The Way of the Soul (29 page)

She pushed aside the guilt such thoughts created. After a lifetime of preparing for and praising Harskill, she couldn’t expect her subconscious to let go of her old ways in less than a day. But she could try, no matter how futile the effort, to help.

Groaning, she bent over and nudged the rifle loose from the mud. She placed the muzzle against a dead monk and used the corpse for support. Sliding the rifle up, she flattened behind it and gripped the butt between her shoulder and the side of her face. She tried to line up a shot. Part of her recognized that the kickback would probably shatter her jaw, but if instead she held the rifle steady with her good hand, she would have no way to pull the trigger.

Malja’s nonstop swearing echoed along the land. Her voice was the only weapon she had left.

Reon saw a long piece of metal on the ground, thin like a twig but sturdy. She had no idea what it was, but she had a thought of how to use it. She picked it up. Too fast. A sharp pain bolted through her bones.

She threaded the metal against the trigger and into her broken hand. She readjusted the rifle, stabilizing it against her shoulder and holding tight with her good hand. Closing one eye, she lined up her shot.

At first, she thought to shoot Harskill’s body. It was the biggest target. But that do-kha would protect him. Her only chance would be a good shot to the head, and the hope that his do-kha was too busy holding Malja and Tommy to react fast enough. It was a futile hope. She knew it. Yet she knew she would try anyway.

Harskill stopped at the edge of the drop. Malja screamed her words, desperate to break through Tommy’s exhaustion.

“Wake up! You’re the best thing that ever happened in my entire life! Tommy! Wake up! Do something.” Though Reon could not see the tears, she could hear the crying. “I’m so sorry. I’ve used you up. For too long. I love you.”

Tommy did not stir.

Harskill’s gloating smile turned ugly and cold.

Malja’s eyes widened.

Reon pulled the trigger.

As the rifle kicked, the butt slammed against her shoulder and broke her clavicle. It rode right up along the side of her head and cracked her jaw. The world spun. As she drifted to the ground, she watched her bullet ping off Harskill’s do-kha. She hit him in the hip — not even close to the head. He barely noticed. Though her view tilted, she comprehended what she saw just before everything went dark.

Harskill dropped Tommy into the gorge.

Chapter 31

Malja

In combat, Malja often experienced
a slowing of time. She could see the fists or swords coming her way and dodge them without thought. She controlled the movement and momentum of a battle, and for a short time, she was all-powerful.

When Harskill threw Tommy away, time slowed for Malja. But she did not see Harskill’s actions coming. She could not change them. She had no control over the movement of his actions. She had lost her power.

Tommy floated out over the deep hole like a drifting feather. His limbs flopped down and his head lolled back. He had become a ragdoll trashed by a careless child.

As he sunk toward the darkness below, Malja’s heart sunk with him. Harskill had turned away, heading back to the Library platform, and since he still had Malja wrapped in his do-kha tentacle, she went with him. But she contorted her body to keep a view of Tommy. Even when he left her sight, she watched — seeing him tumble over and over in her mind.

Pain wracked her insides. She strained her muscles, pulling a few, but could not break free. She wanted to run back and jump in after him. Save him or die with him. Either way, she would not have to face the reality that stalked her now — life without him.

Her soul ached.

Harskill climbed the platform, and in a booming voice, he spoke. The sounds vibrated in Malja, bringing the present back into normal time. She would mourn for Tommy later. She would kill Harskill now.

“Your magician is dead,” Harskill said, and much of the fighting stopped. “Your weapons are almost exhausted, your forces are diminished to the point of uselessness, and I am standing in control of your Library without any of you to stop me. This battle is over. You have lost. A noble, honorable defeat.”

Lightning flashed from the gorge. Malja saw it along with several others in the field. Perhaps Tommy fought to stay alive, using what little magic he had left to kill the creatures roaming the darkness. Or perhaps a magician’s body, a unique magician like Tommy, perhaps his body dispersed into bits of bright magic. That would be a beautiful, solemn sight.

