by John Marco
She was cross-legged on the grass, her face brightly lit by the sun. Around her sat a dozen children of various ages, enraptured. She was singing, and in her lap was Poppy, lying there still, obliviously deaf to the beautiful sounds coming from Eiriann’s mouth. The children smiled and sang along with Eiriann’s pure voice. Lorn listened, heard the lovely music, saw his daughter lying still and dumb in the woman’s lap, and was enraged.
“Stop!” he cried. “Stop singing!”
He hurried over to the huddle, frightening and scattering the children. Eiriann looked up at him in shock.
“What?”
“Stop singing,” Lorn demanded, hovering over her. The others stared at him in disbelief. He ignored them and pointed down at Poppy. “Fate’s sake, girl, what’s wrong with you? She can’t even hear you!”
Eiriann’s face fell. “I know that. I—”
“What’s this?” said the man on the stool. Angry, he hobbled over to them. “Listen here, brute, don’t yell at her.”
“Stay out of this,” Lorn snapped. “Eiriann, Poppy can’t hear a word you sing. How dare you have those other children around her, laughing at her!”
“What?” the girl erupted. “You idiot, Poppy likes it!”
“She can’t even hear it!”
“She can feel it! Here . . .”
Eiriann clutched the baby close to her again, tight against her abdomen, and began to sing.
“Stop it!” Lorn ordered.
But Eiriann did not stop. She looked right at Lorn and kept on singing, making that beautiful voice trill from her core, urging Lorn to look down at Poppy. At last he did so and noticed the girl’s remarkable smile. Each breath Eiriann took, every small vibration of her body, curled Poppy’s lips in a contented smile.
Lorn stood, frozen to the ground. He could not bring himself to look at Eiriann or the man who’d sprung to her defense. All he could do was watch his daughter smiling—and hate himself. Eiriann went on singing. Her face was placid again; all her anger had fled. She smiled at Lorn as she sang, but he could not return the gesture. The man backed slowly away, rejoining the others. The children inched a little closer. Ashamed, Lorn clenched his teeth and stared at his daughter.
When Eiriann finished her song, she stood and held Poppy out for him. “Don’t be angry,” she said gently. “You see? She likes it.”
Lorn took his daughter and cradled her. He looked into Eiriann’s magnificent eyes and saw undeserved forgiveness there.
“You were with those men from Andola,” she said.
Lorn nodded. “Yes. It doesn’t matter though.”
“No?” asked the girl hopefully.
“No, and don’t pester me about it, girl. You need me, all of you. There’s no way you’d make it across the desert without me.”
Eiriann’s face lit with joy. “You’re right. We do need you.”
“That’s it, then,” said Lorn flatly. “Two days, right? We’ll be ready.”
“Two days,” said Eiriann.
Her smile embarrassed him. Turning away, King Lorn the Wicked walked out of the yard without looking back, still cradling his happy child.
19
MIRAGE
Meriel had never gotten used to the desert. In all her time in Grimhold, she had feared it. The desert was a place of endless quiet, where a single thought could echo forever in a person’s mind. For Meriel, there was a thought that rattled endlessly around her brain. She was alone in Grimhold and lonely, and longed to escape the peace of the place, to return into the normal human world where the day to day scratch for survival would make her forget her many demons.
Meriel watched the desert from her private place on the outcrop of rock. The sands were always shifting but never seemed to bring change. Alone and covered in the garments that hid her face and hands, Meriel waited patiently. Today was not just a day like any other. Today Minikin would return. The little mistress had been gone from Grimhold for more than a week. It was said among the Inhumans that she had gone to train Gilwyn Toms in the use of his Akari, and there was great excitement among her peers about this, for all of them knew and adored Gilwyn Toms and wanted him to be truly one of them at last. White-Eye, the kahana, had spoken of little else of late, and though Meriel mostly shunned the kahana she could not help but hear the news. Like herself, White-Eye waited for Minikin to return. Gilwyn Toms had been gone from Grimhold for months now, busy with the work of the city’s reconstruction. Meriel pitied the blind kahana. She knew too well what it meant to love a man and yet have him kept away.
