The Way of the Power (14 page)

Tommy darted to the corner with the crates and started a new spell. Malja sidestepped into a position on the other side, forcing the creature to face her and ignore Tommy. As it turned, she saw the underbelly of the beast — circles like cups lined its center, each one a jagged-toothed mouth. It had no legs. Only those mouths. It bit into the ceiling to cling and moved by inching along, gripping with some teeth, letting go with others, and leaving a trail of saliva behind.

Malja whirled Viper overhead and arced down with sheer power. When she hit the creature, her blade jolted to a stop. The shock traveled straight up her arm and into the bones of her shoulder.

Yanking Viper free, she grunted and repositioned. The creature swung its body back and forth like an elderly man with poor eyesight might swing a stick. Yet this thing knew it was close to her. Maybe it could smell her or hear her breathing. It certainly had the right vicinity.

Keeping part of her attention on the creature, she looked closer at the support beams. If she knocked them out, the entire ceiling would crash down and bury this thing. But that would bury Tommy and her as well. The door leading to the street stood off to her right, but Tommy sat on the far side of the room. He’d never be able to get to the door without being attacked.

The creature made an awful belch and shot forward. Malja leaped to the side, but it clipped her in the hip. She rolled on the floor, coming back up with Viper ready to counter any further attack.

So the thing had known where she was all along. It had toyed with her.

Tommy appeared no closer to casting a spell. Whatever he was trying to do, it wasn’t going to happen soon.
Up to me,
Malja thought.

She charged the creature, spinning, striking, and slicing her blade in every way she could manage. Chunks of the creature’s thick back flung off, yet it still paid no mind to the wounds. As she came around for another strike, the creature dashed towards her, caught her in the gut, and tossed her into Tommy. He fell to the floor, his concentration broken — the spell would have to be restarted.

“No time,” Malja said. “Give me something quick. Make an opening for me.”

Tommy splayed his fingers toward the creature and lightning arced from his fingertips. The first spell he ever knew — so old and familiar that he could cast it at will, never once having to concentrate on a tattoo. The electric charge struck the puddles on the floor as it reached across the room.

When the spell found its target, the creature’s numerous mouths opened in unison and howled their pain. Its body spasmed, and bile spewed out of its mouths. Tommy ceased his assault when the creature whined and toppled over.

Malja let a few minutes pass in respite. Her torn leg continued to trouble her. She should have been able to kill this beast without any problems, yet her precise strikes failed. With her injury, she had lost some of her strength. She couldn’t get her whole body’s power behind each attack. Her do-kha kept the leg working, but she now admitted that nothing would help completely. She would have to find the time to allow her body rest and recuperation.

Tommy gestured toward the ceiling — a small square cutout with a handle on one end and hinges on the opposing side.

“I was wondering how we were getting upstairs,” Malja said.

She caught the latch using Viper like a simple hook and tugged it open. After boosting Tommy up, she clutched his arm and climbed through. The basement access led them into a kitchen.

Calling it a kitchen seemed inadequate, though. Malja had never seen such a sparkling clean yet industrious-looking space. Spotless metal pots and pans hung from the ceiling. Two tiled counters stretched across the lengthy room while two metal workstations ran along the walls. These stations included glimmering sinks, enormous metal cabinets that hummed disconcertingly, wide, flat sections with knobs, and contraptions overhead like metal mouths wanting to suck up whatever cooked beneath them.

Except nowhere did she see a fireplace. How could all that food Abrazkia had presented before been produced in a fireless kitchen?

Tommy snapped his fingers. He pointed down one of several halls that connected to the kitchen. Malja nodded. They had to start their search somewhere — and she had no desire to remain in this bizarre room any longer than necessary.

At a brisk pace, they covered one hall after another. They found decorated rooms, all spotlessly clean and meticulously arranged — pictures, chairs, books, and flowers all like an acting troupe’s stage waiting for the play to begin. Strange enough on its own, but stranger still — Malja had not seen sign of anybody around. No servants, no slaves, nobody that would explain the care taken for this house. And nothing would allow Malja to believe that Abrazkia spent her days with a rag in hand, dusting every room, and scrubbing every floor.

After several halls produced no results, Tommy made a series of hand gestures that confused Malja at first. She caught the first sign —
Harskill
— as well as the idea of torture and their search. But only after three repetitions did she figure out that Tommy wondered if they were wrong. Perhaps they had not found a secret dungeon because one did not exist. Perhaps Harskill was not a prisoner at all but an accomplice.

“No,” Malja said. “He’s here against his will — somewhere. I know exactly why you’re suspicious and that’s good. You’re right. We should be cautious and we shouldn’t trust Harskill. Don’t worry. I don’t trust him. But I saw the way he was with Abrazkia. I can’t believe he’s here willfully.”

Tommy pointed at Malja and mimed stepping through a portal. Then he gestured to the room.

“Yes, we willfully came here, but that was different. We had been to several other worlds first. I’m starting to think this was his last hope of finding a Gate that might talk with us — even if that talk was filled with hatred towards him. I think he did it for me. Besides, if you were right, why haven’t they attacked us yet? Or at least invited us to sit down and talk? Or anything?”

Hushing her with his finger to his lips, Tommy gazed upward. Malja listened to the staccato taps of a fast, purposeful walk. Somebody was upstairs.

They sped down the hall, found one of several staircases, and climbed to the second floor. As they searched, Malja entered the dining hall she had been in before. Wood boards had been nailed across the shattered window, but otherwise, nothing pointed to her earlier actions.

Door after door was opened. Room after room was examined. No sign of Harskill was found.

