The Way of the Soul (22 page)

“You are quite surprising,” Owl said through heavy breaths.

“You expected less of Lord Harskill’s Queen?”

Owl shook his head as if reprimanding a naughty child. “I met you and your Lord out on the bridge, remember? You are not his Queen. Concubine, perhaps. Bodyguard, certainly. But not his Queen.”

“You know nothing.”

Reon scissored her arms, one high and one low. Owl jumped back, but Reon pursued him, scissoring her arms back open. Instead of evading, however, Owl closed the distance. He locked his blade against the jagged edge of hers and jammed his gun into the other blade. With a firm thrust kick forward, he caught her in the gut.

Despite the pain radiating down her legs, Reon forced her body straight and readied for another attack. Three massive explosions erupted. Fire and dirt spewed into the air along with the limbs of soldiers and creatures. The ground shook and sounds muted.

Reon struggled back to her feet, only then realizing she had been thrown to the ground by the explosions. A thick fog of dirt and smoke drifted in. Before she lost sight of the Library side, another blaze shot out of this new threat. She glimpsed three vehicles mounted with long cannon barrels.

“Another coming in!” Freen yelled from the darkness.

She dropped to the ground and covered her head. The impact vibrated the dirt and a hot wind crossed over her back.

She set her foot down and pushed. Such a simple act — trying to stand — yet her muscles, her balance, even her bones protested. When she finally stood, she did not move further. She breathed and stared at the chaos.

In the gaps between clouds of gunsmoke, Reon saw that half the army lay dead. Many of those standing attempted to staunch bleeding limbs or torsos. A few lucky individuals had the ability to work at saving others, but most had to be concerned with themselves. Loud, pain-soaked moans snaked through the thick smoke.

She stumbled left. Flat on his back, Owl’s dazed eyes squinted as his arms flailed slowly. Searching for his sword. Reon moved in and kicked the blade aside. He stared up at her.

He let his head fall back and closed his eyes. “I will fear not. To battle is to risk Life. I am ready.”

Reon raised her arm-blade and let it drop. She skewered him through the chest and did more damage when she pulled the jagged weapon out. Though his face scrunched in pain, he made no sounds other than a few grunts.

She sat next to him and watched. She had never killed a man before. To finally do so spoiled her stomach. She leaned away from her victim and heaved. Only mucous and stomach acid came up.

“I’m sorry I had to kill you,” she said. “I mean, I’m not sorry that I did it — if I hadn’t, you would’ve killed me. And now that I’ve done it, I don’t think it’s so bad. I know you’re thinking that I just threw-up, but that’s not because of what I did. That’s because I’m sorry that you specifically will die. You’re a good fighter. Great fighter, really. And I hate to see that greatness wasted when so much fodder will be running around here soon enough.”

Reon glanced down at Owl. His lips quivered as he strained for breath. “I’m sorry you’re dying slow and painful, but I’m not going to strike you down again.” She frowned. “Something’s stopping me. I think ... I think I do regret all of this. That perhaps deep inside I know you deserve to live. But you were trying to stop us from bringing peace to the world.”

The battle smoke cleared a little more. Ahead, Reon spied Malja swinging her big, curved weapon. It took a little time, but Reon eventually understood that Malja stood near Lord Harskill, slaughtering any who stood in her way. She spoke violently at him and raised her weapon high overhead.

But Lord Harskill looked amused. With a graceful motion, he turned his back on Malja. Looking over his shoulder, he said something — Reon couldn’t hear it — and then he walked into a portal.

And nothing happened. No explosions. No breaking of the fabric of the universe. Before arriving here, he had warned that they couldn’t portal over to the Library, but he used a portal without any apparent hesitancy. Had he lied on purpose? Or was he surprised, too?

Malja swung her blade onto her back and trudged over. Groaning, Reon got to her feet, but when Malja reached a safe fighting distance, she continued to walk forward.

