by Stuart Jaffe
Off to the side, a group of people formed a large circle. Two dogs were let loose, growling and barking and fighting. People cheered and laughed.
At the porch, however, Suzu turned away from the door, leading her around the side. A rusting ladder connected to metal stairs that jutted from the wall ended at a platform and door high above. "Go," Suzu said, pointing upward.
"Can't climb with my hands tied behind my back." Suzu pursed his lips and searched for someone to help him decide what to do. Though Malja enjoyed watching him wiggle in discomfort, she had more important matters at hand. "Relax. I want to go up there to meet your boss."
"She ain't my boss. She's just—"
"Shut up, Suzu," Willie called as he turned the corner. He had taken off his suit coat, and his fine shirt stuck to his chest with sweat. "I'll take her up." Suzu relinquished Malja with grateful relief and scurried away.
Willie escorted her into a small, sumptuous apartment. The pounding party downstairs reverberated in the floor and walls. Willie directed her to an overstuffed chair and waited by the door. Low candlelight and deep-red paint closed the room in. All the furniture had been carved with intricate patterns and several portraits of guitarists hung on the walls. In the distance, Malja heard a dog yelp followed by a huge cheer erupting from the circle of onlookers.
A woman entered from a dark hall. At first, Malja only saw the dress — a slinky, red cloth that hung loose and low. It sparkled off the candles. As the woman closed in, her dark skin finally contrasted enough to be seen. She was exquisite. Malja rarely found women appealing, but this time she thought she saw what men found so interesting. Though flat-chested and more straight than curvy, sexuality slid off this woman like lava burning down a mountainside.
She flowed into a chair opposite Malja and with a rich, silken drawl said, "My. Look at you. All grown up."
"You're Cole Watts?" Malja knew the answer, felt it the second she saw the woman, but she had to ask anyway. Gregor had many sayings on the subject of assumptions.
"I am," Cole said. "And you're a very special young lady."
"Is that why your people have been trying to kill me? Because I'm so special?"
If Malja's abrasiveness rattled Cole, she never showed it. In fact, the more tension Malja felt, the smoother Cole seemed to become. Crossing her legs, showing off her strong, tone calf, Cole said, "Sweetie, think about it. I've had you under guard for quite awhile. If I'd been trying to kill you, why would you still be alive?"
"You've certainly been trying to stop me from finding Jarik and Callib."
"That I have been doing. But not for any reasons you might think of."
"Then why don't you tell me."
"Mmm, yes, we'll get to that. But first, Willie, please excuse us."
Willie leveled his hard eyes on Cole. "I think it best I stay. To protect you."
"That's very thoughtful," Cole said, her voice harder than his eyes. "However, it's entirely unnecessary. Malja's a seasoned fighter. She won't harm me until she knows such an action will help her. She's not rash. Willie dear, you could learn quite a bit from a woman like this."
"Maybe so, but —"
"Willie. This office don't belong to you, yet. So leave now." As an afterthought, she flashed a faux smile. "Please."
Clenching his hands, Willie said, "Of course. My apologies."
Cole watched him until he turned and walked out, closing the door with a loud bang. Returning her seductive smile, she faced Malja. "It's never easy being a leader, is it? Something we have in common, I imagine, considering Fawbry."
"He can be trying."
"Why that's an understatement."
Raucous laughter pushed up from party. Malja asked, "What's the celebration?"
Cole rose and poured a drink at a small counter. Her hands moved smooth and sure, but they were calloused and scarred. "Dear sweet Malja, you ain't ready for that party. No, ma'am, not just yet."
"Okay. Since you won't answer my questions, I guess your pal Willie might help me out."
"A little patience, please. This is our 'getting friendly' phase. Or if you prefer, this is foreplay. We'll get to the hard action soon enough. And as for Willie — well, I suppose that's part of what this is about. That is to say, just who is it you're going to support?"
"I have no interest in your games."
"'Course you do. You want Jarik and Callib, don't you? Well then, you'll have to help me out."
