The Eyes Of A God - The Eyes of a God Part 37
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The Eyes of a God Part 37

'Uh-huh."

'No, really."

The old man laughed. "You're sixteen now, Gilwyn. Old enough to be sweet on someone."

'I'm not!"

'And you're old enough to have some secrets," Figgis conceded. "If you don't want to tell me, you don't have to." some reason, he intended to keep her secret. Finally, unable to endure the rain another moment, Teku tugged at his ear.

'All right," said Gilwyn. "We'll go."

As quickly as his sore foot would carry him he began his long trek toward Capital Street, toward the place where he knew, somehow, Tempest still awaited him. And as he walked a strange word kept popping into his mind, a word he knew only from fairy tales and children's songs. Despite the many distractions filling Koth's streets, the word would not leave him.

The word was Grimhold.

iNear midnight, Gilwyn finally returned to the library. He discovered a very cross Figgis waiting for him. Gilwyn had tried to avoid his mentor, but reaching his bedchamber meant passing the old man's study, and that's where he discovered Figgis. The old man had heard Gilwyn enter the hall and was drumming his fingers expectantly on his desk. There were bags under his eyes from staying up well past his bedtime. As soon as Gilwyn crossed the threshold, he barked, "Where have you been?"

Gilwyn didn't know how to answer. "I'm sorry, Figgis. I didn't mean to be gone so long."

'Do you know what time it is? It's been dark outside for hours!" He jabbed a thumb toward the room's tiny window. "I was worried sick about you!"

'I'm sorry," repeated Gilwyn. "I lost track of time. I had something important to do."

'What?" Figgis demanded. "What's so important that you had to leave me here fretting over you?"

Exhausted, he could only shrug. "I can't explain it."

Figgis rose from his chair. "Look at you. You're drenched!" He stared at Gilwyn, demanding an answer. "Tell me where you were."

'I went into the city," replied Gilwyn. "I told you, there was something I had to do."

'That's not an answer."

'Figgis, I'm tired..."

For some reason, Gilwyn feared he would cry. His foot was aching and Teku was half asleep on his shoulder, and all he could think of was his ordeal in the alley. He wanted desperately to talk to Figgis, to enlist the old man's help in winning the beautiful girl from Lionkeep, but he was afraid. Figgis was a good man. Sometimes, Gilwyn felt he didn't deserve him.

'Figgis, I want to keep my secret," he said. "For a little while longer, at least. All right?"

Figgis nodded. "All right." He got up and held out his hand for Gilwyn, who took it and let Figgis pull him to his feet. "We've got a lot to do tomorrow," said Figgis. "Go to sleep now, and we'll forget about it.

But I want your word that you'll tell me before going off on your own again. You may be sixteen, but I'm still master of the library."

'I will, Figgis, I promise." Gilwyn moved toward the door, relieved the conversation was over. But before he could say good night, the same strange word popped into his mind again. He hovered in the threshold. Figgis stopped fiddling with the papers on his desk.

'Gilwyn?" he asked. "Something wrong?"

Gilwyn shook his head. "No, I'm just thinking." He paused for a moment, then asked, "Figgis, do you know what Grimhold is?"

'Grimhold? Why are you asking about that?"

'I'm not sure," said Gilwyn. "I keep thinking about it for some reason. Do you know anything about it?"

The librarian shrugged. "Nothing that isn't known by everyone else. Grimhold's a myth. They say it's aplace of monsters."

'Monsters." The word intrigued Gilwyn. "And sorcerers?"

'I suppose. The legend goes that the monsters of Grimhold are led by a witch. She steals children."

'Steals children? What for?"

'I'm no expert, Gilwyn," said Figgis. He seemed almost annoyed at the questions. "Grimhold is just a tale. A good story, nothing more."

'But there must be books about Grimhold, right? Somewhere in the library maybe?"

'Probably," said Figgis. He shooed Gilwyn away. "Now go to bed. It's late."

Gilwyn took a single step out of the room, then stopped again. "Do you think you could find me a book about Grimhold, Figgis?"

Figgis sighed. "Gilwyn, please. It's late and we've got work to do in the morning. I really can't have you wasting time daydreaming about Grimhold while I do all the heavy lifting around here."

'You're right, Figgis, I'm sorry," said Gilwyn. Then he smiled. "But you can find me some texts about Grimhold, can't you?"

