The Way of the Soul (7 page)

“Welcome,” the Voice said.

Malja stared at Tommy, searching his stubble face for any sign of the boy she had known. His once lanky body had become taut with lean muscle. His disheveled mop of blond hair had been cut short and tight. He was a man now and a husband — no longer her boy.

She felt a lump form in her chest, but before it could settle, Tommy rushed over and wrapped his arms around her. Though he stood a head over her, though his hug felt nothing like a little boy clasping her waist, she still welcomed his arms.

After a moment, the Artisoll said through the Voice, “Please, everyone, sit.”

As Malja pulled up a chair, Tommy made a specific frowning face — a face that represented Harskill. Malja shook her head. “We didn’t find him. Not exactly.” She then explained all that had happened.

“Interesting,” the Artisoll said through her interpreter.

Malja wondered how the Voice knew what to say. The Artisoll did not look at him or in any way appear to communicate with him. Malja assumed that the Artisoll’s magic let him hear her thoughts, but that assumption did not ease the oddity of it all.

“It is almost certain now that Harskill is leading you towards something.”

“Towards him, I’m sure,” Malja said. “He’s had an unhealthy obsession with me since we first met.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow.

Malja pointed at him. “I am not obsessed with him. I simply wanted to use him to find out about the people I came from. I no longer care about that. The few Gate I’ve met were less than impressive. But I can’t allow Harskill to go around hurting world upon world. You know that’s why we left Corlin in the first place.”

Tommy raised his hands in a placating gesture.

“Sorry,” she said.

The Artisoll smiled gently. “It’s okay,” her interpreter said. “Your work is important — to us and to the many worlds out there. We should start at once trying to locate Harskill’s next location.”

“No,” Malja said. “I need you this time. This Reon is not like the Gate I’ve met before. Harskill is gathering people, inexperienced people, for some purpose. He’s building an army and I need an army of my own. But any soldiers you could provide won’t be able to cross through portals without being incinerated. Only those with a do-kha can pass through a portal. Or someone as powerful as yourself.”

The Artisoll frowned. “I cannot help you this way. All the magic within this world resides within me. If I leave for another world, I take this world’s magic with me. Should anything happen to me, then this world would lose everything. It would lose all its power. It would be vulnerable from without such as Gate, and certainly from within such as any of those fools in the throne room. I cannot be the cause of such chaos.”

Tommy snapped to his feet and tapped his chest twice.

“No,” Malja and the Voice said simultaneously.

Tommy tapped his chest again.

Malja placed a firm grip on his shoulder. “You’ve sacrificed enough for my adventures. You’re a husband now, and maybe someday soon you’ll be a father.” Tommy and the Artisoll blushed. Malja continued, “I was wrong to ask for the Artisoll to join me, and I would be even more wrong to accept you coming along as well. Your time as a warrior between worlds is over.”

As Malja spoke, she saw Tommy’s expression darken. He continued to tap his chest. When he finished, he curled his fingers into a fist and pounded the table. Malja expected the Artisoll’s interpreter to speak up, but he remained silent — whatever the Artisoll had to say, she would not let him speak for her.

“You don’t have to do this,” Malja said. “I don’t want you to come along.”

Tommy’s shoulders shook as if he laughed at her. Then he pointed to the door. Malja looked at the Artisoll. She nodded.

Malja didn’t want to leave, not at such a crucial moment, but she could see the exchange between Tommy and the Artisoll. In their eyes, in their jaws, even in the way they held their bodies — neither one needed to speak. When the Voice stood and exited the room, Malja knew she had no choice. She turned around and walked out.

She stormed down the hall and through the throne room. Attendants and the various dignitaries dodged out of the way as she barreled out of the massive room. She hurried back to the waiting room and Fawbry.

One look at Malja as she burst into the room and Fawbry laughed. “Guess Tommy wants to come along.”

“He shouldn’t even be thinking about it.”

Fawbry remained seated with his leg crossed over his knee and his fingers laced behind his head. “You’re talking to me. You don’t have to be putting on a show.”

“What show? I’m angry.”

“Oh, I can see that much. But there’s no need to pretend you don’t want Tommy coming along with us. How many times have we been through this? You have always told him you don’t want him taking this risk or that risk, you don’t want him doing magic, you don’t want him coming along on this fight — but you do. He’s saved us so many times. We need him.” Fawbry leaned forward. “Besides, you’ve been wanting him to join back with us since this whole thing started. But first there was the wedding and then suddenly he was married. That normally comes with responsibilities, but marrying the Artisoll meant having to help run the world. Except now a lot of time has passed. I know I miss him. I’m sure you do, too.”

“Not another word.” She stomped over to the balcony, put her hands out wide on the rim, and breathed in the ocean air.

She hated the thought brewing within her — Fawbry might be right. No
might
about it. He was right. She missed her Tommy, missed the sweet boy she had saved from slavery, missed his ingenuity, his strength, and his smile. She didn’t mind that he had married. She was happy that he was happy. But not having his help, not having him traipsing across the worlds with her felt foreign. Just her and Fawbry felt unbalanced.

Yet she could never ask Tommy to join. And his volunteering felt more manipulative than ever. She didn’t want him along for those kinds of reasons. But who was she to decide what his reasons were?

She smacked the balcony. Denying what she wanted, something the other person wanted too, because it felt wrong, seemed more wrong than everything else. Her head ached. This was the reason she preferred to shove thoughts like these down deep. No good could come from thinking about such things.

