The Way of the Sword and Gun Page 12

  "It's not possible," Owl said. "You're no magician and you don't trust their kind."

  "I'm more than you know. And there's more than one way to cast a spell. There are all different kinds of magic power. Incantations that prime the air with magical energy. Musicians that can create spells by plucking their strings. And even powerful spells derived from the essence of life — blood."

  Fawbry snapped his fingers as if he had caught her in a lie. "Ah, there's your mistake. Blood magic requires fresh blood. And for something like the Library, an animal would never do. You'd need the most intelligent, most dominant type of life. You'd need—"

  "Two full grown men?" Salia said.

  Fawbry's face dropped. "W-Well, no, not really. I misspoke. I meant you need a corpse. Blood magic is based on death not life. What you need is—"

  "Stop babbling."

  "B-But blood magic is more a fantasy than reality. Nobody can really do it. Not with any accuracy."

  "I believe you and your slut warrior dispatched one of my best blood magicians in some little crap town in Corlin. How was his accuracy?" She turned away from them. "Regardless, we'll find out tomorrow when I cut your throats on the Library steps." She left the cell.

  Brother X walked in next. His towering body had to bend over in order to fit. Owl glared at him but knew Brother X didn't care. He never really did. It all had been an act.

  "First," Brother X said, holding his fist out towards Owl, "even though I never once cared about the Order, I did train in the Way, and I do believe in its tenants." He opened his fist. In his palm lay a single, red bullet. "If my sister did not require your blood for the Library, I'd gladly give this to you, so you could die properly."

  "Aw," Fawbry said. "You're just a tender guy, huh?"

  "You, I'd torture mercilessly."

  Fawbry held back any further sarcasm. Owl, however, said, "Go away. We have nothing to say."

  "Don't hate yourself for losing to me. While you and your brethren trained in your forms and your techniques, each one of you hoping to get a little better so you could win in controlled sparring competitions, I excelled in the Way. I studied you all, too. I observed everyone closely."

  "You had to report to your Queen," Owl said, letting each word overflow with his hatred.

  "Yes," Brother X said. "I also watched because I knew that someday, I would have to face the strongest of you all. It was no mistake that Chief Master chose you to guard him. After me, you are the best the Order has to offer."

  Owl turned away. "I don't need your pity nor your gloating."

  "I offer neither. As a matter for my own honor and peace, I wanted you to know that you never had a chance to defeat me. I know your moves. I know your strengths and weaknesses. I've defeated you twice because I've studied you. Our battles were never on even ground."

  "Come, Brother," Salia called from the hall.

  As he exited, Owl whirled around. Ignoring the pain in his side, he stepped forward, his muscles straining. He pictured leaping into the air, wrapping his arm around Brother X's neck, and slowly choking away the man's life. Instead, he watched the metal door clank closed and heard Fawbry let out a sigh.

  Owl bowed his head. His entire body shuddered. "It's all over," he said. "We failed."

  Malja

  The sun fell, casting brilliant colors across the remnants of battle. Malja and Tommy stood on the wall and viewed the pitted earth. Swords and spears littered the ground alongside bodies and streams of blood.

  All was quiet outside. Inside Malja, however, a storm raged.

  She kept thinking over what Tommy had done — opened a portal while simultaneously shielding an entire building with a massive illusion. She kept picturing him with those extra eyes. The damage such magic would cause the caster nauseated her. But the fact that Tommy showed few aftereffects other than exhaustion terrified her.

  At his young age, he should be a quivering mass of brainlessness. Magic that powerful should have robbed him of any hope of sanity. And yet, he seemed fine.

  Perhaps that beast, Barris Mont, somehow had protected him from the inside. Back when they first met Barris Mont, he had told her that Tommy held the potential for great magic. And Tommy had shown that promise several times before. So why did she feel so filthy, so guilty?

