The Devil's Armor

by John Marco

  “Not much time,” she remarked. Further into the room, her giant bodyguard nodded. He was many times her height and stooped, even in the high ceiling of the chamber. Trog, who was without a tongue, did not smile or offer his mistress any comfort. Minikin did not expect any. His presence was enough. “We should go now,” she said, still unable to pull her gaze from the desert or take her mind off her thousand worries. With a smirk she added, “I’m sure they’re well, don’t you think?”

  Though Trog was deaf he could hear her perfectly. His Akari—the spirit that had bound to him—assured that. Again he nodded his big head. Minikin did not turn to see the gesture.

  Today, she had the rare opportunity to bring another of the Seekers into her fold. She had chosen a boy this time. And she had discovered the perfect Akari spirit to bind with him. She should have been happy, but was not. It gave her little joy these days to bestow this awesome gift. There were so many needing it. The godlike role she’d been forced to play weighed heavy on her mind.

  She put out a finger for the dove, who hopped onto it at once. Minikin studied the creature, wondering about the girl who’d sent it. It would have been a simple matter to ask Insight about Princess Salina. Lacaron, Insight’s Akari, might easily be able to tell her more. But Minikin respected the girl’s privacy, and so did not wish to pry into her motivations. Somewhere in Ganjor’s royal family beat a kind heart, and that was good enough for Minikin.

  “Your mistress has saved many lives,” she told the bird. “And now I must go to save another.”

  The dove seemed obscenely large on the midget’s finger. Minikin coaxed it back onto its perch, gave a last wishful look at the desert, then turned and left the chamber. Trog, always a pace behind her, dutifully followed.

  On the outskirts of Jador, beyond the white wall that sealed the city from the desert, a thriving sub-city had evolved. For long years it had been a place of travelers and traders, merchants from Ganjor and Dreel and the Agora valley and Nith, who had come across the Desert of Tears with their families to make a contented life in the shadow of Jador. It was not a slum; Kahan Kadar, who had lived many generations and had watched the sub-city grow up around his own, had always been kind and generous to those from other nations, and so had opened Jador to their cultures. The white wall that protected his city had long been unguarded, with a giant gate left open so that Jadori and foreigners could trade and mingle freely. It had been a fine arrangement, and Kahan had been proud of it. Both sides of the wall were contented, and so it had remained for many years.

  Then, the Liirians had come. With his great army, King Akeela had changed the lives of every Jadori, inside and out of the white wall. The Liirians had brought destruction to Jador and the deaths of countless warriors and kreels, and in the year since their defeat the city had never recovered. Nor had the trade with the outside world. There were no more caravans from Ganjor or Dreel or the Agora valley or Nith. There were only the Seekers, those brave enough to defy Prince Aztar and come across the desert. Like the ruins of Jador’s defenses and the dearth of vital kreels, Prince Aztar was just another ugly outcome of King Akeela’ s war. He had replaced Akeela as the thing the Jadori most feared.

  Gilwyn and the others had not returned by the time Minikin exited the city. Atop a pony, she rode out from the gate and entered the surrounding township to the gasps of the populace.

  “Ela-daz,” they called and whispered, pointing at the little woman as she made her way through the streets. A woman smiled up at her. Her face half-hidden behind a veil, she offered Minikin a handful of nuts she’d been selling from bowls in the avenue. “Ela-daz,” the woman greeted, joyous at the sight of her. Minikin returned the smile but refused the nuts, saying nothing. The crowd parted as she continued, but the staring did not ebb. It was always this way when Ela-daz ventured forth. The people of the township knew she only went among them when she had a special purpose. The buzz of her visit quickly rippled through the street.

  Kahan Kadar had been the first Jadori to call her Ela-daz. It was a term of endearment, meaning “little one,” and Minikin had never protested it. She had learned long ago that names held no harm—a bit of wisdom she instilled in her Inhumans—and she knew that Kadar had given her the title in kindness. He had been her finest friend, and the first to wear the Eye of God that Lukien now wore. She, as the Mistress of Grimhold, wore the amulet’s twin. It had kept her alive for decades on end. Kadar had been dead for a year now, but she missed him still. In the aftermath of the Liirian war she had been given a thousand new burdens, and she craved Kahan’s gentle guidance.

