by Stuart Jaffe
"Malja," Fawbry said as he clambered on top of the counter, "it's almost out."
She spun around to face the baby beast. White like snow and covered in mucus, the four-foot snake-cutter flopped to the cracked, tile floor. Its tubular body and hundreds of tiny, slithering legs gave it the snake illusion. Its head, however, lacked any such image. It didn't even have a face. Instead, its front end closed tight like a sphincter. Eyes on either side and a long-hair mane made this one of the ugliest creatures Malja had ever seen.
Righting itself, the baby shook off the fall, eyed one dead rabbit, and launched into it with abandon. It slurped and groaned and mewed. Each sound flipped Malja's stomach. She clenched her teeth and snarled. The snake-cutter's eyesight may have been poor, but its hearing worked just fine. Its head shot up, searching for a threat.
Malja looked back at Tommy. He had used magic. On her.
With a raw, primal scream unlike any war cry she had ever made before, Malja swung Viper. The tip hooked the snake-cutter. It cried out like a child strangling its tears and jerked away causing its skin to tear. Malja kicked it to the wall, shredding its skin as it ripped free from Viper. Wriggling against the wall, it moaned and screeched as its blood pooled. Malja moved forward. It cringed at her approach.
Again she struck hard with Viper, launching the baby into a new frenzy of cries.
Again she struck hard. Holding his ears, Fawbry yelled, "Just finish it." But she didn't want to. She wanted it to fight back.
Again she struck. Blood sprayed against the wall. Tumus cried out at each blow, her shocked voice melding with the dying creature's.
Again. Malja's arm shook as Viper cut straight through to the floor.
The cries weakened. The blood flow lessened. Still, Malja struck.
When she finally stopped, she let Viper clatter on the tile floor. She stumbled backward. Rain and thunder played a double rhythm. Her frenzied fury still echoed along her skin, pulsing with her heartbeat. Lightning flashed. She looked at Tommy — the magician. He gazed up, shivering next to Tumus.
"Don't ever use magic on me again," Malja said and walked into the rain.
Chapter 12
As night edged in, Malja worked on the horses. Under fluttering torchlight, she slid her hands along the withers, kneading when required. She scooped the rib cage and massaged the chest, working the rubdown all the way to the legs. She cleaned out a metal container and collected rainwater so the horses could drink. She talked to them and combed their manes. By the time she had finished, most of her anger had dissipated.
Fawbry spent this time clearing out the mess she had made. He built a pile of rabbit, hawk, and smoke-cutter bits and covered it with stones and mud to keep scavengers away. He built a fire using the charred remains in the campfire circle — not enough for a good blaze, but it would keep them warm.
Malja had watched this as she worked. Now, she stood by her dappled gray, stared out at the rain, and listened to its drum rattle on the overhang. She heard Fawbry behind her — sounded like he made extra noise so as not to startle her into a swift attack.
"You okay?" he asked.
She shrugged.
"You can come back in, you know."
She glanced at the doorway. "I don't think that's a good idea."
"Don't be stupid. We're your friends." Malja raised an eyebrow and Fawbry laughed. "I am, at least. I'm trying. Tommy is, you know that. Tumus probably not. The point is, we'll listen to you. We understand."
"I doubt you could ever understand."
"Oh, really? Just because I know when to run, doesn't mean I don't know anything about anger, about rage so powerful it takes over all of your thoughts."
"This was more than just being really mad."
"I know. I do. You think of me as I am, but even a coward will fight if there's no other choice."
Lightning flashed against the wet, rocky landscape. Fawbry rested a hand on his black mare. Malja watched as he tried to rub out a harsh memory swimming just below the surface of his words. An authentic smile crept upon her lips. Any more anger and these horses won't want to be touched again.
Fawbry said, "Years ago, when I was a young man, I lived up north with my parents. I worked our farm in the mornings and went to school the rest of the day. Things up there are a little better, a little more stable, and my father thought some kind of education would set me up for a good life.
