The Eyes of God

by John Marco

  Beith strained to breathe the way Gwena had taught her. She saw a flash of lightning outside the window, then felt the room shake with thunder. Outside, the rain had smothered the moon and stars, so that only torchlight lit the chamber. She could smell her own foulness, the stench of blood and sweat and effort. Every breath was laborious.

  “I want a boy,” she gasped. “You hear, Gwena?”

  The midwife scoffed. “That’s not what I do.”

  “A boy,” Beith insisted. “So I can name him after his father.”

  “And if it’s a girl?” asked Meri.

  “It won’t be a girl,” snapped Beith. “God owes me. He’s taken everything else from me. The least He can do me is this favor!”

  Another contraction came. Beith gasped, feeling her birth canal move within her and the awful pain of the insistent child. She clutched at the stained sheets, gritting her teeth.

  “All right now, this is it,” said Gwena. She put her hands between Beith’s legs. “Give me another push, girl. One more big one.”

  Beith clamped down on her pain, banishing it from her mind. As thunder crashed outside the tower she let out a determined cry, focusing on expelling the child from her womb. The pain was enormous, and the simples Gwena had given her had done little to ease her suffering. Now it had all come down to this final, monumental effort. But she was nearly done now and she knew it, and that gave Beith strength. With all her waning energy, she pushed.

  “Yes!” urged Gwena. “Yes, yes!”

  It will be a boy, Beith told herself. And he’ll be handsome and strong like his father, and he’ll be a great knight for Akeela. He will be!

  Even through the pain, a little smile curled the girl’s lips. There would be some reward for her loss, after all. When this was done, she would have a wonderful little child. Beith kept her eyes closed and summoned the image of her husband. She had loved Gilwyn Toms with all her heart, and now she would pass that love to their offspring.

  “There’s its head,” said Gwena. “You’re doing perfectly, girl. Keep it up now.”

  “It’s coming, Beith,” said Meri. She peered over Beith’s belly and let out a delighted yelp. “I can see it!”

  The last moments were hellish. Beith held her breath, using all the air in her lungs to expel the baby, and as it slipped out of her, inch by torturous inch, the final contraction came.

  “Oh, lord,” Beith wheezed. “Come on, please!”

  Heaven heard her prayer. The baby that had racked her body dropped out in a sudden burst, right into the waiting hands of Gwena. The pain slackened, and Beith’s body seemed to shrink, sore but wonderfully lighter.

  “Beith, you did it!” cried Meri. The girl was staring at the infant, her eyes wide with wonder.

  “I did it,” Beith sighed. Suddenly she laughed. “I have a baby!”

  Gwena’s next words were like a miracle. “It’s a boy, Beith. A beautiful boy.”

  “A boy?” Beith struggled to sit up. “A boy!”

  Gwena lifted the baby toward Meri. “Take the child,” she ordered. Meri stepped to the foot of the bed, then Gwena set to work tying off the umbilical cord. The exhausted Beith caught her first glimpse of her infant. Smothered with afterbirth, he was nonetheless astonishing. As Gwena clamped and severed the cord, Meri held the child carefully, wiping away its slick coat and cooing to it gently. When the cord was cut, Gwena took the baby and quickly tapped its bottom until the smallest noise issued from it—its first astounding cries.

  Beith brushed the sweat-soaked strands of hair from her face. The crying infant mesmerized her, cradled in old Gwena’s capable arms. The midwife’s proud smile lit the room. “Ah, look at you, little soldier,” she sighed. “How many is this for me now? You are my hundreth, at least!”

  “Let me hold him,” Beith implored. “Please.”

  Gwena was about to bring the child around to Beith when suddenly her expression dimmed. Her eyes narrowed on the infant, studying him. Beith’s heart tripped.

  “What?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

  Gwena didn’t answer. She picked up the baby’s tiny hand, cocking her head as she inspected it.

  “Gwena, what is it?” Beith demanded. “What’s the matter?”

  “I don’t know,” replied the midwife. She brought the baby closer to its mother. “Look at his hand.”

  Beith leaned forward, focusing on the boy’s little appendage. At first she could see nothing wrong, it was so tiny. But looking closer revealed an oddity in its fingers. The thumb was strangely close to the index finger, and both seemed shorter than normal. Beith reached out for the little hand. Studying it, she discovered that the thumb and finger were fused together.

