by Stuart Jaffe
The horses had to have been the feeblest animals the Carsites owned. Six in total — two gray with age, one with a deep dip in its back, one that appeared to avoid putting pressure on its right hindquarter, and two in good health though wielding bad attitudes. Despite a few quiet mutterings, the group took the poor animals with grace.
The Artisoll was afforded her own horse. Hirasa and Lynoya shared a horse, as did Fawbry and Tommy. Malja and Stray each took one of the feisty horses, and the one with the bad back was left to carry their meager possessions.
As the day started out, they moved slowly away from the morning sun. The protruding rock formations cast long shadows across their path. Nobody looked back. Not even Hirasa or Lynoya.
With her horse wanting to wander, Malja had to work hard to keep with the group. This involved a lot of pulling on the reins and squeezing her legs. Though her do-kha continually healed her wounded thigh, the act of horse riding caused the injury to flare warnings of pain.
After an hour, though, Feisty (a simple enough name that worked well for the mare) had come to see that life would be easier if she followed what Malja wanted — mostly. Malja’s thigh welcomed the change as she shifted to using the reins exclusively for the time.
She came alongside Fawbry and Tommy. They formed a charming couple with Tommy steering the horse while Fawbry held on from behind. Malja choked back the urge to poke fun at them. She had something serious to say. “I’m sorry you lost your job. From what I’ve seen, you made a good Sheriff.”
“For having only one hand, I suppose I did fine enough. But I didn’t lose my job. I gave it up. And don’t start thinking I did it for you. I simply had to do what was right. I had hoped my actions would have had more of an impact on Canto — maybe even change his mind.”
“All I wish to say is that I appreciate it.”
“It works out better this way. Now I have more time to help protect the Artisoll. That’s most important.”
The way Fawbry spoke, the way he looked at the Artisoll as he said her name — something didn’t seem right. Before Malja could ponder this, Fawbry placed his stump on her shoulder. “I can tell you’re thinking about those horrible things Canto said. Well, don’t give it any weight. You did not cause the apocalypse. Here or anywhere. What he said — it was just politics.”
“I never was good at that. You’re the one who can manipulate words.”
“You do okay.”
“Okay doesn’t ever get the job done.”
“All you have to do is put it in the right frame of reference. For you, think of politics akin to battle between two strong forces. When you fight someone, it’s your experience, your physical strength, and your skill that guide you through. In politics, it’s the same thing — except instead of physical strength, winning relies on mental agility.”
“Sounds simple enough, but when I find myself in the middle of it, the words often don’t come. I strain to figure out what somebody wants from me. Perhaps I lack the mental strength.”
Fawbry laughed. “I doubt you’ve ever lacked in any kind of strength. You do, however, lack the right perspective. Think of this: war, battle, combat, even the smallest fight between two people — they are all, more or less, concerned with the same thing.”
“They are?”
“They all are about controlling power. War is for the power to rule. Battle is for the power to dictate the war. Combat is for power over the battle. The smallest fight between two people? Well, that’s for power in a relationship or over who makes a decision or countless petty matters. But however you want to look at it, it’s always about power. Politics is exactly the same. Whether it is a debate between two people or a maneuver to be the leader of a world, it’s all for power. And because you understand fighting, you also understand politics.”
As Malja considered Fawbry’s words, she watched the area for any sign of trouble. If Canto felt comfortable enough to give them such lousy horses, he might feel bold enough to “solve” his problem with an ambush. Except Canto never struck her as the kind to betray his word. He may stick to the barest of meanings of his words — he promised them horses, not good horses — but he would not renege on this arrangement. Yet still Malja’s nerves tingled as she looked around.
When she returned her attention to Fawbry, she found that he had grown silent. His full attention had turned to the Artisoll. With his head leaning to the side and his mouth slightly agape, he looked like a child in love with a new pet. No. The more she thought on it, the more Malja saw that Fawbry was the pet gazing upon his master for approval.
