The Way of the Black Beast (22 page)

The Bluesmen had recovered from their shock. They aimed their weapons and approached with calculated steps, fanning out with impressive unity. Willie stepped down from the porch, putting out his hand to caution his men. With a similar gesture (and, no doubt, some magic), the magicians halted the maxdins.

"Welcome to the Bluesmen's home," Willie said, opening his arms and bowing.

Callib's mouth turned down with scorn. "Give us the portal frame."

On the hill, Cole dropped to her knees, one hand covering her mouth, the other holding her stomach. "They mustn't. Sweet child, they mustn't get that frame."

A gun fired. Malja couldn't tell who shot, but the release let loose all the others. Gunfire blazed like the dragon fire of ancient stories, but the bullets never reached their targets. Concentrated wind bursts like two-second hurricanes knocked the bullets away. The air in Malja's lungs chilled until she gasped a breath — she never knew magic could do such things.

The snapping gunfire ceased — eight weapons had jammed and the rest needed reloading. As if toiling through a tedious day, Jarik floated behind Callib and focused on Callib's back tattoos. Callib gazed upon the people below like they were bugs he longed to hear pop.

By an unspoken command, the maxdins attacked. Those unfortunate enough to have been standing in front of the beasts never had the chance to fight back. The maxdins scooped up their victims and devoured them raw.

"Take cover and fight back," Willie yelled. His men scattered for cover and enough distance so they could reload.

Jarik lifted his head to the sky and let out an ecstatic, pleasurable moan as magic rippled along his veins and tensed his muscles. Vines darted from the open ground — thorny, gray vines. They moved fast like hyperactive snakes, wrapping around legs and arms and weapons before the Bluesmen could react. A few vines squeezed their victims' throats and dragged the blue-faced bodies back underground.

"How did they do that?" Malja asked Cole. "How can a magician use another's tattoo? And so fast. They're so fast."

Cole shook her head like a child both afraid and in denial. "Don't let them get the frame. Not the frame. Nothing else matters."

Malja picked her way down the steep hill even as her mind raced to digest a fraction of the moment. Jarik and Callib — her fathers — hovered in the air unleashing carnage upon those who had become her enemy, yet her soul told her to defend the Bluesmen. Her mind warned her that she had not yet prepared for this, that despite years of searching she never dealt with any emotion regarding her fathers beyond anger. Still, her legs charged on.

Two maxdins spotted her assault. One tore off to meet her. The other first finished chewing an arm.

Malja leapt from a rock and surprised the first maxdin — it never expected her attack to be so high. She cleaved its head half-off. The other tried to rush her, but when she hit the ground, she rolled right up against its legs and severed the backs of its knees. The hairy beast howled while its blood muddied the ground.

The remaining maxdins turned toward Malja. They bared their numerous teeth and growled from the throat. Malja launched toward them, cutting every vine within reach as she approached.

Her eyes kept snatching glimpses of Jarik and Callib — the two frowning and a bit confused at her appearance. She trained her attention back to the maxdins. Still her eyes wanted to linger on her fathers. She wondered if they even recognized her or if they had been so consumed by her failure that they could not comprehend their daughter's current ability.

A maxdin threw its arms high above and stomped towards her like a towering giant squashing the villagers. Four gunshots rang out followed by something bursting. The beast toppled to the darkening ground. Behind it stood Suzu, his face as pale-gray as the smoke seeping from his handgun's ruined barrel. He had been lucky to get two shots off, let alone four, before the weapon busted. Shotgun and Robert disposed of the remaining two maxdins with several more gunshots.

A chorus of anguish rose from the circle of magicians floating underneath Jarik and Callib.

"Willie?" Suzu called out. He stood amongst the blood and bodies. The others also stood in the destruction while each passing second deflated them like leaking balls. They had beaten the magicians' forces, yet they acted defeated.

The right corner of Callib's mouth lifted and his eyes narrowed. He slid behind Jarik to focus on one of the spidery tattoos.

"No," Malja said. Ignoring her conflicting thoughts and roiling emotions, she sprinted towards her fathers and let out her war cry.

Callib took no notice of her. He remained focused on the tattoo. Jarik, however, flicked his hand at her as if shooing away a fly.

Yanked by an unseen force, Malja flew back twenty feet. The impact knocked the air from her lungs and slowed her from getting back up.

"Gahhh!" Callib said, and a sudden storm approached. A blast of wind and bolts of red magic smashed into the house. Those inside screamed and some abandoned the building in panic. Everything but the floor — walls, roof, stairs, doors, everything — cracked, splintered, and shattered. The cacophony washed out all other sounds of the house. Pieces blew off into the distance like a pile of dead leaves carried on a stormy gale. When the last of the house, a brick chimney, crumbled and blew away, the storm ceased.

Like a floating fortress, the mass of magicians cruised across the air until they hovered above the houseless floor. Jarik moved his hands in a circular pattern and the portal frame ripped out of the floor. It drifted toward Jarik like a hawk returning to its master. Callib stroked the frame as if consoling it — promising the worst had passed.

"Magicians!" a defiant voice called out.

Everyone turned toward the fields. Willie and Lonnie stood there with their guitars in hand. Between them stood Old McKinley. The old man's bent body and vacant expression clashed with the shock and hesitation seen in Jarik and Callib.

"We've got what we came for," Jarik said, waving the frame. "There's no need for further tragedy."

Callib elbowed Jarik aside. "McKinley? Are you such an idiot that you'd try to face us again? Look at yourself. Drooling like a baby. You can barely stand. Where's your wheelchair? And you've pissed yourself. I can smell you from here. You're feeble and if you persist, you'll be dead."

