The Way of the Blade

by Stuart Jaffe

  Splashing into the ocean, his body pushed him deeper down while a protective bubble encircled him. He never slowed — magic propelled him. When he lowered to the depths that even sunlight failed to reach, he knew what his body had sensed.

  Another Great Well. More magic to absorb. With this new magic in his system, the Scarites might simply die just by looking at him.

  Javery’s lips rose as his heart quickened. He could picture it all with ease.

  “I’m a god.”

  Chapter 33

  Malja

  The sun shone bright in the clear, morning air. The temperature mild. A perfect day for a stroll with a lover or a family picnic or a battle for the survival of a people.

  The warship crept across the jagged landscape, its keel scraping the tallest rock formations as it passed by. Many of the townspeople stood on the ship’s deck. Some wore armor, others had weapons strapped across their chests, but most looked much as they had the day Malja first met them — light robes and thin shoes. The real difference rested in their faces. They peered towards the ocean with harsh, deadly expressions. They looked like soldiers who knew battle.

  Behind the warship flew every operable autofly the Carsites owned. Fifty-seven — including a few luxury models that would be too slow to fight but at least bolstered their numbers. Krunlo led this air force, sitting tall in his autofly, his face beaming.

  “There,” one of the women said, pointing toward the horizon.

  All those on deck grew quiet. In the distance, the Scarite army waited. Even though Malja had seen the army before, watching it alongside the Carsites brought to her heart just how enormous a force they faced. The enemy stretched far off in either side from their camp like an endless wall.

  Canto stepped up beside Malja. “You really think we can do this?”

  “If Fawbry’s plan works, we’ll have a chance. That’s more than I’ve often had going into battle.”

  They could now see that Harskill had broken the army into three divisions, each headed by one of the toughest snake-magic users he had — Red Head, One-Eye, and Ten Snakes. Each division stood at attention as if they had been training for months. Perhaps they have, Malja considered.

  The Carsites on deck stood silently, their faces still locked with determination, but slight twitches broke the facade. One girl dropped her sword, the clatter loud amongst all the quiet. Malja wondered how much more of this tense waiting these people could handle.

  She walked over to Fawbry. “It’s going to be fine.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “I’m not a fool. This will be anything but fine. I just don’t want it to be our total slaughter.”

  “It won’t.”

  “These people are counting on me. How do you do this? How do you send us all off into these battles when you know by Kryssta and Korstra and all that’s holy, you know most, maybe all of us, won’t be coming back?”

  Malja let her gaze drift over the heads of all the young women staring at their enemy. “You do it because there’s no other choice. If we could get the Carsite and Scarites to solve this some other way, if we didn’t have Harskill playing god, if we knew where Javery was and had his mind helping us, maybe there would be another way. But it is this way. So, we must do our best with it.”

  “Even when we know our chances are dismal?”

  “You’ve got a sound plan and people who are fighting because they are desperate. That’s a good combination. You also have plenty of experience. More than you realize. I think they were wise to make you their General.”

  “I don’t feel wise.”

  She chuckled. “I never do, either. Trust your instincts and you’ll do fine.”

  “At least I have you out there fighting. That gives me some hope.”

  “I’ll get done everything you’ve asked me to do. Have no doubt.”

  “Okay. Thank you. Um, one last question.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Do I have to give an inspiring speech?”

  Malja ruffled Fawbry’s hair. “Aw, the little boy is afraid of getting up in front of everyone.”

  “You know that’s not the case.”

  She did. Normally, Fawbry would jump at the chance to take the stage and have all eyes on him — especially women’s eyes. But this wasn’t normal. She had seen leaders act this way in the past. Some simply needed to stay focused on keeping as many soldiers alive as possible.

  She placed a hand on Fawbry’s back. “No need for a speech. Just give them an order and the rest will happen on its own.”

