The Sword Of Angels (Gollancz S.F.)

by John Marco

Jahan looked disappointed. ‘There will be others, but I suppose you do not care to see them. Yes, we can go back now, Lukien.’

  The two men began the long walk back to the village. As they walked, Lukien spied the grasses warily. He felt safe with Jahan, though, and liked the village man’s company. In the brief time he had spent with Jahan, he had learned a great deal. Finally, when they left the tall grasses and the village came into sight, Jahan stopped.

  ‘Lukien,’ he said, ‘will you tell me now what you’re looking for in Torlis?’

  Lukien thought for a moment. ‘Yes, Jahan, all right. A sword. I’m looking for a sword.’

  Jahan considered the statement. ‘This must be a very special sword. And you must have it?’

  ‘Yes,’ Lukien nodded. ‘I must.’

  ‘Then you cannot take the chance of failing.’ The man’s expression grew pensive. ‘You have given me much today, Lukien. You have told me about the world beyond my village. You have saved my son. But what you’re doing now . . .’ Jahan grimaced. ‘Dangerous.’

  ‘I know. It’s been a long journey for me already,’ Lukien said wearily. ‘But I have to go on. This sword is very important to me. If I don’t find it, many will die. Friends.’

  ‘I do not think you can find the way to Torlis on your own, Lukien. You do not even know that the rass are sacred! You need help on your journey.’ Jahan folded his arms across his wide chest. ‘I will come with you.’

  ‘What? Jahan, no.’

  ‘Yes,’ Jahan insisted. ‘It is my duty. You saved Naji from the hooth. If not for you, I would have been grieving tonight instead of learning from a new friend. I will go with you, Lukien. I will help you find this sword.’

  The offer was more than generous – it was genuine. Lukien put his hand on Jahan’s shoulder. ‘You are the founder of this village, Jahan. I can’t take you away from it. You’re needed here.’

  ‘You need me more,’ said Jahan. ‘When we have quested and found the sword, the village will still be here, and all its troubles, too. Remember, Lukien, the village is the people. All the people. They are strong. They do not need me the way you do.’

  ‘Jahan, I saved your son because it was the right thing to do, and if it wasn’t for me the other children wouldn’t have been distracted. I’m just as much to blame for what almost happened as I am for saving Naji. There’s nothing you need to repay.’

  Jahan’s face became stormy. ‘Perhaps where you come from, men are different,’ he said ‘But the Simiheh know when a debt is owed. I cannot let you go to Torlis alone. I cannot, and that is the end of it. Now, we will go to the village and sleep, and tomorrow we will leave for Torlis.’ Jahan took Lukien’s hand and held it firm. ‘Together.’

  Seeing his argument lost, Lukien did not pull away from Jahan’s grasp. ‘All right,’ he agreed. ‘Come with me.’

  Jahan beamed. ‘Good.’

  They walked back to the village together, and when they were almost at Jahan’s house Lukien paused.

  ‘I think you’ll be a very good guide, Jahan,’ he said. ‘One thing, though – you’ve never been to Torlis, either.’

  Jahan shrugged. ‘Better for two men to be lost than one, yes?’

  Lukien frowned. ‘That makes no sense at all.’

  Ignoring the jibe, Jahan headed eagerly for his little house. Completely unsure he had made the right choice, Lukien followed his odd new friend inside.

  12

  Jahan rode a donkey on his way to Torlis, a wide, floppy-eared beast with a coat the colour of rust and dark, disinterested eyes that only perked up when being bothered by a fly. Jahan bounced happily upon the donkey’s back, his pony-tail swaying from side to side, his face perpetually smiling as he spoke. Lukien rode beside Jahan along the river. Upon his horse, he sat at least three feet higher than Jahan, occasionally glancing down at his companion, more interested in their surroundings than by anything Jahan was saying. The morning had been bright and clear, a good omen for their long trip, but the afternoon was turning hot. Lukien pulled at his shirt, pumping the fabric to blow a breeze down his chest. He still wore the clothes Jahan had given him the night before, leaving his own filthy garb in the village for Kifuv to burn. With his white skin and golden hair, Lukien still did not look like one of Jahan’s people, but he supposed the native clothing would give him some cover. It had been at least five hours since they had left the village, following the river eastward, trotting casually along its muddy banks. So far, they had passed through two villages like Jahan’s, both without incident, stopping only to give respect to the elders and not bothering to explain Lukien’s odd appearance. Though the men and women of the villages eyed Lukien with surprise, they did not stare, keeping their conversation polite and blessedly brief. Later, Jahan explained how rude it would have been for them to do anything else.

