The Way of the Black Beast

by Stuart Jaffe

  Tommy squirmed from her tight grasp and verbal bombardment. He reached out to Tumus and held her hand. Tumus snatched her hand back and moved a short distance away. As she wiped water from her face, she said, "He'll be fine. Cold water probably helped with the fever."

  Malja knew she should say thanks, that she should sound a little grateful — after all, Tommy was alive. But, though she loathed the idea, a new pain plucked in her chest when Tommy had reached for Tumus. She should have been the one to save him, not this Chi-Chun crazy. Worse still, Tumus had the nerve to pull away her hand.

  Malja walked a few steps from the group and tried to cool off. However, seeing the smoke of cooking food from the distant Muyaza village only fueled her fire. And that target she could focus on with less confusion.

  Once Tommy could walk, Malja led them back to the Muyaza. Nobody argued with her. Tumus probably didn't care. Fawbry took one look at her seething anger and kept quiet. And Tommy always trusted her. That's all she really needed.

  She trudged on, each step strengthening her as she felt the warm coat of the warrior enfold her. If she had the time and knowledge, she would have built a bridge crossing the Yad, and she would've done it right next to the Muyaza village. They would try to stop her, and she would cut them down. But she lacked that much time. She would have to be content with getting across the river and putting the villagers in their place.

  The Bluesman had run off. No surprise there. And the Muyaza seemed eager to return to their normal lives. They were not ones for open confrontation. They would mourn their losses at night, in private. At the sight of Malja and her party, one woman cried out and the tribe froze.

  They watched her as if she were a ghost — unsure if they could believe their eyes. With Viper in her hand, Malja pointed at the nearest old man and at two younger men. She gestured toward the litters. They needed nothing more. In a few tense seconds, the old man sat atop the litter and attempted to calm himself enough to form the protective bubble. The tribe watched. A few men squinted in impotent rage. Many looked down in shame.

  They crossed the river with speed, not even stopping at the halfway point. The two men carrying the litter rushed along as if Malja had poked them with Viper. When they reached the other side, the Muyaza at that village halted everything — even the babies were hushed. Five horses were tied to a post, awaiting their turn at becoming dinner stew. Malja pointed to three, and under her watchful eyes, Fawbry and Tumus untied and saddled them.

  "No," snapped a male sitting at the dining table. Three horses represented a lot of hard work. He stood, revealing his chiseled, muscular body and white scar across his chest. He stormed toward them, throwing a konapol bone to the side. A woman motioned towards him only to collapse in tears at his stern, determined face. He opened his mouth, displaying long, sharp teeth, and again said, "No."

  Malja no longer bothered with words. She grabbed the man's wrist, twisted it, ducked underneath his arm, and pulled up, pinning his arm behind his back. With two swift kicks, she popped his knees forward, sending him to the ground. She raised Viper, cutting the air with a low whoosh, and swung down with every intention of watching that blade sink into the man's chest. But the blade never made it.

  Tommy blocked her arm with his. They locked eyes. It took only a few seconds, but for Malja, those eyes spoke for years. Years of abuse, of strain and hurt, and of betrayal. She had no idea whose years she saw — his or her own.

  She released the male. He walked off, trying to regain face in his angry steps. The woman who had wept for him approached, and he spit out harsh words and raised his hand but did not strike. Malja mounted a dappled gray and pulled Tommy into her arms. She cradled him, and like a child, he settled into his familiar position. Fawbry and Tumus each took a horse and followed Malja's lead out of the village. Nobody dared even to look at them.

  Soon, she would need Fawbry to lead the way, but for now, she knew where to go. The Freelands. A barbaric dead land she had hoped never to return to. A place that made the Muyaza look like the friendliest of neighbors.

  "I hate the water," she said.

  Chapter 10

  During her youngest years, while under the magical protection of Jarik and Callib, Malja never suffered from sickness — not a cold, not a fever, not a rash, not a bellyache, nothing. Health surrounded her like a golden aura. When they tossed her away, she slogged through the next few years contracting every possible bug Corlin had to offer. Gregor did his best to comfort her during times of sickness, but he also explained that fighting her way to health would train her body to defeat the bugs in the future.

