Authors: John Marco
The Eyes of God (29 page)
“It’s a cancer,” said the physician. “And it will spread.”
Oric was a learned man and had been the family’s healer since Akeela could remember. Like most Liirian physicians, he had been educated in Koth’s renowned colleges. But when it came to Cassandra, Akeela trusted no one, and so called on every physician in the city to examine his wife. Over the following days they came to Lionkeep at the king’s request, poking and prodding the queen, their faces long with concern. And all of them confirmed Oric’s opinion—Cassandra was dying. She had a growth that had advanced beyond any surgery. It had begun somewhere in her gut and was reaching into her bowels, slowly clawing out a fatal foothold. Despite their combined knowledge, none of the physicians could offer any hope. All they could do was make her comfortable, they said, and wait out the weeks before she died. Most believed she would be dead within two months, but Oric was generous enough to say three, maybe slightly more. “The queen is young and otherwise strong,” he told Akeela. “She will live longer than most.”
But three months was hardly time at all.
“She will have good days and she will have bad days,” Oric went on to say. “And her bad days will be very bad indeed.”
Akeela didn’t have the strength to listen to any more. For days he kept the worst of the news from Cassandra, but he knew that she had guessed it, and when he returned to their bed chamber to tell her, she said the words for him.
“I’m dying,” she whispered.
Akeela tried to smile. “That’s what Oric says, but I don’t believe him.”
“Then you’re a sweet fool, Akeela.”
Her voice was a rasp; her eyelids drooped with drowsiness. Oric had prescribed a regimen of strong herbs and medicines, and now Cassandra seemed to be in no pain at all. She looked pale, and that was all.
“How long?” she asked.
“I won’t answer that,” said Akeela.
Cassandra opened her eyes. “Akeela, how much time do I have?”
“As long as I say so. I am your king and husband. You can’t die without my permission.”
Cassandra laughed. “Even a king can’t save me now.”
“I won’t let you die, Cassandra. Remember my promise?”
“Your promise is forgiven, Akeela. What kind of wife would I be to hold you to something so impossible?” She turned her head and buried her face in the pillow. Then she began to sob. “What kind of wife. . ?”
“Rest,” said Akeela. “I’ll be back later. There are visitors waiting to see you, but I’ll send them away.”
Suddenly Cassandra faced him. “Visitors? Who?”
“Jancis wants to see you.” Akeela hesitated. “And Lukien.”
“Lukien?” Cassandra’s eyes darted away. “He knows, then?”
“The whole city knows, Cassandra, and would be at this door to see you if not for me.” Akeela turned to leave. “But you need rest. I’ll tell them to go.”
True to his word, Akeela dismissed all of Cassandra’s visitors. Even Lukien. He guarded Cassandra like a mother, keeping everyone but Oric away from her, relenting only when his wife cried for Jancis. The handmaid became the queen’s lone visitor, for all others were barred from the royal couple’s wing.
Days passed, and Akeela grew more despondent. The isolation that had plagued him since returning from abroad had reached a dangerous peak, and he shunned all overtures of friendship and support. Baron Glass stopped sending war declarations from the House of Dukes, but there was still talk of battle with Norvor, and whispers that Akeela had become impotent and unable to act. It was said that his courage was withering along with his wife. Work stopped on the great library. Akeela attended Cassandra day and night. And he brooded. He had made an impossible promise. Akeela knew he would need a miracle to save Cassandra.
Then, one afternoon, Figgis came to see him.
It was eight days after Cassandra’s illness had been discovered. Akeela, weary beyond words, had sought shelter from the world in his study, the only part of Lionkeep that was truly his alone. He sat at his desk listening to the breeze outside his window, threatening a storm. In one hand he held a book, in the other a brandy. Akeela swirled the brandy absently as he read, losing himself in the rhymes of some Liirian poet. For the moment, he had put aside Cassandra and his thousand troubles, and the brandy deadened his pain. The sound of the wind gave him something like contentment.
But an unwelcome knock at the door shattered his solitude.
“My lord? Are you in there?”
