The Way of the Soul Page 18

  Thrusting Fawbry forward, she pointed at Reon and said, “Get him out of here. She’s coming for him.”

  With a loud crack, a portal opened in the sky above. Malja soared down. Her special curved weapon held beneath her. Her grim mouth both determined and frightening. She landed on the back of a colack, and her blade cut right through. The beast screeched as Malja slid off its side, planted her feet firmly on the ground, and ripped her weapon free.

  With an impatient sneer, Bell Wake grabbed Fawbry’s collar in one hand and the waist of his pants in the other. She tossed him onto the back of a konapol. “Reon, you stupid slog, get moving.”

  As Malja fought off two brave but foolhardy gang members, Reon stepped in front of Bell Wake. “I am not about to run from her.”

  “You idiot, she’s here to save this pathetic man. Take him away and she’ll follow.”

  Reon hesitated as the desire to stay in the battle fought with the logic of Bell Wake’s plan. Logic prevailed. Reon hopped into the saddle on the konapol, repositioned Fawbry so he could not willfully or accidentally fall off, and then kicked the konapol into a full gallop. Before she looked back and saw it, she heard the sharp slice of Malja’s blade decapitating a young man sitting upon another konapol. When she finally did look back, she caught sight of Malja kicking the corpse aside and launching the konapol in pursuit.

  Fawbry cocked his head back. “You should let me go.”

  “Shut up.”

  “The longer you run, the angrier she’s going to be.”

  Reon guided her konapol toward the copse of trees. “I’d put my head down, if I were you.”

  Fawbry looked ahead and saw the approaching branches and tree trunks threatening harm. He lowered his head. Reon pushed her konapol harder. Thankfully, Fawbry said no more.

  As they galloped around trees, she heard Malja closing in. They broke into a clearing with tall grass. They ripped through like a thresher devouring all that lay in front. Though Reon rode her konapol with unrelenting pressure, Malja’s konapol still gained ground. Fawbry added too much weight. No way could she outrun Malja.

  In seconds, Malja had pulled up alongside. The two konapols grunted as they galloped. Reon locked eyes with Malja and saw a demon grin that reminded her of frightening pictures of Clariofox, one of Dulmul’s seven demons.

  Malja whipped out her curved blade. In one slash, she cut open the konapol’s flank. She then sliced back again across the creature’s legs.

  As Reon tumbled over the head of her konapol, life became slow. Her legs lifted into the air, and the beast’s blood sprayed across the tan grass. Malja grabbed Fawbry by the shoulders and yanked him onto her mount.

  Even as Reon watched this happen, even as she felt her body floating away, even as she knew that in seconds she would smash back into the ground and reality would return to its normal speed, her mind sped through a series of thoughts that left her gasping. It all came down to a simple, one-word question: Why?

  The how she understood well enough. Lord Harskill had visited her when she was a child, and he impressed upon her his power. And she believed. Right to her core, she believed. But now, after having witnessed the abuses of the Gate, after having been manipulated by Lord Harskill, after seeing first-hand his maniacal behavior, she had to wonder why she still fought for him.

  As her body descended, it occurred to her that perhaps she maintained her loyalty because it was easier. Lord Harskill had presented a plan that provided solutions to the problems of the many worlds. Right or wrong did not seem to apply — at first, at least. But now, Reon wasn’t so sure. Now, it had become evident that the Gate wanted these worlds as playthings for the power hungry.

  They planned to rule, to dictate, and the only peace that would be coming arrived with shackles. This was no group seeking to unify the universes. Rather, this was greed, sadism, and political treachery. Each Gate had come for him or herself. Including Lord Harskill — though the term Lord seemed ill-fitting at this point.

  When she hit the ground, she rolled backwards, slamming her knees into the hard dirt. She yelled as momentum threw her over onto her shoulders. Her legs slapped out in front of her. Despite the pain, she hurried back to her feet. Malja, Fawbry, and her konapol were already a bouncing dot in the distance.

