The Devil's Armor

by John Marco

  His mind was full of questions, yet the pure awe of his experience kept him silent all the way down the mountain. Finally, when they came to level ground again and Minikin dismounted for a brief rest, Gilwyn found his voice.

  “You look like them,” he said without thinking. It was as if he suddenly remembered the little woman’s resemblance to Ruana. Minikin, who had been stretching her back and grimacing, paused and looked at him.

  “That’s right,” she replied. “Do you know why?”

  “Because you’ve spent so much time with them, because they’ve kept you alive.”

  “Correct. They have . . . influenced me, you might say.”

  Gilwyn sighed. “Minikin, it was all so amazing. Ruana’s still alive. I mean, it’s like she never really died! She’s still in the world she knew a thousand years ago, and the world hasn’t changed.”

  “No, that’s not right, Gilwyn,” said Minikin quickly. “The world has changed.” She spread her arms, gesturing at their surroundings. “This is the world. The place you saw—the place where Ruana dwells—is not.”

  “But it was so real! It must be a world!”

  “Listen carefully, Gilwyn—Ruana’s world exists, yes. But it is not the world. Don’t ever make that mistake. Ruana and all the Akari live in a netherworld, a realm of the dead. You live in the world of the living, and that is the only world you need to remember.”

  Gilwyn patted Emerald’s long neck distractedly. Minikin was just confusing him. “But there is a world after this one. Is that how it will be for us when we die?”

  The question made Minikin frown. “I don’t know.”

  “What? Minikin, you must know . . .”

  “I do not,” said Minikin flatly. “The Akari have not told me that there is a world beyond this one for those of us who are not Akari. I can imagine that it exists, but I have no proof and they have never provided it to me. And listen to me carefully, Gilwyn—that is not for us to know. Not ever. Not while we are alive.”

  “But why?” Gilwyn asked. After all he had seen, Minikin’s evasiveness perplexed him. “Why can’t we know? And if the Akari know, why don’t they tell us?”

  Minikin buttoned up her coat and climbed back onto Emerald. As before, she sat in front of Gilwyn, who controlled the reptile and pinned Minikin against his chest as though she were a little girl. It was her way of saying that she didn’t want to answer his question, at least not yet. Well accustomed to Minikin’s ways, Gilwyn didn’t push the issue. Instead he pointed Emerald toward Jador and sent the kreel scurrying off. But by the time they had traveled no more than a hundred yards, Minikin spoke.

  “Have you thought of an answer yet?” she asked.

  “No, I haven’t,” Gilwyn replied.

  “Have you tried?”

  “Not really.”

  “If you try, you will think of it.”

  Gilwyn tried, squinting as he thought, bouncing across the desert with Minikin. But after a few moments he gave up. “How about a hint?”

  “Gilwyn, if you knew there was a life beyond this one, if you were completely certain of it and had no doubt that a kind of paradise awaited you, what would you think of the life you have now?”

  Instantly Gilwyn understood. The answer saddened him. “I guess I wouldn’t try at all.”

  Though Minikin didn’t turn around, he could sense her smile. She nodded. “We are here to try, Gilwyn. We are here to find our purpose. Without purpose, there is no need for life at all.”

  12

  MERIEL’S PRAYER

  Deep within the foundation of Grimhold, lost among its tangles of hallways and ancient vaults, stood a single chamber apart from the others, silent and restful, with a tall ceiling and ornate, windowless walls inscribed with runes and studded with friezes from long-dead artisans. A narrow corridor led to the chamber, as if the architects of Grimhold had deliberately made the way difficult. There was no light in the hall, only sconces along the stone walls that held unlit oil lamps. The sconces were repeated in the chamber itself, each shaped like the claw of a lion, and each cradling a stunted taper. Dozens of them stood amidst the chamber, enough to turn the vast room effusive with light. Now, though, they remained unlit, awaiting anyone willing to enter the chamber and kneel before its simple altar.

