The Sword Of Angels eog-3

by John Marco

  Then, as Lahkali climbed his flexing body, Sercin stopped. The wide hood folded back and the chest swelled with air. His good eye watched her blackly, urging her forward. Lahkali squinted through the pain, barely glimpsing the beast. What little she saw spoke of surrender.

  You have won, child. The voice was Sercin’s again.

  He could have struck her, but did not. He could have quickly coiled away, but he stayed. Stretching out his hood again, the Great Rass lowered and showed its breast to the girl.

  Slowly, he urged. No more fighting.

  Lahkali paused. The glamour of Amaraz began to fade. As it did the enormous pain of the serpent’s venom took hold again.

  ‘I am the Red Eminence!’ she cried.

  The Great Rass hovered closer. Weakened, bloody, it closed its ruined mouth. You are the Red Eminence. Take my hearts. Drink my blood.

  Amaraz was gone. Searching her mind for him, Lahkali found no hint of the Akari. But still he sustained her, giving her strength. Lahkali put out her hand, wishing for all the world that she could see the face of the defeated god. When she touched him, Sercin did not pull away. His cool scales coloured at the graze of her fingertips. There was blood on her hands. Lahkali drew her finger through it then put her finger to her lips. At once her mouth filled with bitter heat, a fire that spread quickly from her mouth to all the tendrils of her body. She blinked, and her eyes began to clear. The sizzling pain of the serpent’s venom eased from her skin. Slowly her sight returned, blurry but true. The face of the Great Rass waited in front of her.

  Lahkali could not speak. There were no words for what she was about to do. Sercin’s black eye gleamed with understanding.

  It is our secret, he told her, the secret of your line. I give myself to your people, Eminence.

  And then she understood. She had not really beaten him. He had surrendered. The katath felt unreal in her grip.

  ‘I have to do this,’ she said shakily. ‘I am sorry.’

  Both hearts, said the serpent.

  Facing death, he looked serene.

  In his dream, Lukien had fallen asleep against the tree. Just as if no time had passed, the sun was in the same spot in the sky when he awakened. He looked around, sure he’d heard his name called. He searched the orchard for Cassandra. Getting to his feet, he peered down the lanes of perfectly trimmed apple trees. Lionkeep was just as before, distant and contented. The rows and rows of trees stood at rapt attention. But Cassandra was gone, or had never been there, leaving Lukien to puzzle.

  And then he heard the voice again, like the voice of an unseen angel, very far away and calling to him. And he knew.

  ‘Oh,no. .’

  It seemed impossible. He was dead. He had to be dead.

  ‘No!’ he cried, staring up into the sky. ‘I won’t go back!’

  The darkness came again, sweeping him away.

  Lukien opened his eyes. When he saw Lahkali’s face, he sobbed. He was glad for her, glad she was alive, but the pain of his wounds had gone and that meant only one thing.

  ‘I’m back.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Karoshin brightly. ‘You are alive, Lukien!’

  Lukien realized he was laying on the ground. Glancing at his chest he saw the Eye of God. He put a hand to his mouth to stifle his sobs.

  ‘Don’t be afraid, Lukien, you’re all right,’ said Lahkali gently. ‘I have killed the rass. Look, Lukien, look at the water. .’

  Around them the melting snow was the colour of blood, rushing down from the mountain to feed the valley far below.

  47

  Within hours Lukien had fully recovered from his wounds, but he spent the next few days in the palace, alone, wondering why Cassandra had not come to him. He was glad that Lahkali had defeated the Great Rass. All of Torlis seemed to be celebrating. It was a kind of miracle that he had witnessed, watching the holy river turn to blood and feed the lands around the delta. But he had been too shocked by what had happened to him to pay the miracle much attention, and now, though everyone else in the palace had taken the time to go to the river, Lukien had remained by himself. The great tear of flesh along his back had healed, leaving a scar that looked like it had been there forever. There was no more pain from his missing eye, either. All was just as it had been before he gave the amulet to Lahkali. Apparently, his cursed Akari was once again protecting him.

