The Way of the Soul Page 12

  The Bluesman stopped playing, and Malja locked eyes with the trained assassin.

  Owl went on, “Whatever happened in that battle pumped out a tremendous amount of magic energy. And magic, like power, cannot stand alone. It’s interconnected with all we do. The tremors of power that you created unleashed something in the Library. Everybody could feel it. Pretty soon all the gangs were fighting for control of that piece of property.”

  “I had no idea.”

  “Chief Master Kee said as much. He figured you wouldn’t have done it, if you’d known. He decided to try taking control of the Library himself. He thought that if he made a big power play and won, he could bring peace to all of Penmarvia once again. But he failed.”

  Malja didn’t need Owl to explain the rest. She had been through enough battles to know. Once Chief Master Kee died, the last remaining power-player was gone. What had been gang skirmishes grew into full-blown wars, as evidenced by the new look of the Order, the training young, and the lack of older brothers. It had been a bloody war with tremendous losses.

  Malja checked back to make sure the Bluesman had not moved from his spot. “I know war can make for strange alliances, but him?”

  “You destroyed all of his brethren. He is all that remains.”

  Malja couldn’t mistake the bitterness in Owl’s voice, but she understood. He had lost all the Brothers he had grown up with, so he could relate to this Bluesman’s loss. She couldn’t trust the Bluesman, never would, but she trusted Owl — not just his judgment, but his skill. Should the Bluesman’s true nature, the heart of an assassin, break free, Owl could handle him without fail.

  Owl stood and tied his belt around his waist. His sword slid into the scabbard and his gun into its holster. “I always thought you’d come sooner. It might be too late to help now.”

  Malja tried to hide her shock. Owl had no idea the worlds Malja had visited, had no idea the greater threats that faced them all. He only knew the sorrows that surrounded him. He only knew that Malja’s previous arrival brought with it help and hope.

  She ran her finger along his jaw. Even with his scars, he was still a handsome man. Perhaps she should help him. Harskill had spent so much time toying with her that he would never drop this game. Perhaps she could detour long enough to help the land to which she had caused so much pain. No perhaps about it. If the connection between her fight with the Bluesmen and the Library was true, and Malja knew better than to deny it, then she was responsible. She had to make things right.

  The corners of her mouth rose. “Considering all that’s been going on, you seem awfully calm.”

  “Just before the storm.”

  “Well, we’re here to help.”

  Owl nodded firm — a warrior’s nod of acceptance. “I think I know where we can start.”

  Chapter 16

  Reon

  She couldn’t sleep. She tried. Knew that the coming days would be difficult — even if she didn’t really know what to expect. But how could she fall asleep while hurling through space on an asteroid?

  Lord Harskill had used his considerable power to encapsulate an entire asteroid in a protective bubble. Large enough to fit a small farm, the asteroid thankfully had a slow spin. The twins and Bell Wake had walked over to the dark side of the massive rock, curled up, and went to sleep. Their do-khas kept them from freezing to death. But Reon’s mind would not shut down long enough for sleep.

  She sat on the ledge of tiny crater and watched the sun and planets and the other asteroids drift around her. Mesmerizing. What little science she had studied in school kept her wondering how the bubble worked — wouldn’t they be using up all the air? — but Lord Harskill told her not to worry. A god provides. So, she accepted his word, but that didn’t stop her thoughts about everything else.

  Especially Bell Wake.

  Asleep on the other side of a long crest, Bell Wake gained strength in her rest. If Reon was to be Lord Harskill’s queen, she would have to get Bell out of the way. The idea that she would murder Bell did not enter her head — at least not consciously, at least not right away. She filled much of her time watching the depths of space and thinking over ways to make Bell look weak or incompetent. The more she thought over it, however, the less she liked the way it made her feel.

  Reon had never been one to become consumed with jealousy. She had never cared about boys enough to bother with who liked who and what that meant for others. In fact, when reading a book or watching a show, she never understood the real emotion behind it all. When one character became tongue-tied around another or angry because the other character smiled at yet another character, Reon found the story either confusing or preposterous. Jealousy was simply an abstract idea.

