The Eyes of God

by John Marco

  “Remarkable,” laughed Lukien. “Meriel, that’s amazing.”

  “Wait,” said the woman. “I’m not done.”

  The flame at the tip of the twig widened, changing color to a deep red, pulsing with magical life. Meriel concentrated, making the flame twirl in on itself, shaping it into folds. Lukien watched, transfixed, as the woman worked the dancing fires into a remarkable, living sculpture.

  “A rose,” said Lukien, recognizing the shape instantly. The fire-rose leapt on the tip of the twig, alive and delicate. Meriel smiled proudly, handing her gift to Lukien.

  “For you,” she said. “For being kind to me.”

  Gently Lukien took the rose, careful not to douse its strange life. A huge grin split his face as he twirled it, watching tiny sparks leap out from its center.

  “It won’t last,” said Meriel. “I can’t hold such complex shapes very long.”

  Looking at the rose, Lukien felt a satisfaction he’d seldom known. “That’s all right. Nothing so beautiful lasts forever.”

  “Look,” said Meriel sadly. Already the rose was fading. They watched it together until the shape collapsed and the twig was just a twig again. The death of the rose made the woman’s face wilt.

  “No, don’t be sorry,” said Lukien. He laid down the twig and looked at Meriel, and in that moment decided she was beautiful. Leaning forward, he kissed her cheek. Not the pretty, soft cheek but the hard, scarred one.

  “Thank you,” he said to her. “That was very beautiful. I don’t think a monster could have made such a thing.”

  Meriel’s hand lingered on her face where he had kissed her. She seemed dumbfounded, unable to speak. Lukien didn’t want her to say a word. He merely rose to his feet, said good-bye to the strange woman, and went back to Grimhold, determined to find a way to save the Inhumans.

  In less than an hour Lukien found himself once again in the keep’s lowest levels, where the armory was kept, still stocked full of weapons and Akari armor. To Lukien, who had spent his life as a warrior, the place was like a quiet refuge, something of a temple. It was dusty and dim and deathly quiet, but he loved to wander around the suits of armor, all of which were lovingly arranged against the wall and periodically cleaned by Inhuman attendants. As Lukien lit the oil lamps along the wall, the armory sprang to life. The metal suits tossed dancing shadows along the stone walls; ornate helmets with wings and horns glistened. At the far side of the chamber a rack of spears stood erect, their tips still sharp after years of disuse. Akari swords were piled high in forgotten corners. Lukien went to the swords and chose one from the pile, blowing the dust from its blade. It was large and slightly curved and remarkably light. He swept it through the air to test its balance, finding it perfect. A little smile curled his lips. The Akari had been a remarkable race. It was a shame that they were gone, a shame that the Jadori had wiped them out. According to Minikin, they had abandoned their own warlike ways for art and culture, and to develop their magical abilities of summoning. But none of that had helped them against the Jadori. And years later, when the Inhumans had discovered the Akari’s armory, nearly ruined and rusted, they had brought the weapons back to life with the forethought that someday they might be needed. Now that day had come, but there was no one skilled enough to wield them well. Lukien lowered the sword back into the pile. Perhaps that was simply the way of things, he mused. Perhaps the history of the world was the story of the strong slaughtering the weak, and now it was the Jadori’s time to be slaughtered. The thought depressed Lukien, but seemed horribly true. And what else was he but a pawn in that great game? Had he not done the will of Akeela’s father, battling the Reecians? And was he not Jazana Carr’s pawn as well, slaughtering Norvans because he could and because the pay was good?

  Lukien leaned against the cold wall and let his shoulders slump. He had sworn to protect White-Eye, somehow. He owed that to Kadar. And now there was Meriel to protect as well, and all the other Inhumans who’d been kind to him. It was a great burden, and Lukien knew it could break him.

