The Sword Of Angels eog-3

by John Marco

  Lukien was awestruck, drifting after Lahkali with his eyes like saucers. ‘All of these stones? They are all for speaking with the dead?’

  ‘In this place there are no boundaries between the worlds. The spirits of the dead can cross easily into our lives. The story stones summon them.’

  ‘And all these people? They are talking with the dead?’

  Lahkali smiled. ‘Does that seem unbelievable to you?’

  ‘No,’ sighed Lukien. ‘No. I want to believe. Tell me more, Lahkali. Tell me everything.’

  As they walked Lahkali spoke, continuing to lead him deeper into the Story Garden. The iron gate fell far behind them as Lukien listened, enraptured by the girl’s tale.

  ‘Malator the Akari built this place for us,’ she began, ‘hundreds of years ago. His people have the knowledge of summoning the dead; you know this already, Lukien. When he came to us, he passed this knowledge on to us and created the Story Garden.’

  Lukien nodded. ‘You haven’t mentioned Malator since I came here, Lahkali.’

  ‘And you have not asked, Lukien.’

  ‘What could I ask that you would tell me? He must have something to do with the Sword of Angels. Ah, but I don’t care about that now.’

  ‘You want to speak to your own dead lover, I know,’ said Lahkali patiently. ‘But listen to my story first.’ She continued walking, tredding green grass with Lukien at her side. ‘The Akari were angels to us. That is how the sword got its name. It is the Sword of the Akari — the Sword of Angels. Malator was kind to the King of Torlis, my ancestor. This garden was a gift for the king.’

  ‘A gift? For what?’

  ‘That doesn’t really matter. Malator came here to ask our help, remember. In those days the Akari were warring with your people, Lukien. The Jadori were slaughtering them.’

  ‘The Jadori aren’t my people exactly, Lahkali. But go on.’

  Lahkali slowed. Up ahead stood a small altar, weather-worn but sturdy looking, sitting alone near a tree. A handful of chisels and brushes lay across the altar. Stacks of stones lay near its base. They were the same small, ugly stones Lukien had seen dotted throughout the garden.

  ‘Here,’ Lahkali pronounced. She stood beside the altar. ‘Later, when you are done here, I will tell you the rest of the story. But now there is something you must do, Lukien.’

  Lukien looked at her helplessly. ‘If there’s any way for me to see Cassandra again. .’

  ‘Choose a stone.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘So you can make a story stone for Cassandra. Take any of them, it doesn’t matter.’

  Lukien nervously picked up one of the rocks. Smaller than his head, it nevertheless made a loud thud when he placed it on the altar. His hands dithered as he brushed the dirt from its smooth surface. He stared at the stone, then at Lahkali.

  ‘I’m afraid,’ he confessed.

  Lahkali’s face filled with sympathy. ‘Don’t be, Lukien. Remember — this is what you’ve always wanted. You don’t have to die to see Cassandra. You have only to come to this holy place.’

  It seemed impossible, yet Lukien believed. In Torlis, where rivers turned to blood and gods came to life as serpents, what did it mean to talk to the dead? It was just one more miracle.

  ‘What do I do?’ he asked.

  ‘Think of a story, anything that is special between you and Cassandra. Think hard on it, and then carve the words into the stone. Not the whole story, just a few words. Just something that she will remember. And when you do, believe.’

  ‘Believe,’ echoed Lukien. ‘Yes, alright.’

  He picked up one of the chisels, a small tool with a blade kept sharp by some caring grounds-keeper. He knew exactly what to carve into the stone, remembering those long ago days when he would send secrets notes to Cassandra. He always signed them the same exact way.

  ‘When I first loved her she was the wife of my king,’ said Lukien in a low voice. ‘Every chance I had I sent her notes. It was our secret. She kept them, I know, and hid them from her husband Akeela. Lahkali, if I sign on this stone, will she know it is from me? Will it summon her?’

  ‘Yes, Lukien.’

  ‘But it’s just a stone. .’

  ‘No. Not here in the Story Garden. They are markers. They summon the ones we love. You have to believe, Lukien.’

  ‘Yes,’ Lukien agreed. ‘Alright.’