  Uncle Gregor often told her that guilt was the mind's way of policing itself. "We don't always listen to ourselves," he would say while slicing fresh-picked apples for lunch. "Often our bodies ignore our brains. Guilt helps us know when we've done something that, deep down, we consider wrong."

  If Gregor was correct, she had wronged Tommy from the start. That couldn't be right though. She only wanted a good life for Tommy.

  Together, they walked along the blood-stained ledge until they reached a small platform with a pile of unused rocks. Malja settled on the pile while Tommy sat lower down so he could wrap his arms around her leg and rest his head on her knee. She fought against the twisting in her chest and the welling in her eyes.

  "I'm sorry," she said, and he tightened his grip on her leg. "Fawbry once told me that I endangered all my friends. I think he's right. I can't say you'd have been better off as a slave on that ship where I found you, but it might've been better if, after I had saved you, I left you with some nice family. All the magic you've been doing, all the spells that must be hurting you in some way, you only do them to help me."

  Tommy wouldn't look at her, but she knew he listened.

  "I should go after Fawbry and Owl," she said, her hand shaking as she stroked Tommy's head. "We've got the code now. Queen Salia is still out there. I know I should go. But — I don't know what I know anymore. I've always been so sure of myself. Even when I didn't have the answer, I could make a decision. After seeing what you had to do, though — keeping both powerful spells going — after knowing how that must have hurt you, I just don't know anymore. It's not fair to you."

  Tommy got up and walked to the wall. He stared at the last gasps of daylight. When had he grown so tall?

  Malja continued, "You can't go with me this time. You're still pale from those last spells. You're not ready to fight again. And you shouldn't have to. You're a kid."

  Tommy snapped his head around, shooting a stern look at her.

  "I know, but you really are young," she said. "I hate the idea of leaving you — here of all places. But if you come with me, if you continue to do magic . . . well, I hate that idea more. You're too important to me."

  Tommy appeared to get an idea. He urged Malja to wait as he limped away. Malja watched, trying to recall when he started limping. Just how strong was that magic? she wondered.

  Alone on the wall, she breathed in the evening. Though she wouldn't admit it, she enjoyed the mixture of clean, forest air with the ruins of battle. It smelled familiar and comforting. She understood battle far better than anything else.

  Battle was like mathematics. In math, the answer either was right or wrong. Add two and two and there was only one answer. In battle, one either lived or died, triumphed or surrendered, dominated or was dominated.

  If only relationships could be as simple. She might even figure out why she refused to tell the whole truth to Tommy. Because the full truth was that she couldn't stop thinking about that other world she had been in. She couldn't get it out of her head that they had mentioned another like her. She had seen such a person before — the woman who had reached out to her, dressed in an assault suit, from a portal Malja closed to save Tommy and defy Jarik and Callib. And remembering all of that saturated her with a desire to go home — to her real home.

  The real truth, the ugliness inside that she hated to look upon, was that part of her had no qualms about ditching Tommy, Fawbry, Owl, and the rest of the world. Let the putrid mess die. If she could be free from here, if she could hold her mother, if she could return to where she truly belonged, then why suffer in this forsaken land? Before going through the portal, that nasty idea had been no more than a notion, a fleeting thought that nagged her lik
e a fly, but she could easily shove it away. Now that she had been to another world — it all seemed possible.

  As Tommy returned, the exertion tolling on his face, Malja buried her thoughts. To do any of those things required using Tommy's magic. No matter what, she wouldn't do that to him.

  The boy stopped in front of her and motioned for her to close her eyes. Malja did so. She felt him pull her hand out. He placed something cool in her hand and tapped her shoulder so she'd open her eyes.

  In her hand, he had left an apple.

  Malja's eyes welled. "Thank you," she said, her voice cracking at the end.

  He hugged her, and she let him. She stared at the apple as if it were a golden chalice or a fragile relic from before the Devastation. She brought the apple to her mouth, but Tommy pulled her hand back. He pointed toward the east.

  Malja understood. "Not until I get Fawbry and Owl back, right?"

  Tommy smiled.