  On the long trek back to the palace, Lukien had listened intently to Lahkali’s tale. She was still horribly weak from her encounter with the rass, her face reddened from the serpent’s venom. But she was so excited about what had happened that she refused Karoshin’s orders to rest. Amaraz had spoken to her, she told Lukien. He had actually conversed with her, even guiding her hand in battle. To Lukien, this was the most amazing — and frustrating — part of all. How many times in his life had he asked, even begged Amaraz to speak to him? And always the spirit ignored him, coming to him only once to chide him. It was one more of the great mysteries Lukien could not unravel, and by the time three days had passed he was sure he had made the right choice.

  It really was time for him to go home.

  Lahkali didn’t need him anymore. He had managed to keep his promise to the girl and she had done the rest, slaying a god to save her people. Thinking about her heroics brought a wide grin to Lukien’s face. He stopped what he was doing long enough to conjure a picture of her, katath in hand, facing down the beast with Sercin’s face. She was every bit the Red Eminence, every bit the leader her people needed. And with good men like Karoshin and Niharn around her, Lukien was sure she would succeed.

  ‘And without me,’ he said, looking around the room. There was very little he had accumulated during his stay in Torlis, and nothing he really wanted to take back with him. More than anything, he wanted to return Jahan’s body back to his village, but that was impossible. His widow would have to settle for a story instead. He would hire a boat to take him back down the river, he had decided, just as he and Jahan had done to reach the fabled city. He would have to wait until the red tide receded, of course, but after that he would make haste across Tharlara, and with luck would reach Jahan’s village in three weeks or less. From there he would trek back to Kaliatha, perhaps making contact again with Raivik, the dead Akari. Raivik loved stories, he remembered, and now he had so much to tell! It would be a fine reunion, Lukien imagined, but a brief one. It was time for him to get back to Grimhold.

  With little left to do, Lukien decided to leave his chamber and take a walk through the palace’s grounds. Usually he waited until nightfall to make his excursions, but the palace was quiet and he supposed no one would interrupt him. Karoshin was busy tending to Lahkali, who remained in bed despite her remarkable recovery, and Niharn had returned to his own home days earlier. Lukien was free, he realized, and could at last enjoy all the peace the palace offered. There were still gardens and paths he had yet to explore, so Lukien headed out of his chamber and into the hallway. Not surprisingly, the corridor was empty. A great, soaring ceiling made his boot heels echo on the marble. He made his way past the other apartments where men close to the Eminence resided, all of them grand chambers with multiple rooms and views of the city. Throughout his days in the palace Lukien spent very little time dealing with the men who called these rooms home. He was still a foreigner to them, even after all he’d done for their ruler, and Lukien was sure they would be pleased to see him go.

  Lukien had made his way to the end of the corridor before seeing Lahkali. She had been heading toward his room but stopped when she saw him, giving him a knowing smile. She looked radiant, fully recovered. Her dark hair bounced happily about her shoulders. Around her eyes a bit of redness remained, a tell-tale hint of her encounter with the rass, but otherwise Lahkali looked fine, dressed in a golden royal gown that somehow fit her a little better these days.

  ‘I came to see you, Lukien,’ she said. ‘I have been asking for you.’

  ‘And I you, Eminence.’ Lukien went to stand before her. ‘Karoshin told me you were rest
ing.’

  ‘Karoshin has kept me a prisoner in my bed,’ she joked. ‘I have not even been to see the river! That’s why I have come, Lukien, to take you there to see it.’ She frowned at him with fake anger. ‘Karoshin tells me you have been keeping to yourself again.’

  Lukien nodded. ‘It is time for me to leave soon, Lahkali. I have been making plans.’

  The girl looked sad, but not surprised. ‘There are no boats on the river to take you back now. You will have to wait.’

  ‘I know. But soon.’

  Lahkali took his hand, saying, ‘All right, soon. But first come with me to the river. Let us see our miracle!’