  It looked as if Bell Wake had gotten her way. Though Reon started walking immediately, she knew that by the time she reached the Library, chances were high that the battle would be over. She walked anyway.

  Harskill wanted this to be an individual fight with spoils going to the winners — fine. She didn’t belong with them. She knew that now.

  As she headed through the grass, a phrase repeated in her mind like a meditation mantra.

  No more.

  Chapter 27

  Malja

  Digging her heels deep into the stirrups, Malja goaded the konapol faster. It snorted as it shot over a wide boulder. Though it threatened to veer off, Malja kept the unruly animal headed straight for the bridge.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  Fawbry peeked over his shoulder. “Of course. You think I’m not used to playing this part in your little show?”

  “Sorry.” She yanked the konapol’s head to the right.

  Without missing a step, Fawbry swung his foot over the creature’s head and sat up in the saddle, pressing back against Malja’s chest. They cut through the small standing of trees and raced onward.

  When Malja clearly saw the back of Harskill’s army, she understood her enemy’s strategy. Fawbry had been nothing more than a distraction aimed at pulling her away so that Harskill’s final assault could begin.

  A steady stream of colacks, talisi, soldiers, and gang members funneled toward the bridge. They marched shoulder to shoulder, grumbling and arguing like green fighters eager to prove themselves and unleash their pent-up aggressions.

  Malja wrapped the reins around Fawbry’s only hand. She then slipped out Viper and held the weapon off the konapol’s right flank. “You ready for this?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “We have to get across, and I can’t portal so close to Tommy and the Library.”

  “I told you I just wanted to be the General.”

  Malja patted Fawbry’s shoulder. “You still are. Lead the way.”

  The konapol barreled on. It shook its head and snorted but did not lose its momentum. Not for long, Malja thought. They had pushed this creature close to exhaustion.

  A single, gray gorg, the smaller cousin of the giant gorgut, turned its lumpy head toward the thumping claws of the konapol. Though it probably wanted to shout a warning, it never had the chance. As they ripped by, Malja cut it down with one clean swipe.

  They closed in on the crowding army, and the konapol slowed its pace. Fawbry snapped the reins to keep it going. Again, the konapol tried to slow down. As Fawbry drove the animal harder, Malja saw the problem up ahead. All those soldiers and creatures formed a solid, impenetrable wall.

  Malja had been on that bridge — no way would this army standing four wide ever fit. They would have to cross single-file — maybe double, if they pressed in tight. That meant this army was bottlenecked. They would not be able to move forward, and backward would prove just as difficult.

  Confirming her analysis, Harskill’s voice roared over the army. “We must have order! You can’t all cross at once!”

  Malja pointed ahead. “Don’t worry about them.”

  “We can’t smack right into them,” Fawbry said.

  “Don’t think of them as a wall of soldiers. Think of them as the foundation for a road.”

  Unable to hide his shocked face, Fawbry said, “Please tell me that’s a joke.”

  “Seems the best idea to me, and we’re running out of room.”

  “But I’m not so sure —”

  In one quick motion, Malja smacked the flat of her blade against the konapol’s hindquarters while reaching around Fawbry’s chest to yank him backwards. The motion brought his hand up, pulling on the r
ein. Coupled with the blade slap, the konapol reared as it moved forward, leaving it no choice but to climb upward.

  The agile creature loped across the top of the army. Its claws grasped desperately at heads and shoulders as it forced its way over. Fear and instinct drove it across. Once started, Malja knew the creature would not stop running until it found land again.

  The shouts and groans of the army beneath them only increased the panic. A few thrust their swords up into the konapol’s path, but Malja swatted them away with Viper. When they reached the bridge, the konapol leaped off the last of the army, landed firmly on the wooden planks, and soared across. Those in its path were knocked aside, falling off the bridge and down into the darkness below.

  Fawbry whooped a cheer. Malja kept quiet — too early to celebrate. Only confusion had saved them from being an easy target. No, Malja thought. Harskill still holds hope for wooing me to his arms.

  “Stop moving forward,” Harskill shouted. The army kept pressing on. He then yelled at the Gate near him, but Malja couldn’t pick out his words.

