by John Marco
In her groggy haze, Meriel looked up at the sky and could not weep. The pain in her body was enormous; it never left her. Without speaking, she asked Sarlvarian to help her. An angry ripple coursed through her mind. Meriel ignored him.
Her thoughts turned on Minikin. The little woman had saved her, had made her one of her Inhumans. But Meriel had never felt at home in Grimhold. She had even refused to take an Inhuman name. Of all the folk of Grimhold, only a handful were her friends. She loved Minikin like a mother, and she had warmed to the Liirians, too. Thorin Glass was a friend, mostly, and Gilwyn Toms might be someday. But of all of them, there was one who was never far from her thoughts, one who had been kind to her and never seemed to mind her maladies.
‘Lukien.’
Saying his name made longing course through her. She remembered that now-nameless boy when she was twelve, and how she had loved him, or at least how she had thought it was love. Was it love she felt now for Lukien? Surely it must be, because only love tortured people so. Kind Lukien, one-eyed but still capable of seeing her true appearance, never flinched or looked away, even when she took down her hood. He had bid her to show herself to him that first day, and she had loved him ever since. Though all the Inhumans were kind to her, Lukien’s attention was special, and she adored him for it.
‘But he’s still handsome,’ she whispered. Her voice was caught by the smallest breeze, so that even she could barely hear it. Even with his missing eye and weather-beaten face, he could have his pick of women and Meriel knew it. Worse, he pined for a dead women. How could she — so scarred and ugly — ever compete with Cassandra’s memory?
‘I can’t.’
Suddenly she didn’t care what Sarlvarian thought, or how much pain she would feel. She sat up quickly, searching the rocks for a spot where the sun was fiercest. Up on her ledge she could easily roast like a hen. She had her pick of hot spots, and with Sarlvarian’s reluctant help sensed a smouldering heat shimmering up from a nearby stone. As it had since she was twelve, the heat wracked her body with pain. She ignored it, shunting it away, burying it in her own self-loathing. She outstretched a hand over the shimmering — which could not be seen by anyone but her — and summoned a flame from the rock. The power came reluctantly. She could feel Sarlvarian protest. The Akari — her Akari — pleaded with her to stop. But he was part of her and bound to obey, and so empowered her to call forth the flame until it burst from the rock in a brilliant orange plume.
Meriel watched it for a moment, concentrating on keeping it alive. Suddenly she was on the verge of tears. She didn’t know why she did this to herself, why the hatred she had for herself had grown so monstrous. She apologised to Sarlvarian, then scooped the flame off the rock, holding it in her palm.
With the Akari’s help there was no pain; that was Sarlvarian’s great gift to her. The command of fire was no more difficult to her than the control of her own thoughts. This time, though, she wanted the pain.
She held the dancing flame in her scarred hand. She could have easily made a flower of it or some other pretty thing, but instead she deliberately let her concentration slip, breaking for a moment the bond she shared with the spirit.
Searing pain shot through her palm, her wrist, her forearm. Meriel screamed. The flame went out instantly. At last the tears came, frustrated and confused. She put her burned hand to her mouth as she wept.
Helpless, Sarlvarian let his host feel the agony. With his great Akari powers, he could have soothed her. For a reason the spirit could not comprehend, Meriel would not allow it.
Baron Glass had never gotten used to the heat. After a year in Grimhold, he still detested it. For that reason alone, he kept himself sheltered inside the mountain keep, rarely straying into the village it protected or out into the surrounding desert. He was a Liirian, and as such accustomed to much cooler climes. There were, however, a few things that could get him out of the keep and its shadows. One was looking after Gilwyn in Jador. The other was chasing after Meriel.
When word had reached Grimhold of Minikin’s return with Lukien, Baron Glass went in search of Meriel at once. She was a melancholy young woman who kept mostly to herself, but Glass knew her haunts. There was a place not far from the keep where she often went, away from the protection of the other Inhumans. Lately, Meriel was retreating from Grimhold often, and it troubled Baron Glass. But he knew that she pined for Lukien, and that the news of the Bronze Knight’s arrival would rouse her from any sour mood.
