by Stuart Jaffe
Then she'll have Jarik and Callib. She'll track them down. Confront them. And before she sinks Viper down their throats, she'll get answers.
Tommy startled awake and looked at Malja with concern. She must have tensed her muscles without realizing. Patting his shoulder, she eased him back into slumber. It wasn't so easy to calm her thoughts.
That night they camped against a burnt-out home — only two stone walls remained. Fawbry tried to engage her in conversation, but she ignored him. No point in talking when she would be rid of him soon enough. Tommy, perhaps still high from the party, approached Fawbry with his hands together.
"What?" Fawbry asked. "You want to pray? You know about Kryssta?"
Malja snorted. "He wants to play The Reflex Game." To Tommy, she said, "It's okay. You can untie him."
Tommy did so and eagerly pantomimed how to play. Malja pulled out her eight-page book and read a little, but mostly she watched Fawbry. She had no fear of untying him. She recognized weakness and knew he wouldn't dare use Tommy as an escape. Still, she watched.
Though not as fun as the night before, she could see that Tommy enjoyed playing with Fawbry. And, to her surprise, Fawbry appeared equally amused. The sight of her cowardly prisoner slapping hands with her sweet boy made her feel odd because it seemed so normal. The boy amazed her. After all he had been through, he could still be a kid. She wished she could know his secret.
"Want to play?" Fawbry asked, while rubbing his red hands.
She was about to say No when Tommy pulled her over by the arm. They played the game, teasing and striking and feigning, until Tommy went to sleep. Without a word, Malja tied Fawbry up — a coward like him would run when she fell asleep. She returned to her book.
Fawbry shook his head. "I got no place to go, y'know." She didn't answer. "Right. I'll just be over here if you need me." He managed a few more sarcastic comments but eventually quieted down.
For awhile, Malja just soaked in the silence.
* * * *
Late the next day, they reached Ms. Nolan's mansion. Malja's heart sank. The main gate had been smashed open and bullet holes marred the concrete pillars. The number of bullet holes spoke to a large group attacking with great purpose — one doesn't waste bullets on a small target. Ms. Nolan was important, yet Malja couldn't help but wonder — maybe they had expected me to be there.
The gate guard lay dead on the ground, his white sash spattered in crimson. The four northern konapols never made it out of their cages. Their lifeless eyes stared at Malja, mocking her.
She dismounted, and with Tommy's help, untied Fawbry.
"You're letting me go?" he asked, rubbing his arms.
Malja checked the guard's body for weapons or anything useful, but found nothing. He'd already been searched. "You can go, but you won't."
"Really now? Why's that?"
"Because Ms. Nolan is probably dead. Somebody's working hard to kill off anybody who can help me with information. Who do you suppose is next?"
"Who? Me?" Fawbry hugged himself, looking smaller than ever before. "I don't know anything."
"You do, and you'll help me."
"But—"
"Do you think you're safer alone or by my side?" Malja asked and trudged into the mansion. She said nothing when she heard Fawbry follow.
The interior faired worse than the exterior. The intruders had run out of ammunition or working guns and resorted to melee weapons. Fires burned low in the corners offering enough light to see. Five people hung from the foyer beams — the staff.
"Perhaps the boy and I should wait outside," Fawbry said, but Tommy sped up, passing them all for the large room where they had first met Ms. Nolan.
The statue of Prophet Galot lay in three large pieces and thousands of tiny marble shards as if the Devastation had happened again. Furniture had been piled into meager barriers working toward the back hall. Ms. Nolan had mounted a noble defense though outnumbered and inexperienced.
Stepping over the cracked waterways, Malja saw a dark spot on the floor. Though she knew the answer, she leaned in to be sure — blood. Fawbry interrupted her thoughts. "You think anybody lived through this?"
Glass shattered down the hall followed by an anguished cry. The sound echoed throughout the mansion. The cry of a burning soul.
"Never mind," Fawbry said. "I don't want to know."