Tommy fared no better. He appeared to be in a trance fixated upon the Artisoll. He mooned over her like a traveling actor overemphasizing a romantic scene.
Not far behind, Hirasa and Lynoya rode. Lynoya’s fierce stare into the back of Tommy burned so hot, Malja half-expected Tommy to yelp in pain. But he didn’t notice. That bothered Malja the most.
The fact that Tommy had lost interest in Lynoya and discovered affections for the Artisoll meant little to Malja. People fall in and out of love all the time — especially at a young age. But the way Tommy flaunted this shift, the way he drooled over the Artisoll right in front of Lynoya, could only be seen as cruel — and Malja had never seen Tommy act cruel before.
A few pebbles rolled down a rock formation off to the left. Malja snapped her head over, her eyes scoping for any sign of movement. Probably an animal, of course, but she had to be sure. After all, White Streak still lived.
After a minute, unable to find anything wrong in the distance, Malja eased her horse back until she rode next to Stray. “Did you see anything?”
“No,” he said. “But I heard it as well as you. Whoever is watching us will not act soon. If an attack had been planned, it would already have happened.”
“You think someone’s trying to see where we go?”
“After a small group of us decimated ten trang-gaul, they would be more cautious for a second attempt. If this is a different threat, they clearly know how dangerous we can be. Otherwise, as I said, they would have attacked already.”
“I suspect you’re right. But keep ready. It’s been my experience that most worlds’ soldiers are not too disciplined. All it will take is one impatient action to launch a sloppy attack.”
Stray gave one of his swords a firm shake. “Such an attack would be welcome. I’d only have to use one blade.” His face dropped all mirth and his voice lowered. “For now, we have a greater problem than being followed.”
“Oh?”
“Your colorful friend.”
“You mean Fawbry?”
A struggle played out on Stray’s face. Malja chose to say nothing. As a fellow warrior, she understood that Stray had something he needed to share, but part of him had no desire to open up any of his life to her. Doing so created holes in the armor against the pains of Life. Doing so made one vulnerable to attack.
She would wait. Either he would decide to speak or he would clamp down on his thoughts. She had full confidence that if what he needed to say had crucial implications for their mission, he would speak.
At length, Stray looked up at the sky and a calm glaze overcame him. “I was born in the bilge of a cargo ship heading for the ports of Welall. It’s a small country on the opposite side of the world from Ro, Dovell, and Bechstollan. Like all the small countries on that side, Welall has little wealth and little power. It’s mostly volcanoes — not much to live on.
“I have no idea why my mother was aboard that ship nor do I know who my father was. All I really do know is that by the time we docked in the city of Keo, my mother had died and the crew dropped me at an orphanage.
“Keo is full of orphanages. It’s a city known more for its parties and prostitutes than anything else. Those living in the rich, Large Three countries travel across the world to Keo, and cities like it, so they can act like animals rutting with everything in sight. All that rutting creates a lot of unwanted children. So, the orphanages.”
&nb
sp; Cold memories chilled Malja’s skin. “I was stolen from my mother and raised by two foster fathers. I think I can understand. You know, it seems that the more worlds I travel, the more I see how cruel we can all be.” She couldn’t help but look over at Tommy — still gazing upon the Artisoll.
“I’m afraid my story doesn’t get any better. At least, not for a bit. But it’s important you understand my background in order for you to grasp the magnitude of the rest.”
“I suspect we still have a long ride ahead, so talk as much as you want. Just keep your eyes on the shadows.”
Stray stroked his horse’s mane as his gaze scanned the horizon. “I was a big kid and an ugly one, too. None of the parents from Ro or Dovell wanted me. They all sought after the cute-looking, foreign babies. So, I grew up in the orphanage until I was eight. That’s when the local foster parents take an interest because from eight on, you can be bought cheap and put to work right away. Luckily for me, that work consisted entirely of hard labor on a farm. Others like me ended up in whorehouses or worse.
