by John Marco
‘Now lift up your feet,’ he told her, ready with her footwear.
‘Where are we going?’ White-Eye insisted.
‘Just trust me,’ was all he would say. ‘Come on, feet up.’
Though exasperated, White-Eye complied, letting Gilwyn slip on her shoes. When he was done she stood there, looking around without seeing, her expression stricken.
‘Gilwyn, I am afraid.’
Gilwyn put his arm around her. ‘Don’t be,’ he assured her. ‘Just hold on and let me take you.’
‘Take me where?’
‘Hold on, now,’ he cautioned, then led her toward the door. ‘I’m going to show you something.’
White-Eye shuffled toward the door unsteadily. Careful not to startle her, Gilwyn held her very close. The idea he had gotten might have been crazy, but it had seized him and made him determined. Outside, they found the hallway empty. Relieved, Gilwyn kept her moving forward.
‘How do you feel?’ he asked.
White-Eye shrugged at the question. ‘Confused. It’s hard to walk.’
‘You’re doing fine. Just stay with me . . .’
Eventually, White-Eye’s steps became more sure. As they moved through the torchlit hall she began to move as if she had done this a thousand times – which of course she had. A little grin crept onto Gilwyn’s face. She didn’t know it yet, but they were coming to the staircase.
‘Good,’ he said with encouragement. ‘Now stop here a moment. We’re going up.’
‘Up?’
‘Up the stairs.’
‘Gilwyn, no . . .’
‘You can do it – it’s just like always. Just hold on to me.’
‘I’ll fall!’
‘You won’t; I won’t let you.’ Gilwyn tucked his arm under hers. ‘Ready?’
White-Eye took the first cautious tread. ‘Why are we going up?’
‘To see the stars,’ said Gilwyn.
‘The stars?’ She hesitated, then stepped higher. ‘I can’t see them any more.’
‘But I can. You love the stars – I’m going to show them to you.’
He felt her tremble in his grasp. Her expression tightened. ‘You will show me them?’
‘That’s right. I’ll tell you everything I see.’
White-Eye’s eyes – just milk-white orbs – filled with emotion. Her smooth hands gripped him tighter.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘You can do that.’
One slow step at a time, they made their way together toward the rooftop.
46
Worlds Apart
Gilwyn spent the entire night by White-Eye’s bedside to protect her from dreaming. White-Eye slept deeply, at last succumbing to the exhaustion of her ordeal. They had spent an hour on the rooftop before she had finally heard her fill of his voice, telling her about the constellations and the way the sand dunes shifted like giant ghosts in the moonlight. The time alone together had been marvellous, even helpful. Gilwyn was sure it had lifted White-Eye’s spirits. By the time they had returned to her chamber Minikin had made good on her promise to bring them food, but White-Eye had gone to sleep without touching it, leaving Gilwyn to eat alone while he watched her drift off. He was her guardian, he decided, not just her regent.
Gilwyn himself did not sleep. Instead he spent the night considering great and difficult questions that had no answers. The injustice of what had happened plagued him. He wondered how someone so innocent could fall prey to such evil, when there was so much magic about to protect her. He wondered why he had ignored all her requests to come to Grimhold, choosing instead to toil over Jador’s rebuilding, as though his efforts made any difference at all. Mostly, though, he wondered about Kahldris, and what could be done about his tremendous power, a power that could reach across a continent, seemingly with ease, and destroy someone he loved. White-Eye would not soon be whole, he knew. If she could not have another Akari – another injustice Gilwyn could not comprehend – then she was truly doomed to darkness. No amount of storytelling or attention could change that.
There were no windows in the chamber, but somehow Gilwyn knew when it was dawn. As if cued by a rooster, Alena came to the chamber to check on them both. She opened the door cautiously and peered inside, smiling when she saw White-Eye asleep. Gilwyn looked up to greet her.
‘Gilwyn, come away now,’ she whispered. ‘Get some proper rest.’
‘Is it daylight?’ he asked.
‘Yes, just now,’ said Alena. ‘I’ve made up your room and left some tea for you. Come, I’ll stay with White-Eye.’
The offer sounded lovely, but Gilwyn had other things in mind. ‘Have you seen Minikin?’ he asked, going to the door.