  The river of blood took Lukien’s breath away. Along with hundreds of others, he stood with Lahkali near the bank of the river, watching in awe as the red water flooded the delta and nourished the silt with life. The houses standing nearest to the river had all been temporarily abandoned, the residents evacuating themselves to the tents that had sprung up along the shore to accommodate the milling spectators. For the people of Torlis the coming of the blood was exactly as Lahkali had described it — it was a miracle, and folks had come from miles to witness it and give praise to Sercin, whose blood it was that turned the river crimson. Lukien and Lahkali kept back a respectable distance, though they allowed themselves to step closer to the bank than anyone else. They had come with a group of soldiers and priests to protect the Red Eminence from the throngs of onlookers, but a remarkable hush had fallen over the gathering and Lukien knew that Lahkali was in no danger at all. Her people were in awe of her. To them, she was no less of a miracle, and so they did not pester her with questions or requests to touch her garments. Instead they kept their distance, offering only grateful smiles.

  Among the priests accompanying them stood Karoshin, who looked out over the holy river in reverence. Dropping to his knees, he lowered his head in prayer. His acolytes quickly did the same. Lukien watched them, unable to hear their words. Overhead the sky was a brilliant blue, as if Sercin himself had cleared away the clouds just so they could enjoy the view. The air smelled sweet, not of blood but of flowers, and all the ferukas had been taken from the water, resting idle on the beach. Not a single fisherman waded through the scarlet waters. In the distance, the tower mountain that was Sercin’s home had been swept free of the ghostly mists. The red tide that had gushed from its peak had already receded.

  Lahkali was more at peace now than Lukien had ever seen her. She stood proud and tall, no longer like a girl but fully like a woman grown, casting her gaze out over the inexplicable river. To Lukien, who had seen magic in many forms through the years, the river was perhaps the strangest thing he had witnessed. He had not believed the tale when he’d first heard of it, nor any of the other incredible claims Jahan had made. But now, standing on the banks of a river made of blood, Lukien would have believed anything possible. As Lahkali slipped her hand into his, Lukien sighed.

  ‘You were a fine student, Lahkali,’ he said softly. ‘I will miss you when I’m gone. I won’t forget anything that happened to me here.’

  ‘You are happy then, Lukien? You do not seem happy.’

  ‘No, I am happy. I am have just been. . thinking.’

  ‘Of Cassandra? And why she did not come to you?’

  Lukien grimaced. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Perhaps it was just a dream,’ Lahkali suggested. ‘Perhaps you were not dead at all, not even for a moment.’

  ‘It felt like death to me,’ said Lukien, remembering the bliss of floating and the perfection of the apple orchard. ‘It is just how it was last time. Except. .’ He shrugged. ‘She never came.’

  Lahkali was silent for a moment. She kept her hand in Lukien’s, giving it her reassuring grip. Soon the crimson would recede and the water would return to normal. In a few days time, the miracle would be over. Lahkali seemed determined to enjoy every minute of it, but her face drooped with concern over what Lukien had told her. She grew edgy.

  ‘Do you have anything that belonged to her?’ she asked suddenly.

  Lukien looked at her. ‘What?’

  ‘Cassandra. Do you have anything of hers with you?’

  ‘That’s an odd question, Eminence.’

  ‘I am wondering, that’s all. Some men carry trinkets of their lovers with them. Do you have one?’

  ‘No,’ Lukien said sadly. ‘Only this. .’ He patted the amulet beneath his shirt. ‘Cassandra wore it before it was given to me. It reminds me of her constantly, but it’s not the kind of good memory you mean.’

  ‘Do you have anything else? A ring, maybe? Or a lock of her hair?’

  ‘No, nothing. Lahkali, why do you ask?’

  Lahkali did not look at him, but rather kept her gaze on the river. ‘Maybe I’m just curious.’

  ‘Or maybe not,’ said Lukien suspiciously.

  ‘What about a story,’ the girl suggested. ‘There must be a story about her that only the two of you know, something you both shared. Can you think of one?’

  ‘I suppose I could if I tried. Tell me why.’

  Lahkali laughed. ‘You are mistrustful!’

  ‘Lahkali, it’s a strange question!’

  ‘No, not here it isn’t,’ said the Eminence. ‘That’s how people talk about the ones they love here, Lukien — with stories.’ At last she turned to him. Her eyes looked tired. ‘We have been here long enough. Let’s go back to the palace.’

  ‘Already? We just got here.’

  Lahkali let go of his hand and began to move away. ‘It doesn’t matter. Let’s go to the palace, Lukien.’