  Fawbry clasped his stump behind his back and strode toward the helmsman. All eyes followed him, and Malja suppressed a grin. When he reached a spot about twenty feet away, he said in a voice clear and strong, “Take us in closer.” To the rest, he said, “Do not engage the enemy. Even when we are in range. Hold your fire. We only get one chance at this. Be prepared, but hold your fire.”

  Nobody moved. The reality of what was to happen settled in the air between each person like a mud that slowed their ability to move, even to think. Malja had seen this plenty, too.

  She jumped in front of Fawbry, and yelled out, “Come on, now! You heard the orders. Let’s move! Those with ranged weapons, take your positions. Those manning the guns below deck, get your asses down there. We’re closing in, so be ready. And for Carsite’s sake, wait for the order to fire!”

  The women snapped into action. Malja winked at Fawbry, and then joined Canto near the back of the ship. They would have to wait, too.

  As the warship edged forward, the women hurried to their positions. There were some men, too. Elderly men and young boys. All those too old or too young to fight effectively helped run the guns below. Despite their protests, some were even too old for that job. Those men waited back in town, preparing for the wounded.

  When they arrived at a point close enough to distinguish individual Scarites from one another, the helmsman slowed the large craft. The front ranks of the entire army bore at least four snakes each, and all of those snakes hissed and snapped, anxious to unleash their magic. The division leaders rose above their men, floating like kings over the serfs.

  “Why are we stopping?” Fawbry said, rushing towards the helmsman.

  “I thought that was as close as you wanted,” she said.

  Fawbry pointed with his stub. “Don’t stop until there’s a fight.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The warship built momentum once again, sliding over the land, inching towards the Scarites. Malja smelled the change — the salty sea air and the mass of bodies sweating nervously. The Carsites looked strong, but the closer they came, the more real those snakes sounded, the more Malja felt the anxiety from their side. Even Fawbry paced as the ship moved, as if he could make it move faster by walking quicker.

  “General Fawbry, sir,” she said, standing before him at attention.

  “W-What is it?”

  She smirked. He probably never thought he’d see a day when the notorious Malja gave him deference, but she knew the Carsites needed to see that. And he most likely got a boost from it, too. “I know you said you didn’t want to give a speech —”

  “I still don’t.”

  “There have been times, many of them, in our past that you’ve quoted from The Book of Kryssta. Perhaps that would help keep our courage up.”

  “Yes, I like that. Excellent.” He faced his soldiers and cleared his throat. “Listen here — I don’t know your religion. But I want to share with you, something from mine.” He paused a moment, glancing upward as the words came to him. Then in a steady voice, he said:

  We are one when we follow Kryssta.

  Alone, we regret.

  We are one when we hold together.

  Alone, we fail.

  We are one when we stand for each other.

  Alone, we die.

  Fawbry looked as if he might say more, but then he went back to watching the Scarites. Hirasa stepped forward from the crowd. “We understand, General. For us, the story of Carsi
te guides all our decisions,” she said, garnering many nods. “Carsite fought his brother for the love of a beautiful woman. Had only the brothers loved each other more, no blood would have been shed. We fight today to stop the Scarites from destroying our lives. We fight together, so that we can share our great love for one another. The Scarites are not our brothers anymore. They are monsters. We are each other’s brother. We must fight for each other.”

  “Then get back to your positions, and be ready. The time has come.” To the helmsman, Fawbry added, “Bring us in about another four hundred feet, then turn our broadside towards them.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Good. Malja saw no hesitation this time. Fawbry had them obeying for the moment.

  The Scarite’s hissing grew louder as the warship drew closer. When the helmsman turned them to the side, the Scarites growled and hooted. They gestured rudely and a few flashed their genitals.

  Ten Snakes lifted into the air, higher than all the others, and yelled out a command. Malja could not make sense of the words — probably a code of some kind, unless they had developed their own language.

  “Do not fire,” Fawbry said, walking up and down the length of the ship. “Hold positions.”