Baron Glass was no longer just a guest in Grimhold. Like Lukien and Gilwyn, the place had become his home, and so he was free to roam wherever he wished, whatever the risks. He was not stopped by Greygor, the guardian of Grimhold, as he tried to leave the keep. The quiet giant simply opened the gate for him, bowing as though he were still nobility and his title still had meaning. Enduring the sun, Baron Glass walked through the canyon to the place he knew he’d find Meriel, an alcove of rock tunnelled into a rugged hillside, like a stairway leading up to her private ledge. The two of them had spent many hours there together, usually when the sun went down, enjoying the peace of a starry desert night. For some reason, Meriel loved to hear the baron talk. She prodded him endlessly for stories, tales about the ‘real world’ as she called it, where people didn’t have Akari and men and women fell in love. And because the world beyond Grimhold was always paramount in Glass’ mind, he was happy to regale her. Like Meriel, Baron Thorin Glass felt lost in Grimhold, as lost as the left arm he had given in battle decades ago.
He walked to the place he knew he’d find Meriel. Not wanting to surprise her, he made sure to scuff his boots along the rocks. He didn’t bother calling her name; she would not answer him. Instead he climbed the jagged hill, squeezing through the tunnel of rock as he ascended, until the narrow gauge gave way to an open area jutting out like a malformed chin over the canyon below. As expected he found Meriel there, sitting on the baked earth with her ubiquitous black cloak around her shoulders. At once he smelled burning, and when he noticed Meriel favouring her hand he was angered.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked him. She didn’t turn around to face him, but rather kept her face hidden. ‘It’s still light out. You don’t come here when it’s light.’
Thorin went to stand behind her. ‘Look at me,’ he demanded.
Slowly the young woman turned her face toward him, revealing first the right, unblemished half of her face, still comely and attractive, then the other, ravaged side, streaked with scars and with a drooping eye. There were obvious tears on her cheeks. Baron Glass shook his head, exasperated.
‘Your hand,’ he said. ‘Let me see it.’
Meriel obeyed. Perhaps it was his age or his booming tone that made her do so, but he had a way of commanding the young woman that only Minikin shared. She put out her hand and let Glass examine it. Both hands bore terrible scars, but this one had new blisters on it and flushed a violent red.
‘It doesn’t hurt any more,’ she said. ‘Sarlvarian’s eased the pain.’
Glass seized her hand and inspected it. ‘Why does that damn ghost let you do this to yourself?’ He had never understood the odd relationship between Akari and Inhuman, or why Meriel’s spirit allowed her to mutilate herself. Meriel had explained it to him dozens of times, but it angered him still that she had so much control over the spirit, control she obviously couldn’t handle any longer. ‘Will you at least wrap this?’ he asked. ‘Put some cool water on it.’
Meriel pulled back her hand without answering. She had been harming herself this way for weeks now, but it was their secret, hers and his. Because he loved her and wouldn’t jeopardise their fragile bond, he kept it.
‘I came here to be alone, Thorin,’ said Meriel. ‘I don’t want to talk right now.’
‘No? Well this might change your mind — Minikin returns to Grimhold. Lukien is with her.’
The woman’s eyes lit up. ‘Lukien’s back?’
‘Not yet. They sent a scout ahead. They should be here after nightfall.
’
Meriel’s gaze dropped to her hand. It was easy to tell what she was thinking. She tortured herself constantly over her appearance, and now that Lukien was coming she had a whole new scar to worry over.
‘There’s time, then,’ she said softly. She relaxed a little. ‘I will stay here a while longer.’ She surprised Glass by smiling at him. ‘Thank you for telling me, Thorin.’
‘I thought you’d like to know,’ replied Glass. ‘Minikin will want to see you, no doubt. And you’ll want to see Lukien.’ He tried to keep the envy from his voice.
‘Yes,’ she half-sighed. ‘It’s good to know he’s well.’ Her tone was pensive as she gazed out over the rocky terrain, toward the desert where Jador waited.
She’ll never leave here, thought the baron. Minikin will never let her.
And how could he blame Minikin for that? Meriel wasn’t a prisoner; none of the Inhumans were forced to stay in Grimhold. But none of them were strong enough to leave, either, not without Minikin’s blessing, and the little mistress had never blessed Meriel’s longing for freedom. It was a longing to be normal, really, and Baron Glass understood that well. Such was the invisible glue that held their friendship together.