'Great Fate, you're a pest sometimes! All right, I'll dig up something for you. But it might take me some time. Until then, try and lend a hand around here, will you? For old times' sake?"

Gilwyn bowed. "Promise. Thanks, Figgis. Good night."

'Good night!"

Satisfied, Gilwyn left the study and made his way to his little bed chamber. He put Teku into her unlocked cage, stripped off his wet clothes, and slipped lazily into his night shirt. Outside his window he could see the fractured light of the moon as he pulled the bedcovers over himself. The memory of the strange woman in the alley played through his mind, yet he was not afraid. Too exhausted for fear, he closed his eyes and dreamed of tomorrow, when he would meet the dark-haired girl at last.

the storm had come unexpectedly. The rain reminded her of that dewy morning when she had first given herself to the Bronze Knight. In her mind she could smell the apple orchard, the freshness of peat, and the moist spring mist. The thought brought a secretive smile to her lips. Until then she had supposed Lukien would be brutal as a lover, but he had been gentle with her. He'd had none of Akeela's clumsiness, either, and she adored him for it. And in their subsequent couplings he had learned to play her like a harp, so that her body made the most exquisite music.

And then Akeela had gone mad. And Lukien had been banished.

Cassandra opened her eyes in the darkness. As she listened to Akeela's voice, she heard the taint of insanity. He had aged. Unlike her, time had played its tricks on him. But he still had his childlike exuberance, and he still loved her, though his love was a sickness. She studied his voice as it climbed over the partition, listening to it rise and fall, imparting his words with melodrama. Surprisingly, she had never been able to hate Akeela. He had banished Lukien, Luria's greatest hero, and he had blinded lands. He had neglected Koth to the point of ruin while squandering every drop of taxes on his elaborate library. In his paranoia he had crushed the chancelleries, and in doing so he had become a tyrant, imprisoning the long-dead Baron Glass and other good men and taking their wealth for his own. Baron Glass had languished for two years in Borior prison before being exiled to the Isle of Woe. Akeela had wanted him executed, but Cassandra's intercession had been enough to save the baron, consigning him instead to certain death among the savages of an island prison. He had died there, presumably, and Akeela had never spoken of him again, as though the memory of the baron was something to be expunged.

Yet for all his crimes, Cassandra still pitied Akeela. He was a fragile man, still a child in so many ways. As she listened she heard the love in his voice. Truly, he still thought she enjoyed his company.

And he still craved to be near her. He hadn't laid eyes on her in sixteen years, nor had he dared to touch her in the darkness, not since that first time. But the inference in his tone was always clear. He hungered for her like a starving man, and c.

ssandra sat alone in her bed, her mind full of images. The tolling of a distant clock absently spoke the midnight hour, but Cassandra was wide awake as she dreamed, consumed by better days. Darkness shrouded her bedchamber. Only the flicker of a candle behind a canvas partition invaded the gloom. Onthe other side of the partition sat Akeela, blinded by the heavy canvas yet still able to speak to her. His voice droned through the midnight silence as he read from a book of poetry. He had been ridiculously excited by the latest books from his library, and had been reading to her for hours now. Unable to face another of his dreadful performances on the eve of her meeting with Lukien, Cassandra had protested, feigning a headache. But Akeela had insisted. Like a child, he never gave her any peace. And he never seemed to tire, either, or to improve in his performance. He tried gamely to entertain her with poems and plays, but his skill was amateurish and his ebullience irritated Cassandra. Tonight, he was unbearable. His ceaseless voice tore through her like a nail, forcing her to daydream her way to freedom. Now, as Akeela worked his way through a particularly tedious sonnet, Cassandra was reminded of Lukien and the hours they had stolen together, long ago. Tomorrow she would see him again. And then, if the curse of her amulet truly existed, she would die.

A clap of thunder detonated above the tower, muffled by the thick walls of her chamber. Akeela had told her it was raining; would never take another woman to satisfy his lust. He had told her many times that their marriage was sacred. To Cassandra, their marriage was a farce. Still, she admired Akeela's fortitude. His madness had given him a peculiar strength.

Could she be just as strong, she wondered? So far, the prospect of dying hadn't frightened her, yet by midnight tomorrow she might well be dead. Would it take long for human eyes to kill her? Would there be enough time to tell Lukien all she wanted to say? A few moments was all she wanted. That would be enough to look at him, to touch his face, to see the man he had become, and to tell him that she loved him still. In her sixteen years of isolation, she had learned that love was timeless. She smiled, struck by her own poetry. Lukien was a warrior with a poet's soul. She had unearthed the truth in him. Tomorrow, if she died, she would stand before the Fate, that great and mysterious entity that oversaw the world. She would be commanded to list her life's accomplishments, and she knew that she would put Lukien at the top of that list. Loving him had changed her life. He had been worth all the dismal aftermath.

