The Devil's Armour (Gollancz S.F.) (29 page)

Tonight, Meriel needed peace.

Alone, she walked with a steady flame alive in her naked palm, lighting her way through the narrow corridor. It was very late and Talik, the keeper of the prayer chamber, had already doused the lamps. The darkness did not unsettle Meriel, for the light she had brought with her was enough. She walked quietly down the hall, ignoring the plaster faces on the walls as they stared at her. They were among the only likenesses of the Akari in all of Grimhold, but Meriel had long ago tired of their unique features. Tonight, she was not interested in the ancient history of the Akari. She wanted to know what they could do for her presently.

As she reached the end of the hall she lifted her hand to illuminate the great oak doors. The flame in her hand wavered with her movement. She could hear nothing but her breathing and the tiny hiss of the fire. Sure she was alone, she pulled back the hood of her garment and revealed her face to the firelight. For a moment, she wondered if she should enter the prayer chamber. The last few days had been among the best in her recent memory. Lukien had remained behind and had showered her with attention. Keeping his promise to spend time with her, he had even taken her on a long ride on horseback where they had found a little valley with green shrubs and an indescribable sunset. Meriel’s heart ached as she thought of it, so splendid, with Lukien sitting next to her, talking to her as though she were a completely normal woman.

But what was there to pray about? Her goddess – the goddess of her land Jerikor – had long been deaf to her prayers. And Sarlvarian, her friend and Akari, had been
nearly as silent the past few days. Of course she had been unable to mask her thoughts from him, and she didn’t blame him for shunning her. What she was contemplating had probably never been done before. But the good spirit hadn’t completely abandoned her. He still allowed her to exorcise the pain from her body using the fire, the only real way to relieve the agony that constantly raked her skin. Nor did the spirit disobey her when she chose to maim herself. It was an odd dichotomy Meriel could not explain and it was driving her mad. Lately, the desire to set herself aflame and destroy what was left of her ugly face was becoming unbearable, and with Thorin gone she had no one to confide in. There was no way she could have told Lukien. If she were to have a chance with him, any chance at all, she had to at least
act
sane.

And so her madness had driven her here, out of bed and into the crypts of Grimhold, to speak to a goddess she doubted existed, to beg for answers to questions that had none. Suddenly the flame in her hand flared up in a spiral, magnifying her anger. She took a breath to calm herself. The flame became tiny again. Sarlvarian’s cautioning voice rippled through her. Feeling it made her melancholy. To be without him was unimaginable. But to be as she was through eternity . . .

Meriel walked toward the chamber. Her heels clicked loudly on the stone floor. When she reached the doors the flame in her hand feebly reached into the prayer chamber, allowing her the barest glimpse of its interior. She paused on the threshold, flicking her eyes to all the candles on the walls. With a controlled thought the flame in her palm leaped toward the wall, lighting a single taper. She concentrated, and like a firefly the flame bounced from wick to wick, rapidly lighting them all. The candles flared to life. The chamber glowed a warm orange. Meriel smiled to herself in satisfaction. The flame in her palm went out instantly. The chamber was much as she had last seen it, with wooden chairs against the wall and small tables to
make worshipping easier for those Inhumans whose deities required trappings. Meriel, however, came to the chamber with nothing. Her deity – nameless except for the title ‘goddess’ – required no such accoutrements. To the goddess of Jerikor the prayerful came empty-handed, and could pray anywhere. An open field was as good as any church. Perhaps she was a myth; Meriel didn’t know and Sarlvarian had never answered that question for her. But at times like this it did not matter. At times like this, when Meriel felt the most alone, she was glad that the goddess was always accessible, glad that she was gentle and wise.

Up ahead was a plain altar of smooth stone, white and marbled and polished to a pristine lustre. It was there for those Inhumans who gave offerings to their gods, but Meriel had always found it useful for praying. An unsteadiness came over her as she looked at the altar. She grimaced, unsure she should really be here. She was not a religious person. Like so many others, she only seemed to remember the goddess when she needed something. Or when she felt lost.

Slowly she went before the altar. A gold carpet had been laid before it to ease the knees. She knelt and bowed her head, closing her eyes and trying to clear her mind.

‘Goddess,’ she began haltingly. ‘Goddess . . .’

