Authors: John Marco
The Eyes of God (53 page)
“Gilwyn?” he asked. “Something wrong?”
Gilwyn shook his head. “No, I’m just thinking.” He paused for a moment, then asked, “Figgis, do you know what Grimhold is?”
“Grimhold? Why are you asking about that?”
“I’m not sure,” said Gilwyn. “I keep thinking about it for some reason. Do you know anything about it?”
The librarian shrugged. “Nothing that isn’t known by everyone else. Grimhold’s a myth. They say it’s a place of monsters.”
“Monsters.” The word intrigued Gilwyn. “And sorcerers?”
“I suppose. The legend goes that the monsters of Grimhold are led by a witch. She steals children.”
“Steals children? What for?”
“I’m no expert, Gilwyn,” said Figgis. He seemed almost annoyed at the questions. “Grimhold is just a tale. A good story, nothing more.”
“But there must be books about Grimhold, right? Somewhere in the library maybe?”
“Probably,” said Figgis. He shooed Gilwyn away. “Now go to bed. It’s late.”
Gilwyn took a single step out of the room, then stopped again. “Do you think you could find me a book about Grimhold, Figgis?”
Figgis sighed. “Gilwyn, please. It’s late and we’ve got work to do in the morning. I really can’t have you wasting time daydreaming about Grimhold while I do all the heavy lifting around here.”
“You’re right, Figgis, I’m sorry,” said Gilwyn. Then he smiled. “But you can find me some texts about Grimhold, can’t you?”
“Great Fate, you’re a pest sometimes! All right, I’ll dig up something for you. But it might take me some time. Until then, try and lend a hand around here, will you? For old times’ sake?”
Gilwyn bowed. “Promise. Thanks, Figgis. Good night.”
“Good night!”
Satisfied, Gilwyn left the study and made his way to his little bed chamber. He put Teku into her unlocked cage, stripped off his wet clothes, and slipped lazily into his night shirt. Outside his window he could see the fractured light of the moon as he pulled the bedcovers over himself. The memory of the strange woman in the alley played through his mind, yet he was not afraid. Too exhausted for fear, he closed his eyes and dreamed of tomorrow, when he would meet the dark-haired girl at last.
27
C
assandra sat alone in her bed, her mind full of images. The tolling of a distant clock absently spoke the midnight hour, but Cassandra was wide awake as she dreamed, consumed by better days. Darkness shrouded her bedchamber. Only the flicker of a candle behind a canvas partition invaded the gloom. On the other side of the partition sat Akeela, blinded by the heavy canvas yet still able to speak to her. His voice droned through the midnight silence as he read from a book of poetry. He had been ridiculously excited by the latest books from his library, and had been reading to her for hours now. Unable to face another of his dreadful performances on the eve of her meeting with Lukien, Cassandra had protested, feigning a headache. But Akeela had insisted. Like a child, he never gave her any peace. And he never seemed to tire, either, or to improve in his performance. He tried gamely to entertain her with poems and plays, but his skill was amateurish and his ebullience irritated Cassandra. Tonight, he was unbearable. His ceaseless voice tore through her like a nail, forcing her to daydream her way to freedom. Now, as Akeela worked his way through a particularly tedious sonnet, Cassandra was reminded of Lukien and the hours they had stolen together, long ago. Tomorrow she would see him again. And then, if the curse of her amulet truly existed, she would die.
assandra sat alone in her bed, her mind full of images. The tolling of a distant clock absently spoke the midnight hour, but Cassandra was wide awake as she dreamed, consumed by better days. Darkness shrouded her bedchamber. Only the flicker of a candle behind a canvas partition invaded the gloom. On the other side of the partition sat Akeela, blinded by the heavy canvas yet still able to speak to her. His voice droned through the midnight silence as he read from a book of poetry. He had been ridiculously excited by the latest books from his library, and had been reading to her for hours now. Unable to face another of his dreadful performances on the eve of her meeting with Lukien, Cassandra had protested, feigning a headache. But Akeela had insisted. Like a child, he never gave her any peace. And he never seemed to tire, either, or to improve in his performance. He tried gamely to entertain her with poems and plays, but his skill was amateurish and his ebullience irritated Cassandra. Tonight, he was unbearable. His ceaseless voice tore through her like a nail, forcing her to daydream her way to freedom. Now, as Akeela worked his way through a particularly tedious sonnet, Cassandra was reminded of Lukien and the hours they had stolen together, long ago. Tomorrow she would see him again. And then, if the curse of her amulet truly existed, she would die.