‘Minikin will be in soon to check on White-Eye. Do not worry – just get some sleep.’
Gilwyn agreed, thanking Alena for her help, and left the chamber. His own room – the one he used when in Grimhold – was not far from White-Eye’s, yet he went in the opposite direction, toward the front of the keep where he might find Minikin. Many times he had seen the little woman starting her day by Grimhold’s gate, like a sentry checking on the security of her castle. She would stop and talk with Greygor for a while – though the big man rarely spoke – before getting on with her day’s business. Gilwyn knew that Minikin had been just as shattered as he was by White-Eye’s maiming, and after her encounter with Prince Aztar’s men she was already teetering on a razor’s edge. He had seen in her grey eyes what this new horror had done to her. He wondered dreadfully how the mistress would react to his decision.
It took some searching, because Minikin was not at the gate as he’d hoped, nor was she in Grimhold’s main hall. The keep was quiet, but Gilwyn knew that it took a lot of work to keep the place functioning, and that the scullery would be filled with people preparing food for the long day. After some enquires, Akuin the bread-maker told him he’d seen Minikin just a few minutes before.
‘She took some biscuits with her, but I don’t know where she went,’ said Akuin. ‘Sorry.’
The trail led Gilwyn back to the main hall, where surprisingly it was one of Greygor’s companions that told him Minikin had just been back. The young man pointed toward the keep’s open gate.
‘She went out,’ he told Gilwyn. ‘With Trog.’
Wherever Minikin went, Trog was sure to follow. But why go outside, Gilwyn wondered. The front of the keep was not nearly as hospitable as the rooftops or the village. There was nothing but rocks and ledges out front, all doing a good job of hiding Grimhold from intruders. Nevertheless, Gilwyn went out of the gate and looked around. The rugged mountains looked beautiful in the morning, the sun coming up behind them, polishing their peaks with light. Then, in the distance, Gilwyn saw Minikin. As he’d been told, Trog was with her. Together they were walking up a jagged hillside, Minikin lifting her long coat so as not to stumble over it.
‘Minikin!’ Gilwyn called. He went to her as quickly as he could with his lame foot, waving to get her attention. She turned and saw him, but did not wave back. ‘Wait, I need to talk with you,’ he cried.
Minikin waited at the base of the hill. The great, brooding giant regarded Gilwyn dangerously, not at all liking the interruption. In his hands was a small burlap sack, presumably with the food Akuin had given them.
‘Where are you going?’ Gilwyn asked.
‘Gilwyn, how is White-Eye?’ Minikin queried. ‘Is she unwell?’
‘No, she’s all right. Alena is with her. I just left them.’
‘You look awful, child,’ said the little woman. ‘You should rest.’
‘I will, but I have to speak to you.’ Gilwyn surveyed their harsh surroundings. ‘Why are you out here?’
Minikin looked evasive. ‘I needed a place to think. I have much on my mind, and there is a good place for thinking up there.’ She gestured up the hillside. ‘A place Meriel showed me.’
The odd answer confused Gilwyn. ‘So early? It’s barely past dawn, Minikin.’
‘The best time to think, before the day take
s over. Perhaps I should go see White-Eye . . . ?’
‘No, she’s fine,’ said Gilwyn. ‘Minikin, can we talk?’
The lady’s elvish ears perked up. ‘You worry me, Gilwyn. What is this about? No, wait . . . come with us. We can talk up there.’
It was a strange request, but Gilwyn was game to try. Then he remembered his bad foot. So too did Minikin.
‘Trog, help him, please,’ she asked the giant.
Gilwyn backed away. ‘No, that’s all right. I—’
Ignoring him, Trog handed him the sack of food, then scooped him up in his enormous arms. The sensation sent the blood rushing to Gilwyn’s head.
‘Easy!’ he cried.
Minikin laughed, told him to stop being such a child, then proceeded up the hillside. Trog followed her, picking his way up the rocks with his huge feet. Surprisingly, the big man was as sure-footed as a goat as he traversed the stony path. Gilwyn felt like a baby in his arms.
‘It’s not too far,’ Minikin assured them, carefully winding through the gorge. ‘It has a pretty view, Gilwyn. You’ll like it.’
‘Minikin! Trog, put me down!’
