by John Marco
‘Yes, Eminence. Are you the one who turns the river to blood?’
The girl turned to her priest. ‘Karoshin . . .’
‘Your questions are an insult,’ hissed the holy man. ‘She is the lord of Torlis.’
‘Jahan meant no insult,’ said Lukien quickly, surprised at the offense the girl had taken. ‘His village is far from here. They’re simple people, and he came to help me.’
‘And to see you, Eminence,’ said Jahan. ‘Forgive me. But where I came from you are special to us.’
The ruler’s face twisted. ‘And you did not expect a girl to be on Torlis’ throne.’
Seeing the situation worsening, Lukien said, ‘Eminence, he is my friend. Without him I would not have made it here. He simply wanted to see you and your city. It has overwhelmed him.’
‘I think he is overwhelmed because he thinks me a child,’ said the girl. ‘But you, Lukien – you have not explained yourself. You say you have come here for a sword.’
‘Yes, Eminence, the Sword of Angels. Do you know of it?’
‘We know of it.’ She looked expectantly at Lukien. ‘You’ve come to claim it?’
‘Yes, please, Eminence. It’s important that I find the sword and bring it back with me across the desert. I will offer anything I can for it.’
‘You need not offer anything,’ said the girl. ‘Just tell us where it is and it will be yours.’
‘But I don’t know where it is,’ said Lukien. ‘That’s why I’ve come, to ask your help in finding it.’
‘You don’t know . . . ?’ Once again Lahkali turned toward Karoshin. ‘Karoshin, this is not correct . . .’
Karoshin said, ‘Lukien, what do you know of the sword?’
‘Almost nothing,’ Lukien admitted. ‘I was told about it by another spirit, a woman. She said I would find it here in the Serpent Kingdom. In Tharlara.’
‘But you don’t know where? You don’t know it’s location?’
‘No.’ Lukien felt stupid suddenly, as if he’d missed something obvious. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t. But if you tell me . . .’
‘We cannot tell you,’ said the Red Eminence. ‘You are supposed to know where the sword is hidden.’
‘But I don’t, Eminence. That’s why I came to you.’
‘You do not understand,’ said Karoshin. ‘Only Lahkali knows where the sword of the Akari is hidden, and she may not reveal it to anyone.’
‘The story of the sword is sacred to us,’ said the Eminence. ‘It has been passed to me through all of the rulers of Torlis. Someday, the seeker of the sword is to come, and he is to know where it is hidden. You have surprised us by coming at all. I can barely believe it. You know of the Akari and of Malator, and how his race was at war with the Jadori. All of these things are part of the story, but they are not the secret part. The secret hiding place of the Akari sword is known only to me – and to he who seeks the sword.’
‘That’s me. I’m the one seeking the sword,’ said Lukien, exasperated. He searched his memory for anything else Cassandra might have told him, any helpful bit. He had been near death when she came to him, hanging on to life by his fingernails. But he remembered the encounter vividly, and he knew he had not forgotten a single word. ‘The spirit who came to me said nothing about this,’ he said. ‘She told me I would find the sword here in the Serpent Kingdom. And I have come to claim it.’
‘But that is not enough,’ said Lahkali. ‘The story is clear. The seeker of the sword will know where it is hidden.’
‘But how can I? I’ve already told you all that I know.’
‘Perhaps the seeker is supposed to be an Akari,’ Jahan suggested. ‘Lukien, remember what you told me about them. They are powerful with magic. An Akari would know where the sword is hidden.’
The theory made sense. Lukien took hold of his amulet, concentrating. Inside the Eye of God he could sense the awesome presence of Amaraz. Surely the great Akari could help him. Helpless, Lukien tried to channel the spirit. With sweat beading on his forehead, he stared hard at the amulet, trying to penetrate its arcane world.
‘What are you doing, Lukien?’ asked Jahan.
Lukien did not answer, fighting instead to summon Amaraz. But the spirit of the Eye did not answer, leaving Lukien desperate and frustrated.
‘I don’t know,’ groaned Lukien. He looked up from the amulet. ‘Eminence, I don’t know where the sword is hidden. I only know that it’s somewhere here in your kingdom, and that if I don’t find it people are going to die. People who are important to me.’
