The Eyes of God (45 page)
Authors: John Marco
Cassandra laughed. “Look at me, Akeela!”
“A miracle,” said Akeela. He did not turn around.
“Akeela, bring back the light. Look at me!”
“No. Stay in bed, Cassandra. Don’t move.”
“What? Why not?”
“Just don’t,” ordered Akeela. “I have something to tell you.”
A gigantic feeling of loneliness engulfed him. But Cassandra was his now, completely. There was solace in that. He stared at the wall, avoiding the temptation to look at her.
“The amulet has saved you, Cassandra, but there’s a price you don’t know yet.”
“Tell me,” Cassandra demanded.
“There is a curse. I don’t know how it works or why, but if you’re ever looked on with human eyes, the spell that’s keeping you alive will be broken.” Akeela sighed miserably. “No one must ever see you, Cassandra. Not even me.”
“What? You mean I’m a prisoner?”
“Until I find the other amulet, I can’t look at you. No one can.”
Cassandra bolted up in the bed. “No!” she cried. “This can’t be!”
“Don’t worry, my love. I’ve already thought about it. We’ll take out all the windows in this wing and brick them up. And I’ll hire blind servants for you, so you won’t be alone. . . .”
“Are you mad?” Cassandra shrieked. “I can’t live like that!”
“Oh, but you will. You’re well now, and I won’t risk losing you again.”
“No! I won’t live like this. If that’s how it will be, I won’t wear this damned amulet!”
Akeela had to stop himself from turning around. “Don’t you dare take it off. Don’t you dare.”
“You
are
mad,” said Cassandra. “Oh, Akeela, please listen to me. . . .”
are
mad,” said Cassandra. “Oh, Akeela, please listen to me. . . .”
“No, Cassandra, I will not listen. I have decided.” Akeela closed his eyes and turned back toward the bed. “You will wear the amulet and wait for me to find its twin. Then we can be together forever.”
“I don’t want to be with you forever,” said Cassandra. “You’re insane, and I don’t love you.”
“Yes,” hissed Akeela, “I know. You love Lukien. But you’ll have all eternity to forget about him, Cassandra.”
Cassandra was silent at the accusation.
“Nothing to say, my wife? You must think me a great fool. But I know what’s happened between you and him. And I’ve dealt with it. Lukien is gone now. You shan’t be seeing him again.”
“You killed him?” gasped Cassandra.
“No, but I will kill him if I must. If you take off that amulet, or if you let yourself be seen, or if anything should happen to break the spell that keeps you, then I will hunt Lukien down and I will kill him.”
“No
. . .”
. . .”
“And if he ever returns to Liiria for you, he will be executed.”
Cassandra began to sob. “Akeela, please . . . listen to yourself!”
Akeela had listened, and he’d liked what he’d heard. He was powerful now, something he had never been before. Men feared him. Men like Baron Glass. Men like Lukien. With his eyes still closed, he reached out and touched Cassandra’s cheek. He felt her tears and liked them, too.
“I told you I would never let you go, Cassandra.”
Then he turned and went to the door. Fishing a key out of his pocket, he opened the door and closed it fast behind him. He had to struggle in the darkness to find the keyhole, but when he did he quickly turned the tumbler, locking away his shrieking wife.
PART TWO
THE LIBRARIAN’S APPRENTICE
24
G
ilwyn Toms sat in a chair with his leg outstretched, staring at the contraption in Figgis’ hands. It was a shoe, essentially, but with a spring mechanism on its heel and a long series of straps up its neck. Its leather had been worked into unnatural curves. To Gilwyn, it looked more like a torture device than a shoe, but since it was a birthday gift he tried to smile. He was sixteen today, and if his mother was still alive she would have been here kissing him. But his mother had been dead two years now, and could give him nothing. Figgis beamed as he presented his gift, his rheumy eyes twinkling. He had worked long and hard on the thing and was proud of it, Gilwyn could tell. The boy kept his clubbed foot outstretched, hardly moving his fused toes. The appendage had been that way since his birth and its appearance no longer bothered him, nor did the look of his similarly useless hand. He sat back as Figgis eased the shoe onto his foot. There was no pain, just awkwardness. Teku, Gilwyn’s monkey, bobbed excitedly from her perch on a shelf, her golden tail swaying like a snake.
ilwyn Toms sat in a chair with his leg outstretched, staring at the contraption in Figgis’ hands. It was a shoe, essentially, but with a spring mechanism on its heel and a long series of straps up its neck. Its leather had been worked into unnatural curves. To Gilwyn, it looked more like a torture device than a shoe, but since it was a birthday gift he tried to smile. He was sixteen today, and if his mother was still alive she would have been here kissing him. But his mother had been dead two years now, and could give him nothing. Figgis beamed as he presented his gift, his rheumy eyes twinkling. He had worked long and hard on the thing and was proud of it, Gilwyn could tell. The boy kept his clubbed foot outstretched, hardly moving his fused toes. The appendage had been that way since his birth and its appearance no longer bothered him, nor did the look of his similarly useless hand. He sat back as Figgis eased the shoe onto his foot. There was no pain, just awkwardness. Teku, Gilwyn’s monkey, bobbed excitedly from her perch on a shelf, her golden tail swaying like a snake.
