The Way of the Soul (25 page)

He lowered his hands and bowed his head. It looked like a motion of defeat, but Malja knew better. Tommy merely studied the tattoos forming in his palms.

The two Gate did not understand. They acted as if Malja’s army had finally recognized Gate power. Swaggering up the stairs of the platform, they shared a prideful nod. When they stood before Tommy, they motioned for him to bow at their feet.

He attacked.

He thrust out his arms, smacking his palms into their chests. Both Gate soared backward from the massive hit, never touching the ground again. Their bodies broke apart like dust blown by a strong wind.

An odd smell drifted by Malja. Not seared flesh nor coppery blood nor the residue of magic — nothing Malja had ever smelled on the battlefield before. This smell had a bitter odor. An electric charge that rolled across the tongue and up the nose.

Tommy placed his feet on the ground and rose tall at the edge of the platform. Malja followed his gaze to Harskill. He glowered back.

With a wave of his fingers, three Gate lifted into the air and floated across the chasm. Two hovered using what looked to be the same type of magic Tommy had used. The third’s do-kha sprouted black wings that aided her across.

Malja’s skin prickled. She did not fear the coming Gate. She trusted Tommy could control things — she had seen him do it many times before — but they kept producing new magic, and that scared her worst of all.

An insight flashed in her mind — Tommy created new magic, too. He wasn’t discovering new spells the way most magicians learned them, through instruction or instinct. Rather, he thought up new combinations of magic that had never occurred before — at least, that she knew of. He was far more a god than Harskill could ever dream to be.

Tommy stretched out his right arm, made a fist, and closed his eyes. A second later, they blazed open. Fire erupted from his knuckles, raced across the sky, curved and twisted like a watersnake, until it reached its target.

The three Gate had their do-kha’s form shields. At first, they were protected from the flames, but the longer and hotter it burned, the more energy they had to expend. Tommy did not let up, pouring out fire like a deluge of death. To protect themselves and stay floating proved too much. Two of the Gate returned to their side of the gorge. The one with wings thought she could make it to the Library. She thought wrong.

A little beyond halfway, she had to make a desperate choice — burn or fall. She chose to fall.

Tommy bent over, coughing hard. Malja rushed to his side and held his shoulders. He didn’t throw up nor did she see blood on the marble platform. But she could tell that with much more of this strain upon him, blood would flow.

Brother Rokure appeared at the bottom of the platform pointing towards his soldiers. “What are your orders?”

Malja opened her mouth, but a loud crack followed by flashing light from above pulled her attention. Four more portals opened. The ground shook harder than before. Inside the ramshackle tower of the Library, some piece of metal bent with a harrowing whine. Like black stones, the four Gate dropped from their portals to the ground.

Before they could lift their heads, Malja planted Viper into the nearest one. He had no time to see the attack, no time to react, and thus, no time for his do-kha to harden into a shield. As she whipped Viper free, spraying blood into the air, the other Gate stood. They would not be so easy.

The one furthest from Malja sported spiky green hair. He lifted his arms, and the do-kha shot out lighting fast. The black tendrils plunged into Brother Dravid, one of the meditating monks, taking out his eyes and throat before a final tendril pierced his heart. As the green-haired Gate retracted its do-kha, the next Gate attacked another of the meditating monks — Brother Terren, this time. As the final Gate lifted her arms, Malja extended out with Viper to deflect the attack. The do-kha’s tendrils were knocked aside by the blade. The force threw Malja off balance, tumbling her forward.

With a flick of their wrists, Green Hair and the woman sent another barrage of do-kha skewers at the remaining two monks. Hundreds of black tendrils cut through them, leaving them to bleed like water through a sieve.

All three Gate turned their attention to Malja. She had risen to her knees with Viper ready to swing out at any who dared to come close. But she lacked a good stance from which to parry all of the do-khas should they attack at once.

A deep, driving music emerged from behind. The three Gate stumbled backwards. The music continued to play, and the invisible force continued to shove the Gate. Malja looked back.

The Bluesman stood at the top of the platform, head down as he played his guitar. She had encountered his kind before, but never one so powerful. Perhaps the Library had enhanced his magic.

Whether the music or the Library, Malja couldn’t be sure, but one of them must have spread its power toward Tommy. He stood straight, his face clear, all sense of illness gone.

Malja was not fooled. His injuries still plagued him, but the Bluesman’s presence — possibly his music — had given Tommy the strength to go on for a little longer.

An intricate tattoo of swirls crossed with jagged lines formed on Tommy’s belly. He inspected it then lifted his head. His eyes glowed red. The Bluesman stopped playing. He no longer needed to hold the Gate back. Tommy could handle them. Instead, the Bluesman sat with his back against the Library tower and played a different song. Slower, this one. More melancholy.

Malja glanced up. The Library pulsed out like a volcano of magical energy. She had no idea how long the Bluesman could aid in holding the Library together, but he appeared to think he could do the job of four monks. She had no time to argue.

The full attack had begun.

Fifteen Gate lined at the edge of the gorge and linked their hands together. Out of their feet grew a blue flooring of magic. It slid its way across the gorge, covering the gap with its solid color. Even though the flooring had not reached the Library side, Harskill’s army began to cross.

Malja jumped to her feet. She had wasted too much time. Her men needed her leadership.

She rushed toward Brother Rokure. As she dashed by the damaged bridge, a soldier attempted to leap across the gap she had cut open earlier. He failed. Ignoring him, Malja dashed ahead. Brother Rokure had his troops lined up, ready for when that blue magic floor carrying Harskill’s army came in close enough to engage.

“Shoot them,” Malja said.

Brother Rokure shook his head. “Nothing’s working.”

