The Way of the Soul

by Stuart Jaffe

  “I’m not sure that I get a world.”

  “Oh, we all get worlds. There are so many of them. You’ll have one, don’t worry. And you’ll be able to do anything your little mind can think up. Anything. Because you’ll be a god to them.”

  Reon leaned her head back against the tree. This? This was Gate? How could a god worthy of all Reon’s sacrifices associate with this sadistic madwoman? How could a god risk peace on all worlds over his lust for a woman who has no interest in him? Who doesn’t even deserve him. How?

  These thoughts disturbed Reon, but none moreso than that sparked by Sola’s last words. The idea that people living in some other universe on some other world would be forced to recognize Sola as a god terrified Reon. Not only because of what cruelty this woman planned, but because Reon wondered what that meant about Lord Harskill. If Sola was Gate and Lord Harskill was Gate, did that mean Reon only saw him as a god because of how he had presented himself? The world of gods seemed so strange, but what if it wasn’t as strange as she had thought — what if this world was no different than how a pet might view its owner? More powerful, more intelligent, with access to more technology and ability.

  But then my whole life would be a lie.

  She looked down at her do-kha. What would these Gate be without this special suit? Reon paused as a familiar thought wriggled its way back to her mind — could this be another test? If it was, it would have to be the final test. The final pushing by her god to prove her worthiness. Except had she not already proved it time and again. Why the need for a final test when so many seemed final before?

  The only way to find out for sure would be to ask. Yet Lord Harskill made it clear that she should not question him again. Except what kind of god cannot stand up to scrutiny?

  Faith was one thing. Blind faith was for crooks and false deities.

  “Did you ever have to go through tests with Lord Harskill?”

  Sola did not answer. She had fallen asleep under her mask of leaves.

  “Sola?” Reon considered nudging the woman with her foot but held off. No telling what that crazy Gate would do if startled awake. Besides, she had more important questions to ask of a more important person.

  Leaving Sola sleeping on the forest floor, Reon stomped off towards Lord Harskill to see what kind of god he was.

  Chapter 23

  Malja

  Though the sun had set, the oppressive heat continued. Malja wanted to wipe the sweat from her brow, but to do so meant letting go of the bridge which she hung under. Not a good idea. So, as she crossed beneath the bridge hand over hand, taking hold of each plank as if it were a rung, she let the sweat sting her eyes.

  Reach out, grab the next rung, swing forward.

  The darkness kept her from having any sense of the depths beneath her, but hanging over black emptiness turned out to be just as unnerving as hanging over a long drop that she could see. Her arms burned. She would have loved to stop for a few breaths, but Owl kept pace behind her. Besides, there would be time to breathe when she reached the other side.

  Reach out, grab the next rung, swing forward.

  Owl had suggested they walk around the gorge. Each time Malja reached out for a rung, she wished she had agreed. No, that was the pain talking. To hike around the gorge would have taken all night. They would have arrived at dawn — much too late to be effective.

  Fawbry thought she should portal over there, and for a time, that had been the plan. Until Brother Ica piped in. Once he understood about portals, he warned them that using portal magic so close to the Library in its current state would be dangerous — maybe catastrophic. Except he had no way to know for sure. His fear, however, influenced Owl enough to settle him into the idea of crossing beneath the bridge.

  Reach out, grab the next rung, swing forward.

  Her do-kha tried to soothe her muscles but nothing would help until she could let go of the bridge. At least in the darkness they didn’t have to worry about anybody passing above. Nobody would dare with the winds blowing across. Of course, those same winds made every swing forward also a swing to the side.

  Reach out, grab the next rung, swing forward.

  The wind picked up with a gust. Malja and Owl gripped hard to wait it out. Their legs dangled like dolls as they struggled with the added weight of their weapons. If only the wind brought cool air with it. The sticky and thick blasts, however, only seemed to heat up Malja’s skin more — even after the gust died off. They had been at this long enough for her to curse the wind and every humid breath it blew.

