The Way of the Power

by Stuart Jaffe

  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.

  Moving with majestic grace, the Artisoll stepped forward. She had grown taller — older now. She looked like a woman who had raised children, who had loved, who had been loved, and who had seen Death. A serene smile and a gentle touch graced each of her motions.

  She touched Stray’s shoulder as she walked by him, causing him to step back and lower his head. Tommy raised his arm to focus on a tattoo, but the Artisoll stopped him with nothing more than a glance. And Malja — Malja understood immediately. She pivoted back, making way for the Artisoll to approach.

  Abrazkia crossed her arms. “Interesting that you only come forth for the stranger and not
for when I executed your own people.”

  Stray made a fist. “She knows her own people will sacrifice themselves for her.”

  “You’re a strange people. Perhaps it’s best to give a stranger to the strange.” She pocketed her gun and kicked Hirasa down the steps.

  Stumbling to her feet, Hirasa held a tight composure in her face, but she ran as fast as her legs would carry her. She tangled her arms around Malja as if holding onto a solid post in the middle of a horrendous storm.

  Malja stroked her head and whispered, “Go get on the boat. You’re okay now.”

  Hirasa wiped at her tears. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry they got me. But they ambushed me when I tried to get Fawbry. They were waiting with him. They have Fawbry.”

  As if only remembering, Abrazkia’s face lit up. “That’s right. I wanted to share my new friend with you. Now Fawbry!”

  A wooden balcony on the second floor exploded outward. Wood, stone, and dust plumed in all directions. Fawbry soared through the air — a dagger in his teeth, a gun in his hand, and madness in his eyes. His multi-colored robe fluttered behind him. His hand, the one that had been seared off long ago, had now returned covered in bright blue magic. He landed a few paces back and hurried to Abrazkia’s side, panting like a loyal dog.

  Abrazkia patted Fawbry’s head. “Fawbry, listen close. Malja and her friends have been trying to hurt the Artisoll. You want to protect the Artisoll, right? Well, the only way you can protect her is to kill them all.”

  Saliva trickled down Fawbry’s chin as he glowered at Malja.

  Chapter 21

  As Fawbry jumped down the stairs, Malja pulled out Viper and lowered into a fighting stance. His wild expression broadened as he came to an abrupt halt — well out of Viper’s reach. He lifted his handgun and shot. Bap! Bap! Bap! Bap!

  Malja had never seen a small handgun fire so many bullets so fast. Had he been a better shot and not half-insane, he might have hit them all. Instead, he sprayed bullets into the ground, kicking up stones and dirt.

  “To the boat,” Malja said.

  The group rushed back up the dock, bullets chewing up the wood planks behind them. Fawbry followed this with a maniacal laugh that would have been comical if not for the Death that he sent their way.

  Hirasa rushed to the mast and held onto it as if it had been Malja. Stray, Tommy, and Malja waited. Ready to fight. Uncertain of what would come.

  Fawbry had stopped his pursuit at the edge of the dock. For a fleeting moment, Malja thought his insanity might prevent him from going on the water.

  No such luck.

  Three of Abrazkia’s trang-gaul crawled from the Temple’s shattered balcony. They slithered down the cliff wall, their carapace bodies clicking all the way, and stood next to Fawbry. He had merely been waiting for support.

  With a wave of his gun, Fawbry sent the three creatures ahead. They dove into the bay and torpedoed through the water.

  “Coming on the other side,” Malja said.

  “I’ve got this.” Stray rushed across the bow of the ship.

  Though the fog had started to roll back in, Malja watched as Abrazkia escorted the Artisoll into the Temple. To Tommy, Malja said, “Unless she starts fighting, protect Hirasa.” Tommy knew better than to question orders in a fight, and he rushed off to do as commanded.

  Malja heard the splash. She saw the three minions rise into the air and over the railing of the ship’s port side. With his scimitars slicing in opposite directions, Stray dispatched one trang-gaul before it even landed. The other two approached cautiously and engaged Stray.

  Though she heard the back and forth of blade versus carapace, the strained grunts of Stray and the anguished clicks of the minions, Malja could not help. She had to keep her eye on Fawbry as he approached. With his gun trained on her head, Fawbry strolled across the dock, his magic hand sparking off bits of blue into the air.

  Malja decided to attempt to talk through the craziness that possessed Fawbry. Putting Viper away, Malja raised both hands. “Listen to me.”

  Fawbry giggled as if he had heard the most absurd idea. “I’d have to be crazy to listen to you.”

  “Please, all I —”

  “You have done nothing but destroy my life time and time again. Had I never met you, I’d be King of the Griffles, living in luxury, enjoying my life on Corlin. But you came and destroyed that. I had an opportunity then to be married, live with my family again, but no — you came and ruined that. Then, you take me away from the land I’d known since birth and brought me into a war zone. But I survived. I found a place for myself. They made me Sheriff they liked me so much. But you couldn’t let me have that. Everything that gave me purpose and place, you took away. You even took away my hand.”

