by John Marco
‘Thorin,’ she said softly. ‘I missed you.’
Her words heartened him. ‘And I you,’ he confessed. He went a little closer to her. ‘I suppose I should apologise for that.’
‘Thorin, I have something to tell you,’ she said. An edginess crept into her voice. ‘A surprise.’
‘A surprise?’ wondered Thorin aloud, and suddenly he felt the cold presence of Kahldris at his shoulder. He gasped, for the appearance of the creature always shocked him.
Not now, he pleaded silently.
The spirit answered him back in a voice that shook his skull.
Wait, came the thunderous whisper. Wait and see what she has for you.
‘Meriel, turn around,’ Thorin insisted. His heart raced. He wanted to flee.
‘No, don’t call me that,’ said Meriel. She turned quickly around but he could still not see her face.
‘What?’
‘Do not call me Meriel, Thorin. I have a new name.’
Look! declared Kahldris
Silence, monster!
Look, Baron Glass . . .
Thorin shook his head to banish the voice. He watched in confusion as Meriel pulled the hood back from her face. Could she sense Kahldris’ presence, he wondered? He was about to speak, but his breath caught.
A woman he did not recognise stood before him. A beautiful woman he had never seen before, young and flawless, smiled weakly where Meriel had stood. For a moment Thorin forgot about Kahldris and his frigid touch. He stood gaping at the woman, dumbstruck.
‘What . . . ?’
‘It’s me, Thorin.’ Meriel’s smile bloomed and lit her perfect face. ‘It’s me!’
‘Meriel,’ sputtered Thorin. ‘What happened? You’re . . .’ He groped for the word. ‘You’re beautiful.’
The young woman went to him and quickly took his hand. ‘Don’t be afraid. There’s nothing wrong. This is me, Thorin; the way I looked before the burning.’
Still Thorin stared. ‘How?’ he asked. ‘How’s this possible?’
‘The Akari. And Minikin. She helped me, Thorin. I asked her to make me pretty again and she did!’ Meriel laughed, the first time Thorin had ever heard such a sound from her. ‘Do you see how free I am? Do you know what this means?’
Again Kahldris seized him. Do you, Baron? Do you know what this means?
Meriel’s appearance left Thorin reeling. He let go of the girl’s hand and staggered backward, trying desperately to silence Kahldris and get his mind around what was happening.
‘No, don’t be afraid,’ said Meriel. Misunderstanding his dread, she pursued him. ‘I know you don’t understand these things. But it’s all right – it’s the Akari. They made me whole again, Thorin. They gave me back my face, my hands . . .’
It was true, and it stunned Thorin. Meriel was like someone he’d never seen before, without a blemish or burn. He began to realise he wasn’t dreaming or suffering some dark trick from Kahldris.
‘I can’t believe it,’ he gasped. ‘Meriel . . .’
‘No, don’t.’ She put her hand up to quiet him. ‘Don’t speak. Just listen and I’ll explain.’
Thorin nodded quickly. ‘All right,’ he said.
Meriel took his hand again and led him to sit among the rocks. As he walked he realised that her hand still felt as rough as it had in the past, but it was smooth and creamy in appearance. They sat, and as the sun dipped slowly beneath the dunes of sand Meriel began to talk. Kahldris was silent as she spoke, but Thorin knew the spirit was near. A tremor in the air, like a winter breeze, betrayed the demon. Thorin focused on Meriel’s pretty face. He was enraptured by her, and every word she spoke.
Again she told him about Minikin, and how the little sorceress had granted her this great wish. She had changed her Akari, she explained, forsaking Sarlvarian for another of the strange breed, one that could change her appearance back to the way it had been.
‘So this is an illusion?’ Thorin asked. ‘You’re not really healed?’
‘No,’ confessed Meriel. ‘But I look real to everyone, even myself.’
‘An illusion,’ Thorin remarked.
Meriel smiled cheerlessly. ‘A mirage. That’s my name now, Thorin. That’s what you must call me – Mirage.’
