The Devil's Armour (Gollancz S.F.) (28 page)

‘This is how it was,’ she explained. ‘How it remains for some of us. So beautiful and eternal.’

Gilwyn wanted to know what the city looked like now, in his time and world, but he couldn’t ask that of Ruana, for she seemed enamoured with her city as though it were her lover. Yet Ruana read Gilwyn’s thought and flicked her eyes toward him.

‘It is a ruin now, Gilwyn. In your world, Kaliatha is overrun with sand and vermin. If you wish, I can show you that.’ Then Ruana paused in thought. ‘No, I will show you something else.’

The mists that had veiled the city returned, blocking Kaliatha from their view once again. Disappointed, Gilwyn
sank back as the little boat continued its aimless journey. He wondered if he had offended the Akari woman. There was no smile on her face or the smallest hint to betray her thoughts. Then, the glamour that parted the mists returned, once again bringing forth the shore. And once again the shore had changed. This time Gilwyn looked off into a vast valley, full of dust and sand and hemmed in by rugged mountains. For the first time since embarking on the boat he heard sounds, like thunder. They were the sounds of battle, and the combatants filled the valley. Men on horses and men on kreels, men in armour and men in the flowing garb of Jadori warriors, clashing with blood-gushing force on the field. Horrified, Gilwyn rose to his feet, staring out into the carnage, almost soaring over it with a bird’s-eye view. Bodies and blood and broken lances littered the valley. Screams and war whoops split the sky. The mountains shook with violence. And all the while Ruana sat back, mildly horrified, her face drawn but reserved, witnessing the death of her people as though it were a play.

‘Enough,’ said Gilwyn, turning away. ‘Bring back the mists, Ruana. I don’t want to see any more.’

The boat didn’t move, but the fog returned to curtain the bloodbath. Gilwyn sat down across from Ruana and stared at her in anger.

‘Why did you show me that?’

‘Because you wanted to see it,’ replied Ruana. ‘You claimed otherwise but that was a lie. You wanted to see what the Jadori did to the Akari because you could not believe it. But now you believe, I think.’

Her words rattled Gilwyn. ‘Ruana, if this is how it will be between us . . .’

‘I told you, this is your time of knowledge. You must learn about me as I have learned about you. Otherwise I will never be able to aid the gift in you.’

Suddenly Gilwyn understood. His eyes narrowed on Ruana. ‘You showed me that battle because of what could
happen to the Jadori, is that it? If I don’t use my gift they could be slaughtered. Is that what you’re saying?’

‘Yes,’ said Ruana bluntly. ‘But you will use your gift, because you love the Jadori and the one called White-Eye, and because you cannot bear to see them slaughtered as they slaughtered my people.’

‘But can I? Can I really do it?’ Gilwyn sighed miserably, feeling as oppressed and grey as the fog. ‘I’m no leader, Ruana. If you know me at all you already know that about me.’

‘Minikin has set a great task at your feet. To say otherwise would be untrue. But she is very wise. She sees the gift in you, and has chosen me to nurture it. And I shall, with your help.’

‘Gift,’ scoffed Gilwyn. ‘Why? Because my best friend was a monkey? I’m a librarian, Ruana! I can’t even walk without this damn boot, unless I’m here in this weird world of yours. What makes any of you think I can do this? If you want a hero, you should send Lukien to the valley of kreels.’

‘Brooding.’ Ruana shook her head. ‘A bad trait of yours. Do you not believe that I can help you? Have I not shown you miracles today? Yet still you don’t trust me. So now I must show you one more miracle.’

‘Gods, no more battlefields, please.’

‘Close your eyes, Gilwyn,’ Ruana commanded.

‘What?’

‘Do as I say.’

So Gilwyn did so, shutting out the sight of her. ‘What now?’

‘Now listen to me. You are very powerful, but your powers are just below the surface waiting for you to discover them. You will never discover them unless you believe.’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘You are very close to Teku, yes?’

‘Of course. You know that.’