  Minikin did not hurry through the crowd, because she enjoyed being among them and because her bodyguard Trog always lagged behind when she rode her pony. There were few horses in Jador now, almost none of them large enough to bear the mute’s enormous weight, so Trog walked a few paces behind his mistress, keeping up as best he could. He was a frightful sight and the people of the township gave him a wide berth as he moved through them. Minikin looked back and gave him an encouraging wink. Here in Jador, she had no real use for a bodyguard, but Trog refused to leave her and she was always grateful for his company.

  “Ela-daz comes!” cried a voice from the crowd. A dozen eager heads popped up. They were not poor, precisely, these people beyond the wall, but rather they were plain folk who had made lives for themselves. Like the Jadori, they took their living from the desert and the harsh mountains, which provided everything they needed except security from Prince Aztar. That, unfortunately, had fallen to Lukien to provide. Minikin reached down and touched the offered hands of the townspeople. They were Ganjeese mostly, with brown, rough skin that brushed harshly against her own small fingers. Trog watched carefully each hand she shook.

  “Where are you going, Ela-daz?” asked an eager boy. He spoke Ganjeese, which Minikin had long ago picked up and now understood perfectly. “Have you chosen another? Who is it?”

  All of them wanted to know, but Minikin stayed silent. She had indeed selected one of their neighbors, but she was still a good distance from the right house. She lifted her head to check the direction. The term “street” only loosely applied to the avenues of the township, and for a moment she was confused. But only for a moment. Around her neck her own Eye of God burned a little brighter as she communed with Lariniza, the spirit within the amulet. In her timeless, soft voice Lariniza silently answered Minikin’s query, guiding her toward the home of the Seeker they had mutually selected. Minikin turned her pony left and started again down the choked avenue toward a distant collection of shabby homes made from wood and sand. Similar homes had been erected all around the township, but Minikin now saw in her mind a picture of the place, and finding it among its countless brothers wouldn’t be a problem. With Trog slogging behind her, she happily trotted toward the squat homes. The melancholy that had plagued her earlier was gone. She was bringing joyous news, and she knew her appearance would thrill the boy’s parents.

  If only she could bring such joy to all the Seekers. That thought was never far from her mind, especially now when she rode among them, for not all the faces she encountered were glad to see her. As she rode past them, some fell in bitter disappointment. There simply were not enough Akari spirits for them all. And she had not asked them to come to Jador. It wasn’t her fault that they were miserable.

  Why then, she wondered, did it torture her? Like a petal falling from a flower, her good mood fled in a wind of discontent. Suddenly she wanted to hurry to the house. She retracted her hand and turned away from the people greeting her, focusing on the homes in the distance.

  “Trog, I’m going ahead,” she called. “I’ll be safe, do not worry. I will see you there.”

  Trog would have protested if he could, but the giant merely hurried his pace, walking in huge strides to keep up with Minikin’s pony, which nimbly serpentined through the crowded street as it bore its rider toward the waiting houses. As she neared them, Minikin at once noticed the people gathered there. They had co
me out of the their little homes, dropping their chores. She recognized many of them, Seekers from the north who had come to Jador with the misguided hope of finding magic. As they saw the woman they considered their savior, their faces lit with anticipation. A man from Dreel with terrible, crippling burns met her eyes as she rode forward. With all the mercy she could muster, Minikin smiled and shook her head. The man’s expression dimmed, and he drew back. Only one house would be visited by Minikin today, and only one Seeker inside the house would be chosen. But Minikin knew she would be warmly greeted there, for the boy’s parents had implored her kindly, had waited patiently for months, never begging, never insisting, always offering kind prayers for the Mistress of Grimhold, or, as they called it, Mount Believer. Minikin took a breath to prepare herself. Carefully she avoided the eyes of the other Seekers, who had all gathered in little communities like this one, waiting for their turn. The Ganjeese and other people of the township withdrew as she approached the homes. Suddenly, silence filled the avenue.