“He’s still alive?” she asked.

Reon nodded.

Malja dropped to one knee and draped Owl over her shoulders. She lifted him and trudged off into the fog.

Reon wanted to stop her, wanted to fight it out and defeat Malja, but she lacked the energy. She watched them leave and flopped to the ground once again. More than exhaustion, she let them go because Lord Harskill had run off and his army had been decimated. They had lost. How could that have even happened? Her god had promised he had a plan.

Chapter 25

Malja

Once Malja knew for sure
that Reon would not attack, she eased Owl to the ground. All direct routes to the Library had been cut off. She saw no way to get him across the bridge while simultaneously fighting what remained of Harskill’s army. She had no hope of climbing down the steep walls of the gorge, crossing somewhere below, and climbing back up, all with Owl across her shoulders. And the ludicrous idea of carrying him all the way around the gorge and back, even if physically possible, would take so long that Owl had no chance of living through the journey.

Which left one option. She had seen Harskill portal away from her right when she thought this would all have ended. No time to dwell on that missed opportunity. The important thing was that he had succeeded in using a portal. Despite Brother Ica’s warnings, it appeared that creating a portal from this distance did not cause an apocalyptic surge of magic from the Library.

Still, she didn’t think opening a portal straight to the Library would result in good things. With Tommy and Fawbry there, no way would she take that chance. So, Malja closed her eyes and pictured the nearest safe location she could think of — the Order.

She brought to mind the center courtyard used for training, and a portal opened. Lugging Owl back over her shoulders, she walked through. Though her do-kha protected them both from being burned up by the portal, it could not stop the stomach-churning disorientation that occurred. Malja had been through it enough that she hardly noticed. Owl, however, felt it. With his wounds, he felt it hard.

He screamed until he passed out.

Malja propped him against a wall before running toward Common Hall where the monks spent many evenings relaxing and chatting over the day’s events. Empty. She checked the sleeping quarters, the kitchen, the dining hall, everywhere — all empty. Every last one of the monks had gone off to help with the battle at the Library.

Returning to Owl, she checked over his body. A minor cut on his arm and only the one major wound, but it looked bad. He had lost a lot of blood. On the positive side, the gash appeared to have slowed its bleeding, but not enough to leave him here alone. By the time she could reach the Library and send someone back to care for him, chances were Owl would be dead.

I didn’t bring you this far just to die.

She crossed through the archway to where the war vehicles had been cobbled together, but Fawbry had taken them all for the battle. That left her with one option. She dashed across the courtyard to the stables. Three horses stood in their stalls, quietly munching on hay. Moving with a sure hand, she saddled the dappled mare and walked her over to Owl.

“You awake?”

He didn’t stir.

Good. If he had been conscious, wrangling him over the horse would have caused him great pain — probably enough to knock him out again. Once she had him up, she grabbed a few leather lashes and tied him over the saddle — just in case. She could hold him in place while riding, but if she ended up having to fight with him still on the horse, the lashes should keep him from falling.

With that done, she put her foot in the stirrup, but before she could mount the horse, she heard a voice. “Is it true that you’re the one responsible for the death of all my brethren?”

Malja set her foot back on the ground and faced the Bluesman. He stood at the main entrance to the courtyard with his guitar strapped to his back. Her hand eased back to grip Viper. “I thought the monks were your brethren now.”

“Is it true?”

“What does it matter? You can’t defeat me alone.”

“I can try.”

“Were you at the Bluesmen’s farm when they had me captured? Did you help them open a portal to another world? Or maybe you were one of those who held my friend Fawbry down while you seared his hand off in the portal. Was that you?”

The Bluesman reached behind and rested his hand on the neck of his guitar. “I was there.”

“Then why don’t we consider ourselves even. You hurt mine, and I hurt yours.”

“You killed them all. Hardly even.” From the guitar neck, he slid out a sword.