  Reach out, grab the next rung, swing forward.

  Her fingers cramped, but she pressed on. Each time she moved ahead, she expected the wooden board above to snap apart. She kept picturing the long fall into darkness. It would feel numbing, endless, and petrifying all at the same time. A drop into limbo that would last long enough to relive her mistakes, to consider her regrets, and to know she had failed. Worst of all, it would end hard and without warning.

  Reach out, grab the next rung, swing ...

  Her legs smacked into stone. They had reached the other side. She kicked out until she found a solid foothold, then reached forward with one hand. Her do-kha stretched the rest of the way and stuck itself against the rocks. In moments, she had her body pressed flat against the gorge wall, breathing hard and enjoying the slightly cooler stones. As Owl followed suit, crossing to the rocks with a graceful hop, she wondered why her do-kha hadn’t bothered to help her make the crossing when it could have reached out and formed a firm grip on the bridge. Lack of training, she guessed. As much as she had learned to control the suit, she often thought it had a will of its own.

  “I’m ready,” Owl whispered.

  Malja waited for two more breaths and then scaled sideways. They headed westward for several feet before climbing up to the surface. Once atop, they crouched on the ground and pulled out their weapons.

  Looking toward the bridge, Malja counted ten magicians standing near the edge. Four campfires warmed their backs. The flames also provided limited light — far enough back that the bridge remained in darkness yet close enough so the magicians could focus on their tattooed arms.

  “They’re trying to break Tommy,” Malja said.

  “He can handle them. He’s got the Brothers helping him, too.”

  Malja agreed, though she wished Tommy had time for a rest. At least, the magicians would be preoccupied. None would have time to cast a spell at her or Owl when the screams began.

  Keep low and quiet, Malja led the way south across the plain. They heard the snores and scuffling of animals and soldiers. A few murmured conversations, too. Several campfires dotted the night, but less than an entire army normally required. Partly because Harskill’s army consisted of many creatures instead of soldiers, partly because he probably wanted to keep the army’s exact size hidden until the morning — especially if he brought in more men and monsters as the night wore on.

  Owl pulled on her braided hair. She knew he did so to stop her without having to make noise, but that didn’t check her impulse to smack him hard. The warrior in her, however, kept her hands at bay. The noise of a slap might alert their enemies.

  He squatted next to her and pointed toward one small campfire in the middle of the slumbering army. Malja pulled out her old, dented spyglass and peered through. Harskill and another — not Reon — huddled over the flames. This woman looked stronger, more confident, and every bit as cold and calculating as Harskill.

  Light, slow steps brought them closer in. They weaved around the groups of sleeping animals, stepped over a few snoring soldiers, and quietly made their way toward that small firelight. A short distance from the campfire, the army ceased. Apparently, they all gave Harskill plenty of space.

  Malja picked up her pace, wondering if she could end this with a fast leap out of the night to cut him down in one strike. That would be fantastic. And easy, for a change.

  Too easy.

  Malja pulled up short. Even if she hadn’
t heard the laughter from behind, she would have known she had made a mistake. The way the cold woman standing at the fire grinned told her that much.

  Owl pressed his back against Malja. Good. Back to back would be the safest way to face the fully awake army that surrounded them.

  “Korstra and Kryssta,” Malja said. “Sorry.”

  “This is my fault,” he said. “I should’ve expected this.”

  “Great. We can blame each other if we survive.”

  Harskill rubbed his hands over the fire before turning to face them. “My dear, Malja, I must thank you for being so consistent. You make our confrontations much easier.” Raising his hands high in the air, he said in loud voice, “My friends, this is the great Malja. Tread with care.”

  The warriors laughed and the animals snorted. Firelight painted their faces with flickering orange and black stripes. Malja ignored them.

