by Stuart Jaffe
"That's over two thousand years old," Nolan said, entering the room in a crimson gown as if waiting to host a grand ball. The lines on her face suggested she had been waiting a long time. Though stark and cold in demeanor, she had a disarming, pleasant voice. "My apology for the lack of welcome, but my staff is asleep. They work hard for me, keep this place running and I give them a roof and a full belly. But if I push too hard, they'd probably leave."
"I suspect people would put up with a lot to live here," Malja said.
Clasping her hands together, Ms. Nolan said, "So you're the great Malja. I half expected flames to burn from your eyes."
"That's a new one. Usually I'm ten-feet tall with the muscles of a betron."
Ms. Nolan's mouth opened in a hideous grin. "Stories of me are equally exaggerated ... mostly. Now, what do you want?"
"I'd like to know why you're trying to have me killed." Malja had not intended to be so blunt, but the old lady had a way about her that opened things up. Magic? Malja wondered. Other than in fairy tales, she had never heard of mind-controlling spells, but few people knew the full extent of magic and its uses.
Ms. Nolan appeared puzzled. "I assure you, I don't wish you dead. I have no reason to."
Malja reached behind her and gripped Viper, but a thought stopped her from pulling the weapon out. Nobody had frisked her. Nobody had even asked her to give up her weapons. Malja found herself, once again, wishing she had listened better to Gregor, her adoptive father. He had tried to teach her about magicians, but at such a young age and having been tossed aside by the bastard magicians Jarik and Callib, Malja had no desire to be educated on that topic.
"Why do you believe I want to kill you?"
Malja held out the Nolan coin. "I found this on the body of your assassin."
"I see," Ms. Nolan said with a distasteful frown. "Follow me, please."
The two women walked through a hall lined with ornate paintings of the Corlin countryside. Tommy flitted around them, never taking his eyes off Malja for too long. This time the attention pleased her — it meant the boy would not notice the open booths built into the walls. She had never seen a focus booth before but had heard about them in every starving town she visited.
Before the Devastation, wealthy people owned private collections of magicians to provide electricity, food, heat, everything. These heartless closets were where the magicians slaved away their days — easy to access by the Masters but out of view to guests. One booth had its door closed. Malja thought Ms. Nolan was about to comment on this, but she closed her mouth while observing Tommy. She's noticed the tattoo.
"In here," she said and opened a heavy door carved with the Korstrian symbol — four lines intersecting to form an intricate M. At least, Malja always thought it looked like an M.
Ms. Nolan took one step, stopped, and faced Malja with a look of concern more unnerving than her contorted grin. "We call this the Dry Room. Perhaps," she said, tapping her lips like a worried grandmother, "the boy should wait out here."
"He goes with me."
"I understand; however, in this room—"
"He goes with me," Malja said, her patience dying.
"Very well."
As Malja entered, she saw the horrible reason Ms. Nolan wanted Tommy outside. An emaciated woman clung to the thick, wooden bars of a cage. The cage, shaped like an enormous egg, had wooden spikes pointing in and out — the woman could not escape and nobody could help her. Madness drenched her. She howled as if calling the moon and followed the mournful sound with an abrasive cough. She tore a strip of gray cloth from her shredded dress and coughed mucous into it. When she attempted to reach through the bars, Malja saw the tattoo — a bluish swirling like the wind blowing through clouds or a tide splashing the rocks.
Malja glanced down at Tommy. He spied the woman from behind Malja — curious, but scared. Not for the first time, she wondered how old he really was. Based on his height, the little bit of fuzz on his upper lip, and his odor, she placed him at twelve, on the cusp of puberty. His reactions, though, ranged from the cold pragmatism of a seasoned warrior to the trembling fear of an abused child. The latter appeared to be winning out now.
"Enough," Malja said, her firmness snapping Tommy from his fear as well as re-focusing her own purpose. "Tell me why you sent that man, or I'll just kill you and forget about it all."
"Do you solve all your problems by killing?"
