by John Marco
‘Bad Akari?’ Raivik’s eyes crinkled playfully. ‘There are no bad Akari, my friend. We are a great race. You must have discovered that by now.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Lukien. ‘Your people have impressed me, Raivik. But there is one Akari that’s not like the rest of you. Have you ever heard the name Kahldris?’
The spirit paled. ‘Kahldris.’ He spat the name like a curse. ‘Kahldris was a madman and butcher. He is not to be spoken of, Lukien.’
‘Kahldris has my friend in his control, Raivik. With his Devil’s Armour.’ Lukien leaned forward. ‘Do you know about the armour?’
‘All Akari know of the Devil’s Armour. It is an obscenity. Kahldris is part of the armour. He is encased in it, the way your Akari is encased inside your amulet. Kahldris made the armour for his brother, Malator, to use against the Jadori.’
Lukien’s eyebrows went up. ‘Malator? You do know a lot about the armour!’
‘It is known among us all,’ said Raivik. ‘The armour was taken to Grimhold to be hidden, so that no one would ever use it.’
‘That’s right. That much I know already. Please, Raivik, tell me more.’
‘Kahldris lived in the time of the Jadori wars. He was a general. He fought the Jadori.’
‘After you died?’ asked Lukien.
Raivik nodded. ‘Kahldris lived while I lived and beyond. I left this world before he did. My people were at war with the Jadori for years, Lukien. Kahldris and his brother battled them.’
‘This brother — Malator. I never heard of him,’ said Lukien, surprised that Minikin had never mentioned his name. ‘Tell me about him.’
‘Malator was a good man, not like his brother. But he was strong like Kahldris. He was a powerful summoner. When Kahldris made the armour, it was so that his brother might use it to defeat the Jadori. But Kahldris was already a butcher by then.’ Raivik closed his eyes in revulsion. ‘You would not the believe the stories of his brutality. Malator told his brother that he would wear the armour, but only so Kahldris would encase himself within it.’
‘Which he did,’ offered Lukien. ‘So it was a trick?’
‘Yes. Once Kahldris was encased in the armour he was no longer a threat. All Akari rejoiced when he was gone.’
‘And then the armour was moved to Grimhold, so that no one would ever use it.’ Lukien considered the logic of the move. ‘So what happened to Malator?’
‘I do not know. Nobody knows. Like you, he went off to seek the Serpent Kingdom, to ask the Tharlarans for their help against the Jadori. He never returned, though. Not long after. .’ Raivik looked around and shrugged. ‘All of this happened.’
There was a sad pause in Raivik’s story, as if there was no more to tell. But Lukien still wanted answers.
‘Raivik, how can it be that none of your people know where Malator is now? He must have died not long after you did. Yet you’ve never felt his presence? None of you have?’
‘It is not always that way, Lukien. If Malator wanted to come to us, then perhaps he could. I do not know for certain. I dwell in the world of the dead. Malator dwells in the world of the dead, too. But he need not come to me, or seek out another. His place is not my place. It is as I told you — I am bound to my world. I see my family and loved ones because they are part of me. They lived here, in my house. Do you see?’
Lukien tried gamely to understand, but it was all too arcane for him. He knew only that Malator had left for Tharlara, and that no one had ever heard from him again. At least not according to Raivik. And should he believe this long dead apparition? Lukien wasn’t sure.
‘Everything you’ve told me is like a huge text, Raivik,’ he admitted. ‘And I’m not studied enough to understand it all.’ Suddenly he felt the pull of his physical body, urging him to return. ‘I can’t stay much longer. Something doesn’t feel right.’
‘Your body is waking,’ said Raivik. ‘It is unused to all of this.’
‘This dream has to end,’ said Lukien. ‘You have to let me go now, Raivik.’
The Akari smiled sadly. ‘I have so enjoyed this, Lukien of Liiria. To talk to someone about the world — it has been magnificent. I wish you could stay forever and talk to me, but I know you cannot.’
Lukien shared the spirit’s remorse. He regretted having tantalized Raivik with the small gift of his presence. ‘Maybe we will see each other again someday,’ he said. ‘If I find the sword, I can return this way, perhaps.’
‘I would like that,’ said Raivik. ‘There is so much I want to know about the world. I miss it. Now, remember, my friend — follow the river.’