  Suddenly he noticed another door at the far end of the chamber, a door he hadn’t noticed in his previous visits to the armory. From beneath the door crept a glowing light. Lukien took a small step forward. It didn’t surprise him he hadn’t noticed it before, but now that he did he was intrigued. He approached to it carefully, imagining the treasures he would find inside but knowing there was probably nothing more than dozens of rusty swords. When he reached the door, he paused to listen. There was no sound. A rusty bolt on the door had been slid aside, an open padlock dangling beside it. He tried the doorknob and found that it, too was unlocked, so he pushed the door slowly open. It creaked and groaned with heaviness, revealing a warmly lit chamber that was impeccably clean and startlingly bright. All the walls were bare, smooth stone. The chamber was empty, except for one remarkable artifact that glowed at its center, rising up like a dragon from the floor. Lukien’s hand fell away from the door. His jaw dropped in awe.

  It was a suit of armor, perfect and unblemished, and it shone with an inner light that made it look as though it were made of black sunshine. It stood erect on a small dais, as though filled with an invisible body. Even the helmet hung in the proper place, a great, horned thing with a death’s head mask and rings of black chain mail. The breastplate shone like a mirror, and the shoulders were bolstered with sharp spikes. Greaves and sabatons made up the legs, while vambraces and gauntlets created the arms, giving the illusion of a living thing. It was as if the armor itself was alive, pulsing with preternatural light. Lukien stared at the armor, stunned by its brilliance and dark beauty. He had always prided himself on his own bronze armor, thinking it the most beautiful ever made. But his was like dust compared to this marvelous suit. His breathing slowed as he took a tentative step into the chamber. The armor on its dais rose up high before him. It was hard to fathom something so perfect, yet here it was, completely unmarred by battle, flawless in every detail. Lukien longed to touch it but did not. There was something forbidden about the armor, something that spoke to his brain on a primal level, warning him. So he merely stared, spellbound. He did not know how long he stood there, for he was entranced by the armor and quickly forgot the mission that had brought him to the cellars. But then he heard a voice calling his name. The sound broke his stupor, and he turned back toward the armory in time to see Minikin picking her way toward him. This time, her ubiquitous smile was gone.

  “What you are doing?” she asked. “You shouldn’t be in there, Lukien.”

  “What is this?” Lukien asked, pointing to the armor. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “No, I’m sure you haven’t,” said Minikin. “Come away from there now.”

  Lukien wouldn’t budge. He stayed in the shadow of the magnificent armor, forcing Minikin to come to him. “It’s beautiful,” he whispered. “And look—it’s completely unmarked. It’s perfect.”

  “Hmm, not as perfect as you think,” sighed Minikin. “That is the Devil’s Armor, Lukien.”

  Lukien turned. “Devil’s Armor?”

  “That is what it’s called,” Minikin replied. “An apt name.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Step away and I will explain.”

  Lukien shook his head. “No, I want to look at it. I’ve never seen armor like it before. What is this metal?”

  He was about to reach for it when Minikin quickly seized his hand.

  “Don’t,” she commanded. She held fast, pulling him away from the armor. “The Devil’s Armor isn’t to be touched.”

  “Sorry,” said Lukien in confusion. “I didn’t mean any harm. I came down here to see what kind of weapons there were. There was light under the door so I came in.” He turned back toward the armor. “That’s when I found this . . . thing.”

  “How did you get in here?” asked Minikin. “That door was locked.”

  “It wasn’t. It was open when I arrived.”

  Minikin’s face darkened. She looked angry, and a
bit afraid. “Open? That’s the truth? You didn’t pry it open yourself?”

  “Why would I do that?” asked Lukien. “I’m telling you, it was unlocked.”

  Minikin grimaced and said, “I believe you. I should have warned you about it before you stumbled down here yourself. The fault is mine I suppose.”

  “How did you know I was down here, anyway?”

  “I was told,” said Minikin simply.

  Lukien was about to ask by who, but then decided he didn’t want to know. She had already told him there were spirits in Grimhold. So instead he asked, “What is this armor, Minikin? Why is it called Devil’s Armor?”

  “The Devil’s Armor,” Minikin corrected mildly. “And it’s called that because the man who made it was a devil. He was an Akari named Kahldris, and he was a great summoner. But he was also a butcher. He lived many years ago, many years before the Akari were destroyed. That,” Minikin pointed toward the armor, “was his greatest creation. And his most infamous.”