Akeela recognized Figgis’ voice. He put his down his book with a sigh. “I’m here,” he called. “Come in.”
Figgis the librarian pushed open the door and licked his lips nervously. He, too, had a book in his hand, very old from the looks of it and covered in dust. His hair was matted and his clothes were customarily wrinkled, and his eyes had the same tired droop as Akeela’s own. He gave his king an apologetic smile as he peered into the study.
“Sorry to interrupt, my lord, but I found something I thought would interest you.”
Akeela looked at the item Figgis had brought. “A book? Figgis, I have my mind on bigger things these days than books.” He waved it off. “Add it to the collection.”
“Uh, no, my lord misunderstands. This isn’t just a book. May I come in?”
“I’m very tired, Figgis . . .”
“Really, this is important, my lord,” said the old man.
He waited on the threshold. Akeela hesitated. The last time someone had come to his study with “important” news he had learned of Cassandra’s infidelity. More news like that and Akeela knew he’d collapse.
“All right, but close the door, will you? I don’t want a parade marching in here. Brandy?”
Figgis shook his head. “Uh, no, my lord, thanks.”
“Pity. I find it the only thing that helps my headaches these days.” Akeela drained his snifter then poured himself another. He could already hear his slurred speech, but didn’t care. “Be seated, Figgis, and tell me what’s so urgent you simply had to disturb me.”
“Yes, thank you, my lord,” said Figgis. He slid out a chair and sat down, laying his book on the desk. “Now, about this book—”
“Where’s your monkey?” Akeela interrupted. “I like that little fellow.”
Figgis smiled gently. “My lord is drunk.”
“So I am.”
“Peko is resting in his cage.” Figgis reached out and nudged the book beneath Akeela’s nose. “I have something special here, my lord.”
Through bleary eyes Akeela studied the book. It had a cover of worn brown leather, frayed at the corners, with numerous dog-eared pages. There were strange markings in the leather, like Reecian runes, but foreign. Akeela reached out and ran his fingers over the embossed lettering, trying to decipher it.
“It’s from Jador,” Figgis explained. “It’s very old and rare. It’s written in Jadori, my lord. You won’t be able to read it.”
“No?” Akeela slid the book back toward Figgis. “Then it’s not much good to me, is it? I really wish you wouldn’t bother me with this, Figgis. I told you, I have things on my mind.”
“But that’s just it, my lord,” said Figgis. “I’m here to help you. And help Queen Cassandra.”
“What do you mean?”
“This is a text of Jadori history and folklore, my lord. Like I said, it’s very unusual, maybe the rarest book I own. I’ve been reading it for years now, trying to make sense of it. The Jadori language is very different from our own. It’s difficult, and I’ve only been able to translate some of the text.”
“So? What’s this to do with Cassandra?”
“My lord, when I heard of the queen’s illness, I started going through my books, trying to find out what I could about her tumor, anything that might help her. I wanted to ease her suffering you see, maybe even cure her.”
Akeela smiled at the librarian. “No one can cure what Cassandra has, my friend. Not even you with all your books can do that.”
“No, you don’t understand,” said Figgis. “While I was looking through my books, I remembered something I’d read a long time ago. Sort of a legend, you might say.” He tapped the Jadori manuscript. “Something in here, my lord.”
“Something about her cancer?” asked Akeela.
“Better.” Figgis opened the book to one of its yellowed pages. He read for a moment, mouthing the words with effort, trying to find the right passage. Then he smiled and looked up at Akeela. “My lord may think me mad for this.”
“I already think you’re mad, Figgis. Go on.”
Figgis continued, “I’ve been able to translate most of this passage pretty well. It speaks of the Kahan and Kahana of Jador, and two amulets that they wear.”
“Kahan and Kahana? Who are they?”
“Like a king and queen, my lord. That’s what the Jadori call their rulers. These amulets they wear are called Inai ka Vala—the Eyes of God.”
“God? What god?”
“That’s the Jadori word for it, my lord. The Jadori have one main deity they call Vala; he’s like the great spirit worshipped by the Reecians, or the Fate here in Liiria.”