  “Oh . . .”

  Baby Gilwyn, as he had already been named, began to cry again.

  “His foot, too,” said Gwena. She looked worried, even pale. “It’s the same.”

  Beith looked and found that his left foot was indeed the same, slightly clubbed and curled into a ball. The two smallest toes were together, merged by shared flesh. Beith felt her world collapse, and suddenly a dire future flashed before her eyes for the child she had birthed. In Liiria, as everywhere on the continent, cripples were usually beggars.

  “Oh no,” said Beith. “Please . . .”

  “Beith, don’t worry,” said Meri quickly. “He’s newly born. I’m sure it’s nothing.” She looked at Gwena for support. “Right?”

  The midwife grimaced. “I don’t know,” she said softly. “I don’t know what it means. Maybe—” Abruptly she stopped herself. Beith looked up instantly.

  “What?”

  Gwena glanced down at the child and sighed. “It may not just be his foot and hand. It could be worse than that.”

  “What? What could be worse?”

  “Beith,” said Gwena gently. “It could be his brain. He may not be . . . normal.”

  “Don’t say that!” railed Beith. “Don’t you dare say that!”

  “I’ve seen it before, girl. Sometimes a deformed child has other problems, problems with his mind. Your little one here could be like that.”

  “He isn’t!” snapped Beith. She sat bolt up, ignoring her nakedness and the filth of the bed. “Gilwyn’s fine,” she insisted. “He’s going to be a Royal Charger, like his father. He’s . . .”

  Her voice constricted and she couldn’t speak. Withered and drained, she reached out for her child. Gwena handed him over carefully. Beith took him in her arms, holding him close to her breast. She smiled at the child. He was so beautiful, even with his clubbed hand and foot. But she worried, too. What life could there be for a crippled boy? She had seen them in the streets, how they begged for food because they couldn’t work or support themselves. Her little boy—her new Gilwyn—might become a wastrel.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, I won’t let that happen to you.”

  “Beith, give me the child,” said Gwena. She reached out for the infant but Beith pulled him away.

  “I want to hold him,” said Beith.

  “He needs to be cleaned,” said Gwena. “He’s filthy, and so are you. Give him here. Let me wash him. I’ll bring him right back. Meri, clean up Beith, will you?”

  Beith agreed, reluctantly, and handed her newborn over to Gwena. She was exhausted and her body ached; even talking was a chore. Gwena took the child in a clean wrap and left the room. Beith leaned back, not caring how soiled the sheets were. Meri began dipping towels into a basin of water and dabbing the fabric between her thighs, cleaning off the worst of the afterbirth. It might have been embarrassing, but Beith was a thousand miles away, fretting over her infant’s fate.

  “Don’t worry, Beith,” said Meri as she worked. “You need to rest. Gwena will see to the baby. You should try to sleep.”

  Sleep. It sounded wonderful to Beith, but she was sure her slumber would be filled with nightmares.

  “Meri?”

  “Yes?”

  “What if Gwena’s right? What if the baby isn’t
normal?”

  Meri smiled, trying to cover up what she really felt. “We don’t know that.”

  “But his hand, and his foot. They’re . . .” Beith could hardly bring herself to say the word deformed. “What if his brain is like that too?”

  “Beith, he’s too young. No one can tell by looking at him, not even Gwena.”

  “But if he is? What then?”

  “Then you will raise him, and you will love him as if nothing is amiss. He’s your son, Beith.”

  Beith nodded. Already she loved little Gilwyn, and he wasn’t yet an hour old. But love couldn’t move mountains as the poets said, and she couldn’t save him from the cruelty of the world. If her child was simple, only the king’s grace could help him.

  “Akeela is a good man,” she told herself. “He will have a place for Gilwyn in the castle. I know he will.” She glanced at Meri. “Right?”

  Meri wrung a dirtied towel into the basin. Her face was serious. “Akeela is a good man, that’s what everyone says. He was a good prince, and he’ll be a good king.”

  “Yes,” agreed Beith. “Even if Gilwyn can’t be a soldier, Akeela will find a place for him, don’t you think?”

  “Beith, close your eyes now. Rest.”

