The Way of the Power

The Way of the Power

Book 5 of The Malja Chronicles

Stuart Jaffe

For Pearl

wherever you are, we miss you

Chapter 1

As Malja stepped through the portal
that Harskill had created, she could do nothing to stop her hopes from rising. Despite knowing that they had traveled to seven different universes, that they had spent over a month searching world after world, that Harskill had promised each world would bring success, and that each time had failed, her heart still sped up and her nerves still tingled. One of these times had to be fruitful. Harskill couldn’t be the only other Gate in the universe. There had to be more of her people.

This time, they stepped foot into an ornate room saturated in wealth — vaulted ceiling, highly-polished wood furniture, soft materials on the floor, dark fabric curtains on the windows, gentle music seeping through the walls, and two massive paintings with gold frames. A flowery scent drifted through the air competing with a savory aroma of cooking meat.

“You have my apologies,” Harskill said, looking sharp in his black and gray suit. Though at least ten years older than Malja, he wore his age well. “We should have come here first. Of all Gate, my old friend, Abrazkia, would still be where I last saw her. The rest never stay long in one spot.”

Malja walked toward a long table made from two types of wood — one light, one dark. A green bottle and three delicate glasses sat at the far end. She brushed the top of the bottle with one finger. No dust. “There might actually be somebody here.”

“I know you doubt me. You have many reasons to feel that way. But when I came back for you, I did so with the promise of bringing you to other Gate, and I swear I will do so. But Gate are solitary in their self-imposed exile.”

“They can’t really be exiled from a world they destroyed. They’re just homeless.”

Harskill picked up the bottle and inspected its label. He chuckled. “She knew we’d be coming.”

“How could she possibly —”

“This is my favorite wine. She’s probably found out we’ve been hopping from world to world and set this out every day for the last few weeks.” He poured two glasses and offered one to Malja. Then he closed the portal and raised his glass. “To our success.”

Thunder rumbled in the distance as she sipped. She had to admit that it tasted wonderful. Far better than the bitter sludge she often encountered back home. But then growing up in the wastes of a world destroyed by magic, knowing a life of violence and survival, left little room for subtle concoctions like this one.

She set the glass on the table too hard and felt the stem crack. This wasn’t her world. Wearing her long coat meant for rugged outdoor living, braiding her black hair to keep it out of the way during battle, always having Viper, her crescent weapon sharpened on both edges, ready to be used — that was her world. The only thing that tied her to Harskill or this Abrazkia was being Gate. And her do-kha — the black assault suit that aided her in numerous ways — which all Gate wore.

It had been on her as a baby, had grown with her, and could do everything from warming her body in cold weather to communicating with others wearing a do-kha. And, of course, it could open portals. At least, Harskill could make it do so. She had been working on it but had limited success on her own.

What did it matter now? The point was to travel from one universe to another in search of Gate, but every place they had gone was empty of those she sought. She should have stayed in Carsite with Tommy and Fawbry. They were her family.

“Malja? You there?”

The room suddenly felt small. “Let’s go. There’s nobody here.”

“She’ll be here.” Harskill sat at the table. “Abrazkia is very special to me. Long ago, long before we Gate destroyed our own world messing around with portals, Abrazkia and I were close friends.”

“It’s hard to believe you’ve had any friends.”

“We met in school.”

“You as a schoolboy? That’s even harder to believe.”

Harskill raised an eyebrow before continuing. “She has a wonderfully analytical mind which I’ve always admired, and she admired my passion for the things I get interested in. Once back then, my do-kha had stopped listening to my commands. As a schoolboy, this was horrible. It showed a lack of control. It showed weakness. But when some of my peers cornered me with nefarious intentions at best, Abrazkia stepped in. She made up some story about me being sick with a highly infectious disease, that the disease had caused my do-kha’s failure to listen, and that they should watch out because when I felt better, I’d make them pay dearly for any wrongs they committed against me. Her bluff worked, and I escaped the brutality of my peers.”

The thunder grew louder and Malja heard snapping like hail against the house. “Lovely story. Now open the portal and let’s move on.”

“Later in my life, after the destruction of our world, as Gate spread across the universes, things changed. Abrazkia embraced the mission of keeping other worlds from discovering portal technology, keeping them safe — and all worlds safe — from the horrors we faced. I, of course, have chosen a different path, one which she does not agree with.”

“That would be your desire to rule over everything like a Brother God with no brother, and I agree with her. In fact, I’m tired of finding nothing but disappointment with you. Open the portal. Take me back to Carsite.”

“But we haven’t found —”

“And we’re not going to. Ever. Are we? This whole trip has been you stalling. What did you think would happen? You would purposely avoid other Gate, take me from one empty world to another, and then ... what? I would somehow change my feelings towards you?”

Harskill’s face chilled. “I have no illusions that our previous encounters have left you with a distasteful view of me. I had hoped that by introducing you to other Gate, you might change your view. So, believe me, I’m every bit as disappointed by our lack of success as you are.”

A door-sized panel on the wall slid open and a joyful voice called out, “Then allow me to make your days brighter.”

Malja lifted her head to find a stunning woman standing at the door. The woman had striped her hair in orange and black and painted her skin alabaster. Her narrow eyes and slender nose gave her face a feline quality that Malja thought quite attractive. Most attractive, however, was the hint of a do-kha flashing beneath the woman’s flowing white robe.

