by John Marco
‘No one from my village has ever been here,’ Jahan whispered. ‘Or seen anything so beautiful.’
Lukien could not argue, for he doubted that he himself had ever seen such beauty wrought by human hands. The artisans of the palace had made more than a grand building of limestone and gold. They had made a miracle.
‘We should go,’ he said gently. ‘Are you ready?’
Swallowing his emotions, Jahan squared his shoulders and proceeded toward the gates. Lukien walked beside him, imitating his friend’s fearlessness. He had travelled for months and endless miles to reach this place. The hope that his journey had neared its end was overwhelming. Not wanting to hide himself, he lowered his hood to present his white face and golden hair. Inside the gates, a contingent of guards dressed in their perfect uniforms gathered to confront them, clearly surprised by the visitors. The guards held long, spear-like weapons of ebony topped with hooked blades. In their sashes were short, curved swords. Each wore a jewel in his headdress, all of them rubies except for one, who pinned his head gear with a diamond. A man of rank among his peers, the one with the diamond broke from the others to peek through the gate. He looked perplexed rather than angry.
‘Who are you?’ he asked. For a moment, Lukien did not understand his words. Then, as had happened with all those he’d met in Tharlara, the words became clear to him, magically translated in his mind. Lukien glanced at Jahan and saw that he too understood the guard, though their dialects were markedly different.
‘My name is Lukien. This is my friend, Jahan, a Simiheh from a village a long way from here.’
The leader of the guardians regarded Lukien curiously. A young man, there was innocence in his eyes. ‘You are strange looking. And your words . . .’ He looked at his comrades, who all had the same reaction. ‘They’re different, but we understand!’
‘Please don’t be afraid,’ Lukien cautioned. ‘I’m from a land far away, a land called Liiria. I speak differently from you. But I have a way to make people understand me.’
The guard turned to Jahan. ‘You are from the river lands beyond the city.’
‘I am Simiheh,’ said Jahan proudly. ‘My village is far from here. I took this man up the river so that he could see the Red Eminence.’
‘A peasant and a foreigner?’ The guard shook his head. ‘The Eminence will not see you.’
‘Please listen,’ implored Lukien. ‘I’ve come a long way, many miles. I must see the Red Eminence.’
‘It is not possible,’ said the guard. ‘You are not expected, you are not of important families, you do not even bring gifts with you. The Eminence will not see you.’
‘But it’s important,’ Lukien argued. ‘Have you ever seen my kind before?’
‘No,’ the guardian admitted.
Lukien raised his voice just enough. ‘Then how do you know I am not important? I have business with the Red Eminence, probably something you cannot understand. I have come a long way to bring something from my land, something of great value. Now, open the gate and let us pass.’
Lukien’s bravado caught the attention of others on the grounds, guards and holy men who came to gape at the strangers. One man in particular, far older than the rest, came to stand beside the man with the diamond headdress. Surrounded by young acolytes in flowing robes, the old man stared inquisitively.
‘What have your brought the Red Eminence?’ asked the guard, growing annoyed.
Lukien reached beneath his clothing and pulled out the Eye of God. ‘This.’
The gathered men gave a collective gasp of interest, instantly bewitched by the amulet. Lukien let it dangle before them, twirling it on its chain. As if on cue, the ruby jewel in its centre flared to life.
‘This is an artifact of powerful magic,’ said Lukien, unsure of the wisdom of his gambit. ‘It is from my land across the desert, a mighty land with great sorcerers. The magic of this amulet lets you understand my words.’
The guard stepped back, bewildered. Before he could speak, the old holy man came forth.
‘You are from across the desert?’ he asked.
‘I am,’ Lukien declared.
The holy man watched the Eye of God as it spun on its chain. Sunlight danced off the amulet and the old man’s shaved head. A tattooed serpent slithered on his neck, its head almost biting his ear, where a single earring dangled. His young acolytes bore earrings as well, but no tattoo.
‘That is a magic thing, you say? From your people?’
Lukien nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘And who are your people? What are they called?’