  “Why infamous?” asked Lukien. “What did he do?”

  “Kahldris was a general,” said Minikin. “A great military leader of the Akari, back when they cared about such things. Back then there were many people in this part of the world, I think. I don’t know for sure, because the spirits don’t tell me everything. But they did explain the armor to me. It was Kahldris’ greatest weapon. It was supposed to live on after he died. And it has, because just like the Eyes of God, that armor is possessed . . . by Kahldris.”

  Lukien studied the armor, still confused. “So why is it so dangerous? This Kahldris was a butcher, you say? But he’s dead now.”

  “No,” said Minikin. “He lives on within the armor. He possesses it, Lukien. You must understand what that means. Any man who wears the armor will be driven by Kahldris, owned by him. The armor may be invincible, but—”

  “Invincible?” Lukien looked at her hard. “Say that again?”

  “It’s true,” said Minikin darkly. “The armor is invincible to blade or arrow. No one wearing it can be destroyed, at least that’s what the spirits say. But before you get any ideas understand what I’m telling you. No man can control it. To wear it would make you a killing machine. Like Kahldris, you would be a butcher.”

  “Oh, that’s just great,” said Lukien sourly. “So why did he create it? If it can’t be used what good is it?”

  “I’m not quite sure,” confessed Minikin. “Maybe Kahldris created it so that he could live on forever. But none of the Akari would wear the armor. Not even when the Jadori came and slaughtered them.”

  “That seems very stupid to me,” said Lukien. “This armor could have saved them.”

  Minikin shook her head. “No. The Akari preferred to die rather than have their minds eaten by Kahldris and his poison.”

  “But if no one even tried it how could they have known? Maybe they could have controlled it. Maybe—”

  “Stop now, Lukien, and listen to me. The Devil’s Armor is an evil thing. The only reason it’s still here is because I’ve never discovered a way to destroy it.”

  “But this armor could be our salvation! If I could wear it in battle against Trager—”

  “No!” snapped Minikin. She fixed her coal-dark eyes on him. “That armor is never to be worn. Not by you or anyone else. There’s no way you could control Kahldris, Lukien. And there’s no way I would let you try. Kahldris still has sway in the world. That door didn’t just unlock itself.”

  Lukien almost laughed. “You mean Kahldris opened it? Just to get me in here?”

  “How many things do I have to show you, Lukien? When will you believe that there are forces in Grimhold you don’t yet understand?”

  “I’m sorry,” said Lukien. “You’re right. I don’t understand. But is it better that the Inhumans should die, then? You won’t even take a chance on saving them?”

  “The Inhumans will not die, Lukien. You underestimate us.”

  “You keep saying that!” cried Lukien. “But I’ve looked all around Grimhold, and I haven’t seen a single thing to convince me we can defeat Akeela.”

  Minikin smiled. “You’ve looked all around Grimhold?”

  “Yes. And I’m telling you that all your magic tricks aren’t going to help us. It doesn’t help that some mute girl can see the future or that a burned woman can make a rose out of fire. I need people who can fight, people who can pick up a mace and smash a man’s head in!”

  “And there’s no one here who can do that?”

  “Why are you asking stupid questions?” Lukien sputtered. The frustration of everything overcame him. “Look around, Minikin. Some of your people don’t even have arms!”

  Minikin said calmly, “Lukien, I think it’s time I showed you something.” She took his hand and led him out of the chamber, careful to close and lock the door on the Devil’s Armor. As they left the armory she was characteristically quiet, which only infuriated Lukien further. Halfway up the cellar staircase, he yanked free his hand.

  “Where now?” he asked with a sigh. “Minikin, I need to talk to you.”

  “We will talk,” said Minikin, “after you’ve seen what I want to show you.”