"I did enjoy school. I miss it. It was simpler. You just had to show up and learn. At least, that's how it was until I started noticing girls."
"We do have a way of complicating each other's lives."
Fawbry grinned. "Yes, we do. I've often thought men and women would be better off living in separate colonies that only get together once in a while to procreate."
"I can think of a lot of men and quite a few women who'd hate that idea."
"Well, they never went after the wrong girl. It sounds silly now, but back then I would've done anything for Yolen. She possessed me with a fire I've never felt for another woman. But she was not a good person. I put up with her using me and tolerated her infidelity. I was a real idiot. My parents saw through her, and they tried to make me see, but I ignored them. What kid is going to listen to his parents when they're telling him to give up on someone he wants?
"Things changed when I met Pung Kirkle. Big guy. Always had two big friends with him. Yolen left me for Pung, and I couldn't do anything about it. As hurt and sad and betrayed as I was, I would've just gone off and cried and maybe, someday, moved on. But Yolen was cruel, and Pung was her new dog. It began with simple teasing, then they started hitting me in passing, and then ... well, then we get to the whole point of this."
Thunder rumbled. "I take it you fought back," Malja said, "and you felt bad about it. This is different."
"I didn't just fight back. I lured them. I waited until Pung and his two thug friends were alone. And then I called them names — I knew that's all it would take to get them to chase me. I ran down a dead-end alley. They slowed down, knowing I couldn't escape, thinking they had all the time. But I had planted a metal pipe with jagged scrap attached.
"My first two swings caught them by surprise. Both of Pung's buddies fell. One lost his nose. The other took it in the side and was bleeding bad. Pung — I saw him become afraid. That made me feel good. Really good. Like I had exposed him in front of the world. Like I was powerful. Euphoria and—"
"I know it well."
"I suppose you do. Anyway, he swung at me. The problem for him was that I had been hit by him many times. What was one more? I didn't flinch, and I didn't turn away. I took the fist."
"And then you were in range."
"Exactly. I smashed out his kneecaps. He curled up and cried — may have even wet himself. But I didn't stop. I couldn't. All my hatred and anger and jealousy and everything poured out with each strike. I just kept hitting. I screamed and kicked and I couldn't find a way to stop. He almost died. Had I been stronger, he would be dead.
"I ran away that day. Headed South. Trouble for me was that the South was more barbaric than I could handle. Brains got me far, but in the end, people down here solve everything with a sword."
"Is this meant to make me feel better?"
Fawbry patted his horse and headed toward the door. "No. Just wanted you to know you're not alone."
The rain picked up, and the wind shifted. Malja backed up, but the storm reached her no matter where she stood. From the doorway, Fawbry said, "Come back inside."
"Maybe later."
With an angry howl, the wind shifted again taking the rain with it. The sudden drop in noise filled up with Malja's laughter. It came out in short bursts, initially, but when Fawbry joined in, the floodgates released. She laughed hard, not even sure why, but letting the wondrous sensation run its course. Tears formed and her chest ached, but each time she thought she had control the laughter exploded again. It seemed like it would never end. Until she heard Tommy cry in pain.
A bright light fl
ashed through the doorway. Malja dashed over to Fawbry. Inside, Tumus sat against the wall holding Tommy in her arms. Both were covered in sweat. Tommy's eyes were closed.
"He's okay," Tumus said. "This one was rough, but he's fine now."
Seeing Tommy secure in the Chi-Chun's embrace twisted a hot spear through Malja's chest. With a sharp motion, she waved Tumus outside. Easing away from Tommy took some maneuvering, but Tumus managed not to wake him. As she stepped outside, Malja said, "How much more of this does he have to go through?"
"I don't know. If he were back at the lake, Barris could guide him. Alone like this — he has to find his own path to each spell."
Malja stepped back as if slapped. "How many spells does he have?"
"I don't know. Barris didn't tell me. But the power I've been absorbing from him is more than anything I've ever experienced."