‘Don’t put him down, Trog,’ ordered the mistress. ‘He wanted to come with us, remember.’
‘I wanted to talk,’ Gilwyn protested.
‘Hush, boy. We are there, almost.’
Squirming did no good, so Gilwyn settled in for the unpleasant ride. Eventually, when Trog had gone much farther than he’d hoped, he saw the sky again, opening up over a rocky ledge. Minikin stopped in the centre of it, beaming from their climb. Trog at last put Gilwyn down.
‘Here,’ Minikin pronounced. ‘A good morning.’
Gilwyn handed her the sack angrily. ‘This is yours, I think.’
Minikin took the bag and looked inside. Smiling, she took out a biscuit and offered it to him.
‘I’m not hungry, Minikin. I just wanted to talk to you.’
‘Yes, you wanted to talk,’ she said, almost annoyed. ‘About White-Eye, no doubt, and what happened to her. That is what I came up here to think about, Gilwyn. You’re not the only one troubled.’
‘White-Eye can’t see again, not ever. Is that true?’
Minikin ignored his question, the way she always did when he was so direct. ‘Do you know this place?’ she asked, her voice melancholy. ‘I didn’t know it until Meriel showed it to me.’
Trog frowned at her.
‘Of course, how could I forget? Mirage, I mean.’ Minikin sighed. ‘I feel as though I have failed both of them, my daughters. One because I would not let her go, the other because I was too busy pitying myself to save her.’ She sat herself down near the edge of the ledge, letting her tiny feet dangle in the air. Next to her she placed the bag of biscuits. ‘Mirage would come up here to think of ways to escape this place,’ she said. ‘I’ve never wanted to leave, and neither did White-Eye. This is her home, you see.’
‘Minikin, you are not yourself,’ said Gilwyn. He went to her, crouching down beside her. Trog hovered over them both, not getting too near the ledge. ‘You have not been yourself since the battle.’
‘My mind is dull, Gilwyn,’ replied Minikin. ‘I’m old. Just a few years ago I would never have made such a mistake. I would have felt Kahldris moving in our midst. But I didn’t.’
‘So you blame yourself for what happened to White-Eye? Don’t. It was me Kahldris was after – you told me so yourself.’
Minikin turned to look at him. ‘What are you saying?’
‘I’m talking about White-Eye never being able to see again. That’s what she told me, Minikin. She said that she can’t have another Akari, not ever. Why?’
‘It is the way of things, Gilwyn. The Akari bond is a tenuous thing, like an organ of the body, or an appendage. White-Eye’s bond was severed. She cannot have another.’
‘But Meriel got another,’ Gilwyn argued. ‘I don’t see why White-Eye can’t.’
‘If you lost an arm, would it grow back? No, it would not. But if you held out your arm to take someone’s hand, you could do so easily. Or you could release that hand at will. Do you see? It is as if White-Eye lost her arm – she can no longer take the hand of an Akari.’
‘And Faralok? What about him? He’s still . . . alive, isn’t he?’
‘Faralok has gone back to the place of the dead. Remember what Ruana told you, Gilwyn – there is the place of the dead and there is our world. The Akari may breach that boundary with the help of a host. Without a host . . .’
Gilwyn nodded dully. ‘I think I understand,’ he said. ‘So then that’s it for her. White-Eye won’t be able to see again.’
‘No,’ said Minikin sadly. ‘She will not.’
They both fell silent, considering the enormity of their words. Minikin gazed out over the mountains. Gilwyn mustered his courage.
‘So it’s my fault,’ he said.
‘It is not your fault. Nor is it mine, to be truthful. It is the fault of the beast Kahldris.’
‘Aye, Kahldris,’ Gilwyn agreed. ‘So he must be stopped.’
‘That is what we hope. Lukien will do his best, I’m sure.’ Minikin regarded him strangely. ‘Unless of course you’ve come to tell me something else, Gilwyn.’
There was never any hiding from her, Gilwyn knew. She had already guessed why he’d come.
‘Minikin, I have to go,’ he implored. ‘This thing that happened – it would never have if not for me. I don’t know what’s happened to Lukien. Maybe he’s failed. Maybe he’s dead . . .’
‘He is not dead,’ said Minikin. ‘If he were, I would have felt it.’