“Just relax,” said Figgis. With one hand he held Gilwyn’s ankle; the other shifted the shoe back and forth. “I know it looks strange, but you’ll thank me if it works.”
Gilwyn was already thankful. Figgis had been like a father to him for years. Or a grandfather, really. And now the promise of walking without a cane. . . .
“If it works will I be able to run?” he asked.
“Let’s start with walking, hmm?”
Teku squealed excitedly. She wrapped her tail around a spindle and swung down for a closer look.
“If this works as well as I hope,” said Figgis, “you won’t need your little friend so much. You’ll be able to reach the highest scrolls yourself.”
Gilwyn smiled. “Hear that, Teku? You might be out of a job soon.”
“No, no,” said Figgis. “There’ll always be a place for her here, just like the rest of us.” He gently eased Gilwyn’s foot further into the shoe. Gilwyn felt his bent toes reach the leather sole, then noticed it was curved to match his deformity. Unlike a regular, flat sole, this one was humped. Surprisingly, it seemed to match the contour of his foot perfectly.
“All right so far?” asked Figgis.
Gilwyn nodded. “I think so.”
“Good. Now don’t fight it—just let your foot slip into place.”
Gilwyn relaxed his clubbed foot the best he could and let the shoe fall in place around it. It was a snug fit, but Figgis had explained that was necessary for support. Figgis tested the fit by wiggling the shoe. Finding no play in it, he smiled.
“Perfect,” said the old man. “This just might work.”
He began tightening the straps around the neck of the shoe, which ran up Gilwyn’s calf almost to the knee. Gilwyn spied the door to Figgis’ study. He could hear voices down the corridor, and hoped no one would come in and see them. As usual, the library was crowded. It was noon, a peak time for visitors, and a contingent of scholars had come from Marn. They had been polite to Gilwyn when he’d met them, but had pitied him when they saw his limp.
“That’s too tight,” Gilwyn complained. “It’s pinching my skin.”
“It has to be tight,” said Figgis. “I told you; otherwise it won’t support you.” His old fingers worked the leather straps carefully, not wanting to hurt the boy. When he was finished, he leaned back to study his work. “There,” he pronounced. “What do you think?”
Gilwyn stared at the shoe. It looked odd, with its hinged heel and springs and tangle of buckles, but it felt fine. A bit tight, but otherwise a good fit. Even Teku seemed to approve of it. The little monkey jumped from the bookshelf to Gilwyn’s chair and climbed up on his shoulder, focusing her yellow eyes on the shoe as Gilwyn wiggled his foot.
“I like it,” Gilwyn decided. It was strong looking, like the boots the Royal Chargers wore. “Thank you, Figgis.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” said the old man. “Now comes the real test.” He rose and went to Gilwyn’s chair, then took him by the arm and pulled him gently to his feet. “Steady now . . .”
Gilwyn kept his weight on his right foot first, his good foot, then slowly tested the shoe. The hinged heel squeaked as he pressed down on it. Figgis shrugged.
“A little oil.”
Gilwyn tried a bit more weight. To his surprise the shoe held firm, keeping his ankle straight. He felt the leather bulge around his calf, straining against the strong straps. Buoyed, he brought down his full weight.
“Easy,” urged Figgis, still holding his arm. “I’ve got you.”
For Gilwyn, who had never really stood on two feet before, it was a triumph. He couldn’t keep the smile from overcoming his face. With Figgis’ help, he chanced a step forward and found to his delight that the shoe continued to hold. When he lifted it from the ground, the springed heel pushed him gently forward, providing power to muscles that had atrophied years ago.
“It’s working,” said Gilwyn excitedly.
But as soon as Figgis removed his grip, Gilwyn began to wobble.
“Careful,” said Figgis. “You’ll have to get used to it.”
Gilwyn struggled to balance himself, favoring his good foot. When he stopped wobbling he laughed with delight. Again he tried a step, and again the remarkable shoe urged him onward. Holding his arms out for balance, Gilwyn took the first real steps of his life.
“You did it, Figgis. I can walk!”
Figgis glowed. “Happy birthday, my boy.”
Gilwyn turned a bright smile on his mentor. “It’s a wonderful gift, Figgis. Thank you.”
Figgis sat himself down in Gilwyn’s vacated chair, admiring his handiwork. He smiled, not hiding his missing teeth. “Look at you, standing there straight as an arrow. Your mother would be proud.”
Gilwyn nodded, wishing his mother could see him. Beith Toms had never had a lot of money, but she had one thing she’d always been proud of—her son. He hadn’t seen his mother as often as he would have liked in the last years before her death; he had always been busy with Figgis, learning the librarian’s trade. But his mother hadn’t minded. She had served in Lionkeep nearly all her life, one of countless servants who kept the castle running, and she had always known that her boy was barely a mile away, safe under Figgis’ tutelage. It had been that way since Gilwyn was old enough to read; Figgis had become a surrogate father. But Beith was always there, not far, proud of her son, the scholar.
“You’ll need to practice,” Figgis cautioned. “Take it easy at first, don’t push yourself. Your leg might be sore until the muscles get used to it, but soon it will grow strong.”
“Yes, all right,” said Gilwyn. He was still shaky but immensely pleased. He took a small step toward the door, hoping the Marnans would see him now, without his cane. But there was no one in the hall. A few figures straggled through the bookshelves, not noticing him.
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