  A thousand years ago in the heyday of the Akari, the chamber had been a place of prayer. And so it had stayed that way under the guardianship of Grimhold’s steward, Minikin. It remained a fixture of the keep, solid and always available, a place where the Inhumans could go and practice their varied faiths, religions that not all of them had abandoned upon knowing the Akari. To Minikin, it was fitting that their lives remain full of mysteries, and so she had left the prayer chamber just as she had found it centuries ago. Like the Akari, who had used the chamber to commune with their dead ancestors, the Inhumans found solace in the place’s quietude. Those who still had a god could still pray to him or her in this ecumenical hall, and those who did not often used the chamber for simple reflection. Among all of Grimhold’s many impressive places, this one was especially prized. The Inhumans kept it spotless and well maintained and its twin oak doors were perpetually kept open, so that any time of the day or night the peace of the chamber was available.

  Tonight, Meriel needed peace.

  Alone, she walked with a steady flame alive in her naked palm, lighting her way through the narrow corridor. It was very late and Talik, the keeper of the prayer chamber, had already doused the lamps. The darkness did not unsettled Meriel, for the light she had brought with her was enough. She walked quietly down the hall, ignoring the plaster faces on the walls as they stared at her. They were among the only likenesses of the Akari in all of Grimhold, but Meriel had long ago tired of their unique features. Tonight, she was not interested in the ancient history of the Akari. She wanted to know what they could do for her presently.

  As she reached the end of the hall she lifted her hand to illuminate the great oak doors. The flame in her hand wavered with her movement. She could hear nothing but her breathing and the tiny hiss of the fire. Sure she was alone, she pulled back the hood of her garment and revealed her face to the firelight. For a moment, she wondered if she should enter the prayer chamber. The last few days had been among the best in her recent memory. Lukien had remained behind and had showered her with attention. Keeping his promise to spend time with her, he had even taken her on a long ride on horseback where they had found a little valley with green shrubs and an indescribable sunset. Meriel’s heart ached as she thought of it, so splendid, with Lukien sitting next to her, talking to her as though she were a completely normal woman.

  But what was there to pray about? Her goddess—the goddess of her land Jerikor—had long been deaf to her prayers. And Sarlvarian, her friend and Akari, had been nearly as silent the past few days. Of course she had been unable to mask her thoughts from him, and she didn’t blame him for shunning her. What she was contemplating had probably never been done before. But the good spirit hadn’t completely abandoned her. He still allowed her to exorcise the pain from her body using the fire, the only real way to relieve the agony that constantly raked her skin. Nor did the spirit disobey her when she chose to maim herself. It was an odd dichotomy Meriel could not explain and it was driving her mad. Lately, the desire to set herself aflame and destroy what was left of her ugly face was becoming unbearable, and with Thorin gone she had no one to confide in. There was no way she could have told Lukien. If she were to have a chance with him, any chance at all, she had to at least act sane.

  And so her madness had driven her here, out of bed and into the crypts of Grimhold, to speak to a goddess she doubted existed, to beg for answers to questions that had none. Suddenly the flame in her hand flared up in a spiral, magnifying her anger. She took a breath to calm herself. The flame became tiny again. Sarlvarian’s cautioning voice rippled through her. Feeling it made her melancholy. To be without him was unimaginable. But to be as she was through eternity . . .

 
Meriel walked toward the chamber. Her heels clicked loudly on the stone floor. When she reached the doors the flame in her hand feebly reached into the prayer chamber, allowing her the barest glimpse of its interior. She paused on the threshold, flicking her eyes to all the candles on the walls. With a controlled thought the flame in her palm leaped toward the wall, lighting a single taper. She concentrated, and like a firefly the flame bounced from wick to wick, rapidly lighting them all. The candles flared to life. The chamber glowed a warm orange. Meriel smiled to herself in satisfaction. The flame in her palm went out instantly. The chamber was much as she had last seen it, with wooden chairs against the wall and small tables to make worshiping easier for those Inhumans whose deities required trappings. Meriel, however, came to the chamber with nothing. Her deity—nameless except for the title “goddess”—required no such accoutrements. To the goddess of Jerikor the prayerful came empty-handed, and could pray anywhere. An open field was as good as any church. Perhaps she was a myth; Meriel didn’t know and Sarlvarian had never answered that question for her. But at times like this it did not matter. At times like this, when Meriel felt the most alone, she was glad that the goddess was always accessible, glad that she was gentle and wise.

