by John Marco
In her quiet chamber Minikin slept peacefully, for she had learned long ago how to put her troubles onto a shelf for another day. In the hundreds of years that she had lived, she had learned the value of a good night’s sleep. Tonight, though, a visitor interrupted her dreams. It was not often that Lariniza came to her, and when she did it always startled Minikin. Lariniza, the beautiful Akari that inhabited her amulet, reached across the void between the living and the dead and spoke to Minikin.
“Hear me, Minikin . . .”
In her small bed, Minikin opened her eyes and saw that her room had changed. She was still asleep, she knew, but unafraid.
“I hear you, Lariniza.”
“See me.”
Minikin sat up, but did not feel her body move as she did so. Her open yet sleeping eyes looked around the chamber. The walls of the room shimmered. At the foot of the bed the Akari woman appeared, forming out of nothing. She was tall and lithe, and her pretty face regarded Minikin gravely.
“Lariniza.” Minikin spoke as if in a fog. “What is it?”
“You must wake, Minikin, and return at once to Grimhold,” said the spirit. “You are needed.”
Minikin searched her confused mind. “Needed?”
“Go to Grimhold,” said Lariniza. “Tonight. Find the Bronze Knight and bring him with you.”
“Lukien? But he’s in the desert. I don’t know where.”
“Have the boy Gilwyn find him. You must leave for Grimhold.”
Her words alarmed Minikin, who struggled to understand. “What is it?” she asked. “Lariniza, tell me.”
“Peril,” replied the Akari woman. Her glowing face frowned. “For all of us, perhaps.”
At last the horrible possibility dawned on Minikin. She hesitated before voicing her fear. “The armor?”
“Amaraz is needed, Minikin. He will tell you all. Have Lukien come to Grimhold.”
“Lariniza, what if I can’t find Lukien? Can Amaraz not speak with him? As you speak to me?”
“Gilwyn can find Lukien,” said Lariniza. For some reason, she refused to explain herself. “Now you must wake. Tell Gilwyn of your need and return to Grimhold.”
Minikin nodded her sleeping head. She was too confused to argue, and she had her directive. She watched Lariniza fade into the air, then set her head back down on the pillow. At once she slipped back into sleep, then forced herself awake. She sat up, gasping from the experience, and looked around the room which had now returned to normal. Her heart beat furiously in her chest.
“Lukien,” she whispered to herself. She had to find him. Tossing her tiny feet over the bed, she hurried into her robe and left the bedchamber in search of Gilwyn.
Since his days in the great library, Gilwyn Toms loved quiet places. Back in Koth, he had had a private hiding spot along a high ledge of his scholarly home, where he and Teku could escape the hectic work of day and be alone to read or think. It was where he had first seen Cassandra and fallen in love with her, wrongly thinking her no older than himself because of the magic that kept her forever young. When he had come to Jador he missed the solace of the library, but soon found his own place among the many rooms of the grand palace, a tiny shaded garden filled with greenery and adorned by a tiny fountain that gurgled peacefully among the plants. At night, when the hot wind from the desert subsided, the garden became Gilwyn’s private oasis, a place where—like his hiding spot in Koth—he could consider the many things that had happened during the day.
It was very late when Minikin came to him in the garden, and Gilwyn was nodding off over a book of old Jadori texts. The news she delivered jolted him awake.
There was no time for Minikin to explain. She was already dressed and ready for the road, and had sent Trog to the stables to prepare their mounts and escort. She told him that something grave had happened and that she needed to leave for Grimhold at once.
“Minikin, what is it?” he insisted. His fears turned immediately toward White-Eye. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I do not know,” she told him honestly. “I have seen Lariniza, Gilwyn. She told me to return to Grimhold.”
Gilwyn knew Lariniza was Minikin’s Akari, the spirit that dwelled within her amulet. She was a leader among the Akari, like her brother Amaraz, and her words were something to be heeded. Gilwyn closed his book and stood in confusion before his tiny mentor.
“It’s late. You won’t even be able to see where you’re going.”
“The kreel will take us there,” said Minikin. “They know the way, you know that.”
