‘Goodbye, Ruana. .’
Gilwyn’s words were swallowed whole by the same red light that had snatched him earlier. Dazzled by the brightness, he squinted and looked away, but when the light quickly died he was just as he had been, seated before Minikin, his hand still clutching the Eye of God. He jerked back as if suddenly awakened. The mistress of Grimhold grinned.
‘Welcome back, Gilwyn.’
Just as she had taken them up the mountain, Emerald took Gilwyn and Minikin back down without complaint. By the time they reached the bottom it was well into mid-morning, and Gilwyn knew his sense of time had been radically shaken. It seemed to him that he had spent hours with Ruana, but Minikin had sworn that the whole experience had unfolded in mere moments. When he had opened his eyes again she had been there, smiling just as she had been when he’d first touched the amulet.
His mind was full of questions, yet the pure awe of his experience kept him silent all the way down the mountain. Finally, when they came to level ground again and Minikin dismounted for a brief rest, Gilwyn found his voice.
‘You look like them,’ he said without thinking. It was as if he suddenly remembered the little woman’s resemblance to Ruana. Minikin, who had been stretching her back and grimacing, paused and looked at him.
‘That’s right,’ she replied. ‘Do you know why?’
‘Because you’ve spent so much time with them, because they’ve kept you alive.’
‘Correct. They have. . influenced me, you might say.’
Gilwyn sighed. ‘Minikin, it was all so amazing. Ruana’s still alive. I mean, it’s like she never really died! She’s still in the world she knew a thousand years ago, and the world hasn’t changed.’
‘No, that’s not right, Gilwyn,’ said Minikin quickly. ‘The world has changed.’ She spread her arms, gesturing at their surroundings. ‘This is the world. The place you saw — the place where Ruana dwells — is not.’
‘But it was so real! It must be a world!’
‘Listen carefully, Gilwyn — Ruana’s world exists, yes. But it is not the world. Don’t ever make that mistake. Ruana and all the Akari live in a netherworld, a realm of the dead. You live in the world of the living, and that is the only world you need to remember.’
Gilwyn patted Emerald’s long neck distractedly. Minikin was just confusing him. ‘But there is a world after this one. Is that how it will be for us when we die?’
The question made Minikin frown. ‘I don’t know.’
‘What? Minikin, you must know. .’
‘I do not,’ said Minikin flatly. ‘The Akari have not told me that there is a world beyond this one for those of us who are not Akari. I can imagine that it exists, but I have no proof and they have never provided it to me. And listen to me carefully, Gilwyn — that is not for us to know. Not ever. Not while we are alive.’
‘But why?’ Gilwyn asked. After all he had seen, Minikin’s evasiveness perplexed him. ‘Why can’t we know? And if the Akari know, why don’t they tell us?’
Minikin buttoned up her coat and climbed back onto Emerald. As before, she sat in front of Gilwyn, who controlled the reptile and pinned Minikin against his chest as though she were a little girl. It was her way of saying that she didn’t want to answer his question, at least not yet. Well accustomed to Minikin’s ways, Gilwyn didn’t push the issue. Instead he pointed Emerald toward Jador and sent the kreel scurrying off. But by the time they had travelled no more than a hundred yards, Minikin spoke.
‘Have you thought of an answer yet?’ she asked.
‘No, I haven’t,’ Gilwyn replied. ‘Have you tried?’
‘Not really.’
‘If you try, you will think of it.’
Gilwyn tried, squinting as he thought, bouncing across the desert with Minikin. But after a few moments he gave up. ‘How about a hint?’
‘Gilwyn, if you knew there was a life beyond this one, if you were completely certain of it and had no doubt that a kind of paradise awaited you, what would you think of the life you have now?’
Instantly Gilwyn understood. The answer saddened him. ‘I guess I wouldn’t try at all.’
Though Minikin didn’t turn around, he could sense her smile. She nodded. ‘We are here to try, Gilwyn. We are here to find our purpose. Without purpose, there is no need for life at all.’
12
Deep within the foundation of Grimhold, lost among its tangles of hallways and ancient vaults, stood a single chamber apart from the others, silent and restful, with a tall ceiling and ornate, windowless walls inscribed with runes and studded with friezes from long-dead artisans. A narrow corridor led to the chamber, as if the architects of Grimhold had deliberately made the way difficult. There was no light in the hall, only sconces along the stone walls that held unlit oil lamps. The sconces were repeated in the chamber itself, each shaped like the claw of a lion, and each cradling a stunted taper. Dozens of them stood amidst the chamber, enough to turn the vast room effusive with light. Now, though, they remained unlit, awaiting anyone willing to enter the chamber and kneel before its simple altar.
A thousand years ago in the heyday of the Akari, the chamber had been a place of prayer. And so it had stayed that way under the guardianship of Grimhold’s steward, Minikin. It remained a fixture of the keep, solid and always available, a place where the Inhumans could go and practise their varied faiths, religions that not all of them had abandoned upon knowing the Akari. To Minikin, it was fitting that their lives remain full of mysteries, and so she had left the prayer chamber just as she had found it centuries ago. Like the Akari, who had used the chamber to commune with their dead ancestors, the Inhumans found solace in the place’s quietude. Those who still had a god could still pray to him or her in this ecumenical hall, and those who did not often used the chamber for simple reflection. Among all of Grimhold’s many impressive places, this one was especially prized. The Inhumans kept it spotless and well maintained and its twin oak doors were perpetually kept open, so that any time of the day or night the peace of the chamber was available.
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.