  But since Lord Harskill’s return, since her ascension from devout follower to an essential part of his plan, her cravings for him had ascended as well. She no longer felt satisfied by simply serving him. The opportunity to become more could not be ignored. And to achieve all she wanted, Bell Wake had to be removed from Lord Harskill’s list of possible queens.

  Even as Reon’s thoughts drifted into ways to murder Bell, a part of her stood outside and looked in. She wondered if insanity began this way — a small obsession given room to grow. Yet she could not stop it. Didn’t want to. Not while the chances for greatness hung right in front of her. All she had to do was lean forward and take it.

  She glanced at the crest of rock. Bell slept on the other side, content under the protection of Lord Harskill. It wouldn’t take much to slip over there and cut the wench’s throat.

  Reon let her eye rove across the landscape. Lord Harskill sat alone atop a hill. His eyes were closed as he meditated — he needed rest while also needing to keep the bubble around the asteroid.

  There would never be a time as easy as this one. Reon walked toward the crest. She let each step tamp down her fear and each breath release her tension.

  As she crossed over the crest onto the night side of the asteroid, she felt the temperature drop fast. Her do-kha heated up before she had to think about commanding it to do so. Off to the right, she saw Sola and Freen spooning for warmth. No — they had do-khas, too. They spooned because they wanted to. Reon brushed off thoughts of the twins before they could start. The twins didn’t matter — only that they were positioned far enough away that they would never be able to intercede in time to halt Reon’s plan.

  Plan? She had no real plan. More of an intention than anything else. But it was a powerful intention.

  A few more steps and Reon stood at Bell Wake’s sleeping head. She looked down at the slumbering fool, sneering as she imagined cutting through that soft neck. Her do-kha responded by elongating its sleeves into two deadly blades.

  She stepped back, shocked at her do-kha. It was one thing to think about murdering a person; it was an entirely different thing to actually do it. But if she didn’t go forward with this, then what would happen to her? Bell Wake would become the Queen. Reon would be relegated to being a bodyguard, at best. More likely, she’d end up back home, living her life stuck in the city, having to convince herself that none of this had ever happened, that it had all been her imagination. That thought had motivated her before, but now, after seeing this universe from space — she could never go back. Not even for a moment.

  She lifted the blades and closed her eyes. Whispering, she prayed to Lord Harskill, prayed that she served his will and that he would reward her fidelity. When she opened her eyes, Bell Wake stood in front of her.

  Despite her shock, Reon reacted with the instincts brought on by years of training. She sprang forward. Bell did not move. Yet as Reon’s blade pressed through, Bell’s do-kha formed a perfect, circular hole in her stomach. Reon’s blade slid straight through and out the back, doing no harm whatsoever.

  Twice more Reon thrust her blade — once into Bell’s chest and again into the stomach. Both times, Bell’s do-kha formed donut holes that prevented any damage. As Reon jumped back, unsure of what to try next, Bell’s lips
curled up to reveal vicious teeth.

  “First, you get the Soul of the Sun, and now you attack me. You certainly are brave. Even if only brave enough to attack me in my sleep.” Bell unfastened her belt and whipped it off her body. The strap locked out straight, forming a sword, and the buckle clamped over the end, securing everything from going limp again. “But bravery won’t save your life.”

  Reon held still. She would wait for Bell’s attack. No matter how long they had to face off, she would not be the one to charge. Not only was it normally easier to react in defense than create an offensive opening, but Reon guessed she would never land a head-on attack. Bell’s do-kha could keep creating temporary holes in Bell’s body. But if Bell attacked and Reon countered fast enough, she might succeed.

  Bell held her sword out front in a traditional sword-fighting pose. Reon watched Bell’s shoulders. The slightest hint of movement would betray the attack. Other focal points — feet, waist, sword blade — could be easily used to feign an assault, but in the case of most fighters, the shoulders tended to be used only for the real thing.