“If it’s White-Eye I want to go with you,” he insisted. “Emerald and I can guide you better than anyone else.”
Minikin shook her head. “I don’t think it’s White-Eye, Gilwyn. And you cannot go—you have something else to do. You must find Lukien, tell him to return to Grimhold at once.”
Now Gilwyn was truly stunned. “Minikin, I don’t know where Lukien is. How am I supposed to find him?”
“Use your gift, Gilwyn, the way I’ve been teaching you. Ask Ruana to help you.”
“My gift?” sputtered Gilwyn. “But how?”
“Ruana will guide you, show you the way.” Minikin put out her little hand and touched his arm. “I have no more time to talk, Gilwyn. You must do this thing somehow. If what I think has happened, we will need Lukien. He and the amulet must come to Grimhold so that I may speak with Amaraz.”
None of it made sense to Gilwyn. He said, “I’ll try, Minikin. But if I fail . . .”
“You will not fail.” She flashed him one of her wry smiles. “Think only of success.”
And then she left him, disappearing from the garden with a quick twirl of her colorful coat. Worried and confused, Gilwyn simply stood mutely for a moment, wondering what to do. He hadn’t heard from Lukien in days; he could have been anywhere out in the desert. Certainly he would never find him in the dark, even with Emerald and their magical bond. He needed another way to contact his friend. Could Ruana help him?
He sat down again on his iron chair and considered the idea. His hands and face began to sweat. He had made progress with Ruana; that was certain. Gilwyn had impressed Minikin, and himself. Now he could communicate with Emerald better than he ever had before, and his closeness with Teku was staggering. The monkey swung down from the branches of a fruit tree to sit on the table before him. As if reading his mind, the faithful creature nodded. Gilwyn reached out to scratch her furry head.
“I don’t know, Teku,” he said. “How do I find Lukien?”
He knew only that Lukien was in the desert. The Inhuman albino Ghost was with him, as were a handful of Jadori warriors.
“Ruana won’t know where he is,” said Gilwyn crossly. He looked at Teku. “Will she?”
The monkey’s answer was predictable. She yawned as he scratched her head.
“Right.”
Gilwyn leaned back in his seat and tried to clear his mind. Summoning Ruana wasn’t difficult anymore. It wasn’t even like summoning, really. He only had to think of her. He closed his eyes and thought of her then, and instantly felt her presence in his mind. She always came to him like a warm wind.
You are troubled.
The remark annoyed Gilwyn. “You heard what Minikin said, didn’t you?”
I’m always listening, Gilwyn.
“Then you know there’s trouble,” he said. He often spoke aloud to her, though there was no real need for it. “I have to find Lukien, Ruana. Somehow.”
How then?
“You tell me. Minikin said you’d help.”
I will help you to help yourself, replied the spirit.
“All right. I need to find Lukien. Tell me how.”
In his mind the woman seemed to sigh. You have your gifts, Gilwyn. Have you forgotten?
“No, but Emerald isn’t with Lukien. Neither is Teku. How can I reach him?”
You have power over the kreel. The Jadori warriors with Lukien have kreels.
Gilwyn grew exasperated. “Please, Ruana, I don’
t understand what you mean and I don’t have time to figure it out. I need your help.”
Then prepare yourself, ordered the Akari. Keep your eyes closed and your mind clear.
“Prepare myself? What for?”
Keep your mouth closed, too. The aura of Amaraz is strong. I will find him.
Gilwyn struggled with her answer but did not argue. He trusted Ruana, and though he didn’t know what she had planned he knew she would help him. Sitting comfortably in his chair, he freed his mind of questions. A moment later, the sense of flying over the desert struck him with awe.
For Lukien, nights in the Desert of Tears were a salve.
Each day, he battled the sun and the sand and the raiders that constantly challenged him. He rescued Seekers from Prince Aztar, and sometimes he failed to keep them safe, coming across their slaughtered corpses in the dunes. While the sun was up, Lukien was at constant war. He had been at war for months now, and had lost count of how many men he had slain in the desert. The white gaka he wore against the sun was soiled with blood and sweat. The amulet chafed against his skin. For Lukien and those that accompanied him, keeping Jador safe from Aztar was a difficult, toll-taking duty. Bitter days in the desert exhausted them all.