"Fawbry warned me you were ambitious."
"Oh, I'm a lot of things."
"So what is it you want? How do I help you?"
Cole returned to her chair like a spider that knows its prey is caught. "Right now, patience. I've got a party to attend or I'll lose some support. Next time we meet, you'll understand, and then we'll see if you'll help me." Cole finished her drink. "I'm off now. Willie's waiting outside to take you back. Goodnight."
Walking back down the candlelit path with Willie just behind her, Malja tried to digest her brief meeting with Cole. The woman certainly intrigued her, but Cole's strangeness worried her more — in this case, strange meant unpredictable. If Malja wanted to get free but also obtain the whereabouts of her fathers, she'd have to find a way to make Cole predictable. Or get real lucky. When Willie placed a firm hand on her shoulder and guided her away from the stables, she knew luck had abandoned her.
He took her into the middle of the fields where only the moonlight revealed them. Two men joined up — he called one Robert and the other Lonnie. More oddball names — and she thought Tommy was a funny name.
"Is he ready?" Willie asked.
Lonnie kept his eyes on the house. "He's the best he's gonna be. I don't promise anything beyond that."
"I know. Thanks for doing what you could."
Robert kicked a clump of dirt. "C'mon, let's get this done before anybody wonders where we gone to."
Grabbing Malja's arm, Willie led the group toward a rundown shack on the far end of the field. Next to the shack, the necessary equipment for making alcohol sat. Heat radiated outward and with it a sour odor — the machine rarely got rest, Malja guessed. They didn't stop there, however. They walked for several minutes — well beyond the tilled land and into the harsh world just outside the oasis. They came upon two men seated before a rock face. One of the men strummed a sad tune on a beaten guitar while the other blew a soft accompaniment into a mouth harp. Neither stopped playing as Willie approached, but the guitarist did acknowledge him with a nod.
Willie shoved Malja to the steep rocks. Lonnie rushed ahead and walked right through the stone — just disappeared. As they led Malja through the false wall, she tried to determine which of her captors was the magician.
A cool, stone passageway led to a round room — probably had been an old cave. Years of usage showed many improvements including cots, table and chairs, a metal stove made from old cars, and even an aluminum chimney that bored into the stone ceiling.
Robert pushed Malja into a chair. Willie opened his hands and said, "I'm going to be honest with you — as best I can. But in the end, you're going to have to choose which of us to support."
"If this is all you've got," Malja said, surveying the cave, "then Cole's already won."
"Oh, we've got more. We've got Old McKinley for one. Lonnie, bring him out."
Lonnie went deeper into the cave. He returned pushing a chair on wheels. A bony, old man sat in the rickety chair with a stained, blue and white blanket covering his legs. His curly white hair made a drastic contrast to his dark skin. The left side of his body drooped — eye, mouth, shoulder, arm. His right eye quivered and drool slid from his mouth.
They brought Old McKinley beside her. He lifted his right arm and touched her face like a blind man. His hand traced her throat and shoulder, then settled on her breast.
Malja slapped him away. "No way," she said and stood.
An invisible force yanked her back into the seat. She growled as she tried to move, but her body had become locked to the chair. The old ma
n's hand fondled her again. This time she saw the tattoo on his palm — he's the magician. And considering how fast he pulled off that spell and how destroyed he looked, he had to be quite talented.
"Now," Willie said, "you may not want to help us, but I can't have you helping Cole Watts."
"Don't you think you've jumped ahead a bit? I mean, I never said I wouldn't help you."
"I tend to do that. Jump ahead. 'Specially when I know the outcome. See, I can read it on your face. You won't help me. At least, not yet. So why waste the time yapping?"
Old McKinley groaned and slobbered.
Malja wriggled but couldn't move enough to avoid the old man. "Look, Cole didn't tell me anything. Maybe you can explain to me what's going on and then I can—"
"No, you won't believe if I tell you. Understand this is about a lot more than just who runs this farm. This is about real power. Big power. You got to see the party to get it."