  Up ahead was a plain altar of smooth stone, white and marbled and polished to a pristine luster. It was there for those Inhumans who gave offerings to their gods, but Meriel had always found it useful for praying. An unsteadiness came over her as she looked at the altar. She grimaced, unsure she should really be here. She was not a religious person. Like so many others, she only seemed to remember the goddess when she needed something. Or when she felt lost.

  Slowly she went before the altar. A gold carpet had been laid before it to ease the knees. She knelt and bowed her head, closing her eyes and trying to clear her mind.

  “Goddess,” she began haltingly. “Goddess . . .”

  Her voice sounded small. She didn’t know what to ask or how to ask it. She wasn’t even sure the goddess would come to this place, a place so full of magic and icons. But it was said that she was all-powerful; Meriel had learned that at her father’s knee. Surely the Akari wouldn’t frighten her. To Meriel’s great surprise, she began to weep.

  She prayed through her tears, without words, casting her thoughts toward heaven. She prayed that the goddess would heal her broken mind, she prayed for forgiveness for maiming herself. She prayed for the love of Lukien and the understanding of Sarlvarian. She prayed that the goddess could breach whatever gulf lay between her and the spirit world of the Akari.

  Most of all, she prayed for the strength to do what she most wanted to do, for the chance to become normal again. She prayed Minikin would understand and grant her this great gift, and that somehow the miracle of what she asked would be made possible.

  Down on her knees, Meriel lost all sense of time. The tears continued unabated. In her mind she saw Lukien, and she knew it was his kindness that her brought her to this misery. Before him, she had simply been unhappy. Now, she craved his love like food and air. Now she wanted to be free of this place and to walk again into the normal world with a normal, human face. And she was sure this place had the magic to make it possible—if only Minikin would grant it to her.

  Finally, her tears subsided. Meriel opened her eyes and drew a sleeve across her face to dry it. The candlelight touched her skin. She put her hand to her cheek and felt its deep scars. But she would not be this way forever. If Minikin had a heart, if Sarlvarian released her, if such a thing was possible in the pantheon of Akari might . . .

  Then she would be whole again.

  That night, Lukien did not return to his home in the village. It was not the distance to Grimhold that bothered him. Nor was it the weather, which was nearly always desert fair. Rather, he remained troubled by all that had happened in Jador recently, and because he found himself longing for the company of the absent Baron Glass he decided to spend the night in Thorin’s room in the keep, just as he had since returning to Grimhold. It was a quiet room, but it was in a busy hall due to its proximity to other apartments, and Lukien found himself enjoying the company of the Inhumans. They were always kind and accommodating, and over the past year he had found a surprising kinship to them. Like him they were exiles, though their own exile was self-imposed. The people in the village weren’t like that. Most of the villagers had been born there in the shadow of Grimhold and had known nothing of a life in the outside world. Perhaps it was their constant barrage of questions that had kept Lukien away; he wasn’t sure. At first living in the village had seemed a good idea. But tonight—when he was so restless and desperate for the company of others—Grimhold just seemed right to him.

  Yet he could not sleep. He had taken a meal with Meriel and Ghost and a few of the other Inhumans, then had retired early to Thorin’s room where he had hoped to catch up on the sleep that had evaded him lately. Once again, though, sleep would not come. Every time he closed his eyes, too many faces stared back at him. Surprisingly, he found himself thinking about Meriel and how quiet she had been over supper. He had forced her to eat with the others, thinking it would be good for her. Now, he regretted it. They hadn’t parted well, either. Meriel had left without finishing her food and he hadn’t seen her since.

