The Way of the Blade (7 page)

“I might just like that.”

“I bet you would.” They both laughed with gusto, but Tommy seemed hesitant. “What about you?” Javery asked him. “Anybody catch your eye?”

Fawbry said, “He doesn’t talk. But he’ll let you know. Don’t worry.”

An uncomfortable silence settled on them as they nursed their drinks. Javery chastised himself for not thinking through his approach sooner. He knew how to be smooth when it came to politics, but it helped to have a plan.
Think, think.
Small talk clearly had failed. So, Javery decided to be direct.

“We can’t thank you enough for saving us. You have no idea how much these people have suffered from the Scarites. To have lost more due to a wellspiker would have been too painful.”

“Glad to help.”

“I only wish I could convince your leader to stay with us. She is an incredible fighter. I know she could dispatch our enemy with ease.”

A darkness passed over Fawbry’s eyes. “Killing is never easy. Not for her. Finding that line to walk on can be difficult.”

“That line?”

“Between murder and justice. Where we came from, we saw a lot of killing. Malja’s probably seen more than most. But I suspect all of her kills were justified in one way or another. Though she might not see it that way.”

“Helping us wouldn’t be justified?”

“That depends. I’m sure it’s justified for you. But for us, how we come into it matters. If we’re no better than hired swords, we’re murderers. If we’re saving lives, maybe we’re not.”

“Why else do we ask for you, if not to help save our lives?”

“Like I said — it’s a difficult line to find.”

“Well, I can only pray to Carsite that she chooses for you to help us. If not, perhaps you could convince her to leave us with some of her magic.”

“Malja doesn’t have any magic.”

“When Harskill came, he left the Scarites with enough magic to cause all our troubles. Surely, you have magic with you that can help us defend ourselves.”

Javery caught a look between Fawbry and Tommy. Before things went in the wrong direction, he waved his hand at them. “Please, I’m sorry. Ignore me. This is a time to relax and drink. I shouldn’t be pestering you with this kind of thing.”

“It’s not a problem.”

“Forget my ramblings. Drink yourself full, and I’ll introduce you to Windelly.” He stood, and with a move he hoped didn’t appear choreographed, he turned back and said, “Whatever magic Malja does or doesn’t have, please let her know she should not flash it about. People here can be touchy about magic.”

Again, he caught the men sharing a look. Fawbry said, “Touchy?”

Javery returned to his seat and leaned in. “We use magic, but we’ve had it used against us. And we get our magic from the Well. Only the gods like Harskill create magic of their own. Unless you believe in yorqs.”

“Just an old myth. Horrible creatures made of horns that protect the island of Pali. Back in the old days, men would travel out with the hope of gaining great power. But nobody ever returned. That last part is very true. Even in my lifetime, I’ve seen two men attempt to find the Pali Witch. They leave, but never come back. So, you have to be beyond desperation to go. Maybe if Malja rejects us, we’ll reach that point. For now, we hope to fight the Scarites without the hand of a witch.”

He couldn’t be sure how effective this talk had been, but he had learned long ago that good politics often were achieved by sowing seeds early. And when the decision would come in one day, the night before was as early as he could manage. Tapping his hands on the table, he said, “Come. Let’s go meet that fine girl.”

Chapter 7

Malja

Javery had arranged for Malja to enjoy a private room and for Fawbry and Tommy to share one down the hall. Malja’s accommodations included a wide bed that floated a foot off the floor, a circular table made of wood, and two candles that hovered high enough to spread light everywhere one needed. On the table, Malja saw a basket filled with fruit — at least, Malja thought it was fruit because she recognized an apple. It might have been a backhanded slight, but she didn’t care. It looked delicious.

At first, she had been unable to move in the room. It was too refined for her. She wanted a tent and a campfire. But it was more than that. She couldn’t stop thinking about the wellspiker and how it had fixated on Tommy. Javery had assured her that wellspikers were loners, and the likelihood that another would be in the area anytime soon was remote. But remote didn’t mean impossible.

Under other circumstances, she would have asked for rooms on one of the floating farms, but with all that had happened — especially Fawbry and Tommy’s theft — she thought such a request would be a bad move. Instead, she’d have to be vigilant on Tommy’s behalf.

From the fruit basket, she snatched the apple and sat on the edge of the bed. The air cushioning the hay-filled mattress made Malja think of clouds. No way could she sleep on that. The wood floor would serve her much better.

A single bite of the apple electrified her taste buds and flooded her mind with images of long ago. She saw Uncle Gregor, the man who had saved her from dying in the woods and raised her as his own, and she recalled how they would pick apples together — eating them, baking them, even fermenting them. But she also pictured Harskill — for he had introduced her to the people she had come from. Well, the
idea
of the people, at least. Other than Harskill, Malja had yet to meet another Gate, but she expected to do so soon enough. If even half of what he had told her contained any truth, her people would take notice of the flagrant meddling Harskill had done here, and they would not let it go.

Someone knocked on the door. “Malja? It’s Fawbry and Tommy.”

“Come in.”

They burst into the room, harried and bearing red marks on their necks. Fawbry looked about to launch into a long tale when he halted and stared at the room. “This place is huge. And that bed! They gave us a couple cots and a closet.”

“What do you want?”

Fawbry cleared his head. “Tommy and I were out ... walking.”

“I’m sure.” Malja knew love bites when she saw them. She avoided looking at Tommy. Just the thought of that sweet boy in the arms of some slut rankled her.

“We heard something odd, something we’ve got to go look into right now.” Fawbry spoke in a hushed tone and kept glancing at the door as if he thought somebody might sneak in to overhear.

