by John Marco
‘It’s so beautiful,’ he said softly. Besides Jador, he saw the ranges of the far-off mountains, their jagged peaks fuzzy and obscure. He could see the wind blowing the sands in great arcs of living sculpture, the same way it moves the clouds slowly across the sky. It was, he decided, too beautiful to describe, and he fell instead into a contemplative silence, pleased and excited and sure that his life was about to change. Behind him, Minikin stood back and let him enjoy the moment alone. She wore her magic coat of many colours and kept her hands clasped over her flat belly. She was not a witch, but the way the wind blew her long white hair made her look like one. Gilwyn turned to study her. He wanted to speak but didn’t know what to say. Emerald rested some yards away. The kreel’s expression held disinterest, but Gilwyn could feel the beast’s underlying concern. All the way up the mountain, he had sensed Emerald’s confusion.
‘It feels like we’re all alone up here,’ said Gilwyn at last. ‘Like we’re the only two people in the world.’
‘Our world yet sleeps,’ answered Minikin. ‘Listen to that silence. Even the scorpions are still.’
It was true, and it unnerved young Gilwyn. Today was the day he had long awaited, when at last Minikin would teach him of his Akari. Why had she brought him to such a desolate place?
‘To be alone and undisturbed,’ the mistress answered. ‘To clear your mind. To spend a day in the bosom of heaven. To get closer to the angels.’
As she spoke she kept her grey eyes on Gilwyn, and he could feel her powerful mind probing his own. How effortless it was for her to crawl into another’s skull. Would she gift him with these powers? The blood raced through Gilwyn’s vessels.
‘I want to learn,’ he said. ‘I’m ready.’
Minikin smiled. ‘You’ve waited a long time. You’ve been patient, and I’m glad for it. Our lives have been difficult here. Things have been thrust on you that you never could have expected, Gilwyn, and I have been too busy to watch you. When I first told you about Ruana I asked you to be patient. Do you remember that?’
‘Of course,’ replied Gilwyn. It was impossible to forget that first day he had learned about Minikin and the Inhumans. ‘I think of it every day.’
‘I marked you when you were a baby and made you one of us. You’ve had a year to think about that. Tell me true – have you ever regretted that?’
It made no sense to lie to Minikin, so Gilwyn told her what was in his heart. ‘Never. I feel at peace here, Minikin, like I belong with the Inhumans. And I love White-Eye. If you hadn’t marked me, I would never have met her.’
The answer pleased the little lady. Her smile held a great fondness. She went to Gilwyn and looked out over the desert valley. So tiny was she next to him that Gilwyn had to gaze down to see her face.
‘There is so much in this world to see and try to understand. Your mentor Figgis was a man of science, but he had an open mind, yes?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Gilwyn. ‘He believed in Grimhold before anyone else did. He was able to convince King Akeela about it.’
‘Hmm, well, we shall forgive him that,’ said Minikin. ‘But it is true that learned men do not often believe in the things they cannot see or hold in their hands. In Liiria they believe in the Fate and other deities because they must, because they are desperate to believe and would drink sand if they were told it was water. But outside of these orthodoxies they do not believe. Or they fear.’ The little mistress looked up at Gilwyn. ‘But you are not like that, Gilwyn, and you have never been. You are a dreamer. That’s a good thing to be.’
Gilwyn grinned. ‘I’m always full of questions, Minikin. Even Figgis used to say that.’
‘And now you have questions for me, yes?’
Gilwyn nodded.
‘All right, then,’ said Minikin cheerfully. ‘Let us get you answers.’ She surprised Gilwyn by taking his hand. ‘Walk with me.’
Letting the tiny woman guide him, Gilwyn stepped away from the edge of the cliff, walking with Minikin to the clearing where Emerald rested. There were large stones with smooth surfaces for sitting, obviously used for dozens of years. There were markings on the rocks, too, scratches that had been made over the decades by people unknown to Gilwyn, yet he was sure they had been pupils of Minikin. A towering outcrop of rock blocked the worst of the wind. Minikin let go of Gilwyn’s hand and bade him to sit. He did so, setting himself down on one of the smooth rocks, finding it surprisingly comfortable. Minikin remained standing.