  ‘You are with me,’ Jahan stated. ‘That is enough.’

  As they rode, Jahan told stories to Lukien, heartfelt tales about his village and his family, and about his place in the small world he inhabited. Lukien listened to the stories, rarely interrupting. Jahan’s pleasant voice rose and fell with each adventure, babbling like the river while the sun burned their necks. They stopped occasionally to rest their mounts, letting the beasts sip from the river while they slacked their own thirst from waterskins and fed themselves from supplies Jahan’s wife had packed for the trip.

  Then, at last, Jahan ran out of stories. He simply fell silent, looking satisfied as he rode his donkey. He glanced at Lukien, who smiled back at him, grateful for the silence. Sometimes, it was better for men to ride in silence, thought Lukien, rather than gossip like women. Did Jahan ever think so? Lukien doubted it. He watched as Jahan reached into his goatskin bag, the repository of everything important to him. From the bag Jahan produced a wand of wood, which he showed to Lukien.

  ‘A yuup,’ he pronounced. ‘For music.’

  Lukien nodded at the simple instrument. ‘A flute. That’s what we call them.’

  Jahan put the yuup to his lips and began to play. Not needing his hands to guide the donkey, he blew into the instrument and produced a lively tune. The tune he made soothed Lukien. Lukien looked into the river and saw a fish jump for a fly. A bird circled against the blue sky. Without another village in sight, the two travelers seemed alone in the world, and the world seemed at peace.

  Jahan played his flute for almost an hour, rarely stopping to catch his breath. At last he lowered the instrument, returning it to his goatskin bag. He did not remain quiet for long. Instead, he looked searchingly at Lukien.

  ‘You are very quiet,’ he remarked.

  ‘You were playing. I was listening.’

  Jahan nodded, not quite satisfied with the answer. ‘I have told you stories. I have played for you.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lukien. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Where you are from, do the people not tell stories?’

  Lukien shrugged. ‘Sometimes.’ Then he realized what Jahan was saying. ‘Oh, I see,’ he sighed. ‘There’s a place I know called Ganjor, a great city near the desert. The people there tell stories. That’s how they talk to each other.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jahan brightly. ‘This is how people speak. You see, Lukien?’

  ‘So you want a story?’

  ‘Your story. Tell me about the sword.’

  ‘The sword? I don’t know much about it.’

  ‘But you are here, Lukien. You have come all this way to find it. Yet you will not tell me why. What is this sword? Why must you find it?’

  The question irked Lukien, not because it wasn’t genuine, but because it had come to define him. ‘Is that my story? I suppose it is.’

  Jahan noted his dark tone. ‘It is something you must want very much. It is the desire of your heart?’

  ‘No,’ said Lukien. ‘If I had a choice, I wouldn’t be looking for it at all. I have to find it, that’s all.’

  ‘That cannot be all,’ said Jahan. A peculiar expression crossed his face, not quite angry, no
t quite confused. ‘Lukien, that thing you wear around your neck – it is a magic thing. You have told me so. You speak my language. You say that you cannot, yet I hear your words and understand them. You are remarkable! There is much to your story. Tell me what it is, please.’

  ‘You’re right – there is a lot to my story. A lot of it I don’t understand. Like the sword. I don’t even know what it is, or if it even exists.’ Lukien grew anxious as he began to tell his tale. ‘It’s called the Sword of Angels. I think it’s magical, but I don’t know for certain. It must be, I suppose. All I know is that I have to find it. Someone told me to find it.’

  ‘Who told you?’

  The questions seemed impossible to answer. How could Lukien explain it all to Jahan, a man of such simple experience?

  ‘A spirit told me,’ he said. ‘A spirit of someone who was important to me once. Do you believe in spirits, Jahan?’

  ‘Of course,’ said the village man. ‘There are spirits all around us. Lukien, you must know that.’

  Lukien smiled. ‘Yes, I do. I didn’t always believe it, but I do now. This spirit who came to me, she told me about the sword. She told me that it was hidden somewhere here in your land, Jahan. In the Serpent Kingdom.’

