The Way of the Blade

by Stuart Jaffe

  Tommy reappeared several feet away. With his hands planted on his hips, he threw his harsh disapproving frown at her as he pointed at the dead guards.

  Malja looked down at the blood-soaked mess. “I wasn’t supposed to kill them?” When she faced Tommy, her adrenaline lowered, and she put Viper away. “Sorry,” she said.

  She wanted to question Tommy about this new spell, about his growing abilities — did she need to be concerned? He had promised it wasn’t hurting his mind, but how could he know? Magic had proved to be dangerous, even deadly, more often than not. But he had already walked back to the door the guards had stood watch by, and as she jogged over to catch up with him, she heard Fawbry in her mind warning her of the hypocrisy in using Tommy’s magic whenever she needed it. She heard Fawbry tell her that Tommy was a man now and he could handle his abilities himself. She heard it all in one echoing word, Trust.

  Keeping her mouth shut, she raised her leg and thrust-kicked into the door. Townspeople packed the single room, each cowering from the sudden burst of noise and light. All were women and children.

  One young woman stood. “Malja?” Hirasa hurried forward. “Thank Carsite. Oh, you’ve saved us again.”

  “All of you get out, now. The guards are dead. Nobody’s here.”

  With confused and hopeful murmurs, the people filed out of the room. Some voices cried out. Others shrieked. Still others choked. All suffered one form of shock or another as they witnessed what remained of their town.

  Hirasa lowered her head. “I’m so sorry. I tried to do my best. I did. But when the Scarites came in such force, so many soldiers, our people’s resolve crumbled. My girls, so strong before, dropped their weapons and kissed the ground. I can’t be mad at them, though. You wouldn’t believe how many Scarites were there.”

  “It’s okay,” Malja said in a cold monotone.

  “It wasn’t like before. That was a child’s skirmish compared to the endless sea of soldiers they came with. I didn’t know an army could be so large.” Hirasa glanced outside. “I corralled as many people as I could into this building. We heard the army arrive like a massive storm. All the destruction and the raiding and the screams. All the screams.”

  “Why didn’t they destroy this building, too?”

  “I stood in the doorway and watched as buildings fell around me. One of the leaders, a Scarite with so many snakes it scared me, he landed in front of me, peeked in the room and ordered two guards to watch the door. That was it.”

  Ten Snakes. But why let these people live? Did he have a conscience?

  Hirasa walked over to the single window in the building. “From here, I witnessed it all. When they finished with their destruction, they rounded up all the men still alive. They took them away. All our men. Every last one they could find. They took the men away. And the leader, the one with all the snakes, he knew I was watching because he turned to me and grinned.”

  Malja peered out the dirty window. “I understand now. He let you live so you would be here to tell me. And don’t worry about your men, for now. They’re alive. The Scarites need slave labor to help them farm this land. But before any of that happens, they know they’ve got to get rid of me. So if not for farming, they’ll keep your men alive because Ten Snakes wants me to try to free them.” She took Hirasa by the shoulders. “And I promise you — I will get them back.”

  “How? It’s impossible.”

  “The same way I always do. I’ll fight.”

  “But they’re an army.”

  “So are we. Smaller, but you have no choice unless you want to lower your head and die. And don’t forget, you have me. I understand the ways of fighting. The blade is a special weapon — intimate. It’s different than ordering troops or firing arrows or bullets or casting magic. A blade requires you to move in close, to understand your opponent, to respect the violence you commit. These Scarites are blinded by their hatred and confused by their transformation into magicians. But I have my blade, Viper, as I always have. It’s an advantage that will see our small army to victory. So, go gather anybody physically able to fight. We’ve got little time to prepare.”

  Chapter 28

  Javery

  The door shattered like glass as a sickly green beam of magic thrust Javery through. He soared upside down into the back wall and dropped hard onto the floor. As he strained to breathe against his constricted chest, he saw the Pali Witch slowly approach.

