The Way of the Brother Gods (13 page)

Harskill said, "Just because you broke a spell and got your weapon back, doesn't mean you know how to use the power you have. You are no god."

Bringing up his other arm, Harskill slapped away Viper. The force knocked Malja off-balance and she stumbled to the side. As she righted herself, Harskill slammed his palm upward into her sternum. She had never felt such a hard blow. It sent her back several feet. She rubbed the bone, pressing in to make sure it had not cracked.

"It's not too late," he said, putting out his hand. "This has been an upsetting experience. I understand. But now you see what you've done, and in me, you see what you are capable of. And you are right. I am lonely. So join me. Be my Queen. Be a goddess. Together we can reshape all the worlds we lay eyes on."

Malja swung at his hand, but the pain in her chest retarded her motions. He dodged with ease. His do-kha grew over his hand and he slapped the blade aside, the reverberations shaking up her arm. He backhanded her across the face, dropping her to the floor.

The world spun around her. She tried to stand, but her ears rang and a fuzziness surrounded her head making simple thoughts difficult. She knew she was in trouble, but she couldn't get her body to respond properly.

A hand reached down, grabbed her under the arm, and lifted her up. "You've squandered my greatest gift. I could've made you something incredible," Harskill said. The sound of his voice snapped Malja's brain back. She raised her head, but before she could think enough to block, he punched her in the chest.

She flew back through the air, hit a wall, and kept going. She slammed into the hallway and crumpled into a heap. Bits of wall covered her. The pain in her chest flared with every struggling breath as if she were drowning.

He's going to kill me.

The thought hit her harder than Harskill's fists. If she stayed, she would lose. She had been in tough fights before, but never once had she fully accepted such a possibility. There was no doubt, though, and her heart ached more than her body.

Despite her pains, she forced herself to her feet. She picked Viper off the floor, stunned by the idea that she had let the blade go, and staggered down the hall. Using the wall to keep her balance, she moved as fast as possible, taking any turn that presented itself, putting as much distance as she could between her and Harskill.

The lights flickered as Malja stumbled onward. She weaved like a drunkard and fought back the nausea churning her stomach. Footsteps approached.

Malja ducked into a shadowed recess and waited. Two Bluesmen stormed by. This wouldn't do. By now, she figured the entire group had been summoned to find her. She didn't know her way around the Dish, and she had been hurt. She needed a place to rest.

Slipping out of the recess, she took the first left she came upon and started trying doors. Three of them were locked, but the fourth one she tried opened. Inside, she found a cot and a set of drawers. In the corner, rubble piled under a hole in the wall. Malja peered into the hole — empty. She closed the door, locked it, and collapsed on the cot.

She tried to picture herself healed, but the do-kha did not respond. Apparently, some uses of the do-kha were not as simple as just imagining the outcome.

Three minutes passed, and during that brief moment, Malja thought she might actually have a chance. Then she heard the Bluesmen in the hall. They were trying the doors, yelling out the word Locked, and kicking them open.

Dragging herself off the cot, every muscle weary and aching, Malja pulled out Viper and positioned in front of the door. No room to hide or attempt an ambush. She would have to face them head on.

The door rattled. Malja flexed her fingers and settled her hands into the proper grip. A voice called out, "Locked." She took shallow breaths so as not to aggravate her wounded chest. The door banged as somebody kicked it. Malja raised Viper and prepared to strike. Two more kicks, and the door ripped open.

As Malja growled, surging forward with her blade, the Bluesman only had time to open his mouth in surprise. She sliced from shoulder to hip. One cut. One kill.

A gun shot out, its bullet striking the doorway just above Malja's head. She ducked back into the room, and the other Bluesman followed. He had a long-barreled, one-shot handgun which, upon seeing Malja's sizable weapon, he tossed to the floor. From a hip scabbard, he pulled out a sword.

Malja should have attacked as he entered, but she had used up too much energy taking out the first Bluesman with one strike. She couldn't let any more time slip by. She stepped forward and cut upward. The Bluesman jumped back and deflected Viper with his sword.