“And what of these amulets? What are they?”
“Let me read it to you, my lord.” Clearing his throat, Figgis read, “The master of the hidden place across the desert wears an amulet of red and gold.” The hidden place, Figgis explained, was Jador. He continued, “His wife wears the amulet’s twin. The Eyes of God protect them, saving them from all disease.” Figgis looked at Akeela excitedly. “See, my lord?”
“See? See what?”
“The Eyes of God, my lord. They’re magic amulets. They can save Queen Cassandra!”
Akeela rolled his eyes. “Are you mad? I thought you were coming here with real hope, that you had found something that might help my wife. But this . . .” He gestured to the book in disgust. “This is ridiculous.”
“My lord, I’m telling you the truth. The book speaks of these amulets as having real power!”
“My wife is dying, Figgis! I don’t have time for fairy tales.”
Figgis seemed surprised by Akeela’s reaction. Scowling, he said, “My lord is foolish to deny the existence of sorcery.”
“I don’t deny it, Figgis. I just don’t approve of it.”
“Ah, but it exists, my lord. You’ve seen it yourself. Hiding from it won’t make it go away. The fortune cards of Noor are magical. And what about the holy relic of Marn? Can you explain why it weeps?”
“I cannot. But if it is sorcery, then I do not wish to understand it.”
Figgis got to his feet, clutching the book. “My lord, I’ve studied Jador all my life. The Jadori are very different from us. They have skills we know nothing about.”
“Bah, the world is plagued by sorcery these days,” Akeela scoffed. “The poor and ignorant use it as a crutch. But not me. I’m a man of science and knowledge, Figgis. That’s what you’re supposed to be.”
“I
am
a man of science, my lord. That’s how I know about Jador, and how I know these amulets just might be real. Isn’t it worth a chance if it will save the queen’s life?”
am
a man of science, my lord. That’s how I know about Jador, and how I know these amulets just might be real. Isn’t it worth a chance if it will save the queen’s life?”
“What chance? Jador is hundreds of miles from here. Even if these amulets are real, how would we find them? How would we cross the Desert of Tears?”
“You forget, my lord, I know something of that part of the world. I lived in Ganjor, remember. The Jadori trade with the Ganjeese. Sometimes the Jadori travel to Ganjor, and sometimes the Ganjeese send caravans across the desert to Jador. They both cross the sands without incident.”
“The Jadori have their lizards for crossing the desert,” said Akeela. “We do not.”
“Not all of them ride kreels, my lord. Most of the caravans are from Ganjor, where they use drowas. If they can do it, surely we can find a way.”
Akeela thought for a moment, studying the librarian’s earnest face. He certainly seemed to believe his wild tale. And there was sorcery enough in the world, that was certainly true. The stew of Liirian culture had shown Akeela that already. But he had never heard of any sorcery like these amulets, these so-called “Eyes of God.” To Akeela, it smacked of folly. He closed his eyes and sighed.
“Figgis, I wish I could believe you,” he said. “But how can I? This story is incredible. It’s like something from a bedtime story. Soon you’ll be telling me Grimhold is real!”
“Why not?”
Akeela opened his eyes. Before him, Figgis stood as sure and straight as an arrow. There was not the smallest trace of jest in him.
“Figgis,” said Akeela, “what kind of man believes in fairy tales?”
“It’s hope, my lord, that’s all,” said Figgis. “It’s not insanity or folly. I believe in these amulets.”
“Do you? Or do you simply
want
to believe? You’re very keen on Jador, Figgis. Might this not be some delusion of yours, a false hope?”
want
to believe? You’re very keen on Jador, Figgis. Might this not be some delusion of yours, a false hope?”
Figgis shrugged. “Even if it is, what else can we do? Cassandra will die in months, and nothing on this side of the desert can save her.”
For Akeela, any hope, however insane it sounded, was welcome. For days now he had been in a dark tunnel, groping through the blackness with no way out. Now came Figgis bearing a candle.
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