The Way of the Soul (13 page)

An hour later, Reon slipped out of bed and headed down the hall. Her legs ached pleasantly. Her lips tanged with the longing to find Lord Harskill’s mouth once more. She had been drunk before and high once, but neither came close to the bliss her body felt when entered by a god.

She walked to the kitchen, and it all rushed away. Her mother stood at the counter filling a glass with pear whiskey.

“Mom? What are you doing here?”

“I’m your mother. I haven’t heard from you in days. You really think I would simply ignore that? It’s insulting.”

“I see. You didn’t care at all about me; you were insulted that I hadn’t called since our last little spat.”

“If you’re going to be rude to me, at least do so with some decency. You look like a whore in that robe.”

Reon reached for a glass from the upper-cabinet, making sure to let her robe fall open. After pouring herself a glass of whiskey, Reon said, “Okay, you were worried about me and ... wait a minute, how did you get in my apartment?”

“Do you really think your father and I would simply let you live anywhere without being protected? We’ll always have access to wherever you are. That way, should anything happen to you, we can take care of you, be there for you.”

Reon leaned against the kitchen door jamb. She glanced down the hall at her bedroom. Part of her wanted to haul her mother by the arm, kick in the door, and introduce her to a real god. But she held back. No way would her mother accept Lord Harskill over Dulmul. Nothing would change.

A strange thought entered Reon’s head — a powerful intuitive leap that rang of truth. “You know, don’t you?”

Her mother rolled her eyes. “What are you on about now?”

“He said I was switched, that you didn’t know, but I think he said that to be kind to me. Because you’ve always treated me as something lesser. You’ve always known, haven’t you? That I’m not your daughter.”

As her mother’s face dropped open, Reon saw the confirmation. No shock at the revelation, but rather fear at being discovered. Her mother shot back the rest of her whiskey and placed the glass on the counter with a loud click.

She looked at Reon with hardened eyes. “Now you listen to me. I am your mother, you are my daughter. It doesn’t matter what anyone else says.”

“But it’s true. You knew that I didn’t belong to you, yet you took me. Why? Why didn’t you take your actual child? What could have been so wrong that ... oh. I see.”

“You see nothing.” Her mother’s chin trembled as her eyes watered. Her voice cracked as she continued, “I was not suited for taking care of a child with so many needs.”

“You allowed this switch because your actual child was deformed? Or ill?”

“Dulmul knew the challenges I could face and the ones I could not. In his infinite wisdom, he presented this opportunity for me, and he wanted me to take it. I obeyed his command to do so.”

“You saw Dulmul?”

“Don’t be stupid. Of course not. But when you were brought to me instead of a son, the morning light broke through the window and cast a lovely orange color upon your face. A ray of sun on us both. That’s why I named you Reon. It was a sign from above. That was how I knew what Dulmul wanted. I signed the forms and from that moment forward you became my daughter, and that is how it has always been.”

Despite all the anger swirling in Reon’s chest, she felt a bit of pity. She couldn’t yell at this woman no matter how great her desire. All the past — the drinking, the religion, the fighting — it all made more sense through the filter of this new truth. Besides, her mother was right. Reon had been a gift from a god — just not the god her mother thought of.

Reon tied up her robe and hugged her mother. “It’s okay. You taught me that all things happen for a reason, that the world is connected, and I’m starting to see that now.”

“Of course I’m right about that. Why do you think I taught you?”

“Go home, Mom. Get some rest. We can talk about this another time.”

Reon’s mother straightened and jutted her chin out. “I don’t see that there’s anything to talk about. Get yourself together and stop looking so repulsive. I’ll see you for an extra lunch this month. Today.”

Reon stepped out of the kitchen and opened her apartment door. Her mother left without another word.

Walking back to her bedroom, Reon tried to forget — her mother, clones, adoptions, religion — tried to let it all lift off her shoulders and float away. Only Lord Harskill mattered. All the rest was folly.

When she entered her room, she found that Lord Harskill had dressed. She struggled to keep her face stoic. A god did not see relationships the same way as a mortal. She would be foolish to think of things meaning any more to him than what she could see on the surface. His depths were as different and unknowable as her depths to an insect. But she could hope.

“Will I ever see you again? When you return, will you ask me to do anything? Or is this really it? The end. Are we done?”

He stopped but did not look at her. She knew she shouldn’t have said anything — he didn’t like questions. He turned his head slowly, “You should get dressed.”

“I’m coming along with you?”

Lord Harskill grabbed her by the chin. “You have to stop your self-doubt. You’ll be meeting people and creatures and seeing other worlds. If you’re going to be effective at my side, you need to trust your instincts. Open your ears and eyes. All that you’ve trained for must be of use; otherwise, you are of no value to me.”

Reon bit back the smile threatening to overcome her face. “I can do that.”

Lord Harskill patted her on the cheek. “Good. Now hurry. We must meet with the others.”

As Reon rushed to get her clothes together, she looked around the room. This might be the last time she ever saw it. Should she bring something with her? No. The Lord Harskill will provide.

Then it struck her what he said. “What others?”

Chapter 13

Malja

Grunting as she swung her sword,
Hirasa aimed for Malja’s head. Malja ducked, waited for the attack to pass over, and popped up, blocking with her own sword. The wooden practice swords clacked together as Malja spun out of the way.

The Artisoll’s castle had many rooms, and high up near the top, Malja found this one to be perfect for training. It may have been used as a ballroom once, but when Malja stumbled upon it, the dust layer showed that nobody had been dancing on the floor in years. A little cleanup work and she had an excellent space for workouts — hardwood floors, open area, and wide windows. Some of the windows rested open allowing cool mountain air to waft inside. Clouds drifted by.

