The Way of the Sword and Gun (17 page)

The real truth, the ugliness inside that she hated to look upon, was that part of her had no qualms about ditching Tommy, Fawbry, Owl, and the rest of the world. Let the putrid mess die. If she could be free from here, if she could hold her mother, if she could return to where she truly belonged, then why suffer in this forsaken land? Before going through the portal, that nasty idea had been no more than a notion, a fleeting thought that nagged her like a fly, but she could easily shove it away. Now that she had been to another world — it all seemed possible.

As Tommy returned, the exertion tolling on his face, Malja buried her thoughts. To do any of those things required using Tommy's magic. No matter what, she wouldn't do that to him.

The boy stopped in front of her and motioned for her to close her eyes. Malja did so. She felt him pull her hand out. He placed something cool in her hand and tapped her shoulder so she'd open her eyes.

In her hand, he had left an apple.

Malja's eyes welled. "Thank you," she said, her voice cracking at the end.

He hugged her, and she let him. She stared at the apple as if it were a golden chalice or a fragile relic from before the Devastation. She brought the apple to her mouth, but Tommy pulled her hand back. He pointed toward the east.

Malja understood. "Not until I get Fawbry and Owl back, right?"

Tommy smiled.

Putting the apple into her coat pocket, Malja gazed eastward. "I'll get my things ready, catch a little sleep, and then I'll head out. Don't worry. I'll get to them before the morning sun finishes rising."

Owl

With his forehead against the metal cell door, Owl knelt on the hard floor. He closed his eyes. Nothing made sense anymore.

All his life, he had believed in the brother god Kryssta. As a child, suffering on the streets, bullied and beaten, he told himself that if he prayed hard enough every night, someday Kryssta would answer. When Brother X found him and took him into the Order, when they offered him a safe place to stay and belong, Owl thought Kryssta had listened to his pleas. Even when things were difficult at the Order, Owl believed not only that Kryssta had saved him, but he embraced the idea that he served some greater purpose. It blossomed within and covered him like a shield. By the time he had reached the height of his training, he had no doubt that he followed a true calling.

But it was all a lie.

Kryssta had not given him the strength or skill to defeat Brother X. Kryssta had not intervened to save Chief Master. Queen Salia would destroy the lives of so many, maybe of everyone, and where were the brother gods? Silent.

Owl couldn't hold back the tears. Everything inside him broke. He lifted his head and wailed. He guessed somewhere nearby Salia and Brother X laughed at his anguish.

Fawbry came to Owl's shoulder. "Please," he said, "you mustn't give up."

"It's over," Owl said. He wiped his cheeks, but they were wet again soon enough. Everything had become a mess and the urge to set something, anything, right filled his heart. The timing was wrong, but it would be worse to let Fawbry die without knowing his parents love him, that they searched for him.

He inhaled, ready to speak, when Fawbry said, "I've lived through some tight times. I know what I'm talking about. I've seen Malja do incredible things just by not giving up."

Owl held back. Fawbry was wrong, of course, but why should Owl burden the man further by summoning images of his parents? Especially when Fawbry never mentioned them. For all Owl knew, Fawbry hated his parents and mentioning them would only hurt him. Watching Fawbry interact with Malja had taught Owl that it was all too easy to say the wrong thing. Better to hold back until he felt sure.

With a disgusted huff, Fawbry said, "You're a trained warrior in one of the greatest fighting styles there is. Stop this self-pity and do something. You can overpower the next guard that comes in here and—"

Owl turned his soaked face toward Fawbry. "You know nothing. You think I'm some children's bedtime story. Oh, the mystical Way. But like everything else, that's a lie. There's no mysticism, no magic to it. Learning the Way of the Sword and Gun is a simple matter of practice. Years of practice. Any idiot can do it."

Fawbry let out a frustrated groan. "You're the idiot, if you believe that."

"If I'm such a great warrior, then why have I failed?"

To Owl's surprise, Fawbry smacked the back of his head. "So what if you lost a fight? I wouldn't have lasted two seconds against him. You made that bastard sweat."

"But—"

"You're upset because you failed at this or that? Look at my life. I've practically turned failure into an art form. It doesn't matter. We all fail, all the time. Life stacks the odds against us, so to succeed is always amazing, and even then, another failure is coming up fast. What matters is how we deal with it."

Owl sniffled and laughed. "You must think I'm not doing so well then, huh?"

"You'd do well to stop worrying about what others think. That's your only true failing — looking for validation from without. Stop comparing yourself to Brother X or Malja or Chief Master or whoever you think is so great. Just do the best you can with what Kryssta gave you."

Wiping his face, Owl felt his chest loosen and his nerves relax. "I'm sorry," he said. "You're right, of course. The Book of Kryssta teaches us as much. But somehow I just thought Kryssta wanted more from me."

"Ah," Fawbry said, wagging his finger. "Now I see what's going on. You think you have a special purpose."

"I did. No more."

"Didn't you ever go to school?"

"Of course. The Order raised me with a full education."

Fawbry shook his head. "The Order educated you, but you never went to school. You lived behind the walls of a compound, and everyone there was a devoted student of magic or a disciplined trainee of the Way. You weren't surrounded by a diverse group of kids, some who had no interest in what was being offered."

"You were?"

"There were twenty-three of us. And one thing I learned was that we all thought Kryssta looked over us in particular, that Kryssta had some special purpose for each of us. I outgrew that belief, though. I mean, how could Kryssta be bothered with the tiny details of every single life? Surely, the brother god has more important things to accomplish."

Owl rubbed his temples. "Now my education is lacking. Please, stop. I can't take any more of this."

