The Codex Lacrimae: The Book of Tears

Chapter 4: The Citadel of Hel

Aurelius shivered. The white, marble floor of the long, cavernous gallery seemed a sheet of ice, so frosty was the chill that radiated through his lowered knee and the toe of his boot. He retrieved Hav's leather envelope, slipped it into a pocket within his robe, and rose to his feet, numbed by freezing air. His breath steamed away in smoke-like plumes.

Clarinda slammed the quarterstaff into his chest, driving him backward. "Will you stop touching things?" she shouted. "You're not on Midgard anymore and ..." She realized where they'd been transported. "Grande, la vostra curiosità ci ha portato verso l'inferno," she muttered in irritation.

"That's a bit much," Aurelius rubbed his chest and continued his survey of the surroundings. "My curiosity hasn't literally taken us to Hell. You heard Hav. He said we had to follow Old Nick to get that bit of coral, and then he can free the rest of the water elementals; if you want to blame somebody, blame the fossegrim, not me."

"Well, whoever's to blame, the fact remains that we're in Hel," Clarinda stated, nodding toward the windows. "This is the high tower of Hela's Citadel. Urd took me here a couple times on our tours of the Nine Worlds."

"Urd?" Aurelius asked. "Isn't she one of the Norns?"

"You know the myths?" Clarinda said, impressed. "I'm still learning, so I spend most of my time by a fiery pool reading about them." She indicated one of the windows. "Come with me, I want to show you something."

They walked to the side of the great hall. Grey sunlight shone brilliantly through the high window, which stretched upwards as high as the tallest trees in the forest of Alfheim.

"None of this is going the way I expected," Clarinda said softly. "Look down there."

Shrieking winds drove a slanting snowfall that rattled against the lead-lined glass panes. A dark abyss loomed hundreds of feet below.

"We ... we're ... ne-ne-ne-never going to get out of he-he-here unless I-I-I can get the necklace to work!" Clarinda said fiercely.

Aurelius turned from the window, about to make a wisecrack until he saw that the girl was really cold, her lips starting to turn blue. He removed his Hospitaller robe and cast it about her shoulders, holding the quarterstaff while she tried to fasten the cloth with a beautiful, triquerta brooch. But she was too cold. The jewelry clattered to the floor. Aurelius picked it up, fastened the garment, and then held her badly shaking hands within his for a moment. She blushed.

"You wear bella gioielli," he said awkwardly.

"Grazie," she managed to say, "and, thank you for the cloak. It helps."

He returned the quarterstaff to her, and she gave him a curiously appraising look.

He smiled, feeling a warmth at her words that surpassed the frosty air. "Perhaps we should start over," he said. "My name is Servius Aurelius Santini. I take it from your accent that you're from Italy?"

"Venice. I'm Clarinda."

"Clarinda Trevisan," he said, remembering, "if Old Nick was telling the truth."

"He was."

"Ah," Aurelius mused. "I've heard of the Trevisans. You have more ships than most of the families sailing out of the Arsenale." He referred to the shipyard being constructed in that city of lagoons. "Are you part of the immediate family? A daughter? Cousin?"

"Angelo was my father," Clarinda said. "He died a few nights ago in Caesarea."

"Oh, I'm sorry—my condolences to you," Aurelius wondered at the strange turns this dream kept taking. The grief and anger in Clarinda's eyes certainly seemed real. "Ripose in pace," he added. "May he rest in peace."