  She walked toward Harskill, motioning for Owl to stay behind. She knew he would be nervous as she gave up their back-to-back position, but she knew something he didn’t — Harskill. She may be predictable, but so was he.

  “Got another girlfriend, I see,” she said.

  Harskill glanced at the woman. “Jealous? Bell Wake is a beautiful woman, some would even say exquisite, but I don’t think she would want my hand.”

  To Bell, Malja said, “You’re a smart woman, then.”

  Bell said nothing. Her icy eyes, however, said much. When the attack came, Malja would have to worry about Bell as much as Harskill.

  Harskill inhaled the woodsmoke. Dockle wood had a distinctive smell, blending mint and moss into a sharp but satisfying aroma, one Malja remembered well from her days with Uncle Gregor. She wondered if Harskill had chosen that wood on purpose for her. His knowing grin confirmed her suspicion.

  “This is a charming world,” he said. “Or I should say it could be a charming world. Too much violence and bloodshed, but one day, with the right rulers, this could be a haven of peace and pleasure.”

  “Let me guess who you think those rulers should be.” Malja stepped closer. From the corner of her eye, she tried to gauge Owl’s distance by the shadows on the ground. Unfortunately, the fire pushed Owl’s shadow in the wrong direction. She would have to trust that he could figure out her intentions.

  “You’re mistaken. I want you to be the ruler here.” He paused as if expecting her shock, but she knew he would say something like this. Just as she knew where he headed. “After all, this is your world. Though you are Gate, you never really knew the Gate life. This was your beginning. Seems only fitting that when I become the god of all the universes, you should be the one bestowed with this world. It would be my gift to you.”

  “You don’t really think you can bribe me, do you?”

  “I offer you this world because I am true in my desire for peace. As I have tried to show you time and again, I care about you. This world is important to you, and thus, it becomes important to my goals. And to me. I want you to see that I can bring joy to the places you care about.”

  “Somehow a massive army on all sides doesn’t make me feel your caring heart.”

  Malja lowered her center of gravity and slid her feet into a solid but non-threatening fighting stance. She looked casual but alert. In truth, she could strike out with alarming speed from this position.

  Once she cleared a path, her first real challenge would be Bell Wake. Harskill would hold back, his heart at war with his brain. As always, his brain would win, and he would attack her. But Malja figured she had enough time to incapacitate Bell Wake first. She hoped.

  “My dear,” Harskill said, his voice softening, even cracking a little. “You can see all around that I knew you would come here for me. And though you probably have convinced yourself that you’ve come here to kill me, the truth is that you have become fond of me.”

  “I think you’ve inhaled too much campfire smoke.”

  “How else can you explain that we’re both still here? You’ve had opportunities to kill me before, but you’ve held back.”

  “I needed you alive to get information.”

  “You needed me alive because without me, you would have felt lost and alone. You wanted me alive because I understand you. You are Gate. Who else but another Gate could possibly know what you know? Your friends are good to have around, of course, but they don’t grasp the burden and responsibility your great power brings with it. Why do you think I offered to marry you from the very first time we met? I assure you it wasn’t some romantic’s crush of instant love. Rather I offered because I knew we were unified in a way I’ve never felt with another Gate.”

  Bell Wake frowned and gestured toward someone back by Owl. Malja scanned those in front of her — she did not see Reon anywhere. If Reon stood in the back and was the recipient of Bell Wake’s derisive look, then neither of them was pleased with Harskill’s love speech.

  That meant their attention would be drifting from the immediate situation.

  And that meant the time to strike had come.

  “Owl,” she said firm and calm. “Now.”

  Chapter 24

  Reon

  When Malja and Owl attacked, Reon couldn’t have been happier. She had been looking for a fight throughout the evening, and nothing would be more satisfying than cracking Malja’s skull. After all, that harlot was the root of all the problems with Lord Harskill.

