by John Marco
‘He is well, White-Eye,’ said Minikin. ‘He sends you his love.’
The message brought sadness to White-Eye’s face. It was plain that she missed him. ‘Has he said when he’ll return?’ she asked.
‘There is much in Jador that needs doing,’ said Minikin. ‘I’m sorry, child. He wishes he could be with you, but things are difficult. With Prince Aztar’s men on the move and so many Seekers. .’
‘I understand,’ said White-Eye. Forcing her mood to improve, she smiled down at Carlan, who still held Minikin’s hand. ‘But who’s this? Have you brought a new friend for me to play with?’
‘My name is Carlan,’ said the boy. Oddly, his blindness seemed no bother as he spoke to White-Eye. ‘I’m from Marn, but this is my home now. I heard you were very pretty, lady. I wish I could see you.’
White-Eye laughed in delight. She crouched to face Carlan. ‘Oh, you will see me soon enough, Carlan. Then maybe you won’t think me so pretty, hmm?’
Carlan reached out with his free hand and touched White-Eye’s face. The blind kahana did not flinch. She closed her eyes and let the boy read her features. Soon he gave a bright smile.
‘Pretty,’ he declared.
Lukien agreed. ‘Aye, but she’s taken, fellow. We’ll just have to find you another girl of Grimhold to love.’
‘White-Eye,’ said Minikin, ‘I will be returning to Jador soon. Carlan will need you to look after him while I am gone.’
‘Of course,’ said White-Eye. ‘But why leave so quickly?’
‘Because I have to speak with Gilwyn.’ Minikin gave a secretive smile. ‘I think his time has come.’
The answered confused Lukien, but made White-Eye beam. ‘That is good news,’ said the girl. ‘He will be very pleased.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Lukien. ‘What do you mean, Minikin?’
‘It is time for the boy to learn about his Akari, Lukien. He has matured, and he has a way with the kreel. I think his gift is starting to bloom.’
All Inhumans had a gift, as they called it. That much Lukien understood. Meriel’s gift was fire, because it was such a part of her. Were the kreels Gilwyn’s gift? It only made partial sense to Lukien, but then everything about the Inhumans confused him. His own Akari, residing in the amulet, had so far refused to speak to him, a mystery not even Minikin could explain. It had made Lukien bitter toward the very force that kept him alive, and less inclined to show interest in the Akari or their strange ways. He was happy for Gilwyn, though, because he knew the boy chafed to learn more. Still, the conversation had taken a difficult turn, and he groped for a way to excuse himself.
‘Minikin, if you are all right with the boy, I’d like to go find Baron Glass, to tell him about the Liirians.’
White-Eye’s interest was piqued. ‘Liirians?’
‘The new Seekers that came to Jador,’ Minikin explained. ‘They are from Liiria.’
‘And I’m sure Thorin would want to know that,’ Lukien added. ‘Have you seen him, White-Eye?’
‘No,’ replied the kahana. ‘I have kept to myself this evening.’
Minikin’s elfish smile sharpened. ‘Meriel might know where he is,’ she said, flicking her eyes in the young woman’s direction.
‘I was just going to see her, thank you very much,’ said Lukien. With a bow and goodbye to them all, he meandered through the crowded hall toward Meriel. The young woman was still where she’d been all along, backed into a dreary corner of the rocky walls. She straightened when she noticed Lukien approaching. The knight took pains not to draw too much attention to himself or to Meriel, who couldn’t bear the stares of others. Thankfully, Meriel had picked a quiet corner for their meeting.
‘Meriel, how are you?’ he asked. He came very close to her, easily seeing within her protective cowl.
In a demure voice she replied, ‘Well, Lukien, thank you. When I heard you were returning I wanted to be here to greet you. I hope you don’t mind.’
‘I never mind seeing you, you know that.’ He didn’t ask her why she hid in the shadows or why she didn’t go to greet Minikin. Instead he reached out and took down her hood. Amazingly, she allowed this. ‘But you’re breaking your promise. You know our agreement. I don’t want you to hide yourself, not from me.’
Her burned face revealed, she did not look away. ‘I. . have missed you.’
