The Way of the Soul (21 page)

Once she cleared a path, her first real challenge would be Bell Wake. Harskill would hold back, his heart at war with his brain. As always, his brain would win, and he would attack her. But Malja figured she had enough time to incapacitate Bell Wake first. She hoped.

“My dear,” Harskill said, his voice softening, even cracking a little. “You can see all around that I knew you would come here for me. And though you probably have convinced yourself that you’ve come here to kill me, the truth is that you have become fond of me.”

“I think you’ve inhaled too much campfire smoke.”

“How else can you explain that we’re both still here? You’ve had opportunities to kill me before, but you’ve held back.”

“I needed you alive to get information.”

“You needed me alive because without me, you would have felt lost and alone. You wanted me alive because I understand you. You are Gate. Who else but another Gate could possibly know what you know? Your friends are good to have around, of course, but they don’t grasp the burden and responsibility your great power brings with it. Why do you think I offered to marry you from the very first time we met? I assure you it wasn’t some romantic’s crush of instant love. Rather I offered because I knew we were unified in a way I’ve never felt with another Gate.”

Bell Wake frowned and gestured toward someone back by Owl. Malja scanned those in front of her — she did not see Reon anywhere. If Reon stood in the back and was the recipient of Bell Wake’s derisive look, then neither of them was pleased with Harskill’s love speech.

That meant their attention would be drifting from the immediate situation.

And that meant the time to strike had come.

“Owl,” she said firm and calm. “Now.”

Chapter 24

Reon

When Malja and Owl attacked,
Reon couldn’t have been happier. She had been looking for a fight throughout the evening, and nothing would be more satisfying than cracking Malja’s skull. After all, that harlot was the root of all the problems with Lord Harskill.

Hours earlier, Reon had left Sola in the trees so she could confront her god. Except Lord Harskill had no time to talk with her. Or no will. Bell stood in the way several times, and twice Reon backed off on her own when she saw Lord Harskill deep in conversation with Freen. By the time the sun set and soldiers hunkered down for the night, Reon knew she had missed her opportunities.

She wandered around the impromptu camp, itching for one of the gangs to make some inappropriate remark or advance — anything she could use as an excuse to brawl. But nobody bothered her. In fact, they all seemed to give her a wide berth as if they instinctively knew she would be trouble.

After a few hours, she had finally decided to sleep off her anger when a commotion broke out near Lord Harskill’s campfire. Malja and Owl had slithered their way in. Much to Reon’s surprise, Lord Harskill had expected this — those soldiers closest to his camp had feigned sleep in order to trap the would-be assassins.

Yet rather than kill them, Lord Harskill prattled on about their history and connection. Bell Wake shot her a look that said it all — Lord Harskill was in love with Malja. There could be no doubt. When it came to Malja, he failed to see the truth, and if she continued to blind him, he might lose sight of their whole purpose. Surely, peace for all outweighed the need for an individual love — even for a god.

Her stomach twisted each time she questioned Lord Harskill’s godliness, but she couldn’t stop. Events kept mismatching with words. That was fine for a god like Dulmul — generations of priests creating a fiction were bound to write a few contradictions. Lord Harskill, however, was no fiction. Reon stood on another world because of him. So why did he let Malja mess with their plans?

While he continued to talk, Malja shifted her body position. She was subtle, by Reon caught it. After a lifetime of devotion to Lord Harskill, she had learned to see subtle changes — always hoping each one would be a sign. None ever were.

The pressure boiling inside Reon urged her body to act. She could jump in and cut down both of them before Lord Harskill or anyone else could react. She could be the one to end this nonsense and open a clear way to the Library. Lord Harskill would be grateful for that. Eventually.

But as Reon eased her do-kha sleeves into fighting blades, Malja and Owl attacked.

A collective gasp sucked in the surrounding air. No one expected two people to take on an entire army. The sheer audacity of the attack bought these arrogant attackers a few seconds.

Malja swung her blade in a wide, shoulder-high circle. Two gang members leaning in too close lost their heads. At the same time, Owl dropped low and spun with his sword out. He clipped many calves and tendons as well as the knees of one unfortunate soul.

When Owl rose, he had a gun in his hand. He pointed it into the crowd. Soldiers and gang members dove out of the way, but Reon did not move. She watched Owl’s eyes. His target was farther back. He shot and one of the giant gorgut dropped like a felled tree. Blood spewed out of its eye, but it did not scream or react — it was already dead.

The time Malja and Owl had gained now vanished. The shock had worn off, and those who had been in battle before started to think. They outnumbered these two by so many that they could simply walk forward and crush their enemy, but of course, nobody would want to be on the front line of that maneuver.

Reon decided that the army needed to be awoken to the reality — that they had nothing to fear from these swords. “Attack them, you fools!”

Swords and clubs and axes appeared along with gritted teeth and angry howls. Reon lowered her body, ready to spring into action.

crackcrackcrack

A volley of gunshots rippled in the distance. Seven soldiers and a konapol dropped to the ground, blood pooling beneath them. All stopped as the army stared into the darkness.

crackcrackcrack

The gunshots rippled again, taking down another group of men and women. This time, however, Reon and the others saw the flames flashing out of the muzzles. In those flashes, they caught a glimpse of row upon row of rifle-carrying soldiers lined along the opposite side of the gorge. Malja and Owl had not attacked alone. They had a rifle squad protecting them from afar.

crackcrackcrack

Confusion took over. Gang members and soldiers dashed off — some from fear, others in a pointless attempt to organize. Animals bellowed while handlers struggled to regain control. Freen screamed out orders, but Reon could not understand his words amongst all the chaos.

