The Eyes of God

by John Marco

  The boy shrugged. “Sorry, I don’t. But you can try Minikin’s chamber. Do you know where it is?”

  “I’ll find it,” said Gilwyn, then hurried out of the chamber and back down the stairway. He knew Minikin’s own chamber was somewhere on the ground floor of the keep, on the same level as his own chamber. Its exact location was a mystery, but he supposed someone would be walking the halls and could tell him. But as soon as he’d left the familiar area of the living quarters, Gilwyn regretted not waiting for Farl. Grimhold was a maze of hallways, and finding Minikin’s chamber would be a nightmare. So instead of trying he headed for the main hall of the keep, the great entry hall where the gate was located and where he and Lukien had first entered the keep. There were always guards on duty there, men who would certainly know the whereabouts of Minikin’s chamber. It took long minutes for Gilwyn to reach the hall, but when he did he found it nearly deserted. The keep was deathly quiet, but up ahead he heard voices from one of the great hall’s chambers. Rounding a corner, he came to a room with an open door and the soft light of candles. The room was large and well-appointed, with a long wooden table and numerous chairs. He peaked his head carefully inside the chamber and saw Minikin at the head of the table. To Gilwyn’s great astonishment, Thorin was with her. The two of them looked up from their cups of tea with troubled faces.

  “Gilwyn, what are you doing here?” asked Thorin.

  “Looking for you,” replied Gilwyn. He entered the chamber, waggling the note in the air. “I got this note from Lukien. He’s left, Thorin.”

  “We know, Gilwyn,” replied Minikin. “That’s what the baron and I have been discussing. Sit down, please.”

  “You know?” asked Gilwyn. “How?”

  Minikin’s smile was wan. “The Akari tell me things. Now sit, please.”

  Confused, Gilwyn took a chair next to Thorin. The baron sipped pensively at his tea, then put down the cup and looked at the boy. “Minikin came to my room an hour ago,” he told Gilwyn. “She told me the news about Lukien. We knew you were with White-Eye and thought it best not to bother you. We didn’t know he’d left you a note. May I see it?”

  Gilwyn handed the note to Thorin. Minikin asked him how White-Eye was faring.

  “She’s all right, I think,” said Gilwyn. “As good as can be expected, anyway.”

  Minikin smiled. “I’m glad she has you to comfort her. White-Eye is fond of you, Gilwyn.”

  Gilwyn felt his face go hot. “Thanks.”

  Baron Glass passed the note to Minikin. “Nothing really. It just says he’s on his way to Jador.”

  Minikin frowned as she read the note. “Your friend is a stubborn man.”

  “Minikin, we have to go after him,” said Gilwyn.

  “We will,” she replied.

  The answer relieved Gilwyn. “Good. If Thorin and I leave now, we might be able to catch him before he reaches the city. I don’t know what time he left, but—”

  “Gilwyn, stop,” said Minikin. “You’re not going. Neither is Baron Glass.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “Would I be sitting here drinking tea if I were going after him?” asked Thorin sourly. “Minikin has another plan.”

  “What plan?” asked Gilwyn angrily. “There isn’t time for this! We have to go after him right now!”

  “Easy, boy,” commanded Minikin. “I want Lukien back as much as you do. But sending you or the baron after him isn’t the answer. I’ve got someone better in mind. Someone with particular talents for the job.”

  “Who?” asked Gilwyn indignantly.

  An unexpected voice replied, “Me.”

  Gilwyn turned to see a figure standing in the doorway, reedy-thin and shrouded in black cloth. He was taller than Gilwyn but his voice was young. Two pale gray eyes sparkled beneath his dark gaka, the only visible part of his face. Even his hands were clothed, covered in dark gloves. As he stepped into the room, he gingerly removed the gloves, laying them on the table and revealing a pair of bone-white hands. He then unwrapped his face and stooped to greet Minikin with a kiss. When he stood, his shocking features came fully into view. Gilwyn stared at him, astonished. He was barely a man, not much older than Gilwyn himself, with bright white hair and skin the color of milk. There was no color in him at all, not even in his silvery eyes. He drew back his bloodless lips in a thin smile, obviously entertained by the reaction of his audience. Minikin rose and took his hand.

  “Gilwyn, Baron Glass . . . this is Ghost.”