"Stop this now," Willie said in a firm voice. "Give us the frame and go your way. You've done your damage. We can't hurt you with it. But we can't let you leave with it. We won't have another Devastation."

"Is that what you think?" Callib said, and as he launched into a speech of self-aggrandizement and false assurances, Malja heard a voice call from the side.

Cole Watts waved her over from the back corner of the stable. Malja wanted to hear her fathers and see what would happen, but the urgency on Cole's face and the fact that she had climbed back down the hill could not be ignored.

"What?" Malja said when she came closer.

Cole had her saddled horse waiting. "We must go now. McKinley — he'll kill us all."

"McKinley can't even control his bladder."

"He's still capable of creating powerful magic — but he's unstable. One of my greatest fears if Willie took over was how he'd handle Old McKinley."

Malja's tone lowered. "He's handling him like a loaded gun."

"And like any gun, there's a high probability this one will blow up in Willie's hand. So get on the horse, and let's ride."

Though Malja's head still rang from being tossed, she had enough sense to listen. She climbed into the saddle, and Cole got up behind her. She heard a growing argument from the field. Callib's rage and Willie's scorn dueled like master swordsmen. But Willie broke off his words, and he and Lonnie started playing their guitars.

Over it all, a craggy voice chopped into the air. "Malja," the voice called, and it twinged something in her brain.

"Brother gods, it can't be," Cole said. "Old McKinley is speaking."

"Malja, listen to me."

She heard Callib yelling, but Old McKinley's voice echoed in the hills.

"It's the music," Cole said. "They're making him clear-headed and letting his voice become louder."

Malja said, "Is that even possible?"

Though Old McKinley looked weak and emaciated, his voice echoed with youthful vigor. "You know me, Malja. You killed my partner after I murdered your dear Uncle Gregor."

She didn't doubt his words at all. The twinge in her brain recalled the voice as its owner had held her against the wall of the shack. Her face paled.

"I told you then that Jarik and Callib ordered the death, but that wasn't quite true. Jarik never knew. Callib is the one you want. And if you can see them right now, you'll be happy at the seething anger burning between them."

"Get this horse going," Cole said.

"Enough," Callib yelled, and Old McKinley toppled to the ground. Willie and Lonnie continued to play. Someone started blowing a mouth harp and other Bluesmen plucked notes to compliment the growing sound.

Old McKinley returned to his feet. "Malja — Callib is your true enemy. Just like he's always hated you, he's always hated me. I never did what he demanded."

"You're making it easy to want to kill you," Callib said. Again Old McKinley was thrust into the dirt.

The music raised in volume as others joined in. Those without instruments sang. The sound bolstered Old McKinley back up.

"They hired me, Malja, because they were too weak to do it themselves. That's their true secret. They're weak."

A red bolt arced from Callib's hand and pulled Old McKinley into the air.

Cole leaned close to Malja's ear and said, "They're using music to build up enough power to create an explosion. They're making themselves into a bomb. They'll release it, and we'll die with them."

Malja saw it on their faces. Solemn, resigned surrender. She kicked the horse into a strong gallop.

When they reached the rocks from where Malja had spied earlier, she pulled up the horse and looked back. The music drifted up their way. She swore she could feel the magic mounting in the air.

"I've got to go back."

"You can't. Old McKinley isn't telling you this for no reason at all. He's going to—"

The music ceased, and the softest of sounds like a puff of air from a thrown pillow met with the harshest of lights like a little sun exploding from Old McKinley's heart. A wall of heat rolled up the hill and smacked into Malja and Cole, knocking them off the horse. Cole covered her head and curled into a ball. Malja, however, looked once more.

The little sun continued to burn. She smelled rotten eggs. She had to turn away — the brightness hurt her eyes.

She heard a noise building like a wild animal working itself into a rage. The full force of a new blast reached them, smashed Malja to the ground, and burned across her back. Her assault suit protected her skin from damage, but it could not protect her head from being knocked unconscious.

* * * *

Malja's head throbbed. The morning sunlight penetrated her like needles poking through her eyes all the way back to her brain. Her tongue rubbed at the dry, pasty film in her mouth.

"Ah, you're up," Cole said, her voice echoing and magnified.

Malja wiped at her nose and closed her eyes. Sleep would be much easier than dealing with anything else.

"No, no," Cole said like Gregor would when she tried to shirk her daily chores. "We've lost too much time as it is. The only reason the world's still here is because McKinley's magic closed in that hole in the ground and put a sore beating on Jarik and Callib's pets. Best I can tell they're headed north."

Malja bolted up fast, fought back her spinning stomach, and said, "My fathers are still alive?"

"Dear me, McKinley isn't near strong enough to take down those two. Not even with two full bands playing behind him."

Gazing down the hill, Malja saw the flattened leftovers of a powerful blast. A clear, grassy circle marked where McKinley and Willie had stood. White blast marks streaked outward like salt strewn across the land. Bodies littered the area.

She turned back. Cole's eyes were still red and her face puffed from the exertions of mourning. "I'm sorry about all of this."

Cole carved a grin. "Not your fault, is it? Besides, there's no time for sadness. We've got to get moving."

"North?" Malja said.

"Your fathers have my frame. With their magicians hurt, they can't travel back the same way they came. The City of Ashes is west of the Yad. Closest crossing is north. If they mix their magic with my frame, well, what do you think will happen then?"

Malja gave a weary nod and groaned as she pushed up to her feet. She patted the horse's neck and breathed in its thick aroma. She mounted the horse and said, "Let's go."

* * * *

Hours later, she should have stopped. The poor horse faired worse — both could barely stay awake, but the horse carried two people on its sore back. Still, Malja pushed on. She tried not to think. Too many quiet miles lay ahead. But too many had drifted by, and her mind refused to hold back.

Tommy. Always Tommy.