  She was well, he was sure, yet he went looking for her anyway. It didn’t matter that it was late. A good walk would make him tired, so he went to the room where Meriel lived alone and found that she wasn’t there. Puzzled, he stalked the silent halls of Grimhold looking for her, running into Talik purely by chance. Talik, who looked after the prayer chamber deep in the keep’s lower levels, told Lukien that he had seen Meriel over an hour ago and that she had told him she was going down to the chamber to pray. Lukien thanked the man, told him to sleep well, and went down to find her. It occurred to him that he shouldn’t disturb a person in prayer, but he was suddenly worried about Meriel. He had never known the woman to pray before, or to even speak of her deity. Lukien knew that some people turned to heaven only when they were desperate, and that seemed reason enough to interrupt her.

  The prayer chamber, like the armory and the old dungeons, lay deep within the keep’s foundations, a long trip down a winding stone stairway lit with oil lamps and torches. Because it was so late, however, the lamps and torches had been extinguished hours ago. At Talik’s behest Lukien brought his own lamp with him, and when he saw how dark the stairway was he keyed the wick a little higher. At once the stone walls revealed themselves, glowing a ghostly orange. Lukien made his way down the stairway carefully. His boots scuffed the stairs as he walked, echoing through the eerie well. He had only visited the prayer chamber once before, and only then because Minikin had shown it to him as part of a tour of the keep. But he remembered it well enough, and its location far down a narrow hall. There were stairways leading from the catacombs into Grimhold’s upper reaches, and Lukien wondered for a moment if he’d chosen the right one. There was the stair leading to the armory, of course, which he remembered perfectly. The armory held the Devil’s Armor and was off-limits to everyone save Minikin. As he reached the bottom of the stairs he looked about suspiciously. There was a strange magnetism about the Armor, and when he stopped to listen he could almost hear it whispering to him. He shook his head and went toward the corridor. To his relief he saw light dancing up ahead and knew he’d chosen the proper route. Again his movements slowed. He kept his footfalls light and shallow to prevent being overheard. Soon he saw the doors leading to the prayer chamber. The amount of light inside the room surprised him, for it seemed that Meriel had lit every one of the chamber’s candles. Suddenly his little lamp seemed silly. It comforted him, though, and he held it close as he slinked closer to the chamber.

  Then, like a hand had pinched it out, his lamp darkened. The flame disappeared instantly, leaving Lukien in the dark corridor. Surprised and a bit frightened, his eyes went at once to the distant doors. There he saw a figure blocking out the light and knew at once that Meriel had killed his flame.

/>   “Who’s there?” she demanded. Standing in the threshold with the hood about her face, she looked like some demented cleric.

  “Meriel, it’s me, Lukien.” Lukien stood his ground and kept his tone even. “Why did you kill my lamp?”

  “I sensed the fire,” replied Meriel. “I wanted to be alone. What are you doing here, Lukien?”

  The flame came to life again in Lukien’s lamp, startling him. He realized he didn’t have a good answer to Meriel’s query.

  “It’s very late,” he said. He inched toward her. “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “So?”

  He still couldn’t make her face out clearly. Well hidden in her dark hood, Meriel seemed both angry and concerned. Behind her the prayer chamber wavered with candlelight.

  “So I was thinking about you,” offered Lukien. “You were quiet at supper, and when I went to your room you weren’t there.”

  Meriel shrugged. “Did you want something?”

  “No, not really. I was just . . . Are you praying, Meriel?”

  The question caught the woman off guard. She nodded slowly.

  “Ah, well then . . .” Lukien shrugged. “I shouldn’t have disturbed you. I’m sorry.”

  “I am fine, Lukien, if that’s what you were wondering,” said Meriel. “I’m done praying, I think. You can come and sit with me.”

  “Why don’t you come upstairs?” Lukien suggested. “We can talk and have some tea.”

  Meriel thought for a moment. She didn’t move from the threshold. “I’d rather stay here. It’s quiet. I have it all to myself. Come and sit with me.”