Tommy settled against a wall, pouting at Malja's body language. She needed him out of the way and safe. Though he clearly wanted to come with her, she was pleased that he knew what times called for what actions. Fawbry would have to learn.
"Stay here," she said. Fawbry opened his mouth, probably to protest any plan other than leaving right away, but Malja glowered at him.
With a nervous nod, he raised a finger as if making an intellectual point. "I'll stay here."
Malja slunk down the hall, wielding Viper and watching every flickering shadow. The intricately carved door to the Dry Room had been blasted outward as if a giant fist had punched through it. Inside, she found Ms. Nolan, a guard, and another man — their bodies stacked in the corner like a cord of wood. The cage that held Ms. Nolan's sister, Audrex, no longer held anyone. The bars had been torn apart. Splintered wood and twisted metal littered the expensive floor.
Malja examined the corpses. Ms. Nolan's face had locked in a final expression of agony. Or maybe betrayal, Malja considered while glancing at the empty cage. Bruises covered the guard's body and his clothes were soaked. Drowned or beaten to death. Malja hoped for beaten — drowning ... no, she couldn't think about the thief's ship. Not now.
The third corpse caused Malja's stomach to squeeze tight. He wore a suit — all black, trim cut, black shirt, gold buttons. She looked closer at the wood scattered on the floor. Not too far away she found it — little pieces of guitar. One chunk had the letters BLU carved in it. The rest of the word lay elsewhere on the floor, but Malja knew it well.
"Ms. Nolan, looks like you were right. They did come for you," she said with a bitter chuckle. The evidence troubled her, though. She could see well enough that these Bluesmen attacked (she didn't want to get stuck on the fact that the Bluesmen had shifted from a lone assassin to an organized group) and that Ms. Nolan's people defended hard. In the end, the Bluesmen won out. The most troubling part — Audrex's cage. If Ms. Nolan had let the madwoman loose as some last desperate weapon, she would have opened it without destroying it. Besides which, Malja could not see Ms. Nolan using her sister like that. Not if her story was true. The Bluesmen, however, would be idiots to rip open the cage. They would have unleashed an insane magician upon themselves. Judging from the Bluesman she had killed in the woods, they were not idiots. The only other explanation she could see involved a stray gunshot. But such a blast would have pushed the bars inward not outward.
Unless ...
Malja's heart raced as she envisioned a deadly possibility — a trap. The Bluesmen kill Nolan. They know Malja will be returning. They want to kill her, but they don't want to be around for it. Why? Because they're not supposed to kill her. But she killed one of theirs, and they're mad. They set some kind of explosive device to Audrex's cage, or perhaps they have a magician who can do such a spell. They leave. The explosion blasts the door, rips up the bodies, and frees an insane magician. Audrex is a trap.
Before Malja heard the scream, she dashed toward the main room. She flew in and saw Fawbry curled in a ball, hiding in his multi-colored robe, blubbering for help. A column of water stood over him, its body shifting from basic shapes to hideous faces to tortuous blades. Malja slashed through the water, and the twisting column fell like a deluge of rain.
"Are you hurt?" she asked while looking for Tommy. She found him where she had left him — against the wall.
Fawbry stood on teetering legs. "I'm fine. There was this crazy woman—"
"I know."
A tendril of water shot out from the waterways, a monstrous mouth drooling water at its tip. Malja cut it down but another rose farther on. As she cut throu
gh the new threat, another appeared. She spun toward the latest tendril but one more snuck from the side and slammed her head with water. The force hit like solid ice, knocking her down and rattling her skull. The water continued to shower her. It wouldn't let up. She struggled for air. Her lungs strained. Her chest burned.
Without enough air for her full strength, she still struck out at the tendril drowning her. She didn't slice through it but hit it hard enough to break off its assault. When it stopped, she gasped and coughed and spit up water.
Audrex entered at the far end of the room. Her bloodshot eyes refused to blink. She stepped into the waterway. If she had any sanity while in the cage, it too had escaped. She looked like an abstract drawing — every feature askew, every detail off-kilter. In a high-pitched cackle that pricked their skin, she said, "This is my home."