Lukien smiled. ‘It’s good to be missed.’
‘I’m glad you’re all right,’ she added quickly. ‘When you’re gone I worry.’ The love in her voice was plain. It hurt Lukien to hear it, because he knew it was love he could never return. ‘You shouldn’t worry,’ he told her. ‘I can look after myself, and this damn amulet makes sure nothing happens to me.’ Putting his hand to his breast, he could feel the Eye of God pulsate on his skin. ‘I couldn’t hurt myself if I wanted to.’
‘You should not jest like that,’ said Meriel. ‘Even the amulet cannot protect you from everything. I think you should care more about dying, Lukien.’
‘And I think you should care more about living, Meriel.’
The words weren’t meant to hurt, but Lukien could tell he’d struck the young woman. She glanced away, turning her unmaimed side toward him. For a moment Lukien thought to apologise, but quickly changed his mind. He had always been firm with Meriel, even in his kindness. It was what she needed, he had decided, whether she loved him or not.
‘I’m looking for Thorin,’ he said. ‘Have you seen him?’
Meriel nodded. ‘He was with me before. He came to tell me you were coming home.’
‘Where is he now, do you know?’
Meriel kept her face turned away. ‘He went to his rooms, I think.’
‘Look at me,’ said Lukien. Gently he took her chin and turned her face forward. She was always sadly pliant to his touch. ‘Remember, we don’t turn away from each other.’
Meriel nodded. ‘Go and find Thorin. He left me in a foul mood. He’ll be glad to see you.’
‘We will talk tomorrow, then,’ said Lukien. ‘If you like, I will take you for a ride, just the two of us.’
The woman’s expression brightened. ‘I would like that.’
‘Then we shall do it, I promise,’ said Lukien. He felt better, though it was because he’d slaked his guilt. ‘It’s late. I need food and rest and I need them now. But first I need to find Thorin.’ He turned as he wished Meriel a restful evening. ‘I will see you in the morning.’
Leaving behind the crowded hall, the knight went in search of Baron Glass, to tell him the news of the Liirian Seekers.
Meriel watched Lukien disappear through the crowd and exit the great hall. She was oblivious to the people around her, not even aware that her cowl was down and her face on full display. Tomorrow, she would have time with Lukien alone. Her mind turned quickly to her appearance, how best to improve it by the morrow. She knew no spells to turn her ugliness to beauty, though, and this discouraged her. All that she could do was make fire with her hands and burn herself. It saddened her that she didn’t have an Akari that could change the way she looked, or even make herself invisible. The albino Ghost had such an Akari, and he was hardly as ugly as she.
‘Sarlvarian, I love you,’ she whispered.
Her Akari was silent.
‘Do not hate me for thinking such things, I beg you.’
Still Sarlvarian said nothing, not even making his presence known with the smallest tremble.
‘I would not want to lose you. You must know that.’
Finally the spirit spoke, striking deep, almost painfully in her brain. I am not an old pair of shoes, Meriel. I am not to be bartered.
Guilt overwhelmed Meriel. She wanted to say something — anything — to placate the Akari, but it would be a lie and Sarlvarian knew her thoughts anyway.
Yet she was tantalised. If there were Akari to make a man invisible, could there be those to make her beautiful? To replace her scars forever, even with a magic mask? Meriel didn’t know. But she had learned one thing during her ye
ars in Grimhold — with the Akari, anything seemed possible.
8
Vanlandinghale
In Norvor, word travelled northward of King Lorn’s demise, and with it travelled Lorn himself, out of the Bleak Territories and into the Novo Valley, over the river Kryss and — at last — into Liiria. Along with his infant daughter, he had listened to the rumours following him from town to town, proclaiming his death in a great battle against Jazana Carr or his suicide in Carlion or his last, tearful words before being executed. But to Lorn’s great relief, none of the rumours had him travelling to war-torn Liiria.