‘You have guessed that I have taken people here for many years,’ she said. ‘You are right. This place is holy to me. From here we can see all of Jador, and almost get a hint of Grimhold, too.’ It was rare to see melancholy on Minikin’s face, but Gilwyn saw it now. ‘Kadar was the one who showed me this place. We sealed our pact right here among these rocks.’
The pact, Gilwyn knew, was the one between Grimhold and Jador. It was a bond that had lasted generations, and when he realised he was sitting in the place of its genesis Gilwyn shivered.
‘It was the perfect place to create something sacred,’ Minikin went on. ‘Kadar and I both knew it. Ever since then I’ve been bringing people up here. People like you, Gilwyn. Inhumans who are special, who have gifts.’
‘Gifts. You keep mentioning that word, Minikin. To be honest, it scares me. Do all the Inhumans have gifts?’
‘No, not all. Some of the strongest Inhumans have no gifts at all, only the aid of the Akari. The Akari make them strong, let them see or hear or walk, but that’s not a gift. A true gift is more than that. It’s not something an Akari can give you. It has to come from within.’
Gilwyn still wasn’t understanding, though he tried gamely. ‘Does Trog have a gift?’
‘No,’ said Minikin. ‘His Akari helps him to hear and comprehend, but that’s all. But Meriel has a gift. She has fire deep within her, deep in her skin and deep in her soul. The fire burned her, but it also became part of her. That’s the special element that makes a true gift. Fire is something uniquely part of her, something that changed her life forever and made her what she is today.’
‘And I have a gift?’ The notion perplexed Gilwyn. He glanced down at his clubbed hand. ‘Because I’m like this?’
Minikin at last sat herself down on the rock opposite him. Her coat fell open and the amulet at her chest – the Eye of God – pulsed red with life. Her elfin face was inscrutable in the light of the gem.
‘I’ve watched you closely this past year, Gilwyn. You may think other things have distracted me, but I have not ignored you. I know how badly you’ve wanted to see Ruana. And I have waited because you needed to grow, to show me who you really are, and what you can do. If a person has a gift, it must be nurtured. To do anything less would be unforgivable. You have seen how I take children to Grimhold, yes?’
‘Yes,’ said Gilwyn. ‘Because they’re more willing to believe.’
‘Precisely. But children so young do not yet have these gifts I speak of. They have not yet had the time to develop or experience. They have open minds, but it is only adults that have gifts. Like Meriel and Ghost. They were not children when I found them, but they were special. As you are special.’
‘How am I special, Minikin?’
‘Ah, that is the question I have asked myself! How might you be gifted? You are not burned like Meriel or albino like Ghost. What would your gift be?’
‘I’ve been crippled like this all my life,’ Gilwyn offered. ‘Shouldn’t that be my gift? To be able to walk normally, without this boot Figgis made me?’
‘Is that what you assumed?’ asked Minikin. ‘That your Akari would help you walk normally?’
‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘I’ve never run a day in my life. When I was a boy and saw others running and jumping, all I wished was to be like them.’
‘But you’re older now, Gilwyn. You’re no longer a boy. Do you still wish to run and climb trees?’
Was she mocking him? Gilwyn nodded sheepishly. ‘I’ve seen Inhumans like Monster,’ he said. ‘He’s much wor
se than me, and he can run and do all sorts of things. His Akari gave him grace.’
The little woman leaned back, her brow furrowing. ‘It can be like that for you, too, if that’s what you wish. Ruana has the power. She can make your foot work like it was never bent. But your boot can already do that for you, Gilwyn. Not as well as Ruana, I admit, but you walk fine and here in Jador no one judges you for limping.’
‘I know,’ said Gilwyn. He shrugged. ‘So what is my gift, then?’
Minikin’s smile was mischievous. She said simply, ‘Teku.’
‘Teku?’
‘Teku, Gilwyn. She is the kernel of your gift.’
Gilwyn was dumbfounded. ‘I don’t understand. Teku’s a monkey.’
