the parents were greatly relieved to see one of their children, because the boys had disappeared. The king and queen came downstairs to see if Volund knew where their sons went, and he told them that he’d reveal the truth if they both promise never to hurt Volund’s wife nor child.”
Promises. Ancient promises that bind the worlds together.
In recounting the story to Alex, Clarinda realized that Volund’s anger, a fury enflamed by all those years of a forest-loving elf’s captivity in a basement, was intrinsically related to what had happened in that haunted glade with Ilmarinen, the stranger, and the forge. Each man had contributed something to that event of great making, but what ? and why were the Norns so close-mouthed about it?
“The king and queen were desperate to find their sons,” she continued, “so they agreed to Volund’s vow, and the condition that a dark magic would kill them immediately if they broke that promise and tried to harm him. Then, Volund told them the truth about the ‘goblets’ they’d been using for drinks at every meal, that they’d been drinking wine from their boys’ skulls. The final blow came when he revealed that, after murdering their sons, he’d made the daughter pregnant with his own child. Of course, because of their vow to him, the king and queen couldn’t touch him, and so spent their remaining years heartbroken and wretched.
Covenants broken.
“Child,” Alexander said with a shake of his head, a different tone to his voice. “While telling this tale brings you closer to understanding what you’ll need to know, your breath is wasted on this one. Alex won’t believe you, and if he doesn’t believe you, he won’t forgive you. This is pointless. We allowed you the effort, but events now move too quickly to delay here.”
Clarinda put her hands on her hips. “That was not a long enough time, Urd. Even if he doesn’t believe me, it’s important for me to say
the words. I won’t just use him for your convenience!”
“Why not?” Skuld’s voice asked from behind her. Clarinda turned to see the features of the Norn emerge directly from the stone surface of the boulder.
“Why not?” Clarinda was incredulous. “Because I’ve known him for years, and these are real emotions he’s feeling! I don’t want to lead him on, making him think that something’s going to happen between us that won’t…”
“How are you so certain that nothing will happen between you two?” asked Skuld, the Norn’s face rippling molten-like across the stone.
“What?” The question threw Clarinda’s thoughts into another direction. The Norn of the Future wasn’t saying that there’d be something romantic between her and Alex, was she?
“Skuld,” she implored instead, “please. Is there anything that you can do?”
“I’ve seen him die in the Well of Mimir,” Skuld said, “but I’ve also seen him live. What will be, will be, and cannot be undone by such as we. I would remind you, Clarinda Trevisan, that Urd will be slain soon by one of the Huntsmen who again roam the Nine Worlds. Speak not to us of a ‘price’ or ‘cost.’ You may become her, and she you, but death will be Death. We’ve been kind to you thus far, patient because we know of the difficulty all this brings to your life, but you are a Norn, Clarinda. You must start acting as one.”
The woman’s face collapsed into the stone like water splashing against a reef.
“Urd, please, I understand what she says, but this isn’t fair — I feel as if I’m using him. I know you’ve been training me to prepare for dealing with the Codex Lacrimae, the Codex Wielder, the Codex whatever, but Alex doesn’t know about any of this. He wants to marry me. He deserves the truth!”
“Clarinda?” Alexander Stratioticus asked, returned to himself again. The Norn was gone. “What’s a Codex Lacrimae?”
“Urd?” Clarinda asked in disbelief. Alex’s eyes looked back in confusion at her, the black pools that marked those lenses when possessed by the Norn, now a clear light blue. “Urd! Don’t you dare do this! I need answers, so come back here right now!”
Alexander, still questioning, took Clarinda into his arms as she rushed forward. She gave an inarticulate cry, originating in either rage or grief, and then pummeled his chest with a fist.
“Oh, Alex, this isn’t fair!”
His earlier anger faded, the hoplitarch held his friend closely until the storm passed and the shouts of the caravan’s folk calling them made them turn and head back down the hill.
iii. Third Morning: The Sultan’s Camp
Toward the end of the third morning, Khalil and his caravan arrived at Saladin’s camp.
True to his word, Khalil brought Clarinda, Alexander, and Fatima to meet Saladin, the Ruler of Egypt and greatest of emirs. Upon entering his pavilion, Khalil recognized that the man had come far in the world since they’d last met over ten years ago as a wandering envoy for Nur al-Din.
There weren’t many adornments in the gigantic tent, but the few decorations and furniture pieces were of extraordinary beauty and craftsmanship. A crimson rug lay across the entirety of the wooden floor planks and thick, brocaded carpets hung from brass rods on fabric walls, providing insulation against both sound and the elements.
Saladin sat upon a surprisingly ordinary chair, his desk covered with parchments and maps. He was a lean man, clean-shaven except for the dark goatee that framed his thin mouth, and clothed very similarly to Khalil, in loose desert garb of white linen. Saladin’s dark, intelligent eyes crinkled with pleasure at seeing the sheik and his wife and — after a warm exchange of greetings and introductions — he asked, “How fares your father, Fatima?”
“He was well when last I saw him six weeks ago,” Fatima replied, “but he’s part of the reason that we had such an urgent request to meet with you.”
“Six weeks?” The emir folded his arms across his chest. “Not too long a span, then. His name has arisen lately, and I would speak to you about it, but I’m pressed for time.”