The girl on the throne sounded powerless. ‘I am sorry.’
‘No, I know you’re sorry. But Eminence, I cannot go home without the sword. I cannot!’
‘If you can prove to me that you are the rightful seeker, than the sword will be yours. I do not play games with you. I would gladly let you claim the sword, but you must tell me where in Torlis it lies.’
‘What else can I tell you?’ Lukien asked desperately. ‘You know about Malator. He came from Kaliatha when his people were at war. He had a brother named Kahldris, who made a suit of armour called the Devil’s Armour.’
Lahkali shook her head. ‘That’s not what I need to hear. Only where the sword lies.’
‘But this armour has claimed a friend of mine! It’s like this amulet – it has the spirit of Malator’s brother inside it, controlling it. I’ve tried to fight him but I can’t. I need the sword to beat him!’
Still, nothing convinced her. The Eminence looked forlornly at the knight. ‘I may not release the sword to anyone save he who knows its hiding place.’
‘Who then? If not me, who?’
‘For countless ages my ancestors have kept the secret of the sword. You’re the first to ever come to find it. I admit, you tempt me with your knowledge, but no, I cannot give it to you.’
‘Then I have come here for nothing,’ said Lukien bitterly. ‘It doesn’t matter to you that I have spoken to spirits or that I know every bit of your precious puzzle save one. That sword should be mine! Please, Eminence, I do not ask this for myself. I will bring it back to you once my task is done. If—’
‘No and no,’ said the girl. ‘If you cannot tell me where the sword is hidden, then you may not claim it.’ She rose from her throne, stepping off the dais to stand before Lukien. ‘Do not beg me. What you ask is not possible.’
Lukien’s bravado collapsed. He stared at the girl. Unsure what to do, he placed the Eye of God back beneath his shirt.
‘So this means nothing to you,’ he said. ‘Not the Eye of God or its magic, nor anything I have said to you.’
‘Speak to the spirits again,’ said Karoshin.
‘Again? I don’t pull them out of my pocket, holy man.’
Karoshin poked him hard in the chest. ‘Command them to speak to you! The one inside your amulet – make him tell you where the sword is hidden.’
‘I can’t! He has his own mind, and he’s made it up against me. He never speaks to me, no matter how much I beg him.’
‘Until you learn the location of the sword, I cannot let you claim it,’ said Lahkali. She offered him a sympathetic smile. ‘I regret it is this way.’
‘So do I,’ said Lukien. ‘So do I.’
Jahan searched Lukien’s face. ‘What should we do now? Go back home?’
‘That may be the only sane thing to do,’ Lukien supposed. ‘But I can’t go home without the sword. I have to find out where it’s hidden, Jahan. Somehow.’
‘Yes, but how?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Lukien. ‘We’ll find a way. Eminence, is there anything more you can tell me? Anything that will help me figure out this riddle?’
‘You know much of it already,’ said the girl. ‘And you may take us much time as you wish to figure out the rest. Stay here among us if you like. There is more than enough room for you, as you can see.’
‘Thank you, Eminence. We would like that, both of us. We’ve come so far . . .’
‘And you are so weary, I can t
ell.’ To Lukien’s astonishment, Lahkali reached up and touched his face, the wounded side with the patched eye. ‘Stay here and rest. And when you are ready, tell me about your world and these friends of yours. I want to know what makes them special enough to take you so far from home.’
Lukien took her hand, feeling its small, caring fingers. ‘I will do that. Thank you.’
‘But it is not a bargain,’ Karoshin warned. ‘Tell her whatever you wish, but exact no price. You will not be able to cajole the sword’s secret from her.’
‘I understand,’ said Lukien, unsure if the holy man believed him.
‘Karoshin will give you rooms. I have servants to feed you and look after your needs. Whatever you want, you have only to ask.’
Lukien bowed and thanked the young ruler, urging Jahan to do the same, then followed Karoshin away. Out of Lahkali’s earshot, Karoshin began explaining things to them, where they would be sleeping and when they could expect meals to be served. Lukien pretended to listen, but his thoughts were a hundred miles away.
