She’d have to look up the mythology later, and pushed the thought away.
Servius would know who Fenris is. Well, when the two hit the ground below they can have a nice chat together and figure things out. For me: primo, grab that coral lying on the floor for the fossegrim; secondo, kill Old Nick; and, terzo, escape Hel!
So, instead of rushing to watch Santini’s fall, Clarinda used the instant of distraction to leap at Old Nick.
Her quarterstaff thrust forward, she hurled herself at him with a cry more befitting a Valkyrie than a Norn. Clarinda moved with all the haste that her rage could muster. She didn’t care what he called himself — Abbadon, Old Nick, Uncle Servius, or Satan — as Evremar of Choques, the man had been partly responsible for crucifying her father!
Hela’s scream of rage confirmed her guess about Santini’s survival and the wolf’s benign intentions. The queen rushed to the window with the speed of a heart attack and glared into the abyss.
Clarinda scooped the coral necklace from the ground, shoved it securely into her waistband, and lowered the staff as she neared her opponent.
The man dressed as ‘Uncle Servius’ needed no help from the Mistress of the Dead. He grasped the end of Clarinda’s quarterstaff, rolled back with it, and used her momentum to fling her away from him and into another part of the hall. She somehow retained her grip on the weapon, but went crashing upside down and sidelong onto a banquet table and over its side to the floor beyond.
“Fenris will get them lost in Niflheim!” Hela shouted. “Ganglati and Ganglot! To my side — blow the horns for the Wilde Jagd !”
The Wild Hunt?
Clarinda didn’t like the sound of that, but couldn’t dwell on the matter. She rose unsteadily to her feet, and saw the disgusting nature of the dead diners’ feast: live rats, snakes, and toads were everywhere on the table! She moved away from the horrible meal, but stumbled backwards over another one of the corpses who, too, struggled to stand and return to its seat.
Indeed, a line of undead bodies led from the edge of the table to the very corner of the room itself. The press of bodies were so great it formed a veritable wall. She was trapped.
She frowned, something about the curtains against the wall seemed out of place. After peering more closely, she leapt onto the table. Even with all the squealing rats and squirming snakes, sprinting down the stained planks in the middle of the long table still offered the clearest path! She quickly closed the gap and arrived at the draperies.
She’d been right! There was an animal on top of one of the curtain hanging rods, but it wasn’t a rat, it was an enormous squirrel.
“Ratatosk!” She yelled, half in relief at the sight of a familiar friend, and half wondering what in Hel is he doing here? “Where’d you come from? Never mind! How do I get out?”
“Well, hello, Clarinda!” the squirrel chirped, leaping to its hind legs and balancing itself on a ledge behind the rods. “I went to visit you in the grotto, and Mimir told me you were playing around down here with Hela and Old Nick.”
“Playing around…?” she said.
“Oops, speak of the devil — duck!”
Clarinda threw herself forward off the table, landing with a crouch on the floor.
Old Nick had cast a silver platter at her that embedded itself deeply into the chest of a corpse getting force-fed rotten food by one of the attendants. Clarinda realized that she’d narrowly escaped a beheading.
“Now, get back here, you little witch!” Old Nick chuckled, evidently amused at her actions. “I usually can’t bother the Norns, but you’re not one yet, are you?”
Clarinda whirled, and saw that Old Nick was making his way through the mob of gluttons, having reverted to his Evremar of Choques guise.
“Oh, Ratatosk, you naughty squirrel,” Old Nick chortled, “get over here, you little furball. You haven’t come to make things complicated, have you?”
“Not at all,” the squirrel shouted, then under his breath, said quickly, “Clarinda, I’m going to do you a favor and remind you that Old Nick has to play by the rules when he’s in mortal form.” Then, loudly, Ratatosk raised his voice and cheeped, “Hello, Abbadon, you greasy fiend!” The squirrel leapt lightly onto Clarinda’s shoulder and hissed in her ear, “Make for the door that’s hidden behind the curtain by all these fat fools — I think it’s your only way out.” Then, to Old Nick he chirped loudly, “I’m just along for the ride. This one’s late for one of Mimir’s history lessons!”