  Bell stomped the ground, flexed her arms, and shook her sword. Reon ignored it all. She could sense Bell’s growing frustration. Good. That led to mistakes.

  Another fake thrust. Another false motion of the feet. And then, there it was — Bell’s right shoulder inched backwards.

  Bell shot off the ground, whirling her weapon overhead in an impressive display. But leaving the ground meant Bell had committed to her attack. Reon snapped her left arm upward and the blades clashed in the air.

  As Bell came down, Reon’s right blade slashed across, cutting through to Bell’s skin. Her do-kha formed a quick hole which saved her from having her guts spill out, but Reon’s attack burned nonetheless. Bell yelled as she let her fury guide her sword.

  Reon parried each blow. She followed the last block with a countering side-kick. Bell evaded the blow and stepped forward, driving her elbow into Reon’s chest. The woman’s strength took Reon off guard. She stumbled back, gasping for air, while her sternum ached from the hit.

  With a flick of her wrist, Bell’s sword dropped back into a belt. As she wrapped it around her waist, she said, “Your skill is not much better than a novice. I imagine that’s a weakness of being a clone. Your original must be a formidable woman, but you are nothing.”

  Reon raised one blade, but the pain in her lungs doubled her over as she coughed hard. Before she could regain her composure, she felt a thick snake tighten around her neck — Bell’s do-kha.

  “My swordwork is too good for you. So is my do-kha, but it’s better this way. Quieter and less messy. After all, I can’t spend every night worried you might attempt this again. I suppose Harskill may be a little upset, but it won’t bother him too much. I mean, you’re only a clone. He can always get another one of you with little trouble.”

  “Stop!” Lord Harskill’s voice rang out, startling the twins awake.

  Reon dropped to the ground, prostrating her head low, as her heart raced up her throat. She peeked up to see that Bell remained standing, though she had the decency to look embarrassed. Reon buried her face between her outstretched arms — more than embarrassed, she felt ashamed.

  With each hard step, Lord Harskill’s feet crunched the asteroid’s surface. “I brought you both here because I believed you would be assets to my cause. But this — I do not need schoolgirls in my army. Whatever your problem with each other, either make it go away or you can go away. I told you to rest, and that’s what I expect you to do.” His footsteps halted in front of Reon. “Stop bowing like some superstitious fool.”

  Keeping her head down, Reon rose to her feet. She heard Bell snicker, and that little sound gave her the push to lift her head. She stared at Lord Harskill, willing herself to feel equal — or, at least, not so meek before a living god. “This was my fault. I’m sorry.”

  “Indeed. Now, pay attention. While you two were having a ridiculous spat, I have determined where we will strike. But a tired army is a weak army. We all need rest. Don’t make me waste more energy with you two. I trust I won’t have to segregate you.”

  “Of course not. I promise there won’t be any more fighting between us.”

  Lord Harskill gave a satisfied huff. “Bell?”

  “I promise, too,” Bell Wake said like a reprimanded child.

  “Good. Then everyone get back to sleep.”

  Before she could stop herself, Reon blurted out, “Where are we headed tomorrow?”

  Lord Harskill grinned, but it did not contain triumph or anticipation for battle in it. Rather, his raised lips matched his eyes in a look of longing. Reon wondered how much time had gone by in her Lord’s search for this nexus of magic. Then, a different part of her wondered if something or someone else brought on that strange look.

  “We are headed to the world of Corlin and Penmarvia. We are headed to the Library.”

  Chapter 17

  Malja

  Like the husky roar of a konapol, twenty young students shouted as they blocked an imaginary opponent and followed up with a palm-heel strike to an imaginary chin. Malja paced in front of the rows, barking out the count as if she had been training novices how to fight for years. Owl had been right — this was a perfect use of her for the moment. Nobody else would be able to get these kids anywhere close to fighting-shape before the next gang of thugs came around.