‘I’m from Liiria. That’s what my people are called – Liirians.’
‘Liirians.’ The old man chewed on the word, looking disappointed. ‘That’s not right.’
‘What do you mean?’
The holy man shook his head. ‘If you were the one, you would know.’
The old man turned and shuffled back toward the palace.
‘Wait!’ Lukien called. ‘What is it you want me to say? What answer are you looking for?’
‘If I told you that, then you would have the answer,’ laughed the man.
‘This amulet isn’t Liirian,’ Lukien rushed to add. ‘It was made by others, by Akari.’
The old holy man stopped walking. ‘Akari, you say?’
‘Akari, yes,’ said Lukien. ‘Does that mean something to you?’
‘Something, yes.’ The man looked at the guardian with the diamond in his headdress. ‘Let them enter.’
‘Karoshin?’
‘It is all right,’ said the holy man. ‘Open the gate.’
At the old man’s order the guards opened the gates for Lukien and Jahan, then stood aside for them to enter. Lukien went to the holy man at once.
‘Thank you,’ he said, still holding the Eye of God. ‘This amulet – do you know of it?’
‘No.’
‘But then how can you know the word Akari?’
‘My name is Karoshin,’ replied the old man. ‘I am a priest of Sercin. You have come seeking the Red Eminence?’
‘Yes. Will he see us?’
‘I will take you,’ said the priest. ‘You have many questions. The Red Eminence will have answers. Come.’
The acolytes were quick to surround their venerable leader as he headed toward the palace. Lukien and Jahan hurried after him. Behind them, the guards closed the gate but did not follow, and Karoshin did not turn to face them as he led them up the lane. The palace soared overhead, spreading its giant shadow across the gardens. Pools filled with colourful fish lined the way, reflecting the high, golden domes of the spires. The palace itself had a hundred different entrances, all of them arched beneath a roof that shaded the strolling priests. Vibrant tiles lined the archways, giving way to busy halls filled with busy servants. Karoshin led them beneath the roof and past a dozen arches until at last entering one, a splendid portal of shimmering bronze. Walking beneath it, Lukien marvelled at the way it reflected the light.
Inside, the palace was no less dazzling, as the archway led into an immense hall of vaulted limestone, painted in a thousand hues of blue. Reliefs of vines and flowers stood out from the carved stone, tangling into a remarkable mosaic that writhed with life along the ceiling. The tiles echoed musically with their footfalls, delicately painted with complex patterns of gold and crimson. Light from small, bronze-fretted windows filled the hall, setting it ablaze with colour, while statues bathed in the sunlight, arching their naked bodies. Lukien took it all in, his heart racing with anticipation. He glanced triumphantly at Jahan, but the village man was too awestruck to notice.
‘Jahan,’ Lukien whispered. ‘How do you feel?’
Jahan’s reply was soft and shallow. ‘Lukien, I am blessed. That is how I feel.’
The hallway terminated into another vast archway. Without doors, the arch revealed an effusive chamber beyond, where guardians stood watch and priests milled about in quiet conversation. As Karoshin approached the chamber, the priests turned and bowed. Karos
hin raised his hand in a gesture of thanks. Lukien looked over his shoulder and saw the grand chamber for the first time, an enormous throne room with stout pillars and tiled mosaics and wooden chests along the walls. The chamber of the Red Eminence was filled with people, many of them priests like Karoshin, others dressed more formally, chatting or studying scrolls. And though he tried to locate the Red Eminence himself, Lukien could not see past the pillars.
‘You will wait here,’ Karoshin directed. He told his young acolytes to watch over the visitors, than disappeared into the throne room. The priests and others gathered by the arch watched them curiously, clearly surprised by their presence. Lukien smiled disarmingly.
‘Hello,’ he offered.
The men did not reply. Jahan took hold of Lukien’s sleeve.
‘Say nothing,’ he whispered. ‘They do not trust us.’
‘They don’t know us, Jahan.’