  Putting the apple into her coat pocket, Malja gazed eastward. "I'll get my things ready, catch a little sleep, and then I'll head out. Don't worry. I'll get to them before the morning sun finishes rising."

  Owl

  With his forehead against the metal cell door, Owl knelt on the hard floor. He closed his eyes. Nothing made sense anymore.

  All his life, he had believed in the brother god Kryssta. As a child, suffering on the streets, bullied and beaten, he told himself that if he prayed hard enough every night, someday Kryssta would answer. When Brother X found him and took him into the Order, when they offered him a safe place to stay and belong, Owl thought Kryssta had listened to his pleas. Even when things were difficult at the Order, Owl believed not only that Kryssta had saved him, but he embraced the idea that he served some greater purpose. It blossomed within and covered him like a shield. By the time he had reached the height of his training, he had no doubt that he followed a true calling.

  But it was all a lie.

  Kryssta had not given him the strength or skill to defeat Brother X. Kryssta had not intervened to save Chief Master. Queen Salia would destroy the lives of so many, maybe of everyone, and where were the brother gods? Silent.

  Owl couldn't hold back the tears. Everything inside him broke. He lifted his head and wailed. He guessed somewhere nearby Salia and Brother X laughed at his anguish.

  Fawbry came to Owl's shoulder. "Please," he said, "you mustn't give up."

  "It's over," Owl said. He wiped his cheeks, but they were wet again soon enough. Everything had become a mess and the urge to set something, anything, right filled his heart. The timing was wrong, but it would be worse to let Fawbry die without knowing his parents love him, that they searched for him.

  He inhaled, ready to speak, when Fawbry said, "I've lived through some tight times. I know what I'm talking about. I've seen Malja do incredible things just by not giving up."

  Owl held back. Fawbry was wrong, of course, but why should Owl burden the man further by summoning images of his parents? Especially when Fawbry never mentioned them. For all Owl knew, Fawbry hated his parents and mentioning them would only hurt him. Watching Fawbry interact with Malja had taught Owl that it was all too easy to say the wrong thing. Better to hold back until he felt sure.

  With a disgusted huff, Fawbry said, "You're a trained warrior in one of the greatest fighting styles there is. Stop this self-pity and do something. You can overpower the next guard that comes in here and—"

  Owl turned his soaked face toward Fawbry. "You know nothing. You think I'm some children's bedtime story. Oh, the mystical Way. But like everything else, that's a lie. There's no mysticism, no magic to it. Learning the Way of the Sword and Gun is a simple matter of practice. Years of practice. Any idiot can do it."

  Fawbry let out a frustrated groan. "You're the idiot, if you believe that."

  "If I'm such a great warrior, then why have I failed?"

  To Owl's surprise, Fawbry smacked the back of his head. "So what if you lost a fight? I wouldn't have lasted two seconds against him. You made that bastard sweat."

  "But—"

  "You're upset because you failed at this or that? Look at my life. I've practically turned failure into an art form. It doesn't matter. We all fail, all the time. Life stacks the odds against us, so to succeed is always amazing, and even then, another failure is coming up fast. What matters is how we deal with it."

  Owl sniffled and laughed. "You must think I'm not doing so well then, huh?"

  "You'd do well to stop worrying about what others think. That's your only true failing — looking for validation from without. Stop comparing yourself to Brother X or Malja or Chief Master or whoever you think is so great. Just do the best you can with what Kryssta gave you."

  Wiping his face, Owl felt his chest loosen and his nerves relax. "I'm sorry," he said. "You're right, of course. The Book of Kryssta teaches us as much. But somehow I just thought Kryssta wanted more from me."

  "Ah," Fawbry said, wagging his finger. "Now I see what's going on. You think you have a special purpose."

  "I did. No more."

  "Didn't you ever go to school?"

  "Of course. The Order raised me with a full education."

