by Stuart Jaffe
She looked for Malja and Lord Harskill but could find neither one. Owl, on the other hand, she saw fine. He stood a few feet away and stared right at her. In one hand, he held his blade and in the other his gun. His fighting stance told her all she needed to know.
With her blades at the ready, she bent her knees and slid her left foot forward. Like a fencing master, she approached her enemy. Years of training flooded her body, letting her mind look for information while her legs and arms reacted without thought.
She saw how Owl held his shoulders — mostly relaxed but with a slight twist in the back. At will, he could unleash that muscle and create a fast, powerful strike. His chest moved up and down with steady, controlled breathing. His face portrayed a dead calm.
A brutish man with a club yelled as he swung at Owl. Reon watched closely as Owl sidestepped with minimal effort. As the man stumbled by, Owl cracked the back of his head with the gun butt while simultaneously slicing into the man’s side. He died as he fell to the ground.
Owl’s eyes, even his stance, returned to face Reon. He knew where the real threat waited. She could see him evaluating her just as she did to him.
She inched closer. No matter what, she had to always maintain a firm, balanced stance. One misstep, one moment off kilter, and he would destroy her.
He shifted his feet and raised the sword into a position more suited for a lunge than a swipe. Smart. With all the people and animals running around as obstacles, a swipe might get caught up whereas a straight lunge would have a better chance of hitting the target.
As she neared him, she could see the firelight against his face. He was a handsome man. Even more handsome than Lord Harskill.
Two creatures — four-armed men with scaly skin and craggy heads — charged forward. Owl leaped to his right, slamming his elbow into the chin of one creature. As the other closed in, Owl jabbed his sword forward. He missed, but both creatures stopped their rushing attack and opted for a more cautious approach.
Bad move. As they attempted to intimidate him with their growls, Owl advanced. With a fluid motion, he dropped to one knee, ducking under a clumsy swing to the head, and came back up with his sword cutting through the creature’s thigh. As that thing tumbled down with a crimson river gushing out of its leg, Owl stepped in close to the other creature. Before that one could react with a punch or grab, Owl used the butt of his gun in five rapid-fire hits. Each one cracked a rib as Owl worked his way up to a final blow to the skull that dropped his opponent.
Reon licked her lips as she watched. Her old masters had taught her much and they were quite skilled, but they never had the grace and conservation of motion that Owl displayed. Every step, every strike flowed with precision. And no magic. He had several opportunities to use magic if he had any, but the only weapons he used were his sword and gun.
Several other creatures, a few soldiers, and some gang members had formed a wide circle around Owl. Reon could tell that none of them dared to attack. If they were smart, they’d all attack at once. No matter how skilled Owl might be, he could never fight off that many opponents at once. But, they were not so smart. And even more importantly, they were afraid.
Besides, none of them wanted to take the leadership role. That would be a suicide position. A fighter like Owl would target any leader right away, knowing that this so-called army had no discipline and would fall apart fast without a leader.
Fine by Reon. That nobody wanted to take on Owl merely meant he’d be more of a real challenge. And she needed a good fight.
Reon struck. She pulled off an old favorite move — leaping at an angle instead of straight on and then attacking from the side. She thrust her do-kha blades in a double-uppercut.
Owl spun while holding his sword downward from the shoulder. The blade deflected Reon’s do-kha, and Owl followed up with his gun butt. Reon tilted backward, narrowly avoiding a bone-breaking strike.
As Owl completed his spin, he whipped his sword around and slit the throat of a nearby soldier. He grabbed the body before it had time to fall and tossed it at Reon. She spun out of the way, bringing her blades up high in case Owl charged behind. But he did not. He had only used the corpse to give him time to reset his stance and get a moment of observing his opponent.
“You’ve been well-trained,” he said.
Reon popped back into a fighting stance. “All out of bullets?”
“One shot left. So, it’s got to be important.”
“I’m not important enough?”
