by John Marco
‘Ruana,’ said Gilwyn dreamily. ‘My mother died when I was young. Sometimes I can’t remember what she looked like. I try, but sometimes . . .’ He shrugged. ‘She was kind, though, like Marna. I was thinking today how much she reminds me of her.’
Ruana was careful with her words. That is a nice thought, Gilwyn. You should sleep now.
‘Yes,’ agreed Gilwyn. Again he closed his eyes, but although he was tired sleep evaded him, and his eyes reopened a moment later. He could hear the cows at the other end of the barn, already asleep. Each morning he milked the pair of beasts, glad to help Marna with the task. Her gnarled fingers just didn’t do the job any more. Gilwyn thought for a moment, wondering what would happen to the sweet old couple once he left them. They were always grateful for his help and said nothing to encourage him to stay, but he could tell they enjoyed having him around. For the first time in a long time, Gilwyn felt useful.
‘Did you see the sunset tonight, Ruana?’
Yes, Gilwyn.
‘They’re beautiful here, aren’t they? It’s the mountains. The way they block the clouds makes the sunlight shine that way. Figgis told me that, a long time ago.’
Figgis, his old mentor at the library, had taught him many things. Some, like the bit about the mountains, were only useful in trivial ways. Other things, like how to deal with people, came in handy more and more as Gilwyn matured. It was Figgis who had raised him, not his mother. Still, the lonely journey north made Gilwyn miss his mother more than ever.
Are you eager to see Koth again? asked Ruana.
‘Of course,’ Gilwyn answered. ‘What a strange question.’
Is it? You don’t speak of home much lately.
Gilwyn frowned. ‘I’ve been busy, Ruana.’
Yes, you have.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
You have spent a lot of time here with Kelan and Marna. You are rested now. Your illness passed, long ago.
Her meaning was obvious. Gilwyn shifted in his bed of hay.
‘I know. I know we have to go soon.’
You don’t speak of Thorin at all any more. You don’t even speak of White-Eye.
‘Ah, now that’s not fair,’ Gilwyn protested. ‘I think of her all the time. I don’t tell you everything, you know.’
Your thoughts are my thoughts, Gilwyn, and now they turn to sunrises and milking cows. But you have a mission.
‘I haven’t forgotten,’ said Gilwyn. ‘It’s just . . . I don’t know. I’m happy here.’
Ruana touched him with warmth. It pleases me to see you happy.
‘But I need to go now. Is that what you’re saying?’
Of course.
‘Hmmm.’
Kelan and Marna have done fine without you. They will survive when you leave.
‘They’ve been so kind to me. These have been good days.’
And you deserved them. You were exhausted. But now you are strong again. Strong enough to go on, at least.
Gilwyn stared blankly at the dark roof of the barn. ‘I suppose.’
So?
‘So I will think on what you’ve said,’ Gilwyn told the Akari. Once more he closed his eyes, hoping to silence her. ‘I’m tired now. Good-night, Ruana.’
Good-night, Gilwyn.
Gilwyn felt light on his eyes, surprised that morning had come so quickly. He turned to his side crankily, not wanting to wake up, but as the light grew more intense his eyes finally creaked open. He yawned, expecting to get a mouthful of straw, but tasted sand on his tongue instead. The odd sensation startled him.
‘What . . . ?’
He raised himself onto an elbow, suddenly fully awake. A breeze struck his face. Wet sand clung to his body. Overhead stretched a misty sky. A lake lapped at a nearby shore. Gilwyn sat up, his heart bursting in his chest, fighting the disorientation quickly taking over. He had seen this place before, but could not remember when. The haze on the lake skidded like ghosts upon the water. Crickets buzzed in the trees. Gilwyn stared at the horizon, blinking in disbelief.
‘Where am I?’ he asked himself, then noticed another figure next to him. Ruana, looking just as alive as he was, came awake next to him. The pretty lady rose from the sand, looking sleeping and confused. She put a hand to her face, looked at Gilwyn, and wondered aloud what had happened.
‘Gilwyn?’
‘Ruana, what is this?’
Ruana seemed alarmed. She got to her feet and observed their strange surroundings. ‘This is my death place,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ said Gilwyn, remembering. She had brought him here before, the first time they had met. Then it had been Minikin who had brought them together, and Ruana had showed him the lake and how she had perished. But that had been the only time, and Ruana had never frightened Gilwyn before, or taken him into her world without his knowledge. Gilwyn rose, brushing the sticky sand from his trousers.