Malja moved faster, careless of being heard, eager to either locate Harskill or be done with this place. Tommy emerged from a room at the end of one hall. He shook his head and pointed upward. Malja agreed. They climbed the nearest set of stairs and explored the third floor.

When she opened the fourth door and peered in, she saw another bedroom, but this time the furniture had been dismantled and set aside. As she moved to close the door, her eye caught the motion of a shadow slipping behind a headboard. It reminded her of her do-kha when she took it off to bathe.

She stepped in the room. On the floor, near the center, she spied two dark splotches — blood. It looked as if Harskill had been brought here at some point. Possibly beaten — except the walls looked clean. A punch would have sent blood spattering against the wall. In order to get little splotches on the floor without any spatter, Harskill would have to be ...

Malja gazed up at the ceiling.

There he was — naked, bruised, and chained flat against the crossbeams. The thick chains glowed a greenish hue. Magic of some kind. His hair dangled with sweat, and though nothing covered his mouth, he could not speak. More magic.

Without his do-kha, he couldn’t create a portal and escape. Without his voice, he couldn’t call for help. Chained to the ceiling, he was unable to utilize anything in the room.

When Tommy entered, Malja said, “Looks like a prisoner to me. Or do you think he might be faking?”

Tommy cocked his head and put his hands on his hips.

Malja pulled back the headboard and found what she had expected — Harskill’s do-kha. She swiped it from the floor and tossed it to Tommy. “Those chains look like magic to me. You think you can get him down? Break the spell or something?”

Tommy pointed to himself with an incredulous expression.

“Okay, no need to get riled up. You can do it. So, do it. Give him the do-kha when he’s down. It’ll help him heal.”

From the hallway, Abrazkia’s soft purring voice said, “Ah, Malja, you’ve finally arrived.”

Tommy shot a pointed look at Malja. She glared back at him. She never liked his
I told you so
look — especially when he was right.

“Stay here,” she said. “And get him down.”

Malja leaned her head into the hall. Abrazkia stood at the top of the stairs, her orange and black hair and stark white face seemed brighter against her dark do-kha. She wore no other clothing as if she anticipated needing a full range of motion with her do-kha. That didn’t bode well.

“You all alone here? I haven’t seen any servants or anything.”

Abrazkia’s lips curled up. “I sent all my staff home. I didn’t want them in the way. But you have nothing to fear. No ambush is awaiting you.”

“But you’ve been waiting, right?” Malja stepped into the hall.

“Indeed. You left so suddenly. We never got a chance to really talk. And when you consider that Gate rarely have the opportunity to spend time with each other, well, I was sad to see you leave.”

“You’ve got Harskill. You could talk with him all you want.”

“That would not be a pleasant or interesting conversation. He and I have a long history, and it’s at a rather ugly point right now. But don’t judge me by him. In fact, don’t judge anything by him. He’s a liar and filled with malicious intent.”

“So, I should trust you?”

Abrazkia turned and took two steps down. “You should hold judgment until you possess all the relevant information. Come with me, now. We should talk. I have things to say, and I imagine after all these years, you have many questions. Learn first, then judge.”

Before following Abrazkia downstairs, Malja made sure Tommy knew to finish with Harskill. She could tell by the look on his face that he did not approve of her decision, but he would not stand in her way. Harskill’s eyes narrowed on her as if to say, “Go kill that scum for doing this to me.” Well, Malja assumed it was something like that. Probably included far worse language but the idea would be the same.

As she climbed downstairs, her pulse quickened. Maybe this only looked as bad as it felt. After all, Abrazkia had been alone most of her life. All Gate had. Isolation could do funny things with a person’s mind. Perhaps she truly meant only to talk with Malja and nothing more.

Yet Malja’s skin tingled and all she could think was that she had entered a trap within a trap.

Chapter 13

Abrazkia moved as if seducing
all around her — even the walls. She trailed her fingertips along the old wood, and the knots practically shivered. Though Malja never cared about carnal pleasures other than to fix a hormonal need once in a while, she did notice a single ping of jealousy at Abrazkia’s do-kha. It synchronized its motions to hers so that it never once looked wrinkled or even folded — a perfect fit no matter what shape Abrazkia’s movements took on. Until that moment, Malja had no idea that much control over a do-kha existed.

Abrazkia led the way to a metal door with three riveted bands crossing horizontally. “You are a remarkable woman, and you’ve proven yourself to be an excellent warrior. But there’s much more you can be. No matter the circumstances of your upbringing, you are Gate. That brings with it access and strength and power far beyond what you’ve seen or experienced.”

She shoved open the door and entered. Malja followed. Her eyes never stopped searching for an attack. Until she saw the room.

Her heart skipped — a room stark white like Abrazkia’s painted face. Sleek tubes lined the ceiling edges like a bizarre molding, except this molding provided all the room’s lighting. Eight small domes sat evenly spaced on the floor like smooth turtle shells. The room reminded Malja of what her homeworld had been like before the Devastation. She half-expected to find a window looking across a gleaming city as the room floated overhead.

Abrazkia presented the room with a flourish of her hands. “This is my command console. Here is where I accept the burden, the responsibility, of being Gate.”

With her foot, she tapped one of the domes and an image formed in the air above. Though it looked like a near-perfect painting, this painting moved. The image depicted a street — no,
the
street. The one Malja had rescued the Artisoll from. A drunk teetered along weaving into the middle before teetering back toward the sidewalk.

“Is this happening outside?” Malja asked.

Abrazkia nodded like a teacher proud of her student. “See that? You prove once again that Gate is your blood. Though you’ve never seen a surveillance system like this before, you instantly understand. To answer your question — yes, this is a view directly outside my home. I have numerous key locations all over this world that I can tap into from this room. I also have access to mobile cameras which will bring me images from any place else I need to observe.”