Malja held still. The question had plagued her thoughts for some time now. She hated killing. She believed that. Each time she cut open an enemy, part of her became less than before, made her smaller. Yet, if she wanted to be honest, killing did solve a lot of her problems. She often eased her worries by remembering that violence ruled the world around her. No governments. No laws. She killed to survive.
Ms. Nolan walked to the cage with an arrogant stride, but stopped just shy of the madwoman's reach. Speaking firmly but in a calm, controlled tone — a warrior's tone used to command but not agitate — she said, "I didn't hire anyone to kill you."
"This coin calls you a liar."
"No, it calls you naïve. Do you think I'm stupid? Why would I pay an assassin with a coin that identifies me?"
"You think someone wanted me to think it was you?"
For a breath, Ms. Nolan's eyes lost focus as if she had lost herself in some indulgent memory. With a sudden sadness, she said, "I wish you were right, but I think the answer is less tricky. The coin was the mark, the assignment. The killer was sent to kill me. You just got in the way."
Malja shook her head. "He was assigned to kill certain people before I could speak with them. But I had no reason to seek you out."
"Maybe not yet."
"I don't understand."
Ms. Nolan pointed to the cage. "That shadow of a woman in there was ... is ... my sister. Audrex was born two years to the day after me." Ms. Nolan paused, and Malja had the presence to wait quietly. From the side, she saw Tommy had the presence, too. "My sister was the wild one. She would run through the woods, yelling silly words, not worrying about whose attention she might garner. She would pick up a plant or eat a berry without worrying what it was or if it might be harmful. She never seemed to notice the painful lives we all led. We were struggling to survive, and she would play. If there was no food, she would sing a song. If there was no water, she would dance and twirl. And she was beautiful. When she hit her teens, men showered us with gifts — food, clothing, anything. Father had died and her beauty made life easier, so we let it happen. But no matter how generous the bribe, Audrex would only flirt or offer a little kiss. They wanted a wife; they got a memory. That all changed when the magicians came.
"There are so few people in the world now, and they're spread so far apart. If you find a few good ones, you're lucky. But we had a whole town of good people — solid people, real law and order, all Korstrian, no magicians. Blissgar was a good town. Actually built the town ourselves rather than live in the ruins and rubble like so many do. Of course, here in Corlin, too many roving gangs want to destroy such towns. It's safer to be in the ruins. We found that out when a gang of them arrived. Magicians. Yes, I see it in your face. I thought the same thing — magicians don't form gangs. I knew something bigger was at hand. The two leaders stepped forward and declared that Blissgar now belonged to them. Two brothers. You know them."
Malja nodded. "Jarik and Callib."
"No other magicians are so brazen. We resisted, but it was a foolish thing to do. We had no hope of winning. They overpowered us the first day. It only took one week for them to notice Audrex and only one day to seduce her. They were handsome, powerful, and different from everything Blissgar had ever offered her. She willingly became their consort. The idea alone nearly killed Mother. The day she went off with them was the last I saw of her for thirty-four years.
"I went on with my life. What else could I do? I thought of her all the time, but it became like a mourning period, like I had to accept that she was dead. A few years later, I married Ven No
lan. We tried to consolidate the towns in the area — form a government, but there were never enough people. Still, my husband was respected and we ran several farms. When he died, I took control.
"Then, as the Korstraprime rains fell, she appeared at my door — changed. It's been hard. The cage protects her and us. But it's hard."
Audrex prowled her cage and stared at her tattoos. Whatever her magic needed, the cage kept her from it. Malja tensed as a thought hit her with frightening force. "Magic ability is a family trait."
"And yet I'm not a magician." Ms. Nolan shuddered. As she spoke on, her voice cracked. "Nor were my parents. Nor our grandparents. That's why she's insane. They stole her from me and did Korstra alone knows to turn her into a magician. But we are what we are born to. It can't be changed."
"So they threw her aside," Malja said as the coals in her heart burned.