Akeela cleared his throat unexpectedly. There was a long silence, and Cassandra could hear him turn his face toward her through the partition.

'Cassandra?" he asked. His voice was a bell, crystal clear and cutting. "Are you awake?" "Yes, Akeela, I'm awake." Another pause. "You haven't said anything in a while. I thought you had fallen asleep."

'No, Akeela."

There was a rustle as Akeela closed the book. "You are preoccupied tonight."

'No, I just didn't want to interrupt you," said Cassandra.

'You are preoccupied," Akeela repeated. Cassandra heard him lean back in his chair. His silhouette on the canvas seemed to slump. He was thinking, and that was always a bad thing. He could be very perceptive sometimes. Cassandra tried to mask her thoughts. When she did not reply, he asked her, "What are you thinking about, Cassandra?"

'I'm sorry, Akeela, my mind was wandering," she confessed. "It's late, and I'm tired."

'Yes," Akeela drawled. "And how is your headache?"

There was a peculiar accent on the word headache that made Cassandra cringe. He could always tell when she was lying, even through the darkness.

'Better now," she replied. She watched his shadow through the fabric, lit by candlelight. He didn't stir, but sat as still as stone. His silence frightened her, and she cursed herself for being so stoic with him.

Now he was suspicious. "Keep reading," she urged. "You haven't finished the sonnet yet."

'Perhaps I shouldn't read you love poems. They make you pensive."

'No," laughed Cassandra. "I enjoy them."

'Why?"

The question hung in the air. Anything Cassandra said would be a lie, so she replied, "Because you read so well, and because it is good to hear your voice."

'No other reason?"

Cassandra frowned. She could tell he was baiting her. "Should there be another reason, Akeela?" Akeela didn't answer. She watched his silhouette for movement, but he didn't flick a finger. She could tell he wanted to say something to her, to bring up the ugly accusation that was always on the tip of his tongue, waiting to fall off. Cassandra grew angry suddenly. Tonight, on the eve of her meeting with Lukien, the very night before her possible death, she decided to push him.

'Say something, Akeela."

Akeela's breathing quickened. "I know what you're thinking when you hear love poems, Cassandra."

'Do you? Tell me, then."

A great sigh came from behind the partition. "You're lonely. And that's my fault. I've failed you."

'What?"

Akeela rose from his chair and shook his head in despair. "It's true. You are alone because of me, because I've failed to find the other amulet."

Cassandra wanted to laugh. "No, Akeela..." "Don't spare my feelings. I know what you think of me.

You're right-I have failed you. I've left you to rot in this room all alone, without a husband to comfort you. I've done my best to keep you company, but it's not enough. You need me, Cassandra. All of me.

A voice in the darkness isn't good enough, not after so much time. What kind of husband is that?"

'Akeela, stop," said Cassandra. She sat up to give her voice emphasis. "I'm fine, really."

'You're not fine. You can't be. But you will be someday, Cassandra, I promise you." Akeela went to the partition and put his hand up to the fabric. His ghostly silhouette lingered there, unable to reach her. "I love you, Cassandra."

The words were terrible. Such beautiful words, warped by time and obsession.

'I know," said Cassandra softly. She closed her eyes, and again thought of Lukien.

'We will be together again, I swear it." Akeela's voice was brittle. "I'll find the other Eye, no matter what it takes."

'Yes, Akeela. All right."

'And then we can be together forever."

'Yes, Akeela. Forever."

Forever. It didn't matter anymore to Cassandra. She would be dead long before then.

G Tilwyn spent the entire day at the library with Figgis, cataloging and shelving books and helping the scholars from Marn locate history texts. He worked diligently, doing his best to prove his industry to Figgis, who soon forgot the events of the previous night. The day was sunny and warm and the library was crowded with visitors. A large group of local farm children had come for Figgis' weakly reading class, as well as a contingent of educators from Reec who had arrived to study the library's elaborate cataloging system, a mathematical wonder Figgis himself had devised. Gilwyn was in good spirits as he worked, and he had mostly forgotten about his strange encounter in the alley. Too busy to give it much thought, he instead occupied himself with work and anticipating his upcoming rendezvous. Tonight, if all went well, he would finally see the dark-haired girl again.

