The Way of the Soul (15 page)

“Unless,” Lord Harskill said, and Reon had to hold back a shout of joy. “Unless we could find a way to rule
all
the worlds in
all
the universes
all
at once.”

This piqued Bell’s attention. She inched forward. “How?”

With a fast motion, Lord Harskill pulled out the Soul of the Sun. “With this. Procured at great risk by Reon, this lovely woman here.”

Reon looked over her shoulder at Bell Wake. Bell’s face remained stoic, but Reon could feel the fiery glare between them.

Leaning forward, Sola said, “Isn’t that a do-kha thing?”

Lord Harskill nodded. “Taken straight from Chairman Kup’s numerous hands. It has many unique properties, including the ability to control do-kha.”

Freen snapped his fingers. “And do-kha are necessary for creating portals. Sounds great, but how does that help us exactly?”

“Because we’re going to use it at the soul of all magic.”

Bell rolled out a mocking sneer. “Fairy tales.”

“Oh, my dear Bell. Just because I taught you all you know, doesn’t mean I’ve taught you all. I’ve been to numerous worlds, more than you will ever see. In doing so, I’ve learned much. One thing is that magic connects all worlds. They all have it. Even those that think they don’t, have it somewhere. It takes many forms, and it has many strengths, but it’s always there. It’s the one constant in all universes, all worlds, and there is a center point. A place from which it all emanates.”

“And you’ve found this place?”

“I have discovered two worlds that are candidates, that are either the soul of all magic or are so near the soul as to be indistinguishable. Now that Reon has provided the Soul of the Sun, I can narrow down which of the two is our best choice. Once we have this nexus point of all magic determined, I can take the Soul of the Sun and open a portal into every universe. We can show every world, in unison, that we are the new gods and that we will control all.”

Freen brushed at his suit. “And what will that make you? You planning on becoming the god of gods?”

“No, my friend. Rather, a leader. King of gods, if you will. And I’ll need a queen.”

Reon couldn’t mistake the perked up interest on Bell Wake’s face. Even Sola looked excited. But Reon’s excitement knew no bounds.

Her elaborate daydreams and lustful fantasies swirled around her like a tornado. A queen. He had been grooming her to become his queen. The Queen. Queen of All Universes.

Part of her tried to deny it and warned that putting oneself up so high would only lead to a great fall. But the big present had now been opened. After decades of training and growth, patience and perseverance, she finally knew what lay under the wrapping. It was worth far more than she had done.

Standing on that platform, looking into space, feeling the heat of a massive sun, watching the ballet of rolling asteroids — all of it swelled in her head. She could be the ruler of this. And this was only one of infinite universes.

All for her.

The scuffling of feet snapped her attention back to the platforms. Bell Wake had turned away and appeared deep in thought. Reon suspected — no, she knew — that Bell Wake pondered similar thoughts as her own. She glanced up at Sola. The twin appeared more amused than awed by Lord Harskill’s revelation. No matter. Reon would be Queen. These others would have to stand aside.

She narrowed her gaze upon Bell Wake. That one might have to fall.

Chapter 15

Malja

Together with Tommy and Fawbry,
Malja stood in an open field. Warm air wrapped around them as a gentle breeze created waves along the tall grass. An insect the size of a small bird buzzed by and landed upon a nearby rock. It had been a long time since Malja had seen a grass vulture. But then, it had been a long time since Malja had stood on her homeworld.

Fawbry brushed his wind-strewn hair away from his face. “Never thought I’d come back here.”

Malja grunted and closed her eyes. This was a violent land. If they were to be granted a few moments of peace, she wanted to absorb as much of it as she could.

“I suppose I knew it was possible,” Fawbry went on. “But the longer we spent traveling world after world, the more I decided I probably never would. Then again, I’m not sure I ever really wanted it to happen.”