  Fawbry shook his head. "The Order educated you, but you never went to school. You lived behind the walls of a compound, and everyone there was a devoted student of magic or a disciplined trainee of the Way. You weren't surrounded by a diverse group of kids, some who had no interest in what was being offered."

  "You were?"

  "There were twenty-three of us. And one thing I learned was that we all thought Kryssta looked over us in particular, that Kryssta had some special purpose for each of us. I outgrew that belief, though. I mean, how could Kryssta be bothered with the tiny details of every single life? Surely, the brother god has more important things to accomplish."

  Owl rubbed his temples. "Now my education is lacking. Please, stop. I can't take any more of this."

  "Relax. Stop worrying about all of it. Life is fairly simple. Do your best and know that things have a way of working out. It may not be the way you want it, but it'll work out."

  "I don't want to be killed and have my blood used for magic. What's your great philosophy say to that?"

  Fawbry brought his face close to Owl and said, "That you should stop crying and help me get us out of here."

  Perhaps it was Fawbry's words. Perhaps it had been the look on his face. Owl couldn't be sure, but it all combined together and clicked in his mind.

  The Masters often spoke of how the world never stopped, and so no horror, no failure, no event would end things. Life always continued. Or as Fawbry had said, things had a way of working out — one way or another.

  "Guard," Owl called and scrambled to his feet. "Guard!"

  The metal door opened and the guard walked in. Before he could speak, Owl jabbed his throat. He swept the guard's legs and punched him in the groin while he fell to the floor. The guard never uttered a sound.

  Owl took the single-shot handgun from the guard's belt and nodded to Fawbry. "Let's get out of here."

  As he left the cell, he could hear Fawbry's stunned utterances. "W-Wait. How did you — I mean, that was incredi — You mean you could have done that this whole time?"

  Malja

  Riding through the night to Salia City reinvigorated Malja. She finally had a bulk of time alone with only the rumbles of her horse to bother her. The hours provided her more than enough quiet to do as Gregor always asked of her — to honor those she had slain. Usually, she detested thinking on all the violence that comprised her life. This time, however, the alternative was to think of Tommy and the eyes of Barris Mont. She had enough difficulty dealing with the boy using such heavy magic, this new development made her want to yank Barris Mont out of Tommy and slaughter the bastard. But even if she knew how to do that, she suspected the separation would harm Tommy as well.

  She rubbed her head. Better to pay honor to the dead. She did her best to recall the faces of those strange creatures in another
world. A warmth of peace overcame her for just a flash. She had not sought to kill them. They were not attempting to harm her. Though their deaths resulted from her arrival, she had actually brought them joy. She had validated their faith. To think on them now, truly paid them their honor.

  Except to recognize these creatures also meant recognizing that she had encountered them in another world, one she could never have reached without Tommy's magic. She could hear Owl and Fawbry simultaneously offering her their advice in a cacophony within her head — the boy can handle it, let him try, let him grow into the magician he is. But they didn't know what they were talking about. They hadn't been raised by truly powerful magicians. She knew firsthand what magic did to a mind.

  Tommy did appear to be stronger than any magician she had ever faced, though. She could admit that. Maybe that's why she let him get away with the bits of magic he did. No. That was a lie. She allowed far more than just bits. The honest answer, the thing she didn't want to hear even from her own heart, was that as much as she hated what magic could do to a mind, sometimes they needed it.

  Her chest filled with a pressure bordering on pain and her throat closed up as if she had become sick in just seconds. The ugliness had to be faced, and perhaps that ugliness was her. Because she could stop Tommy from using magic, couldn't she? Was she really trying hard enough? Perhaps she held back because of that day when Barris Mont transported her into his memories — when she saw the world as it had been before the Devastation. The things magic could do were, well, magical.

  All her fighting, her laws, every aspect of the last year had been for what? Just some pathetic attempt to remake the world into a sliver of what it once was? But she had left the world no better as far as she could see. Magic had once provided a clean, safe world. All she had ever done was spill blood. The truth — she used Tommy, and then thrust her hatred for having done so right onto him.