She watched Tommy curl up. Her heart pounded unlike anything she ever felt before battle. When he woke, she hoped he would understand and not think she had broken her promise. She clasped her hands so she could feel the tight grip that she imagined kept Tommy safe. With a curt nod, she said, "Then we can't wait. Fawbry, saddle up our horses. Tumus, you stay here with Tommy. You'll be safe enough inside. The smell of that dead snake-cutter should keep most things away. We'll leave what food we have, but ration it. And when we get back, I expect him to be in good shape. You let anything happen to him, you better run. Understand?"
Tumus nodded. Malja suppressed a grin — good to see her authority voice still held its power.
"Where are you going?" Tumus twisted the black shreds of her robe. "In case Tommy asks."
"To find Cole Watts, of course."
Chapter 13
By the time the rainstorm had passed and the morning sun breached the sky, Malja and Fawbry had crossed nearly ten desolate miles. The horses were exhausted. Two long treks with little rest in between left them sore and irritable. Malja shared the sentiment.
She pictured Tommy waking up to find her gone. She knew she had made the right choice — he needed close care right now. Care which, it galled her to admit, she could not provide. But even if Tumus could help him with his magic, he would also miss her. He had to. When she returned, he'll sprint towards her, his arms open wide, ready to wrap around her legs. Maybe then she'll get him to listen to orders more often.
They stopped for an early-morning break and let the horses wander free for a bit. Not too far, though. Malja kept eyeing them like a worried parent watched a toddler. This was the Freelands, after all. Not a place to be caught without a horse.
Later, when her bladder demanded attention, she asked Fawbry to watch the horses. She found a boulder to get behind and relieved herself. Afterward, she didn't move. She remained squatting as her mind flashed through the memories Barris Mont had churned up.
I'll kill that damned thing for what it's done to me. She'd rather have Gregor's voice pestering her about paying the dead their honor. She considered those thoughts for a moment. Perhaps it was as simple as that. If Gregor had been right, and he often was right, then by paying them their honor, she had been able to bury her memories safely. Barris Mont dug them all up again. If she paid the honor once more, she hoped that might be enough to stop these flashes.
Except Barris didn't unearth the horrors of her years as a warrior. He dug into her formative years. There weren't any deaths to pay honor to. In fact, he pulled her into his head after seeing her at seventeen on the day Gregor ...
She stood fast and nearly toppled from the head rush. With one hand against the boulder, she took several deep breaths.
Gregor.
That day had started out so well. After three days hunting, she had accumulated enough meat to last them through the first quarter of the Korstraprime season. Not only had she caught and butchered the meat, she even smoked it herself. Usually Gregor insisted she return with her catches so he could smoke it in the little smokehouse he had built out back. But this time, she had done it all on her own.
She constructed a sled from fallen logs and loaded it with all the meat. Lugging all these pounds had not been easy, but as she neared home, the energy within her rose to the occasion.
"Gregor," she called out. "Come give me a hand."
She couldn't wait to see his face when he laid eyes on all this food. When he didn't come out, she cupped her mouth and bellowed, "Wake up, Lazyhead. I'm home."
Nothing. Her body tensed as she approached the shack. He's probably asleep, she tried to assure herself, but her innate warrior's sense, something she had yet to really understand at seventeen, warned her that the situation felt wrong.
She opened the front door and let out a sharp gasp. Blood covered the walls and floor and furniture. An animal had forced its way in and attacked and shredded Gregor. No. On the walls, Malja saw burn marks, and the air smelled sour. Magic.
Her stomach flipped and she rushed outside to vomit. She heaved until nothing more would come. Rolling on her back, clutching her stomach, she fought for a breath that didn't shake with tears. Gregor. It's not fair.
She heard something — a sound of movement from the shack. Malja got to her feet and lowered her stance. Caution, hatred, anger, and sorrow swirled around her heart. She pulled out her short sword. Just like hunting dinner.
