The Way of the Soul Read online

  Chapter 28

  Reon

  Walking back toward the bridge, Reon’s mind swirled with conflicting thoughts while her body grew anxious for action. She wanted the release of a good fight and the clarity that came with it. As she drew in closer to the bridge, her pace quickened until she broke into a sprint. By the time she reached the gorge, the line of Gate had already formed a bridge of magic across the entire gap.

  She toed the blue energy field, testing if it could actually hold her weight. She saw the giant gorgut and hard-headed colacks lumbering across, their heavy feet pounding into the blue surface, but she still felt trepidation as she walked out upon the magic floor. Her feet tingled. The sensation coursed up her skin and straight to her scalp, forcing her hair to stand.

  After ten paces out and no sign of falling through, Reon burst back into a run. She did not know what her goal was to be; only that she had to get into the fray.

  With only a quarter of the way to go, she had to slow down. The magic flooring had become slick with blood. Ahead, she witnessed the horror of Gate.

  Something must have snapped inside of them long ago. They had become animals, destroying anything that stood in their way. While monk and soldier clashed swords, while gunshots found their mark, the Gate continued on, inattentive to the side in which a victim aligned. If a combatant did not wear a do-kha, the Gate attacked.

  And Harskill did nothing to stop it.

  He walked across the footbridge, ignoring those who fought around him. His eyes locked ahead, locked upon Malja. Despite his intensity, he looked relieved as if the battle had already been won, as if the worst had been experienced, and only reward remained.

  Reon felt her own relief as she stepped off the tingling magic and onto firm ground. Her respite didn’t last. Chaos surrounded her. She had to duck wild attacks meant for others and fight off blood-splattered monks losing their minds in the ravages of war.

  She moved on instinct. Her do-kha blades and intense training served her well. Weapons, blood, and limbs littered the ground. Gate stormed through the enemy, dismantling them with ease, becoming crazed in triumph.

  They did not stop at simply killing an enemy. They disemboweled. They hacked. They shredded. They left nothing whole. Two Gate strode from corpse to corpse tearing apart what the others had missed.

  Further off, the young magician who had caused so much trouble now fought for his life. Four Gate surrounded the fair-haired man, each one attempting to break his magic. Green magic swirled around him, knocking away every attack the four Gate could muster.

  A roaring laugh called Reon’s attention. Upon a konapol, Freen trampled across the battlefield. Standing behind him, balanced on the creature’s hindquarters, Sola stood cackling. Dangling from her hands, she held severed heads by the hair. Amidst this horror, Harskill approached the Library. He never condemned nor did he stop the abuses going on around him.

  The thought of Harskill turned Reon’s stomach. Her whole life betrayed by this psychotic man. She looked away, and in doing so, she saw Owl.

  The dark warrior had been propped against a pack just a short distance from the Library platform. His wounds had been bandaged, but he could no longer fight. Not for months, probably. But he had survived. Reon had not killed him.

  Yet he sat in the middle of a bloody battle. He held a sword, but the tip dug into the ground. He lacked the strength to raise it higher.

  For the moment, nobody took notice of him. There were too many real threats to bother with one who looked close to death on his own. But Reon had come to know these Gate. At some point, their blood thirst would take them to Owl, and they would decimate him.

  “No,” she said in a low growl.

  Punching her fists downward, her do-kha snapped out into her blades. She walked in a straight line for Owl. If anything got in her way, she swiped her blades at it.

  A monk covered in blood and dirt scrambled across her path. He took one look at her and rushed off to fight elsewhere. A talisi snorted as it stopped to glare at her. One of its long claws had been severed. The wound had caked over in grime, and Reon wondered if it would die from infection should the creature live through the day. But the talisi would not. It lunged at Reon. She held her ground, deflecting the creature’s one claw with her two blades. As the talisi rolled to the side, she stabbed it twice. It did not get up.

  Reon turned back toward Owl and continued on her way.

  When she reached him, she scanned her surroundings for any threats. None. The bedlam of the fight kept all occupied with killing or surviving.