‘Yes, and she has been with you for many years. She’s become a part of you, more of a part than I think you realise.’ The little woman leaned forward. ‘Let me ask you something. Have you not noticed your abilities with the kreel, Gilwyn?’
‘The kreel?’ Gilwyn thought for a moment. ‘You mean that I can command them?’
Just then, as if she were summoned, Emerald raised her head. The reptile blinked at Gilwyn, her eyes knowing. The gesture confused Gilwyn even more.
‘All the Jadori warriors can command the kreel, Minikin.’
‘Yes, but you are not a Jadori warrior. You’re a northerner, Gilwyn, from nowhere near Jador and without a drop of Jadori blood in your veins.’
‘So?’
‘So, that is very odd, Gilwyn.’ Minikin pointed at Emerald. ‘Look at the way the beast stares at you. It knows what you’re thinking, and you it. I have never seen such a thing happen with foreigners like us. This thing you do – it is a trait of desert people. Or it is a gift.’
The words surprised Gilwyn, who glanced between Minikin and Emerald in confusion. It was true that he and the kreel had bonded superbly, but he had always thought it more a matter of Emerald’s ability, not his own. In that moment he shared a thought with the creature, receiving a powerful message of friendship.
‘She is just a part of me,’ said Gilwyn. ‘It’s not something I can explain. I hardly have to work at it to understand her.’
‘Indeed,’ noted Minikin. ‘And that is not common either. Even the best Jadori warriors take years to form such bonds with their kreel. But not you, Gilwyn. You speak of it as if it were as easy as talking to me. It is that easy for you?’
‘Yes, mostly,’ admitted Gilwyn. ‘But what does Teku have to do with it?’
‘Teku has been part of you for years,’ said Minikin. ‘Just like the fire that burned Meriel. And you have made a bond with the monkey. In the time when you were the most vulnerable, when your body and brain were going through a burst of growth, Teku was given to you and became part of your life. Part of you, really. You were adolescent when Teku was given to you, yes?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘And Meriel was an adolescent when she was burned. Oh, those are years of such turmoil, such growth! It’s the time when gifts are made.’ Minikin got up from her rock and stood before Gilwyn. ‘Without any trouble at all, you can read this kreel’s mind. Think how amazing that is, Gilwyn. I can’t do it, and I can do many things. And if you tried hard enough, I bet you could read the mind of that monkey of yours.’
‘Minikin, what are you saying?’ Gilwyn got up and loomed over her. ‘That my gift is to read the minds of animals?’
Minikin laughed. ‘Nothing as silly as that, Gilwyn! No, it’s more. There are no warriors that can command the kreel as you can. You will be a master of these creatures, without peer. There is no question about that. With training and time – and the help of your Akari – there will be no kreel that will not obey you.’ The little woman paused. ‘Do you know what that means?’
‘I’m afraid to ask!’
‘It means that White-Eye chose well when she made you regent, for there will be no equal to you. The kreel are the soul of the Jadori. To command them means to rule this place.’
The claim left Gilwyn stunned. He sat himself back down on his rock and stared uneasily. ‘Minikin, I . . . I don’t want to be a ruler. If that’s what this gift means . . .’
‘There is more,’ said Minikin. ‘Maybe much more. Your power over the kreel may be just the beginning. I do not know yet, but this gift may extend to other creatures as well.’
‘You mean Teku?’
‘Not just Teku, Gilwyn. Maybe any creature.’ Then Minikin shrugged. ‘And maybe not. I cannot tell yet. It will take time for this to develop, and you will need Ruana’s help.’
The thought of his Akari spirit guiding him through the minds of monkeys and lizards made Gilwyn spin. ‘How could that be?’ he asked. He looked at Emerald, and the connection between them was instant. He could feel it coursing through him like warm water. For the first time, it frightened him. ‘Minikin, I don’t want this,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to walk like a normal person. If this gift means all you say it does, then I refuse it.’
The mistress looked contemplative. ‘You can do that if you wish. But this decision is a heavy one, and should not be made quickly. Every road we choose in life has consequences, Gilwyn. This one especially.’
‘Of course,’ groaned Gilwyn. ‘I should have known. Tell me.’