‘You are one of Minikin’s favourites,’ he said. The words slipped out before he could stop them. Meriel turned and looked up at him, perplexed.
‘What?’
‘It is true.’ Glass donned a fatherly expression. ‘That is why she keeps you here. To protect you.’
‘I know,’ said Meriel. ‘But I am a woman grown now, Thorin. I have a life of my own to live, and there is so much out there I wish to see. If only I could see it as a normal person, and not as a monster.’ She leaned back on her hands and gave a mirthless chuckle. ‘Isn’t it odd? So many people want to come here, Minikin has to fight them off. Yet you and I would give almost anything to leave.’
‘Yes,’ said Thorin. ‘But we cannot. There are things we must do first, you and I. We cannot leave these lives behind, not yet.’
‘You lie to yourself, dear Thorin. You are not so shackled to this place as I. You can go back to Liiria any time you wish.’
‘Nonsense. The boy needs me. Jador needs protection.’
‘Jador has Lukien and all the Inhumans to protect it. You’re a good man, I grant you, but not even you are quite so valuable.’
Baron Glass’ expression grew stormy. ‘You are cross today. Why do you taunt me?’
‘Because I am tired of us both being here!’ said Meriel. At last she got to her feet. She walked to the very edge of the cliff, her body stiffening. ‘Thorin, if I had the courage I would leave Grimhold, but I can’t. I am too afraid to go back into the world with this ugly face. But you. .’ She turned to face him. Behind her many scars, Thorin saw her beauty. ‘You do not belong here, Thorin. You belong in Liiria.’
‘There is war in Liiria, my dear,’ Glass reminded her.
‘Yes, and you belong in war as well! You think you are half a man because you have one arm. But I see the fire in you, and I know what good you can do for Liiria.’ Meriel thrust out her burned hand. ‘I torture myself, ’tis true. But what about you? Every day you twist your mind into knots over your family, worrying about them, worrying about Jazana Carr. And I know you covet the armour, Thorin. You may have secrets from the others, but I know you too well. You can’t hide your lusts from me.’
Embarrassed, Glass had to turn away. ‘Lusts? Do you see me so clearly, lady? To know my heart’s troubles so exactly?’
Meriel did not back down. She stood, watching him, and for a moment Thorin wanted to confess his love for her, but could not. He longed for her to say it for him.
‘Whatever else is in your heart, you may keep it to yourself,’ said Meriel. ‘Whatever else you lust for. .’ She smiled sweetly. ‘But I know this, Thorin — you crave the armour.’
‘No,’ said Thorin quickly, ‘I don’t. .’
‘You do. Each time we speak of Liiria your mind turns on it.’
Baron Glass could not contain his discomfort. He looked around, suspicious of other ears. ‘All right,’ he hissed. ‘I do think of it.’
The armour was the Devil’s Armour, and it had enchanted Thorin Glass from the first time he’d set eyes on it. Locked away in its dungeon under Grimhold, it had managed to sing to him. It held the promise of making Baron Glass whole again, of making him invincible, or so the legend said.
‘How can I not think of it?’ he whispered. He was used to sharing secrets with Meriel, and it all came tumbling out of him. ‘I swear, sometimes I think it’s calling to me. That devil inside it — Kahldris — I think I hear his voice sometimes.’ The baron looked grave. ‘Could that be true, Meriel? Could he be tempting me?’
Meriel gave a knowing nod. ‘Kahldris is very powerful. That’s what Minikin says, at least. You need to beware him, Thorin. If you do steal the armour-’
‘I am not a thief,’ snapped Thorin.
‘If you do, you must be careful.’ Meriel’s gaze seized him. ‘Don’t you think I see the truth? It is a constant battle in you. Minikin tells you the armour is forbidden, and what are you to believe? You’re an outsider. The ways of the Akari are unknown to you.’
‘So she lies?’ Baron Glass laughed. ‘You do your mistress dishonour, lady. I believe Minikin has warned me off the armour for my own good.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Meriel. ‘Or perhaps you are strong enough to control Kahldris. Perhaps you are the one to tame the Devil’s Armour.’