  Knocking off the last enemy soldier with a swift kick, Malja dismounted the konapol and slammed Viper into the bridge’s rope railing. When Viper hit, the rope snapped away revealing sturdy metal inside. Sparks flew off and a harsh vibration rippled up Malja’s arm.

  Brother Rokure approached from the right. “Sorry, we built it to last. Just didn’t want anybody to realize it was strong.”

  Malja pivoted her foot and brought Viper down hard on the wooden planks. They shattered, tumbling chunks down like the soldiers before. Two more powerful blows. Malja removed four feet of the bridge’s walkway, creating a gap too far for most to cross.

  Though the act felt good, it proved pointless. Two portals opened above the Library platform. The ground trembled. Rocks vibrated, and several rolled right into the gorge. The quake broke the monks’ concentration. The energy field they had maintained fell apart as the two Gate dropped to the ground.

  Malja lifted Viper and charged ahead. Her efforts were unnecessary. Tommy was there.

  He lowered his hands and bowed his head. It looked like a motion of defeat, but Malja knew better. Tommy merely studied the tattoos forming in his palms.

  The two Gate did not understand. They acted as if Malja’s army had finally recognized Gate power. Swaggering up the stairs of the platform, they shared a prideful nod. When they stood before Tommy, they motioned for him to bow at their feet.

  He attacked.

  He thrust out his arms, smacking his palms into their chests. Both Gate soared backward from the massive hit, never touching the ground again. Their bodies broke apart like dust blown by a strong wind.

  An odd smell drifted by Malja. Not seared flesh nor coppery blood nor the residue of magic — nothing Malja had ever smelled on the battlefield before. This smell had a bitter odor. An electric charge that rolled across the tongue and up the nose.

  Tommy placed his feet on the ground and rose tall at the edge of the platform. Malja followed his gaze to Harskill. He glowered back.

  With a wave of his fingers, three Gate lifted into the air and floated across the chasm. Two hovered using what looked to be the same type of magic Tommy had used. The third’s do-kha sprouted black wings that aided her across.

  Malja’s skin prickled. She did not fear the coming Gate. She trusted Tommy could control things — she had seen him do it many times before — but they kept producing new magic, and that scared her worst of all.

  An insight flashed in her mind — Tommy created new magic, too. He wasn’t discovering new spells the way most magicians learned them, through instruction or instinct. Rather, he thought up new combinations of magic that had never occurred before — at least, that she knew of. He was far more a god than Harskill could ever dream to be.

  Tommy stretched out his right arm, made a fist, and closed his eyes. A second later, they blazed open. Fire erupted from his knuckles, raced across the sky, curved and twisted like a watersnake, until it reached its target.

  The three Gate had their do-kha’s form shields. At first, they were protected from the flames, but the longer and hotter it burned, the more energy they had to expend. Tommy did not let up, pouring out fire like a deluge of death. To protect themselves and stay floating proved too much. Two of the Gate returned to their side of the gorge. The one with wings thought she could make it to the Library. She thought wrong.

  A little beyond halfway, she had to make a desperate choice — burn or fall. She chose to fall.

  Tommy bent over, coughing hard. Malja rushed to his side and held his shoulders. He didn’t throw up nor did she see blood on the marble platform. But she could tell that with much more of this strain upon him, blood would flow.

  Brother Rokure appeared at the bottom of the platform pointing towards his soldiers. “What are your orders?”

  Malja opened her mouth, but a loud crack followed by flashing light from above pulled her attention. Four more portals opened. The ground shook harder than before. Inside the ramshackle tower of the Library, some piece of metal bent with a harrowing whine. Like black stones, the four Gate dropped from their portals to the ground.

  Before they could lift their heads, Malja planted Viper into the nearest one. He had no time to see the attack, no time to react, and thus, no time for his do-kha to harden into a shield. As she whipped Viper free, spraying blood into the air, the other Gate stood. They would not be so easy.