  She turned her focus on Owl’s bandages. Those on his side looked too loose. As she tightened them, his eyes widened. “I’m not trying to cause you pain.”

  “Not anymore, at least,” he said. But he grinned.

  “I’m here to help. I’m so sorry.”

  “We’re warriors. Injury comes with the job. Besides, you fought well, and I didn’t block well enough. I deserved to get hit.”

  “No. I’m sorry because I made a mistake. Harskill ... he fooled me, and I didn’t know it until now. No, that’s not true. I’ve known it for a while. I just couldn’t accept it before, and I joined the wrong side.”

  Owl let go of his sword and stroked her arm. It felt weird — comforting even as the weapons clanged nearby. Owl’s grin widened. “It appears to me that you’re changing your decision.”

  “I’d like to. But I don’t know what to change it to.” She glanced back at the Library. Malja held out her curved weapon as Harskill approached. “I can’t follow her. That’s trading one demon for another.”

  “Perhaps. But some demons are worse than others.”

  The fighting had slowed — partly because there were fewer monks to kill and partly because many combatants paused to watch Malja and Harskill.

  Reon could not hear well, but she had no trouble interpreting what she saw. Malja stood above Harskill, refusing to let him climb the stairs of the platform. She held her weapon between them, and her fierce eyes promised she would happily cut him open.

  For his part, Harskill appeared to be pleading with her. He had his politician’s smile working hard, but Reon caught a tremble in his step. Not fear. Rather, he held his rage under tight lock.

  Owl picked up on it, too. “He doesn’t want to fight her.”

  “He never does. He’s in love with her.”

  “I see. That makes better sense. I wondered why he continually stalled when he could have taken this Library from us long ago.”

  “Love makes people stupid.”

  “Sometimes. It can make them strong, too. Look at all you’ve done.”

  As Malja yelled No!, Reon looked at Owl sharply. “I’ve done nothing for love.”

  “No? Then why did you come to me?”

  “I don’t even know you. I certainly don’t love you. I think you’ve lost too much blood. You’re getting delusional.”

  Owl closed his eyes and winced as he moved a little to the side. “That’s not the kind of love I’m talking about. Think of it more like your soul. You believe in the soul?”

  “Of course.”

  “Not everyone does. But since you do, think of your love as food for your soul. When you came to me, you had made a choice to help me, to abandon Harskill, to reject his methods. Whether your know it or not, you did these things to feed your soul with love.”

  Reon watched Harskill take a few steps forward, and Malja inched back. “Is that why she doesn’t cut him down? Because she’s in love?”

  “Not in love, but she has love. Harskill is in love with her. He wants to possess her, to control her, to make her heart belong to him. Look at the way he stands. Look at his smile and his eyes. He is revealing his deepest affections for her. Now, look at her face. Do you see the same?”

  “No.”

  “What do you see in her?”

  “Pity.”

  “Exactly. She has love in her soul for all. She doesn’t want to kill this man. She didn’t want any
to die today. But she is willing to do what must be done in order to protect the others. She always has. That’s what makes her such a great warrior. She has love for people, for their freedom, for their hope. Do you understand now?”

  Portals continued to open — some in the sky, some on the ground — and Gate continued to surge into the world. The monks still alive had stopped fighting, and the Gate no longer slaughtered them. Every eye watched Malja and Harskill. Stillness overcame the armies, and without the cacophony of battle, Malja and Harskill could be heard with ease.

  “I have tried,” Harskill said, now standing firm on the platform. “I have done all I can to get you to understand. No matter what I did, though, you’ve always rejected me. But I see now what has truly been at the heart of this all.”

  Malja planted her back foot and turned her weapon so its point curved upward. With one quick motion, the blade would pierce Harskill’s jaw and travel right into his brain. “This has never been complicated. I don’t care about you, and I don’t want you. If I can do anything to stop you and all Gate from reigning supreme over all people and animals, then I will do that. Simple.”

