The Way of the Power (21 page)

A few years now.

Malja wanted to rip the paper, shred it, crumple it, take out as much aggression as she could on it, but she feared there might not be enough left to work with. So, instead, she ripped the bedding and tensed her muscles.

“Why have you never shown me this before?”

No need. Life with you was simple. You knew all my thoughts.

“But something’s changed now. The Artisoll?”

Tommy wrote for a moment, paused, thought, wrote some more, then handed the paper back to Malja
. Partly the Artisoll. But I’m worried about me. Lynoya died and I barely reacted. Shouldn’t I be torn apart? I treated her horribly. Shouldn’t I feel guilty? But instead, I feel a stronger and stronger connection to the Artisoll. I see what happened to Fawbry and I think what if that’s what has happened to me? But she assures me that my feelings to her are pure and true.

Malja wanted to ask about that — how they communicated — but she feared if she looked at him, the tears would gush out. She read on:
I’m not sure I’m human anymore. I’m not sure I ever was. What if I have no heart?

Though she knew it would bring nausea, she closed her eyes. Just a moment, a split second to fight the heart-wrenching pain in her chest. Using all her courage, she opened her eyes and looked upon Tommy. “You have nothing to fear. You’ve been through a lot, and despite all of it, despite all we have seen and done, despite all I’ve ever become, one thing has been constant. You. Without you, I would never have felt anything for what I’ve done. You provide that. The only way you could do that is if you had a heart. Without you, I would never see love or kindness in the world. You’re a good man. Maybe even the best.”

Chapter 20

Two more days at sea.
Though Malja’s stomach never settled completely, she never regurgitated her food again. The extra days gave her plenty of rest and afforded her do-kha the time it needed to bring her back to reasonable health. She didn’t feel perfect, but if a fight came her way, she knew she could hold her own. Tommy, too, seemed in good shape.

A full day later, the morning fog rolled in but never lifted. Stray pointed it out. “The Fogs of Tunistall. We are here.”

He slowed the craft and eased toward a landfall that Malja could not see. The humid air did not move. The fog hovered above the water, clumping together at times like white and gray statues.

“There,” Stray said, pointing starboard. “Do you hear that?”

Malja listened intently and heard the lapping of water against wood. “What is that?”

“The dock.”

Several minutes later, though the fog never left, patches opened up. Malja spied the dock first. Made of thick tree trunks and long wide planks, it looked as if it had been constructed ages ago.

Tommy hurdled the cruiser’s railing and landed on the dock. He tied the boat off and helped the Artisoll disembark. Malja followed. Her first steps on land were shaky. The firm, non-moving surface played with her body’s equilibrium.

Stray patted her on the back. “It passes. You’ll be fine shortly.”

She opened her mouth to make a sarcastic comeback when she finally saw the Temple through the fog. She froze. While the Artisoll’s snow structure at the Revelation matched the real thing — crevice for crevice, balcony for balcony, step for step — in no way had Malja been prepared for the majesty of the real Temple.

The cliffs rose high and sheer like buildings stacked upon buildings. Birds nested above in whatever small nooks they found. The main entrance served as a marvelous testament to what people could do when their souls were devoted to something.

“Hello?” Stray called out, and his voice bounced off the walls. “This is strange. There should be plenty of people — Servants of the Temple as well as those who pilgrimaged here.”

As they walked closer towards the pillared stairs that led to the front entrance, Malja felt a twinge of worry — a faint odor in the air stung of something bad. Of death. The moment she identified the smell, she saw it. Off to the side, hidden in the fog at a distance but easy to spot close up, they found a pile of bodies.

Stray flashed out his scimitars, crouched for balance, and searched with his eyes for the perpetrators of this crime. Malja knew better. This had been left as a message, not the start of an ambush.

“Oh, no,” Stray said, his eyes falling once more to the pile. “Two of those bodies, I know them. Two of the Old Men, the Holy Men, the ones who trained me.”