Lukien, too, was gone from Grimhold. Like Minikin, he had gone to Jador. Prince Aztar’s raiders continued to harass the Seekers coming across the desert and Lukien was needed there, certainly more than he was in Grimhold. Meriel missed him. She missed his kindness and the way he insisted she show her face around him, as though her hideous burns meant nothing. Not even Baron Glass was so kind to her, though he was a trusted friend and had confessed his own love for her. Lately Thorin had little time for her, and Meriel was grateful for that. She had not wanted to hurt Thorin or rebuke his love. But he was quiet now and had not come to her in many days, not since returning himself from Jador. Meriel wondered what bad news had befallen the baron. In Jador he had met with the Liirian Seekers and had been surly ever since.
He broods, thought Meriel. He wants to return to the world.
They had that much in common, at least. But Thorin was old. A good man, certainly, but he could have been a grandfather.
Meriel cleared her mind with a deep breath. It made no sense to worry about Thorin now. She had made a decision, and if Minikin granted her request she would not need Thorin.
Out on the rock the heat of the sun roasted her. She called on Sarlvarian to ease the pain, but the Akari ignored her. He was there, inside her, like a tremor beneath her consciousness, but he no longer rose to speak or comfort her. She had hurt him. She had not been able to keep her plans from him, for they were one in the way that Inhumans and Akari always become one. She had no secrets from Sarlvarian.
She would miss him.
She waited. Ignoring the heat of the day, she continued her vigil on the rock, waiting for the first evidence of Minikin’s arrival. Hunger began to tug at her but she ignored it. Afternoon slipped nearly into evening, and she began to give up hope. She rose and stretched, disappointed, at last preparing to leave when finally she saw the figures on the horizon. A small group of kreel made their way through the canyon, following the secret way toward Grimhold. Meriel’s heart leapt, for she knew that Minikin had returned. Excited, she turned to hurry away from the rock, but the magnitude of her request made her pause. She turned and looked back out over the desert. Past the crags she saw the speck that was Minikin and wondered what the Mistress of Grimhold would say to her request.
“I will beg if I must,” Meriel resolved. “But I will not let her refuse me.”
Whenever Minikin returned to Grimhold she went first to visit White-Eye. It was no secret among the Inhumans that the blind girl was like a daughter to Minikin. Her father Kadar, who had been Kahan of Jador before his death in battle a year ago, had been a lifelong friend of Minikin’s, as well as a benefactor and protector of Grimhold. Because of the protective darkness of the keep Kadar had sent his light-sensitive child to live with Minikin in Grimhold when she was but an infant, and Minikin had mothered the girl as if she were her own.
Meriel had never been jealous of White-Eye’s relationship with Minikin. The Mistress of Grimhold had tried mightily to treat her like a daughter too, but she had failed because Meriel had mostly spurned her affection. Meriel realized that and so did not fret when Minikin spent time with White-Eye, as she did tonight. Instead Meriel waited patiently for the mistress to finish her audience with the kahana, to tell her all about her lover Gilwyn and the status of things in Jador and to gossip about simpler things, the way friends do. Meriel stalked the halls of Grimhold, keeping her cowl wrapped around her face and avoiding the other Inhumans
. She did not dine when the dinner hour came, for she was afraid of seeing Thorin. Her own single-mindedness quashed whatever hunger she felt, until at last she saw Minikin again.
As always, Minikin’s giant bodyguard Trog accompanied her as she walked down the hall. She looked weary, for it was a difficult ride from Jador and always took a toll on the tiny woman. But her face remained glowing and her elvish expression lit the hall as she greeted her “children,” those others like Meriel who lived in Grimhold. Meriel kept to the shadows as Minikin made her way closer. She was on her way to the dining hall, Meriel supposed, and the thought of waiting even longer to talk to her was torturous. As the little woman padded closer, Meriel stepped out of the shadows to confront her. Minikin stopped as if she expected the interruption.