Moving slowly, carefully, she stepped into the shack. The bedroom door was closed. She positioned in front of it with her sword ready to thrust forward should anybody attempt to open the door and bolt out.
Again she heard movement. Her prey hid in the bedroom. No doubt in her mind.
Her nerves jangled and her hand shook. It was one thing to spar an opponent where there were set rules of conduct. To fight for real — she had never experienced such a thing. But one glance at the bloody mess on the floor ignited her rage.
"For Gregor," she yelled and kicked the door in. She rushed forward, looking for anyone or anything to slaughter.
A man jumped from the side. Without thought, she lunged at him, thrusting her sword into his gut and twisting the blade for maximum damage. His face froze in astonishment as blood dribbled from his mouth. She stared back, her own mind stunned by the act of her first kill.
But the door slammed behind her and a blow to her back thrust her against the opposite wall. In the surprise, she dropped her sword, leaving the dead man skewered on the floor.
A man pushed his fist in the exact spot he had struck her, forcing her to arch away from the pain. He grabbed her arm and wrenched back and upward. With his other hand, he kept her face shoved into the wood. She could hear his heavy breath in her ear and felt his bristled cheek against her head. He smelled of fish and alcohol.
"You're not supposed to be back yet," he said.
"I'm going to kill you," she said, trying to fight back. He raised her arm and the pain stopped all struggle.
"Now, now. You just calm down, and we'll get out of this fine. See, you shouldn't be here. We were told only to kill the old man. Not the girl. Specifically not the girl."
"What? Somebody hired you to do this?"
The man chuckled, and it sounded like alley sex with a whore. "Oh, stupid girl, see that? You got far worse things to worry about than me. I mean, you don't want to be on the bad side of the brothers. And if they're killing off somebody you care about but letting you live to stew in it, well, you must've done something pretty bad to them."
Malja stomped on the man's toe. He screamed out but held on to her arm. With his free hand, he punched her in the side.
"Don't do that again," he said. "There's no need. I just want to get out of here alive. I've told you who's responsible, so there's no need to bother with me. Think of me as just the messenger. I'm sorry the news was so bad, but I got my own problems and now that I've done this, I'm hoping a lot of my problems will go away."
"You killed Uncle Gregor."
"And you killed my friend."
"I'm going to find you. You understand? I'll find you."
"Shut up, now," he said.<
br />
Only then did Malja realize the man had hardly moved since putting her against the wall. She thought of the burn marks and the sour stench. She felt his hands grow warm, the smell grew worse, and she felt a blow to her head that knocked her unconscious.
Hours later, she woke and gathered her things. She made a funeral pyre out of the shack, and over Gregor's burning body, she vowed to kill Jarik and Callib for this and all the misery they had brought to her life.
"Malja?" Fawbry called. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," she said and leaned her head against the cool boulder. Whenever she thought about that day, the day that started everything, she rarely considered the man she killed. Her first. She always thought of Gregor and the vow and the man that got away. But her first kill had also been that day. That's the honor she had failed to ever pay.
She took a moment to remember his face — hook nose, small eyes, and a dark hatred on his brow. She knew nothing more about him than that frozen look, but it sufficed. She could feel the memory easing down inside her to a place where it would not plague her thoughts.
"How much farther?" she asked Fawbry as she walked around the boulder.
"A couple miles, I think, and we'll see the cabin."
Fawbry stretched out on the ground, and Malja sat next to him. Playing with a few rocks in the dirt, she knew her mind needed to refocus. She said, "The other night Tumus mentioned something about machines. That Cole Watts makes machines."
"Yeah, she did."
"She? I thought Cole Watts was a man."
"Not in the least," Fawbry said with a snicker.
"Oh? Did you have a relationship with her? Is that how you know her?"
"Absolutely. She's an incredible woman. I met her when I first came down here. She helped get me on my feet, helped me work through all my guilt over Pung."
"You're not together now. What happened?"