She stared at the tattoo on her arm and the water trembled. Her previous conjuring had taken its toll. Malja had a small window to act. Still coughing and off-balance, she used a smashed chair to help get on her feet. Her brain thrummed as if someone had wrapped her head in a blanket and smacked it.
"They're almost ready," Audrex said. The lustful yearning in her voice told Malja who they were — Jarik and Callib. "Soon the brothers will have the power to fix this blighted world. They'll emerge from hiding and save us all." Four dragonfly wings issued from her back and fanned out as if preparing to fly. "But no matter what — this is my home."
As Malja reoriented herself, she caught Fawbry watching like a spectator, his mouth as wide as his eyes. She had moved too slowly. She could read it on Fawbry's face. She braced for a fierce blow when she spotted Tommy — Oh no, she thought.
A crackling bolt of lightning arced from the air near Tommy and struck the water. A screech poured out of Audrex like a foul wind filling the room with its revolting presence. Malja spun — her head dipped and weaved. A column of water, jagged like knives, froze in place. Electricity coursed through it and reached out for Audrex. Her body jittered as if performing a possessed dance. Her eyes rolled back. Smoke rose from her arms and wings.
"Tommy, stop!" Malja said, but the boy continued. She could see the determination on his face — he meant to kill.
Summoning her remaining strength, Malja sprinted across the room, pulled back Viper, and swung through the madwoman's neck. Her head splashed in the water, the jagged column collapsed, and her screeching silenced. Tommy let out a breath and clambered to his feet. The smell of burnt air mixed with burnt skin. He swaggered toward Malja and offered a proud smile. Without pause, she slapped it away.
Catching her breath and forcing herself not to yell, she said, "You are not a killer."
An enraged grimace formed on his tight lips, and he bolted outside but not fast enough. Malja saw his tears. She waited a moment to compose herself. The boy needed time to calm — they both did. Besides, she still had things to do. While cleaning Viper before sheathing the blade, she said, "Okay, Fawbry, time to speak."
"What?" he said, still shaken by all that had happened.
"The late Ms. Nolan said you had information that would help me find Jarik and Callib. I didn't go through all this to come out with nothing."
Fawbry tugged at his hair. "No, no, no. That's not fair. You can't do this to me."
"I am doing this."
"Go find someone else."
"Sorry. You've got the information."
"Is this how you deal with everything in your life — threats, coercion? You should try being nice to people. Didn't your mother ever teach you to be nice?"
Malja punched Fawbry in the gut. "Watch what you say."
"Sure," Fawbry groaned. "The hell with nice. This is much better."
"I'm not interested in anything else about you except what you know."
"Right. Jarik and Callib. Do you know what those lunatics will do to me if I help you? Have you any clue what their capable of?"
"More than you know."
"Then why ask me? You should know I can't."
"Stay by me, and you'll be safe."
"Like I was safe here?" he said, ending in a squealing scream. "No, and no again." He froze at the sight of blood on his hand. Not his, but Malja suspected that only made matters worse. He plunged his hands into the waterway without Audrex's body and scrubbed. "You," he said, snapping out his words, "are not safe."
Malja resisted the urge to throttle the man. Instead, she spread her hands and said, "Then tell me. What do you need to feel safe?"
"To feel safe enough to tattle out Jarik and Callib? You're joking, right?" Malja glared at him, and he shrunk back. He muttered to himself, and his chest sagged. "You don't really want me. Trust me. I know only one thing, one person who might know where they are. That's it. That's all I know. Hardly worth all this effort."
"If it's so meaningless, then give me the name."
Fawbry's face contorted as he strained for an escape. He looked from one side to the other. No answer appeared. His wild hair made him look cornered, and for a moment, Malja thought he might strike out like one of his oxters.
But he brightened a fraction. Then a bit more. An idea had formed. "Fine, fine. You want me to talk? Take me to Barris Mont. He can keep me safe. You get me to him, and I'll tell you the name."
"Thought I wasn't safe."