Hirasa thrust forward. Malja parried and readied for the next attack. It didn’t come.

Malja halted and shook her head. “You need to start thinking in attacks of three or more. One attack is easy to evade. A second attack is expected and blockable. But a third or fourth attack, multiple strikes, will eventually overcome an opponent.”

“But I can’t always be on the attack,” Hirasa said. “That would become predictable, too.”

“Good. You’re starting to see now. You have to mix attacking with defense, quick strikes with multiple blows, and it all must happen fast, without thinking about it.”

Hirasa dabbed at the sweat on her forehead before settling into position. She had learned all her basic skills while fighting the war on Carsite — among them, perseverance. Though Malja forced her to unlearn many of her habits, she never lost her desire to keep going. “Let’s try some more.”

The training sessions had been going on and off for the last year. Whenever Malja and Fawbry spent more than a day in Reo-Koll, Hirasa tracked her down and begged for another lesson. Malja happily obliged the eager learner partly because she saw a little of herself in Hirasa, but mostly because it helped keep her mind off of Harskill. It never completely worked.

Even as Hirasa launched into another attack with her practice sword, part of Malja’s mind knew that elsewhere in the castle Tommy and the Artisoll used their powerful magic in an attempt to locate Harskill. Part of her knew that because she had time to train Hirasa meant that Tommy and the Artisoll had not met with success.

The do-kha signature they had followed before could no longer be found. Tommy suggested that the Soul of the Sun might be blocking Harskill’s do-kha signature. Right or wrong, the theory did not matter to Malja — she only knew they couldn’t find Harskill.

Malja swung upward from a low position. Hirasa blocked with competence. However, instead of backing off and resetting for another attack, Hirasa placed a foot between Malja’s legs and checked her in the chest, sending her to the floor.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Hirasa offered a hand to help Malja up.

“Nothing to be sorry about. That was a good move. Remember that one.”

Malja hopped back to her feet and the training continued. Hirasa had proven to be a fast learner, limber and athletic, flexible and fierce. Though Malja’s body still moved with skill and strength, she had begun to feel all the abuse she had placed upon it. Like an old warhorse, she could still perform when needed but found battle to be more taxing than before.

Except she knew her biological age did not match her body anymore. She shouldn’t be an old warhorse — not yet. Her do-kha had taken those years away. Yet it gave so much. Without it, she could never have fought against the truly dangerous — those like Harskill.

Hirasa rushed in with her sword poised for an overhead double-strike. Malja pivoted on her left foot, blocked with her sword, and side-kicked with her right foot. She caught Hirasa just below the ribs with enough force to send her sprawling on the ground. Her practice sword went spinning across the floorboards.

Malja stood tall. The desire to follow through with another attack coursed through her blood. But with each slow breath, her senses returned. “Are you okay?”

Holding her side with one hand, Hirasa stood. “I’m sorry. That was my fault. I shouldn’t have left myself so open.”

“That’s true. But I shouldn’t have kicked you so hard. Training’s done for today.”

“I’m fine. We can keep going.”

Malja grabbed a cloth and wiped the sweat off her neck.

Hirasa waited a moment longer, clearly hoping that Malja would reset in a fighting stance for more training. When Malja walked over to the windows, however, Hirasa sighed and picked up her cloth.

Malja watched how the clouds floated across the sky, ignoring all that occurred below. All the strife, all the pain, all the fighting, all the death — none of it mattered to a cloud. She wondered why the thinking animals of the worlds couldn’t be as simple.

All her fighting had been to fix the worlds, stop the dangers, end the suffering. But her fighting had only led to more fighting. She wanted to stop, find another way, but every time she tried, the fight always came back to her.

“I’ve been in battle most of my life,” she said as Hirasa stepped next to her. “I’m not sure I’m any closer to bringing about a lasting peace.”

Hirasa snorted. “It’s rather foolish to think you can bring lasting peace. There’s no such thing.”

“It’s peaceful here. Or anywhere people don’t go.”

“People or no people, Nature is not peaceful. Animals fight to survive, and if they achieve comfort in survival, they fight for power. We’re not much more than an animal.” Hirasa gathered her things and punctuated her words with vigorous packing. “The problem isn’t that there are too many evil people or that there’s too much fighting or even that fighting begets fighting. The problem is that there aren’t enough people like you willing to fight back. That’s why the worlds need champions.”

Malja deflated. “But I’m getting old.”

“You are not old.”

“Maybe not in years, but I’ve lived a violent lifetime.”

Hirasa took Malja’s hand. “Yet you inspire others to do as you do. You inspire others to take over when you’re done. Others like me. With your blessing, I will continue on whenever you’re ready to stop. It’s not all on you. You don’t have to carry these burdens all alone.”

Malja looked at her scarred and calloused hand sitting in Hirasa’s tough but softer one. “You don’t choose this life. It just happens.”

“You’re wrong. Circumstance may be needed to create somebody like you, but a true champion steps forward and takes that position. Look at me. I fought against the Scarites alongside all my people. Yet none of them are here. None of them have stepped forward to be a champion. They all had experienced the horror of war and when it ended, they wanted to return to their businesses, their politics, their peace. Even after Harskill returned and hurt them, they did not want to help you like Fawbry has.”

“You can’t blame them for that.”

“I don’t. They are doing what most everyone does. They are surviving the best they can. But if we all did that, if we all refused to stand up against the evils in the world, then what happens? Nobody is there to stop the bad from spreading. That’s why you fight. It’s deep within. A desire to see Right and Good triumph. I know it because it’s in me too.” Hirasa clenched tighter around Malja’s fingers. “Let me prove it. You need an army. I volunteer to go back to Carsite. I will talk with Canto, and I will bring you any who will fight for you, the woman who fought for them.”