  Beith knew she’d get no answer from her friend. Succumbing to her exhaustion, she closed her eyes and let Meri freshen and comfort her, wondering what would become of her son in the world the new king of Liiria was making.

  4

  Three days after coming to Hes, Akeela had made his decision.

  It was a warm day in the Reecian capital, perfect for proposing marriage. The marketplace on the south side of the castle was teeming with people and livestock, and the streets were filled with children and cats, which to Lukien’s surprise were everywhere in Hes. The sky was perfect, blue and cloudless, and the rains that had soaked the city the day before had utterly vanished. Over the balcony, Lukien could see Hes stretching out for miles. He could see the city gates and the long, winding road that would eventually lead him home to Liiria. Lukien gazed at the eastern horizon, longing for home. For Akeela, their trip to Hes had been a complete success, but for Lukien it had been surreal. Things had moved too quickly, and too many decisions had been made. Decisions, Lukien believed, that Akeela had made hastily.

  Together they waited on the balcony for Princess Cassandra. It was a meeting King Karis himself had arranged, and they were very early. Even if she were on time, Cassandra wouldn’t arrive for another half hour. But Akeela had wanted Lukien to come to the balcony with him, because the young king was nervous. He had also claimed the need to explain his bold decision. Yet now that they were together, Akeela wasn’t talking. Like Lukien, he stared out over the city, lost in thought.

  Lukien didn’t blame Akeela for wanting to marry Cassandra. She was beautiful, after all, and Akeela himself was less than beautiful. What Lukien hated—what he had protested for days—was the suddenness of it all. Cassandra had merely danced, and her movements had bewitched Akeela so that he had forgotten all propriety. He didn’t know that there were many women in the world, and that as king he could have his pick of them. Or, if he knew this, he simply didn’t care. Lukien stole a glance at his king, watching him furtively. Akeela was young, and woefully inexperienced. He had spent too much time with his nose in books and not enough chasing kitchen maids, and Lukien regretted that. He was angry that old King Balak hadn’t insisted his son become a soldier after graduating war college. If he had joined in at least some campaigns, then perhaps he would have known what it was like to be with a woman, and he wouldn’t be so enamored of the first one to flutter her eyelashes at him.

  But no, that wasn’t right, either. Lukien knew he couldn’t blame Balak for Akeela’s lovesickness. Balak had been a good father, wise enough not to push his bookish son into a military life. And that wisdom had paid off handsomely for Liiria, because her new king was cultured and committed to peace. That he was starry-eyed was simply an offshoot of his goodness, the very thing that made him special. Lukien sighed, shaking his head. Akeela heard the lament and glanced over at him.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Nothing is wrong,” lied Lukien. “I was merely thinking.”

  “Thinking about me?”

  Lukien nodded. “That’s right. You’ve given me little else to think about these past three days.”

  The young king crossed the balcony to stand beside his champion. It was a huge balcony, just off a conservatory decorated with tall plants and cracked plaster statues. Several bird cages hung nearby, their occupants serenading the two men. The balcony afforded them a flawless view of the city, but Akeela had lost interest in the view.

  “I know you don’t approve,” he said. “But at least try to understand.”

  “I have tried. And I still can’t understand.”

  “Then you haven’t tried hard enough,” said Akeela. He was agitated; his left eyelid twitched slightly. “Look at me, Lukien. I’m not like you. I’m not tall or handsome, and I’m certainly no hero. You’ve always had your pick of women, while I’m still a . . .”

  Akeela hesitated, and Lukien was glad that he didn’t say the word.

  “It takes more than a strong jaw to win the love of a woman, Akeela,” said Lukien. “You think I’m some great lover because I tell tales about the harlots I’ve been with, but I’m just a braggart. And I leave out the sordid bits, like all the lice-ridden beds I’ve slept in.”

  “So?”

  “So you can have any woman you want. Not some whore, either, but a good woman, one with breeding.”

  Akeela laughed. “One like Cassandra, you mean?”

  “No, not like Cassandra. Someone you love. And someone who loves you. Haven’t you wondered why the princess wants to marry you?”

  “I know why,” argued Akeela. “For peace.”

  “No,” said Lukien ruthlessly. “Because she is a woman and her father wills it, that’s why. And because she has the chance to be a queen. She doesn’t love you, Akeela.”

