The Way of the Power

by Stuart Jaffe

  Two more deep breaths and Malja started to feel capable again.

  “Don’t kill him,” she said with a raspy voice, but Hirasa continued to pull tighter on the belt.

  Malja jumped forward and decked Fawbry in the head. Five times she had to hit him until he went unconscious. Only then did Hirasa ease her hold.

  A bell clanged from above. Malja could not be sure how long it had been ringing, but she heard Stray’s voice clearly. “Get up here. Now.”

  Malja turned her weary eyes to Hirasa. “What now?”

  Together, they secured Fawbry to the mast pole in the middle of the room. They plugged the holes in the boat with debris from the fight. It wouldn’t stop the water for long, but hopefully for long enough. With that task complete, they went above deck.

  At some point, Tommy had stopped using his magic to control the boat, for it now traveled under the wind’s power. Stray sat on his knees, the dead trang-gaul behind him. He looked off into the ocean, and Malja noted that he did not gaze outward with the same reverence he held the last time he was on his knees. This time, he looked out with subservience.

  Malja saw a small skiff break through the fog. Three men sat aboard. Older, black-skinned men wearing dark, heavy robes.

  “It is the Old Men,” Stray said. “My teachers and trainers. The Holy Men.”

  Chapter 22

  While Tommy aligned the cruiser with the skiff, Stray frantically dumped the trang-gaul bodies and washed down the blood-soaked deck. Hirasa dangled her legs over the stern, her head lowered, and her hands juddering.

  Malja joined her. “You did a great job.”

  Hirasa snorted disbelief. “I fell apart when you needed me most.”

  “Offering yourself to sacrifice, facing Death as you did, took incredible strength and courage. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “But after — when I was released, I didn’t help you fight. I acted like a little girl crying for her mommy.”

  “You didn’t stay that way. You found yourself again and saved two lives.”

  “Without you there, I think I would’ve killed Fawbry.”

  “Maybe. But without you, I definitely would have killed him. You have behaved like a true warrior, and the people of Carsite will be proud of you. I know I am.” Malja pulled herself up by the rail. “Come on. Let’s join Stray and welcome our new friends.”

  At the back of the ship, Stray helped the three Old Men onto the cruiser. One at a time, they stepped aboard. They were bald, wrinkled old men with tufts of white hair in their ears and noses that looked brighter against their dark, thin faces, and skeletal mouths, yet they exuded strength in their firm chests and sturdy walks.

  With a constant slight bow, Stray led them towards Malja. “These are the Old Men, my trainers. They are the ones who find the Artisoll each generation. They are here for the Rising.”

  “You have names?”

  “No, no. We simply refer to them as Old Men or Old Man, or Holy Men. It has its confusing moments but you learn.”

  Malja had no intention of learning. She decided to name them — Big Nose, Bad Teeth, and Birthmark. The three B’s. “You came for the Rising? How did you know it was here?”

  “Like the Artisoll, the Old Men are unique in this world. They alone have the ability to sense magic. Since all magic lives within the Artisoll, they have no trouble finding her. After the Revelation, there’s even more magic present in the air. When you add Tommy — well, they probably knew before we did where we were going.”

  “Interesting enough, but why come at all? You’ve already found the Artisoll, and Stray is here to protect her.”

  “Oh, the Old Men are always at the Rising. Every single one. It’s the culmination of their life’s work.”

  Birthmark stepped forward with a light laugh that glistened in his cheeks. “We do speak.”

  Bowing deeper, Stray said, “My apologies. I was not trying to usurp your presence. I merely wanted to help Malja —”

  “It’s okay, Aldous. I understand. You may ease your nerves.”

  Malja raised an eyebrow at Stray. “Aldous?”

  With a sheepish shrug, Stray had the sense to say nothing.

  Planting her foot on the side of the boat, Malja went on, “Good to have you here. We could use the extra hands. We need to save the Artisoll.”

  “There’s no need to do anything,” Birthmark said. “All is as it should be.”

