The Way of the Sword and Gun (22 page)

"Any time, Fawbry," she said. But waiting for Fawbry to be lucky was never going to work. Instead, she charged the giant beast.

* * * *

No matter how many maneuvers Owl performed, no matter how many grabs he evaded nor how many slashes and gouges and lunges he unleashed, the undead soldiers continued to walk. If he cut down their legs, they crawled. If he hacked off their arms, they wriggled. If he mutilated them to the point of immobilization, the others stepped over the corpses and moved forward. They were of one mind, one purpose, and Owl had exhausted himself trying to stop them.

He struggled for breath, each inhale igniting the pain in his side. His hand numbed where his finger had been severed, but his chin and chest throbbed from the abuse of fighting. There were so many to slay, Owl prayed his body would last long enough to see the job through.

From several feet behind, he heard a horrible sound like tiny bits of metal clattering down a pipe. The headless leader's body stood atop the overturned transport. It was covered in sticky blood, ribs poked out of one side, and one of its legs bent at an odd angle. Yet it stood. And from its throat came that awful, grating sound. It was a horror only the insane mind of a magician abusing magic could bring forth.

Though Owl couldn't understand its words, the undead around him responded. They stopped their steady gait toward the Library. They looked around for a moment as if trying to identify a strange song that only they could hear. In unison, they caught sight of Owl. Then they started walking toward him.

* * * *

Viper cut through the eel-beast without resistance, and the thing let out its loudest roar. Malja had to cover her ears for protection. Apparently her assault suit only reacted to certain sounds. The beast slid off, gaining some distance while it prepared for another strike.

"I hear the voices of Kryssta and Korstra within my skin," Salia said, practically singing the words. "I hear the brother gods and I see the universe as they do. I call upon the powers of magic, the powers that once hurt my people, I call upon these powers to aid my people now. Cut through this universe and free the worlds beyond."

Like a bolt of lightning tearing into the night sky, the space behind Salia cracked open. A wind struck up as if the air leaked out of their world and into this opening. Malja stepped toward the hole in the ground, her focus locked on Salia.

"It's a portal," Malja said to Fawbry, yelling over the roar of the wind.

When she faced him, however, she saw the eel-beast darting right for her head. Malja dropped to her knees. Crashing into the hard ground sent needles of pain through her legs, but the eel-beast shot overhead. Before it could alter its direction, Malja used Viper to remove another chunk from its hide.

It cried out, but the force behind its voice had weakened. Malja's ears could handle it now. She brought Viper back, slicing through the eel-beast again before it whipped off into the distance once more.

To the side, Fawbry had one foot pressing the fitulag close to the ground. He bashed the creature's head with the butt-end of his gun until it didn't move. By the time Malja had joined him, Fawbry had finished the job.

"We're too late," he said.

Malja glanced back at Salia. The crack had widened. "No," she said. "I won't let this happen." She sprinted toward the Library.

* * * *

He couldn't hack at them fast enough. Owl's muscles burned and sweat covered him in a wet film. He had lost count of the number of undead that he felled. Not just the soldiers. Even the horses. Anything in the area that had been dead came at him.

Even after he disposed of a soldier, he found himself facing the same one again. With so many coming in, he didn't have time to cut them up into small enough pieces to stop them all. And all the time, the headless leader stood on the transport and sang its horrid, grating metal tune.

This was no fight of grace and skill. The undead did not pose a threat of speed or talent. They just fought through attrition. They fought by wearing him down.

As Owl decapitated another soldier, he glimpsed the leader swaying to its tune. Before that thing had begun its noise, the undead had ignored Owl and moved toward the Library. Simple enough.

Summoning the little strength he had left, Owl twisted his hips, winding his body tight, and let go. As he spun around, he pushed off with his legs like a dancer, keeping the momentum going, spinning and spinning. With no need to block a sword attack, no need to change direction, Owl spun with his sword out, slicing every object that crossed his path.

The only way not to succumb to dizziness was to find a steady point to focus on and whip the head around when necessary to return to that point as fast as possible. For Owl, the focal point was clear — the headless leader. As he spun, he could see bits of undead fly off in chunks of blood and bone. They pressed in, killing themselves again and again.

Owl spun. When he finally stopped, he felt as if he had been spinning for hours though less than a minute had passed. Gore piled around him, but no more of the creatures pursued him.

The headless leader never stopped swaying and singing. Perhaps it didn't know, couldn't tell that its army had been demolished. No matter.

Owl strode right up to it and cut it to pieces. He screamed out with every slash, tears rushing from his face. He thought of Brother X and Salia and Chief Master, and he cut down this abomination. Even after the leader had become little more than a motionless pile of flesh, Owl struck. He chopped and hacked, each blow letting a little more rage go.

He only stopped when his body lacked the strength to continue. He collapsed. His sword dropped from his cramped hand and rolled in the dirt. He fell back against the transport. His wounded side, his battered body, his bruised and tired muscles all cried out at once.

"I did it," he said, his voice as quiet as the gentle breeze. "I did it."

As he exhaled slow and deep, he dared to let a satisfied warmth fill him. But a chilling sound banished the sensation. A few legless corpses kicking against the ground. A few armless torsos bumping amongst the gore. Some just hands or pulsating organs. Whatever could find a way to move began to tremble its way towards Owl.

He stared at the body parts with his jaw slack. He reached for his sword, but it had rolled two feet beyond his fingers. Owl stared at the weapon as the undead closed in. He couldn't find the energy to get his sword. He had no more in him.

* * * *

The chasm in the ground looked too long to jump across and too wide to waste time going around. Malja dashed ahead anyway. She had her assault suit to help.