“He’ll have to wait a while on that, Fox Bait!” Old Nick shouted, shoving aside more gluttons as he closed in on Clarinda. “I’m going to spend years teaching her some lessons of my own!”
Clarinda petted the squirrel’s back, having only a second to make a decision. Should she continue the fight (and probably get trapped in Hel because Old Nick was incredibly strong), or make a run for it and use the crowd of corpses queuing at the table to escape from Hel?
She screamed again, knowing the right thing to do and completely frustrated by it. Old Nick seemed to think that she was going to lunge, because he braced himself and invited her to come along and get to it, but she merely grabbed a platter of wriggling snakes and flung it directly at the devil’s face.
“Well, that’s a move I’ve not seen before,” the squirrel observed, settling itself comfortably around her neck as if it were just another day of study and training in the underground caverns around Mimir’s Well.
Clarinda didn’t wait to see what happened next, trusting that there was a door in the direction that Ratatosk had pointed out. Running through masses of the gluttons’ obese bodies gave her the cover she needed.
There it was! The oversized oaken door beyond the dining area loomed before her.
The girl dashed through the entry and into the chamber beyond, slamming the door behind her and throwing down the bar to secure the locks. She heard thumps from the other side, and Old Nick’s voice wheedling a hundred different promises if she’d just “give him another chance” and open the door a crack!
A long hallway stretched before her, branching into torchlit corridors some distance away.
“Well, which bit of entertainment are you going to start with?” Ratatosk asked. “I must say that I never expected you to go to Hel so quickly, but what can one do?” He sighed. “This generation — always so quick to grow up, and let their souls rot while never really enjoying childhood. Why, I think it must go back to your early days — all that drifting down the canals of Venice, those really handsome Italian boys roaming hither and yon through a growing city… . Really, what kind of place was that to raise a child? Your poor mother, if she saw you now in an establishment like this….
“Shut up, Ratatosk!” Clarinda snapped. “Please. I’m not going down the hall, I just need a second to think. I’ve got to get back to the Well.”
“Sorry, Dear — you’ll be on your own. I can’t take you. When I run up and down Yggdrassil, it’s strictly a solo affair.”
“Then I’ll take you,” Clarinda offered. “Now, hush, I need to think, and Old Nick’s coming.”
The door shuddered, its wood starting to splinter in places from ax strikes.
The squirrel tittered. “You know I can’t stop teasing, Clarinda — it’s how I’m made. This situation does remind me of the time that Nidhogg tried to set a trap for me, though — the stupid dragon somehow got a hold of some sugarcoated peanuts and thought that I’d get close enough for him to finally get a piece of me. Well, I ducked into one of the old storage closets that the dwarves used to use, and he lumbered right past me….
Clarinda ignored the flying squirrel’s chatter and focused on getting back to her quarters near Mimir’s Well. She hoped that her guesses were correct, and took Ratatosk’s presence as a hopeful sign, even if it seemed true that he wasn’t going to lift a paw to help her.
She clasped the Brisinga necklace, closed her eyes, thought of Mimir’s Well...
...and exhaled in relief when she opened them again. Her ga
mbit had been correct, and she found herself in one of the subterranean gallery grottos around Mimir’s Well that she’d been using as living quarters since beginning her training with the Norns.
The familiarity of the cavern and its five broad pools of water — each supplied by a short waterfall — were welcome scenes compared to the Helscapes she’d just fled, and Clarinda took a moment to enjoy being far away from the awful creatures Hela, Old Nick, and the grotesque guardian, Modgud.
She leaned a cheek against the quarterstaff and fingered the Brisinga necklace, thinking about the successful teleportation. Her guess had been correct, and logically arrived at once when she thought about what had been different between the first time she’d used the magic talisman, and the latter two failures. She gazed at the grotto.
Ratatosk had come with her, and hopped off her shoulders to scurry up one of the columns, across a rock shelf, and come to halt at a place where he could see the entire living area, as well as all the entry and exit tunnels.