“Minikin,” said Meriel sheepishly. “Welcome home.”
The little woman smiled, looking up past the fabric that hid Meriel’s face. “Hello, child,” she said. She seemed genuinely glad the young woman had come to greet her. “Have you waited to sup with me?”
“No,” replied Meriel nervously. “Minikin, I have to speak with you.”
Minikin held out her little hand. “Good. Then come and eat and we shall talk.”
“No, no, not here,” said Meriel. “Please, I want to speak to you alone. It’s important.”
Minikin’s elvish face creased. “What is the matter, Meriel? Is something wrong?”
“Perhaps something is right, Minikin, for the first time in years. I’ve made an important decision but I need your help with it.” Meriel looked around, and through the folds of her cowl noticed others nearby. “Please,” she whispered, “I don’t want others to hear me.”
Suspicion crept over Minikin’s face. She studied Meriel for a long while, letting the girl shift uncomfortably under her gaze. For Meriel it was like having icy hands crawl over her brain, for she knew that Minikin could read her thoughts and pull the secrets from her mind. Finally the little woman nodded. She turned to her massive bodyguard.
“Trog, go and eat. I’ll see you again as soon as I can.” The great mute looked displeased, but never disobeyed his mistress. He lumbered past Meriel and made his way toward the dining hall without a sound. When he was out of earshot Minikin looked at Meriel again.
“You have me worried, child. What is this thing you would discuss with me?”
“Not here, please. Can we go somewhere else? Somewhere others can’t hear?”
“To your rock perhaps?” Minikin queried. “I’ve heard from the others that you’ve been spending much time in your hiding place, Meriel.”
Meriel knew she wasn’t being insulted; it wasn’t Minikin’s way to hurt people. Yet she was embarrassed by the forward question.
“I spend time there because it makes me happy to be away from the keep,” she said. “It’s quiet there and I can think.”
“Good. Then we won’t be disturbed.” Minikin’s smile was genuine. “Take me there, child. We will talk in secrets like two schoolgirls.”
“What? Oh, no, Minikin. It’s too much of a climb . . .”
“Nonsense. My little legs are stronger than they look. Come on.”
Meriel was flabbergasted, but there was no arguing with the mistress at times like this. It didn’t matter that it was dark now or that the place was high up on a cliff—Minikin wanted to see it. In an odd way, it even pleased Meriel. She led the way out of the hall and through the keep, walking slowly so that Minikin could keep up. Others stopped to speak with them along the way, but each time Minikin politely refused conversation, devoting her attention to Meriel instead. They came to the great gate at the mouth of the keep, where Greygor the gate-keeper waited with his aides. He was another massive fellow, who like Trog kept silent all of the time. The gate, however, had remained opened since Minikin’s arrival, revealing the dark desert landscape beyond. Greygor, encased in the armor that held his broken body together, dropped to one knee when he saw Minikin approach. To Meriel he looked as tall and as wide as the gate itself. She had always feared the great man, though he had never given her cause.
“Greygor, keep the gate open for us,” said Minikin. “We will return soon.”
Just as Trog had not questioned her orders, Greygor merely nodded his metal-cased head. Minikin gestured to one of the torches on the wall.
“Meriel,” she said, “bring us some light.”
Having no need of torches, Meriel put her hand to the burning object and scooped up a ball of jumping flames. This she held in her palm like a lantern, effortlessly keeping it alive. For the first time in days she could feel Sarlvarian clearly now. It was his magic that kept the flame dancing, all without searing her flesh.
“Take me to your secret place,” Minikin directed.
With her palmful of flame lighting the way, Meriel stepped out of the keep and into the desert night. The sky was clear but the moon was a sliver, and only the beacon in her hand lighted the sand that forever lapped at the threshold of Grimhold. Minikin stepped out after her, unafraid as she followed Meriel away from the keep toward the looming cliffs. Because she knew the way so well Meriel hardly needed light at all, but she walked deliberately as she picked her way over the rocks so that Minikin could keep up. To her surprise the little lady in her magical coat moved effortlessly through the night, never more than a pace behind her. At one point she urged Meriel to move faster. Meriel did so, climbing the path she had worn into the mountainside as they made their way to her private outcropping of rock. Like the jaw of a giant, the rock jutted out from the side of the cliff, as though some godlike architect had built a private balcony for her. When they reached it, Minikin walked to the edge of the rock and nodded approvingly.