Nolan's eyes dropped to Tommy. "Your boy is a magician. Be careful around him."
"He's not like that."
"Not yet. But every magician is unique in how much talent they possess. He has one spell now. But as he grows older, if he learns more, well, magic takes its toll."
Malja knew that price. She had seen it first hand in Jarik and Callib. Each time a magician cast a spell, it ate away at the brain. Little by little. The more powerful spells took away more of a magician's sanity. The weakest magicians, the ones that could only create electricity, became feeble old men and women lost in delirium. The strongest magicians ended up mad long before they became old. That madness had led to the lunatic thoughts that brought on the Devastation. It led to two brothers stealing a little girl.
Malja glanced down at Tommy. He's not like that. Besides, if he doesn't use his magic, he won't suffer any damage.
With a sharp, cleansing breath, Ms. Nolan stepped away from her sister. "Your assassin tried to cut off a trail you have followed and his next target was me. If my information is correct, and it is, you seek Jarik and Callib. I can help."
"Then help."
"I want a promise, first. Promise me that whatever you do to them, promise me you'll make them suffer extra for Audrex."
Malja bared her teeth. "With pleasure."
Chapter 3
Tommy clutched the saddle's pommel as they headed west through the forest. His tense heartbeat pattered against Malja's skin. She had tried letting him ride in back of her, wrapping his arms tight around her waist, but he near-wet himself. His anxiety subsided only slightly when seated in front, protected by her arms. How anyone could grow up not knowing how to ride a horse — never mind absolute terror of the experience — baffled her. Then again, a slave on a thief's boat had little call for horsemanship.
The chestnut quarter horse Ms. Nolan had supplied (Orla was its name, but Malja tried not to put names to horses — they never lasted long around her) did not react to Tommy's fear, although Malja swore the animal took care to provide a smoother ride than usual. She just hoped they wouldn't need to gallop. Tommy would have a heart attack.
The morning air smelled crisp as the sun poked through the trees. Already the heat rose, and Malja wondered how long the horse could endure. Later the air would be stifling. The horse better hold out. Ms. Nolan gave the impression that time mattered in this case.
Fawbry, she had said, was a minor nuisance in Terrgar. All the surrounding towns belonged to Ms. Nolan (according to her), but Terrgar remained a dark hole on her map. It caused problems getting supplies to the far-end towns, caused problems with communications, and caused problems forming a solid front to her greater enemies in the western countries. Allowing Fawbry to continue to disrupt her holdings or escalate his activities invited an attack.
"Fawbry knows who you need to see. Bring him to me, and I'll get the information you want," Ms. Nolan had said.
The politics didn't matter to Malja. Warlords, politicians, businessmen, magicians — all the same. They sought to rule over others using the laws of people as tools for their personal advancement. They hid beneath lofty ideals and utopian promises they never intended to keep. Or they simply bullied their way from behind a sword. Malja had no use for it. Anarchy worked just fine.
They camped in the shade of a fractured bridge. Half the bridge spanned the far side of a dry bed. The other half was a mere skeleton. Its concrete pillars rose to hold up nothing like musicians standing on stage without their instruments — awkward and wrong.
Malja let the heat of their campfire soothe her weariness. Tommy nestled by her leg, wrapping his arms around her calf and resting his head on her knee. With a tentative touch, she stroked his hair, recalling the first time he had hugged her knee — the night she rescued him. It was such a simple act of affection, the very act that had won her over, yet she found it difficult to reciprocate more than her gentle touch on his hair.
Like horses, people didn't stay with her long. If she managed to keep Tommy alive long enough to become an adult, she expected him to go off for a life of his own. She couldn't expect him to stay. And she refused to force him to be what she wanted — that was Jarik and Callib's way.
Before she could spiral down into blistering memories, Malja cleared her thoughts with several deep breaths. She watched Tommy's hair trickle through her fingers. She listened to his slumber. She fought off all other concerns until an hour later, she fell asleep.