She looked for Malja and Lord Harskill but could find neither one. Owl, on the other hand, she saw fine. He stood a few feet away and stared right at her. In one hand, he held his blade and in the other his gun. His fighting stance told her all she needed to know.

With her blades at the ready, she bent her knees and slid her left foot forward. Like a fencing master, she approached her enemy. Years of training flooded her body, letting her mind look for information while her legs and arms reacted without thought.

She saw how Owl held his shoulders — mostly relaxed but with a slight twist in the back. At will, he could unleash that muscle and create a fast, powerful strike. His chest moved up and down with steady, controlled breathing. His face portrayed a dead calm.

A brutish man with a club yelled as he swung at Owl. Reon watched closely as Owl sidestepped with minimal effort. As the man stumbled by, Owl cracked the back of his head with the gun butt while simultaneously slicing into the man’s side. He died as he fell to the ground.

Owl’s eyes, even his stance, returned to face Reon. He knew where the real threat waited. She could see him evaluating her just as she did to him.

She inched closer. No matter what, she had to always maintain a firm, balanced stance. One misstep, one moment off kilter, and he would destroy her.

He shifted his feet and raised the sword into a position more suited for a lunge than a swipe. Smart. With all the people and animals running around as obstacles, a swipe might get caught up whereas a straight lunge would have a better chance of hitting the target.

As she neared him, she could see the firelight against his face. He was a handsome man. Even more handsome than Lord Harskill.

Two creatures — four-armed men with scaly skin and craggy heads — charged forward. Owl leaped to his right, slamming his elbow into the chin of one creature. As the other closed in, Owl jabbed his sword forward. He missed, but both creatures stopped their rushing attack and opted for a more cautious approach.

Bad move. As they attempted to intimidate him with their growls, Owl advanced. With a fluid motion, he dropped to one knee, ducking under a clumsy swing to the head, and came back up with his sword cutting through the creature’s thigh. As that thing tumbled down with a crimson river gushing out of its leg, Owl stepped in close to the other creature. Before that one could react with a punch or grab, Owl used the butt of his gun in five rapid-fire hits. Each one cracked a rib as Owl worked his way up to a final blow to the skull that dropped his opponent.

Reon licked her lips as she watched. Her old masters had taught her much and they were quite skilled, but they never had the grace and conservation of motion that Owl displayed. Every step, every strike flowed with precision. And no magic. He had several opportunities to use magic if he had any, but the only weapons he used were his sword and gun.

Several other creatures, a few soldiers, and some gang members had formed a wide circle around Owl. Reon could tell that none of them dared to attack. If they were smart, they’d all attack at once. No matter how skilled Owl might be, he could never fight off that many opponents at once. But, they were not so smart. And even more importantly, they were afraid.

Besides, none of them wanted to take the leadership role. That would be a suicide position. A fighter like Owl would target any leader right away, knowing that this so-called army had no discipline and would fall apart fast without a leader.

Fine by Reon. That nobody wanted to take on Owl merely meant he’d be more of a real challenge. And she needed a good fight.

Reon struck. She pulled off an old favorite move — leaping at an angle instead of straight on and then attacking from the side. She thrust her do-kha blades in a double-uppercut.

Owl spun while holding his sword downward from the shoulder. The blade deflected Reon’s do-kha, and Owl followed up with his gun butt. Reon tilted backward, narrowly avoiding a bone-breaking strike.

As Owl completed his spin, he whipped his sword around and slit the throat of a nearby soldier. He grabbed the body before it had time to fall and tossed it at Reon. She spun out of the way, bringing her blades up high in case Owl charged behind. But he did not. He had only used the corpse to give him time to reset his stance and get a moment of observing his opponent.

“You’ve been well-trained,” he said.

Reon popped back into a fighting stance. “All out of bullets?”

“One shot left. So, it’s got to be important.”

“I’m not important enough?”

Owl grinned. “Oh, I get the feeling shooting you would be a crime against all that’s holy.”

Reon hesitated. Did he just flirt? She wanted to smile, but her next thought darkened her brow. He must be toying with her.

Her nerves tingled and her muscles flexed. Breathing like a bull, she lowered her head but kept her eyes on Owl. She felt the change before seeing the result — her do-kha blades had reformed. They had a slight curve now, ending in sharp points, and jagged prongs lined the outer-edges.

She jumped forward, moving her arm-blades in a swimming motion. As Owl deflected one blade, the next came down upon him. The moment he evaded that attack, the first had come around again for another try. Over and over, she pressed him.

Owl’s sword flashed back and forth while he dodged and pivoted. Each strike cut away some of that demeaning smile until his face showed nothing but concentration on survival. That was more like it. Reon wanted him to know that she was a serious threat, and his expression told her he got the message.

But he clearly wanted her to know the same. On her next strike, he darted right and knocked over a passing soldier — a fur-covered ball of muscle. Owl stepped on its back and launched into the air. He soared back toward Reon with his sword slashing for her throat.

He caught her shoulder, but her do-kha hardened, knocking the blade off at an angle toward her head. The do-kha elongated from her shoulder, creating a wall which stopped the blade. But it couldn’t stop physics. Owl collapsed upon Reon.

He led with his knee, catching her in the sternum and knocking the wind from her lungs. She wrenched her arm at him, and her blade cut into his bicep. Clutching the wound, he fell over.

Reon tried to get up, but the pain in her chest slowed her. She heard screaming from afar — more falling victims to the rifles across the gorge. Funny, she never heard the gunfire.

At length and with short breaths that burned into her ribs, she managed to stand. Owl had taken the time to rip a strip of cloth from his shirt and tie it around his arm wound. Drenched in sweat, he stood and reset for another round of fighting. Reon wanted to take advantage of his slower movements, but her own recovery kept her still.