Malja’s shoulders dropped with a sigh. She picked up a stone and threw at the Bluesman. “Enough already. You may hate me, but as I understand things, you owe your life to these monks. To this one, in particular. Brother Owl, here, is dying. Now, I’m getting on this horse, and I’m taking him to the Library where the other monks are, so that they can help him. You really want to stand in my way and cause his death?”

“I want to avenge my brothers.”

“Fine. I told you where I’m going. There are two more horses in the stable. Grab one and meet me there. I’m sure you’ll get your chance.”

The Bluesman’s eyes shifted from Malja to Owl. Though the scowl on his face deepened, he lowered his blade and stepped aside. Malja mounted up and headed out for the Library.

She had to go slowly — partly because she didn’t want to jostle Owl too much, partly because she couldn’t afford for the horse to misstep in the dark and injure a leg. Flashes of light on the horizon and loud snaps of gunfire urged her to speed up, but she maintained her pace.

Using all the patience she had, which never had been much, she tried to ignore all the signs of battle. She occupied her mind by calculating how long this trip would take. At her horse’s current pace, she figured she would arrive at the Library around sunrise.

“Hold on, my friend,” she said and rubbed Owl’s back. “Won’t be long.”

She settled into the easy rhythm of the horse, but it did not ease her. She saw the dark eyes of the Bluesman, the deep hatred he held for her, and she wondered if she deserved worse. She leaned closer to Owl and spoke in a soft whisper. She spoke so that he would hear her, cling to her voice, and not let the darkness of Death take his soul. She spoke for her own soul, too.

“I’m sorry that Harskill came here. It seems wherever I go, I bring trouble with me. I’ve been thinking a lot about that. I think it’s hard to be on the right side of things because oftentimes that side can become just as destructive as the other side. Maybe even more. We don’t mean for it to be that way. At least, I don’t. But somehow that happens. We try so hard to shut off the flow of evil but doing so often requires us to fight in evil ways. But shouldn’t there be a limit? Isn’t there a point where I have to stop killing or else I become nothing but a killer — no better than my enemies? I guess the real question is this — am I justified in committing the same crimes, like killing, if my cause is right?”

A loud crack rippled across the sky.

“That’s got to be Fawbry’s guns. I’m responsible for those deaths, too. He wouldn’t be there fighting and killing if he didn’t believe in me. Neither would Tommy. Maybe even you, for that matter. So, am I right for doing this? After all, I’m sure Harskill believes much of what he says. Sure, he wants the power, but he really thinks he can force peace upon the worlds by ruling them all. And he really is in love with me.”

The Library continued its pulsing glow even as the flashes of battle sparked around it. The longer Malja rode, the greater the intensity of the light-show playing out on the horizon. The brighter the sky became, the darker Malja’s thoughts grew.

“There is no answer, is there? We pretend we can figure it out or get a peek at the answers, but Life simply is. It’s like an ocean. It’s there, an endless, immovable foe that cares nothing about people or even the fish inside it. The ocean simply is. Maybe that’s why I can never stop feeling the need to fight on. If there is no real answer, no clear Right or Wrong, then what else can I do but fight against those who fight against me and my friends? Make a dent in that ocean — in Life. Crap, maybe I’m just trying to make myself believe that. See what happens when I have too much time to think? That’s the real reason I’m always caught up in these big battles. They keep my mind busy.”

She chuckled and kicked the horse a little faster.

As Malja had guessed, she arrived at the Library at dawn. A young monk ran up to her, took one look at Owl, and ran back. Moments later, five monks helped ease Owl off the horse and carried him away. Well before they lowered him to the ground, one of the monks had begun working on Owl’s wounds.

Malja dismounted and patted the horse’s flank. Though hot and sweating, the horse had not complained the entire trip. When she handed the horse over to the nearest monk, one that looked in need of a job, she told him to make sure the animal got the best care. “Brother Owl would be dead if not for this horse.”