  He steadied the stone with one hand and began to carve with the other. Lahkali assured him that it made no difference how beautifully he carved or how he spelled the words. It was only the meaning that mattered, she explained, and how deeply he believed. Slowly, carefully, Lukien carved the stone with the words he’d used to sign his love notes all those years ago. It took long minutes for him to complete, and when he was done he leaned back and showed his work to Lahkali, who read the inscription and smiled.

  ‘Your Adoring Servant.’

  Hearing her say it made Lukien colour. ‘That’s it. That’s what I was to her. I still am.’ He looked at her blankly. ‘What now?’

  ‘Now you choose a place for it,’ replied Lahkali. ‘Someplace quiet and pretty.’

  *

  The place Lukien chose was away from all the other story stones, beneath a tree that reminded him of the apple trees in Lionkeep’s orchard. With Lahkali’s assurance that the stone would be left undisturbed, he set it down near the trunk of the tree and leaned back to study it. Lahkali had already left, telling him that she would return in an hour or so. Lukien stared at the stone, unsure how to begin. In the distance he saw an old woman kneeling comfortably by a stone of her own, a much taller and grander stone that had been carved with runes and gently sloping sides. Her face was serene as she spoke, confidently conversing with some dead loved one. Lukien noticed her casual demeanour, wondering again if this was all some elaborate ruse. Perhaps the dead did not come to the living at all here. Perhaps it was all just some grand imagining.

  Finally, Lukien placed his hand on the stone and thought of Cassandra. He had never summoned a spirit before, so he closed his eyes and concentrated, feeling a bit stupid.

  ‘Cass? I’m not sure what to say. If you’re here with me, please let me know.’ His hand began to tremble. His fingers brushed the stone, gently caressing it. ‘Maybe I was only dreaming up in the mountain, but it seemed so real to me. I was sure you would come, but you didn’t. I don’t know — maybe you never did come to me that one time.’

  He kept his eyes closed, making a picture of her in his mind. The picture was static, quiet and unmoving. Without a background, it was colourless. Lukien grimaced, realizing it was hopeless. Until the picture moved.

  It was not he who controlled it anymore. The image of Cassandra came alive on its own. Lukien’s hand froze on the stone. When he opened his eyes, the picture remained.

  ‘I can see you!’ he gasped. ‘Cass!’

  ‘I can feel you, Lukien,’ said Cassandra.

  His whole body swelled with her warmth. Lukien stared into the distance, looking past the trees and rolling lawn to the figure in his mind. Cassandra reached out a hand. The touch was sweet. Lukien melted.

  ‘You’re here,’ he sighed. ‘Cass, you’re real.’

  Cassandra’s face came clearly to him now, very close, as if she were laying next to him. She smiled serenely, her skin untouched by time or disease. ‘I am still here, Lukien,’ she said. ‘I told you I would be. I told you I would always be with you.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lukien, remembering. ‘I’ve felt you close. I’ve tried to reach you, so many times!’

  She could sense his agitation and quickly moved to calm him. ‘My love, it is the way things must be.’ She moved even closer, almost touching his nose with hers. For Lukien, there was nothing else in the world but her. ‘I

  promised you this place, and you found it.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lukien excitedly. ‘We can be together now always!’

  Cassandra shook her head. ‘Not yet. I brought you here to find the sword.’


  ‘I know, but I can’t find it, Cassandra. They won’t tell me where it is, not even Amaraz! But I can stay. Lahkali will let me. I don’t have to go. .’

  ‘Lukien, no.’ Cassandra’s face twisted as though she were in pain. ‘My love, you’re not done yet.’

  ‘But I am! I helped Lahkali. I came here. I did everything!’

  ‘Except find the sword.’

  Lukien stared at her. ‘I don’t want to know where it is. If you know, do not tell me.’

  ‘I have to, Lukien. I must.’

  ‘But how can you know? You never knew before! Cassandra, don’t tell me, I beg you.’

  Cassandra’s hurt expression grew. ‘I can feel the sword, Lukien. I can feel it very near.’

  Lukien put up his hands. ‘Damn it, no! I’m not a pawn anymore!’

  ‘No, beloved, you’re not,’ said Cassandra gently. ‘You’re a man of honour. And you have a duty.’

  ‘Duty?’ laughed Lukien. ‘Doesn’t anyone have a duty to me? Not even Amaraz talks to me! Why, Cassandra? Tell me that, will you?’

