Then, the Liirians had come. With his great army, King Akeela had changed the lives of every Jadori, inside and out of the white wall. The Liirians had brought destruction to Jador and the deaths of countless warriors and kreels, and in the year since their defeat the city had never recovered. Nor had the trade with the outside world. There were no more caravans from Ganjor or Dreel or the Agora valley or Nith. There were only the Seekers, those brave enough to defy Prince Aztar and come across the desert. Like the ruins of Jador’s defences and the dearth of vital kreels, Prince Aztar was just another ugly outcome of King Akeela’s war. He had replaced Akeela as the thing the Jadori most feared.
Gilwyn and the others had not returned by the time Minikin exited the city. Atop a pony, she rode out from the gate and entered the surrounding township to the gasps of the populace.
‘Ela-daz,’ they called and whispered, pointing at the little woman as she made her way through the streets. A woman smiled up at her. Her face half-hidden behind a veil, she offered Minikin a handful of nuts she’d been selling from bowls in the avenue. ‘Ela-daz,’ the woman greeted, joyous at the sight of her. Minikin returned the smile but refused the nuts, saying nothing. The crowd parted as she continued, but the staring did not ebb. It was always this way when Ela-daz ventured forth. The people of the township knew she only went among them when she had a special purpose. The buzz of her visit quickly rippled through the street.
Kahan Kadar had been the first Jadori to call her Ela-daz. It was a term of endearment, meaning ‘little one’, and Minikin had never protested it. She had learned long ago that names held no harm — a bit of wisdom she instilled in her Inhumans — and she knew that Kadar had given her the title in kindness. He had been her finest friend, and the first to wear the Eye of God that Lukien now wore. She, as the Mistress of Grimhold, wore the amulet’s twin. It had kept her alive for decades on end. Kadar had been dead for a year now, but she missed him still. In the aftermath of the Liirian war she had been given a thousand new burdens, and she craved Kahan’s gentle guidance.
Minikin did not hurry through the crowd, because she enjoyed being among them and because her bodyguard Trog always lagged behind when she rode her pony. There were few horses in Jador now, almost none of them large enough to bear the mute’s enormous weight, so Trog walked a few paces behind his mistress, keeping up as best he could. He was a frightful sight and the people of the township gave him a wide berth as he moved through them. Minikin looked back and gave him an encouraging wink. Here in Jador, she had no real use for a bodyguard, but Trog refused to leave her and she was always grateful for his company.
‘Ela-daz comes!’ cried a voice from the crowd. A dozen eager heads popped up. They were not poor, precisely, these people beyond the wall, but rather they were plain folk who had made lives for themselves. Like the Jadori, they took their living from the desert and the harsh mountains, which provided everything they needed except security from Prince Aztar. That, unfortunately, had fallen to Lukien to provide. Minikin reached down and touched the offered hands of the townspeople. They were Ganjeese mostly, with brown, rough skin that brushed harshly against her own small fingers. Trog watched carefully each hand she shook.
‘Where are you going, Ela-daz?’ asked an eager boy. He spoke Ganjeese, which Minikin had long ago picked up and now understood perfectly. ‘Have you chosen another? Who is it?’
All of them wanted to know, but Minikin stayed silent. She had indeed selected one of their neighbours, but she was still a good distance from the right house. She lifted her head to check the direction. The term ‘street’ only loosely applied to the avenues of the township, and for a moment she was confused. But only for a moment. Around her neck her own Eye of God burned a little brighter as she communed with Lariniza, the spirit within the amulet. In her timeless, soft voice Lariniza silently answered Minikin’s query, guiding her toward the home of the Seeker they had mutually selected. Minikin turned her pony left and started again down the choked avenue toward a distant collection of shabby homes made from wood and sand. Similar homes had been erected all around the township, but Minikin now saw in her mind a picture of the place, and finding it among its countless brothers wouldn’t be a problem. With Trog slogging behind her, she happily trotted toward the squat homes. The melancholy that had plagued her earlier was gone. She was bringing joyous news, and she knew her appearance would thrill the boy’s parents.
If only she could bring such joy to all the Seekers. That thought was never far from her mind, especially now when she rode among them, for not all the faces she encountered were glad to see her. As she rode past them, some fell in bitter disappointment. There simply were not enough Akari spirits for them all. And she had not asked them to come to Jador. It wasn’t her fault that they were miserable.
Why then, she wondered, did it torture her? Like a petal falling from a flower, her good mood fled in a wind of discontent. Suddenly she wanted to hurry to the house. She retracted her hand and turned away from the people greeting her, focusing on the homes in the distance.
‘Trog, I’m going ahead,’ she called. ‘I’ll be safe, do not worry. I will see you there.’
Trog would have protested if he could, but the giant merely hurried his pace, walking in huge strides to keep up with Minikin’s pony, which nimbly serpentined through the crowded street as it bore its rider toward the waiting houses. As she neared them, Minikin at once noticed the people gathered there. They had come out of their little homes, dropping their chores. She recognised many of them, Seekers from the north who had come to Jador with the misguided hope of finding magic. As they saw the woman they considered their saviour, their faces lit with anticipation. A man from Dreel with terrible, crippling burns met her eyes as she rode forward. With all the mercy she could muster, Minikin smiled and shook her head. The man’s expression dimmed, and he drew back. Only one house would be visited by Minikin today, and only one Seeker inside the house would be chosen. But Minikin knew she would be warmly greeted there, for the boy’s parents had implored her kindly, had waited patiently for months, never begging, never insisting, always offering kind prayers for the Mistress of Grimhold, or, as they called it, Mount Believer. Minikin took a breath to prepare herself. Carefully she avoided the eyes of the other Seekers, who had all gathered in little communities like this one, waiting for their turn. The Ganjeese and other people of the township withdrew as she approached the homes. Suddenly, silence filled the avenue.
Minikin saw the house. It was at the end of a row of homes just like it, small and plain, with walls made of white, sandy cement and a wooden door dried and buckled by the desert heat. Standing on the home’s humble threshold were a man and a woman, both of whom Minikin had studied, sometimes secretly. Their names were Varagin and Leshe. They had come from Marn nearly a year ago with their son Carlan, among the first wave of Seekers to cross the desert. And when they had arrived they had told their sad tale to Gilwyn, who had in turn told it to Minikin, about how Carlan had been blind since birth and how there was no chance for a blind child in Marn, because the economy of their country had collapsed since the fall of neighbouring Liiria. In the months that followed, Minikin had heard the story repeated countless times, but she had never forgotten Varagin and Leshe or their sweet-tempered child. Nor had they forgotten her.
Leshe had a cleaning rag in her hand. Varagin held a spade. Together they watched Minikin approach, their faces frozen in a kind of desperate hope. Mercifully, Minikin ended their anticipation with a smile. The couple from Marn let their mouths drop open. Leshe put a hand to her bosom.