"Then what am I here for? Just giving the old man a thrill? Take me to the party."
Willie motioned to Lonnie who wheeled Old McKinley back into the dark. Malja felt the pressure holding her to the chair release, but she made no attempt to get up — not with Willie and Robert holding the advantage.
Willie said, "That old man is more than a magician. He's seen things — and now he sees things. This wasn't about him getting a thrill. By Korstra, he's so old, I doubt anything works down there. No, this meeting was so he could touch into you, gauge what I should expect from you."
"You sure? Because his hand seemed very happy."
"He ain't no joke. He's a great, powerful man. He sees you now. He knows you won't help me. He tells me so, but I still find it hard to believe he's never wrong. I mean, we're all wrong once in a while."
"I don't understand what you people want but—"
"I know." Willie backed away. "Don't worry. Tomorrow. We'll try again."
Without another word, Robert escorted Malja back to the stables.
Chapter 15
Fawbry grumbled as he tried to find a comfortable position for sleep. With his hands secured to the door and fresh manure clogging the air, he failed. Malja stood as far from him as her bindings allowed. Since her return, Fawbry hadn't said a word to her. He hadn't even shown the slightest bit of curiosity as to what had happened when they took her away.
Not that she could tell him much if he did ask. Clearly, some kind of struggle for rule had become quite serious. Cole Watts and Willie had followers, bases of operations, and mounting pressure. Why they wanted her and what went on at those parties troubled her, but for the moment, she saw little recourse other than to wait and gather more information.
Waiting, however, would be torture.
More than any other, two thoughts plagued her mind. First, she kept picturing Old McKinley — his dead left side, his drooling mouth, his eager bony hand. He smelled like a rotten fruit — a sharp, sour odor of sickness. Every time Malja saw his visage in her head, she thought of Tommy.
Her overactive mind leapt ahead and formed a hideous image — Tommy as a withered man. Crazed by magic, palsied and helpless. Old McKinley's brother in insanity.
Whenever she managed to obliterate this line of thinking, a second powerful thought hit her. Shotgun snored from his stool. Good. She didn't want an eavesdropper.
"Fawbry," she said, her voice soft. Fawbry leaned against one wood wall and closed his eyes. "That's okay. You don't need to talk. But, please listen." She paused, her trepidation like new food in her mouth. "I-I'm sorry."
Fawbry raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
"You're right. I've dragged every one of you into this, and now you're stuck here because of me. For that, I apologize."
Looking away, he said, "Doesn't really do me much good now, does it?"
"I just thought I should say that. When you told me about Pung and Yolen, I understood more than you realize. You did what you did out of the need to satisfy the Black Beast."
"What's that?"
"Something Gregor, my guardian growing up, once told me about. I talked often to him about what I would do if I ever found Jarik and Callib — how I wanted them to suffer for all they had done to me. 'Vengeance,' he said to me, 'is the Black Beast that never lets you free.' He pointed to the charred wood in the fireplace. He told me the Black Beast was like that wood. On the surface, it's cold and harsh. But its desire burns quietly inside, waiting for the opportunity to reignite. Then it'll fiercely consume itself and all around it until nothing remains but ash. 'Let go of all your hatred,' he said to me. 'Be careful,' he said. He warned me."
"So why don't you listen to him?"
"I did. I tried. But the Black Beast never lets go. When I was seventeen, Jarik and Callib had my Uncle Gregor murdered. That's when I made my vow to the Beast. That's when my search really began. So, I'm sorry that you got caught in this."
"You really think that's enough?" Fawbry said. He kept his gaze on the dark ground. "Saying you're sorry is just words. You should've listened to Gregor. The man sounds smart. Had you listened to him, we'd have never met, and I'd be a lot happier. So I don't really care that you feel bad about any of it."
Malja could think of nothing else to say that would make things better, so she let silence cover them. It didn't last long. A minute later, Fawbry turned a challenging look at her and said, "If you're truly sorry, then change. If not for yourself, then do so for Tommy. Change your ways of doing things. Otherwise, you ought to shut up."