Malja threw her apple core at him. “I’m sure he heard plenty of odd things watching you rut with the first girls you met. He’s still a boy in many ways and doesn’t need such a corrupt influence —”

“The Book of Kryssta says —”

“How can you bring up religion now? How can you even believe in Kryssta anymore after all we’ve heard?”

Fawbry crossed his arms and cocked his head. “What have we heard that would stop me believing in the Brother God?”

“You don’t think that story of Carsite and Scarite, two brothers fighting over the beautiful Pali, you don’t think that bears a resemblance to the story of the brother gods, Kryssta and Korstra, fighting over the beautiful Elatria?”

“Not at all. One is a true religion concerning the real past and the real brother gods. The other is a story told by these backwards people who wanted to kill me and Tommy for eating an apple.”

“And what do you think they’ll do to you two if they find out you’re seducing their girls.”

“They’re grown women. I’m a grown man.”

“Tommy’s not.”

“According to the
true
religion, the one forged by and for the great Brother God, he is. The Book of Kryssta says, ‘Five years to grow, five years to play, five years to learn, then a man is born.’ Tommy’s at least sixteen, probably more.”

“Age doesn’t make him a man and neither does screwing.”

Fawbry stepped up close to Malja. “Neither does killing.”

Malja’s eyes burned. “You don’t have to push the boy.”

“He’s a man, and you’re not his mother.”

“You’re getting awfully bold in the way you speak to me.”

Tommy wedged his way between them and pushed them apart. He pointed at Malja, shook his head, and then motioned his hands as if rubbing away her thoughts. He cupped his ear, pointed at it, and then pointed at Fawbry.

Though still glowering, Malja opened her mouth enough to make a few words. “Fine. What did you hear that was so out of place that you had to barge in here and ruin my evening?”

Fawbry checked the room’s door once more. Then he said, “Secretive whispering. And your name.”

Malja grimaced. She grabbed her coat and Viper. “Come on. Show me.”

Outside the building, they walked around the perimeter — listening and searching. Warm air gusted through, kicking up dirt that sprinkled against the leaves of low plants and the walls of the low buildings. A few windows glowed with candlelight, but otherwise, nothing turned up.

Fawbry threw a stick into the darkness. “You took too long arguing with me. Whoever was out here talking about you is gone.”

Watching the darkness for movement, Malja said, “If you keep yelling at me, you’ll scare off anybody still hiding out there.”

Leaning his back against the nearest building, Fawbry quieted down. Malja searched for any differences in the shadows, any sign of a person trying not to be seen. In the end, she shook her head and looked to Fawbry. But he wasn’t paying attention. His eyes were on Tommy.

Tommy sat near the building’s corner, his focus on his blank forearm. He looked at his arm with such intensity that Malja thought of the way magicians studied their tattoos in order to cast a spell. But his skin had lost its tattoos — most of them, anyway — and the few that remained were located on his chest and stomach.

The muscles in her chest squeezed as horrible ideas formed in her head. Then she saw a thin light appear on Tommy’s arm. The light held the shape of an old tattoo — wavy lines surrounding a short spiral — and then it disappeared.

Tommy stood and pointed into the dark.

Grabbing his arm, Malja looked over his skin. Not a single mark. “How did you do that?”

Fawbry walked over. “Is that what you’ve been practicing at each morning?”

“What?” Malja asked.

“Every morning when you went hunting for food, Tommy would sit calm and stare at his arms. I thought he was mourning the loss of his spell tattoos, or maybe he was meditating. I didn’t think he was practicing his magic.”

Back to Tommy, Malja said, “Is that right? Are you practicing magic again?” She knew how horrible she sounded, how hypocritical and wrong. But some attitudes could not be changed overnight.

Tommy wriggled his arm free and pointed into the dark again.

“Looks like he’s found whoever we’re looking for,” Fawbry said.

Tommy raised and lowered his head with hard, emphatic motions. Then he waved for them to follow, and before Malja could protest, he dashed off.

Malja and Fawbry followed close behind. They rushed down a small hill, crossed a dry riverbed, and climbed a smaller hill. They weaved around the rock formations that jutted from the ground. At length, they reached the edge of a sparse forest that looked more like a failed orchard than a thriving wilderness. Tommy sidestepped behind a dead tree and motioned for the others to do the same.

Squatting by a tree four feet over, Malja cocked her head in the direction Tommy pointed. Fawbry stood over her, his breathing loud to her ear. She elbowed him, and he scurried off to find his own tree.

As she turned back, she caught sight of two shadows — no, three — not far off, huddled close. Harsh whispers traveled back and forth between the shadows like a nasty negotiation. One shadow shifted back a step, and the moonlight caught a woman’s figure. She slid back into the dark and pulled out a bag from her robe. The other shadows grabbed the bag and inspected its contents closely.

Fawbry and Tommy had been right about the secret meeting, but Malja could not hear the whisperings well enough to know what they were discussing. A payoff had been made, but did any of it matter? Secret meetings and payoffs happened all the time in her world. Why should this one be so different? But if, as Fawbry had said, these shadowed figures mentioned Malja or Tommy or even Fawbry, that would change matters.

We should sneak closer. Just to make sure.

Malja signaled Tommy that she wanted to push forward. He nodded. She looked the other way for Fawbry and saw him inhaling deeply, arching back, and making a face that could only mean one thing — he was about to sneeze.

He did his best to muffle the sound. But in the stillness — where was a gust of wind when she needed one? — the short bursting sneeze magnified significantly. All three shadows lifted their heads toward Fawbry.

Only one thing to do. “Catch them,” Malja commanded and shot toward the woman.

Not three steps in, a blinding white light flashed. Malja had to drop to the ground. The light pierced straight through her eyes into her brain. Though no sound followed this brightness, Malja heard ringing in her ears.