Lahkali had been kind, and he appreciated her charity. But she was also young and distracted, and he was sure he could win her trust in time. Time was all he needed. In time, she would tell him where to find the Sword of Angels.
16
King Lorn the Wicked looked at the bridge, silently considering his plan. In the dark light of the stars, he could barely see its outline fording the pretty river, but he had come this way countless times and he knew the way perfectly. On the outskirts of Jador there were few homes and no marketplaces or businesses. Here, on the south side of the city, fruit trees sprouted from the sand, spreading their fronds over ancient streets and fountains. In daylight, this part of Jador teemed with children, playing along the man-made waterways while their parents drank shrana beneath shady canopies. In the time of great Kahan Kadar, the area had thrived, built by his generosity for the enjoyment of the populace. Kadar had spared no expense in this part of Jador, and Lorn loved coming here with Eirian and Poppy. In the long weeks since Gilwyn had left him in charge of the city, he had stolen every moment he could to take them to this place, to stroll the avenues and pick lemons from the trees while Poppy bumbled blindly in the sand, laughing as she made her unseen castles.
Tonight, the sun had long since slipped below the horizon and the people of Jador slept. They were a good people, stronger than Lorn had imagined, and with his help they had worked hard to rebuild their city, rolling up their sleeves just like the foreigners beyond the white wall. Lorn admired the Jadori and the way they spoke about their dead Kahan. But he could not imagine how Kadar’s blood could possibly flow through White-Eye’s veins.
As they did most nights, Lorn and White-Eye rode together through the outskirts of Jador, checking on the security of the city. To White-Eye, the nightly task seemed a colossal waste of time. There were still enough men to patrol Jador’s borders, she had argued, and because she could not see she made a very poor lookout. But Lorn had ignored the obvious logic in her argument, wanting instead for her to take action, and to forget that she was blind. To Lorn, it did not matter that the young Kahana could not see. She was Jador’s rightful ruler. Nearly a month had passed since he had taken White-Eye from Grimhold. At first, it had seemed a fair challenge. He had promised Gilwyn he would look after Jador, and he had realized that Minikin was right about the city’s needs. Jador needed its Kahana.
Now, though, Lorn regretted his promise to Gilwyn. At Minikin’s bidding, he had taken White-Eye from Grimhold’s safety, sure that time would ease her the pain of her blindness. But in the weeks gone by, White-Eye hadn’t warmed to him at all and still had servants doing everything for her. She simply refused to help herself.
Lorn rode slowly toward the bridge, careful to balance White-Eye in front of him. She did not seem to realize it, but she was comfortable on horseback now, and barely looked to him for support as they rode, not speaking as the midnight moon arced across the sky. Lorn had once again taken to wearing northern clothing, having found willing donors of the garb among the Seekers beyond the city’s wall. With White-Eye back in Jador, Lorn no longer wished to look like his dark-skinned hosts, but rather to encourage the Jadori to look to White-Eye for leadership. His long, leather riding coat scraped his black boots as he rode, his arms wrapped around the blind girl’s waist. She was a tiny thing, completely engulfed by his broad chest, and the horse they rode hardly noticed her added weight. Tonight, White-Eye had been her usual self, quiet and polite and completely distracted by her blindness. But when Lorn slowed the gait of their horse, she noticed.
‘Where are we now?’ she asked with little interest.
‘Where do you think? Can you tell?’
‘Where you always take me,’ sighed White-Eye. ‘Near the bridge.’
‘That’s right,’ said Lorn brightly. ‘That’s very good.’
‘It’s not. You are predictable, that’s all.’
Lorn ignored her sullen response. With a light wrist he brought the horse to a gentle walk. ‘The night is lovely.’
‘Yes.’
‘Can you tell that?’
White-Eye shook her head. ‘No.’ Then, ‘Yes. In a way.’
‘Tell me what you sense.’
‘Why does it matter?’
‘I’m in the mood to talk tonight. Tell me.’
‘How is the city?’ White-Eye asked instead. ‘It’s quiet, I know, but how does it look?’