After another day traveling, Tommy had relaxed a little around the horse. By the time they reached Noograff, he could act like he had been born riding. But it was an act. He put on a brave face for the townspeople, yet Malja felt his tensed muscles clinging to the saddle.
The town of Noograff looked like many towns Malja had seen. An amalgam of single-story buildings cobbled together with materials from the nearest ruins. Rock, wood, and concrete chunks formed the foundation of materials. Old pavement, metal bars and pipes, and sharp bits of glass were more typical for extravagant homes. Noograff appeared to be more foundation and less extravagant.
The two roads were dirt with the odd bit of macadam poking through. Food and labor seasoned the air with a savory, rich aroma. Two wells marked sources of healthy water. To Malja — all signs of hearty, honest folk who understood these wild lands.
Good, she thought. She wanted to be around people that made sense.
She had heard rumors about the North countries that they had many carpenters and stoneworkers. They had towns cleared of the ruins and even a city or two. But those lands were elsewhere and they were governed. She preferred these towns. What they lacked in beauty they made up for in heart.
When they reached the main road through town, Malja's initial assessment faltered. A crowd of forty men and women congregated in the road. Many were absent limbs. Some bore deep scars and one woman had lost a chunk of her left ear. They carried makeshift weapons and sweated under makeshift armor. Some wore animal hides and others wore stained and patched clothing from long ago. Everyone wore something bright yellow around the head, arm, or neck. Despite their roughened exteriors, they looked like children playing at war.
Standing on a table made from a door laid across four large rocks, a heavy-set man with salt-and-pepper hair spoke to the exuberant crowd. In one hand, he waved a pearl-grip handgun. In the other, he clutched a yellow cloth. "I say it is enough that we struggle to eat, it is enough that we labor our meager fields. Why should we pay this scoundrel, too?" The townspeople roared their agreement. "This isn't our first time facing some idiot that thinks we'll be easy to bully. Nor is it our second or even our third. Warlords come and go. We've faced them, fought them, and in the end, we remain. What makes this different—" The crowd roared and hooted again. "What makes this different, what makes this unique, is that for the first time we will bring the battle to them. We will not wait for the evils of the world to pick upon us, to try to tear us apart. We will not watch our children shiver with the fear of what might come our way. No. We will take on the evil where it lives. And when we're done, Mayor Fawbry and all his ilk will never bother the town of Noograff again!
" The loudest explosions of support erupted complete with the banging of swords, stamping of feet, and fluttering of yellow.
Malja had seen plenty of armies do the same. She had even stood before a few, spouting similar lines about how great they were and how righteous their cause. In the end, blood flowed the same color.
The heavy man paused in his speech and squinted toward Malja. "You there. You've picked the wrong day to visit."
"I'm passing through, but I think I can help you."
"Help us? Why would the mother of a young boy want to help fight with strangers?"
"Ms. Nolan has sent me after Mayor Fawbry."
All eyes were on Malja and Tommy. The faces were firm but not threatening — not yet. The man on the table made a show of his confusion. "Don't know any Nolan, and we don't want your help."
Damn. Ms. Nolan's power had appeared authentic, but obviously she claimed more than she truly held. That clouded the matter of Mayor Fawbry. If Ms. Nolan's claim of information turned out to be a lie, Viper would make her pay.
"Go away," the man said. "Pass through tomorrow."
With one hand, Malja eased Tommy to the ground. He didn't want to let go at first, but Malja shook him off. Pouting, he scampered to the side as she urged the horse forward.
"My name is Malja," she said, noting the stunned look on a few faces. "Those who know of me, know that I am an army within myself. We have a common enemy today. I will be in Terrgar. I will fight to get to the Mayor. There is no changing that. The question you face is whether to fight with me or to get in my way."
The man scanned the crowd. Malja felt his confidence drain away like snow melting in her hands. "Y-You're a liar," he said. "You could be anybody. You could be one of Fawbry's people. Prove you're Malja."
"No."
