The Way of the Soul

by Stuart Jaffe

  She took a step towards Tommy but stopped. Hirasa and Fawbry weaved through the armies also heading for their injured friend. They turned him onto his back, listened to his heart, and pressed on his chest. After a moment, Hirasa looked at Malja and nodded.

  Malja took another step towards Tommy. Before she could get a third step going, Tommy coughed and sat up fast. Fawbry and Hirasa tried to push him back down but he shoved them back. His focus shot across the battlefield, straight into Malja. He then pointed to the Library.

  Malja’s heart paused. He was right, of course. No matter how badly she wanted to rush over to him, the Library had to be dealt with first. It held the energy that fueled Harskill.

  She glanced at her side. A gash trickled blood down over her thigh. The Library was far enough away that she would probably open that gash into a flood by walking. But nobody else could help. They all fought the Gate while the Artisoll fought Harskill.

  Stumbling forward, Malja walked along the platform. Harskill saw her. He tried to put out his hand, to stop her somehow, but he couldn’t do so without letting the Artisoll destroy him. All his energy went into fighting her.

  “Freen!” His voice thundered, but this time, the battle did not stop for him. “Freen!”

  Malja continued on toward the Library. The heat radiating off the energy beam made each step harder like slogging through a burning swamp. Just ahead, she saw Viper on the ground. She took another step and another. For a moment, her heart lifted. She saw herself taking Viper and cutting into the Library, gutting it like an animal, and destroying Harskill in the process. Then Freen stepped in her way.

  He rolled his head around and pumped his shoulders. His finely-tailored, pin-striped coat had been cut and torn. “This’ll be fun. A real fight like the old punchers from before we discovered magic and the do-kha.”

  Though bruised and bleeding, Malja’s instincts sized up her opponent fast. He would be formidable under the best of circumstances. With her body losing strength every second and her hands shaking, she could never beat him. Not in a fistfight.

  “Something wrong? No longer Harskill’s favorite? Don’t worry. I am the Gate Freen. I am nothing if I am not magnanimous.” He made a small bow. “I’ll let you have the first hit. Head, body shot, whatever you want. Except a kill shot. You go for my neck or groin or such, I’ll pull your heart out.”

  Malja perked up. “You’d let me have the first hit? Really?”

  “You better do it fast. I don’t think you have much blood left in you.”

  She tried to hide her smile as she walked closer to Freen. His smug expression coated her with anger. He would regret his arrogance. She would make sure of it.

  When she reached him, he puffed out his chest and tightened his stomach muscles. Malja shook her head clear. There would be no second chance. She had to put every bit of force she had left into this attack. Fast, hard, and decisive — that’s what she needed. Slow, weak, and dying — that’s what she had.

  “Come on, now,” Freen said. “Let’s get started.”

  Malja motioned with a limp wave. She counted in her head — 1 ... 2 ... 3 ...

  With an explosion of movement, Malja dove to the ground, rolled forward, and came back up with Viper in her hand. Freen only had time for his condescending smile to drop. She slashed three times in the span of one breath. He stared at her, probably confused by the sensations in his body, and then he fell apart in three distinct pieces.

  “Stop her!” Panic crept into Harskill’s voice.

  Malja stood before the Library. The Soul of the Sun floated in the beam, pulsing heat and energy over her. She tried lifting Viper to bat the orb out of the beam, but all her strength had been used up. She heard Viper fall again and could not fathom what it would take to pick up that piece of metal.

  Her thoughts grew foggy. Sentences became difficult to string together. But one thing remained — an image of Tommy. Not the man who urged her across this platform, but the boy she had saved so long ago — the look on that boy’s face when she pulled him out of a sinking ship and brought him safely to shore. For him, she thought.

  With a harsh, guttural noise, she thrust her hand into the beam, grabbed the orb, and yanked it out. Green flames engulfed her arm. She crumpled to the ground, crying as the burning reached through her skin and muscle, all the way to her marrow. The Soul of the Sun disintegrated along with her arm.