  ‘This spirit was a woman?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘A lover, Lukien?’

  Lukien laughed. ‘Yes.’

  Jahan grinned. ‘Tell more.’

  ‘Well, I have a friend named Thorin,’ Lukien continued. ‘Thorin Glass. He was a great man once. Everyone in Liiria – that’s where I’m from – they all admired him once. He wears a suit of armour. Do you know what that is?’ When Jahan shook his head, Lukien explained, ‘It’s like clothing made of metal, very strong. Where I come from, men wear armour into battle.’

  ‘Men wear metal?’ Jahan exclaimed. ‘That is stupid. Metal is too heavy.’

  ‘No, it’s not. Not if it’s made right,’ said Lukien. ‘My friend’s armour has a spirit inside of it. Here, let me show you something . . .’ Lukien took the Eye of God out from beneath his shirt. ‘Remember what I told you last night? This amulet has magic, Jahan. There’s a very powerful spirit inside it. He makes the magic so that you and I can speak.’

  Jahan was wide-eyed, studying the amulet with child-like curiosity. ‘It is very beautiful. How did you come by this thing?’

  ‘There’s a special place across the desert,’ said Lukien. ‘It’s called Grimhold. That’s where all this magic comes from.’

  ‘Across the desert there are many things I have never heard of,’ said Jahan with a trace of sadness. ‘The Simiheh have none of these things.’

  ‘Be grateful for that, Jahan. This magic has been like a curse to me. This amulet keeps me alive. The spirit inside of it will not let me die, though I have longed for it. I battle and I fight, and I am always healed, no matter how bad my wounds are. That is what it is like for my friend, too, the one with the armour. The spirit in his metal suit gives him power, but has made him do evil things. My friend cannot control himself or save himself from the spirit.’

  ‘The spirit in the metal clothes – you cannot defeat it? You say you cannot die, Lukien. Then surely you can slay this spirit.’

  ‘That’s what I thought, too,’ said Lukien. ‘I did fight Thorin and he nearly killed me. And when I was near death the woman came to me. She told me to find the Sword of Angels, Jahan. She told me that it would be here.’

  ‘And the sword – that is how you will defeat your friend in the metal clothing?’

  ‘I think so. Amaraz told me there was a way. He’s the spirit in my amulet. That’s why I’m here looking for the sword.’

  Jahan sat up tall and proud on his donkey. ‘You see? Your story is very grand, Lukien. I am glad I came with you. I will teach you things and you will teach me, and together we will find this sword and save your friend.’

  ‘I hope so,’ said Lukien. ‘I don’t even know where to begin. It’s all a mystery.’ His neck began tightening with tension. ‘I’m so far from home. Even if I find the sword, I have so far to go. And I’ve left so many people behind. I worry about them.’

  ‘The spirit that protects you – can he not help you, Lukien? If he is so strong, then he will know what you should do.’

  ‘Amaraz doesn’t talk to me,’ said Lukien sourly. ‘I don’t know why. He helps me, but he does so quietly.’

  Jahan thought for a moment, his mouth twisting. ‘Then we will ask the Red Eminence. He will know how to help you, Lukien.’

  ‘Maybe. If he’s as powerful as you think. Tell me more about the Red Eminence, Jahan. Tell me everything you know.’

  ‘The Red Eminence is the life-bringer,’ said Jahan. ‘He has magic, like your spirit. When he fights the Great Rass, he summons his powers to defeat her. That is how he turns the river red.’

  ‘What else?’ probed Lukien. He has already heard that part of the story. ‘Anything more you can tell me would be helpful.’

  ‘There is not much else to tell. The Red Eminence rules Torlis. They are a great people. Do not worry, Lukien. The Red Eminence will have answers for you.’

  Was it all just a myth, Lukien wondered? Some legend Jahan and his people went on believing? He refused to think too much about it. He had very little to grasp for hope, only Jahan and his incredible tale. And just like Jahan, Lukien needed to believe it.

  By the end of their first day of travel, Jahan and his donkey were finally exhausted. Jahan had stopped talking and his donkey grew increasingly unwilling to go any further, and as the stars came out overhead the little party came to a halt. They found a clearing by the river, high and far enough from the bank so that the ground was firm and dry. A stand of trees stood like protective sentinels in the distance, but the clearing itself was mostly free of brush, providing a carpet of soft grass for the travellers. Lukien unmounted and began taking his bags off his horse, laying them in a semi-circle along the clearing. They had food enough for at least three days, but the waterskins they had filled were nearly all depleted now. Lukien unlatched a little metal shovel strapped to the side of his horse. They would need a fire as well as water, and so he began to dig, making a small hole in the hard dirt. Jahan, seeing what he was doing, collected nearby rocks and, once Lukien had dug his hole, surrounded it neatly with the stones.