‘No trouble,’ said Lorn. ‘If there was I would tell you.’
‘No trouble, because there is never any trouble. This is a waste of time.’
Lorn smiled, perturbed by her petulance but not wanting to show it. Even though she was blind, she had learned to detect his many moods.
‘A ruler needs to see her city, even if she cannot see.’
White-Eye’s black hair brushed against his chin. ‘Others look after the city. My father never rode through the city like this, especially not at night.’
When she argued, she was like a little girl to Lorn, making the same silly points again and again, forcing him always to explain himself. Lorn felt his stomach knot with aggravation.
‘When your father lived, Jador was strong,’ he told her. ‘That’s not so anymore. But it will be again. In time.’
‘I believe you,’ said White-Eye. ‘You have worked hard for Jador.’
‘A compliment? Well, my lady, thank you!’
White-Eye endured his sarcasm with a shrug. She turned her blind eyes toward the sky, blinking, looking frightfully small in the arms of the old king. They had spent many hours together in the last month, but White-Eye had never confided anything in him. Instead, she resented him, and Minikin too, who she blamed for leaving her. Tonight, White-Eye seemed uniquely vulnerable, as if all their long rides were finally wearing her down.
‘Faralok used to tell me about the stars.’
‘Your Akari?’
‘He knew everything about the stars, all the names of the constellations and all their stories.’ White-Eye craned her neck as if to see better. ‘How do the stars look tonight?’
Lorn followed her gaze. In the desert, the night sky teemed with stars.
‘Beautiful, my lady.’
He trotted them toward the stream and the little stone bridge. In the daylight, children fished over the edge of the bridge, rarely catching anything but always trying. For Lorn and his new love, Eirian, the bridge had become a magical place, but for White-Eye it was a challenge, and as they neared the stream the blind girl bristled.
‘I hear the water,’ she remarked.
‘That’s right.’
For some reason she feared the bridge. In their first week together, Lorn had brought her to it, asking her to cross it without his help. He had thought it the easiest of tasks, designed to boost her shattered confidence. White-Eye had refused. She had refused ever since.
‘Let’s sit,’ she suggested. ‘Near the water.’
Surprised by her request, Lorn guided his ho
rse to the edge of the stream where a week earlier he had sat with Eirian. Then, they had brought a blanket to spread across the sand. Lorn dismounted, then helped White-Eye down from the horse, loosely tying the beast to a nearby tree. In the darkness it was difficult to see, but his eyes had adjusted, mostly, and the moonlight on the water made things easier. Hoping White-Eye had decided to try the bridge again, he decided not to rush her, guiding her down to the warm sand where she sat, cross-legged.
He dropped down next to her, his old joints groaning at the effort. The nearby bridge looked serene, empty and dark, but White-Eye had turned her face from it. Because of her great sensitivity to light, she wore a long scarf around her head that she could quickly wrap around her milky eyes, but in the darkness of midnight she had no need of it. Still, she never left the palace without the scarf, a reminder to Lorn of the painful ordeal she had endured just weeks before, when she had lost her Akari.
They sat together in silence, leaving Lorn puzzled but pleased. Whenever they went scouting, White-Eye was in a hurry to return to the palace, but tonight she was thoughtful and governed her tongue. Lorn glanced at her, not staring even though she could not see him. Before them, the desert city rose up, its towers and homes dark and peaceful. On the west side of Jador, Lorn could see the shadows of the palace stark against the distant mountains. He yawned, feeling the day’s activities at last catching up to him. White-Eye heard his yawn and grinned.
‘We can go back now, if you wish.’
‘No,’ said Lorn. ‘I want to stay. We need to talk, you and I.’
White-Eye nodded. ‘I could tell there are things on your mind,’ she said. ‘And I have things to say as well.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes.’ The girl collected herself, pursing her lips as she thought. She was a beautiful young woman, and it was easy to see why Gilwyn adored her. With her long fingers clasped in her lap, she said, ‘I have noticed what you have done for Jador. You think I do not care, but I do. Everyone is grateful to you, King Lorn. They speak about it to me, how you have helped them rebuild. You have helped them feel strong.’