  All the snakes pulled back as if the entire army had inhaled in unison. Fawbry glanced back at Malja. She nodded. “Your plan will still work. Might even go better.”

  Fawbry gestured to himself as if to say, Of course. You expected less?

  One woman raised her weapon, eyeing her enemy, ready to fire. Fawbry rushed over and snatched the weapon away. “Not until they engage.”

  She swallowed her argument and simply nodded. With trembling fingers, she put out her hand. Fawbry held her gaze a moment before handing the weapon back. As Malja watched the exchange, she marveled at how far Fawbry had come. Years back, she met him as the griffle king looking out for himself, and now he had become a true leader.

  Ten Snakes shouted again. No Carsite needed a translation — the tone said it all. Fire!

  Every snake hurled its magic across the air, thrusting their heads forward and spitting out every flavor of destruction. A wall of fire, ice, electricity, wind, acid, rock, and only Kryssta-knew-what-else rushed towards the warship like a tsunami. The approaching magic roared as it barreled closer to them.

  Fawbry yelled to be heard above the din. “Stand your ground!”

  Malja wanted to get Canto moving, but his awe held her back. At first, she thought he had been mesmerized by the wall of magic. But soon, she saw that his awe was for his own people. These women, young and old, stood firm on the deck as the swirling magic bore down on them.

  “Brace yourselves,” Fawbry yelled. Everyone grabbed hold of the nearest railing or stair — any fixed part of the ship. “Now, Tommy! Now!”

  Malja watched the air around them, knowing Tommy sat below deck conjuring something special, but she only knew the spell when it happened. The approaching magic smashed into a clear wall Tommy had created only ten feet from the warship. It splashed in all directions, shooting flames high into the air and showering the ground below with ice and water. Most of the snake-magic, however, reflected back at the Scarites. Lightning soared through the air, burning into the snakes that cast it and then jumping to the nearest source of flesh.

  The Scarites had no time to scream. Tommy’s barrier had thrown the magic back faster than it had hit. Scarite soldiers dropped from the sky, tumbling toward the unforgiving rocks below. The barrier was not perfect, however, and three Carsites fell to the deck — dead before they finished falling.

  The women all turned to their dead friends, rushing to find some way to help. Fawbry moved in swiftly. “Get back to the railing. Attack. This is our only chance! Everybody attack!”

  “Canto, come on,” Malja said, rushing towards the autofly that waited for them. Everything had to happen now while the Scarites were shocked, disorganized, and most importantly, recuperating from their mass attack. The Carsites had a small window of opportunity to get in and fight before the snake-magic could be used again.

  Krunlo blew on a horn fashioned from a wellspiker’s tusk, and the autofly forces launched into action. The women on deck spun around and unleashed what fire power they had. Below, the broadside guns erupted.

  The Scarite army had stood so thickly that the Carsites barely needed to aim. Every shot brought down the enemy. More Scarites plummeted, their ranks thinning fast, but Malja wasn’t sure it would be enough. As Canto strapped into the autofly, Malja saw Ten Snakes shouting at his division, slowly getting it to reform.

  “Ready?” Canto asked.

  Malja pushed the autofly off the far side of the deck. Fawbry dashed over to them. “Don’t forget to signal when you’ve freed the men.”

  Malja nodded, her eyes looking over one of the enormous guns on the deck. Fawbry put his foot on the autofly and pushed it further out. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I know exactly what to do with that.”

  Malja buckled in as Canto guided the autofly down beneath the warship. Even before they cleared the vessel, she could hear the battle raging ahead. War cries, anguished cries, and cries of terror blended with the clash of metal. Blood pattered on the ground like the beginning of a rainstorm.

  The autofly increased speed as it dived underneath the Nittilo. When they finally glimpsed the battle, Canto inhaled sharply. Balls of fire and arcs of lightning shot off in all directions. Krunlo’s pilots soared around every attack, cutting in one direction, spinning in another. There appeared to be no cohesion to their efforts, yet at the same time, the battle moved like a choreographed dance.