  The young man inclined his head slightly. “Good to meet you,” he said.

  Thorin politely stood. “Uh, good to meet you, too . . . Ghost, is it?”

  “That’s right. Not a name I would have chosen for myself, but it’s probably appropriate.”

  Thorin gave an uncomfortable smile. “Yes, I would say so.”

  Gilwyn stared at Ghost, perplexed by his snowy skin and icy gray eyes. “What are you?” he asked.

  Before the man could reply Thorin said, “He’s an albino. And you’re staring, boy.”

  “Sorry,” offered Gilwyn. “It’s just that, well, I’ve never seen a person so white before. You really do look like a ghost.”

  The young man stuck his face into Gilwyn’s. “Boo!” he shouted, then laughed. Gilwyn reared back, horrified by him and his odd humor.

  “I sent for Ghost, Gilwyn,” said Minikin. She took her seat again, guiding the strange fellow into the chair next to her. She continued, “He lives here in Grimhold, but he was out in the village visiting his children.”

  The thought of the man having children made Gilwyn squirm. A picture of weird, milk white babies flashed through his mind. “I’ve never seen an albino before,” he said. For some reason, he already disliked the man. “Is that why you wear those robes, because of your skin?”

  “That’s right,” replied Ghost. “If I went out without them I’d roast like a chicken.” He chortled at his own joke, revealing teeth as white as the rest of him. “So,” he said, “do I frighten you? I’ve frightened a lot of people, even my so-called parents.”

  “I’m not afraid of you,” said Gilwyn. “I’m just. . . surprised.”

  “Ghost came to us when he was very young, Gilwyn,” said Minikin. “I found him in Norvor. He wasn’t as lucky as you, though. His mother didn’t want him, and neither did anyone else in his village.”

  It seemed to Gilwyn that Minikin’s words were meant to soften him. For her sake he replied, “I didn’t mean to stare, Ghost. I’m sorry. I’m just upset. My friend Lukien has gone off for Jador.”

  Ghost nodded. “I know your troubles. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Yes,” said Thorin. “Explain that to me. Minikin, this is the man you mean to send after Lukien?”

  Ghost said, “My appearance shouldn’t trouble you, Baron Glass.”

  Glass smiled. “You know my name, eh? Lukien was right—you Inhumans are full of surprises.”

  “I think we should go after Lukien ourselves,” Gilwyn piped in. “He’s our friend and we owe him. And at least we know what he looks like.”

  “Gilwyn, be quiet,” ordered Thorin. He looked plaintively at Minikin. “The boy does have a point, madam. I’m not sure what your reasoning is for sending Ghost here after Lukien. You told me he was perfect for the job, but, well, he’s a bit odd looking. He’ll only attract attention.” He said to Ghost, “No offense, young man, but if you can’t even go out in the sun. . . .”

  “Ghost can handle the sun as long as he wears his coverings,” said Minikin. “And he’s well suited to the task.”

  Baron Glass frowned. “Tell me.”

  “I’ll do better than that,” said Ghost. “I’ll show you.”

  He sat in his chair, smiling like a maniac at the two Liirians and not saying a word. Gilwyn and Glass watched him curiously, watched him sitting with his arrogant grin, then watched as he silently faded from view. The air around him wavered a moment, swallowing him up.

  “What the seven hells . . . ?” Thorin g
ot to his feet.

  Minikin remained seated as if nothing had happened.

  “Where is he?” asked Gilwyn.

  “I’m still here,” came Ghost’s disembodied voice.

  “Where?” asked Gilwyn.

  “What are you, blind?” The voice laughed delightedly “Here!”

  Minikin laughed too. “Seen enough?” she asked.

  “I don’t see anything!” said Thorin.

  “Maybe not, but I assure you Ghost’s here,” replied the mistress. Gilwyn looked around the room, sure there was some trick to it. But when he felt a tap on his shoulder he shrieked.

  “Get off me!” he cried, springing from his chair. The room filled with invisible laughter.

  “All right Ghost, that’s enough,” said Minikin. “Let them see you.”

  As quickly as he’d disappeared, the albino became visible in a moment of shimmering air. He stood behind Gilwyn with his weird white grin on full display.

  “That was amazing,” said Glass breathlessly. “But how?”