  "Sometimes," he said, "a good fight is the best lesson." Watching Tommy sweat and shiver in her arms, she wondered how Gregor ever had the strength to let sickness run its course.

  She held Tommy, wiped his brow, talked to him — anything she could think of. She told him about Gregor's tiny shack and how she loved the place. She talked of the way Gregor played Find the Apple and in doing so, helped her discover the endless nooks of the small, two-room home. He made it feel bigger. She described Gregor's laugh, his stern voice, and even the way his belches chirped out instead of a loud boom.

  Tommy mustered a weak grin. She wanted to read for him, but they lost Astronomical Wonders in the Yad. Instead, she described the solar system as best she could recall. He listened well, but she thought it all sounded made up.

  Malja talked on for he seemed to like it. But she was no doctor, and this illness she did not understand. She tried to warm him and make him feel safe.

  Fawbry and Tumus fumbled through constructing camp. Though slow and inefficient, they did get the job done. Soon the warmth of the campfire helped calm Tommy. He closed his eyes and slept to the rich aroma of burning pine.

  Malja watched his shallow breathing, his weakened body, his trembling lips. Make it better, she commanded but nothing changed. She longed to do something active — kill something, defeat someone, run somewhere. Anything would be better than sitting here watching Tommy burn away.

  "Let me hold him," Tumus said.

  Malja started and cursed under her breath — she should never let anybody sneak up on her. "Go away," she said.

  "Barris ordered me—"

  "Barris isn't here."

  Tumus's yellow eyes narrowed. Tossing her hands up, she said, "Stupid." To Malja's relief, Tumus stormed away. To her disappointment, Fawbry slipped in place.

  "You should be nicer to her," he said, squatting near the campfire. "It's not her fault. Besides, imagine what she's going through. Raised her whole life to think she's saving the world as some magic protector against the dead, that Korstra has it all planned out. Then Barris comes along and suddenly nothing she believed in is true. It's sad."

  Tumus flew back with a fury Malja wished to see in most warriors. "You be quiet, you Kryssta-loving fool. You know nothing of my people but the lies your pathetic priests tell you."

  Fawbry put some distance between them but laughed. "Oh, really. So what are you doing here? Did Korstra tell you to convert us or something?"

  "Shut your filthy mouth. Don't you speak the Lord's name."

  "The Lord is not Korstra."

  "Blasphemy!"

  Malja snapped in a harsh whisper. "Both of you, stop it. You'll wake Tommy."

  "My apologies," Fawbry said, adding a silly bow. "I can't educate such a heathen when she so excitable."

  "You're the heathen," Tumus said, pacing as she spoke, flexing her fingers, rolling her head — all actions Malja recognized. If Fawbry kept pushing, she expected Tumus to strike out. "You have brought the curse of blasphemy upon us," Tumus continued. "You should go away."

  "I didn't want any part of this. But I trust Barris, and I trust Kryssta. And Kryssta help me, I might be starting to trust Malja. So I'm staying. Besides, if I'm cursed, you're the one who put it on me. Remember?"

  Tumus's head pulled back like a cat smelling rancid meat. "Are you saying this is my fault? Do you really want—"

  Ma
lja cringed as they geared up for more arguing. Tommy didn't stir, so she figured she should let them get it out. However, she suspected these two could keep fighting all night and most of the next day.

  But then Tommy began to shake.

  Just a short spasm in the arm. Then the leg. Then his body bucked in a wild display. He moaned and flailed. With surprising force, he belted Malja off of him. She scrambled back, trying to hold yet not hurt him. She called his name.

  "This can't be," Fawbry said. "Barris can't be right."

  Malja had never seen anything like this. White, foamy spittle pooled in Tommy's mouth. Her heart pounded. She tried to hold down his limbs but couldn't keep him still. Her mind blanked. She struggled to hold him. No other part of her could move. Is this panic? Tommy was dying before her eyes and she had frozen. Is this how people feel when I attack with Viper?

  From her dazed fog, she heard a voice — an authoritative voice. "Pull her off."