‘And with the kreel, Emerald. You can read the beast’s
thoughts. You don’t even have to think about it. When you’re with Emerald, the two of you are one mind. Now I want you to think about Teku. Where is the creature now, Gilwyn?’

‘Back in Jador.’

‘No,’ said Ruana sharply. ‘Where is she right now?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You do! You are in my realm now, Gilwyn. Here you are all powerful! Tell me where Teku is. Tell me what she sees!’

Without warning, the image of Teku popped into Gilwyn’s mind. The scales fell away from his eyes and he saw her, and through her eyes he saw, and all the world looming large around her. He gasped, thinking it a trick, but holding his eyes closed he continued the amazing feat. He recognised the garden of the Jadori palace, its fat rose blooms hanging over the trestles. Teku was there. Looking down from her eyes Gilwyn saw her cradling a piece of fruit. When the monkey looked up again he saw Thorin leaning back hazardously on a chair, cutting slices from an apple and popping them absently into his mouth. The baron looked pensive, heavily burdened. He glanced at Teku and spoke to her, and it was as if the old man were speaking to Gilwyn himself.

‘It’s Thorin!’ he exclaimed. ‘He’s with Teku in the garden. He always looks after Teku when I’m not around.’

‘You see? This is no dream, Gilwyn, no illusion. You are seeing through her eyes, back in your world.’

The sensation amazed Gilwyn. His mouth hung open as he continued living through Teku, watching the quick movements of her tiny hands, seeming so large now as she fed herself the apple slice. Occasionally she glanced up at Thorin, revealing his grim countenance. There was something troubling his old friend, but Gilwyn was too awed to pay it much attention.

‘So this is what it’s like. Will I be able to do this with the kreel, too?’

‘In time,’ replied Ruana. ‘And with work. Open your eyes now, Gilwyn.’

At her command, Gilwyn’s eyes opened with no effort on his part, and he realised that in her world, her word was law. But he didn’t mind. She had given him a stunning gift.

‘It will not be so easy in your world,’ she told him, ‘but we will work hard together and make your gift powerful.’

Gilwyn nodded. Still stunned, he didn’t know what to say. He looked at Ruana and smiled. She was so beautiful. He wanted to thank her but didn’t know how.

‘Now you will return to your world, Gilwyn. The next time we speak, it will be different.’

‘All right,’ Gilwyn agreed. ‘We’ve been gone so long, I should get back to Minikin. But where will you go?’

‘I’ll be with you, and I’ll be here. It’s the same, really.’ Ruana leaned forward then and kissed his forehead. ‘Goodbye, Gilwyn.’

‘Goodbye, Ruana . . .’

Gilwyn’s words were swallowed whole by the same red light that had snatched him earlier. Dazzled by the brightness, he squinted and looked away, but when the light quickly died he was just as he had been, seated before Minikin, his hand still clutching the Eye of God. He jerked back as if suddenly awakened. The mistress of Grimhold grinned.

‘Welcome back, Gilwyn.’

Just as she had taken them up the mountain, Emerald took Gilwyn and Minikin back down without complaint. By the time they reached the bottom it was well into mid-morning, and Gilwyn knew his sense of time had been radically shaken. It seemed to him that he had spent hours with Ruana, but Minikin had sworn that the whole experience had unfolded in mere moments. When he had opened his eyes again she had been there, smiling just as she had been when he’d first touched the amulet.

His mind was full of questions, yet the pure awe of his
experience kept him silent all the way down the mountain. Finally, when they came to level ground again and Minikin dismounted for a brief rest, Gilwyn found his voice.

‘You look like them,’ he said without thinking. It was as if he suddenly remembered the little woman’s resemblance to Ruana. Minikin, who had been stretching her back and grimacing, paused and looked at him.

‘That’s right,’ she replied. ‘Do you know why?’

‘Because you’ve spent so much time with them, because they’ve kept you alive.’

‘Correct. They have . . . influenced me, you might say.’

Gilwyn sighed. ‘Minikin, it was all so amazing. Ruana’s still alive. I mean, it’s like she never really died! She’s still in the world she knew a thousand years ago, and the world hasn’t changed.’

