Authors: John Marco
The Eyes of God (52 page)
“Very good, Trog,” said his mistress. “Let him go now.”
The order given, Trog discarded Jorry by flinging him aside. Jorry tumbled, collided with the wall, then sat up whimpering and cradling his broken arm. Trog lumbered forward, now eyeing Harl.
“Don’t you touch me!” cried the thief. “I swear, I’ll kill you!”
If Trog heard the threat, he ignored it. His hand shot out and seized Harl’s throat, his fingers circling like ropes around his windpipe. The thief jerked as Trog lifted him to his toes. Harl’s hands working uselessly to pry off the iron grip. As he choked for air, the little woman studied him pitifully.
“You see where violence gets you?” she sighed.
Harl’s eyes bulged. “Please. . . .”
“Please what? Please let you go? Please release you so you can rob some other poor soul? Is that what you want me to do?” She looked over at Jorry, still crumpled in pain. “Is that what I should do, Jorry?”
Jorry said nothing, grimacing against the agony of his broken arm. Gilwyn could see bones breaking through the skin. His right shoulder hung at an odd angle, dislocated.
“Answer me, you frog of a man,” commanded the woman. Her strange amulet glowed an angry red. “Speak for your friend here, or Trog will snap his neck.”
Harl let out an anguished cry. The little woman tapped her foot impatiently. “Well?”
“Let us go,” Jorry pleaded. He struggled to his feet. “We wouldn’t have harmed the boy.”
“Why don’t I believe that?”
“Please!” gurgled Harl. Trog kept his fist around the man’s throat, his face emotionless.
“Don’t beg,” said the woman. “Give me your word that you’ll harm no one else, and you may go free.”
“Yes!” gasped Harl. His face had turned apple red.
The tiny woman held up a finger. “Wait. Before you make your promise, I want to show you something.” She turned to Gilwyn, waving him closer. “Gilwyn, come and stand near me.”
Gilwyn hesitated.
“I won’t hurt you,” said the woman.
Her gentle tone encouraged Gilwyn’s trust. Teku slid down from his shoulder to rest in the crux of his arm. When he was safely beside her, the woman took a deep breath, closed her eyes in concentration, and spoke in a toneless whisper. They were words Gilwyn had never heard before, incomprehensible, musical words. And when she opened her eyes the fog in the alley began to shift. The wall her magic had erected disappeared, and it its place rose up two twisting pillars of mist. Jorry staggered back as the pillars took form. Harl’s already bulging eyes popped. And Gilwyn stood in fixated horror, watching as the mists shaped themselves into ghostlike figures. They were human and inhuman, beautiful and terrifying, and their faces shifting from angelic to demonic like the swinging of a pendulum. They had no feet; gusts of fog carried them forward. Their arms floated beside them, ending in insubstantial fingers. As they drifted closer they outstretched their ghostly hands, one caressing Jorry, the other engulfing Harl. Both thieves screamed at the ghastly touch.
“Trog, release him,” said the woman.
Trog’s fist opened, letting Harl crash to the ground. The spirit-thing still clung to him. He and Jorry batted at the creatures, their arms sailing uselessly through empty air.
“Jorry and Harl, these are your Akari,” said the woman. “I have summoned them for you. They will watch you always. You will never be rid of them.”
“Get it off!”
“Jorry, are you listening to me? Because it’s very important. These spirits are part of you now. They will go with you everywhere, see everything that you do.”
The little woman stepped toward them, raising her hands to heaven. Instantly, the ghosts dissipated. Jorry and Harl looked at her, their faces drawn with shock.
“They have not gone,” she told them. “They are bound to you. You cannot see them, but I assure you they are here now.”
“Great Fate,” whimpered Jorry.
“Remember our bargain,” continued the woman. “If you ever threaten another of my children, the Akari will return. Now. . . .” She turned and gestured toward the open alley. “Go and trouble us no more.”
The thieves looked about in terror. Trog still towered over them, but the ghosts were nowhere to be seen.