Her voice sounded small. She didn’t know what to ask or how to ask it. She wasn’t even sure the goddess would come to this place, a place so full of magic and icons. But it was said that she was all-powerful; Meriel had learned that at her father’s knee. Surely the Akari wouldn’t frighten her. To Meriel’s great surprise, she began to weep.

She prayed through her tears, without words, casting her thoughts toward heaven. She prayed that the goddess would heal her broken mind, she prayed for forgiveness for maiming herself. She prayed for the love of Lukien and the understanding of Sarlvarian. She prayed that the goddess could breach whatever gulf lay between her and the spirit world of the Akari.

Most of all, she prayed for the strength to do what she most wanted to do, for the chance to become normal again. She prayed Minikin would understand and grant her this great gift, and that somehow the miracle of what she asked would be made possible.

Down on her knees, Meriel lost all sense of time. The tears continued unabated. In her mind she saw Lukien, and she knew it was his kindness that had brought her to this misery. Before him, she had simply been unhappy. Now, she craved his love like food and air. Now she wanted to be free of this place and to walk again into the normal world with a normal, human face. And she was sure this place had the magic to make it possible – if only Minikin would grant it to her.

Finally, her tears subsided. Meriel opened her eyes and drew a sleeve across her face to dry it. The candlelight touched her skin. She put her hand to her cheek and felt its deep scars. But she would not be this way forever. If Minikin had a heart, if Sarlvarian released her, if such a thing was possible in the pantheon of Akari might . . .

Then she would be whole again.

That night, Lukien did not return to his home in the village. It was not the distance to Grimhold that bothered him. Nor was it the weather, which was nearly always desert fair. Rather, he remained troubled by all that had happened in Jador recently, and because he found himself longing for the company of the absent Baron Glass he decided to spend the night in Thorin’s room in the keep, just as he had since returning to Grimhold. It was a quiet room, but it was in a busy hall due to its proximity to other apartments, and Lukien found himself enjoying the company of the Inhumans. They were always kind and accommodating, and over the past year he had found a surprising kinship to them. Like him they were exiles, though their own exile was self-imposed. The people in the village weren’t like that. Most of the villagers had been born there in the shadow of
Grimhold and had known nothing of a life in the outside world. Perhaps it was their constant barrage of questions that had kept Lukien away; he wasn’t sure. At first living in the village had seemed a good idea. But tonight – when he was so restless and desperate for the company of others – Grimhold just seemed right to him.

Yet he could not sleep. He had taken a meal with Meriel and Ghost and a few of the other Inhumans, then had retired early to Thorin’s room where he had hoped to catch up on the sleep that had evaded him lately. Once again, though, sleep would not come. Every time he closed his eyes, too many faces stared back at him. Surprisingly, he found himself thinking about Meriel and how quiet she had been over supper. He had forced her to eat with the others, thinking it would be good for her. Now, he regretted it. They hadn’t parted well, either. Meriel had left without finishing her food and he hadn’t seen her since.

She was well, he was sure, yet he went looking for her anyway. It didn’t matter that it was late. A good walk would make him tired, so he went to the room where Meriel lived alone and found that she wasn’t there. Puzzled, he stalked the silent halls of Grimhold looking for her, running into Talik purely by chance. Talik, who looked after the prayer chamber deep in the keep’s lower levels, told Lukien that he had seen Meriel over an hour ago and that she had told him she was going down to the chamber to pray. Lukien thanked the man, told him to sleep well, and went down to find her. It occurred to him that he shouldn’t disturb a person in prayer, but he was suddenly worried about Meriel. He had never known the woman to pray before, or to even speak of her deity. Lukien knew that some people turned to heaven only when they were desperate, and that seemed reason enough to interrupt her.