Malja sprinted on toward Fawbry’s weaponized vehicles. Before she reached them, she saw the driver’s confused looks. Malja pivoted and headed straight back to Brother Rokure.

“Let me see one of those guns.”

He handed one over. She nestled the butt of the weapon in her shoulder and aimed for the nearest enemy. She pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.

The blue flooring had crossed half the gorge. Behind the eager army, a Gate wearing a pin-striped suit sat atop a konapal pacing back and forth. That one looked to be the leader. Malja would kill him first.

“Get your men ready. No less than three soldiers to each Gate. You’ll be lucky if that’s all you need.”

“If we get our guns working —”

Malja tossed the rifle away. “Look out there. It’s Harskill’s magic that causes your guns to fail. If not him, then one of the other Gate. That will not be the way you win this.”

Brother Rokure leaned in close and whispered, “
Can
we win this?”

“We must.”

She stopped there. She didn’t want to tell Brother Rokure her whole thought — that she knew they would be overrun, that his soldiers had no hope of taking out more than a handful of Gate, that she needed them to fight to the end, long enough for her to kill Harskill.

Narrowing her eyes on Brother Rokure, she lowered her voice and utilized her most practiced, commanding tone. “You will hold this Library.”

Chapter 28

Reon

Walking back toward the bridge,
Reon’s mind swirled with conflicting thoughts while her body grew anxious for action. She wanted the release of a good fight and the clarity that came with it. As she drew in closer to the bridge, her pace quickened until she broke into a sprint. By the time she reached the gorge, the line of Gate had already formed a bridge of magic across the entire gap.

She toed the blue energy field, testing if it could actually hold her weight. She saw the giant gorgut and hard-headed colacks lumbering across, their heavy feet pounding into the blue surface, but she still felt trepidation as she walked out upon the magic floor. Her feet tingled. The sensation coursed up her skin and straight to her scalp, forcing her hair to stand.

After ten paces out and no sign of falling through, Reon burst back into a run. She did not know what her goal was to be; only that she had to get into the fray.

With only a quarter of the way to go, she had to slow down. The magic flooring had become slick with blood. Ahead, she witnessed the horror of Gate.

Something must have snapped inside of them long ago. They had become animals, destroying anything that stood in their way. While monk and soldier clashed swords, while gunshots found their mark, the Gate continued on, inattentive to the side in which a victim aligned. If a combatant did not wear a do-kha, the Gate attacked.

And Harskill did nothing to stop it.

He walked across the footbridge, ignoring those who fought around him. His eyes locked ahead, locked upon Malja. Despite his intensity, he looked relieved as if the battle had already been won, as if the worst had been experienced, and only reward remained.

Reon felt her own relief as she stepped off the tingling magic and onto firm ground. Her respite didn’t last. Chaos surrounded her. She had to duck wild attacks meant for others and fight off blood-splattered monks losing their minds in the ravages of war.

She moved on instinct. Her do-kha blades and intense training served her well. Weapons, blood, and limbs littered the ground. Gate stormed through the enemy, dismantling them with ease, becoming crazed in triumph.

They did not stop at simply killing an enemy. They disemboweled. They hacked. They shredded. They left nothing whole. Two Gate strode from corpse to corpse tearing apart what the others had missed.

Further off, the young magician who had caused so much trouble now fought for his life. Four Gate surrounded the fair-haired man, each one attempting to break his magic. Green magic swirled around him, knocking away every attack the four Gate could muster.

A roaring laugh called Reon’s attention. Upon a konapol, Freen trampled across the battlefield. Standing behind him, balanced on the creature’s hindquarters, Sola stood cackling. Dangling from her hands, she held severed heads by the hair. Amidst this horror, Harskill approached the Library. He never condemned nor did he stop the abuses going on around him.

The thought of Harskill turned Reon’s stomach. Her whole life betrayed by this psychotic man. She looked away, and in doing so, she saw Owl.

The dark warrior had been propped against a pack just a short distance from the Library platform. His wounds had been bandaged, but he could no longer fight. Not for months, probably. But he had survived. Reon had not killed him.

Yet he sat in the middle of a bloody battle. He held a sword, but the tip dug into the ground. He lacked the strength to raise it higher.

For the moment, nobody took notice of him. There were too many real threats to bother with one who looked close to death on his own. But Reon had come to know these Gate. At some point, their blood thirst would take them to Owl, and they would decimate him.

“No,” she said in a low growl.

Punching her fists downward, her do-kha snapped out into her blades. She walked in a straight line for Owl. If anything got in her way, she swiped her blades at it.

A monk covered in blood and dirt scrambled across her path. He took one look at her and rushed off to fight elsewhere. A talisi snorted as it stopped to glare at her. One of its long claws had been severed. The wound had caked over in grime, and Reon wondered if it would die from infection should the creature live through the day. But the talisi would not. It lunged at Reon. She held her ground, deflecting the creature’s one claw with her two blades. As the talisi rolled to the side, she stabbed it twice. It did not get up.

Reon turned back toward Owl and continued on her way.

When she reached him, she scanned her surroundings for any threats. None. The bedlam of the fight kept all occupied with killing or surviving.

She turned her focus on Owl’s bandages. Those on his side looked too loose. As she tightened them, his eyes widened. “I’m not trying to cause you pain.”

“Not anymore, at least,” he said. But he grinned.

“I’m here to help. I’m so sorry.”

“We’re warriors. Injury comes with the job. Besides, you fought well, and I didn’t block well enough. I deserved to get hit.”

“No. I’m sorry because I made a mistake. Harskill ... he fooled me, and I didn’t know it until now. No, that’s not true. I’ve known it for a while. I just couldn’t accept it before, and I joined the wrong side.”