by John Marco
The sun continued to shine as Lukien and Lahkali made their way across the greens, over the hills and gulleys of the enormous garden. Lukien walked slowly, not really wanting to reach his destination. Just as Cassandra had told him, they were westward toward the sun, toward the tomb Lukien knew they would find there. Cassandra had told him everything, and he in turn had told Lahkali. The young Eminence seemed relieved as she told her secret tale.
‘When Malator died the tomb was built to keep the sword. His body was burned and his ashes taken to the sacred river. Only the sword lies within the tomb.’
It was a remarkable story, and for Lukien, the end of a mystery. He nodded as he walked alongside the girl, not saying anything as she unburdened herself.
‘I have kept this secret since my own father died, and he kept it most of his life, just as all the fathers before him, from the time of Faros himself. Faros was the first. He was the Eminence who befriended Malator. When Malator came he asked for Faros to help him. You know this already, Lukien. The Jadori were murdering the Akari, and Malator came here to find allies. But Faros refused.’
‘Of course,’ said Lukien. ‘Why would anyone bring their people to war needlessly?’
‘Ah, but Malator warned otherwise. He told Faros that the Jadori would one day come here to Torlis. One day they would conquer Torlis, just as they would conquer the Akari. That was almost a thousand years ago. We are still waiting!’
‘The Jadori aren’t like that anymore,’ Lukien told her. ‘They were, but no longer. They’re good people. Peace-loving.’
‘As you say,’ agreed Lahkali. ‘But in Malator’s day they were bloodthirsty, and Malator was desperate. He begged the Eminence for help, but Faros always refused him.’
‘And so the Akari were slaughtered.’
Lahkali nodded. ‘Yes, but not all at once. Malator stayed for months here in Torlis, trying to win Faros over. And that’s when he taught us how to commune.’
‘Ah! Tell me about that. You said the Story Garden was a gift.’
‘That’s right, but the garden took time. Malator did not build it all at once. At first he taught only Faros how to speak to the dead.’ Lahkali slowed a little and smiled at Lukien. ‘Faros was like you, Lukien. He grieved for a woman he loved. Malator knew this and gave the magic of the story stones to Faros so that he could talk to his beloved wife again.’
‘You mean he bribed him,’ said Lukien dryly.
‘And it almost worked! After months of trying, Malator had finally given Faros a reason to help him. But by then it was too late. By then the Jadori had won.’ Lahkali paused, considering her own, heavy words. ‘I don’t know how Malator knew, but he did. The story doesn’t explain that. I’ve always guessed it was his magic that told him what had happened to his people.’
‘He was right, though, however he knew.’ Lukien remembered what Raivik had told him of the slaughter. ‘So what happened to Malator?’
‘He never went back to his Kaliatha,’ said Lahkali. ‘He remained here in Torlis with Faros. He was bitter over what happened to his people, and too ashamed to go home and try to find anyone who might have survived. He spent the rest of his life here.’
‘And he built the Story Garden,’ said Lukien. ‘Yes?’
‘That’s right. He worked on it the rest of his life. The story says that it was a gift to all the people of Torlis for being so kind to him.’
‘A generous gift!’ laughed Lukien. ‘But what about the Sword of Angels?’
Lahkali shrugged. ‘It’s yours now.’
‘That’s not what I mean, Lahkali.’
‘I know.’ Lahkali continued walking, looking down at her slippers. ‘Malator could have helped his people. He could have worn the armour that his brother Kahldris made for him. He told Faros of his brother, you see, and of all his evils. Kahldris placed himself into the armour to make a great weapon to defeat the Jadori, but his Malator shunned it.’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Lukien anxiously. ‘That’s what Raivik told me. But he told me nothing of the sword, Lahkali, and so far you haven’t either.’
Lahkali glanced ahead. ‘We’re almost there.’
Lukien nodded. Somehow, he could feel it. ‘Cassandra told me that Malator would be my Akari.’
Lahkali smiled. ‘That is a good thing, yes?’
‘Yes,’ Lukien replied. ‘At least I think so.’ Still, the notion made him wary. ‘He’s calling to me. I can feel him.’
‘Malator?’