“So this is where you go when I don’t know where you are,” she said. “Now I see why. It’s lovely here.”
Meriel was no longer embarrassed. Instead she felt oddly proud of the little place she had discovered, and was glad to finally be sharing it with Minikin. At the base of the rock she gathered some dried shrubbery and sticks, which she arranged near the edge by Minikin. When she had a little pile she touched the flame in her palm to it, passing the fire from her hand to the tinder. It was hardly enough fuel for a fire, yet the tinder burned without really burning, holding the magical flame but not sending up even a wisp of smoke.
“Quite a gift,” commented Minikin when she saw what Meriel had done. Meriel grimaced, not sure of the lady’s full meaning. She sat herself down cross-legged before the little fire and stared at it a moment.
“Yes,” she agreed. “It’s been . . . useful.”
“Your gift protects you from pain,” Minikin reminded her. The little woman sat down across from her, studying her face in the feeble light. “You would suffer without it.”
“I suffer now, Minikin. Every day.”
“Your suffering is of the heart, child. I’m talking about suffering of the body. Have you forgotten the pain you were in before Sarlvarian?”
“How could I?”
Minikin left the question open-ended. “You want to leave here, don’t you?”
Meriel nodded.
“Is that what you want from me? My blessing to leave Grimhold?”
“I wish it were so simple, Minikin. But no, I want something more.”
“Remove your cowl,” bid Minikin gently. “You have no need to hide from me.”
It had always been her custom to hide face her from everyone but Lukien. Only he had insisted that she never shy away, and she loved him for that. But Minikin’s mild words coaxed Meriel’s cowl down, revealing her horribly scarred face.
“It is well that you should see me as I truly am,” said Meriel, “because I do not wish to be this way any longer. Look at me, Minikin. Look at my ugliness and tell me that you cannot understand this wish.”
“I understand,” said Minikin. “It is hard for you, I know.”
“No, you don’t understand. You don’t know what I’m asking, do you?”
“Here in Grimhold your th
oughts are your own. I have the tools to pry them open if that’s what you want. Or can you find the words to tell me yourself?”
Suddenly Meriel was afraid. The courage she had cultivated throughout the day fled as she looked at Minikin across the night gloom. “Minikin, I wish to leave here, but not as I am. I want to change,” she said. “I don’t want to return to the world as a monster. I want to change the way I look.” She steeled herself before concluding, “I want to change my Akari.”
It was rare to see Minikin stunned, but she was so now. Her eyes blinked in disbelief, and for a moment she made no sound at all. Meriel hurried to fill the silence.
“I have thought about this hard. It’s all I’ve thought about, really. I want to look normal, Minikin, like I did before the fire. I want an Akari that can do that for me, change my appearance the way Ghost does.”
“But Sarlvarian . . .”
“I know,” said Meriel, “and I’m sorry to even be saying this. If it weren’t so important I would never ask such a thing. But it is possible, yes? If Ghost can make himself appear to vanish, cannot another Akari make me look normal again?”
It was a struggle for Minikin to reply. “Yes,” she said finally. “It is possible. But what you ask has never been done before, child. No Inhuman has ever shunned her Akari.” She glanced down at the amulet around her neck, the one that held the essence of Lariniza. It began to pulse, not angrily but sadly. Minikin’s face grew troubled. “The others—Amaraz and his sister—they will not be pleased.”
“But you can make them allow it,” Meriel begged. “They’ll listen to you. If you tell them how important this is to me, they will let you do this for me. And you can find another host for Sarlvarian. The boy you brought from Jador, perhaps.”
“Carlan? You seem to have thought of everything.”
