‘The kreel will take us there,’ said Minikin. ‘They know the way, you know that.’
‘If it’s White-Eye I want to go with you,’ he insisted. ‘Emerald and I can guide you better than anyone else.’
Minikin shook her head. ‘I don’t think it’s White-Eye, Gilwyn. And you cannot go — you have something else to do. You must find Lukien, tell him to return to Grimhold at once.’
Now Gilwyn was truly stunned. ‘Minikin, I don’t know where Lukien is. How am I supposed to find him?’
‘Use your gift, Gilwyn, the way I’ve been teaching you. Ask Ruana to help you.’
‘My gift?’ sputtered Gilwyn. ‘But how?’
‘Ruana will guide you, show you the way.’ Minikin put out her little hand and touched his arm. ‘I have no more time to talk, Gilwyn. You must do this thing somehow. If what I think has happened, we will need Lukien. He and the amulet must come to Grimhold so that I may speak with Amaraz.’
None of it made sense to Gilwyn. He said, ‘I’ll try, Minikin. But if I fail. .’
‘You will not fail.’ She flashed him one of her wry smiles. ‘Think only of success.’
And then she left him, disappearing from the garden with a quick twirl of her colourful coat. Worried and confused, Gilwyn simply stood mutely for a moment, wondering what to do. He hadn’t heard from Lukien in days; he could have been anywhere out in the desert. Certainly he would never find him in the dark, even with Emerald and their magical bond. He needed another way to contact his friend. Could Ruana help him?
He sat down again on his iron chair and considered the idea. His hands and face began to sweat. He had made progress with Ruana; that was certain. Gilwyn had impressed Minikin, and himself. Now he could communicate with Emerald better than he ever had before, and his closeness with Teku was staggering. The monkey swung down from the branches of a fruit tree to sit on the table before him. As if reading his mind, the faithful creature nodded. Gilwyn reached out to scratch her furry head.
‘I don’t know, Teku,’ he said. ‘How do I find Lukien?’
He knew only that Lukien was in the desert. The Inhuman albino Ghost was with him, as were a handful of Jadori warriors.
‘Ruana won’t know where he is,’ said Gilwyn crossly. He looked at Teku. ‘Will she?’
The monkey’s answer was predictable. She yawned as he scratched her head.
‘Right.’
Gilwyn leaned back in his seat and tried to clear his mind. Summoning Ruana wasn’t difficult any more. It wasn’t even like summoning, really. He only had to think of her. He closed his eyes and thought of her then, and instantly felt her presence in his mind. She always came to him like a warm wind.
You are troubled.
The remark annoyed Gilwyn. ‘You heard what Minikin said, didn’t you?’
I’m always listening, Gilwyn.
‘Then you know there’s trouble,’ he said. He often spoke aloud to her, though there was no real need for it. ‘I have to find Lukien, Ruana. Somehow.’
How then?
‘You tell me. Minikin said you’d help.’
I will help you to help yourself, replied the spirit.
‘All right. I need to find Lukien. Tell me how.’
In his mind the woman seemed to sigh. You have your gifts, Gilwyn. Have you forgotten?
‘No, but Emerald isn’t with Lukien. Neither is Teku. How can I reach him?’
You have power over the kreel. The Jadori warriors with Lukien have kreels.
Gilwyn grew exasperated. ‘Please, Ruana, I don’t understand what you mean and I don’t have time to figure it out. I need your help.’
Then prepare yourself, ordered the Akari. Keep your eyes closed and your mind clear.
‘Prepare myself? What for?’
Keep your mouth closed, too. The aura of Amaraz is strong. I will find him.
Gilwyn struggled with her answer but did not argue. He trusted Ruana, and though he didn’t know what she had planned he knew she would help him. Sitting comfortably in his chair, he freed his mind of questions. A moment later, the sense of flying over the desert struck him with awe.
For Lukien, nights in the Desert of Tears were a salve.
Each day, he battled the sun and the sand and the raiders that constantly challenged him. He rescued Seekers from Prince Aztar, and sometimes he failed to keep them safe, coming across their slaughtered corpses in the dunes. While the sun was up, Lukien was at constant war. He had been at war for months now, and had lost count of how many men he had slain in the desert. The white gaka he wore against the sun was soiled with blood and sweat. The amulet chafed against his skin. For Lukien and those that accompanied him, keeping Jador safe from Aztar was a difficult, toll-taking duty. Bitter days in the desert exhausted them all.
But at night, when the world grew quiet and the sun surrendered, peace returned to the desert. Lukien had learned to worship the night. The moon had become his god. Finally, night brought the end of killing. He could relax by the fire with his comrades, tell stories of the world beyond Jador, and forget that his war with Aztar had no end. Tonight the Jadori warriors slept. The fire they used to warm themselves against the surprising chill of the desert had subsided to a mild smoulder. Nearby, the kreels they rode were bedded for the night, nestled into the sand to warm their cold blood. There was no need for ropes with kreel. The huge reptiles never strayed or disobeyed their masters. The same was not true of Lukien’s horse, which stood obediently, as long as it was tied to a stake driven into the sand.
Lukien lay back against his elbow, staring at his silent mount as he sipped from a skin of wine. It would be so easy for the beast to bolt, he decided, if only it were smart enough to know the weakness of its ties. Horses weren’t like kreels. They weren’t nearly as smart or as fast or as loyal. Kreels were remarkable. He envied the others their abilities.
In the sand next to him, the young albino Ghost sat cross-legged as he toyed with a wooden flute. The music he made delighted Lukien. Ghost’s talent with the instrument was substantial, the music he made soulful. It was very late but sleep never came easy to Lukien. The tunes from the flute soothed him. He scanned the desert, happy at the quiet. In the past day they had come upon another of Aztar’s raiding parties, this one closer to the city than usual. The clash had left three of the Voruni dead; the others had fled deeper into the desert. Lukien wondered where they were now, if they had returned to Aztar or if they had returned to watch them from some nearby dune. He doubted it. Aztar’s men were brutal, but they weren’t cowards. They never ambushed them at night, always brave enough to face them in full light.
Like it did in every battle, Lukien’s magnificent amulet had saved him today. The raiders they had fought were well-trained fighters, and once they knew it was Shalafein they had discovered they did their best to slay him. Ghost’s mournful song reminded Lukien how close he’d come to death. Badly outnumbered, they had nevertheless bested the raiders. It was strange to Lukien to think that he couldn’t die. Was there nothing that would stand against the amulet?
Suddenly Ghost’s song shifted, and he began playing a gay tune. Lukien looked at him.
‘What’s that you’re playing?’
‘Something happy. You looked like you needed it.’
‘Stop it. Go back to playing the other song.’
Ghost shrugged and did as Lukien asked, and once again their little camp filled with soft music. Now that the sun was down, Ghost had shed most of the cloth that covered his head and face and hands, protecting his sensitive white skin from the ravaging light. His eyes were the colour of grey pearls. He was only a little older than Gilwyn, but his experiences in Grimhold had made him a good deal wiser. He was also a good fighter, always eager to help defend Jador. He and Lukien had quickly become friends.