  “It is a lot to explain to you, Baron Glass,” said Minikin, “but the Akari spirits allow us certain abilities. You have heard how the blind here can see and the deaf can hear, yes? It is the same with Ghost’s spirit. With his help, Ghost can work on the minds of men. He was here all the time, of course, yet the spirit told you he was gone. And your mind believed it.”

  “Incredible,” said the baron. He laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Truly amazing.”

  “If I’d kept talking your mind would have realized I was here,” said Ghost. “You would have seen me eventually. But if I stay quiet, I can remain unseen much longer.”

  “Now you see why I’ve chosen Ghost to search for Lukien.” Minikin leaned back in her chair, beaming proudly at her albino friend. “If Lukien has reached the city, he’s already been captured. And if he’s been captured, only Ghost will be able to find and get him out.”

  “That won’t be easy,” warned Thorin. “He doesn’t even know what Lukien looks like.”

  “That’s right,” said Gilwyn. “We should go with him, at least.”

  Minikin shook her head. “No. I won’t risk it. If either of you are seen you’ll be captured on the spot. You’ll be taken to Akeela and probably killed. At least Ghost would have a chance to escape.”

  “But he’s our friend,” Gilwyn protested. “We can’t just sit here and do nothing!” He looked at Thorin pleadingly. “I’m right, Thorin, you know I am. Lukien needs us.”

  Thorin sighed heavily. “Gilwyn, I’ve already been through this with Minikin. I want to save Lukien too, but if there’s any chance at all I think this fellow can do a better job than either of us.” He told Ghost, “You have my blessing, son.”

  “Well he doesn’t have mine!” Gilwyn flared. “What happens when he gets to Jador? How will he even reach Lukien?”

  “I’ll decide that when I get there,” said Ghost. He’d lost his earlier humor and now was hard as nails.

  “You call that a plan?” Gilwyn groaned.

  “Do you have a better one?” snapped Ghost. He pushed Gilwyn’s shoulder. “Well?”

  “No,” said Gilwyn. The admission angered him. “But I still think he needs us.”

  “Gilwyn, try to understand,” said Minikin gently. “If you go to Jador and are captured, you’ll be killed. What good would you be to Lukien then, hmm? Ghost at least can get past any guards. If Lukien is still alive, he’ll have the best chance of helping him.”

  It was logical. Gilwyn knew Minikin was right. Yet it did little to ease his guilt. “I know,” he said glumly.

  “It’s for the best, boy,” added Thorin. “All right?”

  Gilwyn nodded but said nothing.

  “Good,” said Minikin. She turned to the albino and said, “There isn’t much time, Ghost. You’ll have to leave at once.”

  “I’m ready, Minikin,” said the young man with confidence.

  “Just get to Jador and find out what you can,” the mistress ordered. “Akeela has probably taken over Kadar’s palace. If he has, that’s where you’ll find Lukien. There’s a dungeon under the palace. Check there if you can.”

  “I will,” said Ghost. He walked toward the door.

  “And Ghost. . . .”

  The albino paused. “Yes?”

  “Just find Lukien. If you can help him, good. But if you can’t, don’t try to be a hero.”

  Ghost grimaced. “Are you in my head again, Minikin?”

  Minikin’s voice was iron. “Just remember your task. Don’t try to go after Akeela. We’re not murderers, remember.”

  The young man cocked a surprised eyebrow. “How could you think such a thing?” he asked mockingly.

  “I’m not jesting, Ghost,” said Minikin. “Now go. Be as quick as you can.”

  The albino bowed with a flourish then left the room, his dark robes trailing out behind him like a bridal train. When he was gone Minikin got to her feet and stretched her little body.

  “I’m tired,” she pronounced. She looked unimaginably exhausted. “I should go and check on White-Eye.” Before leaving she paused in the doorway. “Baron Glass, we’ll need to talk later. With Lukien gone, it will be up to you to the lead the Inhumans.”

  “I know, madam,” replied Thorin. “I’ve been thinking about that.”

  “Good. If you have any ideas, let me know later.”

  She left the room, leaving Baron Glass and Gilwyn alone. The baron sat back in his chair, fiddling with his tea cup but not drinking. Gilwyn could tell he was worried about Lukien.

  “Do you think he’ll find him?” Gilwyn asked.

  The baron shrugged. “I don’t know. But it’s best this way. If that miraculous boy can’t find Lukien, who can?”

