Authors: John Marco
The Eyes of God (97 page)
“You brood, my lady,” said Lukien. He sat down cross-legged near the smouldering twigs. “Sit with me, and tell me your name.”
Again the woman hesitated, but soon sat down across from him, to Lukien’s great pleasure. He was careful not to lift his gaze toward her, an avoidance she noticed at once.
“I don’t want to be shunned, sir,” she said flatly. “That is why I came to Grimhold. Look at me if we’re going to talk.”
“I’m sorry,” said Lukien, lifting his head. “I didn’t want to stare or make you uncomfortable.”
“I’m constantly uncomfortable. That’s my lot in life.”
“Why?” asked Lukien. He could barely see her green eyes in the depths of her hood, but he had noticed her hands, which were deeply and horribly scarred. “Are you a leper, my lady?”
“If I were shouldn’t you be afraid of me?”
Lukien shook his head. “No. Death no longer frightens me.”
The woman seemed intrigued by this, and within her hood her green eyes softened. Slowly she nodded. “I understand what that’s like,” she said. “I’m not a leper, Sir Lukien. I have burns. My face, my hands . . . my whole body, really. They make me look like a leper.”
Without knowing why, Lukien said, “Show me.”
And amazingly, the woman did so. Her ruined hands went to her hood, slowly drawing back the fabric and revealing locks of long blond hair. Her right side was beautiful, wholly unmaimed, and her green eyes sparkled hopefully as she watched Lukien, gradually revealing herself. But unlike her right side, her left was carved with deep, red scars running down toward her neck and disappearing beneath her cloak. Lukien steeled himself, refusing to flinch. It was a tragedy to behold, the two faces of the woman, so unalike, but he was steadfast. Instead of grimacing, he smiled.
“That’s better,” he said.
The woman laughed. “Better? You’re either very kind or blind in both eyes.”
“I mean it,” said Lukien. “You shouldn’t go around hiding your face the way you do. And why here? Minikin told me the Inhumans do not judge each other.”
“I hide my face as much from myself as from anyone,” said the woman. “I can’t bear to look at it and never could.”
“Was it fire?”
She nodded. Her pretty green eyes looked away. “When I was very young the house I lived in caught fire. My father and mother were both killed, but I was able to get away. My clothes were on fire when I ran into the street. Before anyone could douse the flames. . . .” She shrugged and put a hand to her damaged face. “. . . this happened to me.”
“That’s a terrible story,” said Lukien. “I’m sorry for you.”
The woman gave him an appreciative smile. “I was around twelve when it happened. At first I thought I would be all right, that my skin would grow back and I’d be normal. That’s what everyone told me. But of course I got older and I never got better, and I still have to live with the pain of it.”
“How did you come to Grimhold?”
“How does anyone come here? Minikin found me, about two years ago. I was an outcast, Sir Lukien. I had no family, and of course I had no husband. Do you have any idea how men react to a woman like me?”
“Yes, I’m afraid I do,” said Lukien. Suddenly he was the one feeling embarrassed and wished for a cloak of his own. The woman read his feelings at once.
“There’s no shame in being a man, Sir Lukien, and you are kinder than most. No man wants to wed a monster.”
“Come now,” said Lukien, “I thought that word wasn’t allowed here. And you’re no monster. I don’t want you calling yourself that, not in my presence at least.” He made sure he spoke directly to her without averting his eyes, and was surprised to find her easy to look at. “You still haven’t told me your name.”
“Meriel is my name,” she said.
“Meriel, nothing more? I thought the Inhumans had special names.”
“I never wanted an Inhuman name,” said Meriel. “I never really wanted to be an Inhuman, and Minikin didn’t make me take on a name. Before coming here people called me horrible things, Sir Lukien. I don’t care to hear those slurs again. I’m just not strong enough to endure them.”
“Then I will gladly call you Meriel,” said Lukien. “But you are an Inhuman—I saw what you did with the fire.”
“Yes,” said Meriel, staring down into the still smouldering twigs. “Fire is my curse.”
“You mean your gift, don’t you?”
“I mean what I say—fire is my curse. It’s part of my body; it’s inside my skin. I live with its pain still after all these years. I have an Akari to help cope with the pain, but. . . .” She paused and looked up. “You know of the Akari, yes?”
“Yes,” said Lukien. “Minikin told me about them. You have an Akari spirit that helps you.”