  For one moment, though, one brief pause in the pain, she saw Harskill. He faced her, shocked at the sudden loss of his power. The swarm of magic that he had created rose above him like a personal tidal wave. It crashed down, flattening him. One short yell. That’s all he managed as his blood and bone tore out of him. Then the swarm and Harskill’s cold, dead face vanished.

  All the do-khas snapped back to life. Malja had never seen her do-kha move so fast. It covered her in seconds, and almost as fast, it soothed the pain in her side, stopped the burning of her body, and treated what remained of her arm — no more than a stub off her shoulder.

  Across the battlefield, Gate created portals and left. None wanted to face the Artisoll without Harskill or the Soul of the Sun. Those that did stay were quickly overwhelmed by the Artisoll’s forces.

  Tommy, Hirasa, and Fawbry approached. Hirasa shouldered Tommy, but he did walk. Fawbry pointed at her missing arm. “You had to outdo me with that.”

  “At least, you can be the expert and teach me how to live with only one arm.”

  Fawbry made another wisecrack, but Malja did not hear it. Her body went limp, and her eyes closed. The last things she recalled were the soft sensation of floating and the warm comfort of knowing they had won.

  Chapter 32

  Reon

  Her eyes fluttered open as she awoke from her deep meditation. Though the sounds of monks training outside seeped into the quiet room, Reon did not mind. Over the last year, she had grown accustomed to the constant ebb and flow of sound at the Order. It gave the day a unique rhythm, one which aided in her training.

  After the Library Rebellion, as it had become known, Owl commanded his monks to save Reon’s life. Some were apprehensive at first — wasn’t she the one who had wounded Owl? — but he explained that she had also saved him, that she had taken a step towards a better life, and that it was their duty to help her find that path. Despite the grumbling, the monks obeyed. What else could they do? They had elected him Chief Master. Of course they would obey him.

  Her body required months to mend. All during that time, Owl taught her much about how strong her mind could be. He patiently worked with her in the practice of meditation, something she fought against at first but now loved dearly. In return, once she was back on her feet, Reon picked up where Malja had left off — teaching the monks how to use a sword with grace and skill. Once a monk graduated from Reon’s tutelage, he became a novice under Chief Master Owl who instructed the Way of the Sword and Gun.

  Nothing grew between Owl and Reon but the admiration and respect of two seasoned veterans. By the time they had both recovered from their injuries, whatever flame they had touched upon, burnt out. Reon didn’t mind, though. If she had begun a romantic relationship with Owl, she would never have been allowed to teach swordsmanship nor would she have been permitted to live at the Order. Her presence would have been questioned and her influence would have been resented. Instead, she had enjoyed a long period of growth under the steady rhythms of the Order.

  It had been a good year.

  But the time to leave had come. She should not have been surprised when Owl entered her plain room and placed a packed bag on her bed.

  “How long have you known?” she asked.

  “A few weeks now.”

  “But I haven’t even known that long.”

  “Some part of you did. I could see it in your eyes.” Owl leaned against the door with his arms crossed. It was meant to look relaxed, but Reon saw the regret tensing his body. “I don’t know what changed for you, but you’re certainly itching to go. Did you disco
ver a purpose for yourself? Perhaps while meditating?”

  Reon chuckled. “You’d love for the meditations to be the answer.”

  “Considering you nearly drove me insane teaching you how to do it, yes, I would love for you to know I was right — at least, about that.”

  “Sorry, but it wasn’t the meditation.” Her smile faded. “It was that traveling merchant.”

  “The man who had been attacked by robbers?”

  “I spoke with him the night he spent here. His arm had been broken and his face had bruises all over, but he still wanted to talk instead of rest. He told me that there were no robbers.”

  “He lied?”

  Reon stroked her arm, feeling her do-kha on her fingertips. “He was afraid you wouldn’t believe the truth. But he saw that I wore this and so he told me. He said only one person attacked him. A madwoman who wore a black suit that moved as if it were alive itself.”