  Gilwyn was about to reply, but bit back his answer.

  Gilwyn stayed with Thorin for a few more minutes, talking about Lukien and how he had sacrificed himself. The baron was downhearted, not only because Lukien had left them, but because it reminded him how he had been unwilling to do the same himself. He told Gilwyn about how he’d left Kahan Kadar to fight alone, and how Trager had probably killed him. He hated himself for that, and the admission bothered Gilwyn. He knew Thorin was a good man. He knew his reputation and how he had once been a fine leader, and he knew Thorin wasn’t a coward. Yet that was how Thorin saw himself now, and it troubled Gilwyn. So he stayed and talked to the older man longer than he wanted to, hoping to cheer him and rouse him from his self-pity.

  “The Inhumans need you now,” he told Thorin. “Now you can prove yourself.”

  The notion seemed to ease the baron’s mind. “Yes,” he agreed. “Yes, perhaps so. Lukien seemed sure he was making an army of these people. Do you think so, Gilwyn?”

  Gilwyn had to admit that he hadn’t spent much time with Lukien, or helped him form his army. “I don’t know, Thorin,” he said. “But you’d be a better judge of that anyway.”

  “Indeed I would,” Thorin pronounced. He stood and nodded, the old arrogance coming back to his face. “Yes!”

  Finally, he left Gilwyn in the council chamber. Gilwyn cursed his bad luck. He had lost a precious hour. Dashing out of the chamber, he glanced around the hall to make sure Minikin wasn’t around, then proceeded back to his chambers where he found his gaka, still dirty from the ride to Grimhold. This he rolled into a bundle and stuffed under his arm. He looked around the room to see if there was anything else he wanted to take with him. There wasn’t, but when he saw the chest near Lukien’s abandoned bed a twinge of emotion caught his throat. It was the chest in which Lukien kept his bronze armor, and he hadn’t even bothered to wear it.

  “He doesn’t plan to fight,” whispered Gilwyn to himself. “He just plans to let them take him.”

  Taking a final glance around the room, Gilwyn left and rushed down the hall, heading toward the rear of Grimhold and the stables where Emerald was kept.

  54

  Lukien rode the mare as far as he could, stopping for rest only
occasionally. But by the time Jador was finally in sight, Gallant collapsed beneath him. He had exhausted her, killing her, and abandoned her to the burning sands. But he knew he had to go on without her. It had taken them all day to come this far, and Gallant had served him valiantly. She seemed to have sensed the importance of his mission and so put every effort into helping him. Lukien was grateful. He stroked her unmoving head, little beads of sweat dripping from his forehead onto her chestnut coat.

  “Minikin would be proud of you,” he told the mare. His voice was hoarse from thirst and the desert’s relentless dust. Overhead the sun beat down on him and the mare’s prostrate body. Lukien hoped she would die quickly. Up in the bright sky, the black dots of wheeling buzzards appeared.

  He went on.

  Jador twinkled on the horizon, clearly in view yet still tauntingly far. He trudged through the sands, his throat screaming for water. An hour ago he had drunk the last of it, thinking he would make it easily. But the desert mercilessly sucked the moisture from him, and within an hour of walking he was ready to collapse. His blistered feet burned in their heavy boots; his thick hair suffocated his scalp. He had only the clothes on his back to weigh him down, yet he moved as if through mud. Finally, he reached the outskirts of Jador. Exhausted, he fell to his knees and looked upon the city, and what he saw appalled him.

  Against the backdrop of bright buildings stood dozens of crudely erected crosses. From the crosses hung figures, men in black uniforms. They hung motionless from their ghastly perches, the hot sun bleaching their bloated faces. They had been arranged like a fence, each of them turned toward far-off Grimhold. The sight withered Lukien. He remained on his knees, staring at the grisly trophies, finally comprehending the depth of Akeela’s madness.

  “Great Fate. . . .”

  He had heard the stories for sixteen years. But they had been like rumors to him, almost fantasies. He had never really quite believed them. Now, seeing the crucified warriors, his gentle memories of Akeela vanished. For a moment he thought of turning back, of going off to die in the desert and sparing himself the same heinous fate. But slowly he rose to his feet, resolving to go on. If Akeela was mad, he had made him so. It was right that he should die today.