It had taken weeks for Lorn and Poppy to reach Liiria. His first horse had expired in the Bleak Territories and he had been forced to walk with the infant in his arms until he was able to steal another. His money — that which he had carried out of Carlion or stolen off the Rolgans he had killed that very first day — had been very nearly exhausted by the time he and Poppy reached Liiria’s first city, Andola. By then his beard had grown back and the filth of the road had covered his face. He was no longer afraid of being recognised because he no longer looked anything like a king. On the border of Norvor and Liiria, near a tumultuous part of the river Kryss, he and Poppy rested in Andola. There he spent the last of his silver coins on a room and good food, and did not venture outside again for days. Both of them exhausted, they slept and enjoyed the roof over their heads, eating more than their fill because they were both half-starved. The innkeeper, a stout, pleasant woman named Hella, took care of Poppy and bathed her. Because the city was run by a notorious merchant-baron, a warlord who had sprung up in the chaos of the old king’s death, the innkeeper was accustomed to close-mouthed patrons and asked no questions of her guests, a trait for which Lorn was grateful.
After his spell in the city, Lorn discovered he didn’t want to leave Andola. Poppy seemed happy there, oblivious to the war raging around her, and Lorn felt safe in the chaos. Chaos was the very reason he had come to Liiria. He had known that no one would follow him here or be able to locate him among the mercenaries and their employers, all vying for little bits of the shattered kingdom. On his third night in Andola, Lorn finally left the shabby inn and walked the city streets. Once, when Akeela had been king, Andola had been a jewel on the riverbank, a hub of commerce second only to Koth, Liiria’s capital. As he walked with the moonlight on his shoulders, Lorn could see the remnants of what Andola had been, its grand old buildings now gutted by fire, its gardened avenues trampled by warhorses and siege machines. The highest building in the city — that of Ravel the Merchant-Baron — glowered over the streets like a brooding gargoyle perched on a hill. Lorn paused in the middle of a trash-strewn street to stare at it. Suddenly, he was overcome with melancholy.
‘Usurper,’ he muttered. Like Jazana Carr. Ravel and others like him picked at the bones of Liiria, fighting among themselves for scraps of flesh and gold dust. Andola was Ravel’s now, but he had designs on Koth as well. The two cities had already clashed in the year since King Akeela’s death; that news had reached Lorn all the way in Carlion. Lorn shook his head as he stared at Ravel’s impressive home. It was a mammoth place, not tall but wide, the kind of villa Norvan merchants favoured before they’d lost all their wealth in the civil war. A snaking road led up the hill to the home’s ornate gate, but beyond that much of the place was hidden behind trees and gardens. Lorn imagined the house’s owner, said to be a fat, pampered fop with too much money and too much ambition. Lorn had no use for usurpers. As he stood there, he imagined the day when Jazana Carr’s army would rumble through Andola and disembowel the merchant-baron.
But that was months off yet, certainly, and King Lorn the Wicked still had much to do. Penniless, he walked back to his little room at the inn and found Hella with Poppy, the infant asleep in a cradle the portly woman had loaned him. There was sadness in her eyes when Lorn returned; she enjoyed having a child in her house again, but knew that Poppy would soon be leaving. Lorn said nothing to her as he entered the chamber, keeping the door open behind him. It was very late and he expected Hella to go at once. When she lingered, he grew annoyed.
‘Will you be leaving in the morning?’ the woman asked.
Lorn nodded. He had already told her that. He sat in a wooden chair and pulled off his boots, trying to be quiet.
‘I will pack food for your trip,’ said Hella.
‘I cannot pay for it,’ said Lorn.
Hella’s smile was faint. ‘You and the child will need it, and I have enough. It’s been a pleasure having the little one here. I will miss her.’ She hesitated, not saying anything but not leaving the room, either.
‘Thank you,’ said Lorn. He leaned back and studied her with his heavy eyes. ‘Is there something else?’
‘Just wondering,’ began the woman carefully, ‘where you will go now. This is a dangerous country, as you’ve seen.’
‘My lady, I have been taking care of myself since I was a boy. You don’t have to worry about me, or where I’m going.’
‘But the child. . she’s so young.’
Lorn laughed, though he wasn’t amused. ‘Why is it that every woman thinks every man incapable of caring for a child? I can look after my brother’s daughter,’ he said, continuing the pretext he had perpetuated since meeting Hella. ‘But if you must know, we travel west from here, to Koth.’