‘What are we doing here?’ he asked. ‘Ruana, I was sleeping . . .’
‘I didn’t take us here, Gilwyn,’ said Ruana. There was no glow around her, no hint at all that she was a spirit. She studied her hands, turning them in surprise, then listened to the birds and insects in the trees. ‘I don’t understand.’
Then, turning toward the lake, Ruana bit her lip.
‘What is it?’ probed Gilwyn.
Ruana hesitated, her face twisting. ‘Something is coming.’
Gilwyn went to stand beside her, following her gaze across the lake. ‘Something bad?’
The stricken look on Ruana’s face gave her answer. She waited, her eyes narrowing, her lips curling in anticipation. ‘We shouldn’t be here,’ she whispered.
‘Then get us out of here.’
‘I can’t,’ said Ruana. ‘This isn’t my magic, Gilwyn.’
‘No? Who’s then?’
Ruana kept her eyes on the lake. ‘The one who is coming.’
The sound of oars moving through water broke the spell of the placid shore. The prow of a rowboat peaked through the curtain of mist. Slowly the boat glided toward them, moving easily across the water as the hooded figure gently rowed. With his back to the shore, Gilwyn could not make out his features at all, just his thin frame draped in a drab grey robe.
‘Ruana, what’s going on?’ he asked nervously. ‘Who is that?’
‘Stand your ground, Gilwyn,’ Ruana ordered. ‘Don’t let him know that you’re afraid.’
‘Who?’ Gilwyn demanded.
‘Kahldris.’
Gilwyn’s jaw fell open. His pulse began to gallop. Across the lake the little boat drew nearer, bearing the grey figure of the creature who’d caused him so much pain. Kahldris, the spirit of the armour, had somehow made this magic world, reaching into his mind and forcing Ruana to join him.
‘How?’ asked Gilwyn. ‘He’s miles away.’
‘He is here, Gilwyn,’ said Ruana ruefully. ‘Just as he touched White-Eye. I can feel him. He’s so strong.’
‘But why? What does he want with us?’
‘Calm yourself,’ said Ruana. ‘There’s nowhere to run. Wait and see.’
Free now of the mist, the rowboat turned as it skidded to shore, beaching noisily on the wet sand. The grey figure casually retracted the oars. Then, a hand came up to pull away his cowl. Kahldris sighed and shook out his long white hair, turning a smile on Gilwyn and Ruana. He remained seated in his little vessel as he clasped his hands on his lap.
‘You see? I can be everywhere,’ he said. ‘Listen to your Akari, boy. There is no place to run from me.’
His sugary voiced carried easily over the shore. His dark eyes sparked with light. He was old yet timeless, thin but powerful. His body resonated a kind of fearlessness. To Gilwyn, he was impossible to look away from, a horribly compelling figure more like a dream than a man.
‘This is my world,’ hissed Ruana. ‘You have no right to come here, demon.’
‘Your death place, Ruana,’ said Kahldris with a grin. He glanced around. ‘A pretty place to die. You were luckier than m
e.’
Ruana refused to retreat. ‘What do you want here?’
‘Thorin Glass talks of you often, Gilwyn Toms. He is fond of you.’
Gilwyn battled to control his fear. ‘He is a good man. You’ve corrupted him.’
‘Yes, a good man. Good at doing the things I need him to do. I am here to bring you a message, Gilwyn Toms – the baron belongs to me. You have come all this way, but you have wasted your time.’
Ruana stepped between Gilwyn and the demon in the boat. ‘You’re already growing weaker, Kahldris. I can feel it. How much will it exhaust you to construct this charade?’
‘I will sleep for a week, but it will be worth it,’ laughed Kahldris. ‘Little girl, do you really think you can protect him? I am so much stronger than you. I was a summoner! What are you but a pretty face?’
‘Go,’ commanded Ruana. ‘Your words are meaningless. We do not hear them.’
‘Oh, I think young Gilwyn is listening,’ said Kahldris, peeking past Ruana. ‘Aren’t you, boy? You’re afraid. That’s good. Embrace your fears! They will keep you safe.’
‘Gilwyn, don’t listen to him,’ said Ruana. ‘He’s trying to make you doubt yourself. But he can’t harm you.’