Owl grinned. “Oh, I get the feeling shooting you would be a crime against all that’s holy.”
Reon hesitated. Did he just flirt? She wanted to smile, but her next thought darkened her brow. He must be toying with her.
Her nerves tingled and her muscles flexed. Breathing like a bull, she lowered her head but kept her eyes on Owl. She felt the change before seeing the result — her do-kha blades had reformed. They had a slight curve now, ending in sharp points, and jagged prongs lined the outer-edges.
She jumped forward, moving her arm-blades in a swimming motion. As Owl deflected one blade, the next came down upon him. The moment he evaded that attack, the first had come around again for another try. Over and over, she pressed him.
Owl’s sword flashed back and forth while he dodged and pivoted. Each strike cut away some of that demeaning smile until his face showed nothing but concentration on survival. That was more like it. Reon wanted him to know that she was a serious threat, and his expression told her he got the message.
But he clearly wanted her to know the same. On her next strike, he darted right and knocked over a passing soldier — a fur-covered ball of muscle. Owl stepped on its back and launched into the air. He soared back toward Reon with his sword slashing for her throat.
He caught her shoulder, but her do-kha hardened, knocking the blade off at an angle toward her head. The do-kha elongated from her shoulder, creating a wall which stopped the blade. But it couldn’t stop physics. Owl collapsed upon Reon.
He led with his knee, catching her in the sternum and knocking the wind from her lungs. She wrenched her arm at him, and her blade cut into his bicep. Clutching the wound, he fell over.
Reon tried to get up, but the pain in her chest slowed her. She heard screaming from afar — more falling victims to the rifles across the gorge. Funny, she never heard the gunfire.
At length and with short breaths that burned into her ribs, she managed to stand. Owl had taken the time to rip a strip of cloth from his shirt and tie it around his arm wound. Drenched in sweat, he stood and reset for another round of fighting. Reon wanted to take advantage of his slower movements, but her own recovery kept her still.
“You are quite surprising,” Owl said through heavy breaths.
“You expected less of Lord Harskill’s Queen?”
Owl shook his head as if reprimanding a naughty child. “I met you and your Lord out on the bridge, remember? You are not his Queen. Concubine, perhaps. Bodyguard, certainly. But not his Queen.”
“You know nothing.”
Reon scissored her arms, one high and one low. Owl jumped back, but Reon pursued him, scissoring her arms back open. Instead of evading, however, Owl closed the distance. He locked his blade against the jagged edge of hers and jammed his gun into the other blade. With a firm thrust kick forward, he caught her in the gut.
Despite the pain radiating down her legs, Reon forced her body straight and readied for another attack. Three massive explosions erupted. Fire and dirt spewed into the air along with the limbs of soldiers and creatures. The ground shook and sounds muted.
Reon struggled back to her feet, only then realizing she had been thrown to the ground by the explosions. A thick fog of dirt and smoke drifted in. Before she lost sight of the Library side, another blaze shot out of this new threat. She glimpsed three vehicles mounted with long cannon barrels.
“Another coming in!” Freen yelled from the darkness.
She dropped to the ground and covered her head. The im
pact vibrated the dirt and a hot wind crossed over her back.
She set her foot down and pushed. Such a simple act — trying to stand — yet her muscles, her balance, even her bones protested. When she finally stood, she did not move further. She breathed and stared at the chaos.
In the gaps between clouds of gunsmoke, Reon saw that half the army lay dead. Many of those standing attempted to staunch bleeding limbs or torsos. A few lucky individuals had the ability to work at saving others, but most had to be concerned with themselves. Loud, pain-soaked moans snaked through the thick smoke.
She stumbled left. Flat on his back, Owl’s dazed eyes squinted as his arms flailed slowly. Searching for his sword. Reon moved in and kicked the blade aside. He stared up at her.
He let his head fall back and closed his eyes. “I will fear not. To battle is to risk Life. I am ready.”