Malja agreed. Even though her home country, Corlin, stretched a good two days walk south, her body felt uneasy as if the fierce hordes struggling to survive would break through into the fields at any moment. The Northern lands of Penmarvia had always fared better after the Devastation. But now that Malja had seen truly civilized worlds, even this land seemed no more than life with barbarism.

“You know what’s really strange for me?” Fawbry said. “Somewhere out there, my parents could still be alive.”

“You want to try to find them?”

Fawbry backed up. “Korstra, no! They probably would get me married before the sun set.”

“Then we should get going. The Order should be a short walk to the North.”

Nobody had to ask why Malja had not portaled them directly in front of the Order. She knew all of them would need a few moments to recalibrate after having been gone so long. She double-checked Tommy’s composure. He retained his typical serene expression. She wanted to ask him if he was okay, if he needed another moment, but she held back. He didn’t need her mothering him, and she had never been that good at it anyway.

“Let’s go,” she said and walked off.

In a short time, Malja’s tension grew. The trees looked barren and dead as if suffering from a long drought. Insects incessantly droned around them, but where were all the birds and oapers to keep the bugs at bay?

They stepped upon a gravel roadway only to find the carcass of a konapol stretched across. Left there to rot. Nobody had bothered with it.

In Corlin, a fresh corpse meant meat for the stomach and bones for tools or weapons. Nobody would leave this behind. Here in Penmarvia where basic needs were often met, someone should have at least cleared the roadway. It all struck Malja as strange and slightly off.

She shook away her thoughts. Whatever had happened since she had left did not concern her. She had come here for Owl. She needed him to help fight Harskill. That was it. Nothing more. She repeated her mission like a mantra, but when she saw the main gate to the Order, her mantra choked in her throat.

Two monks stood guard. Each wore leather armor and a spiked helmet. Each had been armed with a sleek single blade and double-shot handgun. Like the guards, the walls had been outfitted for battle. Sharpened tree trunks poked out to dissuade the use of minor siege engines. Monks walked atop the wall, staring down, ready to strike with arrows. Malja had no doubt the walls had been raised several feet as well. In fact, the building looked nothing like the way she remembered. It had been rebuilt, re-outfitted, and readied for violent confrontation.

The two guards brandished their swords and crossed them, barring the way forward. One of the guards jutted out his chin. “What do you want?”

“I’m here to see Chief Master Kee,” Malja said.

Both guards stiffened. The one who had spoken lowered his free hand to the butt of his gun. “Run from here before I kill you. Go tell whatever gang of thugs you belong to that if we ever see your faces again, we’ll slaughter you all.”

Malja moved in closer. “I am not with a gang. We’re old friends of the Chief Master. Perhaps Brother Owl is around. Please find him and tell him that Malja would like to visit.”

The guards hesitated, and Fawbry stepped forward. “Yes, she’s really
the
Malja.” To Malja, he added, “You forget what your name means in this world.”

The guard who had spoken gestured to the other. That guard went through the gate and ran fast enough to make his armor jangle.

As they waited, Tommy pointed off to the left. At the corner, three monks spread barbed-wire fencing along the ground. Malja shook her head. “What is going on around here?”

Fawbry poked his head between them. “We really don’t want to find out, do we?”

The gate reopened and the guards conferred. Then the one who had spoken turned to Malja and said, “Follow me.”

The guard led them into a large, open courtyard. Malja could not believe the change. What once consisted of cloistered buildings used by the Order for education, meditation, and living a righteous life had been gutted and altered into a military-style training ground. Organized rows of young men drilled sword techniques under the leadership of a monk but a few years older than his students. In unison, they stomped the ground in front and swung their swords downward while shouting out
Ke!
The leader bellowed an indecipherable command that all his students understood. They reset and practiced the move again.
Ke!
At the far end of the courtyard, blacksmiths worked at forging new blades. Next door, a group of monks slaved over a cauldron of boiling lead to be used for one of the rare objects in this world — bullets.