  “If it were that simple, my dear, you would have killed me long ago.” Harskill leaned to the side. “You there. Bluesman. Stop playing your song.”

  The Bluesman glanced up but continued to strum. “Can’t. Not if you want this Library to stay under control.”

  “But I don’t want that.” Harskill gestured with his hand. A portal opened beneath the Bluesman. The guitarist fell through. His body and his guitar burned into ash. He never had time to scream.

  The ground jolted violently sending everybody down. The Library tower whined and groaned like a sinking ship. The air warmed as if every soul stood by a campfire.

  The fair-haired magician dashed by Reon, heading straight for the Library. “Stop,” she called out. “You’ll get killed!”

  Owl placed a hand on her knee. “Don’t worry. That’s Tommy.”

  Reon glanced back to where she had seen four Gate assaulting Tommy earlier. A dozen wooden spikes had impaled them, each spike sticking straight out of the ground as if it had taken years to grow in that spot. But they had not been there before. She was sure of it.

  Tommy skidded to a halt, kicking up dust at the marble stairs. He lifted his hands and concentrated on a tattoo that sleeved his right arm. The Library still clicked like rusty metal falling apart but the pulses of light dimmed.

  Reon released a breath, not realizing she had been holding it. But her relief was short-lived. The Library brightened. Bits of green and red and yellow light poked through the cracks and crevices spidering their way up from the base.

  Tommy’s arms shook. A high tone filled the air as if a tea kettle for a giant had gone off. Reon smelled burnt wood.

  “Please, Malja,” Harskill said, lowering to one knee. “Please don’t let so many more die for what cannot be stopped.”

  Malja stared down at him, incredulous and shocked. “After all of this, you think I would just stand aside?”

  “I thought you would see reason. I thought you had compassion for those you fight for. I thought you would finally understand that the only way you’ll ever be able to protect those you care about is to join me. Please. Come stand by my side and rule.”

  “You’ve lost all sense of reality.”

  Harskill’s shoulders lowered with his head. He took a breath and hissed. Malja’s muscles tightened as she jumped back. Harskill stood, his face reddening in fury.

  Reon reached down and clasped Owl’s hand. She had never seen Harskill so enraged. If he did anything to kill them all, she wanted to have some kind of contact with another person — even if it was as simple as a held hand.

  A thick cylinder formed out the back of Harskill’s do-kha. For a brief interval, it looked like a metal rod. Then it exploded outward, stretching like a bolt of lightning across the sky, until it slammed into Tommy’s chest. The young man dropped back with his hands thrown wide.

  The Library detonated a massive blast of magic. Reon shielded her eyes against the burning brightness and turned her back to the building. A heavy wind blew like a tornado chewing apart the plains. She heard terrified shrieks as the gusts knocked people over the edge of the gorge. The wind rippled Owl’s bandages, and he shouted his pain. He clenched Reon’s hand, and in response, she brought her other hand around and held him tighter. Her do-kha spread out like a black blanket to cover them both.

  Just as fast, the wind died. Reon glanced back. A flaming beam of energy rose into the air from the base of the platform. It encompassed the entire Library tower and continued straight into the sky. Reon could see no end to it.

  On the platform, Malja stood firm. Her do-kha had spread out like the roots of a tree, locking her down against the wind. Harskill had not moved, either. Though Reon could not see how his do-kha had helped him achieve the feat, she knew it had to have done something to protect him.

  He gazed upward at the Library’s magic beaming into the sky. It oscillated between two gentle notes — a quiet, background song with no direction. Harskill put out his hands as if presenting the Library to Malja.

  “Look at this marvel,” he said. “A natural wonder to behold. This energy is connecting to all the worlds in all the universes at once. No portal magic could ever begin to equal this.”

  Malja’s do-kha remained in its tree root form. She struggled to break it free, but it would not let go of the platform.

  Harskill gestured to those on the battlefield. “Do you all see the majesty and the power of this magic? This is why we have come. And now, my dear family of Gate, I will fulfill my promise to you. I will elevate you from powerful beings that manipulated worlds into gods that rule them.”