  “I’m sorry to tell you this since you apparently don’t know. The Artisoll has been taken from us. She’s in the hands of a very bad woman.”

  “The Artisoll is the Artisoll and all is as it will ever be. It is not our place to interfere. We do not choose or direct the course of the universe. We merely identify where its power lies.”

  Malja hesitated. “What?”

  Bad Teeth said, “We find the Artisoll, but we choose neither which Temple she travels to nor what will occur when she gets there. If this woman who has absconded with her abuses the Artisoll’s power, then so be it. Though we do not welcome such troubles, we accept that the world’s magic is beyond our control. If the world deems it necessary for strife to enter our times, then that is the world we will enter. We come merely to observe.”

  “That makes no sense. Why bother finding the Artisoll at all?”

  Big Nose answered this. “Why does your heart beat? Or your lungs breathe? They do it because it is what they are meant to do. They do it because it keeps the body alive. We are the lungs of our world. We do what we do so that the world survives.”

  Hirasa blundered into the middle of the group, picked up a piece of carapace that Stray had missed, and held it before the Old Men’s faces. “You speak of life but look at this. Go back to the Temple and see the bodies piled like firewood. There’s death all around. How can you consider this what was meant to be?”

  Big Nose acted as if he did not see the bloody fragment dripping inches from his face. “I don’t seek to convince you, I’m merely telling you what is. Magic behaves a certain way, and those of us connected to it must behave accordingly — whether you like it or not.”

  Malja straightened. “That may have served you fine in the past, but the magic you’re facing now, this is not your world’s magic, and it is not the Artisoll’s.” That got the Old Man’s attention. “Come down here. Let me show you.”

  She led the Old Men below deck. They didn’t have to go far to see Fawbry straining against the mast pole. His blue hand oozed with Abrazkia’s magic.

  Big Nose snapped his fingers, and Birthmark immediately rolled up his sleeves. He walked straight towards Fawbry, and without pause, clasped Fawbry’s enhanced hand between his own. Right away, Birthmark arched back, his face wincing tight, groaning in pain.

  Malja watched in shock. She knew full well what Birthmark endured, but the man would not let go. Fawbry screamed out like a terrified animal. Still, Birthmark held on. His left leg kicked out in uncontrolled spasms. The other Old Men watched with stoic faces.

  Not knowing Birthmark’s goal, Malja wanted to stop the procedure until she saw Fawbry’s crazed eyes settling back into his head. His maniacal face relaxed into the man she once knew — a man she had not seen for several weeks.

  Birthmark wrenched his head around to face his brethren, and with anguished heaves, he said, “Clear a path.”

  The two Old Men stepped back and waved Hirasa and Stray clear. When Birthmark could see his way forward, he released Fawbry. Propelling himself to the deck, he shouted. Before anyone else could follow, they all heard the splash of water as he hurdled overboard.

  Once on deck, Malja examined the waters but could not find him. “What’s he doing?”

  In a solemn, respectful tone, Bad Teeth said, “He has absorbed the magic that does not belong.”

  “So why go into the water? Does that dissipate it or something?”

  “He has sacrificed himself. He does not know how to swim.”

  Malja stared at the choppy waves as fog drifted over. S
he kept expecting Birthmark to appear, splashing in the water, calling for help, but she knew better. A man like that, one with conviction enough for self-sacrifice, would not struggle to live one moment longer. She pictured him sinking deeper into the ocean, arms crossed against his chest, eyes closed, face calm, perhaps even smiling, knowing that he had made the ultimate sacrifice for his beliefs.

  Breaking her out of these thoughts, Big Nose said, “What was that abomination?”

  “That was Gate magic. The woman who stole the Artisoll is the one casting it. So, can you help us stop her or do you have enough Old Men to sacrifice their lives in order to clean up what your world will become?”

  Bad Teeth said, “How can we help?”

  “Last we saw, she took the Artisoll into the Temple. She indicated that she wasn’t taking the Artisoll to the Rising.”

  Big Nose’s face paled. “She’s going to attempt to transfer the power of the Artisoll to herself. The Toonell ceremony will have to be performed and there’s only one place in the Temple that can happen.”