But at night, when the world grew quiet and the sun surrendered, peace returned to the desert. Lukien had learned to worship the night. The moon had become his god. Finally, night brought the end of killing. He could relax by the fire with his comrades, tell stories of the world beyond Jador, and forget that his war with Aztar had no end. Tonight the Jadori warriors slept. The fire they used to warm themselves against the surprising chill of the desert had subsided to a mild smolder. Nearby, the kreels they rode were bedded for the night, nestled into the sand to warm their cold blood. There was no need for ropes with kreel. The huge reptiles never strayed or disobeyed their masters. The same was not true of Lukien’s horse, which stood obediently, as long as it was tied to a stake driven into the sand.
Lukien laid back against his elbow, staring at his silent mount as he sipped from a skin of wine. It would be so easy for the beast to bolt, he decided, if only it were smart enough to know the weakness of its ties. Horses weren’t like kreels. They weren’t nearly as smart or as fast or as loyal. Kreels were remarkable. He envied the others, their abilities.
In the sand next to him, the young albino Ghost sat cross-legged as he toyed with a wooden flute. The music he made delighted Lukien. Ghost’s talent with the instrument was substantial, the music he made soulful. It was very late but sleep never came easy to Lukien. The tunes from the flute soothed him. He scanned the desert, happy at the quiet. In the past day they had come upon another of Aztar’s raiding parties, this one closer to the city than usual. The clash had left three of the Voruni dead; the others had fled deeper into the desert. Lukien wondered where they were now, if they had returned to Aztar or if they had returned to watch them from some nearby dune. He doubted it. Aztar’s men were brutal, but they weren’t cowards. They never ambushed them at night, always brave enough to face them in full light.
Like it did in every battle, Lukien’s magnificent amulet had saved him today. The raiders they had fought were well-trained fighters, and once they knew it was Shalafein they had discovered they did their best to slay him. Ghost’s mournful song reminded Lukien how close he’d come to death. Badly outnumbered, they had nevertheless bested the raiders. It was strange to Lukien to think that he couldn’t die. Was there nothing that would stand against the amulet?
Suddenly Ghost’s song shifted, and he began playing a gay tune. Lukien looked at him.
“What’s that you’re playing?”
“Something happy. You looked like you needed it.”
“Stop it. Go back to playing the other song.”
Ghost shrugged and did as Lukien asked, and once again their little camp filled with soft music. Now that the sun was down, Ghost had shed most of the cloth that covered his head and face and hands, protecting his sensitive white skin from the ravaging light. His eyes were the color of gray pearls. He was only a little older than Gilwyn, but his experiences in Grimhold had made him a good deal wiser. He was also a good fighter, always eager to help defend Jador. He and Lukien had quickly become friends.
“Why do you play that thing?” Lukien asked.
The albino pulled the flute from his lips and thought for a moment. “Because there are no women here.”
Lukien laughed. It was the answer of a true soldier. “Keep on playing then. We won’t see a woman out here tonight.” He glanced at Ghost, curious suddenly. “You don’t have a girl back in Grimhold. Why is that?”
“Because girls like to go for strolls in the sunlight,” joked Ghost, “and look into a fellow’s eyes at the same time. They can’t do that while I’m hooded like a leper.”
“You should find yourself a girl,” decided Lukien. “In the village maybe. Lots of good looking ones there. Or maybe a Jadori girl.”
“I’ve been to the village,” replied Ghost. “My white face scares them.”
It wasn’t true, Lukien knew, but he thought it best not to press his friend. There were Inhumans and regular folk in Grimhold’s village, and none of them were afraid of Ghost. He was friend to everyone.
“You shouldn’t be so shy,” he concluded. “I think that’s your problem.”
Ghost laid the flute down in the warm sand. “And what about you? You could do with a woman yourself, my friend. It might make you less irritable.”