‘Ruana, child, why would you lie to him like that?’ asked Kahldris. He rose, stretching to his full height without rocking the boat at all. ‘I can reach out my fingers and reach you wherever he goes. I can haunt his dreams and make his life an unending nightmare.’ Kahldris turned his mad eyes on Gilwyn. ‘I can hurt him just like I hurt his precious White-Eye.’
‘You stinking piece of filth,’ raged Gilwyn. ‘White-Eye is still alive. You can’t hurt her anymore!’
‘Alive, yes,’ crooned Kahldris. ‘And bumbling around in the dark like an animal, like all the rest of you wretched Inhumans. You may call that a life if you wish, but what does White-Eye think of it?’
His words tore at Gilwyn, shaking his will. Ruana sensed this and pushed Gilwyn backward.
‘You don’t like to be challenged, do you Kahldris?’ she crowed. ‘You can’t stand the thought of Gilwyn breaking your hold over Glass.’ She laughed straight in Kahldris’ face. ‘Don’t be afraid of him, Gilwyn. He can’t do anything to you! He would have done it already if he could.’
‘I can ruin you, Gilwyn,’ warned the Akari.
‘But you won’t,’ challenged Ruana. ‘Because Baron Glass would know if you did, and he would never stand for that. That’s it, isn’t it, Kahldris? That’s why you’re here to frighten us off.’
Kahldris’ face contorted horribly. ‘You arrogant little bitch . . .’
‘We’re coming, demon,’ said Ruana. ‘We’re going to avenge what you’ve done. And you can’t stop us.’
‘White-Eye never did a thing to you,’ sneered Gilwyn. ‘She was kind and good and you hurt her. Why? To get to me?’
Kahldris lifted his eyebrows. ‘Are you clever enough to figure this out? Don’t listen to Ruana, Gilwyn. I am not afraid of you. Nothing can break my hold over Baron Glass, certainly not a whelp like you. When you come to Koth, you will see what I have done to Baron Glass, the control I have over him.’
‘Why then? You attacked White-Eye to get to me, to lure me north. That’s right, isn’t it?’
‘That can’t be it,’ said Ruana. ‘He’s afraid of you. He’s just trying to scare you off.’
‘Kahldris, tell me what you want of me.’
‘Gilwyn, no!’ snapped Ruana. She turned and grabbed his arm. ‘Don’t bargain with him.’
Kahldris laughed in delight. ‘Such a riddle! Are you smart enough for it, Gilwyn? Can you unravel this great mystery?’
‘I don’t know.’ Gilwyn staggered back. ‘Ruana . . .’
Ruana angrily kicked a boot full of sand at Kahldris. ‘Go! Go back to whatever slime spawned you, Kahldris! Get out of our minds!’
‘Think about it, Gilwyn,’ said Kahldris calmly. ‘If you help me, you may save the baron.’
‘What is it?’ pleaded Gilwyn. ‘Tell me.’
Kahldris tapped his ghostly head. ‘Think.’ Then he smiled again. ‘You have time, boy. Too much time. The way you limp to Koth is appalling.’
‘Don’t listen to him, Gilwyn,’ said Ruana. ‘He’s just taunting you.’
‘But why?’ Gilwyn asked. ‘Kahldris, tell me what you want.’
‘That’s for you to figure out, Gilwyn Toms,’ said the demon. ‘I will be in Koth, waiting for you.’
Kahldris sat down again and picked up the oars of his boat. With one great pull of the oars the little vessel left the shore, floating swiftly back into the mist. Gilwyn watched it disappear, bearing away all his answers. His hands trembled. Ruana stood mutely beside him, her face troubled and afraid. Neither of them spoke until they were sure Kahldris was gone.
‘That was very stupid of you, Gilwyn. You let Kahldris in to your thoughts.’
‘I know,’ said Gilwyn. ‘I’m sorry. But he wants something of me. He wants me to come north.’
‘He’s afraid of you, Gilwyn. I could sense it.’
Gilwyn let the mists collect around him. It was just as Kahldris had said – a great mystery.