It was dangerous, tempting talk, and it made Thorin’s pulse race. From the dawn of Grimhold the Devil’s Armour had been locked away, saved only because Minikin had never found a way to destroy it. It was said that the armour could not in fact be destroyed, and that the Akari who possessed it was sinister beyond words. To Thorin it sounded like a fairy tale, much like Grimhold itself. It vexed him that such a powerful weapon should go to waste, or that any Akari — a race that had helped the Inhumans so unselfishly — could be so evil. But Minikin had never given Thorin cause to doubt her, and so the one-armed baron had been left to wonder over the armour’s true nature, or if he was powerful enough to control it. Minikin thought not.
‘She doesn’t know me, though,’ whispered Thorin. For a moment the idea transfixed him, and it was not until Meriel touched his hand that reality refocused.
‘Forgive me, Thorin,’ she said. ‘I should not entice you with such talk. I am an Inhuman; we are not to speak of the Devil’s Armour.’
Thorin took her hand in his own. He could feel its scars, but didn’t care. ‘The armour is not the only thing that entices me,’ he said. ‘I do not stay close to Grimhold for the sake of the armour alone.’
Meriel’s face, which was often red, deepened in colour. It was not pride that made her flush, though, but embarrassment. She retracted her hand, ignoring Thorin’s hint at love, saying, ‘Mind my words. If you have designs on the Devil’s Armour, be sure about yourself. Be sure you can handle Kahldris.’
Thorin smiled weakly. ‘I will, lady, do not fear.’
Then, leaving Meriel to her own dark company, he left the ledge and headed back toward Grimhold.
Baron Glass returned to the keep in a foul mood, angered by his conversation with Meriel and the stupid way he had pursued her. In Jador, Gilwyn had his hands full with the Seekers and Prince Aztar’s raiders and the myriad problems of rebuilding a devastated city, and Thorin knew his place was with the boy. He had struck up a fine relationship with Gilwyn in the past year, becoming like a surrogate father. Yet his attraction to Meriel had kept him away from Jador far too much lately. Meriel’s heart belonged to Lukien — a stupid thing considering Lukien’s own heart belonged to a dead woman — and the baron knew he would never win the woman’s affections.
Why then did he try?
Because I am a silly old fool, he told himself.
The baron had his own room in the keep, shunning the teeming village that was part of Grimhold, so he could be close to the Devil’s Arm
our. He made his way through the halls of the keep to his humble chamber where he kept to himself, brooding, taking a lonely meal by the light of a few candles. As he ate, he thought of all the women he had known.
Jazana Carr was never far from his mind. Nor was his wife, wherever she might be. The two were inexorably linked now. Before he had left Jazana in Norvor, the Diamond Queen had vowed vengeance on his family, a family he hadn’t seen in years. Thorin had children, too, grown now, who had no doubt forgotten about their infamous father. The thought of his family dangling on Norvan pikes ruined Thorin’s appetite. Nor did he have any desire to see Lukien or Minikin now, either.
Time enough for that, he told himself. Later, when they’ve settled in. Or perhaps in the morning.
Thorin would have looked outside, but his room had no window. He longed to be free of Grimhold.
Baron Glass felt remarkably old. Alone in his chamber, he sat staring at his plate of cold food, rubbing the stump where his arm had been. As too often happened these days, he began to feel sleepy.
Old men take naps, he told himself. Without arguing he gave in to his grogginess and laid himself down on his bed, which felt extraordinarily comfortable. Reaching out with his only hand, he dragged the wooden table close to the bedside and pinched out the candles. The darkness felt good. He would sleep, he decided, and see Lukien later. His troubled mind began to ease, and soon he drifted off.
Baron Glass slept. And as he slept he dreamed.
He had not told anyone of the vivid nightmares he’d been having, not even Meriel. In that strange, knowing state viewing one’s own dreams, it did not surprise Baron Glass that the images started up again, pulling him from a peaceful netherworld to a place of living colours. It was the doing of Kahldris, the spirit of the armour — he knew this now with certainty. He had never before seen the things his brain was showing him, yet he knew they were real experiences lived by someone other than himself.