  “Sola.”

  “I think so. According to the merchant, she would be heading south toward Corlin. I think I need to go find her. She wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t succeeded in getting the Soul of the Sun.”

  Owl sat next to her on the side of the bed. “You know it’s not your fault. Harskill would have found some other way to get what he sought.”

  “Maybe. But he didn’t have to because I did succeed. Now, I have to set things right. I need to stop Sola.”

  “I understand. I wish I could come with you, but the monks would never let their Chief Master go on such a dangerous mission.”

  “It’s okay. You’ve already done enough for one lifetime. It’s my turn to do some good now. Besides, I’ve heard that Corlin is an anarchic mess in need of some law.”

  “And you’re the law.”

  “I’ll try.”

  Owl’s bitter grin matched the way he sighed as he got up. “You know we’re always here for you.”

  “Thank you.” She stepped over to him and kissed his lips soft and slow.

  “All those worlds out there,” he said, “and we have to find each other in this way. Doesn’t seem fair.”

  “It isn’t. But did you ever expect fairness from Life?”

  “I’ll be grateful for what little we found.” Owl pecked her cheek. “I’ll go see that a horse is prepped for you. Our final gift for all you’ve done to help us at the Order.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but in the end, he turned and walked away.

  Reon stared at the empty doorway. When she felt certain he would not return, she closed the door. Her do-kha warmed a knot in her neck. It didn’t understand that the tension she felt had more to do with her heart than her muscles.

  Her do-kha — she had seen how they were enslaved. She had seen how they were controlled. Yet she still considered her do-kha as hers.

  “That’s why it’s taken me so long to see what Owl saw awhile back. I have one last unfinished task to handle.”

  She closed her eyes and inhaled as if about to sink into another meditation. Instead, she thought about her do-kha. She sent her thoughts toward it until she felt certain it knew she wanted to communicate. Then she thought a simple statement: You are free to go.

  The do-kha warmed her entire body in response. And it stayed on her.

  Good. She thought it and she meant it. She needed the do-kha and felt true relief that it had stayed. Because Corlin would only be the beginning. That would be her real training ground — a place to put into practice all she had learned. Once she killed Sola, she would use the help of her do-kha to travel into other worlds. She would find other Gate — all other Gate — and end their terror. One by one. Soon, they would be the ones terrified. She even had a name for herself — the Gatehunter.

  Chapter 33

  Malja

  On the shores of Stone Beach, Malja sat on her porch and watched the tide. Bundled in a knit blanket, she rocked in a green wood chair, her old bones creaking like the flooring beneath her. The smell of the ocean kept her alert like a dangerous foe watching from the shadows.

  She laughed at herself. Only dangerous foe left for this old woman.

  “Grandma, finish the story.”

  Malja looked down. Her grandchildren sat around her, all eagerly awaiting her to speak. She had forgotten herself for a moment, drifting off on the ocean waves. That happened more and more now.

  She smiled at Talvin, the little boy who looked so much like Fawbry. He had Hirasa’s eyes, but the rest of him would turn out like his father. Iva, their daughter, would end up beautiful and strong. Hirasa taught both her children how to fight, how to think, and how to behave. Luckily, for those kids, fighting would never have to be anything more than fitness and sport. The Artisoll saw to that.

  Decades of peace enveloped Reo-Koll and several connected worlds — all thanks to the power and wisdom of the Artisoll. She and Tommy created one child — a lovely girl named Malja. Little Malja was quiet but not silent. She sat closest to Malja, patiently waiting for the story to continue. Though the Artisoll knew her daughter did not possess the spark that would make her the next Artisoll, Little Malja did have a sharp mind. She would do well at anything she chose to set her mind to.

  “Grandma,” Talvin whined. “Finish the story.”

  Malja patted him on the head with her only hand. “You’ve heard it before, and I don’t think I have enough time to finish the whole story. But I’ll tell you a bit more because I know this is one of your favorite parts.”

  Talvin bounced his legs and clapped his hands. “This is when you went through the portal, right?”