“Malja,” Harskill said with pride billowing in his tone, “allow me to introduce you to Abrazkia. Abrazkia, this is Malja — one of our lost Gate.”

Abrazkia extended a hand as she crossed the room. The orange trim on her sleeve matched her hair perfectly. “Malja. What an honor it is to meet you.”

Malja shook the hand but said nothing. She stared at the woman’s do-kha and found her mouth unwilling to move. This was all real. Everything Harskill had told her of Gate and their sordid history was true — at least, more true than ever before. Because standing in this room, Malja had finally met another Gate. At first, there had been only her. Then she met Harskill, and the possibility of finding people like her had grown. But now, she could not deny what stood before her.

With an amused purr, Abrazkia said, “I think she’s overwhelmed.”

Harskill made a slight bow. “Enjoy it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Malja act so stunned.” He kissed Abrazkia’s hand. “It’s wonderful to see you again.”

Snatching her hand back, Abrazkia walked back to the door. “I should kill you for even coming near me. If you hadn’t brought Malja along, I might have done so.”

“Can we please leave our old disagreements behind this time?”

Instead of answering, Abrazkia gestured toward Malja. “Please, my dear. Follow me. I’ve had a small meal prepared for you while you were waiting.”

As Malja entered a long hallway, she heard another crack of thunder — only it sounded strange. Familiar, too. Before she could consider this further, Abrazkia opened a double-door and entered a massive room.

Malja had never seen a formal ballroom in one piece before. She had run through the ruins of a ballroom while being attacked, but to stand in an untarnished one, peacefully, was a new experience. Three enormous chandeliers lit the room from above, their amber light provided by some power Malja did not see. Probably magic. Several life-sized paintings adorned the walls — old portraits of old men, a seascape, and a peculiar depiction of three hungry creatures (six-legged things with tiny wings and huge fangs) taking down a lizard-like creature. Three huge windows stood on the opposite wall, each covered with more dark curtains.

“Please. Come eat.” Abrazkia walked to a long table covered with food. Her footsteps clicked against the shiny marble floor and the sound bounced around the room. “I didn’t know what you liked to eat, so I had the chef prepare a variety of choices. We have fresh vegetables marinated in the finest ale, a rack of gratter, beckull wings, and even sliced powraq — which can be a bitter delicacy, but I’ve always had a fondness for it. Over there are three soups from the country of Ro as well as Ro pastries on the end. They are fine chefs. Such an exacting people.”

The thunder rumbled once more, but this time the sound connected in Malja’s head. Not thunder at all. Cannon fire.

“What’s going on outside?”

Abrazkia made a small sample plate and handed it to Malja. “Nothing to be concerned about. Just some local politics.”

“You mean a battle?”

Harskill grabbed a plate and piled on the wings. “You’ll find that Malja has not been taught to stay out of situations.”

“Oh, but you must.” Abrazkia glanced at the curtained windows. “Gate do not interfere in the worlds we watch. Not unless they close in on the secrets of creating portals. Do you not know our sad, painful history?”

“She knows.”

Abrazkia’s mouth became a firm line. “Please allow me to speak with Malja unimpeded. If you can’t control yourself, I’ll ask you to leave.”

Harskill bristled. “I’ve spent considerable time with her and you can trust that she knows all of the fundamentals.”

“Oh, Harskill, are we really going to discuss
trust?
”

Malja stared at the curtains. The sounds of hail returned — not hail, though. The snapping of gunfire. “How long has this fight been going on?”

Dismissing the question with a wave, Abrazkia stepped in front of Malja’s view. “That little skirmish is over a minor political figure. At best, nothing that you do will matter to them. At worst, you’ll alter the course of their lives forever — possibly setting them on the road toward accomplishing the very thing we want to avoid.”

“You didn’t answer me. How long?”

With an eye towards Harskill, Abrazkia said, “Perhaps you were never taught manners, so I’ll forgive your rudeness. For your education, you should learn that when you are a guest in my home —”

Malja brushed past Abrazkia and headed for the windows.

Harskill smirked. “Abz, I think you’re the one who needs an education. Malja’s not one of your snooty, uptight —”

“Here I thought we’d avoid stoking that fire. I suppose I shouldn’t have expected a proper Gate in her when she’s only had you to teach her. And don’t ever call me Abz again.”

As the two bickered, Malja reached the curtains and yanked them back. Through the window, she saw an afternoon battle that had devolved into a standoff — far more than a mere skirmish. It looked as if there were three sides to the conflict.

The grounds were wet from recent rains and steep mountains poked up in the distance like jagged, unclean teeth. A wide stone street cut across the way with only a scattering of buildings on either side. On one end of the street, soldiers dressed in maroon and black crowded together in a haphazard mob. They carried long-barreled rifles and wore furry hats that reached high like the distant mountains. Two cannons had been positioned in the back. A third lay in shambles nearby.

On the opposite side, Malja spied an army in blue. Armed similar to the opposing force, the blue army exhibited a rigorous rank-and-file formation. A woman bellowed orders from atop a creature similar to the lizard-thing in the painting. In unified, controlled motions, her soldiers reloaded their weapons, aimed, fired, and reloaded.