  His eyes watered as he heard the roaring wind that accompanied her attack. He winced before it hit, smacking his head back and rolling him into the wall again. His nerves fired off as if his body had been set aflame. It lasted only a few seconds, but that proved too long. He blubbered tears.

  Her footsteps fell with that steady thumping rhythm, each one an excruciating pain in his ears. He rubbed his eyes, pushed away the tears, and pulled himself together. Crying wouldn’t save him, and it wouldn’t stop the pain.

  Sounding like an old man, he moaned as he stood. The Witch laughed — a sound like cascading gravel. He limped off in the direction of his cell.

  “Let me kill you,” she said, following him without increasing her pace. “It’s a better fate than any other Pali has waiting for you.”

  He thought he had managed to get far enough ahead and decided to peek back. She was still in the room but close enough to attack — and she did. Each time before, when she attacked, he had not been able to see her in action. Running for his life or blurry from pain — he only ever felt the results. This time, to his horror, he watched the whole thing.

  Her body twisted in a sharp motion, parts of her bending where no joints existed. It snapped as if an invisible creature bent her body without her permission. Her eyes flared and large puffs of smoke popped out. The green beam burst from her scarred fingers.

  In his fear and awe at the sight, he moved too slowly to avoid the attack. The magic struck him square in the chest, knocking him over, and bouncing his head on the ground. The world spun around his jarred mind. He couldn’t focus his eyes. But he could hear that sickening voice.

  “I was much like you,” the Witch said. “I came to these mountains to stop the destruction of those I loved. By gaining the powers of magic, I knew I’d be able to tear my enemy to the bone.” Her waist bent crookedly, and green magic shot right up Javery’s legs and out his scalp. “Like you, I solved the problem of the Mountain Well.” Her body reformed only to have her knees crack backwards, the sound of breaking bones rattling in the air. More green energy blasted into Javery, lifting him up against the wall. “And most like you, I never asked what the cost might be.” Her head snapped to the side, and her arm twisted as if made with five joints. A third blast of energy. Javery screamed. The Witch went on. “Let me kill you, so you don’t suffer like I do.”

  Javery pressed against the wall, his skin radiating heat and pain with the slightest motion. He puckered his lips tight to avoid vomiting and clenched his legs to avoid urinating. But he felt something in addition to his fear — something burning like the embers in the Witch’s eyes. His power. He had it, even if he did not know how to use it. It was in him. Why should he let this walking evil destroy him, and by doing so, destroy his town?

  Ignoring the pain, he pushed off the wall and stood firmly on his legs. He raised his charred hand and pointed his blackened fingers at her. “Die,” he said and thrust his hand at her.

  Nothing happened.

  Not even a spark or a noise.

  Nothing.

  The Witch’s mouth opened wide, and at first, Javery thought she would somehow engulf him, swallow him whole. But then he heard the horrid, guttural noise coming from her and understood — she was laughing.

  “Javery Raxholden, I thank you for that. I don’t often see humor in my life. You’ve given me a great gift today. Allow me to return the favor. I’ll kill you quick.”

  Both of her arms bent right below the shoulder with a loud crack. Her eyes flared, and her magic shot out.

  Javery screamed, but af
ter so much pain, his nerves had numbed to the sensations. Instead of agony, he screamed with anger. Anger towards the Witch, towards Shual and Druzane, towards Malja, anger towards the Scarites, Harskill, and Tommy, anger towards the world itself — and as he gave voice to all his rage, he heard his own stormy sound rise around him. An unpleasant heat traveled up his arm.

  And then his bones broke.

  His forearm bent in three places. His head cocked to the side, and he felt a snap in his neck. From this odd angle, he saw that the Witch had ceased her attack. Her face looked confused and shocked. And perhaps even a hint of worry. Then magic blasted out of him.

  It smashed holes in the walls and speared at the Witch without any control. It hit her, but only did damage because of its sheer, raw ferocity. Most of the magic’s energy hit the floor and ceiling. Still, the Witch had been pushed back several feet.