“Well, that could’ve gone better,” the squirrel complained as it sat on is haunches and lifted a hazelnut from a pile that it had hidden on the shelf. “I didn’t even get a chance to do a run-by through the dining hall — it’s fun to trip some of the more clumsy of the corpses...”
Clarinda, well-practiced in reducing Ratatosk’s speech to background noise, felt relieved that something had gone her way in the last quarter hour.
Glowing sources of light — what the Norns called sorcière-flamme, or “witch-fire” — shone upward through the rippling waters of the underground lagoons. The effect imparted a chamber-like aspect to the caves — a perception reinforced by the various tables, chests, lanterns, chairs, and book shelves placed in various places throughout this lower gallery.
“Fiat lux,” Clarinda murmured, and the grotto’s light sources intensified into a yellowish illumination that revealed rocky curtains of undulating flowstone and a variety of tomes and parchments lying on tables or stored in wall niches.
“Oh, fiat nox,” Ratatosk countered sourly. “We were just in Hel, Clarinda — let’s keep it dark in here for old times sake.”
“You’re incorrigible,” Clarinda said, “and since you’re not going to eat that nut, could you please let the Sisters know I’ve returned?”
“Nice try, Clare,” Ratatosk replied, not moving. “You know I can’t let them know I’m here.”
“Then, would you at least get me a cup of water or honeymead…please?”
The squirrel looked suspiciously at her, sniffed, and then said, “Yes, I can do that.”
“Thank you,” she said, watching it hop off the ledge and head toward the kitchen grotto.
She needed a moment to think, and although Ratatosk had become a good friend over the past three months, he tended to be distracting. His constant chatter was very often informative, because he was as old as the Nine Worlds and one of the Guardians of Yggdrassil, the World Tree. But, any knowledge she gleaned from him was hard-won, and usually required hours of verbal fencing that she didn’t have time for now.
“Caeruleus,” she said, and the entire grotto dimmed from the rainbow fluctuations into the deep blue of a sea cave. She moved to a table where she usually studied, leaned the quarterstaff against its edge, and headed for the flowstone between two columns that made for a natural chair (and small bed).
She transferred the fossegrim’s blue coral from her belt and into the leather carryall purse on her waist, then tumbled onto the furs and pillows. She needed a moment to think! It was no wonder that she was tired. There’d been almost near-constant physical exertions since the Battle of Caesarea — even traveling by camel was difficult during the three days’ journey to Saladin’s camp, especially when each night represented a month's worth of training and learning in the Nine Worlds.
Whatever the reason, she was tired, and it didn’t help matters any that her father’s murderer had been revealed as not Evremar of Choques, but Abbadon, the Adversary….Satan.
Clarinda felt the first inkling of despair sweep into her, not only because her vow for vengeance seemed unachievable — what chance did she have against the Ancient Enemy? — but also because she felt as if she were seeing glimpses of greater truths behind too many lies.
She just needed more facts! When she was on the Maritina she had a complete array of charts, documents, and bills-of-sale at her fingertips. She’d had all the details before her that would help her make informed decisions when planning with her father about everything affecting the ships and their business. From hiring sailors, to making purchases for the weaponers, to outfitting the vessels, the entire family operation was a complex one that demanded a hundred decisions every day.
That kind of command of the facts was almost completely absent here. She’d had three months of training in these grottoes, and still felt as if she didn’t know anything at all, especially where Santini and the Codex Lacrimae were concerned.
Her frustration at the situation was palpable and, after the trip to Alfheim and Hel, she realized that what she didn’t know might, indeed, kill her.
She raised her head and stared at the lagoons in the grotto. The actual Well of Mimir rested in another gallery of Glittertind’s vast cavern networks and although she didn’t want to see the Seer yet, she needed to. Santini had to be found, and Mimir was the quickest means for her to find him. Primo, though, she needed more of an explanation about the Brisinga necklace from Mimir or the Norns themselves.
Where did the Norns go, anyway?