Saladin motioned the small group to the cushions on the floor. As they all sat down with the Sultan of Egypt, drinks were brought to them in simple, unadorned silver cups.
“So, I’ve heard about the destruction of Caesarea’s garrison and Evremar of Choques’s fall from grace,” Saladin began without preamble, but with bemused eyes. “It’s unlikely that you’ll be getting a trading writ for this season, eh, Khalil?”
“Possibly not,” Khalil hedged, “but, let’s remain for a moment with the fall of Caesarea. It might be said that my tribe just did you a great service. I hope that before we discuss anything else, we might receive protection from you against any Templar retaliation?”
Saladin smiled. “You do have my personal gratitude, Khalil, and there are, indeed, advantages to my friendship. The protection is yours, although you know that we’re about to go to war.” He turned in Clarinda’s direction. “It seems that you, too, are to be credited with part of this victory, Friend Clarinda? I’m a bit confused, because my scouts informed me that there were only a few western retainers who accompany you. Surely not enough to make a difference in helping Khalil’s tribe?”
“We used two ships, but my father’s — I mean, my fleet has a total of five vessels,” Clarinda replied. “The ‘few retainers’ with me here are but a handful of the two hundred men now at my command.”
“I’ve never met a woman who owned a fleet, much less served as captain to it,” Saladin commented, appraising her with obvious respect.
“Nor have I,” Clarinda agreed. “Believe me, if I could change the circumstances that brought me to it, I would. I’m captain because of my father’s death.” She paused. “For my part, Sire, for eliminating these Templars from a strategic coastal city, might I also humbly request a favor from you?”
“Clarinda!” Khalil hissed in disbelief, but Fatima held the sleeve of his robe and he leaned back.
“It’s fine, Khalil,” Saladin said, his tone amused. “My brother’s reviewing the troops, so we’ll make allowances for protocol. You’re correct. I’m indebted to you both. When this siege is over, and the time comes to turn my attention to the coast, it will be something of a relief not to worry about Evremar of Choques. What is it that you ask, Clarinda Trevisan?”
“I ask that you allow me to accompany you and your army in the siege on the Krak des Chevaliers.”
“Clarinda, no,” Alex finally spoke, grabbing her shoulder. “That idea is insane. You saw the army here — this is war.”
She clasped his hand and lowered it to the floor, not looking at her friend. Her eyes held Saladin’s.
“That’s my only request, Great Saladin.”
“Then,” Alex snapped, stepping forward protectively, “add me to the request! I mean, please, if you will, ‘Great Saladin.’ I’m a hoplitarch in the imperial army, and you’ll find that my sword and skills are assets.”
“You’d fight your fellow Christians?” Saladin asked him, with an eyebrow raised.
“These Crusaders aren’t my kind of Christians. Besides, they practice the Roman rites. I’m an imperial army officer, and bound to the customs of the Greek Patriarch, not the Pope.”
“And,” Fatima observed, “I imagine that if you didn’t let him go, you’d have to bind him, drug him, or kill him before Clarinda went into battle without him.”
“Hamzah al-Adil might not be here,” Saladin said to her, and then looked at Khalil before returning full attention to Clarinda with finality in his voice, “but even I have my limits. Women rarely fight in battles. Choose another request.”
Clarinda considered for a moment. “Then, I ask the same request not as a returned favor for our work at Caesarea, but as a matter of justice.”
“Justice? How does that play a role here?” Saladin asked. “Why is this siege so important to you?”
“I believe that those ultimately responsible for killing my father are going to be somewhere on that field,” Clarinda answered. “I de
serve to have a chance at vengeance.” She glanced at Alexander. “My friend will serve as my sword, if they are there, but I’d still prefer to carry my own.”
“If you were unarmed, that would be even more offensive to me than your merely being on the field itself,” Saladin commented. “Very well, Clarinda Trevisan. I’ve changed my mind, in large part because of the friendship I see between you and Fatima — she I would never deny a saber because I’d have to sleep with one eye open. You and your Greek hoplitarch may come, but I insist that you remain with my retainers, and close to me personally. The debt I owe you will then be partially repaid. Now, if you will, we’ll meet for dinner after the initial forays of the day. There’s much that hasn’t been said about the events in Caesarea, and I’d know more of this mystery that finds Venetians, Guy of Lusignan, and a bedouin tribe in alliance against the Templars. But, if you ladies would please — and you, Sir Alex — I’d now speak with Khalil alone for a moment.”
Clarinda, Fatima, Alexander rose, bowed deeply, and then departed from the pavilion.
“That Trevisan woman is a spirited one,” Saladin observed as he watched them leave, “and of great beauty, even with the weariness from grief and travel that marks her. Have you offered her marriage?”
Khalil shook his head. “I fear you don’t remember my Fatima, Salah,” he said. “I couldn’t live with two hellcats in my tent, and if I even thought of it — unlike you — I’d have no eyes left to keep open while I slept.”
The sultan sighed. “Nor would I ever take a franj for a wife,” he said. He inhaled deeply and leaned back on the pillow. “Now, I thank you also for removing the thorn of Caesarea from my side, but I think perhaps that your requests will be harder to satisfy than the woman’s. My scouts tell me that you have a considerable number of camels with you?”
“Well, yes,” Khalil smiled, “it just so happens that we do. Thank you for reminding me.”
The Codex Lacrimae Page 23