  Her head dropped low, the antlers making little circles as she shook her head. “Too late now. I’m sorry. I thought I could teach you without cursing you, but the pull beyond is too strong.”

  She turned her back on him. Javery attempted to summon all his magic strength for a concentrated attack. His broken bones reshaped — every bit as painful as when they broke — and his heart pounded hard enough to break through his chest. But his brain froze over as if submerged in icy waters. Clutching his head, he staggered.

  He floated through the air far above the mountains of Pali. Was this real? He could still see the room, still see the Pali Witch with her back turned, yet he also flew across the ocean. In the air, he saw his Waypoint system in pieces and Druzane’s luscious body rolling in the clouds. He tried to speak, to command the Witch to stop whatever she was doing, but something deep within told him this was his own magic at work.

  In seconds, he passed over Carsite. Corpses riddled the countryside. Fires burned and islands toppled. His body halted in the air before a door — a golden door, pulsing as if it beat with a human heart. He reached for the handle. Before his fingers made contact, he whisked back to Pali, back to the corridor, back to his body.

  The Witch turned around, her mutated face filled with malevolent joy. “You should have let me kill you.”

  Javery tried to run but his legs did not move. He strained his muscles, yet nothing happened. “What have you done?”

  “You cast yourself into a vision, and while you were gone, I trapped your body.” She licked her fingers. “You can’t control your power, yet, but you have a lot of it. So much. It looks delicious. And even if didn’t want it, which I do, I’d still have to take your power or else risk you killing me. Unfortunately for you, taking your power — that is going to be very painful.”

  Chapter 29

  Malja

  As the surviving Carsites cleaned up Raxholden, Malja leaned against the wall of one standing building and watched Tommy. He had been tailing a pretty girl most of the afternoon — helping her carry away remnants of homes, making her giggle at his silly faces, and holding her when she cried over another corpse found beneath the debris. He had a gentle way with this girl which did not surprise Malja. He always could be gentle with those he cared about.

  Malja, on the other hand, did nothing gentle. Like Viper, she cut through anything standing between her and her goal. As a path in life, it had served her well — but now she wondered if that only worked because the world she had lived in was so violent. What if they traveled to a world not at war? A world of advancement and sophistication. A world like Corlin had been before the Devastation. Where then would a person like her fit in?

  “Tommy,” she said, and upon getting his attention, she indicated the red door.

  He patted the girl’s shoulder, and she whispered a good-bye. As he walked toward Malja, he paused, turned back, and kissed the girl on the cheek. She blushed, and the both wore goofy smiles as he strode away.

  Malja led the way through the red door, down the stairs hidden in the floor, and into the wide room of the Great Well. “We should have come down here sooner,” she said. “I didn’t think the magic in this thing was a concern. Making metal float didn’t strike me as all that dangerous. But Harskill showed me that the snake-magic is formed by tapping into this same magic. He said that these wells are all connected. We were lucky that the Scarites chose to raze the town instead of occupy it. So, I’m hoping that you might be able to look into this thing and see if it has any weaknesses, anything the enemy could exploit if they figure out it’s here. Or anything we could take advantage of when we face them.”

  While she had spoken the truth, Malja tapped her hands against her legs. It took her brain a moment to recognize what the rest of her knew — she had brought Tommy down here to be alone with him, so that they could talk. Yet rather than confront this talk head on, cut through it like Viper through an enemy, she went around the issues with a task she had low concerns over.

  Tommy considered the well, pacing its edge, then stopped and held his hands over the swirling liquid.

  “There’s more,” Malja said, her stomach fluttering in a way that made her want to run like she did when, as a child, Uncle Gregor caught her in a lie of omission. “I want to talk with you.”

  Something in her voice caused Tommy to look up. His innocent face broke through her mental blocks and parries. She felt an actual tear well in her left eye.

  “I know you think I protect you too much. And you’re right. When I look at you, I don’t see you as you are now — I only see that little slave boy I saved. It’s strange, too, because I’ve seen you do such amazing things, but somehow I see that boy every single time.”