  Cassandra smiled. ‘I have all the answers now, my love.’

  ‘What?’ Lukien fell backward. ‘Why then?’

  ‘Because the sword has an Akari. The sword is yours. The Akari is yours.’ Cassandra closed her eyes dreamily. ‘I can feel him, Lukien. I can feel Malator. He’s waiting for you.’

  Lukien refused to accept her words. ‘No, Cassandra. You don’t understand. You’re not an Inhuman. I have an Akari. He’s a damned menace, but he’s mine.’

  ‘You’re wrong, my love.’ The pain left Cassandra’s face, and she opened her eyes with a smile. ‘Malator is your Akari.’

  Two hours later, Lahkali returned to the Story Garden. Beneath the tree where she had left Lukien, she found him still sitting alone. His eyes were open, but he was not speaking, and Lahkali knew that his conversation with Cassandra had ended. She took her time walking toward him, making sure not to disturb his contemplation, and when he turned to look at her he smiled. He looked tired, but also immensely pleased. Lahkali returned his kind grin.

  ‘It happened?’ she asked. ‘You have seen her?’

  Lukien nodded, then took the Eye of God out from beneath his shirt. ‘You see this? Soon I won’t need it anymore, Lahkali. I’m going to have an Akari of my own to keep me alive. A proper Akari.’

  Confused, Lahkali asked, ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The Sword of Angels,’ replied Lukien. His face was serene. ‘It’s mine. It belongs to me, and I know where it is.’

  48

  As he walked with Lahkali across the rolling greens of the Story Garden, Lukien felt more than simple bliss. What he felt was indescribable, too much for words, and because he had no words he said nothing. Lahkali’s voice was low and sweet, as though she were reading a sonnet to him. Lukien nodded politely, trying to listen, but his every thought was of his beautiful Cassandra and the brief, dream-like time they had spent together. She had touched him. From her place among the dead she had reached her hand across the void as though she were still alive. Her fingers burned with life and passion. Lukien thought of her and smiled.

  Jahan had been right about Torlis. It was indeed a place of miracles. And Lahkali had gifted him with the greatest miracle of all, one that made the river of blood seem like a parlour trick. Lukien floated as he walked, not really caring where the girl was taking him. He had told her about the crypt at the other end of the Story Garden, and she had smiled at him with open pleasure. Cassandra, now part of this strange city, had known at once where the crypt was located, finally ending the maddening mystery. But to Lukien, the revelation was merely one more tiny blessing. He no longer really cared about the Sword of Angels, or about the tale Lahkali was spinning. He had seen Cassandra, and for him that was enough.

  The sun continued to shine as Lukien and Lahkali made their way across the greens, over the hills and gulleys of the enormous garden. Lukien walked slowly, not really wanting to reach his destination. Just as Cassandra had told him, they were westward toward the sun, toward the tomb Lukien knew they would find there. Cassandra had told him everything, and he in turn had told Lahkali. The young Eminence seemed relieved as she told her secret tale.

  ‘When Malator died the tomb was built to keep the sword. His body was burned and his ashes taken to the sacred river. Only the sword lies within the tomb.’

  It was a remarkable story, and for Lukien, the end of a mystery. He nodded as he walked alongside the girl, not saying anything as she unburdened herself.

  ‘I have kept this secret since my own father died, and he kept it most of his life, just as all the fathers before him, from the time of Faros himself. Faros was the first. He was the Eminence who befriended Malator. When Malator came he asked for Faros to help him. You know this already, Lukien. The Jadori were murdering the Akari, and Malator came here to find allies. But Faros refused.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Lukien. ‘Why would anyone bring their people to war needlessly?’

  ‘Ah, but Malator warned otherwise. He told Faros that the Jadori would one day come here to Torlis. One day they would conquer Torlis, just as they would conquer the Akari. That was almost a thousand years ago. We are still waiting!’

  ‘The Jadori aren’t like that anymore,’ Lukien told her. ‘They were, but no longer. They’re good people. Peace-loving.’

  ‘As you say,’ agreed Lahkali. ‘But in Malator’s day they were bloodthirsty, and Malator was desperate. He begged the Eminence for help, but Faros always refused him.’

  ‘And so the Akari were slaughtered.’

  Lahkali nodded. ‘Yes, but not all at once. Malator stayed for months here in Torlis, trying to win Faros over. And that’s when he taught us how to commune.’