She explained Minikin’s odd demand, that she change her name so as not to forget the Inhumans and the reality of her gift. As Thorin listened he began to hate Minikin for imposing such a cruel toll.
‘So you are suffering again,’ he realised. ‘Without Sarlvarian, you can’t control the fire – or the pain.’
Meriel – now Mirage – nodded grimly. ‘Yes, but there are different kinds of suffering, Thorin. Looking at myself as a monster – that was true suffering. Now I am normal again. Now I can go out into the world.’
Her words startled Thorin. ‘So you’re leaving?’
Before the girl could answer, Kahldris hissed, She’s going, but not with you, Baron Glass. Ask her . . .
Thorin couldn’t ask. He didn’t need Kahldris to help him see the truth of things.
‘Not right away,’ replied Mirage. She was plainly hiding something. ‘I will stay for a while at least, to get used to the way I look and to let others see me.’
‘Yes, others,’ drawled Thorin.
What others do you think?
‘Will you wait for Lukien to see you?’ asked Thorin.
His forwardness made the girl blush, the first time he’d ever seen her do so. She turned from him.
‘Yes,’ she said softly. ‘I would like him to see me before I go. Is that so terrible?’
Kahldris was quiet again, perched on Thorin’s shoulder like a taunting crow. Something like pity emanated from the spirit, a kind of manly reassurance.
‘I see,’ said Thorin. Suddenly he could find no words, only anger for the way she spurned him. He said tartly, ‘Lukien will appreciate the change in you, I’m sure. He’s always had an eye for pretty things.’
‘Thorin, you don’t understand . . .’
‘I do understand, my lady. I am half a man in your eyes. But never did I see you as half a woman.’
He whirled and began to leave, his head pounding with angry words. Meriel started after him but before she could take two steps he wagged a warning finger at her.
‘Do not follow me,’ he barked. ‘I was right to keep my distance from you, and all your selfish kind. You have what you want now, Meriel—’
‘Mirage . . .’
‘I will call you as I wish, child! And when you are gone from this hateful place, forget me, as I will forget you.’
Thorin thundered away. She did not pursue him. It was already dark and his cursed imbalance made walking difficult. As he began his ungainly skid down the hillside he felt a force at his arm, reaching for him, supporting him.
Baron Glass paused. He was breathing hard and the intangible thing terrified him. He glanced down at the base of the hill, but the darkness had swallowed it and made seeing impossible. He thought of calling up to Meriel for help, but of course he could not.
‘Better that I should fall and break my neck,’ he seethed.
Why?
Kahldris spoke his question with a lamb’s innocence.
‘Why?’ railed Thorin. ‘Because I am old! Because I am half a man!’
He didn’t care if Meriel heard him or if his dark angel laughed. But Kahldris did not laugh. Again the Akari reached out his invisible hand.
This time, Thorin took it.
That night, Thorin remained alone in his chamber. He did not sup with the others, nor did he have any appetite for anything but wine. He stole a decanter from the kitchen, spiriting the valuable stuff into his room and drinking alone while he thought of Meriel. She was beautiful now and he could not help but lust for her. Since leaving Jazana Carr he had not been with a woman, and he ached for that soft companionship. He had no right to be angry with her, he knew, yet he had endured more than his share of miseries lately and blaming her for his pain was convenient.
; He missed Lukien. He missed Gilwyn as well, and wished now that he had remained in Jador to be with the boy. But in his anger with Minikin he had come back to Grimhold, where he would not have to face the Seekers who had come from Liiria, men and women he had promised to help. Minikin had made a liar of him, and he saw no good reason any longer for her stubbornness. Grimhold was a giant place, not just the keep, but the village beyond. Surely there was room for everyone now that its secret was out.
As he drank, a fever overcame Thorin. He was chilled and shivered in his dark room, his sweaty face lit only by a candle. Feeling Kahldris’ touch had iced his bowels. There had been so much power in the union it had buckled Thorin’s knees. He had fled to the wine to calm his rattled nerves. Kahldris was silent now. Thorin could not tell if the demon was in the room or if he had returned to that place of the dead. The conversation with the Akari exhausted Thorin. He leaned back in his small bed and let the wine bottle teeter from his fingers as he fell into a miserable slumber.
