Authors: John Marco
The Eyes of God (12 page)
“I know about his problems, Beith. Warden Graig told me. I’m sorry.”
Beith said quickly, “Oh, but he’s a beautiful baby, my lord. He’s got his father’s eyes. And he’s smart! He can already tell when I say his name.” Beith moved toward the crib. “Here, let me show him to you.”
“If he’s sleeping . . .”
“No,” said Beith anxiously. “I want you to see him.”
Akeela followed her to the crib, watching in fascination as she lifted the little bundle out of the blankets. Baby Gilwyn squirmed in protest at being awakened. Beith’s expression lightened as she held out the baby for Akeela to inspect.
“Ah,” said Akeela, enchanted. He stuck his face closer to the child, amazed by his smallness. Little Gilwyn fixed his bleary eyes on the king and gave a tiny cry.
“No, don’t cry,” said Beith, bouncing the baby in her arms. “That’s the king!”
Akeela put out a finger, touching the baby’s stomach. Gilwyn reacted by wrinkling his nose, which made the king laugh.
“He’s beautiful,” said Akeela. He noticed the clubbed hand but pretended to ignore it. “Congratulations, Beith. If your husband were here, he’d be very proud.”
“Yes,” said Beith sadly. “I wish he could see him. But Meri says he’s here in spirit, watching.”
“And perhaps he is,” said Akeela, not believing a word of it. Like some in the castle, Meri believed that the dead lived on as spirits, walking among the living. It was just one of the varied religions represented by Lionkeep’s staff. “Like I said, Gilwyn would have been proud of this little soldier.”
Beith blanched. She hugged the baby a little tighter.
“Oh, blast,” said Akeela. “I’m sorry, Beith. That was stupid of me to say.”
“No, it’s all right,” said Beith. “But I don’t think he’s going to be the little soldier. He won’t ever be a Charger like his father.”
“No,” Akeela agreed. With the baby’s infirmities, being a soldier was impossible.
“But he’s smart, my lord,” Beith insisted. “He’s not slow or simple. Gwena says he might be, but I just know he’s not.”
Akeela nodded. “I’m sure you’re right.”
“He’ll be able to do things, my lord. He won’t be a burden to anyone.” Beith was looking at Akeela fretfully. “I swear, I’ll teach him to take care of himself. He’ll be a good member of this castle. I mean, if you’ll allow it.”
Suddenly Akeela understood her fears. Her eyes reflected her dashed dreams, and her motherly concern for a son that might grow up a beggar.
“Let me hold the baby,” said Akeela. Carefully Beith handed the infant over. Akeela, who had seldom held children before, cradled the child in the crook of his arm. Little Gilwyn squirmed but was silent, looking up at him. For Akeela, it was like holding a miracle, just like Gwena had always described. The warm little body curled in his embrace, enjoying the safety of the king’s protection.
“He likes you,” said Beith. She glanced up at Akeela hopefully. “See? He already knows what a good king you are.”
“Beith, stop. There’s no need.” Akeela kept his gaze on Gilwyn. “I would never abandon this child to the streets. I don’t care if he’s simple or a genius. Lionkeep is his home. As long as I am king, it always will be.”
“Really?” asked Beith. “Will you promise me that, my lord?”
“I promise,” said Akeela. He leaned down and laid a gentle kiss on the infant’s forehead. “And not just to you, but to this little fellow here. He will always have a place in Lionkeep.”
Beith could barely find her voice. “Thank you, my lord. Thank you.”
Akeela took the baby over to a nearby chair. He sat down and rocked the child, loving the paternal feeling. Gilwyn’s little mouth turned upward. Akeela took the gesture for a smile. He cooed to the baby, speaking softly.
“Little Gilwyn, Liiria is going to be a great nation. I’m going to make it special, the way the founders intended. There will always be a place for you here, and for all the other children, too. And you’re going to grow up strong and smart, and whatever you can dream, you can be.”
Beith spent the rest of the day feeling lighter than air. The good news Akeela had given her put a smile back on her face, and she bragged to Meri and her other friends about the king’s promise, and how her son would grow up in Lionkeep just as she and her dead husband had always planned. For Beith, who hadn’t known real joy since her husband’s death, the lightness in her heart felt wonderful. Now, with her baby safe, she could begin mourning her beloved properly, without fretting over the fate of her newborn.
That night, Beith slept sound and deeply. She had retired early, putting Gilwyn to bed in his crib and taking a cup of tea before drifting off to sleep. For the first time in weeks, her dreams were unpolluted.
Then she awoke for no apparent reason. Her eyes fluttered open to catch moonbeams slanting through her window. The mist of sleep was on her, and for a moment she couldn’t place the time. It was very late; dawn was still many hours away. Realizing this, she listened for Gilwyn. He was a good baby and surprisingly cooperative about sleeping, but she knew it was time to check on him. Desperate for the pillow, she nevertheless rose from the bed and started toward the door, shambling through the darkness in a groggy haze. Then she saw the figure in the threshold.
Beith stumbled backward, about to scream, before an amazing calm overtook her. Unable to move, she merely stared at the figure, enchanted by a strange light emanating from its chest.
“Don’t be afraid.” The figure took a tiny step forward. Everything about it was tiny, in fact. Beith had never seen anyone like her, not outside a carnival. She realized that the stranger was a woman, and that the woman was a midget.
“Who are you?” Beith asked. “What are you doing here?”