Reon raised her arm-blade and let it drop. She skewered him through the chest and did more damage when she pulled the jagged weapon out. Though his face scrunched in pain, he made no sounds other than a few grunts.
She sat next to him and watched. She had never killed a man before. To finally do so spoiled her stomach. She leaned away from her victim and heaved. Only mucous and stomach acid came up.
“I’m sorry I had to kill you,” she said. “I mean, I’m not sorry that I did it — if I hadn’t, you would’ve killed me. And now that I’ve done it, I don’t think it’s so bad. I know you’re thinking that I just threw-up, but that’s not because of what I did. That’s because I’m sorry that you specifically will die. You’re a good fighter. Great fighter, really. And I hate to see that greatness wasted when so much fodder will be running around here soon enough.”
Reon glanced down at Owl. His lips quivered as he strained for breath. “I’m sorry you’re dying slow and painful, but I’m not going to strike you down again.” She frowned. “Something’s stopping me. I think ... I think I do regret all of this. That perhaps deep inside I know you deserve to live. But you were trying to stop us from bringing peace to the world.”
The battle smoke cleared a little more. Ahead, Reon spied Malja swinging her big, curved weapon. It took a little time, but Reon eventually understood that Malja stood near Lord Harskill, slaughtering any who stood in her way. She spoke violently at him and raised her weapon high overhead.
But Lord Harskill looked amused. With a graceful motion, he turned his back on Malja. Looking over his shoulder, he said something — Reon couldn’t hear it — and then he walked into a portal.
And nothing happened. No explosions. No breaking of the fabric of the universe. Before arriving here, he had warned that they couldn’t portal over to the Library, but he used a portal without any apparent hesitancy. Had he lied on purpose? Or was he surprised, too?
Malja swung her blade onto her back and trudged over. Groaning, Reon got to her feet, but when Malja reached a safe fighting distance, she continued to walk forward.
“He’s still alive?” she asked.
Reon nodded.
Malja dropped to one knee and draped Owl over her shoulders. She lifted him and trudged off into the fog.
Reon wanted to stop her, wanted to fight it out and defeat Malja, but she lacked the energy. She watched them leave and flopped to the ground once again. More than exhaustion, she let them go because Lord Harskill had run off and his army had been decimated. They had lost. How could that have even happened? Her god had promised he had a plan.
Chapter 25
Malja
Once Malja knew for sure that Reon would not attack, she eased Owl to the ground. All direct routes to the Library had been cut off. She saw no way to get him across the bridge while simultaneously fighting what remained of Harskill’s army. She had no hope of climbing down the steep walls of the gorge, crossing somewhere below, and climbing back up, all with Owl across her shoulders. And the ludicrous idea of carrying him all the way around the gorge and back, even if physically possible, would take so long that Owl had no chance of living through the journey.
Which left one option. She had seen Harskill portal away from her right when she thought this would all have ended. No time to dwell on that missed opportunity. The important thing was that he had succeeded in using a portal. Despite Brother Ica’s warnings, it appeared that creating a portal from this distance did not cause an apocalyptic surge of magic from the Library.
Still, she didn’t think opening a portal straight to the Library would result in good things. With Tommy and Fawbry there, no way would she take that chance. So, Malja closed her eyes and pictured the nearest safe location she could think of — the Order.
She brought to mind the center courtyard used for training, and a portal opened. Lugging Owl back over her shoulders, she walked through. Though her do-kha protected them both from being burned up by the portal, it could not stop the stomach-churning disorientation that occurred. Malja had been through it enough that she hardly noticed. Owl, however, felt it. With his wounds, he felt it hard.
He screamed until he passed out.
Malja propped him against a wall before running toward Common Hall where the monks spent many evenings relaxing and chatting over the day’s events. Empty. She checked the sleeping quarters, the kitchen, the dining hall, everywhere — all empty. Every last one of the monks had gone off to help with the battle at the Library.