“I promised you peace, and so it will be.” Nearby, a monk grappled a Gate into a solid choke hold. Harskill concentrated on them, moved his little finger, and watched dispassionately as the monk burst into flames. The Gate jumped away, yelping at the flames. When the charred body stopped moving, Harskill continued speaking. “Cease your resistance, allow my fellow Gate to take control without trouble, and you’ll find an ordered, logical, and peaceful existence for the rest of time.”

Malja narrowed her attention onto Harskill. There would be no peace while he lived. Not for him. Not if she could do anything about it. If she had to marry him, she would. Get close. Poison him with something to paralyze his system. Bring him back here. Tie him to a long, thick rope and dangle him in that darkness like a fishing lure. Let those creatures nibble and bite and tear him to pieces. That sounded good to her. That sounded fair.

She’d have to deal with Fawbry. He would argue against her actions. He would bring up the Black Beast and point out how far she had come from those days. But in those days, Tommy had not been murdered.

The bright flashes from the gorge ceased and a roll of thunder crossed the sky. All eyes looked up, including Harskill. The sky was clear and sunny. Hot. Yet thunder rolled again.

A bolt of black lightning raced across the blue sky. But it did not vanish. It held, frozen in the air like a crack amongst the clouds. The sound that followed made the worst thunder sound like a little sunbird greeting the morning. It was the sound of the sky breaking apart.

On the battlefield, the monks and Gate shuddered. Some dropped to the ground, covering their ears. Others flailed off balance as if punched in the jaw. Still others, lowered to their knees, bowing to Harskill, thinking he had caused the occurrence. But Malja knew Harskill had nothing to do with it because he had dropped her in his surprise.

The dark crack slowly faded. Malja heard a commotion near the bridge. When she looked, she thought she had deceived herself. She saw Tommy rising out of the gorge, floating limp in the air, and then gently laying on the ground.

Following behind him, the Artisoll rose in the sky. Her mouth held a grim line, her eyes a dark scowl — directed at Harskill.

As the Artisoll stepped onto land, Malja marveled at the idea that her love was so strong, she willingly abandoned Reo-Koll to save Tommy. Malja felt that way, but she found it unfathomable that another might, too. Yet here was the Artisoll, leaving her people to turn on one another, to vie for power, and possibly destroy Reo-Koll — all for Tommy.

That is, until Malja saw the ground rise up from the gorge, filling it in and returning the land to a flat plain. And riding that swell of land, Malja saw the armies of Dovell, Bechstallon, and Ro — the three major countries in Reo-Koll. The smaller countries brought some of their armies, too. The Artisoll had portaled thousands from one world to another, done so with magic powerful enough to keep them all safe, and she still looked vibrant and ready to fight.

The Dovell and Ro armies marched out in an ordered fashion. Malja could tell at once that they had an organized plan. The Artisoll had managed to get these warring factions to work together. Amazing what a common enemy can do. Bechstallon stampeded forward, eager to clobber heads and draw blood.

Harskill’s jaw clenched as he stood on the edge of the platform. “You should have stayed on your world,” he said, but he did not project his voice. Only Malja could hear him, and she wasn’t sure he intended even that much. “You’ve come a long way just to die.”

Inhaling long and deep, Harskill flexed his arm muscles. The Library sent tendrils of its magic into him. It reminded Malja of the way Tommy’s lightning magic could arc between his fingers.

As he exhaled, he screamed, “Die!” Bright energy poured out of his eyes like a blizzard of magic particles. The Artisoll stood in direct line of the attack with her index finger raised upward.

The snowy magic swirled in front of her, collecting in an ever-thickening ball. Harskill shouted as he thrust out his hands, leveling more of the bright magic at her — this time coming from his fingers. No matter what direction he attacked from, no matter how many sources he used, it all circled back into the swarm she had created.