40
Eight men and a woman gazed at the city, mantled by dusk, rising from the desert and shimmering with heat. A soaring white wall rose up from its centre, protecting the pretty minarets and the golden towers of the palace that looked down like a sentinel across the flowered lanes. Beyond the white barrier sprawled a shanty town, crowded and mismatched, its ugly homes like discarded bones tossed over the wall. The spires of the city blinked with candlelight, while in the town at its feet oily campfires burned and sputtered up smoke. The travelers, who had come from many miles away, looked exhaustedly at the city. For none of them did the place meet their expectations. Looking hard, they saw people huddled in the avenues of the broken homes outside the wall. Children played with filthy dogs. In the towers, music called the faithful to prayer, but the folk of the shanty town ignored the call, for they were not of this place at all but rather foreigners of hard luck who had come across the desert to find only disappointment.
Princess Salina had been warned about all of these things. Yet somehow, her expectations had been grander. She had heard from Gilwyn Toms about the foreigners camped outside of Jador, how they had come from the northern world for the magic of Grimhold and how there had been no room for them within the walls. Once, Jador had easily absorbed the northerners, back in the days when they had all been merchants and well-off enough to pay for their homes. But in the days since Grimhold’s discovery, the exodus across the desert had swelled the foreigners ranks, breaking Jador’s finances and forcing the ugly situation Salina now witnessed. The princess looked at the city without saying a word. She had traveled for three days through the Desert of Tears, leaving Aztar’s camp and the man she loved. Her gaka clung to her unbathed body, caked in dust and heavy with sweat. Her drowa, like all of the beasts, drooped from the long ride. And the men of her party, all Voruni men assigned by Aztar to protect her, stared quizzically at the city they had once battled, remembering the great fire that had killed so many of their brethren.
Adnah pulled his drowa to a stop, holding up his arm so that the others did the same. Salina rode up next to him and paused. She had become expert in guiding the huge beast, a latent talent that surprised her. She was quiet as she let Adnah have his moment of reflection, noting her guide’s troubled expression. Adnah had returned to Jador because it was what his master Aztar wished, but he had no love for the place, and like so many of the Voruni he feared the city’s magical population. It was the Jadori wizards who had summoned the fire that had burned Aztar, an event that still haunted the boldest of his warriors.
‘You see?’ said Adnah with a grimace. ‘The northerners – they live like pigs outside the white wall. They are like slaves to the Jadori. They have no pride at all.’
‘They are forced to live like that,’ said Salina, though she knew her argument would do no good. Adnah
was loyal to Aztar and did everything his master ordered, but he had made up his mind about northerners a long time ago. ‘They came here for a better life,’ Salina continued.
‘That’s why you helped them?’ asked Adnah. ‘Because you think they deserve such a life? You are a kind girl, Princess. Misguided, though.’ The Voruni man smirked. ‘Northerners have no soul. See how they ignore the prayer calls?’
Salina refused to be baited. ‘If you’re afraid to go further, I can make the rest of the way myself.’
‘Afraid?’ Adnah looked over his shoulder to his men, laughing. ‘No, Princess, I am not afraid. I merely meant to educate you. Aztar has sent you here for your protection. He is wise and knows what he is doing. But you should be wary of this place and its people.’
‘Thank you for warning me, Adnah,’ said Salina dryly. ‘I’ll remember your counsel.’
At every turn, Adnah reminded her why they had come, but Salina had never wanted to leave Aztar. He had insisted, because he knew that her father would soon return with an army to reclaim her, and he was sure that the powerful people of Jador could protect her. Salina had protested – pleaded, in fact – but Aztar had made up his mind and sent her away. It had broken her heart to leave him at the camp, but Salina relented for only one reason – the people of Jador owed her a favour. Now, it was time to collect.
‘Let’s hurry,’ she told Adnah and the others. ‘Before the sun is gone completely.’
‘How will we get beyond the wall?’ asked Adnah. ‘Have you thought of that, Princess?’
‘Adnah, I am a Princess of Ganjor,’ she pointed out proudly. ‘I have only to ask and the doors will open.’
White-Eye put her hands to Minikin’s elfish face, a form of greeting she had learned in the darkness of her blindness. She felt the sharp ridges over Minikin’s eyes, the smooth, knowing brow, the turn of the lips curled in a cool smile, and the knowledge of the Mistress’ face came to her like sight itself. White-Eye grinned, perfectly happy. She had not spoken with Minikin in months, not since the little woman had given her over to King Lorn. It had been an a difficult situation, but a necessary one, and it had pained both of them to be apart.