“That’s right. And if not for him my life would be constant agony. I’m grateful for Sarlvarian’s help, but I would gladly give up my abilities to have my real skin back. That’s why it is a curse, sir.”
“You can control fire?” guessed Lukien. “Because it’s part of your skin?”
“Fire made me what I am, that’s what Sarlvarian says. He’s my Akari, and he helps me control the pain as well as any flame.”
“That sounds like an amazing gift to me,” said Lukien. “Hardly a curse. To be able to make fire with a thought—”
“I cannot make fire,” said Meriel. “I can only control it. But if there’s any spark at all, any little ember, I can make an inferno from it. It was one thing that the Akari summoners could always do. The most powerful Akari, Amaraz, is a master of fire. Amaraz taught Sarlvarian to master fire so that Sarlvarian could help me.”
“Will you show me?” said Lukien. “I’d like to see.”
Meriel smiled at him. “Sir Lukien, I do these things with fire to entertain myself. By controlling fire, I can control the pain of my condition. That is the only reason for my. . . .”
“Gift?” injected Lukien with grin.
“If you say so.”
“When I came to Grimhold I saw a figure with a flame in its hand, standing with the other Inhumans. That was you, wasn’t it?”
Meriel nodded.
“It was very strange and beautiful. That’s what you are, Meriel. You’re compelling.”
The woman chuckled for the first time. “What a charmer you are, sir. As I said, you must truly be blind.”
“Oh, I see quite clearly. I’ve already seen many wondrous people here in Grimhold, and I count you among them. I don’t think you’re cursed, Meriel. If there is a cursed person in Grimhold, it is I.”
“Yes, I see that in you,” said Meriel. “You walk like one of the damned. Minikin has told all of us your story. I am sorry for you, Sir Lukien. You’ve lost a great deal.”
Lukien looked at her, surprised to hear such words from a woman who’d lost so much herself. Unlike the other Inhumans, Meriel had still not come to accept her maladies. Yet even she pitied him.
“I should go now,” said Lukien, standing suddenly. “I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
Meriel quickly grabbed his hand. “Wait,” she said. Gently she pulled him down beside her again. “Let me show you something.”
Lukien knelt beside her, confused. “Meriel, you don’t have to show me what you can do. I should not have pushed you.”
“No, I want to,” said the woman. “I want to do something for you.”
From out of the ashes of her fire she produced a single twig, its tip glowing faintly crimson. She blew on the twig to increase its light, then focused, producing a funnel of flame from the twig, a fire that did not burn down the length of the stick but rather expanded in the air around it. Enchanted, Lukien leaned in closer, marveling as the woman used her other hand to coax the flame upwards. As Meriel twirled her fingers the flame danced to her rhythms, following her fingertips, even changing color.
“Remarkable,” laughed Lukien. “Meriel, that’s amazing.”
“Wait,” said the woman. “I’m not done.”
The flame at the tip of the twig widened, changing color to a deep red, pulsing with magical life. Meriel concentrated, making the flame twirl in on itself, shaping it into folds. Lukien watched, transfixed, as the woman worked the dancing fires into a remarkable, living sculpture.
“A rose,” said Lukien, recognizing the shape instantly. The fire-rose leapt on the tip of the twig, alive and delicate. Meriel smiled proudly, handing her gift to Lukien.
“For you,” she said. “For being kind to me.”
Gently Lukien took the rose, careful not to douse its strange life. A huge grin split his face as he twirled it, watching tiny sparks leap out from its center.
“It won’t last,” said Meriel. “I can’t hold such complex shapes very long.”
Looking at the rose, Lukien felt a satisfaction he’d seldom known. “That’s all right. Nothing so beautiful lasts forever.”
“Look,” said Meriel sadly. Already the rose was fading. They watched it together until the shape collapsed and the twig was just a twig again. The death of the rose made the woman’s face wilt.
“No, don’t be sorry,” said Lukien. He laid down the twig and looked at Meriel, and in that moment decided she was beautiful. Leaning forward, he kissed her cheek. Not the pretty, soft cheek but the hard, scarred one.
“Thank you,” he said to her. “That was very beautiful. I don’t think a monster could have made such a thing.”