  “I’ve never tried to ruin things for you, and I’m sorry it happened. I’ve always tried to make life better for us.”

  “You lie. You only wanted to make things better for yourself, and even then, you were more interested in the next battle than settling down to a peaceful life.”

  Fawbry boarded the boat. Malja backed up purposely towards the stern of the ship, hoping to lead Fawbry the furthest away from everyone else. Towards the back, Stray had beaten one trang-gaul into a stupor, went to strike it down, only to be deflected by the other. He held his own, though, and Malja trusted that he could finish the job.

  “Okay. I let you down. I’m no good. By why help Abrazkia?”

  “The Artisoll is all that matters. That’s my purpose.” Fawbry placed his glowing blue hand between them. “The Artisoll’s magic drives me. Abrazkia has shown me that together, the two of them can be greater, more special. My hand here is the proof.”

  “But Abrazkia wants this for herself. She’s Gate. If you think I’m selfish, then you must know that Abrazkia is a hundred times worse. She’s worse than Harskill.”

  “She gave me a new hand. She gave me a full purpose. All you ever did was take away.”

  The boat lurched forward. Malja widened her stance to keep her balance, and Fawbry only had enough time to look quizzical before the boat shot away from the dock as if launched from a sling. Fawbry tumbled towards Malja, and the winds caused by the boat’s rapid motion blew hard against them both. She caught his gun-wielding arm in the crook of her elbow. Turning as she clamped down, she tried to wrench the gun free.

  With a loud report, the gun went off. For a second, Malja watched as the bullet cracked through the hard shell of a minion, knocking it overboard. She saw Hirasa pinned down, arms still wrapped around the mast. Tommy stood at the wheel, using his magic to blast them faster and faster away from the Temple.

  In the next second, Malja wrestled Fawbry to the deck and smashed his hand against the railing. Once. Twice. On the second time, his fingers popped open and the gun flipped into the water.

  Barring her left forearm against his throat, she pushed down on his waist with her knee, trying to immobilize him. But Fawbry wriggled his new hand free and grasped Malja on the side. Shocks of electricity ripped through as every nerve in her body awoke. She jumped back with a shriek. Fawbry had learned much from Malja when it came to fighting — as she jumped back, he moved forward. He took hold of her by the waist. His hand continued to jolt her but also proved to have incredible strength. He lifted her, one-handed, over his head, and slammed her back down hard enough to break through the deck.

  Along with the wood raining down, Malja flopped into Tommy’s bunk, breaking it into pieces. Fawbry dropped down on top of her. Though too stunned by the assault to react, Malja never had to worry. For the seconds it took to clear her head, her do-kha took over. It formed a stiff pole, catching Fawbry in the chest, and knocked him through the cabin door.

  With the help of adrenaline, Malja jumped to her feet, gained her bearings, and stepped into the hall. As Fawbry stood, Malja punched him in the jaw. Rage blinded her. She punched him again and again and again — each punch cracking into his face, his gut, his chest, knocking him back a step or two, dazing him, keeping him
from focus.

  She stopped, hoping this beating had been enough. She looked at him, waiting for a reaction, waiting for a sign that he had finally returned to the Fawbry she knew. Because a sickening thought churned in her stomach — if she had to fight him more, she would probably have to kill him.

  And she would do it. The Artisoll had to be saved.

  Fawbry’s head lolled. Rubbing his palm into his forehead, he moaned. But when he raised his head, though his eyes did clear, they did not return to normal. Squinting at her, he opened his mouth, letting the saliva drool down his chin. With a tormented yell, he swung at her with his magic hand. Malja ducked, and Fawbry’s punch tore open a hole in the side of the ship. Ocean water rushed by just below the hole.

  Wrenching his arm, he tried to backhand Malja. Jumping aside, Malja evaded the strike, and Fawbry broke open another hole in the opposite side of the ship. Water splashed in. Malja’s do-kha stretched out and covered the blue hand, but the electric jolts still penetrated. Malja stumbled, smacking into the mast pole. She lunged forward, driving her shoulder into his stomach, and thrust him into the wall of maps and charts. But this new Fawbry ignored most of his pain and reacted quickly.

  His blue hand grabbed Malja’s neck and forced her back. The pain coursing through her body caused her fingers to twitch and her legs to shake. Breathing proved difficult. Fog formed around her eyes. She couldn’t tell if that came from outside or within. How close was Death? Worst of all, the one to kill her bore no resemblance to the Fawbry she knew and cared for.

  But behind him, Malja saw Hirasa. The woman stepped down from above, inching closer, doing her best not to be noticed. Malja made sure not to look at her directly, not to give Fawbry any reason to check behind.

  Hirasa undid her belt. She slid closer in and lassoed it around Fawbry’s neck. Yanking backwards, she cried out. The surprise startled Fawbry, causing him to release Malja.

  As she gasped for air, she saw Hirasa pull even tighter. Veins popped from Fawbry’s head and neck. In shock, he thrashed his arms about, failing to react in a rational manner.