  "I'm trying," Fawbry said. Malja felt hands on her shoulders, and she let them lead her back a few paces. Like snow dropping down her back, shocking her with its cold, the situation became clear and chilling again. She started for Tommy but Fawbry blocked her path. "No, Malja. If you want Tommy to live, let Tumus help. Barris warned me that when the time came, Tommy might need her."

  Standing at Tommy's feet, Tumus spread her robed arms like black wings while Tommy thrashed about below her. Malja broke Fawbry's grip with ease and stormed ahead. Tommy kicked out and stiffened like he had been petrified. She let out a sharp cry. He's dead, she thought.

  The boy arched, his belly lifting to the sky, and a hot blast of energy shot out of him. It exploded in all directions, lighting up the night like a golden funeral pyre. But the energy curved — literally shifted directions as if an invisible wall had formed amongst the trees and rocks. The energy turned in on itself until it found the one open release — Tumus.

  Like a sword thrust straight through an opponent, the energy pierced into the Chi-Chun woman. She staggered but remained standing. It poured in, and she cried out. When the last of it had entered her, the forest darkened into night. Nothing radiated out of her. She had absorbed it all.

  She lowered her head and rubbed her belly like a newly pregnant woman. Malja crawled to Tommy who sat, awake and looking healthy but tired. He pointed to his mouth. I'm hungry.

  Bursting into joyous laughter, Malja wiped her eyes. She gazed up at Tumus. "Thank you."

  Tumus let out a satisfied breath. "This was only the first. There will be more."

  "More? What's the matter with him?"

  "Nothing. He's just becoming a magician."

  As Malja handed Tommy some nuts, she looked at his right wrist. Three swirling lines that had not been there before now marred his skin. She felt nausea. They were faint lines, could've been mistaken for dirt, but clear to her — the beginnings of a tattoo.

  She wanted to shout but said nothing. She remained by Tommy's side while he inhaled his food. Tumus also sat next to Tommy, observing every motion, every breath. When he winced before belching, Malja witnessed the anticipation in Tumus. Whatever her exact part in all this, the Chi-Chun woman wanted it to happen again.

  * * * *

  Later that night, Tommy slept with a full belly, and Fawbry snored nearby. Malja stood watch. The closer they came to the Freelands, the more vigilant they would have to be. Luxuries like a full night's sleep would have to wait until this ended.

  Malja hated guard duty. Not enough to occupy her mind. Too much time for her memories to return. After her experience with Barris Mont, she knew her memories would overwhelm her if given the chance. Too many walls she had built up, Barris had knocked down.

  As if it had only just happened, she could feel the ground as she threw up outside the shack — Gregor's mutilated body just out of her sight. Taking a long, raking breath, she rolled to the side and screamed. When her voice died out, she heard the whine of the wooden floor. Somebody was still inside the shack. Jarik or Callib, it didn't matter. Malja intended to make them pay.

  She didn't have Viper back then, but the short sword she wielded had been with her for many years. She knew its weight well. Coupled with the over-confidence of a seventeen-year-old, she found no problems with her plan of bursting into the shack and slicing apart anything living she saw. The man hiding inside, however, thought fighting back to be a better idea.

  Tommy moaned and kicked out in his sleep. Malja watched him for several minutes, her eyes glistening in the firelight, and she waited. One more moan or whimper or cry, any sign of distress, and she would wake him. She knew the nightmare he suffered. She had seen it in his eyes when she rescued him.

  She remembered the cold rain rattling the tiny battery room Tommy had been locked in. She had cut his chains, and he had smiled. But she picked up the chains and examined them. They were old and rusty like the ship. She looked at the boy's wrists and saw where prolonged binding had left its marks.

  "Well, Tommy," she said, trying to figure out what still troubled her. "The Captain doesn't appear to be a friend to either of us. He tried to drown me and he keeps you locked up here." Malja bolted up as her thoughts connected. "Why didn't the mage-pirates kill you? Or, at least, take you with them? And Wuchev must've seen me make it across the deck. He knows now that I know something's going on. He'll be coming. He has to. But he doesn't want to cross outside, and his precious cargo ... there is no cargo."