Meriel’s hand lingered on her face where he had kissed her. She seemed dumbfounded, unable to speak. Lukien didn’t want her to say a word. He merely rose to his feet, said good-bye to the strange woman, and went back to Grimhold, determined to find a way to save the Inhumans.
In less than an hour Lukien found himself once again in the keep’s lowest levels, where the armory was kept, still stocked full of weapons and Akari armor. To Lukien, who had spent his life as a warrior, the place was like a quiet refuge, something of a temple. It was dusty and dim and deathly quiet, but he loved to wander around the suits of armor, all of which were lovingly arranged against the wall and periodically cleaned by Inhuman attendants. As Lukien lit the oil lamps along the wall, the armory sprang to life. The metal suits tossed dancing shadows along the stone walls; ornate helmets with wings and horns glistened. At the far side of the chamber a rack of spears stood erect, their tips still sharp after years of disuse. Akari swords were piled high in forgotten corners. Lukien went to the swords and chose one from the pile, blowing the dust from its blade. It was large and slightly curved and remarkably light. He swept it through the air to test its balance, finding it perfect. A little smile curled his lips. The Akari had been a remarkable race. It was a shame that they were gone, a shame that the Jadori had wiped them out. According to Minikin, they had abandoned their own warlike ways for art and culture, and to develop their magical abilities of summoning. But none of that had helped them against the Jadori. And years later, when the Inhumans had discovered the Akari’s armory, nearly ruined and rusted, they had brought the weapons back to life with the forethought that someday they might be needed. Now that day had come, but there was no one skilled enough to wield them well. Lukien lowered the sword back into the pile. Perhaps that was simply the way of things, he mused. Perhaps the history of the world was the story of the strong slaughtering the weak, and now it was the Jadori’s time to be slaughtered. The thought depressed Lukien, but seemed horribly true. And what else was he but a pawn in that great game? Had he not done the will of Akeela’s father, battling the Reecians? And was he not Jazana Carr’s pawn as well, slaughtering Norvans because he could and because the pay was good?
Lukien leaned against the cold wall and let his shoulders slump. He had sworn to protect White-Eye, somehow. He owed that to Kadar. And now there was Meriel to protect as well, and all the other Inhumans who’d been kind to him. It was a great burden, and Lukien knew it could break him.
Suddenly he noticed another door at the far end of the chamber, a door he hadn’t noticed in his previous visits to the armory. From beneath the door crept a glowing light. Lukien took a small step forward. It didn’t surprise him he hadn’t noticed it before, but now that he did he was intrigued. He approached to it carefully, imagining the treasures he would find inside but knowing there was probably nothing more than dozens of rusty swords. When he reached the door, he paused to listen. There was no sound. A rusty bolt on the door had been slid aside, an open padlock dangling beside it. He tried the doorknob and found that it, too was unlocked, so he pushed the door slowly open. It creaked and groaned with heaviness, revealing a warmly lit chamber that was impeccably clean and startlingly bright. All the walls were bare, smooth stone. The chamber was empty, except for one remarkable artifact that glowed at its center, rising up like a dragon from the floor. Lukien’s hand fell away from the door. His jaw dropped in awe.
It was a suit of armor, perfect and unblemished, and it shone with an inner light that made it look as though it were made of black sunshine. It stood erect on a small dais, as though filled with an invisible body. Even the helmet hung in the proper place, a great, horned thing with a death’s head mask and rings of black chain mail. The breastplate shone like a mirror, and the shoulders were bolstered with sharp spikes. Greaves and sabatons made up the legs, while vambraces and gauntlets created the arms, giving the illusion of a living thing. It was as if the armor itself was alive, pulsing with preternatural light. Lukien stared at the armor, stunned by its brilliance and dark beauty. He had always prided himself on his own bronze armor, thinking it the most beautiful ever made. But his was like dust compared to this marvelous suit. His breathing slowed as he took a tentative step into the chamber. The armor on its dais rose up high before him. It was hard to fathom something so perfect, yet here it was, completely unmarred by battle, flawless in every detail. Lukien longed to touch it but did not. There was something forbidden about the armor, something that spoke to his brain on a primal level, warning him. So he merely stared, spellbound. He did not know how long he stood there, for he was entranced by the armor and quickly forgot the mission that had brought him to the cellars. But then he heard a voice calling his name. The sound broke his stupor, and he turned back toward the armory in time to see Minikin picking her way toward him. This time, her ubiquitous smile was gone.
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