The woman smiled. Beith could see her impish face in the red glow of her necklace. “Fair questions, Beith,” she said. “But first, your child is safe. Do not be afraid for him.”
To her surprise, Beith wasn’t afraid. She knew—somehow—that no harm had come to Gilwyn. She squinted at the little woman and saw her multicolored coat swirling as if it were alive.
“Are you magical?” she asked.
The question delighted the intruder. “Why, yes I am.”
“I’m not afraid. But I should be. Am I under a bewitchment?”
The woman floated closer, until she and Beith were standing face to face. Only they weren’t really, because Beith towered over the stranger. The woman looked up at Beith. She seemed to be studying her.
“Let us talk.” She gestured toward the bed. “Sit.”
Beith heard the warnings in her mind, telling her to run and to rescue Gilwyn, yet the voices were very faint, pushed way back in her brain. So instead of running, Beith obeyed the stranger, sitting down at the edge of the bed. She noticed the amulet around the woman’s neck, glowing ruby red. The remarkable coat she wore no longer swam with life, yet Beith knew she was in the power of a magician.
“Why are you here?” she asked again.
The woman replied, “For the sake of your child, Beith. I can help him.”
“Gilwyn? Gilwyn needs no help.”
“Does he not?” asked the woman. “I have heard about him. He is deformed, quite probably crippled. He is not well, dear Beith. But I have a safe place for him.”
“No,” said Beith. “Lionkeep is a safe place for him.”
A sympathetic expression lingered on the stranger’s face. “If only that were so,” she sighed. “Your child is not like others. He may not be safe here in the castle, or anywhere in Liiria. But I know a place where all like him are safe. I can take him there.”
“What is this place?” Beith asked. Vaguely her memory returned, recalling a story she had heard as a little girl.
“It is a secret place, far from here, far across a desert. There are people like me there, and people like your child.”
“Magical people?”
The woman’s smile dimmed. “Yes, all right. Magical people.”
Suddenly a memory bloomed in Beith’s mind. She gasped, “You’re the Witch of Grimhold.”
“No,” said the woman. “I am no witch.”
“You are,” Beith insisted. “My mother told me the story, when I was very young.”
“Your mother was mistaken,” said the woman. She closed her eyes for a moment and seemed to be concentrating. The awesome calm within Beith increased. As quickly as she had recalled the old legend, she forgot it.
“Now, tell me,” the woman continued. “Will you let me take your child? I will look after him for you. I will take him to a place where no one will harm or ridicule him.”
Beith struggled to stay awake. “There’s no need. Gilwyn is safe here. The king has promised it.”
“The new king?”
“Yes, Akeela. He’s told me this very day that Gilwyn is safe here. He will always have a place here in Lionkeep. It is the king’s promise.”
For a moment the woman said nothing. She turned away, considering the moon outside the window. “I have heard about your new king,” she said at last. “I have heard that he is very good; very wise.”
“He is good. And he has been kind to me and my baby.”
“And he will look after your child, even when he is grown?”
“He will.”
“Even if he is crippled?”
“Yes.”
“And simple?”
Beith hesitated, but only for a second. “Yes, even then.”
There was no sound from the stranger. The light from her amulet lit her face, revealing concern. Beith, still in the hold of the bewitchment, couldn’t help but smile at the tiny figure who for some reason was concerned about her little boy. She reached out for the amulet around her neck, but the little woman pulled gently away.
“What is that you wear?” asked Beith.
The woman smiled down at her amulet. “This is Inai ka Vala,” she replied. “You would call it the Eye of God.”
“God? What god?”
“You are full of questions, Beith.” The tiny woman studied her. “I think your son will be like you—inquisitive.”
Talking to the woman was like floating in a dream or on a gentle lake of calm water. All the fear had left Beith now, so that there were only questions.
“Will you tell me your name?” she asked.
“Minikin,” replied the woman.
“Minikin?” Beith chuckled. “Your name is Minikin? That’s funny.”
“Yes,” said the woman. “The people who named me that thought so, too.” She turned from the window, heading for the door. “Follow me.”
Once again Beith obeyed, following the woman out of her bed chamber and into the main room where Gilwyn’s white crib rested in the moonlight. The woman hovered over Gilwyn, her thoughts unfathomable.
“Very well,” she said. “I will trust your new king to help this child.” Then she bent over the crib, giving Gilwyn a kiss and speaking a single remarkable word.
“Grimhold.”
When Beith awoke the next morning, she remembered nothing of the strange intrusion or of her remarkable conversation with the midget woman. She felt refreshed and hungry, and that was all. She rose from bed at her usual hour and saw at once to Gilwyn’s feeding, sitting down at her chair near the window and putting the baby to her breast. Still feeling wonderful over Akeela’s acceptance of her child, she laughed as her son fed, loving the communion of nursing. Gilwyn fed hungrily but gently, latching on without discomfort to his mother. The morning sun was bright and warmed the room. Beith considered what a fine day it would be.
“Oooh, you’re a hungry little scholar this morning, aren’t you?” she asked.
Gilwyn kept feeding. For some reason, seeing his earnest face reminded Beith of a story she had heard when she was younger. She puzzled over the memory, trying to recall it clearly, deciding to entertain herself with the tale.
“There’s a story my mother told me once,” she began. She then proceeded to tell Gilwyn about Grimhold, a place where monsters live, led by a witch who steals children.
7
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