  With a scowl and a grunt, Tommy snatched the chains and threw them across the tiny room. He stepped in the opposite direction and, pushing a box out of the way, revealed an access hatch in the floor. He opened it, a rusty whine echoed around them like an aged alarm, and descended on a ladder.

  Malja hesitated. Though he appeared to be little more than an abused boy, Tommy was a magician. However, being stuck on a ship in a raging storm left her with few alternatives. She sheathed Viper and climbed down.

  The ladder ended in a narrow corridor. She caught sight of Tommy at the far end, opening a doorway. By the time she reached the door, he had stepped inside and stood on a wide platform overlooking the empty, cavernous cargo hold. Empty, except for a simple box at the center of the hold floor.

  "What's in there?" she asked.

  Tommy stared at it, his eyes blazing hatred.

  "Is that what the mage-pirates wanted?" Malja shook her head. "No. Because there were no mage-rats."

  A loud bang echoed in the hold and the entire ship groaned to the side. Tommy pointed to the rusting hull. Malja climbed down to the cargo hold's floor and inspected the hull. She knew nothing about ships, but even her untrained eye could see the ancient metal dying. The bang repeated and the metal whined as the storm battered the hull.

  Squatting to Tommy's level, Malja looked him over and said, "Wuchev killed his crew, didn't he? He drugged us and killed them. That's why I slept through everything."

  Tommy nodded. Not a moment's hesitation. He knew the answer. She wondered how he could be so clear when he was chained in the battery station — unless by some magical means he could spy on the world outside. But that sounded paranoid to her. Magic didn't work like that. At least, not any magic she had ever come across.

  She stepped back from the boy, her heart pounding against her ribs as if Callib had rebuked her for some minor infraction, reminding her that this little boy would grow up to be a ruthless magician. From the corner of her eye, she saw the box. Something about the box had bothered the boy.

  Moving closer, her stomach rolled as the ship took another trip along a steep wave. With her hand resting on the rough wooden lid, she gazed back at the boy. If he proved to be more magician than boy, then she would have to defend herself. Can I really kill a child? She wanted to say no without hesitation, but she didn't know. She understood that deep within her the capability to perform such a vile act existed if it turned out to be necessary. She just didn't know if the rest of her would protest.

  She lifted the lid and gazed in the box. A robe. A ripped, dus
ty robe.

  Malja looked back at Tommy. His face gave nothing away. Before she could say a word, Captain Wuchev stepped out of the shadows. He held a single-shot handgun. From the dented barrel to the chipped wood body, Malja figured he would be lucky if the gun fired without exploding, luckier if it came near its target.

  "You're not being very cooperative," Wuchev said.

  "Not really trying."

  To Tommy, he gestured with the gun. "Come join us, little maggot." Tommy rushed to Malja's side. Wuchev glanced at the box. "Do you know how much that's worth?"

  "Don't care," Malja said.

  "People would give me everything they had just to look at it. I could stop running this ship. I could build a mansion, pay for guards and a few magicians to power the place. I could live like our great ancestors once did. All because a bunch of backwards Korstra zealots think that has spiritual powers. They really believe Korstra wore that. As if a brother god had need for mortal clothing. Kryssta forgive me for dealing with such heretics, but it's worth it."

  In Wuchev's eyes, Malja saw more than sheer greed. "When I approached you, you couldn't turn me down without causing suspicions amongst the crew."

  Wuchev sneered. "They already were on edge because I wouldn't allow them in here. If I turned away easy money like you ... well, I'll tell you something, though — I never thought you'd make it across the deck in this storm. You're reputation is well earned."

  "The storm," Malja said, another point clicking in her brain. "No mage-rats. You conjured it."

  "Remarkable, isn't it?" he said and lifted his shirt with his free hand. A design like seven blades spinning in the wind tattooed his stomach. "Spent my whole life working on only the one spell. Takes a lot out of me, that's why I kept the one crewman alive. I needed a partner."

  "So, what now?"

  Wuchev sauntered back and forth in front of the box, waving the gun in lazy motions. His pleasure at holding somebody in his power filled the air with an arrogant stench. His eyes twitched and searched with paranoid fervor — mad from magic. "Now, my pretty dear, I'm going to—"