"I'm not stupid," Fawbry shouted. "You're better than nothing. And I'm marked now. Right? So, you take me to Barris, okay? That's the deal."
Malja nodded. "So where is this guy?"
"He's not a guy. He's a ... well, he owes me. He lives near Lyngrovet. At Dead Lake."
Wonderful.
Chapter 6
The rich campfire aroma did little to soothe Malja. Though Tommy and Fawbry had been snoring loudly since sundown, Malja couldn't quiet her tired head long enough to fall asleep. They had been riding west for several days, but not making good time. The horses needed extra rest. They had been pushed hard, and the Postkryssta coolness had given way to a surprising, late blast of heat. Malja figured it would be better to go slowly, if it meant still having the horses in the long run. Besides, if she rode the horses into the grave, Tommy would be even angrier with her. For a boy who didn't talk, he had become even quieter since their fight.
She stood, stepped to the side, and faced away from the fire before stretching her sore body. She didn't think about the motions, designed to keep her night vision clear and her awareness toward possible danger, she just moved. Her popping joints blended with the snapping fire. Stifling a yawn, she walked to a wide stream nearby. The conjured assault suit she wore never needed cleaning, but she did. She removed her clothes and stepped into the cold water. Her over-heated body relished the sensation, and she carefully undid the braids in her long hair, letting the water seep in all the way to her scalp. If only everything in knots could be undone so easily.
As she washed off dirt and sweat, her hands felt the ridges and valleys of her numerous scars. They're my tattoos. Except these didn't turn a person into an object of power. These didn't drive a person mad. It was so unfair — an innocent boy like Tommy doomed for nothing. Nobody asked him if he wanted to be a magician. He had no choice.
Nobody gave me a choice either.
Gregor had tried to build a normal life for her. He had given her dolls and dresses. Took her flower-picking. Built her a dollhouse, even. But the magicians had done their damage. She ignored the dollhouse and played with the kitchen knives. She dirtied the dresses with mud and blood. She sliced through hordes of pansies and violets. When those bastards are dead, she thought, then I'll have a choice. And Tommy will, too.
She remembered reaching out to Tommy's cowering form, offering to rescue him — No, I can't allow myself to rewrite the past. The night she found him should remain a night she paid honor.
Bending backward so her head cooled in the water but her ears stayed just above and always aware, Malja opened the gates on this one particular memory. Not to pay any honor, she decided, but simply to be honest with herself.
He wore blue, threadbare trousers, a filthy, torn shirt, and a round, white cap — what passed for a uniform on a thief's ship. He took her to see Captain Wuchev, and when they stepped into the narrow corridor, she saw blood decorated the metallic walls in long slashes. Through one cabin door, a crewman slumped over dead, his hair matted and gooey. Mage-rats, the crewman explained, had conjured the storm and raided the ship.
She had chosen to take the boat to avoid this very thing. She thought she could cut across the water to save time and lives in her effort to find Jarik and Callib. But the violent world always followed her like a foul dog.
Captain Wuchev stated it all clearly. The salvaged-metal ship had a rounded back like a half-shell and a wide main deck thrusting forward with three makeshift masts cut into the rusting deck. In a heavy storm they were useless, but before leaving shore, he had a magician conjure electric power and stored it in batteries.
"Up there," he said nodding to the front of the ship, "you'll find the battery station. I've got one left. There's a lever to switch over to the full battery."
"No problem. I'll just cut through the cargo hold and —"
"If it were that simple, I'd have this weasel do it." He pointed to the young crewman. "The hold is armed with spells I had installed for this trip. It even held off those thieving pirates. They got everything else, but they didn't get my prize. So, no, you can't go in there. You got to go outside."
Crossing the main deck had been brutal. Powerful winds screamed in her ears and shoved her around. The rain bounced off her assault suit like impatient fingers beating a random rhythm. Icy water found its way down her neck and underneath the suit. It drenched her in seconds. Lightning flashed and thunder cracked. The smell of salty, ocean water blended with her nausea.