With a facile step, he stabbed straight at her. Malja managed to side-step and raise Viper for an overhead strike. Everything moved slowly for her as if magic had thickened the air. Viper felt heavier than ever before. The Bluesman stepped into the attack, blocking it with a clang of metal, and then jutted out his elbow, catching Malja in her wounded chest.

She gasped and doubled over. The Bluesman slammed his knee upward, connecting with her cheek, and rocking her backward onto the cot. The room spun out of control.

The Bluesman said something but the words did not make sense. Malja only heard an echoing muddle of sound. Her mouth felt loose like her jaw was stuck open, the effort to clamp it shut too strenuous. She tasted blood and spit. The Bluesman stood over her. He spoke again and the word
Die
made it through into her head.

But before he could strike, she saw the strangest thing. A rainbow of color opened up behind him. It burst out of the vent, spread across like colorful wings on a bird, and jumped upon the Bluesman's back.

She heard a voice — Fawbry. In his multi-colored robe, he rode the Bluesman's back and locked his arm around the man's neck. The Bluesman stumbled backward into the wall. Then purposely stepped forward and slammed back into the wall. Fawbry held tight, yelling his war cry even as tears streamed down his face.

The Bluesman reached up and grabbed a handful of Fawbry's wiry hair. Fawbry held tight — wincing, yelling, crying, pulling back on his arm. The Bluesman's eyes rolled upward and he fell backward onto the floor and Fawbry.

Wiping his wet face, Fawbry extricated himself from under the Bluesman. "You okay?" he asked Malja. She could focus enough to nod. Putting her arm around his shoulder, she stood.

Fawbry said, "I don't think you can climb up into that vent. We'll have to find a floor level access." From his pocket, he brought out a folded paper. "Cole gave me a little map. Can you stand on your own?"

"I think so," she managed.

Fawbry peeked into the hall. He looked at that map, the hall, then the map again. "I think I got it. Can you walk?"

Malja took a few steps and didn't fall over. "Yes."

"Follow me," he said and ducked out of the room.

Chapter 16

Fawbry led the way — scurrying down half-lit halls, holding up at corners, peeking around doors, sticking to shadows. If he heard voices or footsteps, he turned around and went a different way. Malja followed without question. Her throbbing head allowed for little else. Even if she wanted to fight, she was in no condition to do so. Drying blood stuck to her cheek. Her nose felt swollen. Her sides were dull with aches.

"In here," Fawbry whispered, his voice booming in her ears. He pulled her into a storage closet filled with boxes, a few tools, and bits of unused metal and wood. In the back, low to the floor, he pointed to a wide intake vent. "Help me with this."

Malja took one step and everything went dark.

* * * *

She couldn't open her eyes. She didn't think so, at least. If they were open, everything around her was dark. She heard the echoes of heavy breathing and something dragging in short motions. She felt tugging at her shoulders.

* * * *

Somebody (
Fawbry?
) cursed.

* * * *

Dull light.

People staring at her from above — Fawbry and Cole Watts.

Malja tried to sit up but she was tied down to a cot. Cole Watts moved closer. Her arms shook as she approached, and she paused long enough to turn away before coughing.

Fawbry's concern shifted to Cole for a moment. When he looked down at Malja again, he managed a friendly sigh. "Sorry we tied you. You kept trying to punch us."

"Where?" Malja said, her mouth dry and sticky.

"One of Cole's little hideouts. This one's actually in the vents. I couldn't get us to the one in the sewer. Too many Bluesmen blocked access that way."

"And," Cole said, wiping at the corner of her mouth, "he had to pull you along."

"Thank you. That was brave," Malja said, and though Fawbry waved off the praise, she could see it fill his heart. "Now let me up or I'll rip you to pieces," she growled.

Flustered, Fawbry undid the ropes. "Don't get up too quickly or —"

Once free, Malja shoved up, glimpsed Tommy floating in the corner, and the world spun around her head. She fell back onto the cot.

"Bless her heart," Cole said. "She's always been a determined gal."