  The hot Krysstaprime sun baked the ground. It had been a long time since Malja knew the season. Jumping from one world to another disoriented the body from such basic concepts. One world would be burning under the height of a hot season, and with a step through a portal, the world entered might be in the depths of a blizzard. Day and night also followed no predictable pattern. Spending more than a few hours at the Order, however, had brought back to her mind the way seasons should operate — the way she had learned while growing up.

  “Again! One!” Yah! “Two!” Yah! “Three!” Yah!

  She observed the monks’ form. Not bad. A few might even successfully block and counter an actual attack. That is, if they didn’t pass out. All of the monks dripped with sweat and gasped for air.

  They were too young. When Owl had been trained, he had no battles brewing on the horizon. He had the luxury of spending days like this, working hard until the muscles refused to go any further, yet always having the time to recuperate before the next training session. By the time he entered his teens, he was already at the peak of fitness.

  But these monks had not been through such a regiment. Most had only joined the Order recently. Many had joined, most likely, as they watched Penmarvia devolve into a lawless state. They sought a safe haven from the marauding gangs. Many were probably angry to learn that even the Order had to worry about such things.

  She heard the boy chuckle before she caught him. Tall and thin with floppy brown hair. “You,” she said pointing right at him — she hadn’t bothered to learn their names.

  The boy straightened; his smirk vanished. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You think this is funny? Going over these drills?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Well, something’s funny enough to distract you from focusing on the lessons that may save your life very soon.”

  “Sorry, ma’am. I thought I saw a friend over there,” the boy said, raising his arm.

  Malja didn’t bother to look where the boy indicated. Instead, she grabbed his forearm and yanked. Off-balance to begin with, the boy stumbled forward. As he clumped by Malja, she smacked him hard on the back, sending him into the dirt.

  “Congratulations. You’re dead.”

  She stepped back and eyed the whole group. They got the message. Even the boy hurried back into place. He brushed the dirt off his clothes but kept his eyes on Malja. Good. He wouldn’t be fooled so easily again.

  She stared at them a moment longer. They all remained still, eyes forward, faces stoic. Mostly. Some chins trembled. There might be hope yet. “Get some rest. I want you all back
in two hours for another round of training.” The students scattered like little nyloaches running from firelight.

  “You know,” Fawbry said from several feet back, “you have them properly terrified of you.”

  “They should be terrified of what’s coming, not me.”

  “We’ve been through a lot worse than a bunch of gangs.”

  “I didn’t say I was terrified.”

  Amused, Fawbry said, “That is true. But you are concerned.” A stone stairway led up to where archers still patrolled the wall. “Come on. I think there’s a breeze up top.”

  As they climbed the stairs, Malja poked Fawbry in the ribs. “How’s your job going?”

  While Malja trained the physical side of the students, Fawbry had been tasked with the spiritual. Only a few people in the area were as well-versed in the Book of Kryssta, and none of them lived close by. Because of this, Owl thought it best for Fawbry to educate the students on the subject.

  “It’s going about as well as your training. They’re eager to learn, but they have a long way to go.” Fawbry stopped on the stairs and looked back at Malja. “You know something worse happened here besides the loss of Chief Master Kee. Right? I mean, they had to have lost just about anybody who had any practical knowledge or skills. Look at us. By Kryssta, we’re helping them rebuild this Order from the ground.”

  Malja didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. Of course she knew that something worse had happened. Owl had shifted into a survival mode. He did all he could to keep the Order running, but unless these students could go from novice to adequate in a short time, Malja feared Owl’s plans would fall to pieces.

  When they reached the top, Malja rested her elbows on the cold stone. She leaned over and looked out across the field. It seemed hard to believe that a handful of years ago she had looked out upon this same field — back then, she saw an army and magicians, all threatening to tear the Order into shreds. Despite the gentle breeze that blew across her face, Malja knew that in a short time, these calm fields might once more become sodden with blood.