by John Marco
“I’m sorry,” she told them wearily. “There was no other way . . .”
The light in her amulet at last died down. Minikin looked at it, hating it for the first time in her long life.
32
A PLACE TO CALL HOME
Two days after the battle, Lorn and his companions were still helping the Jadori clean up the mess of dead bodies scattered in front of their city. It was stomach-churning work. Lorn had been in battle before many times, but seldom had he seen such carnage. Bodies and parts of bodies lay everywhere, and the stink of it was already overwhelming, bearing its deadly rot on the hot desert breezes. Even the great fire the magicians of Mount Believer had somehow summoned had not cremated all of the corpses, leaving the survivors to bury them in the sand.
Lorn knew the Jadori had taken a terrible pummeling, but they had won and he was pleased for them. Not long after the battle, he had ridden back to his companions and brought them into the safety of the city. With help from the young Gilwyn, they had all been given a place in the palace. Gilwyn had explained to them that he was regent of Jador, and that the true ruler of the city lived in Grimhold. The news of Grimhold’s existence elated Lorn and the others, but they had been quickly deflated by hard reality. Gilwyn had confirmed what Princess Salina had already suspected—there was no place for any of them in the place they called Mount Believer. And all those northerners who were already in the city or who had died in battle two days before had been told the same crippling news.
Lorn, however, refused to despair. Poppy and Eiriann were both safe. Aztar’s men had been defeated. Whether or not the prince himself still lived no one could say, but his army had been gutted by the magical fire, and Lorn doubted Aztar would trouble them again. For a while at least, Lorn was happy, for he had led his Believers safely to Jador.
Still, Lorn craved an audience with the Mistress of Grimhold. Her name was Minikin; Gilwyn had told them about her. Because the boy had been so honest, Lorn no longer kept up his pretense or called himself Akan. He was King Lorn, he told Gilwyn, the true but deposed ruler of Norvor. He had come to Jador with the purpose of healing his daughter of deafness and blindness and his companions of their various maladies. He was not accustomed to being refused, he explained, and he intended to get what he wanted from this little woman named Minikin.
However much he insisted, though, Gilwyn’s answer was the same—Minikin was very private and very busy, and would see him only when she was ready. Gilwyn hinted also that the mistress was troubled by the battle and its aftermath. Lorn could sense the fondness the boy felt for the little woman, so he remained as patient as he could, helping with the enormous chore of disposing of the dead. By the end of the second day, the disgusting task was complete. Exhausted, Lorn returned to the palace to be with his daughter and Eiriann. So many people from the palace had been killed in the battle that he was able to secure a chamber for himself on the ground floor of the lavish place, a room more than big enough for himself and Poppy. He was pleased when Eiriann and her father accepted his offer to share it with him.
It had been a long time since Lorn had been so close to a woman. Even as he toiled with the broken bodies in the desert, he thought of Eiriann. She had become a surrogate mother to Poppy and the child adored her. But she had become a sort of surrogate wife as well. Was he being unfaithful to Rinka’s memory? Lorn didn’t know, but he doubted his wife would have minded his new-found happiness.
It was almost dusk by the time Lorn returned to the palace. He was filthy and in desperate need of a bath, but when he returned to his rooms he found Gilwyn waiting for him instead. The boy with the clubbed hand and foot sat comfortably in a chair, expertly balancing Poppy on his knee. She cooed at the way he gently bounced her. Garthel was gone but Eiriann was there. She looked at Lorn excitedly as he entered the room. As had become his habit, Gilwyn stood when Lorn appeared. His monkey—which was always with him—scrambled up his shoulder.
“King Lorn, I’ve been waiting for you,” he said. Immediately he handed Poppy off to Eiriann.
“Indeed,” said Lorn. “Is this where you’ve been instead of helping the rest of us bury the dead?”
“Hush, Lorn,” chastened Eiriann. “He has news for you.”
“Look at me, woman. I am covered with dirt and blood and not at all prepared to receive guests.” Then Lorn looked at Gilwyn hopefully. “Unless . . . have you spoken to Minikin for us?”