A comfortable darkness soon enveloped him. Thorin realised at once that he was dreaming. He was lucid though, and the sensation frightened him. Instantly he realised he had slipped through a veil into Kahldris’ realm. Thorin found he could not wake himself. Back in the real world, he could feel the heart in his sleeping body pound with fear. He fought to calm himself and see his way through the darkness. It was not the first time Kahldris had slipped into his dreams. Since then, when the dark Akari had showed him that unknown battlefield, it had happened two more times.
This time, though, Thorin was aware of every speck of sound and tiny feeling. This time, Kahldris meant to face him. He knew it somehow, and the dread certainty of it calmed him. Anger rose up in him, replacing his fear. Determined to confront Kahldris, Baron Glass straightened his immaterial spine.
‘What vision now?’ he called out. ‘What do you wish to show me?’
There was no answer from the blackness.
‘Come then, damned one! Show yourself !’
Around Thorin the world of the dead – if that’s truly where he was – remained unmoved by his fury.
‘You are a creature of darkness, Kahldris,’ said the baron. ‘You hide in the shadows as if afraid. I am ready for your vision. Show it to me!’
Finally the darkness around him began to swirl, funnelling around itself like a cyclone, but without wind or disturbance of any kind. Again, the great battlefield Thorin had seen that first time materialised, again he saw the Akari as they had been in life, marching to face their dark-skinned foes.
The Jadori, Thorin reminded himself. It was they who had defeated the Akari so long ago.
Once again Thorin saw the military man on his horse, splendid in dark Akari armour, with ribbons and braids and a war banner scrawled with foreign runes unfurled behind him. Weeks ago, when Thorin had first seen this same figure, he had seen his own face in the helmet. This time though he knew that it was not him he was seeing, but Kahldris. Kahldris who had been a general, a leader of men like Baron Glass himself. Through the thunder of distant battle the image of Kahldris stared back at Thorin knowingly.
‘So we are alike,’ said Thorin. ‘I see your meaning, creature. But what is this you show me? Is it the end of you?’
The end of my kind, came the Akari’s now-familiar voice. Killed by those the midget woman adores.
Thorin thought for a moment, unsure how to respond. He had already known the Jadori had destroyed the Akari, but that was ages ago when they’d been warlike.
‘Is it an Akari curse to dwell so much in the past?’ asked Thorin. ‘Your race has moved beyond those bad days.’
Betrayals die hard, Baron Glass.
The cryptic answer left Thorin puzzled. ‘You want something from me.’
It is you who wants, corrected Kahldris. Something that is mine to give.
Thorin nodded. ‘The armour.’
Kahldris did not reply. He gave time for Thorin to see the battle unfolding, and in this peculiar dreamscape time elapsed rapidly so that Thorin could see the dismal outcome of the battle as the Akari were killed by the hundreds. It was a massacre Thorin found hard to imagine, knowing the Jadori the way he did. But it was not a fallacy that Kahldris showed him; it was the same truth even Minikin had admitted. As his thoughts turned toward the little mistress, Kahldris seemed to read his mind.
She has betrayed you, that one, spoke Kahldris. She could help you and your people, but she does not.
Thorin shook his head. ‘Do not persuade me against Minikin,’ he warned. ‘You will fail.’
You must help them, Baron Glass.
‘I cannot. I have no means.’
The Akari’s voice seemed to grin as he replied, The means are here in Grimhold.
‘No. I will not betray them.’
These Inhumans are selfish. Like Meriel. What does she care for you? Not at all.
The vision of the battlefield began to waver, and soon Thorin was in darkness again, cold and thick as pitch. He could feel Kahldris all around him, the spirit’s breath at his neck.
We were great once. I was great. The Jadori ruined us.
‘The Jadori protect you now,’ Thorin reminded him. ‘And the Inhumans give you new life.’
You fight me, Baron Glass. Why? All these things I know already. I offer you my armour, sir, to rise up again like the great man you were.