Jahan was like a child suddenly, giddy and frightened at the same time. ‘Tell me again, Lukien – what will you say to the Red Eminence?’
‘The truth. It got us this far.’
But Karoshin’s reaction had puzzled Lukien, and he wondered how the old man had known about the Akari. He should have asked him about the sword, he supposed, but soon he would have his audience with the Eminence. Soon, all his questions would be answered. He tried to ignore the onlookers as he waited, studying the palace and marvelling at its architecture. Jahan stood beside him, fidgeting under the glare of the white-robed priests.
After what felt like a very long time, Karoshin finally returned. Standing in the threshold of the arch, he held out his hand for Lukien, bidding him to come.
‘And my friend?’ Lukien asked.
‘And your friend,’ replied Karoshin gently. To his acolytes he said, ‘Remain out here, all of you.’
Bracing himself, Lukien followed Karoshin beneath the arch and into the splendid throne room, dazzled by what he saw. The pillars supporting the cavernous roof rose up like giants, painted in bright depictions of serpents and gods, spiraling toward a magnificent ceiling of sweeping constellations. Twinkling bits of glass had been set into the plaster, mimicking a thousand stars, while a gigantic sun of bronze and moon of pearly stone rose from opposite sides of the ceiling, battling for the heavens. Along the ornate floor tiles had been arranged in complex patterns, spiraling like red roses along a sandy beach. Instead of tapestries, the walls were hung with golden lanterns, each one lit with leaping flames. The chamber was simply enormous, dwarfing all those within it, and Lukien still could not see a throne behind the pillars and priests milling about. Beside him, Jahan remained uncharacteristically quiet, as spellbound as Lukien by the fantastic chamber. His soft shoes made no sound as he padded across the ornate tiles.
At last they worked their way past the gathered men, toward an area of the throne room that abruptly thinned of people. There, across the floor, Lukien saw the throne itself, an enormous chair of gold that swallowed its occupant. At the edge of this quiet area Karoshin paused, dropping to his knees. The person on the throne turned her gaze toward him.
Lukien blinked in disbelief. On the golden throne sat a girl.
Until now, the priests and advisors in the chamber had talked without end. But silence suddenly gripped the throne room. On her magnificent throne, the girl looked at Lukien, perplexed. She wore a gown of silk with a pleated skirt, cinched around her waist with a belt of turquoise. Chains of gold and obsidian hung around her wrists and neck. Heavy makeup lined her dark eyes, giving her the air of age, but her underdeveloped body told Lukien she was less than fifteen. Short, shimmering hair had been cut straight along her ears, revealing dangling jewels and feathers. Her hands clasped the arms of her throne, which were cast into the likeness of serpents. Behind her, the back of her throne formed the hood of a rass, and she, in its folds, seemed lost.
‘Eminence, these are the ones I told you about,’ said Karoshin. Still on his knees, he kept his eyes to the floor as he spoke. ‘They have come many miles to see you.’
The girl on the throne appeared stunned, as if Lukien’s arrival was like a falling star crashing through her throne room. Her ruby-coloured lips parted in disbelief. She watched her visitors carefully, searching for words. Jahan quickly grabbed hold of Lukien’s arm.
‘Lukien, this can’t be,’ he whispered.
‘Easy,’ Lukien urged.
Karoshin turned from his knees to glare at them. ‘Kneel.’
Taking hold of Jahan, Lukien guided himself and his companion down to the ground, copying Karoshin exactly.
‘Karoshin, send the others away,’ said the girl. ‘Everyone.’
The old priest rose at once, turning toward the gallery of onlookers and ordering them to go. Without hesitation the advisors and holy men retreated, departing the chamber through the great arch until it echoed with unnerving silence. Lukien remained still, not daring to look up or offend the young ruler. When all the others had gone, even the girl’s guardians, Karoshin spoke again.
‘This one is Lukien,’ said Karoshin, pointing down at the knight. ‘It is he who bears the magic amulet.’
‘And the other?’ The girl assessed Jahan. ‘He looks like one of us.’