  Malja whipped out Viper. “Where do we go?”

  Chapter 23

  Still reeling from Birthmark’s suicide, Malja sneered at the waves as they headed back to the Temple docks. Nothing good ever happened out on the water.

  In the aft corner, Stray knelt with the Old Men. Malja assumed they prayed for their lost comrade. Fawbry stood with Hirasa on the port side. His madness had left him shaken. He spent much of the time crying — he had been able to see all the horrors he had committed but unable to stop them from happening. Twice he apologized to Malja for things he had said and done. She suspected he would apologize a dozen more times before he felt content that she did not hold these things over him.

  “You were not yourself,” she said. And though she did not begrudge him what he had said, she did not forget his words either. Because those words weighed on her. Because when she thought about them, she thought they sounded true.

  Hirasa rubbed his back as he shook and cried more. Malja overheard the name Lynoya. She had no idea how he would deal with the guilt wracking him over that, but it appeared that Hirasa could forgive him. Perhaps she would help him forgive himself.

  As the Temple poked through the wisps of fog, the group gathered together. Stray rubbed his mustache, the Old Men patted their heads, and Malja squinted into the distance — each lost in intense thought.

  Fawbry’s cracking voice cut through the quiet. “So, this Toonell ceremony — it’s going to give Abrazkia all of the Artisoll’s magic, right?”

  Big Nose said, “That’s what she hopes it will do, assuming that is what this Gate sorceress is doing in the Temple.”

  “It is,” Malja said. “I’ve got a lot to learn about Gate, but one thing is certain — they love power.”

  “Then she will have to perform the ceremony. If not, and she attempts to harness the Artisoll’s magic, she will fail. When she kills the Artisoll —”

  “When?” Hirasa said.

  Big Nose said, “Of course. You can’t get to the yolk without cracking the egg. When the Artisoll is killed, all of the magic within her, all of the magic in our world, will come rushing out. Your sorceress hopes to transfer this into herself. But if the sorceress fails to perform the ceremony properly, then when the Artisoll is killed, all of the magic will depart until it finds a newly born Artisoll to begin again.”

  Malja said, “She can really do this? Transfer the Artisoll’s magic?”

  Big Teeth flashed his wide grin. “Nobody knows. The only proof that it might be possible is that the ceremony exists, but we have no record of anyone ever attempting to actually do it. At least, not successfully.”

  Once they docked, the group stepped off the boat and approached the temple. Big Nose shivered at the numerous corpses, and Big Teeth held his mouth tight.

  Stray stepped in front of their view. “It’s easier if you keep moving.”

  Malja turned back to Fawbry and Hirasa. “I want you two to remain with the boat. It needs to be turned around and ready to go — in case we come running back.”

  Neither stopped moving forward. Fawbry shook his head. “There is no way you’re going to deny me a chance to face that piece of —”

  “She tried to kill me,” Hirasa said.

  “She used us. We deserve to see you destroy her.”

  Malja didn’t argue further. She appreciated their determination and knew that kind of strength often meant more than all the tactical experience a military mind could bring. With the decision made, she let go of any concerns and turned her mind toward the Artisoll.

  The inside of the Temple was astonishing. A circular, central room had been carved out and reached all the way to the top of the cliff — several openings allowed fog-diluted sunlight to shine through. A maze of corridors, stairways, and rooms surrounded the center room.

  The Old Men led the way off to the right and up a curving set of stairs. Everywhere Malja looked, she saw paintings and sculptures. Some statues were made of polished stones and crystals, exuding fine craftsmanship and artistry. Some were crudely cobbled together from junkyard scraps. Likewise, the paintings were a mixture of those displaying phenomenal skill and talent and those struggling to be called rudimentary.