A clang of metal and the rusty whine of rolling wheels echoed from within the Temple. The two enormous doors slid open and four heavily armored soldiers walked out. Behind them came five people resembling those in the corpse pile — hands tied to a long string, none had clothes, all had fear.

“You finally made it,” Abrazkia said, stepping out of the Temple like a conquering general. Her wild hair, now colored in blue-and-white stripes, shot off in all directions like thick bolts poking from a poorly made quiver. “I know you’ve had a long trip. You could have been here instantaneously, but some day you’ll learn how to use your do-kha properly. Let me make this quick so you may get rest and relax from your arduous journey.”

Abrazkia pulled out a handgun. From its size and sleek design, Malja could tell it did not originate on the world. All black, precision metalwork, no wasted parts — like a perfectly crafted sword.

Abrazkia leveled the weapon at the head of her first prisoner. “Simply hand me the Artisoll, and nobody has to die.”

Stray shook one sword at her. “You’ll be the one dying.”

Abrazkia pulled the trigger. The gun made a surprisingly quiet sound — but deadly nonetheless. A small hole of blood appeared at the front of the victim’s head. He dropped to the ground, tugging the arm of the woman next to him.

Abrazkia leveled the gun at her head. “If I get through them all, I have more in the back.”

Malja stomped toward the stairs, but two guards quickly blocked her way. She pulled out Viper, and, without breaking her stride, cut through the leg of the first guard. The second maintained a safer distance as he backed up the stairs. But another gunshot died in the air; another victim dropped to the ground.

Malja halted.

“All I need is the Artisoll and this will be over.”

“What for?” Malja asked. “If you wanted to kill her, you could have done that long ago. Long before I ever arrived.”

“I could kill her now from here, but why would I?”

“I assume you want to stop her from the Rising. If she doesn’t become the Queen, no country gets control of her magic. She doesn’t become a Queen, and there’s no chance of Reo-Koll gaining the ability to make portals. Isn’t that the whole point of you Gate?”

Abrazkia moved behind the next victim — a man with stubble on his shaved head and scars along his arms. He shivered as he tried to hold his composure. Abrazkia raised an eyebrow toward Malja, asking the question again —
May I have the Artisoll?

Malja struggled to find an answer that both paused this moment and kept the Artisoll safe. “There’s no need for this. Let’s discuss this as Gate.”

Abrazkia pulled the trigger and moved on to a man with tears streaming down his dirty face. “You know nothing of your own kind.”

Malja trudged back to her group — hands gripping tight, jaw set. She whipped around. “You Gate disgust me. You have no interest in protecting Reo-Koll. You have no interest in who gets portal magic.”

With an amused expression, Abrazkia said, “Figuring it out now, are you?”

“You want the Artisoll for yourself.”

“An entire world’s magic wrapped up into one soul. Why wouldn’t I want it for myself? Why do you think you were even brought here? What do you think Harskill wanted?”

“He knew?”

“Of course. All Gate know where all the power is. We do stop other worlds from gaining portal magic. We just like to take it for ourselves. We alone understand the dangers of wielding this magic, and we alone are privileged to enjoy the benefits as well.”

“You act like these worlds are playthings.”

“You have no idea how strong we are — you are. Maybe this will help. All this chaos started when the Queen passed away. Have you ever asked yourself how she died? I’ll make it easy. I killed her. I did so before the Revelation. In doing so, I knew Dovell, Ro, and Bechstallon would tear each other into shreds trying to get hold of the Artisoll. In doing so, I weakened all three of them to prevent myself having to fight three armies. In their weakened state, I would swoop in, grab the Artisoll, and transfer her power to myself.”

“And Harskill wanted to join in? Or wanted to steal her from you?”

“I never did find out. My guess is he wanted to steal. We Gate don’t tend to get along with one another unless it’s mating season. Even then it can be a struggle.”

