The Codex Lacrimae: The Book of Tears

Chapter 7: The Grottoes of Mimir's Well

Back in Hela's tower, Clarinda didn't even run to the window to see what happened to Aurelius. Instead, she ran at Old Nick.

It wasn't that she was unconcerned about the young knight—actually, her attraction to him had warmed again since realizing he'd been a pawn in some game between Hela and Satan—but merely that she'd begun to follow the instincts of the part of her that was becoming Urd. She intuitively knew that the wolf had just saved Aurelius, and she'd had enough experience in the Nine Worlds to know that he'd find a way survive. If he didn't, the frigid winds and pelting snow rushing into the hall through the shattered window forestalled any hope of trying to help him at the moment; she might have supernatural assets as a Norn, but the ability to fly wasn't one of them.

Pragmatic as ever, she'd have to take care of herself first, and then look for him. Another thought flitted into her mind about the name Hela had called the wolf: Fenris.

She'd have to look up the mythology later.

Servius would know who Fenris is. When they 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 lay everywhere on the table. She moved away from the horrible meal but stumbled backwards over another one of the corpses who struggled to stand and return to its seat.

A line of undead bodies led from the edge of the table to the very corner of the room. The press of bodies was so great it formed a veritable wall. She was trapped. Clarinda 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. An animal sat 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 he was doing there. "Where'd you come from? Never mind. How do I get out?"