The prayer chamber, like the armoury and the old dungeons, lay deep within the keep’s foundations, a long trip down a winding stone stairway lit with oil lamps and torches. Because it was so late, however, the lamps and
torches had been extinguished hours ago. At Talik’s behest Lukien brought his own lamp with him, and when he saw how dark the stairway was he keyed the wick a little higher. At once the stone walls revealed themselves, glowing a ghostly orange. Lukien made his way down the stairway carefully. His boots scuffed the stairs as he walked, echoing through the eerie well. He had only visited the prayer chamber once before, and only then because Minikin had shown it to him as part of a tour of the keep. But he remembered it well enough, and its location far down a narrow hall. There were stairways leading from the catacombs into Grimhold’s upper reaches, and Lukien wondered for a moment if he’d chosen the right one. There was the stair leading to the armoury, of course, which he remembered perfectly. The armoury held the Devil’s Armour and was off-limits to everyone save Minikin. As he reached the bottom of the stairs he looked about suspiciously. There was a strange magnetism about the Armour, and when he stopped to listen he could almost hear it whispering to him. He shook his head and went toward the corridor. To his relief he saw light dancing up ahead and knew he’d chosen the proper route. Again his movements slowed. He kept his footfalls light and shallow to prevent being overheard. Soon he saw the doors leading to the prayer chamber. The amount of light inside the room surprised him, for it seemed that Meriel had lit every one of the chamber’s candles. Suddenly his little lamp seemed silly. It comforted him, though, and he held it close as he slinked closer to the chamber.

Then, like a hand had pinched it out, his lamp darkened. The flame disappeared instantly, leaving Lukien in the dark corridor. Surprised and a bit frightened, his eyes went at once to the distant doors. There he saw a figure blocking out the light and knew at once that Meriel had killed his flame.

‘Who’s there?’ she demanded. Standing on the threshold
with the hood about her face, she looked like some demented cleric.

‘Meriel, it’s me, Lukien.’ Lukien stood his ground and kept his tone even. ‘Why did you kill my lamp?’

‘I sensed the fire,’ replied Meriel. ‘I wanted to be alone. What are you doing here, Lukien?’

The flame came to life again in Lukien’s lamp, startling him. He realised he didn’t have a good answer to Meriel’s query.

‘It’s very late,’ he said. He inched toward her. ‘I couldn’t sleep.’

‘So?’

He still couldn’t make her face out clearly. Well hidden in her dark hood, Meriel seemed both angry and concerned. Behind her the prayer chamber wavered with candlelight.

‘So I was thinking about you,’ offered Lukien. ‘You were quiet at supper, and when I went to your room you weren’t there.’

Meriel shrugged. ‘Did you want something?’

‘No, not really. I was just . . . Are you praying, Meriel?’

The question caught the woman off guard. She nodded slowly.

‘Ah, well then . . .’ Lukien shrugged. ‘I shouldn’t have disturbed you. I’m sorry.’

‘I am fine, Lukien, if that’s what you were wondering,’ said Meriel. ‘I’m done praying, I think. You can come and sit with me.’

‘Why don’t you come upstairs?’ Lukien suggested. ‘We can talk and have some tea.’

Meriel thought for a moment. She didn’t move from the threshold. ‘I’d rather stay here. It’s quiet. I have it all to myself. Come and sit with me.’

Against his own wishes, Lukien complied. As Meriel turned and entered the chamber he followed her inside. At once the light from the many candles assailed his eyes. He put up a hand to shield his face.

‘It’s too much for you,’ said Meriel. With a wave of her
hand an invisible breeze blew out half the candles. The gesture unnerved Lukien. On one of the wooden tables he laid down his oil lamp, then glanced around the room, spotting the simple altar and the carpet strewn before it. The friezes on the walls stared at him in stony silence. The flickering light of the remaining candles animated the cast of Akari faces, reminding him why he’d never liked this place. But Meriel seemed at remarkable ease. He caught a glimpse of her face behind her cowl and saw that she’d been weeping. She looked drawn, exhausted. He felt the same suddenly.

‘I shouldn’t have come,’ he told her. ‘And this place . . .’ He shrugged. ‘It bothers me.’

‘If you’re troubled this is a good place to be,’ she replied. There was a trio of long benches set back away from the altar. Meriel slid into the second row, leaving room for Lukien. ‘When I don’t know who else to turn to, I speak to the goddess. I don’t know if she listens. She never really answers me.’ She sighed. ‘It’s not like talking to Sarlvarian.’ She turned and looked at Lukien. ‘I know you, Lukien. You didn’t come here just to see me. You have things on your mind, too. Why don’t you tell them to your god? Maybe he’ll listen.’