Through an open arch, a group of monks stood around a four-wheeled vehicle. One among them had been focusing on his arm tattoo. A bright flame seared from his hand, and they used the magic to weld sheets of metal to the side of the vehicle. Two other monks balanced atop the vehicle as they mounted what appeared to be an enormous gun.

Malja had driven a wheeled-vehicle a long time ago. Not as comfortable as an airborne craft, but since the Devastation, few in Corlin or Penmarvia could enjoy that luxury. She had never driven one that could be used as a weapon.

Fawbry tapped the guard on the shoulder. “How long has this war been going on?”

The guard did not bother to look back, but he did increase his pace. He guided them through a gate at the side of the courtyard and up to a building attached to one of the high walls. Holding open a door made from scavenged metal, the guard gestured for them to enter.

Inside, they found a stone room with narrow stairs going up. Tommy closed the door behind them and the constant
Ke!
became a muted background noise. The guard indicated that Tommy and Fawbry would go no further. Malja nodded at them, and they dutifully sat on a backless bench shoved against the wall.

She looked to the guard, but he made no motion to go either. He pointed up the stairs. Frowning, Malja climbed to a small landing. At the top, there was a plain, wooden door.

When she entered the extra-wide room, she had no doubt that it belonged to Owl. Sparse and clean with wood plank floors and no embellishments upon the walls — the room wore its efficiency with grace and style much like Owl. Only two windows had been shuttered open, leaving most of the room covered in dim shadow.

Owl sat on his knees in the center. With his head bowed, he appeared deep in thought. A stone sarcophagus rested before him. To his left, his sword and gun had been place on the floor with the blade and muzzle pointing toward the back.

Under most circumstances, it would have been a somber scene. But as Malja walked forward, she heard the soft strumming of a guitar. She saw him then — a dark-skinned man in the back corner, dressed in a dark suit and playing a song that followed a distinctive pattern. The notes and the pattern bore a sadness that she had heard before. They called the music the blues. And with that came a threat.

Before she could act, however, Owl raised a hand and waved her over. “Don’t worry about him.” Though Owl’s voice crackled when he spoke, it still commanded strength. Keeping her eye on the Bluesman, Malja knelt beside Owl.

He had a rich, woodsy smell coupled with a tinge of incense. For a moment, Malja felt content to sit in silence and inhale him. But then that constant blues rhythm and the humming that bordered on moaning dug into her skin.

She turned to Owl. In the dimness, she could only see part of his dark-skinned face, but it was enough — he had been through a lot since she had left. Deep scars covered his right cheek. Two slashes ran from the jaw down the neck — the result of a fast sword strike. The deep gouge in his cheek had to have been from a dagger. Then again, she could also see how teeth might bite out a similar scar.

“What’s going on? Where are all the older monks? And why do you have a Bluesman here? When I left —”

“I thought you were here to pay your respects.”

“To who?” But even as she said the words, she knew. The sarcophagus belonged to Chief Master Kee. “Oh, no.”

Owl stared ahead with the kind of cold, dead eyes that she had seen too often in her reflection.

“What happened?” she asked. She waited for his answer, knowing that the words he chose would reveal her chances for successfully getting him to join her. Naturally, he would be upset at the loss of his mentor, but Malja needed to know if that emotion could be channeled into controlled rage or if he would instead sink into depression and spend the next year mourning the loss. She had seen both reactions numerous times from men every bit as capable as Owl.

Owl paused before speaking. “After you threw Queen Salia into the depths of Penmarvia, after you left, there was a vacuum of power, and Life abhors a vacuum. All those that had followed her were now without a leader, and none amongst them were strong enough to take the role. Little gangs formed. Twenty, thirty of them. An inevitable and bloody conflict began. It could have gone on like that with gangs fighting each other until nobody was left. Went on for too long as it was. Started to make Penmarvia look more like Corlin. But then everything changed.”