The Way of the Soul (17 page)

“We are headed to the world of Corlin and Penmarvia. We are headed to the Library.”

Chapter 17

Malja

Like the husky roar
of a konapol, twenty young students shouted as they blocked an imaginary opponent and followed up with a palm-heel strike to an imaginary chin. Malja paced in front of the rows, barking out the count as if she had been training novices how to fight for years. Owl had been right — this was a perfect use of her for the moment. Nobody else would be able to get these kids anywhere close to fighting-shape before the next gang of thugs came around.

The hot Krysstaprime sun baked the ground. It had been a long time since Malja knew the season. Jumping from one world to another disoriented the body from such basic concepts. One world would be burning under the height of a hot season, and with a step through a portal, the world entered might be in the depths of a blizzard. Day and night also followed no predictable pattern. Spending more than a few hours at the Order, however, had brought back to her mind the way seasons should operate — the way she had learned while growing up.

“Again! One!”
Yah!
“Two!”
Yah!
“Three!”
Yah!

She observed the monks’ form. Not bad. A few might even successfully block and counter an actual attack. That is, if they didn’t pass out. All of the monks dripped with sweat and gasped for air.

They were too young. When Owl had been trained, he had no battles brewing on the horizon. He had the luxury of spending days like this, working hard until the muscles refused to go any further, yet always having the time to recuperate before the next training session. By the time he entered his teens, he was already at the peak of fitness.

But these monks had not been through such a regiment. Most had only joined the Order recently. Many had joined, most likely, as they watched Penmarvia devolve into a lawless state. They sought a safe haven from the marauding gangs. Many were probably angry to learn that even the Order had to worry about such things.

She heard the boy chuckle before she caught him. Tall and thin with floppy brown hair. “You,” she said pointing right at him — she hadn’t bothered to learn their names.

The boy straightened; his smirk vanished. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You think this is funny? Going over these drills?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Well, something’s funny enough to distract you from focusing on the lessons that may save your life very soon.”

“Sorry, ma’am. I thought I saw a friend over there,” the boy said, raising his arm.

Malja didn’t bother to look where the boy indicated. Instead, she grabbed his forearm and yanked. Off-balance to begin with, the boy stumbled forward. As he clumped by Malja, she smacked him hard on the back, sending him into the dirt.

“Congratulations. You’re dead.”

She stepped back and eyed the whole group. They got the message. Even the boy hurried back into place. He brushed the dirt off his clothes but kept his eyes on Malja. Good. He wouldn’t be fooled so easily again.

She stared at them a moment longer. They all remained still, eyes forward, faces stoic. Mostly. Some chins trembled. There might be hope yet. “Get some rest. I want you all back in two hours for another round of training.” The students scattered like little nyloaches running from firelight.

“You know,” Fawbry said from several feet back, “you have them properly terrified of you.”

“They should be terrified of what’s coming, not me.”

“We’ve been through a lot worse than a bunch of gangs.”

“I didn’t say I was terrified.”

Amused, Fawbry said, “That is true. But you are concerned.” A stone stairway led up to where archers still patrolled the wall. “Come on. I think there’s a breeze up top.”

As they climbed the stairs, Malja poked Fawbry in the ribs. “How’s your job going?”

While Malja trained the physical side of the students, Fawbry had been tasked with the spiritual. Only a few people in the area were as well-versed in the Book of Kryssta, and none of them lived close by. Because of this, Owl thought it best for Fawbry to educate the students on the subject.

“It’s going about as well as your training. They’re eager to learn, but they have a long way to go.” Fawbry stopped on the stairs and looked back at Malja. “You know something worse happened here besides the loss of Chief Master Kee. Right? I mean, they had to have lost just about anybody who had any practical knowledge or skills. Look at us. By Kryssta, we’re helping them rebuild this Order from the ground.”

Malja didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. Of course she knew that something worse had happened. Owl had shifted into a survival mode. He did all he could to keep the Order running, but unless these students could go from novice to adequate in a short time, Malja feared Owl’s plans would fall to pieces.

When they reached the top, Malja rested her elbows on the cold stone. She leaned over and looked out across the field. It seemed hard to believe that a handful of years ago she had looked out upon this same field — back then, she saw an army and magicians, all threatening to tear the Order into shreds. Despite the gentle breeze that blew across her face, Malja knew that in a short time, these calm fields might once more become sodden with blood.

On the horizon, an orange glow pulsed like a morning sun that refused to rise. But it wasn’t morning, and that was no sun. Even under the blazing noon sky, Malja could see that glow for what it was — the Library.

Tommy would be there now, trying to help contain the magic that grew from the Library in steady waves. Nobody knew what would happen if they allowed it to go loose, and nobody wanted to find out.

Except maybe Fawbry. “Considering some of the worlds we’ve seen, maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to let that thing loose and let it do whatever it does.”

Malja grimaced. “But here? Corlin? Penmarvia?”

“What’s so special about this place? I mean, the monks can’t even choose the next Chief Master when it should obviously be Owl. Why? Politics. Do they let one of the old guard continue to run things even if he is the most qualified? And I’m sure some monks are trying to maneuver themselves into a better position, not for right now, but to be Chief Master in a year or ten years. Nobody seems to actually care about fixing the problems of today. Besides, if we let the Library blow, then I won’t have to visit my family and be pressured into a marriage.”

Malja chuckled. “Why don’t you just tell them about Hirasa?”

“What? No. She’s not — that is — we’re —” Fawbry spluttered on for a moment until he finally blushed and grinned.