Lukien stopped walking. ‘Tell me the rest of the story before we get there. Why did he make the sword, Lahkali?’
‘To stop his brother, Lukien. Somehow he knew his brother would survive. Before he died he placed himself into the sword that he brought with him from Kaliatha. That’s what the Akari do, yes? Place themselves into objects to make themselves more powerful? Like your amulet . . .’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Lukien. ‘But I never really understood it. It makes them live on in this world, our world. It makes them strong here.’
‘Malator knew his brother would never die inside his armour, Lukien. He was old by the time he made the Sword of Angels, and so was Faros. He made Faros promise never to reveal the location of the sword to anyone. People who see Malator’s tomb don’t even know what it is. Only the priests know, and even they have no notion of the sword. It is a secret.’
‘But you knew I’d come for it,’ said Lukien. ‘How?’
‘Because that is what Malator told us would happen.’ Lahkali laughed. ‘They are so marvelous, the Akari! They see the future. They are truly like gods.’
‘No,’ said Lukien sourly. ‘They aren’t gods. They just think they are. They manipulate people into doing their bidding, and they never, ever explain themselves.’
‘Be at ease, Lukien,’ said Lahkali. She touched his hand gently. ‘You have your answers now.’
‘Do I?’ Lukien wasn’t so sure. He looked toward the west where he knew the tomb of Malator waited. The story stones were fewer here, spaced so far apart it was hard to see them, and except for himself and Lahkali, Lukien saw no one. A small bird in a nearby tree chirped when he saw them approaching. Lukien shook his head, angry that the oceanic happiness of seeing Cassandra had faded. ‘They have all used me,’ he grunted. ‘Not just Amaraz but Malator, too. And we’re all caught up in their ancient game. All right, so Malator will be my Akari now. But is that really a good thing?’
Lahkali grimaced. ‘I don’t know, Lukien. You already have the amulet to keep you alive.’
‘But I don’t want to be alive! Now more than ever, I just want to . . .’
He stopped himself, biting his lip. He felt Lahkali’s hand tighten on him.
‘Cassandra will wait forever for you, Lukien.’ Carefully she pulled him forward. ‘Come. We’re close now.’
Lukien relented, giving himself over to her guidance. They walked quietly, neither of them speaking, cresting a hill of wildflowers until a little valley was revealed, laying in the shadows of birch trees. Among the shadows stood a stone tomb, not particularly grand, its grey surface overrun by moss and creeping vines. No bigger than a shack, the tomb had a single, iron door and a symbol hung over the threshold, carved of the same weathered rock. Lukien peered at it from the place on the hill, noting the symbol with a wry smile. It wasn’t a blade that marked the sword’s resting place, but a single, expertly carved torch with flames that leaped off the surface in relief. Lukien turned toward Lahkali.
‘Life?’
‘Eternal,’ explained Lahkali. ‘That must have been what Malator requested. The tomb has been here a thousand years, Lukien. It’s built, rebuilt and repaired, but always the torch has remained.’ She smiled at him. ‘Are you ready?’
Lukien took a breath. ‘I’m ready.’ He hesitated. ‘What now?’
‘Now you go inside. The sword is waiting for you.’
‘Inside? But how? That door must weigh a hundred pounds.’ Lukien studied it from the distance. ‘And lo
ok – it must be locked.’
‘It is locked, Lukien. But you are here to claim the sword. If as you say Malator is waiting for you . . .’
Lukien understood without really knowing how. He had long ago accepted the Akari magics. Opening a long locked door was hardly a task for them at all. ‘Will you come with me?’ he asked.
‘No,’ said Lahkali. ‘You’ve come a long way, Lukien. You should go the rest of the way on your own.’
She reached up on her tiptoes and put a kiss on his cheek, then retreated back with a smile. Lukien regarded her with open admiration. They both knew he’d reached the end of his journey, and that soon he would be going home. But there would be no tears from this strong young woman.
‘Wait here for me,’ he told her, then turned and started down the hill. The flowers crunched beneath his boots as he hurried, carried down by the gentle slope. At the floor of the valley he felt the cool shade of the birch trees touch his face, and for a moment he slowed, taking in the ancient tomb. It looked every day of its thousand years, crumbling in places, its rocks patched with new mortar, its roof slanted with age. The hinges of the iron door had long ago rusted shut, almost falling to dust. The portal itself seemed unmovable. Lukien sized it up as he approached the crypt. It would be impossible to move alone, he decided.