‘I am Simiheh,’ Jahan pronounced. ‘My village is far from here, but I am of the river lands, like you.’
Lukien chanced a glance at the girl. She did not look displeased.
‘You may rise,’ she told them.
Karoshin urged the pair to their feet, then stood between them and the girl. Now that all the others had gone, he seemed at greater ease. ‘Lahkali, he knows of the Akari. He’s not one of them, but the amulet he has was made by Akari.’
‘Show me,’ the girl told Lukien.
Without hesitation Lukien took the Eye of God from beneath his shirt, holding it out for her to see. ‘It is Akari, Eminence,’ he assured her. ‘They made it many years ago, ages before it came to me. It was given to me across the desert, by a people I came to live among.’
‘Give it to me,’ said the girl. ‘I wish to see it clearly.’
Lukien hesitated. ‘I cannot. The amulet’s power keeps me alive, Eminence. If I part with it, I will die.’
‘A powerful item,’ Karoshin remarked, though Lukien’s claim did not seem to startle him. ‘Go closer then.’
‘Yes, come closer,’ said the girl, leaning over her throne. ‘Let me look at it.’
Lukien did as the young ruler asked, stepping up to her throne and holding the amulet out for her. Her expression deepened as she inspected it, nodding without really understanding.
‘Karoshin, I cannot tell if it’s genuine,’ she said. ‘How can I know?’
‘I am not certain, Lahkali.’ The holy man stuck his face out, almost touching the amulet with his nose. ‘It’s old, certainly. And it gives him the power to speak our tongue, and for us to understand his own. That is remarkable, surely. And I did not tell him the word Akari – he knew it on his own.’
‘It is genuine, Eminence, I promise,’ said Lukien. ‘It’s true that I don’t know everything about the Akari. But I do know how you might have heard of them. Do you know of an Akari named Malator?’
The Red Eminence looked mindfully at her holy man. ‘Yes,’ she said after a moment. ‘We have heard of him.’
Lukien’s heart leapt at the news. ‘That is a great relief to me, Eminence. What can you tell me about him?’
‘No,’ said the girl. ‘What can you tell us of him?’
‘Me? I don’t understand?’
‘You have come for a reason. You have come seeking something, perhaps?’
‘Yes,’ said Lukien. ‘A sword. The Sword of Angels, it’s called. Do you know of it?’
Lahkali the Red Eminence grew circumspect. ‘What do you know of the Akari called Malator?’
‘Not very much, I’m sorry to say. I was told about him in a dead city across the desert. A spirit told me about him.’
‘A spirit?’ Karoshin perked up at this. ‘You
can speak with spirits? Lahkali, do you hear?’
‘I hear,’ said Lahkali. There was a measure of excitement in her tone. ‘Go on, Lukien of Liiria. Tell us more.’
‘I don’t actually speak to spirits,’ Lukien explained. ‘Rather they have spoken to me. I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true. This city I mentioned – it was once called Kaliatha. It was the city of the Akari before they all died. They were slaughtered by a race called the Jadori, many years ago. This spirit that spoke to me was an Akari. He told me that Malator came here to Tharlara, looking for help against the Jadori.’ Lukien looked hopefully at the girl. ‘Is that how you know about the Akari, Eminence? Because Malator came to your land?’
Again the girl looked to Karoshin for guidance. The old man nodded his approval.
‘You are right,’ said the girl. ‘Mostly it is a story to us, handed down through the years. And it is just as you have said. The Akari called Malator came to Torlis seeking our help in his war.’
‘But he never returned home to his people,’ said Lukien. ‘That’s what the spirit told me. Is that so?’
‘Karoshin?’
‘Tell him what you must, Lahkali,’ advised Karoshin. ‘I see no danger in it.’
‘Then I will tell you that Malator did not return to his people,’ said the girl. ‘He remained here in Torlis until he died.’
Jahan, who had so far stayed quiet, now came forward. ‘May I speak?’ he asked.
His interruption perturbed the girl. ‘You have a question?’