“I lived in the barn with three other kids. We worked from before sunrise to well into the night. The only time I saw my foster mother was when she screamed my name to come pick up the bowls of slop for dinner. I saw my foster father every day in the fields and at nights when he would get drunk and beat us. Then he started to come in once a week or so and choose one of my less homely brothers for a private evening. He tried to take me to his bed once, but all that fieldwork had made me strong. I fought back, broke his nose, and that ended my time on the farm. I must’ve been thirteen when I found myself alone, on the streets of Keo, without any idea of how to get by.”
Malja clamped her hands tight on the reins to prevent Stray from noticing them tremble. “When I was ten, my so-called fathers decided I was no longer worth their time. They threw me away. Left me in the woods to die. Clearly, both of us learned to survive the hard way.”
“With my size and my strength, most people thought I was older. I became a street brawler, fighting for money, food, sometimes for a place to sleep. I even built a small reputation. People didn’t pick fights with me or cause me trouble. One night, a friend of mine needed some muscle to mug a few people. That night changed everything. Had it been different, I would have become a professional thug. As it turned out, we mugged the wrong man.” Stray chuckled. “He would say that as things turned out, we mugged the right man.”
He paused long enough to focus off to the right. Malja followed his gaze. A wreet skittered across the dirt and found safety beneath a grouping of stones. She kept her eyes on that spot, wondering if White Streak had scared that wreet, but they rode by the spot without further incident.
Stray eased back. “The man we had picked to mug was old — long, white beard; wrinkled, dark skin; dull, narrow eyes. I didn’t think he’d be able to see us coming. We moved in, and this little, frail elderly man proceeded to beat me bloody. I’d never felt punches like that before. Those iron hard kind of punches that knock the wind from your lungs and make further breathing painful for hours. You know?”
“All too well.”
“Well, something happened in my head. Like a personal sun had broken the darkness inside me and shined hard on my face. As this old man walked away, I crawled behind him, begging for him to teach me to fight like that. He said he wouldn’t waste his time since I wouldn’t last. I promised him I’d never quit. He told me to prove it. So, for the next year, I acted as his personal slave. Anything asked of me, I did. Thankfully, he wasn’t a deviant like my foster father, but I’m not ashamed to admit that if he had asked, I would have gone to bed with him. Anything to learn how to fight like he could.”
“Am I correct that this old man actually worked for the Artisoll?”
“He was a Holy Man, and I wouldn’t word it as you say, but that’s the idea. I’ll explain that another time. What I want you to understand with all this is that I’ve lived a harsh, strong life, one that made me colder to my emotions than most people. Then I met a man who trained and educated me to become one of the Artisoll’s elite protectors — the Drukrull. That coldness in me protects me from the lure of the Artisoll.”
“The lure?”
“She is a vessel filled with all the magic of an entire world, and at the moment, she has very limited control of it. This magic pours out of her like a boiling cauldron spewing out steam. It’s another way she is protected. Her magic turns those around her into slaves of a sort — at times, utilizing their most important qualities to keep the Artisoll healthy and strong; at times, reducing them into slobbering fools. Your two men have already succumbed to her. They can’t help themselves. But her power doesn’t influence one like me. That’s one of the key qualities of a Drukrull. We wouldn’t be effective protectors if we were stuck fawning over her the whole time. You understand? Your men are not in their right minds.”
Malja thought the Artisoll influenced Stray more than he realized but she kept silent. Clearly, Fawbry and Tommy had been struck by her magic. But then Tommy had plenty of magic himself. Perhaps he wasn’t under her influence at all. Perhaps he truly felt something for her.
It didn’t seem so far-fetched. They both were capable of powerful magic. They were both silent people. They both didn’t belong wherever they were. The more she considered it, the Artisoll could easily be the best choice for Tommy.
Fawbry, on the other hand, had lost his mind to her magic.