‘Koth?’ The woman grew alarmed. ‘There’s nothing in Koth for anyone, especially a child. I know how to care for children. I raised two girls myself.’ Her alarm became a thin greyness. ‘They’re gone now.’ Looking at Lorn hopefully she added, ‘I can take care of this child if you’ll let me. Why should a man be burdened with an infant in such bad times? Go and make your way to Koth if you must. And when you return the child will be here, safe and waiting for you.’
Lorn pitied the woman. Though her offer was generous, it was impossible. He had never thought of Poppy as a burden, not even when carrying her through the Bleak Territories. She was the only thing precious to him now, and the only link he had to his dead Rinka.
‘You are kind,’ he told Hella, ‘but the girl is family. Her father — my brother — is in Koth,’ he lied. ‘He wants to see his daughter again.’
The argument was futile; Hella knew she couldn’t win. She drifted toward the open door. ‘I understand,’ she said. ‘It was nice having her here. Thank you for bringing her.’
Hella left before Lorn could reply, and he found that he was too stunned and too tired to reply after all. As the woman closed the door, Lorn looked over at his daughter, asleep in the wooden cradle. Hella had given her a blanket. It wasn’t new but it was carefully laid over the infant’s shoulders, the way it had been laid over Hella’s own daughters, no doubt. For a moment, he wondered at the wisdom of bringing Poppy to Koth. His plan was dangerous, and risky for the child. But he had come so far and lost so much already. He couldn’t stay in Andola, no matter how safe they felt. Koth was the key. Koth was the capital. Koth was the diamond Jazana Carr wanted for her crown.
‘I am King of Norvor,’ he whispered. ‘I must press on.’
What else was he if not king? Besides his daughter, his kingship was the only thing keeping him alive.
Too tired to go to his bed, Lorn leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Sleep came quickly, and with it came a dream of a vast library on a hill, and a last chance at victory.
Just as he’d promised Hella, Lorn left Andola the next day with Poppy, leaving behind the comfortable inn and heading west toward Koth on the horse he had purchased with the last of his money. They had food and milk for the trip and that was good, but Lorn cursed himself for not taking more gold and silver with him, though he admitted to himself that even in Carlion he’d had very little gold. It had all been spent months and years earlier, fending off a woman whose coffers knew no limits. As he cantered along the road, it occurred to him that he was comfortable in his poverty; he had simply gotten used to it. Then he remembered something his wife Rinka had said to them in one of those m
oments of despair.
No man is poor who has family.
That was all Lorn had now, just his daughter, bouncing merrily in a leather backpack sort of thing Hella had given him for the ride. When he had first heard his wife’s platitude, Lorn had laughed. His amusement had hurt Rinka. He remembered her wounded face now and sighed. Over his shoulder he spoke to his daughter.
‘It is a shame you never saw her, Poppy. She was beautiful, just like you’ll be when you grow up. Just like the sun and the stars.’
There were no stars yet, though the sun was starting to sink beyond the horizon. Because they had rested frequently during the day, Lorn decided to go on a bit further before camping for the night. They were only a day or so from Koth now, but they had passed very few travellers on the road, and that concerned him. The war between the Liirian factions had slowed commerce to a crawl, but he had hoped to see at least one friendly face to offer help should they need it. Still, Lorn kept on, heartened by the fact that their long trek was nearing an end, and by the time another hour had passed the sun was almost completely gone behind the tree line. It was then that he saw the stranger.
It was just a glimpse, but it was enough to unnerve him. Being king of such a fragile throne had made Lorn paranoid, and he was always in the habit of looking behind him from time to time, tossing a casual glance over his shoulder to make certain no one was following. Because they were on a particularly straight parcel of road, he gave in to his habit and peered down the way they had come. To his great surprise he saw a figure on a horse outlined in the waning light. He wore a hat, a cape, and Lorn couldn’t tell what else. Not wanting to look suspicious, he turned his attention back to the road, but only for a moment. When he looked back again the figure was gone. Lorn stared, puzzling over its disappearance. It wasn’t customary to follow without introducing oneself, especially on a road so empty. But night was falling quickly and Lorn thought it might just have been the darkness obscuring the man.