  His sister shoved him. “Shush. Let her tell it.”

  Malja waited some more. She loved watching these children, loved their innocence and their playfulness. Above all else, she loved that her life was just a fantastic story to them. They knew nothing about the horrors of the worlds, and that was fine. She had suffered through it all for them — even before they existed.

  Before Talvin could start whining again, Malja leaned closer, capturing their attention. Little Malja got on her knees and clutched Malja’s blanket. “I had never been through a portal before, and this one had not been made with any control. It started sucking all the air right out of the room, and me along with it. And boom — before I knew it, I was falling from a great height. Higher than the birds way up in the sky. Below me, as far as I could see, there was only ocean. Imagine that. An entire world that was nothing but ocean. And as I fell, I thought this was it. I was going to die.”

  Little Malja spoke up. “But Daddy saved you?”

  “That’s right. Your father opened another portal beneath me and I fell right back into the room with him.”

  The door to the house opened. Fawbry and Tommy stepped out. Through the door, Malja caught a glimpse of Viper mounted above the stone fireplace.

  “Okay, kids,” Fawbry said, “that’s enough for today. Mommy’s out front to take you all back to the castle. You, too, Little M. You’ve got a history lesson to go to.”

  Little Malja made a face, but she got up to leave. All three children took a moment to hug Malja before running off. Malja clutched each one tight, her one arm holding strong enough for two. She breathed in their youthful scent — so vibrant, so energizing.

  “Bye, Grandma,” Talvin said and kissed her cheek.

  As the children rushed off, Fawbry laughed. “Never thought I’d see you want to be hugged. I can’t decide whether it’s a pleasing development or a disturbing one.”

  Malja smiled. “Oh, stop teasing and sit.”

  Fawbry and Tommy pulled up two chairs. Malja took a moment to look them over. They knew to stay quiet and let her speak in her own time. Both men looked healthy and strong. Gray, though. Fawbry more than Tommy, but they weren’t young men anymore. They weren’t that far behind her in years, yet she had aged significantly faster.

  The best anybody could figure out suggested that Malja’s repeated travels through the portals had disrupted the natural flow of her life. Tommy’s magic had protected him and Fawbry h
ad not gone through as many portals as Malja. But Malja believed the Artisoll — neither Tommy nor Fawbry wore a do-kha; neither of them fed a do-kha with their own energy. A do-kha lived off the life of its host, and Malja had given her do-kha quite a meal.

  Tommy placed his open hand on her knee. He looked concerned, and Malja wondered if he already knew what she intended to say. Fawbry, however, watched the waves rolling in as he waited for her to speak. She heard the surf crash out its aggressions on the beach.

  She had thought about this moment many times, had rehearsed several versions of what she wanted to say, and at that moment, decided to toss it all away. She would be as she had always been — direct and honest. “I’m dying,” she said.

  “What?” Fawbry lurched forward. “What’s wrong? We’ll get you a doctor. Or Tommy and the Artisoll can heal you.”

  “No.” She looked hard at Tommy. “I don’t want you or her or anybody using magic to prolong my life. Heck, I never wanted you to fix my arm, why would I want you to give me artificial years?”

  Tommy squeezed her knee. He understood.

  To answer the confusion on Fawbry’s face, Malja said, “This morning, when I woke, my do-kha had shriveled into a ball on the floor. I no longer have enough life to feed it. So, I know my time is near.”

  “You’ve got to let us do something. You don’t deserve to die so soon.”

  “I lived enough. I’m content. But I want a few things done after I’m gone.”

  “Stop talking like that.”

  “Stop arguing with me. I’m dying. Accept it.” Malja let her words hang in the air until Fawbry sat back — unhappy but knowing he couldn’t change things. “I want you to give Viper to Hirasa. She’s a wonderful fighter, and she deserves a wonderful weapon.”

  Fawbry glanced in the direction of the fireplace that Viper hung upon. Wiping a tear from his cheek, he lowered his head with a slight nod.