  The blending made sense once Malja examined the paintings’ subjects. One of the finer pieces depicted an army on lizardback wearing the deep blue of Ro. Another painting — one that looked as if a seven-year-old had created it — showed farmers working a field. Still other paintings presented one aspect or another of the lives that existed in this world. All of this art had been created by the people of Reo-Koll. Skilled and unskilled alike, they gave what they could to adorn the walls of the Temple. In a way, the art was Reo-Koll. By hanging it in the Temple, they made clear their devotion to the one being of magic in all of existence — at least, that they knew of.

  The Old Men halted at a wide landing with two sets of stairs branching off in different directions. Big Nose headed for the furthest set and leaned his head into the stairwell. Hurrying back, he held his stomach with one hand and covered his mouth with the other. Big Teeth and Hirasa tried to comfort him, but he was too shocked to explain what he saw.

  Malja walked over to the stairs. Before she reached the first step, she saw blood. With Viper at the ready, she peeked in. Two more Old Men — slashed apart and hung upside down like large animals being drained.

  Though whispering, Malja used her commanding tone to be obeyed. “Stray, Fawbry — get over here. Tommy, watch over the Old Men and Hirasa.”

  “Wait,” Bad Teeth said. “You don’t have to fight.”

  “What do you think we’re here to do?”

  Standing straight, Bad Teeth walked over to her. He moved at a calm pace. When he reached her, he glanced into the stairwell. “We are here to save the Artisoll from your Gate sorceress. If that means fighting, then so be it. But most often, there is a better way.”

  “You have a better way to get to the ceremony room?”

  “It is not called the ceremony room. It is the Holding Room, and I do have a better way.” Bad Teeth led them back the way they had come. Halfway along the stairs, he stopped and leaned his weight against the wall. A door-shaped crack opened and slid aside. To Malja’s surprised face, Bad Teeth said, “We’re not ignorant. Governments and despots are the least of the people who would want to get hold of the Artisoll. The Temples have plenty of secret paths to help get her to the Rising.”

  “I’m starting to like you Old Men.”

  They traveled through the cramped passageway. Though damp and stifling, no one complained. A few minutes later, they heard chanting. The further they walked on, the louder the chanting grew. Soon, there was no doubt — the voice belonged to Abrazkia.

  After a short time, Bad Teeth slid aside another door, and the group piled into an octagonal room with heavy draperies covering the walls. One wall opened to a long corridor. Another wall had a door painted dark red.

  “Throug
h that door is the Holding Room. Really it’s a sacrificial chamber, but that use was from long ago. Back in less informed times. It’s been centuries since anybody thought animal sacrifices were necessary for the Rising.”

  Stray put his ear against the door. He cracked it open a little and peeked in. “It’s just the two of them in there. The Artisoll is sitting on the altar. Abrazkia is chanting at a statue of the Queen. I’ll go in and —”

  “You’ll die in there,” Malja said. “You saw what Abrazkia did to me, and I had my do-kha to help me.”

  Stray showed no fear. “Then I’ll die. As long as I save the Artisoll, my life is not important.”

  “Don’t be stupid. If you die, how are we going to get the Artisoll to the Rising?”

  “That’s only true if you go in there, too.”

  “But I won’t die.” Malja pushed Stray aside, placed her hand on the door, and took several deep breaths. “Just be ready.” She opened the door and entered.

  The Holding Room looked every bit like a dungeon. Chains bolted into the walls must have kept victims in place while awaiting their turn at the altar. Bad Teeth said they were animal sacrifices, but based on the height of the chains, Malja suspected that there were human sacrifices somewhere in Reo-Koll’s past.

  The altar had been shaped like a rolling wave sculpted from an enormous white stone. Long brownish trails stained the sides of the altar — a testament to its intended use. Tall candles lined one wall providing plenty of illumination along with unwelcome heat.

  As Stray had observed, the Artisoll sat on the altar. She looked as placid as always. Malja thought of the Old Men’s fatalistic attitude and wondered if it came from the behavior of the Artisoll. When the soul that holds all the magic in the world will calmly accept any fate, then why would her priests behave any differently?

  Behind the altar rose a statue of an eight-armed woman. Her arms stretched out and in each hand she held a unique object. Her face tilted upward, her nose brushing the ceiling.