The last time she’d seen them was when they all emerged from the exit into Alfheim, trying to intercept Santini shortly before his arrival in the Nine Worlds. They’d disappeared and not been seen nor heard from since. Their counsel would have been useful both times against Old Nick, as well as providing some kind of diplomatic advice about Hela. Clarinda knew that there were ancient protocols that had to be observed between the three Sisters of Fate and Death herself, but she didn’t know them. She felt as if Hela had taken gross advantage of her ignorance.
Si, the Norns had remained completely absent, both in Alfheim and Hel.
For the same reason that the Brisinga didn’t work? I wonder…
“Clarinda, you have returned!”
It was Verdandi, wearing the face and form of Genevieve, gliding quickly into her living quarters from the central galleries through the arched stalagmite entrance of this grotto.
Clarinda smiled in relief. She felt the Norns again, as well as the quiet strength flowing from Mimir as he hovered eternally at his place above the Well.
She got to her feet, still exhausted, and hugged Verdandi when the Norn reached her. Clarinda was also pleased to see the other two women following behind. Urd carried a large serving tray in her hands with a pitcher, four goblets, a knife, a roll of bread, grapes and oranges, and a slab of cheese on it. The women all helped her distribute the settings on the table and — after a long hug between Urd and Clarinda — they all sat down.
Clarinda joined them, trying not to let loose the kind of scream she’d shouted in Hel when confronting Satan. Her natural impulse was to run to Mimir and pester him with questions, but this formal sitting was the way of the Norns, no matter what the perceived emergency. To Clarinda’s too-often chagrined expectations, the sisters talked about everything before taking any action! So, she sat, hands folded in lap, trying to stay calm as her mind raced with thoughts of recent events.
“This has never happened before,” Skuld began as she poured liquid from the pitcher. Clarinda gratefully recognized honeymead. It was exactly what she needed because its restorative powers were better than any food. She took a few sips as Skuld continued to speak, letting warmth and energy flow into her from the drink. “We’ve been searching everywhere for you. Mimir almost summoned Odin himself for the violations of the sacred pacts.”
That stopped Clarinda short.
“He can do that?”
“All must bow to Fate, Clarinda,” Urd said, “and the
games being played here by someone can’t be tolerated any longer — you’re me, in many ways. That you’ve not assumed your role is the flimsiest of excuses for abducting you or removing us from a world. Something, or someone took us from Alfheim just as we left the cave. You were gone by the time we returned.”
“The Brisinga necklaces don’t work around the Codex Lacrimae, do they?” Clarinda asked.
Urd shook her head, and all the women took seats around the stone table.
“Not well, and very unpredictably. There was something in the making of the Codex that confounds the fashioning of Runeporten.”
Clarinda noticed Ratatosk scampering up a column back to his preferred ledge. The squirrel wasn’t balancing a cup in his paws, so he must have realized that the Norns had tended to Clarinda’s need. From the moment they’d met shortly after her assignment to living quarters here, the only thing that he’d been insistent about was not letting the Norns know that he and his friends (a hen named Vidofnir, and two wolves Geri and Freki) were coming to visit her when no one else was around.
Ratatosk lay on his back now and stretched out to eavesdrop on the conversation.
“I think Santini made his own Runeporte,” Clarinda told them, keeping her attention on the Norns.
“What?” Urd said sharply, looking at her as if the Venetian girl had just told them that the cave was collapsing.
“He made his own Runeporte that had nothing to do with the Brisinga necklace,” Clarinda asserted again, tired of the runaround she kept getting every time the ‘Codex Wielder’ was mentioned in these caves.
“That’s unlikely, don’t you think, dear?” Verdandi said, pouring another goblet of honeymead for herself. “We haven’t heard or felt the Codex at all — if he’d used the magic, it would’ve blown like a clarion trumpet through the Nine Worlds.”
“I don’t care what it would’ve done — I had nothing to do with transporting him from Alfheim, and the necklace worked fine when I was by myself (and away from Santini) in Hel. It was him, whether he intended to do something or not.”
The Codex Lacrimae Page 34