By dusk, the flow of visitors finally ebbed, and Gilwyn and Figgis took a well-earned rest. Though the library remained open, they were no longer available to help patrons. They ate their evening meal together in the little kitchen off the library's main living quarters, feasting on a grand supper of chicken and biscuits that Mistress Delia, their housekeeper, had cooked. Mistress Delia was a stoic woman who had lost her husband years ago in the wars with Reec. She had come into Figgis' employ long before Gilwyn had arrived, when the library had first opened its doors. She was sweet to Gilwyn and feisty with Figgis, and the pounded in his temples. He looked out the window and knew that he needed to hurry, so he said good-bye to Teku in her cage and left his bedchamber, heading for Lionkeep and its long-abandoned garden.

three shared most of the work of the vast place, though sometimes Figgis requested help from the tradesmen of Lionkeep, as when the roof was leaking or some other repair needed doing. Like Figgis, Mistress Delia was paid by Akeela himself; the king never let them want for anything. She was comfortable in the library. Its solitude complemented her quiet nature.

After their supper, Figgis invited Gilwyn to play cards. It was a pleasant night, and Figgis suggested they play on the balcony of the main reading chamber, maybe even sip some brandy. Gilwyn knew it wasFiggis' way of mending fences, for the old man had apologized to him more than once for yelling at him the night before. Figgis' sincerity made it all the more difficult for Gilwyn to decline his invitation. Since he didn't have an excuse handy, he simply told Figgis that he would rather do it some other time, suggesting that the day's labor had wearied him. Not surprisingly, Figgis saw through his pretense easily, but the old man didn't press him. He merely smiled, saying that they could play cards any time.

Once he left Figgis, Gilwyn hurried to his bed chamber to dress for his meeting. He didn't own a lot of clothes, but he had one nice shirt that he saved for special occasions. It had a stiff collar and a bright crimson pattern, and had been bought for him by Figgis so that he'd look good when meeting dignitaries.

Gilwyn hardly ever wore the shirt, but it was perfect for his meeting with the girl. After he dressed he ran a comb through his hair, checking himself in a tiny rectangle of mirror, one that had belonged to his dead mother. As he stared at his reflection, he was sure his mother would be proud of him. She would never have approved of his skulking around Lionkeep, but she had always hoped he would find a girl for himself someday, perhaps even marry.

'This might be the one," he told himself, smiling. Outside his window, the night was falling quickly. He smoothed down his shirt, put the ring he had purchased into his pocket, and took a deep breath. Tonight, he was taking a giant step toward manhood, a step he had always thought his crippled foot would prevent. Now, with the special shoe he wore, he could take man-sized strides. A nervous flutter turned in his stomach; excitement With lands' help, Cassandra left her chambers shortly after mealtime, once Freen the cook had vacated the kitchen and Megal and Ruthanna had stopped working for the night. According to Jancis, the two young housekeepers had gone for a walk to enjoy the splendid evening. It was the kind of statement that could still surprise Cassandra, even after years of experiencing the extraordinary abilities of the blind. Within an hour, her private wing had fallen silent and Jancis came into Cassandra's bedchamber to report that everyone had gone off, leaving a clear run to the scullery and thus, the forgotten garden. Cassandra steeled herself. Now that darkness had come, Lukien was very near. With luck he was already safely in the garden, waiting for her. Cassandra let Jancis lead her as far as the scullery, then ordered her friend to turn around and forget everything she had done and heard.

'Admit nothing," she ordered Jancis. They were in a darkened corner near the scullery, close to the rusted doors that led outside. The rest of the blind servants were nowhere to be seen, but Cassandra held her voice to a whisper. There was a tightness in her chest; she couldn't tell if it was fear or desire.

Jancis was gray. Her old friend let a tear fall from her eyes. Cassandra smiled and brushed it away. "It's what I want, Jan," she said gently. "You know I can't live like this anymore."

Jancis nodded, barely able to speak. "I know. But if you die..."

'If I die, then it will have been worth it to see Lukien again. Remember that, Jancis. No matter what happens to me."

'I should come with you," said Jancis. "Maybe I could help you."

'No," said Cassandra. They had been through all this already.

'But if your sickness returns..."

'Jancis, stop. There's nothing for you to do. Now I have to go.

'Hello."