‘So what’s happened to him? Why won’t Lariniza tell you?’
‘She cannot tell me everything, Gilwyn, because it is not my place to know everything. She tells me that Lukien is alive; that I know for certain.’
‘That’s not good enough! I can’t have White-Eye in this danger. I love her, Minikin.’
‘So do I,’ said Minikin sharply. ‘Do you forget that?’
‘No, of course not. But someone has to protect her. You can’t do it, obviously!’
As soon as he’d said the words, he regretted them. The hurt on Minikin’s face was a dagger in him.
‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘I had no right to say that. I’m just . . .’ He looked down at his feet. ‘Minikin, I’m sorry.’
Minikin put a hand on his leg. ‘Gilwyn, if you go, what will you do? Confront Kahldris yourself? Because that is what you will be doing. You will not be facing the Baron Glass you know. By now he has certainly changed.’
‘Thorin is my friend, Minikin. He cares about me; he always did. He’ll listen to me.’
‘Will he? It is naïve to think so. Lukien is his friend too, remember. And he loved Mirage. Yet Kahldris still controls him.’
‘Does that mean I shouldn’t try?’ asked Gilwyn. ‘I think I can reach him. I have to try, for White-Eye’s sake as well as Thorin’s.’
Minikin’s face dropped with sadness. ‘And what will happen to Jador? You are regent, Gilwyn. White-Eye depends on you.’
‘I know,’ said Gilwyn. He had already considered the argument. ‘But Jador still has you, Minikin. And we’ve defeated Prince Aztar; he won’t trouble us any more.’
‘You are sure of that?’ said Minikin wryly.
‘After the whipping he took? I don’t even think he’s still alive.’ Gilwyn took her hand. ‘Besides, what can I do for Jador that you can’t? The city doesn’t need me, but Thorin does. And I can’t risk Kahldris attacking White-Eye again. If anything else happened to her, I couldn’t live with myself. I have to try and help Thorin. Don’t you see, Minikin? I have to.’
Minikin looked away. Gilwyn could not recall a time when she had looked so defeated.
‘Jador has many problems,’ she said, ‘and I am not strong enough to deal with them all, not any more. You were a hope for us all, Gilwyn. If you go, I do not know what will happen.’
‘You’re plenty strong,’ Gilwyn assured her. ‘Jador will
go on. And I won’t be gone forever. As soon as I’ve helped Thorin, I’ll be back. I promise.’
His words made Minikin smile. ‘You are so young, child, so sure of yourself. You just can’t see the danger, can you? Listen to me – if you leave this place, there is every chance we will not see each other again.’
‘Because you think I won’t return?’
‘Because I think you will be dead.’ Minikin let her hand slip off his leg. ‘Death is not something I would ever wish on someone so young, but death comes to the young because they think it will never come to them.’
‘It won’t happen to me,’ said Gilwyn. ‘I’ll stay out of danger. I’m not going to fight Thorin – I’m just going to talk to him, make him listen to reason.’
‘You will be talking to Kahldris, and you cannot reason with a devil,’ said Minikin. ‘That is why Lukien must do this thing. Whether he realises it or not, he will have to fight Baron Glass. He is prepared for that fight, Gilwyn, not you.’ The mistress spread her hands. ‘But I cannot stop you. I know that.’ She smiled at him. ‘You have made up your mind.’
Gilwyn nodded. ‘Yes, Minikin, I have. I’m sorry.’
‘So am I,’ said Minikin sweetly. She touched his face. ‘You are becoming a man, Gilwyn. A very fine one. Men cannot be told what to do. They must follow their hearts.’
Her sentiment disarmed Gilwyn. Emotion rose in his throat. ‘I’ll be leaving Teku and Emerald behind,’ he said, nearly choking on the words. ‘They’ll be safer here in Grimhold.’
‘You’ll go alone?’ asked Minikin.
‘Yes. Everyone else is needed here or in Jador.’
Minikin nodded, though it was plain she disapproved. ‘Have you told White-Eye about this yet?’
‘No,’ said Gilwyn, dreading the task. ‘Not yet. But I will, soon.’
‘And when will you leave?’
‘In a few days,’ replied Gilwyn. He sat back on his heels, thinking. ‘There’s something I need to do first.’
47
Vanlandinghale’s Wall