‘I will,’ replied Lukien, fighting to stay in the dream. The world around him began to dissolve, the house and trees slowly melting. ‘Thank you, Raivik. You have helped me a great deal.’
Raivik, the dead merchant of Kaliatha, raised a hand in good-bye as he shimmered out of view. A second later, Lukien felt his body again, falling into blackness before consciousness arrived. His eye fluttered open, feeling heavy and real. He saw the stars above, felt the cool air on his face. He breathed, sat up, and looked around the empty garden.
Without Raivik, the city seemed more dead than ever.
5
‘Lady White-Eye, will you come?’
The question lingered a long time, ignored as White-Eye distracted herself. She had not expected the invitation. She had thought — hoped, in fact — that her fellow Inhumans had given up asking her. She pretended to toy with the spinning wheel Minikin had given her, though she still did not know how to use it and hadn’t really tried. It was work to keep her mind busy, after all, and distract her from her loss. She shrugged as she sat on the stool, pretending to move the wheel with her hand.
‘I am just learning this, Monster,’ she replied. ‘Tomorrow perhaps.’
The man called Monster inched a bit closer. White-Eye heard his shuffling feet on the stone of her chamber. She was completely blind now, and without her Akari could not see his chiseled face, a face she had always found comforting and oddly handsome. Monster, who was hunch-backed, had served her for years. His forwardness surprised her.
‘My lady, I should reconsider if I were you. You have not been down to see any of us in weeks. You are missed.’
White-Eye frowned. It was the same thing Minikin had been telling her. Since her blinding, she had spent precious little time out of her chambers, taking her meals alone and speaking to no one. Losing her Akari had not been what she expected. It had been far, far worse, and White-Eye had not recovered from the violence of it or been able to understand the crushing blankness of the truly blind. She had not been born with normal eyes. Instead, she had two milky, sightless orbs, but Faralok had showed her the world with his Akari magic, saving her from a life of walking into walls. Without him, blackness had enveloped her. Every sound, strange and familiar, made her fearful.
‘You should get downstairs, Monster, before all the food is gone or cold.’
She didn’t like refusing him, but there was no choice for her. She was a shut-in now, and too old to learn the ways of the blind. She would not have them all staring, pitying her.
‘Will you sup alone again, then?’ Monster probed. ‘It is not good to eat alone, my lady. My dear mother taught me that when I was just a child.’ She could hear him smile, and knew the anecdote was meant to coax her out. ‘Eating alone does strange things to the stomach, she would say. She didn’t want me to feel different from others, you see.’ Again he stepped closer, coming to stop in front of the spinning wheel. White-Eye could feel his kind eyes looking down at her. ‘It’s that way for you now, my lady. You need to be with the rest of us.’
White-Eye felt terror knotting in her stomach. Why was he pushing her so? As kahana, she could order him away, but even that was too much for her. How could she possibly give orders now, so weak and useless she couldn’t even feed herself? She was no kahana, not any more.
‘I cannot, Monster,’ she said. She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the desperate fe
elings. ‘I am not ready.’
Monster’s face came very close to her as he whispered, ‘We are all Inhumans, my lady. This is Grimhold. No one will judge you.’
‘They will,’ said White-Eye. ‘They will not mean to, but they will. I do not want them to see me like this, blind and weak.’
‘You are afraid, I know,’ said Monster gently, ‘but I am here, right here with you. And anyone who laughs will have to deal with me!’ He punched his thumb into his chest so that White-Eye could hear the thump. ‘Now, shall you walk or will I have to carry you? I can do it, you know. Not very fitting for a Jadori kahana.’
He was only half-joking, and White-Eye didn’t laugh. Though horribly hunched from birth, Monster’s Akari had given him amazing strength. He could easily hoist her over his shoulder and carry her down to the dining chamber. Since Lukien had gone and Gilwyn after him, Monster seemed to have pronounced himself her protector. White-Eye, though, had trouble trusting him. He was, quite probably, just one more man who would leave her.
‘And what will you do when I stick a fork in my eye instead of my mouth?’ she asked. ‘Make a joke to cover my clumsiness? Thank you, no.’ She went back to distracting herself with the spinning wheel, pretending to feed it wool and hoping Monster would leave. When he did not, she looked up at him again. ‘You may go now.’