  The one furthest from Malja sported spiky green hair. He lifted his arms, and the do-kha shot out lighting fast. The black tendrils plunged into Brother Dravid, one of the meditating monks, taking out his eyes and throat before a final tendril pierced his heart. As the green-haired Gate retracted its do-kha, the next Gate attacked another of the meditating monks — Brother Terren, this time. As the final Gate lifted her arms, Malja extended out with Viper to deflect the attack. The do-kha’s tendrils were knocked aside by the blade. The force threw Malja off balance, tumbling her forward.

  With a flick of their wrists, Green Hair and the woman sent another barrage of do-kha skewers at the remaining two monks. Hundreds of black tendrils cut through them, leaving them to bleed like water through a sieve.

  All three Gate turned their attention to Malja. She had risen to her knees with Viper ready to swing out at any who dared to come close. But she lacked a good stance from which to parry all of the do-khas should they attack at once.

  A deep, driving music emerged from behind. The three Gate stumbled backwards. The music continued to play, and the invisible force continued to shove the Gate. Malja looked back.

  The Bluesman stood at the top of the platform, head down as he played his guitar. She had encountered his kind before, but never one so powerful. Perhaps the Library had enhanced his magic.

  Whether the music or the Library, Malja couldn’t be sure, but one of them must have spread its power toward Tommy. He stood straight, his face clear, all sense of illness gone.

  Malja was not fooled. His injuries still plagued him, but the Bluesman’s presence — possibly his music — had given Tommy the strength to go on for a little longer.

  An intricate tattoo of swirls crossed with jagged lines formed on Tommy’s belly. He inspected it then lifted his head. His eyes glowed red. The Bluesman stopped playing. He no longer needed to hold the Gate back. Tommy could handle them. Instead, the Bluesman sat with his back against the Library tower and played a different song. Slower, this one. More melancholy.

  Malja glanced up. The Library pulsed out like a volcano of magical energy. She had no idea how long the Bluesman could aid in holding the Library together, but he appeared to think he could do the job of four monks. She had no time to argue.

  The full attack had begun.

  Fifteen Gate lined at the edge of the gorge and linked their hands together. Out of their feet grew a blue flooring of magic. It slid its way across the gorge, covering the gap with its solid color. Even though the flooring had not reached the Library side, Harsk
ill’s army began to cross.

  Malja jumped to her feet. She had wasted too much time. Her men needed her leadership.

  She rushed toward Brother Rokure. As she dashed by the damaged bridge, a soldier attempted to leap across the gap she had cut open earlier. He failed. Ignoring him, Malja dashed ahead. Brother Rokure had his troops lined up, ready for when that blue magic floor carrying Harskill’s army came in close enough to engage.

  “Shoot them,” Malja said.

  Brother Rokure shook his head. “Nothing’s working.”

  Malja sprinted on toward Fawbry’s weaponized vehicles. Before she reached them, she saw the driver’s confused looks. Malja pivoted and headed straight back to Brother Rokure.

  “Let me see one of those guns.”

  He handed one over. She nestled the butt of the weapon in her shoulder and aimed for the nearest enemy. She pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.

  The blue flooring had crossed half the gorge. Behind the eager army, a Gate wearing a pin-striped suit sat atop a konapal pacing back and forth. That one looked to be the leader. Malja would kill him first.

  “Get your men ready. No less than three soldiers to each Gate. You’ll be lucky if that’s all you need.”

  “If we get our guns working —”

  Malja tossed the rifle away. “Look out there. It’s Harskill’s magic that causes your guns to fail. If not him, then one of the other Gate. That will not be the way you win this.”

  Brother Rokure leaned in close and whispered, “Can we win this?”

  “We must.”

  She stopped there. She didn’t want to tell Brother Rokure her whole thought — that she knew they would be overrun, that his soldiers had no hope of taking out more than a handful of Gate, that she needed them to fight to the end, long enough for her to kill Harskill.

  Narrowing her eyes on Brother Rokure, she lowered her voice and utilized her most practiced, commanding tone. “You will hold this Library.”