Malja patted him on the shoulder. “Whenever you’re ready, she’ll be ready.”

“You think?”

“It’s me. I know these things.”

Now it was Fawbry’s turn to chuckle.

Malja said, “The thing about the Library is that none of us should have the right to decide which worlds deserve saving and which do not. You’re not Kryssta or even Korstra. I know there are worlds we’ve seen that want to treat me like a god, but I’m not. No matter what Harskill and other Gate say, none of us are gods. The universe has proved that there are no gods.”

“You can believe that if you want, but I still believe in the Book of Kryssta.”

“Even after all you’ve seen? All the other worlds with their other religions and gods and all their petty squabbles? All the cruelty we’ve seen? You still believe?”

“More than ever. The Brother Gods are what keep the world in balance, keep all of us in all our worlds in balance. Without my faith in them, I don’t think I’d have survived any of this. I’d have lost my mind a long time ago.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. You definitely lost your mind.”

Fawbry offered a brotherly smile. Malja turned back to the field. She heard the singsong of birds and the rustling of leaves in the breeze. Even the air smelled peaceful and calm with bursts of flowery fragrances passing over her.

But then two monks walked into the field. They were quiet but made some noise nonetheless. Malja and Fawbry both understood exactly what these monks were doing — everybody living since the Devastation knew how to scavenge. The surprising part, though — they did not scavenge food or materials for the Order walls.

Instead, they pulled aside a group of fallen branches to reveal the remnants of an old grounder. The vehicle had only two wheels and required good balance to ride, but this particular grounder would not travel anytime soon. Rust covered the metal and its frame had been bent at wrong angles. The monks made quick work of dismantling several pieces and scurrying back to the Order with their finds.

“Guess that’s how they found enough parts for their four-wheelers downstairs,” Malja said.

Fawbry concentrated on the monks until they were out of sight. “I’ve been thinking,” he said. Then quickly added, “Don’t make a joke.”

She straightened and bit back on her sarcasm. He knew her too well. Then again, sarcastic comments were Fawbry’s reign.

Fawbry cleared his throat. “Maybe it’s time to stop. We’ve been through a lot, and we’ve done a lot of good, but you can’t save everyone. Like you said — we’re not gods; we’re not immortal. Every time we come out to these worlds and get involved in these fights, we risk our lives. Over and over, we do this. How many times can we win? We can’t go on like that forever.”

“How can we stop when we know others need our help? When we have the ability and the power to make a difference for them?”

“There were heroes before you — long before you. And there will be heroes long after you. Somebody will take up the fight. You’ve done your part.”

“Your girlfriend had a similar thing to say to me. You two trying to collude?”

“Well, you know me better than that. Besides, I’ve barely had a chance to see her lately, and when I did see her, we didn’t do much talking.”

Malja frowned. She believed him, and that meant she couldn’t dismiss his words as the result of colluding with Hirasa. She had to consider what he actually said.

She thought of Chief Master Kee. His death was a direct result of her actions in fighting the Bluesmen. They had fought hard in this land, and she had gone on to fight hard in other lands and other worlds. But who was she actually saving?

Part of her argued back with the obvious — that she had saved countless people. All those Carsites who had survived the war now lived free of fear. That is, until Harskill returned and devastated that community once again. And why had he done that? To get Malja’s attention. To force her action. Nothing to do with the Carsites. It all rested on her.

She spit over the wall into the field.

“Sometimes I feel like doing the same,” a deep voice said.

Malja whirled around to discover that Fawbry had gone and been replaced by Owl. “Shouldn’t you still be with that council trying to figure out who’ll be the next Chief Master?”

“If Chief Master Kee rose from the dead and pointed at one of the monks and said, ‘I want him to be the next Chief Master,’ I still don’t think they’d be able to come to an agreement.”

“Fawbry’s right then. They’re all ignoring the present needs of everyone in favor of grabbing power for themselves or bettering their positions.”

Owl put his foot on the wall and rested his elbow on his knee. “That’s politicians. Is there any other kind?”

“In Corlin, there’s pretty much no government, no politicians. Sometimes there were town leaders, but they didn’t have much authority. We did pretty well.”

“Corlin’s hardly a thriving country.”

“But nobody’s stabbing you in the back just so they can make rules for everybody else.”

“Well, I guess anarchy does have its benefits.”

“To be fair, you had to be strong and good with a sword to survive. It really only worked because we were spread out far from each other.”

“I wish some of these monks would spread out far from me.” Owl scratched at his chin. “So why did you really come here anyway?”

Malja saw in Owl’s face remnants of the man she once knew — straight forward, practical warrior with a loyalty to his friends and faith in his own abilities. She thought of the Artisoll’s guardian, Stray. He had died for the Artisoll and other than Owl, he was the truest warrior she had ever encountered.

“I came here for you. To enlist your help in a battle that’s far greater than fighting for your Order or even Penmarvia.”

“Corlin, too?”

“More than that. For everything. It’s a long story, but that battle will wait. There’s no point if we can’t solve the small issues you have here.”

“That seems backwards. What’s the point in fighting these small battles here if there’s something much larger that’ll wash us all away?”

Malja gestured around the wall. “Because if you and I leave here, who is capable of leading this fight?”

A young voice, breathless and scared, called out. “Master Owl! Master Owl!” A moment later, a monk rushed up the stairs with Fawbry close behind. “Master Owl, there’s trouble at the Library. A group of strangers.”

Malja’s quizzical look brought a nod from Fawbry. “You’re not going to like this,” he said. “They described one of the men as wearing a black suit like yours.”