Monster hesitated. Then she felt his rough hand guiding her own, easing the strands of wool into the wheel.
‘You could do this if you wanted to,’ he said, ‘but you have not even tried, I can tell.’
White-Eye froze under the accusation. She sat back on the stool, her shoulders slumping.
‘I did not want this thing,’ she said. ‘Minikin brought it here to distract me.’
‘No, to teach you,’ Monster corrected mildly. ‘Minikin knows you can do things if you will try.’
‘I am blind, Monster!’
‘Yes, I know,’ said the Inhuman evenly. ‘Does that mean you have no friends here?’
The words struck White-Eye. She breathed to steady herself. There would be no convincing him, not this time. So she put out her hand.
‘Take it,’ she commanded. ‘And do not let go.’
Monster was good to his promise. He carefully led White-Eye to the dining chamber of Grimhold, the place where the young kahana had always taken her meals and conversed with her fellow Inhumans. Tonight, the chamber was filled with familiar voices, most of which hushed when she entered. Monster ignored the silence, leading White-Eye to her familiar chair. Since losing Faralok, White-Eye had yet to be surrounded by so many people. She gripped Monster’s hand a little tighter as she took her seat.
‘Who is here?’ she whispered.
‘We’re all here, my lady,’ replied Monster.
It was true, White-Eye knew, because even their stares were familiar to her. Next to her, she heard Monster sit himself down. His misshapen body could not comfortably accommodate a normal chair, so he always used a stool. White-Eye put her hands down to feel the table, a sturdy slab of rectangular marble stretching out into the chamber. There were others like it in the hall, too, enough to seat hundreds of Grimhold’s odd inhabitants. White-Eye did not have to listen hard to hear them all — they’re anxious breathing assaulted her.
‘Welcome, my lady,’ came a sudden voice.
White-Eye turned toward the sound, wondering who had spoken.
‘It’s me, Dreena,’ the voice offered.
‘Oh, Dreena,’ White-Eye replied. She licked her lips, feeling flushed suddenly. ‘Hello.’
Like most of Grimhold’s people, Dreena was an Inhuman, another blind girl who Minikin had found in Farduke as a child. She was about White-Eye’s age now, but still had an Akari to help her see.
‘Welcome, kahana,’ said another voice, and then another and another greeted her, overwhelming White-Eye. She sat leaned back in her throne like chair, nodding as she tried to recognize the voices. Most of them were easy for her to recall; she had spent years with these people. One voice, however, remained absent. White-Eye turned to Monster.
‘Is Minikin here?’ she whispered.
‘No, my lady.’
White-Eye frowned. ‘No? Why not?’
The hunchback sighed before answering. ‘She has gone to Jador.’
‘Jador?’ White-Eye puzzled over the comment. She was kahana of Jador, but had abdicated her responsibilities now. Still, she missed her homeland and its dark-skinned people. ‘Minikin said nothing of this trip to me. Why did she go?’
‘I do not know, my lady. She left early this morning. She took no one with her, only Trog.’
‘She has gone to do my work for me,’ said White-Eye sullenly. ‘What I should be doing.’
‘No, my lady.’
‘Yes, Monster, yes,’ White-Eye insisted. ‘First I let Gilwyn take charge of Jador, and now that he is gone a foreigner is looking after Jador.’
‘Minikin did not say why she was going to Jador,’ said Monster, fighting to contain his impatience. ‘But it was not to look after Lorn, I am sure.’
‘You are sure? How can you be?’ asked White-Eye angrily, though she was more angry at herself than anyone else. She sank back into her chair, her appetite all but gone. Lorn was a man of terrible reputation, Gilwyn’s decision to leave him in charge of Jador had shocked her. He had not even asked her opinion. He had simply left Jador in Lorn’s hands, then fled north to rescue Baron Glass. White-Eye felt the weight of guilt crushing her shoulders. ‘Minikin should have told me she was going,’ she said.
Around her, her fellow Inhumans had begun their meal. Servants began moving plates and setting pots down on the tables. White-Eye heard knives carving and the tinkle of glassware. She disappeared into the noise, hoping no one was watching her. The thought of Minikin riding to Jador saddened her, because she knew the little woman was unwell. The battle against Aztar had weakened her, sapping her good nature, making her feel old. And in truth, Minikin was old, far older than anyone else in Grimhold or Jador. She was hundreds of years old now, and amazingly, she was only now showing her age.