"You mean I should put away Viper and become a farmer or something? No. I'll always be a warrior."
"True. But why you kill is more important than just being a warrior. Change that and you change everything."
The next morning, they took Fawbry away. They came in, gave Malja a bowl of oatmeal, and left with Fawbry. All throughout the day, she waited but he never returned and no explanation came. She thought of Tommy often and of Fawbry's words, and she wished she believed in one of the brother gods so she'd have somebody to pray to. Instead, she waited. Alone.
When night arrived, so did Suzu. The walk up to Cole's office was quieter. No party this time. No candles lining the path. No drunken dog fights. All appeared calm and sleepy.
Entering the office, Malja came upon Cole and Willie — anything but calm and sleepy. They glared at each other like enemies on the battlefield. One raised an eyebrow. One clenched teeth. An entire argument occurred without a word spoken. At length, Willie let out an exasperated sigh and stomped out, rattling the windows with the slam of the door. Cole dismissed the tension with a wave and poured Malja a drink.
"I'm sorry about him. He's a fool. He's got his friends and his magician, but he's a fool. Yes, I know about Old McKinley. I'm sorry you had to meet that lecherous scum, but as a result, you've already helped me."
"Oh?"
"Until last night, I only had rumors and deductions to figure out Willie's strength."
"You followed us. Then the whole meeting between you and me was just a way to flush out Willie's hiding place?"
"I did want to meet you, and I do still want your help. But bless your heart if you think each step I take revolves around you. You've come here at a complex time, and I must capitalize on any opening my opponents leave me."
"That I can understand."
"I thought a fighting metaphor might help." Cole tapped her painted nails on the arm of her chair. "Do you know how magic works?"
"You're born to it."
"But that doesn't mean you can't understand how it works, even if you can't do it."
"Then I guess, no, I don't know how it works."
Cole tapped her nails faster. "It works by vibrations. Some of it does, anyway. Little, rapid movements that grow together, feed off each other, until you have a reaction. It's called sympathetic vibration. Magicians and many animals can create these initial vibrations. But it also occurs all around us. Music, say for example the kind created from a guitar, also creates sympathetic vibrations — not nearly to the magnitude needed for ma
gic nor the right frequency for that matter. Unless, of course, you brought together a lot of musicians, built a device that could increase the power of their total vibrations, and knew what frequencies to emit. Why, then you might be able to create your own magic."
"Are you saying you've done this? Created your own magic?"
While Malja sipped her drink — something fruity with a hint of alcohol and amazingly cold — Cole slipped out of her chair and sauntered toward a stout cabinet. She pulled out a metal contraption that looked like a crab with its legs wrapped around a ball. She set the thing on the little, wood table before Malja.
"Creating magic is easy," Cole said. "The real challenge is creating machines that can work with or even enhance magic."
"So what does this machine do?"
"That one can tell if you're lying. It can read your body signals at a mere touch and then interpret those signals as to whether or not you've been a naughty girl and lied to me."
"I take it you want to use it on me."
"When you're ready to pledge your aid to me, then we'll use it. After that, you'll get all you want and more."
"More?"
"My sweet little Malja, oh, yes more. After all, it's not enough to find Jarik and Callib, is it? That would be nothing, but for blood. Don't you want to know why you are so special? Don't you want to know where you come from? Who you really are? Or is it all just about killing them?"
Malja sprang to her feet and put out her arm. "Fine. Hook up your machine. I'll take your pledge."
"Dear me, no. Not like this. Why that would be extortion — well, it would if there were any law in this world. Besides, I can't show you tonight anyway. But there'll be another party tomorrow night. If you really want to pledge yourself to me, we'll do it then."
"Pledge myself? You said it was just my help."
"See that. You're not ready. You don't get it yet. But you will." Cole headed down the dark hall. "Be sure to tell Willie I give him my fondest."