  ‘Ah! Tell me about that. You said the Story Garden was a gift.’

  ‘That’s right, but the garden took time. Malator did not build it all at once. At first he taught only Faros how to speak to the dead.’ Lahkali slowed a little and smiled at Lukien. ‘Faros was like you, Lukien. He grieved for a woman he loved. Malator knew this and gave the magic of the story stones to Faros so that he could talk to his beloved wife again.’

  ‘You mean he bribed him,’ said Lukien dryly.

  ‘And it almost worked! After months of trying, Malator had finally given Faros a reason to help him. But by then it was too late. By then the Jadori had won.’ Lahkali paused, considering her own, heavy words. ‘I don’t know how Malator knew, but he did. The story doesn’t explain that. I’ve always guessed it was his magic that told him what had happened to his people.’

  ‘He was right, though, however he knew.’ Lukien remembered what Raivik had told him of the slaughter. ‘So what happened to Malator?’

  ‘He never went back to his Kaliatha,’ said Lahkali. ‘He remained here in Torlis with Faros. He was bitter over what happened to his people, and too ashamed to go home and try to find anyone who might have survived. He spent the rest of his life here.’

  ‘And he built the Story Garden,’ said Lukien. ‘Yes?’

  ‘That’s right. He worked on it the rest of his life. The story says that it was a gift to all the people of Torlis for being so kind to him.’

  ‘A generous gift!’ laughed Lukien. ‘But what about the Sword of Angels?’

  Lahkali shrugged. ‘It’s yours now.’

  ‘That’s not what I mean, Lahkali.’

  ‘I know.’ Lahkali continued walking, looking down at her slippers. ‘Malator could have helped his people. He could have worn the armour that his brother Kahldris made for him. He told Faros of his brother, you see, and of all his evils. Kahldris placed himself into the armour to make a great weapon to defeat the Jadori, but his Malator shunned it.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Lukien anxiously. ‘That’s what Raivik told me. But he told me nothing of the sword, Lahkali, and so far you haven’t either.’

  Lahkali glanced ahead. ‘We’re almost there.’

  Lukien nodded.
Somehow, he could feel it. ‘Cassandra told me that Malator would be my Akari.’

  Lahkali smiled. ‘That is a good thing, yes?’

  ‘Yes,’ Lukien replied. ‘At least I think so.’ Still, the notion made him wary. ‘He’s calling to me. I can feel him.’

  ‘Malator?’

  Lukien stopped walking. ‘Tell me the rest of the story before we get there. Why did he make the sword, Lahkali?’

  ‘To stop his brother, Lukien. Somehow he knew his brother would survive. Before he died he placed himself into the sword that he brought with him from Kaliatha. That’s what the Akari do, yes? Place themselves into objects to make themselves more powerful? Like your amulet. .’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Lukien. ‘But I never really understood it. It makes them live on in this world, our world. It makes them strong here.’

  ‘Malator knew his brother would never die inside his armour, Lukien. He was old by the time he made the Sword of Angels, and so was Faros. He made Faros promise never to reveal the location of the sword to anyone. People who see Malator’s tomb don’t even know what it is. Only the priests know, and even they have no notion of the sword. It is a secret.’

  ‘But you knew I’d come for it,’ said Lukien. ‘How?’

  ‘Because that is what Malator told us would happen.’ Lahkali laughed. ‘They are so marvelous, the Akari! They see the future. They are truly like gods.’

  ‘No,’ said Lukien sourly. ‘They aren’t gods. They just think they are. They manipulate people into doing their bidding, and they never, ever explain themselves.’

  ‘Be at ease, Lukien,’ said Lahkali. She touched his hand gently. ‘You have your answers now.’

  ‘Do I?’ Lukien wasn’t so sure. He looked toward the west where he knew the tomb of Malator waited. The story stones were fewer here, spaced so far apart it was hard to see them, and except for himself and Lahkali, Lukien saw no one. A small bird in a nearby tree chirped when he saw them approaching. Lukien shook his head, angry that the oceanic happiness of seeing Cassandra had faded. ‘They have all used me,’ he grunted. ‘Not just Amaraz but Malator, too. And we’re all caught up in their ancient game. All right, so Malator will be my Akari now. But is that really a good thing?’