‘But I won’t be alone, will I?’ he whispered.
This time, he wasn’t talking to Amaraz. Behind the door waited Malator, and despite the thick iron between them, he could almost hear the Akari’s voice, urging him onward. Lukien placed his hands onto the metal portal, feeling its cold sturdiness. There was no handle to the thing, and only the barest space between its edge and the stone. Confident, Lukien put his fingernails into the narrow gap, digging in as best he could.
‘All right, Malator. I’m ready. Help me!’
Then, closing his eyes, Lukien pulled. His fingers slipped, but held just enough to move the door a fraction. Amazed, he tried again, this time getting a stronger hold, and when he pulled the door creaked open, giving a screech like a wounded animal as the antique hinges shattered. Lukien’s muscles shook as he pulled, using his weight to pry the door open. He felt it grinding forward, crushing the earth beneath it. Lukien gave a triumphant shout, then used his shoulder to push the door aside. It fell with a loud crash to the ground, and suddenly the thousand year-old air rushed out of the tomb. Inside, shrouded in darkness, stood a single, plain looking altar, almost the twin of the one used to make the story stones. Dust had settled thickly over its smooth surface, obscuring the object sitting atop it. Lukien held his breath, taking one small step inside. As his sight adjusted to the darkness, he saw the point of the sword sticking out from the altar’s edge.
The Sword of Angels rested in the dust of eons. It didn’t glow or burn with fire. It didn’t sing or call to him. Looking like an old, discarded weapon, it merely waited atop its humble altar, letting the years dull its shine. Lukien inched deeper into the tomb, gazing lovingly at the sword. Its simple workmanship touched his heart. Endless generations of spiders had weaved their silken homes around the crypt, and the air smelled foully of must. Amid all of this, the sword rested patiently, not complaining. Lukien reached the altar and hovered over it, his light breath disturbing the dust. He could see the sword clearly now, and knew it for its Akari craftsmanship. The blade was straight, long and slender and double-edged. The cross-guard, made of simple steel, curved upwards at the edges. The grip, so time-worn it showed the finger grooves of its master, had been made of something like onyx, still with a sheen despite the years of dust. But it was the pommel that caught Lukien’s attention, the only grand part of the sword. Used as a counter-balance, this pommel had been perfectly formed into the likeness of a lion’s head. Lukien stared at it in amazement. He had expected the Sword of Angels to take his breath away. Instead, it merely pleased him.
‘Malator?’ he whispered. He looked up from the sword, gazing around the chamber. ‘I am Lukien of Liiria. I’ve come a long way to find you and your sword, and how I mean to claim it. Your brother is at work in the world again. He’s very far away. You probably don’t even know he’s awake.’
Lukien paused, listening. Malator did not speak, yet Lukien could feel his presence all around him.
‘I tried to defeat him,’ Lukien explained. ‘I wasn’t at all prepared for it. Your brother has a friend of mine, you see. My friend – Baron Glass – he’s a good man. He is, really, but he’s taken the Devil’s Armour for himself and now your brother Kahldris has corrupted him. Malator? Are you listening?’
He had only to ask, and the sword on the altar began to vibrate. Slowly at first, the steel of the blade began to hum, shaking the dust and singing with a strange, metallic music. Lukien laughed with delight.
‘Malator! You see, Amaraz? It’s not so hard to speak to me!’
He knew he should take the sword. He knew the singing was Malator’s signal to him. Lukien prepared himself, unsure what would happen when he touched the simple hilt. The sword was his; Cassandra had promised him that. And now Malator too seemed to insist the same thing. Lukien reached out carefully and took hold of the sword, wrapping his fingers around the onyx grip and gently lifting it from the altar. It came up easily, weightlessly, slipping through the air without any effort at all. Lukien grinned at the blade’s perfect balance, the way his hand moulded to its timeless contours. At once he felt the power of Malator coursing through him.
‘I’m ready, Malator,’ he declared. ‘Show yourself to me, I beg you.’