‘I don’t need to remind you of the danger Jador faces. You have been pestering me about the kreel, telling me we need more of them.’
‘We do,’ Gilwyn insisted.
‘And I’m not arguing with you. You’re right – Jador is at great risk. Without more kreel to defend the city, Prince Aztar might well overrun it. But what are we to do? There are places where more kreel live, but bringing them here may not be possible. They will not follow a normal warrior. Not even Kadar could have commanded so many kreel, and he was powerful with them.’
Finally, Gilwyn began to understand. The realisation made him blanch. ‘You mean me, don’t you?’
Minikin nodded. ‘There is a valley where there are kreel by the hundreds. It’s very far from here, and the trip would be dangerous. But even if you reached the valley it would be for nothing unless your gift was nurtured. Only then could you shepherd the beasts back here to Jador.’
‘But why me? Why not just send all the warriors we can to the valley? They can ride the kreel back themselves.’
‘That might work, but think for a moment. What would happen to Jador if all her warriors were to leave?’
Gilwyn sank back against his rock. The logic was inescapable. ‘The city would be vulnerable.’
‘Exactly.’ This time Minikin went to sit beside Gilwyn. Once again she took his hand. Gilwyn marvelled at its smallness. The lady said, ‘It’s a burden, I know. I’m sorry to lay it on your shoulders. But you are Regent of Jador, Gilwyn. You must know what that means.’
‘I do,’ said Gilwyn somberly. ‘Every hour of my life is spent worrying about this place, about the Inhumans and White-Eye. But I didn’t expect this, Minikin. I’m . . .’ He paused, unable to admit the word.
‘Afraid?’ Minikin offered.
Gilwyn nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘Then I’ll tell you something to make you less afraid – you will not be alone in this, Gilwyn. Ruana will be with you. You do not yet know what an Akari spirit can bring you. She will give you more than just ability. She will give you strength.’
For a moment Gilwyn had forgotten why they were on the mountain. He was to finally meet his Akari spirit, but Minikin’s news had knocked that from his mind. Now that he remembered, he wasn’t sure he wanted to meet her any longer. He looked out over the horizon toward the rising sun. Other than Jador, he could see only desert and mountainous vistas. His nerve was slipping and he knew it. Suddenly he wanted to be down from the mountain, back in Jador with its normal, human problems.
‘You say Ruana will guide this gift in me?’ he asked. ‘Will she tell me what I can do and what I can’t?’
‘In time you will learn that together,’ said Minikin. ‘She will draw out the gift in you, make i
t more powerful than it could ever be without her. But it’s your choice, Gilwyn. If you want Ruana to do nothing more than give you a normal gait, she can do that. She can ignore the gift in you.’
‘Can she?’ asked Gilwyn.
‘Of course. The Akari do only what we ask of them, nothing more. Ruana will not guide your gift unless it is your will. The choice is yours.’
‘I don’t want to choose,’ said Gilwyn. ‘I don’t want to be so powerful and rule Jador, but I don’t want the city overrun, either. How can I make such a choice? It’s impossible!’
Minikin said nothing, and Gilwyn knew by her silence that his choice wasn’t impossible, really. The only impossible thing was leaving Jador prey to Aztar.
‘Gods,’ he muttered, shaking his head. ‘I’m stuck.’
Laughing, Minikin squeezed his hand. ‘Yes, we’re all stuck, Gilwyn!’
‘I’m not even sure I can do this, Minikin. You say I’m powerful, but I don’t know . . .’
‘Ruana will help you,’ the mistress repeated. ‘And so will I. And you will be powerful, Gilwyn. You will be the most powerful kreel rider Jador has ever known, because it is your gift.’
She was so certain, yet Gilwyn couldn’t believe her because it all seemed so impossible. He was no warrior. Back in Liiria he had been a librarian, and an apprentice at that. With his clubbed hand he couldn’t even wield a sword, much less finesse the long whips the Jadori riders used. All he could do was ride Emerald. And yet, he could ride the beast effortlessly. He was magnificent at riding and communicating in Emerald’s wordless way, and he knew it. He just didn’t know why.