  ‘I will make the fire,’ said Jahan. ‘Unpack the food for us.’

  While his friend set to work, Lukien started going through the things Kifuv had packed for them. Apparently, Jahan’s people did not consume much meat, but Kifuv had filled her husband’s bags with staples from their village, enough to delight Lukien. They would need water, though, so before darkness came fully he collected the waterskins and proceeded toward the river. Pushing his way past the tall grasses along the bank, Lukien’s boots sank into the marshy earth. Squatting over the water, he lowered one skin into the river, watching as the water gurgled into it.

  ‘Lukien!’

  The shout made Lukien jump. He leapt to his feet, turning to see Jahan storming toward him, his arms flailing.

  ‘Stop!’ said Jahan. He looked at the waterskin in Lukien’s hand. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m filling the waterskins!’

  ‘No!’ Jahan hurried down the bank and snatched the skin from Lukien’s hand. ‘You cannot just take the water. Did you speak the prayer?’

  ‘What prayer?’ Annoyed, Lukien quickly took back the waterskin. ‘I just want some water.’

  ‘No, Lukien, you will disturb the Miins,’ said Jahan. ‘What is wrong with you? You cannot just take their water.’

  ‘What are talking about? What are Miins?’

  Jahan paused to collect himself. ‘You know nothing, Lukien, truly. That’s what the spirits are called, the ones who live in the river.’ He looked at Lukien as though he expected full understanding. When Lukien shrugged, Jahan said, ‘Spirits, Lukien. Like the ones you told me about.’

  ‘Don’t get cross,’ said L
ukien. ‘We don’t have Miins where I come from. Nothing lives in our water except fish.’

  ‘Is that what you think?’ Jahan scoffed. ‘Please, give me that.’

  Reluctantly, Lukien handed his friend the waterskin. ‘It’s not like I spit in the river, you know.’

  ‘You must first tell the Miins of your intent,’ said Jahan. ‘They live in the river. It is their home. You must warn them first.’

  ‘Warn them?’ Lukien laughed. ‘Can’t they see me coming?’

  ‘You do not believe?’ Jahan pointed to Lukien’s amulet. ‘Is that not the home of the one you call Amaraz? I believed you, Lukien.’

  ‘Yes, but . . .’

  ‘The Miins live in the river,’ repeated Jahan. ‘You would not cut down a tree without first warning the forest spirits, would you?’

  Lukien smirked. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Oh, you know so little! Here, I will show you.’ Jahan went down to the river, picking his way slowly through the grass. ‘We must tell the Miins that we are here, and that we need some water.’

  ‘But we’ve been taking water all day! Our horse and donkey have been drinking from the river.’

  Jahan squatted near the water just as Lukien had done. ‘But they are dumb animals, Lukien. They cannot ask permission. The Miins know this.’

  ‘What about the children? They were playing in the river yesterday.’

  ‘The children ask permission to play. Really, Lukien . . .’

  Frustrated, Lukien looked at the water. ‘So what do we do?’

  ‘We tell the Miins of our need,’ said Jahan. ‘We warn them. Watch and listen.’

  Jahan held the waterskin over the river, looking into the water at his own wavy reflection. Smiling, he told the Miins – or at least the water – of their great journey to Torlis, and how they had travelled the length of the day. They were tired, he explained, and without water of their own. Lukien listened sceptically.

  ‘You have to tell them all that?’

  ‘Shush!’

  Jahan apologized for Lukien, telling the Miins that he was a stranger. ‘He knows nothing of our ways, but I will teach him. So, I will take some water, just enough for our need.’ He skimmed his free hand across the surface of the water, as if brushing the unseen Miins aside. ‘Good. Thank you,’ he said, then dipped the waterskin into the river to fill it. When he was done, he gestured for Lukien to bring the others, and these he filled as well. Lukien watched the entire ritual, shocked at the deference the man gave the river. Finally, Jahan capped the last waterskin and stood.