Thorin struggled against the tempting words. ‘And betray Gilwyn? Betray Lukien? He is like a brother to me.’
Kahldris’ reply was furious. He who trusts a brother trusts a fool.
The words left a great rent of silence in their wake before the spirit spoke again.
Do not be that kind of fool, said Kahldris. Nor be afraid. Walk with me, Baron. Let me show you how I came to be . . .
Again the darkness swirled around him, but this time Thorin felt as though he really were walking with Kahldris, following him through the churning haze. He knew the Akari was taking him deeper into his realm, wherever – whatever – that might be, but he did nothing to stop the descent. Giving his mind over to the spirit had freed him from his earthly, weakened body, and he felt vital in a way he hadn’t in years. Still the dark angel did not show himself, but when the blackness lifted Thorin found a new incarnation of the creature. This time, he felt afraid.
He was in a chamber, vast and alive with candlelight, like a church lit by a thousand tapers. He heard chanting in a language he couldn’t understand, then a groaning of wind baying at the walls. At the end of the room stood an altar, made of stone and carved with runes. A man slumped over the altar. Wearing a gown of crimson silk and a necklace with a glowing charm, Thorin could not see his face, yet somehow knew the man was Kahldris. It was he who was chanting. His horrible, exhausted song rose from his slumped body, echoing over the giant thing laid across the altar – a suit of brilliant black armour.
In his dream-state Thorin fixed on the armour. It was beautiful, flawless in a way nothing earthly could be. Magic imbued the thing, made it glow as if alive, and as Kahldris sang, wringing every shred of strength from his body, the armour shook with life until it too began to sing. The man and his armour made an unholy, rattling chorus, while outside the howling wind beat at the walls and made the windows tremble. Thorin watched in fascination as the crescendo grew, charging the air with magic. He could barely stand the noise, and when he thought his ears would split with the sound he watched as the living Kahldris collapsed atop the altar.
The song stopped. The wind was silent.
Sprawled over his armour, Kahldris did not move. Thorin inched curiously forward.
‘What happened?’ he whispered.
Though Kahldris had clearly died, the armour lived on. Now its liquid black metal swam with sentience. It breathed. In that instant Baron Glass realised that Kahldris had not died. He had merely moved beyond his mortal body. He remembered dreadfully something he had heard during his year in Grimhold, that Akari sometimes put their essences into earthly objects. They were stronger th
at way, living forever. It was why the Eyes of God had been forged, making the Akari siblings Amaraz and Lariniza so powerful.
You understand, came Kahldris’ voice.
Struck dumb by what he’d seen, Baron Glass could only nod. He knew he’d witnessed the birth of the Devil’s Armour. But he didn’t know why. Kahldris read the questions in his mind and offered a calming word.
Wait.
Wait? Wait for what? And then Thorin saw a man enter the church-place, a man of much the same build as the dead vision of Kahldris, who came to the chamber with others but who clearly commanded these minions. Thorin could not guess what he was seeing, and the vision puzzled him.
‘Who is this I’m seeing?’ he asked.
Kahldris did not answer. Instead he let Thorin watch the unfolding drama. The man said very little to those with him. They were odd-looking people, like the Akari he had seen in the battlefield dream. The man who led them stared sadly at the altar for a time. A mournful expression washed his handsome face. Then, to Thorin’s surprise, he ordered the armour taken away. Those with him did the man’s bidding, first gently laying aside the body of Kahldris then muscling the armour away from the altar in pieces. When they were done they left with their dangerous prize, leaving the single man alone with Kahldris’ corpse.
It was for him, said Kahldris. But he betrayed me.
‘I don’t understand,’ said Thorin. ‘Who is he?’
He is my brother.
Thorin leaned closer for a better look. ‘Your brother? You mean you made the armour for him?’
For any who would wear it, but he was the one who had promised me he would. To defend us.
‘From the Jadori?’
Yes.
It made at least some sense to Thorin. According to Minikin, the Devil’s Armour wasn’t dangerous – or useful – unless someone wore it.