“I have,” Gilwyn replied, “and she’s ready to speak to you. I told her what you did for us, coming to our aid and fighting with us.”
“And that I am a king, yes?”
Gilwyn nodded. “That as well. She’s waiting for you.”
“You mean now?” said Lorn. “I’m filthy, boy. I cannot meet with the mistress as I am. I must wash first, have a proper bath.”
“Change your clothes and wash your face. There isn’t time for more,” said Gilwyn. “King Lorn, I got you this audience, but Minikin won’t wait. She’s preparing to ride back to Grimhold. The only reason she agreed to see you—”
“Yes, yes,” snapped Lorn. “All right. Wait for me then. I will dress as quickly as I can.”
Less than half an hour later, Lorn was following Gilwyn out of his chamber and through the palace halls. He had changed his soiled clothes into something more presentable, but he no longer owned any clothes befitting a king, and he still had not shaved his stubbly beard. Still, he was pleased to at last have a chance to meet Minikin and explain himself to her. He was sure she would listen to reason.
“So?” he asked. “Where are we going?”
“To the kahana’s chambers,” said Gilwyn. “They’re my chambers now, really, because the kahana never comes here.”
The kahana, Lorn knew, was White-Eye, the blind girl Gilwyn had told him about. Very slowly he was beginning to understand the social structure of this place, yet it seemed to him that Minikin was the true ruler of them all.
“Where are these chambers?”
“In the tower.” The boy laughed distractedly as his monkey wrapped its tail around his neck. “Easy, girl,” he giggled. “That tickles.”
Lorn looked at them both askance. “Why the creature, Gilwyn? A pet?”
“Teku’s more than that,” said Gilwyn. “She helps me. I’ve had her for years now. When I can’t get to something out of reach she fetches it for me.”
“And the boot?” queried Lorn, gesturing down to Gilwyn’s left foot, which was encased in a strange boot with a hinged heel. “That helps you walk?”
“Uh huh. Figgis, the man who used to run the library, made it for me.”
Lorn nodded. He had already told Gilwyn about his brief sojourn in the Liirian library. They had discussed it at length, because the boy was starved for news from home. He was sure Minikin would want to know about it, too.
“Remarkable,” he said. “But what about these spirits you told me about, the ones that heal. Couldn’t they make your foot right for you? So that you could walk without the boot?”
“They could, but I didn’t want it that way,” Gilwyn replied. “Come, let’s get to Minikin.”
Gilwyn walked surprisingly quickly as he led Lorn through the palace, then finally up a spiral staircase that had once been grand but was now quite plain. At the top of the stairs—which were not at all easy for Gilwyn—they entered into a cavernous hall decorated with mosaics and enamel. Jadori men and women moved quietly through the hall, their faces still grave from the shock of the last two days. Whether or not these were the people Gilwyn had told him about—the Inhumans—Lorn couln’t say, but they nodded politely as they passed. At last, near the end of the hall, they came to a pair of beautifully carved, open wooden doors. Sunlight spilled onto the stone floor from the recesses of the chamber, which to Lorn seemed gigantic. Gilwyn paused as they reached the threshold and peered inside.
“She’s here,” he whispered, and stepped aside for Lorn to see.
At the far side of the chamber stood a woman, near op
en glass doors that led to a balcony. She was very tiny, a midget really, with a strange coat of varied colors and long white hair down her back. She did not turn to face them, but he saw her head cock to listen.
“Come in,” she said suddenly.
Gilwyn and Lorn stepped inside, revealing another person in the chamber, this one a giant with mountainous, slumped shoulders and a granite face marked by an overbite. His eyes fixed on Lorn as he entered the room. Lorn froze.
“Do not mind Trog,” the little woman advised. “He guards my person.” At last she turned around, and the brilliant sun from the balcony lit her peculiar face. “Welcome to Jador, King Lorn.”
She was unlike anything Lorn had ever seen. Her ears, like those of a elf, bore two pointed peaks, and her eyes were a strange, oceanic gray. The coat that flowed around her legs seemed alive with color as if made from a rainbow, and a glowing amulet hung at her breast, warmly lighting her face. Minikin did not step away from the balcony. Her smile struggled to seem genuine.
