The Way of the Soul Read online

  If not for Tommy, however, Malja would still worry. All of Reo-Koll’s magic resided in the Artisoll. Such massive power, holding all of it in one being, could taint even the purest soul. But with Tommy at the Artisoll’s side, there was a chance. He had the strength to keep her from falling into poor choices — after all, he had done so with Malja for years.

  The tender warmth of the sun and the invigorating smell of seawater felt good upon her. She didn’t mind the ocean from this far up. She could see a handful of small homes dotting the stony beach. I’m not afraid of you. Just because bad things always happen on the water, I’m not afraid. I could even live in one of those houses. Wouldn’t bother me a bit. The ocean responded with a crash of waves that sounded like laughter. Hearing the waves crash and the wind blow, she could almost delve into her old self, think about how she hated the ocean and all the trouble it had brought to her, and allow herself to forget the swamplands and the fight she had with the strange Gate, Reon.

  Almost.

  Something didn’t feel right about that fight. Mostly, Reon would not leave Malja’s mind because of the girl’s inexperience. The naïve way she spoke of Harskill reminded Malja more of villagers on worlds where Harskill played god and less of another Gate. Plus, Reon showed a lack of control over her do-kha. That was odd, too. Perhaps Harskill’s army was nothing more than novices seeking power. With a simple display of his do-kha, he could have promised them anything, and they would give all their being to attain such strength. That would be worse than an army of experienced Gate. Novices were too unpredictable, too irrational.

  Malja walked back into the narrow waiting room, its white walls reflected the sunlight, making the room appear brighter and cleaner. Pink and white seashells the size of breastplates adorned the area above a wide couch. Malja hesitated before sitting on the soft furniture. She felt the dirt of a hundred worlds caked upon her.

  She tapped rhythms out on her knees and made clicking sounds with her mouth. Whenever she stopped, only the wind and waves would fill the silence. When the door opened, Malja sprang to her feet. It was only Fawbry.

  “Don’t look so disappointed,” he said.

  “I thought you were the attendant. Seems I’ve been waiting hours to see the Artisoll and Tommy.”

  “I know. Hirasa said that it gets harder and harder to see them. They spend most of their day dealing with the problems of running a world.”

  Malja raised an eyebrow. “So you visited with Hirasa?”

  Fawbry reddened. “Of course. She’s always the first person I want to see.”

  “And you’re back already? Poor Hirasa. I would’ve expected you to take longer.”

  “Hey. I don’t hear any complaints coming from her.”

  “Maybe she tells me and not you.”

  “I highly doubt that.” Fawbry hesitated and cocked his head to the side. “Has she talked with you?”

  Malja’s sly grin was her only answer.

  Whether to change the subject or out of honest curiosity, Malja couldn’t tell, but Fawbry gestured to her hair and said, “I think all this fighting is finally getting to you. I see a bit of gray there.”

  “You’ll see the red of your own blood, if you say that again.”

  Fawbry chuckled. Malja, however, was not amused — the shaking hands, the soreness, and now the gray hairs.

  As she headed back towards the balcony, the door opened once again. This time, a well-dressed attendant stepped forth. She wore a yellow and red cape, formal clothing embroidered with vines and flowers — a regal look that amused Malja. With a slight bow, the attendant said, “The Artisoll will now see you.”

  As they headed out of the room, the attendant put out her arm and blocked Fawbry’s way. “Just her.”

  Malja looked at Fawbry and shrugged. “Wait here.”

  She followed the caped attendant down a series of halls that ended in a wide double-door. They walked through, entering Castle Tunistall’s large throne room. Marble statues lined the walls depicting hard-working villagers standing with strength and humility. An exquisite mosaic of colored stones decorated the floor. Representatives of Dovell, Bechstallon, and Ro each stood by one of the walls with their entourages surrounding them like soldiers. In the middle, the smaller countries each had their representatives. They mulled about like nervous children at a school dance.

  A hush overcame the room as all eyes turned toward Malja. The attendant ignored the crowd’s attention and headed straight across the room. Malja followed.

  Whenever she had visited Tommy and the Artisoll in the past, she had come at night. She would meet them in their private rooms where they could conduct their business without the whole of Reo-Koll knowing. The Artisoll thought it better that her people remained unaware that she spent any of her magical energy on the problems of other worlds. Even with all that power, the Artisoll still had to deal with politics. Malja hoped her brazen daytime appearance did not hurt things.

  At the far end, atop two wide platforms, sat the castle’s old throne. Dust collected upon the gold arms and deep cushions. The attendant climbed the platforms and opened a door off to the side of the throne. She glanced back and gestured.

  Malja wanted to whip out Viper and cut out all the staring eyes. But nobody entered the castle armed. Viper lay on her bed back at her apartment — a small, practical, one bedroom provided by the Artisoll.

  As Malja walked through the doorway, the attendant bowed. She would not be coming further. Malja pressed on alone, down a short empty hall that ended in a plain, wooden door. Before she could knock, the door opened. Another attendant bowed. Inside, Malja saw the Artisoll and Tommy smiling back at her.

  They sat at a chipped, wooden table in a barely furnished room. The low ceiling looked close to collapsing while the scuffed floor felt uneven. The wall to the right consisted mostly of an enormous window looking upon the ocean — the only luxury to be found.

  The Artisoll and Tommy rose from their chairs — as did a young man dressed as one of the Holy Men. The Holy Men spent most of their lives searching Reo-Koll for the next Artisoll. This one, however, had a different task. This one served as the Artisoll’s voice.

  “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, t
hough 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.