The suit did a lot for her — kept her dry in the rain, cool in the heat, warm in the cold; it grew with her; it kept her toned and strong — but she had never called upon it to act for her. When she was younger, she refused out of defiance toward Jarik and Callib because she thought they had used magic to create the suit. But now she knew that wasn't true. The suit came from wherever she was born. It was all she had to prove who she really was. And if it was magic, she'd have to deal with those consequences later. She had to stop Salia or they'd all be dead and there would be no later.

Pumping her legs and arms, she neared the edge of the gap. Her heart hammered as she tried to connect with her assault suit. She had no idea how. All she could think to do was close her eyes and say the words like a prayer.

Grant me the strength to cross the distance ahead.

She opened her eyes, saw the edge just steps away, held her breath, and jumped.

Her legs felt strong as she launched into the air.

Emptiness passed beneath her.

She saw motion — more creatures from below.

The wind fluttered in her ears.

The opposite side of the crevasse approached.

Her body descended.

She wasn't going to make it.

Although her mind looked on, stunned by her failure, her body reacted. She windmilled Viper up and around, stretching out as far as her arms would allow. The weapon's tip hit the gap's edge, knocked loose rocks and dirt, and scraped down the side as she dropped.

The harsh sound of blade against stone grated in her ears, but Malja held on. She used her legs against the rock wall to help stop her descent. Dirt fell beneath her.

She glanced up. Through the dust, she could see the top of the gap. She hadn't fallen far. Just a few feet. The wall had plenty of jagged bits and jutting rocks.

She climbed.

"Malja?" Fawbry's voice echoed as he called out from the opposite side. "That portal's about to open. Hurry."

Malja kept silent — kept her mind on securing the next foothold. And the next. And the next. When this was over, she'd have a word or twenty with that clown about annoying her when she was working. For now, she only had to find a place for her hand to latch on and pull up.

When she reached the top and dragged her legs over the edge, she rolled onto her back and allowed herself a few seconds to catch her breath. No more though. If nothing else, she wanted to shut up Fawbry's encouragement. A little slower but still with enough energy to fight, Malja got to her feet.

The two remaining soldiers scooted close to the blood at Salia's feet. They each pulled out their swords, and showing no sense of emotion, they slit open their own throats. Salia laughed. She rocked her head from side to side. Blood from her victims drenched the stairs like a red pathway leading straight to her. Her mouth twitched.

"I am the goddess of all worlds," Salia said, but her voice no longer sounded human. It echoed and modulated as she spoke. "I have risen from the scraps of the streets to bring peace through my rule. Follow me and this and all worlds will live in peaceful obedience. Deny me and pain will be your only pleasure until death."

Behind her the portal opened further. A storm raged in the world glimpsed through the portal. Lightning flashed, but the rumbles of thunder could not be heard on this side.

"Brother gods, I hate magic," Malja said, trudging up the stairs. From behind, Fawbry screamed her name — with panic not cheering. She glanced back. Another eel-beast slithered from the gap in the ground.

Malja broke into a full sprint. She lifted Viper towards her side, ready to cut through Salia. Even as the eel-beast followed her up the stairs, its mucous-filled mouth breathing hot stink at her back, Malja's battle sense assured her she would reach Salia before the beast could strike.

Two steps at a time. Heart pumping. She groaned and swore and spit and did anything to keep her body climbing. The eel-beast hissed from behind — closer than she expected.

She adjusted Viper one last time. Salia was in range. Malja pushed off into the air and bellowed, "Die!"

Salia raised her hands upward as if tossing flower petals into the sky. From the bloody mess beneath her rose hundreds of tiny vines. They shot up and twined around Malja, spinning around her torso, immobilizing her arms, locking her in the air.

Unable to move, Malja could only stare into Salia's mad eyes. She had conjured the vines, the hole in the ground, the beasts, the expanding portal, all without a single tattoo or even a moment's hesitation. She just drew on the unlocked power of the Library and did whatever she wanted. Like a true goddess.

Malja had seen magic warp magicians. She had even seen it destroy the mind of a young non-magical woman. But never had she witnessed the insanity she saw in Salia. The Queen's eyes — never blinking, never seeing — burned a thought into Malja's heart she never imagined capable of existing.

We're going to fail.

* * * *

For Owl, life had broken down into breaths. Inhale — the undead inched closer. Exhale — the undead moaned. Inhale — he watched their approach. Exhale — he tasted blood in his mouth.

A slight smile crossed his lips. Even after they killed him, he knew they would never reach Malja and Fawbry in time to do any harm. If only Chief Master could see him now.

There was only one thing left to do.

Owl shifted to the side, his bones popping as if he were an old man, and he pulled out his gun — the one he had trained on, the only real gun he ever cared about. He looked it over. Only two-shots, not as sleek as the handgun Malja had given him, but it was his. The only gun worthy of taking his life.

Settling back, he pulled out the red Honor Bullet. As he placed the bullet into the chamber, all his tensions lifted from his body. No regrets. He had lived a full, meaningful life. It had its share of pain and disappointment, and he never reached the level of greatness he thought he should, but he had tried.

The Masters had once said that success or failure was never important. All that mattered in life was that one try. Funny that he should only recall that now. "It would've been helpful a little while back," he whispered.

He brought the muzzle to his temple. In a traditional honor death, a Master would be present to record his final words. Though Owl knew nobody would hear him, nobody would write down his thoughts, he still spoke. "The length of one's life is without purpose. What we do in our time defines the value of that time. Dear Kryssta, I pray I have used the life you gave me well. I pray you will take me into peace. I tried."