  Owl extracted his hand from Reon’s tight grip. “What is he planning?”

  “I don’t know,” Reon said. “But I don’t like the sound in his voice.”

  Reon’s do-kha folded back in as she got behind Owl, grabbed him under the arms, and pulled him further away from the platform. She apologized at every one of his grunts or groans, but she did not stop. One monk sitting next to the body of another monk watched her drag Owl. He never offered to help. When she finally had to rest, she knew they had not gone far enough.

  “I need to find us a horse. Or maybe I can make a stretcher to drag you out. I’m not sure I see very much that I can use.”

  “Stop. If he intends to destroy us, we won’t be able to get far enough away to prevent it.”

  “But —”

  “These may be our final moments of life. Do you want to spend them uselessly being frantic or do you want to spend them happy?”

  She looked back at Harskill. He pulled out the Soul of the Sun and held it in front of his face. The orb glowed in his hand, its colors matching those of Library. It even pulsed in time with the Library. She couldn’t hear Harskill’s words, but there was no mistaking the delight on his face — a mixture of the joy of success and the relish of vengeance. For him, she had no doubt, this meant vengeance for a broken heart.

  As he said some final words, Reon realized his intentions. She turned to Owl. “We’re all going to die because of me. All of this is my fault.”

  Owl brushed her cheek. His dark skin reflected in the sunlight like an ebony statue perfectly crafted. He smiled. “Events this big cannot all rest upon one shoulder. We each have had a part in this.”

  “But I stole —”

  “None of that matters now. Nothing exists now but us. You understand? Forget your worry, your guilt, your shame. Clear your mind of all troubles because there is nothing left for us to do, and if we are to go into the next life, we should do so with our souls in a state of love not fear.”

  He pulled her close, and she did not resist. Her mouth opened. As they pressed together in a kiss, as her heart hammered its reaction to Owl, she tried to focus on the salty taste of his lips, the sweet aroma of his sweat, the gentle peace he offered in his words. She tried to blot out wha
t she knew happened behind her.

  But she could not do so entirely. Part of her stepped outside herself, stepped away from her desperate embrace, and pictured Harskill facing the Library. He shouted one final word, perhaps a call to his old world, to those Gate who had died with the destruction of all he had known, perhaps a cry of vengeance. And he plunged the Soul of the Sun into the Library’s beam of magic.

  Chapter 29

  Malja

  Right before Harskill pulled out the Soul of the Sun, Malja thought he might be losing his mind. After he shoved the orb into the Library’s beam, she knew it for certain.

  She flinched, expecting a blast worse than the one they had already endured. But nothing came. The beam changed color, turning a deep orange like smoldering embers, but nothing more happened.

  Sweat tickled her sides. Sweat? Her do-kha had stopped cooling her body. It still retained its root-structure shape, and she could not get it to change back.

  Then she heard the scream.

  A tortured sound from high above. Portals snapped shut cutting Gate in half. As their limbs flipped through the air, spinning down to the ground, those that still had heads screeched in sheer terror. Other Gate, those standing on the ground, looked at each other in confusion. A few shook their arms, others kicked out their legs — all appeared unable to get their do-kha’s to respond.

  “Is it clear now?” Harskill asked in a soft tone. He spoke only to Malja with an intimacy she refused to meet.

  “What’s clear is that you’re mad,” she said full-voiced.

  “The Soul of the Sun — it controls do-kha. With it in my hand, I can control all the do-kha here. With it inside the Library, I can control all the do-kha in every world.”

  Malja strained against her do-kha, but the thing would not budge. She had no intention of remaining pinned to the platform — especially with Harskill exulting over her. Without another word, she opened the do-kha’s neck clasp and peeled back the soft clothing. She stepped out into the humid air wearing nothing more than her underwear and holding Viper at the ready. Not having her do-kha felt like she had lost an ally, but she still knew how to take care of herself.