  So the little woman kept walking, up the stairs and into the feeble light of the hall, then down the hall and up another flight of stairs, passing Inhumans along the way and giving them her gentle smile. Lukien followed with a frown on his face, wanting to stop and ask her questions but knowing he’d only get more of her meaningless replies. When at last they reached one of the keep’s numerous turrets, revealed inside by a great bulge in the wall, Minikin opened a large door to uncover yet another stairway, this one coiling upward in a tight circle.

  “We’re going up,” she said. “Prepare yourself; it’s a long climb.”

  And she was right. After a few minutes of climbing, Lukien was puffing and his thighs burned. Minikin’s little legs carried her effortlessly up the stairs, as though she’d made the climb a thousand times. The walls of the turret were smooth and lit with more of the familiar oil lamps, but there were very few and so the way was dark and treacherous. Occasionally the stairs gave way to landings, where shuttered windows were cut into the mountain and platforms jutted out onto battlements, complete with arrow slits for Akari archers, now long dead. But Minikin did not pause at any of these. Instead she continued spinning upward until Lukien thought he would faint from exhaustion. It was hard for his eye to adjust to the light. Minikin noted his discomfort and told him the top was not much further.

  “And what’s at the top?” he asked.

  She replied, “You’ll see.”

  “Why so bloody high?”

  “Patience, Bronze Knight. You’ll like what I show you.”

  Her claim didn’t fill Lukien with confidence, so when, at last, they reached the top of the turret, he looked around skeptically. They entered a round room, nearly bare but for a few chairs and tables and some odd looking equipment near a large shuttered window. Lukien recognized one of the items at once. It was like a long tube on a tripod made of gleaming metal. A spyglass. Akeela used to have one in his study. There were charts on the wall with amateurish scribblings and other instruments of measurement strewn along a nearby table.

  “What is this place?” Lukien asked.

  Minikin went to the spyglass and began unclasping the shutters, but she did not open them. “An observatory. We’re in the highest part of Grimhold now. You can see everything from here. This is where I teach the Inhumans about the stars and their magic.” Then she shrugged. “Well, those who can make the climb, anyway.”

  “So why bring me up here?” asked Lukien. He went to the spyglass and ran his fingertips over it. The metal was smooth and cool. It was larger than the one Figgis had made for Akeela, and of an unusual design. Lukien supposed it was Akari.

  “Have you ever used one of these before?” asked Minikin.

  Lukien nodded. “Yes. Akeela had one. He used to like to watch the stars. Figgis, his librarian, told him a lot about th
e heavens. Sometimes we used to stay on his balcony for hours, just stargazing and talking.”

  Minikin smiled at the lament. “Sounds nice.”

  “It was,” said Lukien. “But that’s not the Akeela you’ll be facing, Minikin.”

  “Which brings me to my point,” declared the little woman. “Look through the spyglass for me.”

  Lukien frowned. The spyglass was pointed toward the shutters. “But the window is closed.”

  “I’ll open it,” Minikin assured him. “Just do as I say, all right?”

  With a shrug Lukien stooped and looked into the lens. As expected, he could see only blackness. “Very interesting,” he said dryly.

  “Wait now,” urged Minikin. “And don’t look up. Just keep your eye on the lens.”

  “I will.”

  When Minikin at last opened the shutters, sunlight flooded the room and the lens of the spyglass. It stabbed Lukien’s eye, and it took a moment for him to adjust. When he did, he saw the colors of the desert spring to life. But unlike Akeela’s spyglass, this one was shockingly clear, revealing its contents in crisp detail. Yet at first Lukien didn’t know what he was seeing. The browns and reds of the desert flooded his vision, but also strange white shapes that looked like. . . .

  “Homes. . . ?”

  A second later, he knew it was a village. He bolted up from the spyglass and stared out the window. In the distance he saw it—a rolling white village of homesteads and avenues, spreading out in a sunken valley between the mountains. The sight shocked him. Blinking in disbelief, he leaned out over the open window.

  “By the Fate, what’s that?”

  “That,” said Minikin, “is Grimhold.”

  “That’s a village! With people and everything!” Lukien could see them in the avenues, lugging water and holding children, safe from the world beyond the mountains. “Minikin, I . . . I don’t understand.”