Lukien smiled and gave his usual answer. “I already had a woman. She was incomparable.”
“There are others.”
“Not like mine.”
The young man said seriously, “She’s dead, Lukien.”
Lukien nodded. “Aye, she is that.”
He was grateful when Ghost said no more. He had made the mistake of telling his friend about Meriel, and how the young woman obviously adored him. She loved him really, and would probably keep on pursuing him. Surprisingly, Ghost hadn’t thought it such a bad thing. He hoped the albino didn’t think him bigoted against the Inhumans. His lack of love for Meriel had nothing to do with her burned appearance.
Or perhaps it did. Sometimes he wasn’t sure. He knew only that he still loved Cassandra, and the year since her death had done little to ease his heartbreak. People like Ghost thought his mourning had gone on too long, but Lukien knew differently. Someday the amulet would release him from its immortal hold. Then he would die, and if the priests were right at all he would go to that place of the dead where Cassandra lived. And then he could see her again.
Sometimes he longed for that day. Some days it was a struggle not to rip the Eye of God from his neck and bury it deep in the sand with his last dying breath.
“Someday I will,” he whispered.
“What was that?”
Lukien smiled faintly. “Go on and play some more. I like it.”
Ghost was about to take up his flute when a noise from the kreels got both their attention. What started as a throaty grunt was quickly picked up by the other beasts, who begin to stir from their slumber and rise on their scaly haunches. Their long necks snaked upward as they looked about with their glossy eyes. One by one they began to give the same peculiar call.
“What’s that about?” asked Lukien, getting to his feet.
“Something’s spookin’ them,” Ghost surmised. He rose and headed toward the kreels. The noise from the creatures had started to rouse their Jadori riders. The warriors shook sleep from their brains and went to their mounts, calming them by stroking their long necks. There were four of the men, all of whom seemed perplexed by the kreels’ behavior. Lukien stood apart from them and watched as they communicated with the beasts, speaking to them gently but also pausing to listen to the arcane signals sent between them.
“What are they saying?” Lukien asked. “Can you tell?”
Unlike himself, Ghost had fluency in the Jadori tongue. The albino replied, “They’re asking them what’s wrong.”
>
“Karcon,” Lukien called, addressing his friend and the leader of the warriors. “What is it?”
Karcon was a tall, dark man about Lukien’s age, a warrior with smoky eyes and a black, tapered beard. His kreel was Shanjal, a Jadori word meaning “fierce.” Lukien had never learned the Jadori language, but he liked the sound of Shanjal’s name. It was a larger kreel than most, a great male of the species older than Karcon himself. Karcon, who spoke the tongue of the continent, turned to Lukien.
“Shanjal hears,” he said. “I feel a voice in him.” The dark man conferred with his fellows, and all the Jadori nodded. “All the kreels feel it. Something calls them back.”
“Back where?” asked Ghost.
“To Jador.” Karcon ran a hand over Shanjal’s great skull. “Much noise,” he said, but he was clearly confused. He turned back to Lukien. “Gilwyn Toms.”
“Gilwyn? What about him?”
Karcon said, “He calls out to the kreels. We must go, Lukien. To Jador. We must ride now.”
Nothing else mattered to Lukien but the name Gilwyn. Fearing for his friend, Lukien hurried to his horse and called his fellows to mount. Moments later the kreels were leading them through the darkness, hurrying home to Jador.
It had taken the entire night for Minikin to reach Grimhold, and by the time she saw its rocky face materialize from the mountains she was thoroughly exhausted. She and her party had ridden nonstop, driven on by Lariniza’s urgent words and the sense of dread in her stomach. The Akari had not come to her again, but Minikin could sense the spirit’s unease throughout the trip, cresting when they finally arrived home. At first the sight of Grimhold eased Minikin’s fears; the fortress was quiet. The great gates of the place were open wide. Greygor the guardian stood at the maw of the keep, heavy in his armor, awaiting her. A handful of other Inhumans shared his vigil. Back from them, safe in the dark recesses of the keep, stood White-Eye. The young kahana’s face was drawn from lack of sleep.
