‘Of course,’ replied Gilwyn. It was impossible to forget that first day he had learned about Minikin and the Inhumans. ‘I think of it every day.’
‘I marked you when you were a baby and made you one of us. You’ve had a year to think about that. Tell me true — have you ever regretted that?’
It made no sense to lie to Minikin, so Gilwyn told her what was in his heart. ‘Never. I feel at peace here, Minikin, like I belong with the Inhumans. And I love White-Eye. If you hadn’t marked me, I would never have met her.’
The answer pleased the little lady. Her smile held a great fondness. She went to Gilwyn and looked out over the desert valley. So tiny was she next to him that Gilwyn had to gaze down to see her face.
‘There is so much in this world to see and try to understand. Your mentor Figgis was a man of science, but he had an open mind, yes?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Gilwyn. ‘He believed in Grimhold before anyone else did. He was able to convince King Akeela about it.’
‘Hmm, well, we shall forgive him that,’ said Minikin. ‘But it is true that learned men do not often believe in the things they cannot see or hold in their hands. In Liiria they believe in the Fate and other deities because they must, because they are desperate to believe and would drink sand if they were told it was water. But outside of these orthodoxies they do not believe. Or they fear.’ The little mistress looked up at Gilwyn. ‘But you are not like that, Gilwyn, and you have never been. You are a dreamer. That’s a good thing to be.’
Gilwyn grinned. ‘I’m always full of questions, Minikin. Even Figgis used to say that.’
‘And now you have questions for me, yes?’
Gilwyn nodded.
‘All right, then,’ said Minikin cheerfully. ‘Let us get you answers.’ She surprised Gilwyn by taking his hand. ‘Walk with me.’
Letting the tiny woman guide him, Gilwyn stepped away from the edge of the cliff, walking with Minikin to the clearing where Emerald rested. There were large stones with smooth surfaces for sitting, obviously used for dozens of years. There were markings on the rocks, too, scratches that had been made over the decades by people unknown to Gilwyn, yet he was sure they had been pupils of Minikin. A towering outcrop of rock blocked the worst of the wind. Minikin let go of Gilwyn’s hand and bade him to sit. He did so, setting himself down on one of the smooth rocks, finding it surprisingly comfortable. Minikin remained standing.
‘You have guessed that I have taken people here for many years,’ she said. ‘You are right. This place is holy to me. From here we can see all of Jador, and almost get a hint of Grimhold, too.’ It was rare to see melancholy on Minikin’s face, but Gilwyn saw it now. ‘Kadar was the one who showed me this place. We sealed our pact right here among these rocks.’
The pact, Gilwyn knew, was the one between Grimhold and Jador. It was a bond that had lasted generations, and when he realised he was sitting in the place of its genesis Gilwyn shivered.
‘It was the perfect place to create something sacred,’ Minikin went on. ‘Kadar and I both knew it. Ever since then I’ve been bringing people up here. People like you, Gilwyn. Inhumans who are special, who have gifts.’
‘Gifts. You keep mentioning that word, Minikin. To be honest, it scares me. Do all the Inhumans have gifts?’
‘No, not all. Some of the strongest Inhumans have no gifts at all, only the aid of the Akari. The Akari make them strong, let them see or hear or walk, but that’s not a gift. A true gift is more than that. It’s not something an Akari can give you. It has to come from within.’
Gilwyn still wasn’t understanding, though he tried gamely. ‘Does Trog have a gift?’
‘No,’ said Minikin. ‘His Akari helps him to hear and comprehend, but that’s all. But Meriel has a gift. She has fire deep within her, deep in her skin and deep in her soul. The fire burned her, but it also became part of her. That’s the special element that makes a true gift. Fire is something uniquely part of her, something that changed her life forever and made her what she is today.’
‘And I have a gift?’ The notion perplexed Gilwyn. He glanced down at his clubbed hand. ‘Because I’m like this?’
Minikin at last sat herself down on the rock opposite him. Her coat fell open and the amulet at her chest — the Eye of God — pulsed red with life. Her elfin face was inscrutable in the light of the gem.
‘I’ve watched you closely this past year, Gilwyn. You may think other things have distracted me, but I have not ignored you. I know how badly you’ve wanted to see Ruana. And I have waited because you needed to grow, to show me who you really are, and what you can do. If a person has a gift, it must be nurtured. To do anything less would be unforgivable. You have seen how I take children to Grimhold, yes?’
‘Yes,’ said Gilwyn. ‘Because they’re more willing to believe.’
‘Precisely. But children so young do not yet have these gifts I speak of. They have not yet had the time to develop or experience. They have open minds, but it is only adults that have gifts. Like Meriel and Ghost. They were not children when I found them, but they were special. As you are special.’
‘How am I special, Minikin?’
‘Ah, that is the question I have asked myself! How might you be gifted? You are not burned like Meriel or albino like Ghost. What would your gift be?’
‘I’ve been crippled like this all my life,’ Gilwyn offered. ‘Shouldn’t that be my gift? To be able to walk normally, without this boot Figgis made me?’
‘Is that what you assumed?’ asked Minikin. ‘That your Akari would help you walk normally?’
‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘I’ve never run a day in my life. When I was a boy and saw others running and jumping, all I wished was to be like them.’
‘But you’re older now, Gilwyn. You’re no longer a boy. Do you still wish to run and climb trees?’
Was she mocking him? Gilwyn nodded sheepishly. ‘I’ve seen Inhumans like Monster,’ he said. ‘He’s much worse than me, and he can run and do all sorts of things. His Akari gave him grace.’
The little woman leaned back, her brow furrowing. ‘It can be like that for you, too, if that’s what you wish. Ruana has the power. She can make your foot work like it was never bent. But your boot can already do that for you, Gilwyn. Not as well as Ruana, I admit, but you walk fine and here in Jador no one judges you for limping.’
‘I know,’ said Gilwyn. He shrugged. ‘So what is my gift, then?’
Minikin’s smile was mischievous. She said simply, ‘Teku.’
‘Teku?’
‘Teku, Gilwyn. She is the kernel of your gift.’
Gilwyn was dumbfounded. ‘I don’t understand. Teku’s a monkey.’
‘Yes, and she has been with you for many years. She’s become a part of you, more of a part than I think you realise.’ The little woman leaned forward. ‘Let me ask you something. Have you not noticed your abilities with the kreel, Gilwyn?’
‘The kreel?’ Gilwyn thought for a moment. ‘You mean that I can command them?’
Just then, as if she were summoned, Emerald raised her head. The reptile blinked at Gilwyn, her eyes knowing. The gesture confused Gilwyn even more.
‘All the Jadori warriors can command the kreel, Minikin.’
‘Yes, but you are not a Jadori warrior. You’re a northerner, Gilwyn, from nowhere near Jador and without a drop of Jadori blood in your veins.’
‘So?’
‘So, that is very odd, Gilwyn.’ Minikin pointed at Emerald. ‘Look at the way the beast stares at you. It knows what you’re thinking, and you it. I have never seen such a thing happen with foreigners like us. This thing you do — it is a trait of desert people. Or it is a gift.’
The words surprised Gilwyn, who glanced between Minikin and Emerald in confusion. It was true that he and the kreel had bonded superbly, but he had always thought it more a matter of Emerald’s ability, not his own. In that moment he shared a thought with the creature, receiving a powerful message of friendship.
‘She is just a part of me,’ said Gilwyn. ‘It’s not something I can explain. I hardly have to work at it to understand her.’