"Relax. Stop worrying about all of it. Life is fairly simple. Do your best and know that things have a way of working out. It may not be the way you want it, but it'll work out."

"I don't want to be killed and have my blood used for magic. What's your great philosophy say to that?"

Fawbry brought his face close to Owl and said, "That you should stop crying and help me get us out of here."

Perhaps it was Fawbry's words. Perhaps it had been the look on his face. Owl couldn't be sure, but it all combined together and clicked in his mind.

The Masters often spoke of how the world never stopped, and so no horror, no failure, no event would end things. Life always continued. Or as Fawbry had said, things had a way of working out — one way or another.

"Guard," Owl called and scrambled to his feet. "Guard!"

The metal door opened and the guard walked in. Before he could speak, Owl jabbed his throat. He swept the guard's legs and punched him in the groin while he fell to the floor. The guard never uttered a sound.

Owl took the single-shot handgun from the guard's belt and nodded to Fawbry. "Let's get out of here."

As he left the cell, he could hear Fawbry's stunned utterances. "W-Wait. How did you — I mean, that was incredi — You mean you could have done that this whole time?"

Malja

Riding through the night to Salia City reinvigorated Malja. She finally had a bulk of time alone with only the rumbles of her horse to bother her. The hours provided her more than enough quiet to do as Gregor always asked of her — to honor those she had slain. Usually, she detested thinking on all the violence that comprised her life. This time, however, the alternative was to think of Tommy and the eyes of Barris Mont. She had enough difficulty dealing with the boy using such heavy magic, this new development made her want to yank Barris Mont out of Tommy and slaughter the bastard. But even if she knew how to do that, she suspected the separation would harm Tommy as well.

She rubbed her head. Better to pay honor to the dead. She did her best to recall the faces of those strange creatures in another world. A warmth of peace overcame her for just a flash. She had not sought to kill them. They were not attempting to harm her. Though their deaths resulted from her arrival, she had actually brought them joy. She had validated their faith. To think on them now, truly paid them their honor.

Except to recognize these creatures also meant recognizing that she had encountered them in another world, one she could never have reached without Tommy's magic. She could hear Owl and Fawbry simultaneously offering her their advice in a cacophony within her head — the boy can handle it, let him try, let him grow into the magician he is. But they didn't know what they were talking about. They hadn't been raised by truly powerful magicians. She knew firsthand what magic did to a mind.

Tommy did appear to be stronger than any magician she had ever faced, though. She could admit that. Maybe that's why she let him get away with the bits of magic he did. No. That was a lie. She allowed far more than just bits. The honest answer, the thing she didn't want to hear even from her own heart, was that as much as she hated what magic could do to a mind, sometimes they needed it.

Her chest filled with a pressure bordering on pain and her throat closed up as if she had become sick in just seconds. The ugliness had to be faced, and perhaps that ugliness was her. Because she could stop Tommy from using magic, couldn't she? Was she really trying hard enough? Perhaps she held back because of that day when Barris Mont transported her into his memories — when she saw the world as it had been before the Devastation. The things magic could do were, well, magical.

All her fighting, her laws, every aspect of the last year had been for what? Just some pathetic attempt to remake the world into a sliver of what it once was? But she had left the world no better as far as she could see. Magic had once provided a clean, safe world. All she had ever done was spill blood. The truth — she used Tommy, and then thrust her hatred for having done so right onto him.

Malja clutched her chest and fought back against the tears welling in her eyes. It was no use, though. She couldn't suppress anymore. She turned her head toward the sky and let out a howling scream.

All her frustration, anger, and hatred burst forth. Tears streamed down her face as her horse trudged on, and still she screamed. She gasped and coughed, but even that did not stop her cry. Only when her throat ached and her voice cracked into silence, refusing to produce more sound, did she lower her head.

She thought little more during the rest of her ride. Her mind was exhausted from the most self-confrontation she had ever let happen. And she feared that if she started to think on it all again, she wouldn't be able to stop another outburst. There was no more time for that this day. She had to be Malja, the great warrior, once again.

* * * *

When she reached the outskirts of Salia City, she dismounted and walked the horse in. The city was an odd mixture of old and new, ruined and rebuilt. Even from the far edges, Malja could see the Queen's palace high in the air, its towers and walls reflecting the morning sun. Whether it floated like the buildings of long ago or merely had been constructed large enough to tower over everything, she couldn't tell — too many burned out shells of buildings blocked the way. That was the city.

The urban epicenter was the palace. Radiating outward were blocks upon blocks of buildings that had been rebuilt, refurbished, or simply torn down for something new to take its place. The further one went out, the more the buildings remained ruins.

"Hey," a little voice called from an alley. "Lady."

Malja watched a young girl, probably no older than Tommy, scurry toward her. The girl appraised Malja's horse and said, "There's a stables over a few blocks. I'll take your horse for you. Won't even have to pay me now. The charge'll go on the stable bill."

Malja was about to tell the girl to go away, but she thought about how Fawbry would handle this. He understood cities better than her. And, much to her chagrin, he understood people better, too. He would use this little thief to his advantage.

"Come on now, lady. I won't hurt your horse."

"Take it," Malja said.

"Really?" the girl said. "Okay. You won't regret it. I promise I'll take extra special care. You have my word. What's her name?"

"Don't know. You name her."

The girl smiled so genuinely, Malja thought the girl hadn't smiled in years. "I will," the girl said. "I'll have to think about it. She'll be great for me. Er, that is, until you pick her up."

"Fine, fine. Just go."

The girl took the reins and led the horse further down the street. Once she was out of view, Malja trailed her, always keeping just out of sight. They headed deeper toward the center of the city. She watched as the buildings became nicer and the population more numerous.