Then she pushed it back toward him. All his anger and confidence drained with the color from his face. He suddenly found himself having to use his abilities in order to keep the Artisoll from destroying him with his own magic.

Malja sat up on her knees. The movement sent sharp pains into her side that hurt worse when she breathed anything more than shallow breaths. She had definitely broken a rib or two. Maybe worse. At least, from this position, she could see Tommy.

She wished the Artisoll would ignore Harskill and attend to Tommy, but that could not happen — not with Harskill fighting all the way. Grunting, Malja forced her way to her feet. Her head spun and bitter bile raced up her throat. But she was standing.

She took a step towards Tommy but stopped. Hirasa and Fawbry weaved through the armies also heading for their injured friend. They turned him onto his back, listened to his heart, and pressed on his chest. After a moment, Hirasa looked at Malja and nodded.

Malja took another step towards Tommy. Before she could get a third step going, Tommy coughed and sat up fast. Fawbry and Hirasa tried to push him back down but he shoved them back. His focus shot across the battlefield, straight into Malja. He then pointed to the Library.

Malja’s heart paused. He was right, of course. No matter how badly she wanted to rush over to him, the Library had to be dealt with first. It held the energy that fueled Harskill.

She glanced at her side. A gash trickled blood down over her thigh. The Library was far enough away that she would probably open that gash into a flood by walking. But nobody else could help. They all fought the Gate while the Artisoll fought Harskill.

Stumbling forward, Malja walked along the platform. Harskill saw her. He tried to put out his hand, to stop her somehow, but he couldn’t do so without letting the Artisoll destroy him. All his energy went into fighting her.

“Freen!” His voice thundered, but this time, the battle did not stop for him. “Freen!”

Malja continued on toward the Library. The heat radiating off the energy beam made each step harder like slogging through a burning swamp. Just ahead, she saw Viper on the ground. She took another step and another. For a moment, her heart lifted. She saw herself taking Viper and cutting into the Library, gutting it like an animal, and destroying Harskill in the process. Then Freen stepped in her way.

He rolled his head around and pumped his shoulders. His finely-tailored, pin-striped coat had been cut and torn. “This’ll be fun. A real fight like the old punchers from before we discovered magic and the do-kha.”

Though bruised and bleeding, Malja’s instincts sized up her opponent fast. He would be formidable under the best of circumstances. With her body losing strength every second and her hands shaking, she could never beat him. Not in a fistfight.

“Something wrong? No longer Harskill’s favorite? Don’t worry. I am the Gate Freen. I am nothing if I am not magnanimous.” He made a small bow. “I’ll let you have the first hit. Head, body shot, whatever you want. Except a kill shot. You go for my neck or groin or such, I’ll pull your heart out.”

Malja perked up. “You’d let me have the first hit? Really?”

“You better do it fast. I don’t think you have much blood left in you.”

She tried to hide her smile as she walked closer to Freen. His smug expression coated her with anger. He would regret his arrogance. She would make sure of it.

When she reached him, he puffed out his chest and tightened his stomach muscles. Malja shook her head clear. There would be no second chance. She had to put every bit of force she had left into this attack. Fast, hard, and decisive — that’s what she needed. Slow, weak, and dying — that’s what she had.

“Come on, now,” Freen said. “Let’s get started.”

Malja motioned with a limp wave. She counted in her head — 1 ... 2 ... 3 ...

With an explosion of movement, Malja dove to the ground, rolled forward, and came back up with Viper in her hand. Freen only had time for his condescending smile to drop. She slashed three times in the span of one breath. He stared at her, probably confused by the sensations in his body, and then he fell apart in three distinct pieces.

“Stop her!” Panic crept into Harskill’s voice.

Malja stood before the Library. The Soul of the Sun floated in the beam, pulsing heat and energy over her. She tried lifting Viper to bat the orb out of the beam, but all her strength had been used up. She heard Viper fall again and could not fathom what it would take to pick up that piece of metal.