  Ten Snakes floated above the fray, grabbing enemies as they zipped by. He used his most powerful spell — violently transforming his victims into a mass of snakes that fell to their deaths.

  Staying low, Canto pressed on. If this worked, they would travel below the battle and slip right into the Scarite camp. The blood storm raining on them could not be avoided, and Malja had to wipe her face clear several times.

  Looking up, Malja saw one autofly burst into flames while another corkscrewed downward, smashing to pieces on the ground. The snake-magic was slow to recharge, but with so many soldiers, there seemed to be an unending volley of elemental magic. And yet, the Carsites continued to fight well.

  “Crug,” Canto said, wrenching the control sticks around.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “This autofly is handling poorly. And slow. I checked it out before we left, but I must’ve missed something. I don’t know how much longer I can keep us going.”

  Malja’s skin chilled. Even before she looked behind her, she knew what she would see. The one piece of this battle that had been missing — Harskill. She unbuckled from her seat and turned around.

  The arm of Harskill’s do-kha held onto the back of the autofly like a sticky, black goo. The do-kha stretched further back to where Harskill surfed the air, leaning away and pulling hard on the do-kha. In a flash, Malja had Viper out and swinging. But when she connected with Harskill’s do-kha, she heard the clank and felt the reverberation up her arm. No surprise — he was the one who had taught her that trick.

  The autofly jerked to the right, and Malja slipped on the blood-slick floor. Canto banged his arm against the side. “This thing is going to fall apart,” he said.

  Malja grabbed the seat restraints with her free hand and wrapped her wrist around it. “Then let’s help it fall apart.” She brought Viper down into the back of the autofly and sawed towards the front. Harskill’s eyes widened, but there was nothing he could do. She cut around Harskill’s do-kha, and when she finished, she used Viper to pry the cut panel loose.

  As the metal whined, Harskill tossed his weight to the left and let go of the autofly. The small, damaged craft could not handle the sudden shift. Canto lost control, and they went tumbling toward the ground.

  Malja held tight to the strap and dug Viper into the seat. As the autofly flipped, her stomach did so, too. Her legs hung out for a second only
to smash into the floor the next second. She saw the rock formations reaching up to her, ready to pick her apart.

  But they didn’t crash into the rocks. She jammed into the floor again, and instead of tumbling out once more, she stayed put.

  “I got her,” Canto said, his hands gripping the controls hard and his teeth grinding. “Strap into your seat. We’re still going down.”

  Malja yanked Viper free and dropped into her seat. As she hurried to buckle in, she saw the rows of tents lining the shore getting closer as the rocky ground sped by. “Can you get to the water?”

  “I’m trying.”

  The autofly lurched and dipped, but Canto kept it flying — well, dropping at a controlled rate. They clipped the tops of a few tents as he raced towards the ocean.

  “Get ready to jump,” he said.

  Malja unbuckled and then released Canto from his seat. The second they reached the shore, they both bailed out of the ship, hitting the water fast and hard.

  If not for her do-kha’s protection, Malja knew she would have felt far worse. Cold and wet, of course, but smacking into an ocean at high velocity could break bones and rattle the brain. With the do-kha, she still felt as if she had shattered through a thick wall of glass — better than a wall of stone, though.

  She swam to shore and found Canto crawling out of the ocean as well. Sputtering salt water and holding his side, he rolled on his back. Blood glistened from a head wound.

  “Let me see,” she said, turning his head away. A long gash ran from his ear up to his temple. Not a lot of blood, though — not for a head wound. “Doesn’t look like it’s too deep. Is your head clear?”

  “I’ll be fine. I think I broke a rib, though.”

  Malja moved his hand from his side and inspected the bruise near his ribs. “Nothing poking out. You certainly got hit hard here, though.”

  “I can still fight.” Canto clambered to his feet and offered her his hand. “Come on. We’ve got to keep moving.”