She had spent her years with Tommy. She had saved his life, and he had saved hers. But to expect that life would not change was childish. They had moved on. He had found love, and he had found purpose within that love. The rest was her petty selfishness.

Fawbry approached with hesitant but loud steps. He cleared his throat. “I have the same muddled up, conflicting thoughts I’m sure you have about all this. But after spending over a year with you looking for Harskill, I’ll tell you — I don’t think I’m cut out to be your sidekick alone. I need help. If not Tommy, maybe Hirasa or somebody else.”

Malja straightened and turned around. “Don’t worry. I’m angry because I knew from the moment Tommy volunteered, he’d be joining us. It didn’t matter what I’d say, nothing was going to change that.”

“And that makes you happy, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“And that makes you angry, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

An awkward silence grew between them. Malja had the distinct impression that Fawbry waited for her to open up more. Thankfully, the waiting room door opened, and Tommy stepped through.

Fawbry rushed over and spun Tommy around. “Good to see you again, friend.”

Malja approached and offered a solemn grin. “You sure?”

Tommy punched her lightly on the shoulder and nodded.

“Then let’s get ready.” Malja headed toward the door, stopped, and turned back. She stood quiet a moment, looking at Fawbry and Tommy — both older, weathered, but still her Fawbry, her Tommy. “We’re all together again.”

Fawbry laughed. “As it should be. Now let’s get the heck out of here. I’m just dying to get a whiff of that swamp stink again.”

As Malja turned back, she heard the ocean laughing in the distance.

Chapter 8

Reon

Racing along the top of the pipe,
Reon watched the swampland passing beneath her. Insects zipped and fluttered by while rust-colored reptiles dashed away from her feet. On three occasions, she reached a junction in which smaller pipes fed into the main one. As she sped down the pipe, vibrations in the metal worked up her legs, but at these junctions, she sensed that large amounts of liquid rushed ahead of her. The longer she ran, the heavier the vibrations became and the more the liquid flowed.

After a long time — she could not count minutes and hours under the shifting light and shadow of the swamp canopy — she heard metallic clanging ahead. Reon slowed her pace. She tried to soften her steps as she moved closer, but it wasn’t really necessary — the clanging covered most sounds. Pushing back several leaves, she discovered the source of the noise as well as the destination of the pipe — a factory.

The interconnecting buildings that made up the factory rose behind a monumental iron wall like the old fortress-castles that housed the evil warlocks in the stories Reon read as a child. She had loved those stories. They transported her away from home. But as much as the factory resembled the old storybook castles, the smell of sweat and soot coupled with the incessant noise promised less of a happy ending. At several sections along the wall, pipes poked out, spewing water down the side and into the swamp. Black and gray smoke streamed up from deep within the buildings.

As the sun set, harsh amber lights flickered on along the top of the wall. Muted red lights dotted the tops of buildings, and low to the ground, several blue lights blinked on and off. The red lights made sure aircraft did not hit the tall buildings, though Reon had not heard or seen any planes, jets, or other type of flying machine. The blue lights probably marked the doors.

In the sky, Reon now noticed several circular objects flying by — automated surveillance. That’s why she missed them before — they only fly around the factory. They traveled a slow and obvious pattern, each one performing a lazy figure eight. It took only a few minutes of study for Reon to spot the gaps.

She lowered to the ground and used the big pipe to hide her movement. She stepped closer. Timing would be easy. She could dash to the wall during the surveillance gaps before any of the flying craft spotted her. Then she simply had to find a way inside.

As she watched the little discs curve away from her, she wondered why she had the urge to go in. But she knew the reason was the same for everything — Lord Harskill. He had put her here, in this situation — why else if not to follow through on these things?

She shook off these thoughts. There would be another time for debate. She had to act. She stared at the flying surveillance cameras and counted:
three ... two ... one

She sprinted across the open swamp, moving in a straight line for the factory wall. She could hear the constant whirring of the flying machines. But with the sun down, the darkness hid her well. Unless they were equipped with infrared sensors.
Lord Harskill, please don’t let them have infrared.
She pushed away those thoughts and simply ran until she reached the wall.

Pressing her back against the cool metal, she held still while the surveillance flew overhead. Her pulse throbbed in her neck. She struggled to control her breathing. She counted again — a languid, faux-calm pace this time. When she reached ten, the surveillance had moved on and she had calmed for real.

Staying close to the wall, she scurried along the side until she found a door — at least, she thought it was a door. It only reached up to her waist. Probably tall enough for the little creatures she had seen arguing earlier. A blue light above the door pulsed on and off in a steady rhythm. On the door itself, she saw a metal square — a lock, perhaps. Though she had little experience picking locks, she had to give it a try. If for no other reason, she suspected Lord Harskill observed her every move.

She placed her hand on the door to steady herself. The door opened.

Remember that one, Reon. Try the door first.

A hall stretched forward — a strange mix of factory and business office. Utilitarian carpeting covered the floor and the white walls deadened the constant metallic noises coming from elsewhere. At the same time, rusty pipes and caged lighting ran along the ceiling.

Reon moved down the hall with her ears perked up, listening for any sound of approaching creatures. She walked by several doors before she saw one that stood ajar. If she stayed in this hallway, eventually she would get caught.

With a quiet knock on the door, she poked her head in. The room was empty. She slipped in.

The room had a long desk with several levels like floating shelves. They wrapped around the chair almost closing into a circle. Reon pictured the creatures — with four arms, she imagined they could make good use of such a set up. The far wall had two, large-pane windows that overlooked the main factory floor. Reon passed her hand over a small switch to shut the lights off. She stood at the window and peered down upon the main floor.