“You didn’t know we were coming, did you?”

“I admit I was not expecting you to smash through that window and upset all my plans. Nor did I expect Harskill to aid you in escaping me. But I knew I could get her back.”

“You sent those things after us on Carsite.”

“Who else? And while you lack a full understanding of the strength you possess — you do have access to a lot of it. After all, you don’t really think you are such a talented fighter because of those pathetic brothers who raised you? Or perhaps that old man that found you in the woods? Oh, I know all about it. We Gate are thorough when we look into somebody’s life. So, yes, I sent the trang-gaul after you, yet I knew they would fail. Just as, in the end, I knew that in one form or another we would end up facing each other. Here is as good as anyplace.”

Stray interrupted like a confused student at a complex lecture. “But you weren’t at the Revelation. You couldn’t have known where we were going.”

To Malja, Abrazkia continued, “He makes a valid point for an unenlightened local, but you probably know how I’m here. Surely, Harskill has shown you that much.”

Malja thought for a moment about Gate and her do-kha. “Me?”

“Your do-kha. Just as we can communicate through our do-khas, we can locate through our do-khas. I merely had to wait for you to travel close to one of the Temples, and then I portaled my way here and waited.” Nodding to the bodies, she said, “Well, I found ways to pass my time. Now, you give me the Artisoll and in return, I will allow you and your young men to leave in peace. Return to Carsite, or Corlin, or go to another world — I don’t care. Hopefully, we will never see one another again.”

She pressed the gun against the back of her fifth victim’s head — an older woman, gray and stern-faced. The woman raised her head and sung. Malja did not know the tune, but it had a religious zeal to it that told her everything — this woman was praying to her gods for salvation, forgiveness, or intervention. Abrazkia fired her gun, and the older woman folded over.

Abrazkia stepped forward, careful to avoid the black streams of blood cascading down the stairs. The odor of corpses both old and new grew more pungent, and Malja suspected a magic spell was about to be cast. But she didn’t see Abrazkia making any gestures, and she knew the Artisoll could not control the magic within her —
Tommy
.

A ray of purple-red fire shot out overhead. Abrazkia thrust her arm in the air and her do-kha waterfalled down to create a solid barrier. When Tommy’s magic hit, it reflected off, separating into four smaller beams, each one penetrating Abrazkia’s guard’s armor. All four soldiers shivered and smoke seeped out their armor until they each collapsed, gurgling blood.

Abrazkia lowered her shield. “Tsk, tsk. Not very nice. But I admire your loyalty to the Artisoll. You’ve let all these people die just to protect her. I wonder how your loyalty will be towards one of your own.” She turned her head back. “Bring her out.”

From within the Temple emerged two guards. Between them, Hirasa struggled against their iron grips. She had bruises on her face and shame in her eyes. Malja knew that shame. Getting caught was worse than death to a true warrior.

“Let her go,” Stray said. “She’s not from here. She has nothing to do with this. I’m the guard of the Artisoll.”

The guards thrust Hirasa to her knees and forced her head down, bending her over so that the back of her neck presented a clear target. Abrazkia placed the muzzle of her weapon against Hirasa’s neck. Wrapped in triumph, Abrazkia said, “So which will happen? Do I kill Hirasa or do you hand over the Artisoll?”

Hirasa forced her head up, pushing the muzzle harder against the back of her skull. Like an animal she barked out, “Don’t give in.”

Malja’s heart dropped. She was fast but she couldn’t beat a bullet. Even if she wanted to give up the Artisoll, Stray would fight her to the death before he allowed that to happen.

“Very well,” Abrazkia said.

“No,” Stray said. “Please. Don’t. We can —”

“There is no negotiation.”

Abrazkia swiped her hand in the air cutting off all further talk. But with one hand in the air and the other pressing the gun to Hirasa’s head, Abrazkia paused. She stared out in shock. Malja didn’t need to look back to know why.