  Minikin saw the house. It was at the end of a row of homes just like it, small and plain, with walls made of white, sandy cement and a wooden door dried and buckled by the desert heat. Standing in the home’s humble threshold were a man and a woman, both of whom Minikin had studied, sometimes secretly. Their names were Varagin and Leshe. They had come from Marn nearly a year ago with their son Carlan, among the first wave of Seekers to cross the desert. And when they had arrived they had told their sad tale to Gilwyn, who had in turn told it to Minikin, about how Carlan had been blind since birth and how there was no chance for a blind child in Marn, because the economy of their country had collapsed since the fall of neighboring Liiria. In the months that followed, Minikin had heard the story repeated countless times, but she had never forgotten Varagin and Leshe or their sweet-tempered child. Nor had they forgotten her.

  Leshe had a cleaning rag in her hand. Varagin held a spade. Together they watched Minikin approach, their faces frozen in a kind of desperate hope. Mercifully, Minikin ended their anticipation with a smile. The couple from Marn let their mouths drop open. Leshe put a hand to her bosom.

  “Ela-daz,” shouted Varagin. “Have you come for us?”

  By this time Trog had caught up with his mistress. He came to walk beside her as she trotted her pony to the house. The other Seekers nodded and offered congratulations to the stunned couple.

  “Carlan’s going to Mount Believer!” said one of them. Another simply stared at Minikin, awestruck. He had a drooping eye and a clawed, curled hand, and it broke Minikin’s heart to look at him, for she knew how desperately he—and all of them—wanted her visit. They were misguided, surely, but they were brave people, and Minikin regretted her deception, for she had never told them the whole truth of Grimhold. But today she would tell it to Carlan, and that was enough. She reached the house, then dismounted with Trog’s help. Varagin and Leshe bowed, their hands clasped together as in prayer. Embarrassed, Minikin quickly told them to rise.

  “I have come for your son,” she said.

  “To take him to Mount Believer?” asked Leshe. “Oh, Fate, thank you!”

  “Grimhold,” corrected Minikin mildly, slightly annoyed at the mention of Fate, a deity she had never believed in. “From now on, you and Varagin must call it that. We of Grimhold do not refer to it as Mount Believer, and you must not either while your son is one of us.” She looked around at the other Seekers who were staring at her. The desperation in their eyes frightened her. She said to them, “I am sorry. It is as I have told you. There are no places in Grimhold for you all. But this child I take with me—will you all wish him well?”

  “Oh, yes,” they all agreed, without a hint of anger. Even their disappointment fled behind their well-wishes for the child. Minikin had decided long ago that she would only take children to Grimhold. She supposed the older Seekers had realized that, though none of them spoke of it openly. The Mistress of Grimhold turned to her hosts. “Carlan; he is inside?”

  “Yes,” said Varagin. “We didn’t expect you, Ela-daz. Our home is so meager. We have nothing to offer you.”

  “We have drink for you,” Leshe hurried to say. “And whatever else we have is yours.”

  Their graciousness warmed Minikin. “Thank you, no. I really must see the child now. Let’s go inside.” She turned to her bodyguard and squeezed his enormous hand. “Wait here for me. Don’t let anyone follow.”

  The gathered Seekers, hearing her words, retreated a little. Without explanation Minikin let herself into the house, Varagin and his wife following close behind. While Varagin shut the wooden door, Trog took up position, blocking the threshold with his great presence. The home was as Minikin had expected—and as Lariniza had showed her during their communions—a pleasant place with mismatched pieces of furniture throughout the main room, mostly chairs of northern design gathered around the hearth. The floor was smooth, hardened sand, a material the Jadori and Ganjeese both used throughout their villages. Along the floor were rugs and pillows for sitting, again mismatched, a collection of Jadori, Dreel, and Ganjeese patterns whose differences could only be discerned by an experienced eye. What little the family had brought with them from Marn had been arranged on a shelf, mostly mementos from a life left far behind. But Minikin didn’t bother studying these things. Sitting in the center of the room was a child, playing with a collection of crude wooden blocks carved with Jadori symbols. They were game blocks, but Carlan was far too young to know their significance. Like others his age, his joy came from simply stacking them one atop the other, then knocking them over. And, just like other blind children Minikin had encountered, Carlan knew instinctively when others had entered the room, and that a stranger was with them.