‘My lady? You should eat something,’ Monster suggested. He put some food into her plate, then pushed it closer to her. ‘Your fork is near your right hand.’
‘Monster, I’m not hungry. Let it be enough that I have come to be with everyone.’
‘You need strength, my lady, to recover.’
‘I am fine. And I can never recover from what’s happened to me.’
‘That is not true. You should not tell yourself such lies.’
White-Eye felt trapped suddenly, not wanting Monster’s help but unable to get back to her chambers without him. She muttered, ‘You have your Akari still. I can never have another, and you have no idea what that is like. I have come because you asked me to come, because everyone wanted to see me. And here I am! But I cannot see them, Monster, and you cannot guess how horrible it is.’ She gave a heavy, lamenting sigh. ‘I am sorry, but that is the truth.’
Monster did not argue with her. Instead he took her hand and wrapped it gently around her fork.
‘There is meat and carrots on your plate. Eat.’
‘I am not a child!’
‘No. You are kahana. Act like it.’
Furious, White-Eye stabbed her fork down, skewering a piece of meat. Feeling it securely on the utensil, she carefully raised the fork to her mouth. The meat was too large, so she nibbled at it, wondering how grotesque she looked and reminding herself that she was indeed kahana.
They are friends, she told herself. They will not laugh.
And indeed they did not. The other Inhumans kept up with the meal they way they always did, though this time they gave the kahana the space she required. Instead of barraging her with anecdotes, they left her alone to eat. White-Eye chewed her food absently, listening to the chatter at the table. Dreena was speaking, talking about her day with the sheep. There were new lambs born today, three of them. One was black and smaller than the rest.
�
�A runt,’ Dreena proclaimed. ‘Like Emerald. I wish Gilwyn was here to see it.’
White-Eye stopped chewing, and for a moment the conversation stopped. She hadn’t heard Gilwyn’s name mentioned previously, for they all knew he had left and no word had been heard from him.
‘Continue, please,’ White-Eye told her companions. ‘I know Gilwyn is well. I am not worried about him.’
It was a lie, but it helped to alleviate the tense mood, and soon Dreena went back to talking about the little black lamb that reminded her so much of Gilwyn’s kreel. Monster leaned over then and spoke gently to White-Eye.
‘You see? Isn’t it better to be with us, instead of alone in your chamber? You are doing well, my lady.’
White-Eye smiled, happy at the compliment. Forgetting her blindness, she reached out for her goblet. .
And promptly knocked it over. The noise abruptly halted the conversation. White-Eye felt wine dripping into her lap, soaking through her gown. Heat rushed through her face in embarrassment. She lifted her hands carefully away from the table, holding them up to shield herself from the pitying looks.
‘It’s nothing,’ Monster hurried to say. ‘Just a spill. It’s nothing.’
To White-Eye, though, the wine was scalding water. With her hands still out before her, she pushed back her chair and stood up.
‘Monster, take me upstairs, please.’
‘Kahana. .’
‘Please.’
The Inhumans said nothing as Monster relented, taking White-Eye’s hand and guiding her out of the room. White-Eye’s rubbery legs carried her slowly away. Crushed with embarrassment, she wanted only the four walls of chamber and the quiet blackness of her dead eyes.
Minikin arrived at Jador at dusk, along with two Jadori warriors as escorts and her bodyguard Trog. The desert evening was closing in on the city, blushing scarlet on the cloudless horizon, and the minarets of Jador glowed with a golden aura. The city was blessedly peaceful, a welcome sight after the long ride through the desert, and because Minikin had not announced her arrival there were no Jadori guards to greet her or children to cheer her arrival. Instead, the streets near the palace were wonderfully quiet. In fact they were always quiet lately, for the city was still licking its wounds, rebuilding from both the battle with Prince Aztar and the war with Akeela a year before. There were fewer Jadori warriors now than ever and far too many widows, and Jador was recovering slowly from the blow, still mourning their dead and the terrible thing that had befallen their kahana, the beloved White-Eye.