  The long ride back to the palace was punctuated mostly by silence. Lahkali rode in a litter carried by a dozen brawny, bare-chested servants, while Lukien rode behind her on a horse of his own, remaining with the soldiers and Karoshin’s acolytes. The whole group seemed disappointed in the Eminence’s decision to leave the river so soon, but when they arrived at the palace Lahkali gave all of them leave to go back if they wished. Confused, Lukien hurried up to Lahkali and asked for an explanation. The young ruler merely smiled and took his hand again.

  ‘We should be alone,’ she said. ‘I want to show you something.’

  She was acting strangely, almost giddy, but Lukien allowed her to guide him away from the others and along one of the palace’s many flower-lined paths. It was late afternoon and the trees threw long shadows across the lane, providing needed shade and a hint of the coming evening. A few straggling priests who had not joined the others passed them along the way, bowing deeply to Lahkali and offering her words of thanks. They were in a part of the sprawling palace Lukien had never been before, and he took the time to marvel at the statues and high walls that rose up around them like a maze. The grounds became deathly quiet. Priests sat cross-legged under trees, deep in prayer, their lips barely moving as they lightly uttered chants. Lahkali kept to the path, walking slowly as she held Lukien’s hand, not bothering to explain any of the interesting things they passed. A strange sense of dread dropped over Lukien, but he could not fathom why.

  ‘Where are you taking me?’ he asked in a whisper. He looked around, surveying the statues and the walls built of carefully laid bricks. ‘Why is it so quiet here?’

  ‘This is a place of prayer,’ explained Lahkali. ‘People come here when they want to commune.’

  ‘Commune?’

  ‘Wait,’ advised Lahkali. ‘You will see.’

  They continued walking, turning left and right and left again, going deeper into the maze as if it had no end. The priests soon fell away, and up ahead stood a tall black gate with ornately twisted iron bars. Past the bars Lukien could see what looked like a cemetery, with long, rolling lawns and neatly trimmed trees. Dotting the grass were stones, some of them beautifully carved, others small and ugly. The gate was unguarded. It was also unlocked, as Lukien quickly learned when they reached it, watching Lahkali tug on it to pull it open. As she did she stepped aside, fully revealing the lovely space. Lukien peered his head inside. The tranquil setting brought
a smile to his face.

  The garden went on for acres, stretching past the visible end of the palace itself, all of it hemmed in with various walls that directed the eye to the many separate areas. Amid the stones and trees, Lukien saw small pockets of people gathered, many of them kneeling next to the carvings, talking or nodding happily. Even the ones who were by themselves were talking. The nearest person, a young man in plain peasant garb, lay on his side near one of the stones, laughing and chatting all by himself. Lukien stared at him in wonder, and suddenly he remembered a very similar looking rock that he had once uncovered by accident.

  ‘Story stones,’ he whispered. He looked at Lahkali for an explanation. ‘What is this place?’

  ‘We call it the Story Garden,’ said Lahkali. Her face grew placid. ‘Lukien, this is the greatest gift I could give you. I have no other worthy way of thanking you for what you did for me. I laid in bed for days wondering how to repay you, and this is the only way that made sense to me.’

  ‘Lahkali, I don’t understand.’ Lukien peered into the garden. ‘Is this a burial place?’

  ‘No.’ Lahkali took his chin in her hand and guided his gaze to hers. ‘Listen to me now — this place is sacred to us. You spoke of the story stones. Do you remember?’

  Lukien remembered perfectly. In Kaliatha, Raivik the Akari had come from a story stone. It was how his people communed with the dead, he had told Lukien. ‘Tell me,’ he urged. ‘This place — can anyone speak to the dead here?’

  ‘It is a secret,’ said Lahkali. ‘No one outside of Torlis has ever seen the Story Garden. Only you, Lukien.’

  ‘Why me?’

  ‘Because you mourn, Lukien. All these years, and still you mourn.’ Lahkali took his hand again and stepped through the gate. The others in the garden paid them no attention. ‘Look at all these markers, Lukien. They are what the Akari Raivik told you they are — story stones. They call the dead back to our world.’