“Go!” barked the woman. The order snapped the men from their stupor. They staggered to their feet and hurried out of the alley, looking back in fright until they disappeared into the rainy night.
For a long moment Gilwyn couldn’t speak. Fear and fascination held him stiff. He stared down the alley, his arm still around Teku. The woman went to her giant companion and touched his arm. Surprisingly, she asked if he was all right. The giant nodded but did not speak.
“How’d you do that?” Gilwyn finally asked. “What were those . . . things?”
The lady smiled. “Always full of questions.”
Gilwyn inched toward her, studying her peculiar coat and impish face. The glow of her amulet dimmed to a dusky crimson; the patches of her coat stopped swirling.
“Who are you?” Gilwyn asked.
“Friends,” replied the woman. “Do not fear us, Gilwyn.”
“How do you know my name?”
The evasive smile reappeared. “You are Gilwyn Toms, from the library.”
“But you’ve never been to the library,” said Gilwyn. “Believe me, I’d remember you.” He glanced between the midget woman and her mute companion. Raindrops dripped into the giant’s eyes, but he hardly blinked.
“We travel, we hear things,” said the woman. “We have heard of you, Gilwyn Toms.”
“But how? Who are you?”
The woman looked up into the sky. A strong breeze blew her milky hair. “It’s late. The storm is just starting. You should get home before the worst of it.”
The strange prediction rattled Gilwyn. “You know how long it’s going to rain?”
“Questions, questions . . .”
“Tell me who you are,” said Gilwyn. He studied her, then whispered, “Are you a sorceress?”
The woman’s black eyes widened, “Oooh, now there’s a word you shouldn’t use, not in Koth these days. Protect yourself, young Gilwyn. Don’t ask so many questions. And forget what you saw here tonight. Just accept our help and be on your way.”
“Forget? How can I forget any of this? I—”
“Shhh,” bid the woman. “Too much talk. Go to your horse and get home.”
“Oh, no. My horse!” In all the commotion, Gilwyn had forgotten he was lost. “I don’t know where he is.”
The woman reached up and touched Gilwyn’s face. She said softly, “Your horse?”
“Yes,” said Gilwyn. He blinked, feeling sleepy, but when she removed her hand the dullness passed.
“Where is your horse, Gilwyn?”
Gilwyn thought for a moment, and suddenly everything was obvious. The terrain of Koth flashed through his mind, clear as daylight.
“Near Capital Street,” he said. He pointed east. “That way.”
The woman smiled. “Then you should go that way.”
Gilwyn nodded. “Yes.” A great relief washed over him. “Yes, I need to get home. But those creatures. . . .”
“They are Akari,” the woman corrected. “Spirits from a world beyond this one. Now be on your way.”
Still Gilwyn wouldn’t go. “Spirits? What kind of spirits? And you said they’d stay with those men. How’s that possible?”
“Gilwyn, because you are troubled I will tell you this—the spirits will not harm those men. I lied because I wanted to frighten them. But there’s no reason for them to be afraid of the Akari, and neither should you be. And more than that I won’t say.” She took her bald companion’s hand and started off down the alley, sparing Gilwyn one last grin. “Get home, young Gilwyn. Before the storm gets worse.”
Then they were gone, swallowed up by the gloom. Gilwyn watched them as long as he could, staring at the alley for long minutes after they were gone. The rain had thickened. His clothes were drenched and Teku’s fur had flattened against her skin, yet all he could do was stare. Something remarkable had happened tonight, and he couldn’t begin to explain it. He thought of asking Figgis when he got home, but quickly remembered how the strange little woman had asked for his silence. For some reason, he intended to keep her secret. Finally, unable to endure the rain another moment, Teku tugged at his ear.
“All right,” said Gilwyn. “We’ll go.”
As quickly as his sore foot would carry him he began his long trek toward Capital Street, toward the place where he knew, somehow, Tempest still awaited him. And as he walked a strange word kept popping into his mind, a word he knew only from fairy tales and children’s songs. Despite the many distractions filling Koth’s streets, the word would not leave him.