  Tommy lowered his hands and moved closer to her.

  She backed away. “Let me say this. It’s ... I don’t even know what it is. No, that’s not true. It’s like what happened when I grew up. Once, not long before my fathers murdered Uncle Gregor, I had wanted to hunt a jorka by myself. You ever see a jorka?”

  Tommy shook his head.

  “They’re rare animals. Bigger than a horse and vicious. Sharp fangs, claws and a hide so thick that only the sharpest blade could sink into it. But the meat — enough to feed us for half-a-year. Tasty, too. Sweet and salty at the same time. Whenever I brought this up, Uncle Gregor gave me reasons I couldn’t do it. I was too small, at first. But I grew. Then I wasn’t strong enough. So, I worked my muscles hard until he couldn’t deny my strength. Not enough skill with a blade came next. So, I trained. This went on for years until one day, all he could come up with was that he refused to give his permission. I was furious with him and went out on my own anyway. Never did find the jorka, but I could tell by Uncle Gregor’s face that he had been terrified the entire time I was gone.” She looked over at Tommy. “I don’t want you to be a grown man. You understand? Not because I want to baby you or be your sole protector or anything like that. It’s that ... well, like the way I see you with Fawbry. I like Fawbry. I’m glad he’s with us. But I don’t want you to be a man like him or a man like any I’ve ever met.”

  Making circles with each hand, Tommy held them over his eyes and gave Malja a quizzical look.

  “Owl? He was a good man — but violent like me. I don’t want that for you, either. See, that’s part of my problem. I know what you shouldn’t become, but I don’t know how to help you become a great and decent man. Other than Uncle Gregor, I’ve never known any, and I was too young to pay attention to him back then.”

  Tommy held still as he thought over what she had said.

  Malja’s eyes popped wider. “And I’m sorry for not teaching you better how to treat women. Fawbry knows nothing on that subject.”

  Tommy smiled and nodded.

  “Oh, you noticed that? Good. That much, I can fix.”

  Rushing forward, Tommy wrapped his arms around her. She could feel his body shivering out breaths as he tried to control his emotions. The tear in her left eye fell.

  When he started to pull away, she clasped him tighter. “This battle we’re going into is not going to be like anything you’ve
been through before. This is more than a gang of survivors or a town full of people poisoned by magic or some wild beast protecting its young. This is a war. This is an army with a smart man leading them. It’ll be a lot tougher and a lot more dangerous.” She pushed him back and looked him straight in the eye. “You’re a man, now. I expect you to do your part in this battle, no matter how dangerous. But while the right thing for any warrior is to fight through the danger, I wish you could be a boy, too. You understand? I want you to live. That’s why it’s so hard for me. From now on, though, I promise I’ll keep that ‘boy’ stuff to myself. You are a man. You really are. And I accept that.”

  Tommy patted his chest, smiled broadly, and puffed up.

  Clearing her throat, she rubbed her cheek dry and said, “Come on. Let’s finish up here. The Nittilo should arrive any minute. Fawbry will be sure to make a spectacle.”

  Chapter 30

  Javery

  All sense of time had left Javery. He knew that time had passed — crucial amounts of time that detained him from saving his people and worsened the danger they faced — but how much? Stuck in this hole, he could do little.

  The wet, black stone walls of his prison rose high into the darkness . The floor waited at least twenty feet below. He hung in the middle of the air, his wrists bound in soft, pink silk. It wrapped around each wrist twice before stretching upward about two feet. There it pinned to emptiness. The binding was not painful, and other than the stiffness in his arms from maintaining the same position for so long, he endured little discomfort.

  There was no need for such torture. He had believed the Witch when she said taking his magic would be painful. Why hurt him more? It would serve no purpose. Though the constant snorting from below, from a herd of yorqs, reminded him that oftentimes torturers found pleasure in inflicting unnecessary pain.