John Marco
The Sword Of Angels
PART ONE
1
The Desert of Tears seemed eternal, like an ocean, stretching to the corners of the world. Beyond the white sands and mirages stood the nothingness of dunes, ever shifting in the hot winds. Light poured from the cloudless sky, blinding the lone rider as he loped across the earth, his fair skin shielded from the sun beneath a headdress called a gaka. His drowa bounced slowly through the desert, unhurried, unconcerned for the mission of its rider, which had taken the young man from the safety of a fabled city toward the unknown dangers of the northern world. The young man had lived in the desert more than a year now, but he had never grown accustomed to the lung-searing air or the way the sun could peel his skin. Today, the sun tracked him without pity, making him long for home.
For Gilwyn Toms, home was Jador, the city of his beloved White-Eye, a city that had opened its arms to him and his companions when the world they knew — the world up north — had gone insane. Like his companions, Gilwyn Toms was an exile now. The Desert of Tears, that vast sea of sand and wicked heat, had protected Jador from the continent and most of their enemies, and had been a good home for Gilwyn. He had missed his land of Liiria, but he had found solace in Jador and love in the arms of White-Eye. And he had not wanted his time in Jador to end, but rather to go on untroubled, undisturbed by the upheaval racking the world beyond the sands.
Gilwyn raised his face to heaven, squinting at the sun. He could bear the brightness only for a moment, but noon had passed and that comforted him. Lukien had taught him the art of reckoning, and by his amateurish calculation he guessed that he had six hours more before the sun abated and he could rest for the night. It had been three days since he had left Jador. At least two more days remained before he reached Ganjor, the gateway to the north. Alone, he had only his silent drowa for company, but if he calmed himself he could reach deep within his mind and find Ruana. She was with him always now, a pleasant current running through his brain. She was like Teku, the pet monkey he had left in Jador, perched on his shoulder, always there if he took the time to look for her. Gilwyn looked for her now, sensing her sublime presence. Closing his eyes, he saw her pretty face.
Ruana had been young when she died, falling from a boat into a lake and drowning. In life she had been an Akari, when that race had ruled the land called Kaliatha. She was an Akari still, but now she was a spirit, bound to him, pledged to aid him and bring out the ‘gift’, that strange summoning power he was only now beginning to understand. Most Inhumans had such a gift, and now Gilwyn was one of them. He had been an Inhuman all his life, in fact, from the day in his crib when Minikin had kissed his forehead, forever marking him. But only a few months ago had he been introduced to Ruana. Though she had been with him from that moment in infancy, she was still new to Gilwyn, still an enigma to unravel. Keeping his eyes closed, he glimpsed her fair face and slight smile, like looking in a wavy mirror. Her ears turned up in elfish points.
I can feel your tiredness, she said. Take your ease now, for a while at least.
The words were soundless, yet resonated like a spoken voice from her dead realm. Gilwyn had only to think his answer to reply.
The heat, he reminded her. He tried to flex his clubbed left hand, an appendage that matched his clubbed left foot for uselessness. My hand aches. And I’m itching like mad under this gaka.
Though the desert garb shielded him from the sun, it also set his skin on fire. Ruana’s sympathy came over him like a mother’s pity. Instantly her strength buoyed him. They were one, Gilwyn and his Akari, and though he still did not fully grasp their bond he knew that Ruana did more than guide his gift. She shared his thoughts and, sometimes, his pains, and when he was weak she shouldered him. So far, she had helped him mightily to cross the desert. Gilwyn was not strong like Lukien, the Bronze Knight. At eighteen, he was no longer a child, but he had lived a sheltered life in Liiria, one of books and fantasies. Even now it was hard for him to grasp the enormity of his task. No one had wanted him to cross the desert, not Minikin and certainly not White-Eye, but they had not stopped him, either. They had tried, but in the end they had relented, letting him go on his desperate mission.
‘We’ll make it,’ he said aloud, more to himself than to Ruana. Beneath him the hairy drowa ignored his boast, twitching its ears. He could barely see the horizon, but he knew that Ganjor awaited him. It would be an oasis after his journey, but he would have to be cautious there. He was Jadori now, and the Jadori were not welcome in the city by everyone. If he could find the Ganjeese princess he might be safe, but if he could not he would simply enter the city as quietly as possible, hiding under his gaka, and leave just as soon as he could.
Princess Salina will find you, said Ruana confidently. Remember Dahj and Kamag.
Gilwyn nodded, reminded now of Lorn’s advice. Lorn, who had been helped across the desert by Salina, had told him to ask for men named Dahj and Kamag. They could be trusted, Lorn had said. They would take him to the Ganjeese princess.
But could Salina be trusted, Gilwyn wondered? Still, after all that had happened? Or had she since been discovered? It was a crime to help northerners across the desert but Salina had disobeyed her father, aiding the desperate from the war-torn continent in their bid to reach Jador. She had even warned Minikin and the others of danger, sending her doves across the Desert of Tears with their tiny hand-written notes and allowing them to prepare for Aztar’s attacks. Of all Gilwyn’s companions, only Lorn had actually seen Salina. He had described her as breath-taking and courageous. She was, to Gilwyn’s thinking, certainly made of iron, for she was but a girl in a realm where females were subservient, and if her secret were ever discovered she would surely be imprisoned. Or worse.
Do not fret for her, said Ruana. The girl can take care of herself.
But is she safe? Gilwyn asked.
Ruana hesitated. I cannot tell.
‘Of course you can tell,’ said Gilwyn. ‘You just won’t say.’
You are right, said Ruana. There was a laughing quality to her tone. I can tell, but I cannot tell you.
It was not her place to reveal such things, nor predict the future nor tell him of the afterlife. The Akari existed beyond the world of the living and so had many secrets. From the realm of the dead they saw with eyes of gods, but they were wise beings and knew the virtue of silence. Unlike the Akari, Gilwyn was alive. He existed in the realm of the living, with all its choices and possibilities. His possibilities. The choices were not Ruana’s to make. She had explained that to him, and so had Minikin. If Salina were dead or imprisoned, it was not for Ruana to say, though surely she could have searched the living world for the answer.
‘If she’s alive I’ll find her,’ said Gilwyn. Then he shrugged, his confidence waning. ‘If I can.’
He licked his dry lips, trying to put aside his fears. It would be a month until he made it as far north as Liiria. He had so very long to go. He needed to be a man now, not the boy he had been in Liiria, surrounded by books. Only a man — a truly brave man — could save Baron Glass from the Devil’s Armour.
Too much, chided Ruana gently. You think too much of all these things. Quiet yourself. Rest now.
Gilwyn shook his head. ‘Can’t.’
He took a skin from the drowa’s tack and squirted a stream of water into his mouth. His aim was expert now, but he carefully conserved the precious liquid. The water, hot from the desert, stung his throat as much as cooled it.