A clap of thunder detonated above the tower, muffled by the thick walls of her chamber. Akeela had told her it was raining; the storm had come unexpectedly. The rain reminded her of that dewy morning when she had first given herself to the Bronze Knight. In her mind she could smell the apple orchard, the freshness of peat, and the moist spring mist. The thought brought a secretive smile to her lips. Until then she had supposed Lukien would be brutal as a lover, but he had been gentle with her. He’d had none of Akeela’s clumsiness, either, and she adored him for it. And in their subsequent couplings he had learned to play her like a harp, so that her body made the most exquisite music.
And then Akeela had gone mad. And Lukien had been banished.
Cassandra opened her eyes in the darkness. As she listened to Akeela’s voice, she heard the taint of insanity. He had aged. Unlike her, time had played its tricks on him. But he still had his childlike exuberance, and he still loved her, though his love was a sickness. She studied his voice as it climbed over the partition, listening to it rise and fall, imparting his words with melodrama. Surprisingly, she had never been able to hate Akeela. He had banished Lukien, Liiria’s greatest hero, and he had blinded Jancis. He had neglected Koth to the point of ruin while squandering every drop of taxes on his elaborate library. In his paranoia he had crushed the chancelleries, and in doing so he had become a tyrant, imprisoning the long-dead Baron Glass and other good men and taking their wealth for his own. Baron Glass had languished for two years in Borior prison before being exiled to the Isle of Woe. Akeela had wanted him executed, but Cassandra’s intercession had been enough to save the baron, consigning him instead to certain death among the savages of an island prison. He had died there, presumably, and Akeela had never spoken of him again, as though the memory of the baron was something to be expunged.
Yet for all his crimes, Cassandra still pitied Akeela. He was a fragile man, still a child in so many ways. As she listened she heard the love in his voice. Truly, he still thought she enjoyed his company. And he still craved to be near her. He hadn’t laid eyes on her in sixteen years, nor had he dared to touch her in the darkness, not since that first time. But the inference in his tone was always clear. He hungered for her like a starving man, and would never take another woman to satisfy his lust. He had told her many times that their marriage was sacred. To Cassandra, their marriage was a farce. Still, she admired Akeela’s fortitude. His madness had given him a peculiar strength.
Could she be just as strong, she wondered? So far, the prospect of dying hadn’t frightened her, yet by midnight tomorrow she might well be dead. Would it take long for human eyes to kill her? Would there be enough time to tell Lukien all she wanted to say? A few moments was all she wanted. That would be enough to look at him, to touch his face, to see the man he had become, and to tell him that she loved him still. In her sixteen years of isolation, she had learned that love was timeless. She smiled, struck by her own poetry. Lukien was a warrior with a poet’s soul. She had unearthed the truth in him. Tomorrow, if she died, she would stand before the Fate, that great and mysterious entity that oversaw the world. She would be commanded to list her life’s accomplishments, and she knew that she would put Lukien at the top of that list. Loving him had changed her life. He had been worth all the dismal aftermath.
Akeela cleared his throat unexpectedly. There was a long silence, and Cassandra could hear him turn his face toward her through the partition.
“Cassandra?” he asked. His voice was a bell, crystal clear and cutting. “Are you awake?”
“Yes, Akeela, I’m awake.”
Another pause.
“You haven’t said anything in a while. I thought you had fallen asleep.”
“No, Akeela.”
There was a rustle as Akeela closed the book. “You are preoccupied tonight.”
“No, I just didn’t want to interrupt you,” said Cassandra.
“You are preoccupied,” Akeela repeated. Cassandra heard him lean back in his chair. His silhouette on the canvas seemed to slump. He was thinking, and that was always a bad thing. He could be very perceptive sometimes. Cassandra tried to mask her thoughts. When she did not reply, he asked her, “What are you thinking about, Cassandra?”
“I’m sorry, Akeela, my mind was wandering,” she confessed. “It’s late, and I’m tired.”