  Hours earlier, Reon had left Sola in the trees so she could confront her god. Except Lord Harskill had no time to talk with her. Or no will. Bell stood in the way several times, and twice Reon backed off on her own when she saw Lord Harskill deep in conversation with Freen. By the time the sun set and soldiers hunkered down for the night, Reon knew she had missed her opportunities.

  She wandered around the impromptu camp, itching for one of the gangs to make some inappropriate remark or advance — anything she could use as an excuse to brawl. But nobody bothered her. In fact, they all seemed to give her a wide berth as if they instinctively knew she would be trouble.

  After a few hours, she had finally decided to sleep off her anger when a commotion broke out near Lord Harskill’s campfire. Malja and Owl had slithered their way in. Much to Reon’s surprise, Lord Harskill had expected this — those soldiers closest to his camp had feigned sleep in order to trap the would-be assassins.

  Yet rather than kill them, Lord Harskill prattled on about their history and connection. Bell Wake shot her a look that said it all — Lord Harskill was in love with Malja. There could be no doubt. When it came to Malja, he failed to see the truth, and if she continued to blind him, he might lose sight of their whole purpose. Surely, peace for all outweighed the need for an individual love — even for a god.

  Her stomach twisted each time she questioned Lord Harskill’s godliness, but she couldn’t stop. Events kept mismatching with words. That was fine for a god like Dulmul — generations of priests creating a fiction were bound to write a few contradictions. Lord Harskill, however, was no fiction. Reon stood on another world because of him. So why did he let Malja mess with their plans?

  While he continued to talk, Malja shifted her body position. She was subtle, by Reon caught it. After a lifetime of devotion to Lord Harskill, she had learned to see subtle changes — always hoping each one would be a sign. None ever were.

  The pressure boiling inside Reon urged her body to act. She could jump in and cut down both of them before Lord Harskill or anyone else could react. She could be the one to end this nonsense and open a clear way to the Library. Lord Harskill would be grateful for that. Eventually.

  But as Reon eased her do-kha sleeves into fighting blades, Malja and Owl attacked.

  A collective gasp sucked in the surrounding air. No one expected two people to take on an entire army. The sheer audacity of the attack bought these arrogant attackers a few seconds.

  Malja swung her blade in a wide, shoulder-high circle. Two gang members leaning in too close lost their heads. At the same time, Owl dropped low and spun with his s
word out. He clipped many calves and tendons as well as the knees of one unfortunate soul.

  When Owl rose, he had a gun in his hand. He pointed it into the crowd. Soldiers and gang members dove out of the way, but Reon did not move. She watched Owl’s eyes. His target was farther back. He shot and one of the giant gorgut dropped like a felled tree. Blood spewed out of its eye, but it did not scream or react — it was already dead.

  The time Malja and Owl had gained now vanished. The shock had worn off, and those who had been in battle before started to think. They outnumbered these two by so many that they could simply walk forward and crush their enemy, but of course, nobody would want to be on the front line of that maneuver.

  Reon decided that the army needed to be awoken to the reality — that they had nothing to fear from these swords. “Attack them, you fools!”

  Swords and clubs and axes appeared along with gritted teeth and angry howls. Reon lowered her body, ready to spring into action.

  crackcrackcrack

  A volley of gunshots rippled in the distance. Seven soldiers and a konapol dropped to the ground, blood pooling beneath them. All stopped as the army stared into the darkness.

  crackcrackcrack

  The gunshots rippled again, taking down another group of men and women. This time, however, Reon and the others saw the flames flashing out of the muzzles. In those flashes, they caught a glimpse of row upon row of rifle-carrying soldiers lined along the opposite side of the gorge. Malja and Owl had not attacked alone. They had a rifle squad protecting them from afar.

  crackcrackcrack

  Confusion took over. Gang members and soldiers dashed off — some from fear, others in a pointless attempt to organize. Animals bellowed while handlers struggled to regain control. Freen screamed out orders, but Reon could not understand his words amongst all the chaos.