Outside, the sky began to darken. Or was it just the tomb itself? Lukien turned toward the door and watched as the shadows from the birch trees crept up on the threshold, blanketing it until the chamber went black. Unable to see, Lukien waited, feeling the sword grow warm in his grip. Just as he had with Amaraz, he felt his head began to swim. The ground beneath him turned to water, and the walls began to bend with light. Bracing himself, Lukien shut his eyes. When he opened them again the tomb was gone, and he was alone in the Story Garden.
He looked around, unsure if this was the same garden he had entered with Lahkali. Night had fallen, and the flowers had vanished. The birch trees remained but they were different somehow, with moonlight trickling through their leaves. Malator’s crypt was nowhere to be found, yet it felt to Lukien as though he were in the same valley. Up in the sky a few tendrils of clouds moved across the moon. A steady breeze rambled across the green. Lukien looked around, confused but unafraid. He knew that this was Malator’s doing, and that the dead Akari would soon appear. Still holding the Sword of Angels, he began to wander among the trees. The hill where he’d left Lahkali was still there, but of course the girl was gone. He was not only in Malator’s world – he was in Malator’s death world. Lahkali wouldn’t be born for a thousand more years.
‘Malator?’ called Lukien. ‘I’m ready to meet you. Please.’
From the corner of his eye Lukien glimpsed movement in the trees. He turned and saw a figure among the birches, almost hiding behind one of the trunks. The man wore a white shirt that flared out at the bottom, cinched with a wide belt of tan leather. A long coat hung from his shoulders, battered from years of riding. He leaned against the tree trunk, his green eyes shining, his lips curled in a shy smile. His hair was white, his face elfish and lightly boned. His spidery fingers clasped together over his belly as he watched Lukien wordlessly. Lukien stepped toward him, not really sure who he was seeing.
‘I know,’ said the man. ‘You expected someone grander, didn’t you?’
‘I’m . . . not certain,’ stammered Lukien. ‘Are you Malator?’
‘I am. And I don’t look very much like my brother!’
‘I’ve never seen your brother,’ said Lukien, ‘but I’ve seen his armour. And you’re right – you’re not what I expected.’
Malator grinned and stepped away from the tree. He walked with a lilt that surprised Lukien, but even in his shining eyes a hint of remorse remained. ‘You found my sword,’ he told L
ukien. ‘You wouldn’t have come if you didn’t need it.’
Lukien nodded. It was all so surreal, yet he couldn’t help himself from telling the Akari everything. ‘It’s like I said in the tomb. Did you hear me? Your brother has a friend of mine under his spell. Call it magic, call it whatever your word is for it. I want to save my friend, Malator.’
‘And you tried already? Tell me about that.’
‘If I must. It’s not a pleasant memory. I was told the armour was invincible, but I didn’t believe it really. I do now. I was left for dead after the fight. Only my amulet saved me.’
Malator’s eyes leapt. ‘Yes, your amulet! I can feel the one inside it. He’s very powerful.’
‘He’s an Akari, like you,’ said Lukien. ‘His name is Amaraz.’
‘I know of Amaraz,’ said Malator. His tone grew serious. ‘He was a great summoner, even before I left for Torlis. He was far greater than I was, or my brother. May I see your amulet?’
Lukien removed the Eye of God from beneath his shirt, holding it out for Malator to inspect. ‘It was given to me after a battle,’ he said. ‘It keeps me alive. It’s the only thing that saved me after fighting the armour.’
Malator studied the amulet intently, leaning forward but not touching it. He was quiet for a long time, sometimes nodding, other times glazing over as if lost in thought. ‘Amaraz speaks to me,’ he said softly.
Lukien scoffed. ‘Good. He speaks to everyone but me.’
‘Do you know why? Have you figured it out yet?’
‘I think so,’ said Lukien. He stared at Malator. ‘Because you’re to be my Akari.’
‘That’s right. You won’t need the Eye of God any more, Lukien. While you carry my sword, you will have life.’
‘Incredible,’ sighed Lukien. He looked down at his amulet, saw the red gem pulsing with light, and wondered what it all meant. ‘If I take this off, will I live?’