“Yes,” Akeela drawled. “And how is your headache?”
There was a peculiar accent on the word headache that made Cassandra cringe. He could always tell when she was lying, even through the darkness.
“Better now,” she replied. She watched his shadow through the fabric, lit by candlelight. He didn’t stir, but sat as still as stone. His silence frightened her, and she cursed herself for being so stoic with him. Now he was suspicious. “Keep reading,” she urged. “You haven’t finished the sonnet yet.”
“Perhaps I shouldn’t read you love poems. They make you pensive.”
“No,” laughed Cassandra. “I enjoy them.”
“Why?”
The question hung in the air. Anything Cassandra said would be a lie, so she replied, “Because you read so well, and because it is good to hear your voice.”
“No other reason?”
Cassandra frowned. She could tell he was baiting her. “Should there be another reason, Akeela?”
Akeela didn’t answer. She watched his silhouette for movement, but he didn’t flick a finger. She could tell he wanted to say something to her, to bring up the ugly accusation that was always on the tip of his tongue, waiting to fall off. Cassandra grew angry suddenly. Tonight, on the eve of her meeting with Lukien, the very night before her possible death, she decided to push him.
“Say something, Akeela.”
Akeela’s breathing quickened. “I know what you’re thinking when you hear love poems, Cassandra.”
“Do you? Tell me, then.”
A great sigh came from behind the partition. “You’re lonely. And that’s my fault. I’ve failed you.”
“What?”
Akeela rose from his chair and shook his head in despair. “It’s true. You are alone because of me, because I’ve failed to find the other amulet.”
Cassandra wanted to laugh. “No, Akeela. . . .”
“Don’t spare my feelings. I know what you think of me. You’re right—I have failed you. I’ve left you to rot in this room all alone, without a husband to comfort you. I’ve done my best to keep you company, but it’s not enough. You need me, Cassandra. All of me. A voice in the darkness isn’t good enough, not after so much time. What kind of husband is that?”
“Akeela, stop,” said Cassandra. She sat up to give her voice emphasis. “I’m fine, really.”
“You’re not fine. You can’t be. But you will be someday, Cassandra, I promise you.” Akeela went to the partition and put his hand up to the fabric. His ghostly silhouette lingered there, unable to reach her. “I love you, Cassandra.”
The words were terrible. Such beautiful words, warped by time and obsession.
“I know,” said Cassandra softly. She closed her eyes, and again thought of Lukien.
“We will be together again, I swear it.” Akeela’s voice was brittle. “I’ll find the other Eye, no matter what it takes.”
“Yes, Akeela. All right.”
“And then we can be together forever.”
“Yes, Akeela. Forever.”
Forever. It didn’t matter anymore to Cassandra. She would be dead long before then.
28
G
ilwyn spent the entire day at the library with Figgis, cataloging and shelving books and helping the scholars from Marn locate history texts. He worked diligently, doing his best to prove his industry to Figgis, who soon forgot the events of the previous night. The day was sunny and warm and the library was crowded with visitors. A large group of local farm children had come for Figgis’ weakly reading class, as well as a contingent of educators from Reec who had arrived to study the library’s elaborate cataloging system, a mathematical wonder Figgis himself had devised. Gilwyn was in good spirits as he worked, and he had mostly forgotten about his strange encounter in the alley. Too busy to give it much thought, he instead occupied himself with work and anticipating his upcoming rendezvous. Tonight, if all went well, he would finally see the dark-haired girl again.
ilwyn spent the entire day at the library with Figgis, cataloging and shelving books and helping the scholars from Marn locate history texts. He worked diligently, doing his best to prove his industry to Figgis, who soon forgot the events of the previous night. The day was sunny and warm and the library was crowded with visitors. A large group of local farm children had come for Figgis’ weakly reading class, as well as a contingent of educators from Reec who had arrived to study the library’s elaborate cataloging system, a mathematical wonder Figgis himself had devised. Gilwyn was in good spirits as he worked, and he had mostly forgotten about his strange encounter in the alley. Too busy to give it much thought, he instead occupied himself with work and anticipating his upcoming rendezvous. Tonight, if all went well, he would finally see the dark-haired girl again.
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