  “Lukien, this is how royal marriages are arranged,” said Akeela. “If my father were alive, he would have made a marriage for me by now anyway, and probably to someone far less beautiful than Cassandra. He would have given me Dralla of Marn or some other girl that looks like a warthog, because he was too stubborn to consider peace with Reec. But why should I be saddled with a girl like Dralla? Why shouldn’t I have Cassandra?”

  Lukien groped for a good reason. Cassandra’s beauty wasn’t something to be argued over—it was a fact, like the beauty of a sunrise. And it had captivated Lukien just as it had Akeela. Maybe that was why he was opposed to the marriage. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been jealous of his royal “brother,” a brother in small talk only.

  “Can’t you at least wait?” said Lukien. “Just a little longer? Let’s go back to Liiria. Maybe the familiar air will clear your head.”

  “There’s no reason to wait. I’m not going to find a prettier girl, or a better reason to marry. And it would be an insult to King Karis to refuse her. I won’t jeopardize the peace like that.”

  “That’s rubbish, Akeela. Karis wants peace as much as you do. More, even. That’s not why you want to marry Cassandra.”

  Akeela looked at him, surprised at the outburst. “I thought you would be happy for me,” he said. “You of all people know how lonely I’ve been. Why would you keep this from me, my one chance at a beautiful wife?”

  “I . . .” Lukien stumbled over his answer. “I am happy for you, Akeela. I’m just worried.”

  “Well, don’t be. I’m a grown man, Lukien, and I don’t need you to protect me anymore.” Akeela turned and looked out over the city. His hands gripped the stone railing of the balcony hard, turning his knuckles white. “I think I’d like to be alone now,” he said.

  “I can stay with you,” said Lukien. “She won’t be here for a while yet.”

  “Yes, but I need time to think, to consider what I’m going to say.” />
  “What’s to consider?” said Lukien. “She’s been offered to you, and all you have to do is take her.”

  “Oh, yes, that’s very romantic,” replied Akeela dryly. “Look, don’t try to help me with this, all right? Just let me think.”

  Lukien turned to go, angry at being dismissed. But before he took three paces, Akeela called after him.

  “Wait, I forgot something.” He wore a sheepish grin. “A favor, actually.”

  Lukien scowled. “What?”

  “If Cassandra accepts my proposal, I’m going to be leaving for home at once. I want to prepare the castle for the wedding, and I won’t be taking her with me.”

  “So?”

  “I’ll need someone to look after her, someone to escort her back to Koth for me.” Akeela’s eyes twinkled as if nothing had just happened. “Would you do that for me?”

  The question astonished Lukien. A little voice warned him to refuse, but instead he said, “If that’s what you want . . .”

  “Yes,” said Akeela. “You’re the only person I trust. Who better to look after her than you?”

  Lukien hedged, saying, “She may not like my company. To her I’m still the Bronze Knight.”

  “Don’t worry about that; I’ll explain it to her. I want her to have the best, and you’re the best soldier I have. You’ll protect her, I know.” Akeela’s smile was all-forgiving—and terribly naive. “Thank you, Lukien. You’re a good friend.”

  Friend. Were they friends, Lukien wondered? At times like this, when Akeela was his most petulant, it was hard to believe they truly loved each other. Giving his king a half-hearted nod, Lukien turned and left the balcony, hoping Princess Cassandra refused her royal escort.

  Cassandra moved through the hallways of Castle Hes, floating with anticipation. It was nearly time for her meeting with Akeela, and Jancis had told her that the Liirian was already on the eastern balcony, waiting for her. Because the balcony was very large and studded with statues, Jancis had been able to spy on Akeela quite effectively. Apparently, he had been waiting for her for some time now, first talking with his bodyguard Lukien, then pacing nervously among the statues. According to Jancis, he had even been talking to himself. Cassandra slowed her pace as she neared the balcony, taking the time to smooth down her dress and adjust the braids in her hair. She wore a velvet gown of midnight blue and just the right amount of make-up to highlight her eyes, and she already knew from the way the young king had stared at her that he was attracted to her. He had done a very poor job of hiding his attraction, in fact, but Cassandra was flattered. Soon she might be leaving Hes behind. She would be the first of her sisters to become a queen.