“Thank you, my lady,” said Lorn carefully. He approached and gave a bow. “I am glad at last to be in your presence.”
“And you have many questions, I’m sure,” said Minikin. “And requests, too, no doubt.” Her face soured. “You may be disappointed, King Lorn.”
Lorn grinned. “I have already gained from your generosity, lady. If I beg more from you, then surely you will forgive me.”
“Come,” said Minikin. “Both of you, out onto the balcony with me.”
She turned and stepped through the glass doors. Gilwyn followed immediately, waving Lorn to come along. The one called Trog did not follow, but stayed near the balcony to guard her, keeping an uncomfortable watch on Lorn. The balcony itself was as lovely as the room, its stone rail carved with flowers and figures of beautiful women. It paled, however, next to the view it offered, an expansive scene of the serene desert, blushing pink as the sun set. A large birdcage stood near the rail, but there were no birds within it. Lorn wondered if that was why the mistress seemed so sad.
“The birds of this cage bear us messages from Princess Salina,” said Minikin. “You have met the princess?”
“The princess? Yes,” answered Lorn. His eyes narrowed on the woman. “Lady, are you some sort of mystic? To read my thoughts the way you do . . .”
“There are things you have to learn about us, King Lorn. Some of these things you have already seen.” Minikin frowned. “Like the fire.”
Lorn shrugged. “It is all a mystery to me, I admit. But your regent has told me much already, lady. And yes, I did have the pleasure of meeting Princess Salina in Ganjor. It was she who warned us of your troubles with Aztar. Without her I doubt we would have made it across the desert.”
“The princess is a fine young woman. Very brave.” Minikin leaned against the ornate railing. “None of us have ever met her. We speak only through the doves she sends to warn us.”
“I doubt we’ll be getting any more of those,” said Gilwyn. “With Aztar dead, I mean.”
“You presume too much, Gilwyn,” chided Minikin. “None of us knows whether or not the Tiger still lives.”
“No,” Gilwyn admitted, “you’re right. But I don’t think he’ll be waging war on us too soon.”
Minikin nodded. “That’s a blessing, surely. And we are glad to receive you, King Lorn, and your people. Gilwyn has told me about all of you, and how you lost your throne.”
“Not all of the stories about me are kind, my lady,” said Lorn. “There are many rumors about me, and about my reign. Some are true, some are lies.”
“They call you King Lorn the Wicked,” said Minikin. “But I am wondering—would a wicked man lead suffering people across a desert? Or fight for us without being asked?”
“My lady, I have been wicked, true enough, because I fought a wicked woman who knew no bounds in stealing my throne. I have too much blood on my hands to account, and my motives for coming to your aid are not all selfless. You know why we’ve come.”
The mistress smiled. “I do. Gilwyn told me about your daughter and the others. He has also told you about our situation. The place you call Mount Believer—that is the place we call Grimhold. Many hundreds like you have come here seeking the same as you, King Lorn.”
“I know,” said Lorn, his hope fading. “We have been told there is no room for us in Grimhold. But my lady, if you would at least hear my plea . . .”
“I have heard a thousand pleas in the last year, King Lorn, so many that my heart has shattered. Your daughter is deaf, and at least partially blind as well. The woman you care for, Eiriann, has an empty womb she yearns to fill. And so on and so on. The stories are the same, you see. Always wretchedly the same.”
She was not at all what Lorn expected, and now he didn’t know what to say. “My lady,” he began carefully, “when Gilwyn told me you would see me I was hopeful. I am a king, or at least I was. I should think that counts for something with you.”
“Sir, I agreed to speak with you out of respect, and to thank you for what you did for us. You saved Gilwyn here in battle. I am truly grateful, and glad to welcome you to Jador. There is room enough for all of you in the city, and your help rebuilding this place will be appreciated. As you can see there is still much devastation from the last war.”