‘No, that’s not right, Gilwyn,’ said Minikin quickly. ‘The world has changed.’ She spread her arms, gesturing at their surroundings. ‘This is the world. The place you saw – the place where Ruana dwells – is not.’

‘But it was so real! It must be a world!’

‘Listen carefully, Gilwyn – Ruana’s world exists, yes. But it is not
the
world. Don’t ever make that mistake. Ruana and all the Akari live in a netherworld, a realm of the dead. You live in the world of the living, and that is the only world you need to remember.’

Gilwyn patted Emerald’s long neck distractedly. Minikin was just confusing him. ‘But there is a world after this one. Is that how it will be for us when we die?’

The question made Minikin frown. ‘I don’t know.’

‘What? Minikin, you must know . . .’

‘I do not,’ said Minikin flatly. ‘The Akari have not told me that there is a world beyond this one for those of us who are not Akari. I can imagine that it exists, but I have no proof and they have never provided it to me. And listen to me carefully, Gilwyn – that is not for us to know. Not ever. Not while we are alive.’

‘But why?’ Gilwyn asked. After all he had seen, Minikin’s
evasiveness perplexed him. ‘Why can’t we know? And if the Akari know, why don’t they tell us?’

Minikin buttoned up her coat and climbed back onto Emerald. As before, she sat in front of Gilwyn, who controlled the reptile and pinned Minikin against his chest as though she were a little girl. It was her way of saying that she didn’t want to answer his question, at least not yet. Well accustomed to Minikin’s ways, Gilwyn didn’t push the issue. Instead he pointed Emerald toward Jador and sent the kreel scurrying off. But by the time they had travelled no more than a hundred yards, Minikin spoke.

‘Have you thought of an answer yet?’ she asked.

‘No, I haven’t,’ Gilwyn replied. ‘Have you tried?’

‘Not really.’

‘If you try, you will think of it.’

Gilwyn tried, squinting as he thought, bouncing across the desert with Minikin. But after a few moments he gave up. ‘How about a hint?’

‘Gilwyn, if you knew there was a life beyond this one, if you were completely certain of it and had no doubt that a kind of paradise awaited you, what would you think of the life you have now?’

Instantly Gilwyn understood. The answer saddened him. ‘I guess I wouldn’t try at all.’

Though Minikin didn’t turn around, he could sense her smile. She nodded. ‘We are here to try, Gilwyn. We are here to find our purpose. Without purpose, there is no need for life at all.’

Deep within the foundation of Grimhold, lost among its tangles of hallways and ancient vaults, stood a single chamber apart from the others, silent and restful, with a tall ceiling and ornate, windowless walls inscribed with runes and studded with friezes from long-dead artisans. A narrow corridor led to the chamber, as if the architects of Grimhold had deliberately made the way difficult. There was no light in the hall, only sconces along the stone walls that held unlit oil lamps. The sconces were repeated in the chamber itself, each shaped like the claw of a lion, and each cradling a stunted taper. Dozens of them stood amidst the chamber, enough to turn the vast room effusive with light. Now, though, they remained unlit, awaiting anyone willing to enter the chamber and kneel before its simple altar.

A thousand years ago in the heyday of the Akari, the chamber had been a place of prayer. And so it had stayed that way under the guardianship of Grimhold’s steward, Minikin. It remained a fixture of the keep, solid and always available, a place where the Inhumans could go and practise their varied faiths, religions that not all of them had abandoned upon knowing the Akari. To Minikin, it was fitting that their lives remain full of mysteries, and so she had left the prayer chamber just as she had found it centuries ago. Like the Akari, who had used the chamber to commune with their dead ancestors, the Inhumans found solace in the place’s quietude. Those who still had a god
could still pray to him or her in this ecumenical hall, and those who did not often used the chamber for simple reflection. Among all of Grimhold’s many impressive places, this one was especially prized. The Inhumans kept it spotless and well maintained and its twin oak doors were perpetually kept open, so that any time of the day or night the peace of the chamber was available.