  “Papa?” he queried. Amazingly, he seemed to look straight at Minikin when he spoke. “Who is with you?”

  “A friend,” answered his father.

  “Carlan, there’s someone here to see you,” said Leshe. “Remember why we came here?”

  Carlan nodded. “To help me see.”

  Leshe smiled. “That’s right. Oh, my little son—this woman is here to help you.”

  Minikin padded forward, then knelt down before the boy. He studied her, cocking his head to listen. He was five years old now, the perfect age for bonding with an Akari. His mind still regarded magic as something plausible.

  “Carlan, my name is Minikin,” she said. She did not call herself Ela-daz, for that was not the name the Inhumans called her. “I’m here to help you.”

  “To see?” the boy asked.

  “That’s right.” Minikin reached beneath her coat and pulled out the Eye of God, letting it spin on its gold chain. While Varagin and Leshe watched wordlessly, their son’s expression was blank. “I don’t want you to be afraid, Carlan. You’re not afraid, are you?”

  “No,” said Carlan quickly, although his twisted expression told Minikin he didn’t quite trust her.

  “Good. I’m not going to hurt you. We’re going to try something. Just a small experiment. Do you want to see, Carlan?”

  The boy nodded dubiously. His parents didn’t interrupt, but flicked each other wary glances.

  “Where I come from,” Minikin went on, “little boys and girls are made whole again. If they can’t hear or can’t walk or can’t take care of themselves, they are made safe.”

  “You’re from Mount Believer,” said Carlan. “I know about you. That’s why we came here.”

  “That’s right,” said Minikin gently. “Only we have a different name for Mount Believer. We call it Grimhold. Have you heard the story of Grimhold, Carlan?”

  Again the boy nodded. “That’s where the monsters go.”

  “No. People think that, but we aren’t monsters. We’re just like you, Carlan. We’re good people, and we’re going to teach you how to see.”

  “With magic?”

  Minikin kept the amulet spinning on its chain. “I’m holding something in my hand. Do you know what it is?”

  “I’m blind,”
said Carlan peevishly.

  “No, your eyes are blind. Not your mind. Not your heart. You can see anything with your mind if your heart is open, Carlan. Now just relax and sit still for me. I’m going to show you something special.”

  Carlan, who had been blind since birth, found the statement confusing. He glanced up at his mother, about to speak, but a silencing hush from Leshe stilled his tongue. With a sigh he did as Minikin asked, sitting and staring in her direction. The lady from Grimhold sensed his calm. As she reached into his mind, she summoned Lariniza from the amulet. The Eye of God burst into colors as the Akari spirit flamed to life, stretching out invisible hands to link the woman and child. Carlan gasped, his eyebrows shooting up in astonishment. In his mind the amulet flared, the first thing in his life he had ever truly seen.

  “Oh!” His hand shot out to grasp it, almost snatching it from Minikin’s grip. “What is it?”

  Because he had no words to describe things he’d never seen, Minikin explained, “That’s the Eye of God. It’s made of gold. Can you see the gold, Carlan?”

  The boy was exuberant. “Yes, yes! Mother, I can see it!”

  Leshe put her hand to her mouth, biting down to stem tears she couldn’t stop. “Great Fate, he can see . . .”

  Varagin looked awestruck. “What about us? Can he see us?”

  Minikin asked, “Do you want him to see you now?”

  “Yes, yes,” replied Leshe. “Please!”

  It wasn’t what Minikin had planned, but she knew Lariniza could handle it easily. Like her brother Amaraz, who inhabited Lukien’s amulet, she was a wondrously powerful Akari. Minikin silently made the request of the spirit, who answered back in a voiceless warmth. Gradually Lariniza slid deeper into Carlan’s mind, carefully blanketing his brain. The boy’s face lit with wonder. Slowly, he turned his face toward his parents.