As if he could hear her thoughts, Fawbry twisted his head around and said, “We should be there soon. A few hours, no more.”
Malja pulled up her horse. “Go ahead. I’ll meet up with you later.”
Stray brought his horse back to her. “I can’t go leave the Artisoll out here.”
“That’s why I’m going alone. You keep everybody else safe. I’ll find out who’s following us, and if needed, I’ll take care of it myself.”
Chapter 9
Malja rode Feisty in the opposite direction from the group. She went at a light trot for a few minutes, then let Feisty unleash, galloping hard for as long as the horse desired. The horse’s exuberance resonated in every hoof thudding into the ground.
Once she thought they had gone sufficiently far and Feisty had decided to slow down, she turned the horse off the path and up along a high ridge of rock formations. From the higher point, she could look back upon a lot of the land at the same time as she worked her way back to the group. She predicted one of two outcomes. If White Streak had a desire for vengeance, it would follow her, and they could fight it out any moment. If White Streak stuck to its orders, then Malja would find the trang-gaul as it continued to shadow the Artisoll. Either way, she would find the creature.
To her surprise, neither prediction came true. Instead, she found several marks in the dirt where White Streak had spied on them, but no White Streak. She took Feisty in all directions around these spots but not once did she find any further signs of her target.
Halting, she pulled up the sleeve of her long coat to reveal part of her do-kha. Harskill had taught her that they could communicate through the do-kha. She had hoped to avoid this, but under the circumstances, it would help to gain more information. Even if Harskill acted evasive, she knew she could glean something useful from him.
The do-kha moved and stretched until it covered her hand. She turned her palm skyward and stared at it. Concentrating on contacting Harskill, she waited and waited.
Nothing.
Either she was doing it wrong or the do-kha couldn’t connect with someone in another universe. The time before, when she had successfully talked with Harskill via the do-kha, they had both been on the Carsite world. She imagined it would be near impossible to talk between universes. Then again, she had seen magic do some impossible things.
Of course, it was possible that Harskill had simply refused to answer her call. Doubtful, though. If he had done all this out of love, as he claimed, then he would be eager to speak with her. And if he had a more malicious intent, he would
be eager to gloat.
She lowered her hand. Harskill would have to wait.
As the sun headed towards dusk, she hurried to catch up with the group. A few times, Feisty tried to go back to the free galloping she had enjoyed before, but Malja’s firm hand kept the mare in line. When she approached her friends, a simple shake of her head stopped any queries.
Stray looked as if he had expected the result. “The trang-gaul are trained to rarely be seen and never be found. It is their entire purpose in life.”
A short time later, they reached Cafloden. The place had been a thriving farm with endless acres of tolerable land. However, once the Great Well was discovered and the farms moved into the sky, Cafloden could no longer survive.
The place had become a mass of empty fields with scraps of plant life poking through dead soil. In the center of it all stood the remains of a three-story home. The entire right side of the building had caved in while one corner of the left side looked close to falling.
“It’s not much, but that’s part of why Canto agreed,” Fawbry said as he dismounted.
Hirasa jumped to the ground and smacked her hands together. “It’s not so bad. Plenty of room.”
“Sure. You can have the right side of the house.”
As the others unloaded, took care of the horses, and hauled their few belongings into the house, Malja walked around the outside, counting the numerous security issues and taking note of all the possible attack points. Stray would not be happy with what she saw. Perhaps she could spend the night blocking off some of the vulnerabilities, but with such a large building, she would need a few days to fix it all.
When she reached the charred section of the house, she stopped to inspect the damage. It must have happened long ago — thorny vines had grown through the weakened floorboards and crept all the way to the roof. She would warn Stray to keep the Artisoll away from this section until they could determine whether or not the thorns were poisonous.
Malja paused. Why would she think that? She had saved the Artisoll and felt responsibility toward her because of this, but why were all her thoughts about the safety of the Artisoll? What about the rest of the group?