“And you can stay in the palace, my lord,” offered Gilwyn. “All of your people will have a home here.”
“You see we are grateful to you, King Lorn, but I cannot heal your daughter or the others. What you ask is not possible. There are too few of the Akari . . . you know of the Akari, yes?”
“Vaguely,” replied Lorn. “The boy explained it to me, but I admit my grasp is cloudy.” It was hard for Lorn to hide his disappointment. He said in exasperation, “My lady, we’ve come so far . . .”
“No farther than any others,” said Minikin. “King Lorn, be you wicked or not, I am not your judge. But be you king or not, you have no more right to the gates of Grimhold than do any of the hundreds that came before you. I must be just in choosing who may be healed, and it is not a duty I enjoy. I am sorry.”
“That’s it, then?” Lorn looked between the mistress and Gilwyn. “Nothing else to say? You’ll just let my child go on the way she is?”
“Here in Jador she will not be judged by her inability to hear or see,” said Minikin. “She will be welcome here and have the same value as any other.”
“But she will be deaf and blind,” argued Lorn. “What kind of life is that for her? For anyone? Lady, I saw what you did with that fire. You are powerful! You must have the means to help Poppy.”
The reference to the fire made Minikin wince. “I have not the power to create more Akari, my lord. Nor is it my place to put you ahead of all others. I have offered you a safe life in Jador. All of you may benefit from that. It is up to you to decide.”
There was silence for a moment as Lorn considered the harsh terms. From the time he’d met with Salina he had known his chances were slim, but he had hoped his station as a former king would sway the tiny woman in his favor.
“My lady,” he said. “I am not ungrateful to you. You have offered us a place to call home, and for us that is no small thing. But I must ask you to think on my daughter. Do not put her completely out of your mind. While we are here, will you at least consider taking her to Grimhold?”
Minikin quietly thought for a moment, then said, “If you are in the palace, then you will be a constant reminder to me, King Lorn. I am not a monster. How can I help but think of your daughter?”
Lorn smiled. “Then we will be the best guests you have ever had, my lady. And should the means come for you to help Poppy . . . ?”
“I will consider her.” Minikin glanced at Gilwyn. “You will see to all their needs, then?”
“Yes,” said Gilwyn quickly. “I’ll help them settle in.”
And that was it. Lorn recognized dismissal. His audience with the mistress was ended.
“Thank you, lady,” he said, then bowed again. “Y
ou are generous, and we are grateful.”
“King Lorn,” said Minikin, “Mount Believer may not exist in the way you had hoped, but Grimhold is a place where we all escape our past. Jador can be such a place, too, if you will let it be so.”
The strange words made Lorn pause. “My lady, I have run from my past so long my legs can take me no further. If this city is to be my home, then I will do my best to make it a worthy one.”
His answer seemed to satisfy Minikin, who smiled as she bid farewell before turning her attention back toward the desert.
33
IN THE FLESH
Nights up north were different from those in the desert. Lukien had forgotten how much he missed them.
The winter that had left the desert untouched had begun its slow retreat. And the night sky, filled with clouds and mists, still made the breath freeze as it left Lukien’s mouth. It had been a cold few days, with the kind of killing frost that made the first spring flowers die, but he and Mirage had relished the weather. For Mirage, who had not been away from Grimhold in years, the taste of winter brought back a flood of happy memories. So too it was for Lukien, who had never quite adjusted to the heat of Jador, not in the whole time he had lived there. Together they rode north, remembering things the way they had been, and at the end of the day they would talk as they ate around the fire, telling stories of Liiria in the days before it was a battlefield.
As so often happened, Lukien and Mirage were between towns this night. They were deep within the state of Marn now, but the city itself was still days away and the trail they had taken had been sparse with farmland and forest. Because night fell quickly this far north, they had bedded early on the side of the road, making a fire for themselves and cooking the provisions they had purchased in the last town they had encountered, a sleepy place called Moorstok. Mirage tended their donkey and horses while Lukien cleared the area and made the fire. They had practiced this many times now and knew their roles perfectly. Within an hour, they were warm and comfortable.