Rubbing her temples, Malja said, "We don't have time for this. Harskill has control of the Bluesmen and he's using them to get to you."

"I told you. I couldn't trust him from the start. He's been trying to sabotage my efforts all along."

"I know," Malja said, but something gnawed at her. She sat up again, much slower this time, and took a few breaths. "Why are we still here? Why are we still alive?"

Fawbry smacked his hand on the top of his head. "I know we've had our share of religious talk but now's not the time for debating Kryssta and Korstra."

"I'm talking about Harskill. He claims to be godlike and that he wanted to stop this portal project from happening. Except now he's got control of the Dish and he hasn't done much to stop you. I mean he could've killed us all and just been done with it. He had plenty of chances."

"Oh dearie," Cole said, "you're not that naive. The man's lost his mind for you. He wants you. Probably dreams of you popping out a few little Harskills, too. It's the only reason the rest of us are alive. If he killed us, he'd lose even a sliver of a chance with you."

Malja shook her head, sending a new wave of pain across her brow. "I think there's more to it than just that. Maybe that was true at the start but he's got something bigger in mind than me."

"All the more reason to do my plan."

Malja gripped the edge of the cot. "What plan?"

"Hear her out," Fawbry said.

After a few short coughs, Cole sat next to Malja and placed a hand on her knee. Malja smelled Cole's perfume — honey and a strong flower she couldn't place. Even in this dank, depressing hideout, Cole had to have her feminine side. Maybe that's what had been at work on Fawbry — moreso than sympathy for Cole's illness.

"Well now," Cole said, her drawl thickening in her attempt to charm. "I think you may be right about Harskill, and I say this because, as you say, we're all still here. So, if his motive is no longer love and it is no longer destroying this place, then there is only one viable choice. He wants to use the Dish for himself. Why else would he have an occupying army of Bluesmen in here?"

Malja held still. "He likens himself to a god. Perhaps he wants to use the Dish's power to enhance his own. Make himself more like a god. Is that possible?"

Cole lifted her drab clothes and looked at the hideout's stained walls. "In my life I've learned that just about anything is possible. Even situations you never thought you'd step into. And when it comes to power, everybody wants more."

A grin passed Malja's lips, but she corrected that fast. She knew Cole well enough — this was all just the lead up to her plan.

"Okay," Cole said, patting Malja's knee as she stood. "I can see that you know it's coming, so here it is: You want to fight someone with god-like powers, then you need someone with god-like powers." Lifting a hand with melodramatic flare, Cole gestured to Tommy.

Malja knew they expected her to protest. She could see it in Fawbry's frightened gaze and in Cole's patronizing smile. But what was the point of that argument anymore? All her efforts to protect Tommy from the ills of magic only led him here, and here was an awful place to be. If Cole had a plan to reawaken Tommy, to give him a chance to be saved from whatever had happened to him, Malja gladly agreed. Anything would be better than the state he was in.

"What do we do?" she asked.

Stunned, Cole said, "W-Well, I seem to recall Fawbry telling me about how you once linked with Barris Mont. His tentacles are, to a degree, right there growing out of Tommy's arm. If you could establish a connection through them, you might be able to help Tommy come back. With him at your side, you should be able to bring a true challenge to Harskill."

"That seems like a lot of conjecture."

Cole crossed the room and stroked Tommy's head. His skin had turned a mottled gray and more eyes appeared all over. "He's a lovely young man. And so powerful. Barris Mont is powerful, too. Both of them share their power within this one body. And it's magic." She paced the room, speaking more like a priest trying to sway the congregation and less like a scientist bent on having her way. "You know, when I first decided to do this project, I didn't want to use any magic at all. Look where it got me when I used the Bluesmen. No magic, this time. That was to be my rule. But then I kept running into power supply problems, and I found the underground schuco. So, I convinced myself to use that little bit of magic. I'd just bend the rules a little — after all, I made the rules." Cole chuckled and coughed. "But that never really works. We lie to ourselves, but those are the worst kinds of lies since nobody can refute them. They are within us and that's it."