Returning to Owl, she checked over his body. A minor cut on his arm and only the one major wound, but it looked bad. He had lost a lot of blood. On the positive side, the gash appeared to have slowed its bleeding, but not enough to leave him here alone. By the time she could reach the Library and send someone back to care for him, chances were Owl would be dead.
I didn’t bring you this far just to die.
She crossed through the archway to where the war vehicles had been cobbled together, but Fawbry had taken them all for the battle. That left her with one option. She dashed across the courtyard to the stables. Three horses stood in their stalls, quietly munching on hay. Moving with a sure hand, she saddled the dappled mare and walked her over to Owl.
“You awake?”
He didn’t stir.
Good. If he had been conscious, wrangling him over the horse would have caused him great pain — probably enough to knock him out again. Once she had him up, she grabbed a few leather lashes and tied him over the saddle — just in case. She could hold him in place while riding, but if she ended up having to fight with him still on the horse, the lashes should keep him from falling.
With that done, she put her foot in the stirrup, but before she could mount the horse, she heard a voice. “Is it true that you’re the one responsible for the death of all my brethren?”
Malja set her foot back on the ground and faced the Bluesman. He stood at the main entrance to the courtyard with his guitar strapped to his back. Her hand eased back to grip Viper. “I thought the monks were your brethren now.”
“Is it true?”
“What does it matter? You can’t defeat me alone.”
“I can try.”
“Were you at the Bluesmen’s farm when they had me captured? Did you help them open a portal to another world? Or maybe you were one of those who held my friend Fawbry down while you seared his hand off in the portal. Was that you?”
The Bluesman reached behind and rested his hand on the neck of his guitar. “I was there.”
“Then why don’t we consider ourselves even. You hurt mine, and I hurt yours.”
“You killed them all. Hardly even.” From the guitar neck, he slid out a sword.
Malja’s shoulders dropped with a sigh. She picked up a stone and threw at the Bluesman. “Enough already. You may hate me, but as I understand things, you owe your life to these monks. To this one, in particular. Brother Owl, here, is dying. Now, I’m getting on this horse, and I’m taking him to the Library where the other monks are, so that they can help him. You really want to stand in my way and cause his death?”
“I want to avenge my brothers.”
“Fine. I told you where I’m going. There are two more horses in the stable. Grab one and meet me there. I’m sure you’ll get your chance.”
The Bluesman’s eyes shifted from Malja to Owl. Though the scowl on his face deepened, he lowered his blade and stepped aside. Malja mounted up and headed out for the Library.
She had to go slowly — partly because she didn’t want to jostle Owl too much, partly because she couldn’t afford for the horse to misstep in the dark and injure a leg. Flashes of light on the horizon and loud snaps of gunfire urged her to speed up, but she maintained her pace.
Using all the patience she had, which never had been much, she tried to ignore all the signs of battle. She occupied her mind by calculating how long this trip would take. At her horse’s current pace, she figured she would arrive at the Library around sunrise.
“Hold on, my friend,” she said and rubbed Owl’s back. “Won’t be long.”
She settled into the easy rhythm of the horse, but it did not ease her. She saw the dark eyes of the Bluesman, the deep hatred he held for her, and she wondered if she deserved worse. She leaned closer to Owl and spoke in a soft whisper. She spoke so that he would hear her, cling to her voice, and not let the darkness of Death take his soul. She spoke for her own soul, too.
“I’m sorry that Harskill came here. It seems wherever I go, I bring trouble with me. I’ve been thinking a lot about that. I think it’s hard to be on the right side of things because oftentimes that side can become just as destructive as the other side. Maybe even more. We don’t mean for it to be that way. At least, I don’t. But somehow that happens. We try so hard to shut off the flow of evil but doing so often requires us to fight in evil ways. But shouldn’t there be a limit? Isn’t there a point where I have to stop killing or else I become nothing but a killer — no better than my enemies? I guess the real question is this — am I justified in committing the same crimes, like killing, if my cause is right?”