The word was Grimhold.
Near midnight, Gilwyn finally returned to the library. He discovered a very cross Figgis waiting for him. Gilwyn had tried to avoid his mentor, but reaching his bedchamber meant passing the old man’s study, and that’s where he discovered Figgis. The old man had heard Gilwyn enter the hall and was drumming his fingers expectantly on his desk. There were bags under his eyes from staying up well past his bedtime. As soon as Gilwyn crossed the threshold, he barked, “Where have you been?”
Gilwyn didn’t know how to answer. “I’m sorry, Figgis. I didn’t mean to be gone so long.”
“Do you know what time it is? It’s been dark outside for hours!” He jabbed a thumb toward the room’s tiny window. “I was worried sick about you!”
“I’m sorry,” repeated Gilwyn. “I lost track of time. I had something important to do.”
“What?” Figgis demanded. “What’s so important that you had to leave me here fretting over you?”
Exhausted, he could only shrug. “I can’t explain it.”
Figgis rose from his chair. “Look at you. You’re drenched!” He stared at Gilwyn, demanding an answer. “Tell me where you were.”
“I went into the city,” replied Gilwyn. “I told you, there was something I had to do.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Figgis, I’m tired. . . .”
Before Gilwyn could try to leave, Figgis went to the doorway to block his way.
“Gilwyn, I can’t have you running off without telling me where you’re going. I spent the whole afternoon expecting you back here. I had to deal with all the work myself. And when you didn’t return by nightfall. . . .”
“I’m sorry,” said Gilwyn. The worry in Figgis’ eyes shamed him. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to confess the reason for his trip into Koth. As much as he wanted to tell Figgis about the dark-haired girl, he knew the old man would murder him for skulking around Lionkeep. Gilwyn sighed and fell into Figgis’ chair, miserable and contrite. “I didn’t mean for you to worry. I didn’t think I’d be gone so long.”
Figgis hovered over him. “What happened to you? Trouble?”
Gilwyn looked away. His strange experience in the alley was just another thing he couldn’t confess. “I’m fine,” he said. “I just got caught in the rain.” Then he laughed, adding, “I lost my way.”
“In Koth? I could have told you that would happen. It’s not a city for a boy, Gilwyn, especially not at night.” Figgis brushed some clutter from his desk and sat down, smiling gently at Gilwyn. “Now, want to tell me what really happened?”
Gilwyn merely shook his head.
“Gilwyn, you’ve been acting odd lately. You’ve been ignoring your work, forgetting things. . . .”
“I know, Figgis. I apologize.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were in love.”
Gilwyn looked up. “What?”
“Is that it, boy? Have you gotten yourself a sweetling?”
A rush of heat filled Gilwyn’s face. “No,” he said quickly. “No, I’m just . . . thinking a lot lately.”
“Uh-huh.”
“No, really.”
The old man laughed. “You’re sixteen now, Gilwyn. Old enough to be sweet on someone.”
“I’m not!”
“And you’re old enough to have some secrets,” Figgis conceded. “If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to.”
For some reason, Gilwyn feared he would cry. His foot was aching and Teku was half asleep on his shoulder, and all he could think of was his ordeal in the alley. He wanted desperately to talk to Figgis, to enlist the old man’s help in winning the beautiful girl from Lionkeep, but he was afraid. Figgis was a good man. Sometimes, Gilwyn felt he didn’t deserve him.
“Figgis, I want to keep my secret,” he said. “For a little while longer, at least. All right?”
Figgis nodded. “All right.” He got up and held out his hand for Gilwyn, who took it and let Figgis pull him to his feet. “We’ve got a lot to do tomorrow,” said Figgis. “Go to sleep now, and we’ll forget about it. But I want your word that you’ll tell me before going off on your own again. You may be sixteen, but I’m still master of the library.”
“I will, Figgis, I promise.” Gilwyn moved toward the door, relieved the conversation was over. But before he could say good night, the same strange word popped into his mind again. He hovered in the threshold. Figgis stopped fiddling with the papers on his desk.
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