The Way of the Brother Gods (2 page)

"Then why do you keep backing up?"

They were halfway down the stairs. Malja's leg strength returned and her fingers curled into fists. She could feel the moment of attack upon her.

McGhee sensed it, too, for he feigned another step back and shot forward instead. Slicing down with his sword, he displayed agile footwork and good control. Malja dodged to the side and smacked into the wall. She tried to kick McGhee in the ribs, but her legs were still too slow.

McGhee swung around, the blade whipping towards Malja's neck. She ducked and lunged, barreling her head into his gut. She heard a satisfying
Oaf
as they hit the railing. Though the old wood held, she knew she couldn't pull off that trick again without sending them both crashing into the statues below.

After two fast jabs to the gut, Malja jumped back and readied for the next attack. McGhee took a moment to shake off his surprise and then settled into a solid fighting stance — legs well-separated, sword in front, free arm back for further balance. Though his body calmed for the fight, McGhee's face twisted with rage.

"You're a murderer," he said. "You killed all my brothers, good men, for nothing."

Malja glared at him, saying nothing, letting silence eat away at any confidence he dared to hold.

McGhee cried out and swung his sword overhead. Malja side-stepped, punched hard at the kidneys, and pulled back only to realize that McGhee had set her up. He had planned for her to dodge and strike. As she moved backward, he winced at the pain in his side but still managed to jab hard with his blade.

The short metal cut straight into her left side. He stepped close up against her, pressing the blade through to the hilt. Placing his mouth against her ear, he whispered, "Wolf wants you to know that the Bluesmen never forget."

He yanked the blade out and let her fall to the stairs. Though she could feel her black assault suit close around the holes, enough blood had gushed out to glisten on the stairs. McGhee stood over her, held his sword with both hands, and lifted it over her head.

Lightning cracked through the air, arcing from the second floor, and reached into the blade McGhee held. His eyes popped wide as his body jolted back. Another bolt smacked into him, and the smoke of burnt skin rose around him. A third bolt shot him into the railing, splintering the wood, and sent him flailing to his death below.

Malja looked back but she already knew what she would see. Tommy stood at the top of the stairs, ready to create more lightning if necessary. She wanted to say something but her blood continued to run down her leg and onto the stairs.

Her head lightened. She wondered if she might fall to the ground when she remembered that she already sat on the stairs. Fawbry and Tommy were next to her now. They looked worried. Malja closed her eyes. They were talking but she couldn't make out the words.

Chapter 2

Malja's eyes fluttered open to find Fawbry looking over her. His mouth curled up offering comfort, but his chin trembled and his brow knit tight. The mural on the ceiling told her they were still in the mansion and the sunlight streaming in suggested mid-morning. She lay on a bed — too soft for her comfort — and she noticed some furniture covered with sheets and blankets.

Fawbry helped her sit up. She winced in expectation of pain, but nothing happened. Examining her side, she found the wound not only healed but non-existent. As if she had never been struck at all.

With her stomach twisting, she glanced at Fawbry. He had the sense to look guilty. "I tried to stop him. I told him you would want to heal naturally," he said, "but I can't order Tommy around any more than I can order you."

"Where is he?"

"Across the hall."

Malja swung her feet off the bed and stood. Her head swam a little but overall she felt fine. She brushed by Fawbry and crossed to the other bedroom.

Tommy lay on a bed big enough for three people. Fawbry had swaddled him in blankets yet still the boy shivered. The air around him had a bitter, stale odor. His skin had paled and sweat beaded on his forehead.

"How long's he been like this?" she asked.

Fawbry patted down Tommy's head. "Since he healed you. He's getting worse, too."

Malja approached Tommy and touched his arm with two fingers. He deserved more than her. She pressed her whole hand down and rubbed his arm. He deserved better.

She held her face still as she digested Fawbry's words.
Since he healed you.
The idea that Tommy's repeated use of magic might someday cause something like this had never ceased roiling inside, but seeing it in reality cut into her heart like a cold blade. She stared at the two of them in silence before muttering, "I hate magic."

She walked out of the room, down the hall, to the stairs. McGhee's body had not been moved. She checked and found Cole's journal in the coat pocket, then returned to Tommy and Fawbry without a further glance at the dead man.

Malja sat beneath a window, keeping one eye on Tommy, and skimmed through the tightly written pages. Lots of details about experiments and machinery. A few comments about missing Fawbry — even some regret over having destroyed the man's hand.

"What are you looking for?" Fawbry asked.

Malja glanced up. She saw the tremor in his eyes. Different than before. No longer just about Tommy. After these last few years, she knew Fawbry's looks — he was mustering the courage to challenge her verbally.

Confirming her suspicions, Fawbry said, "You still want to find her, don't you? Even after you nearly died and Tommy's suffering because of it. Even though you know there are more Bluesmen out there just waiting to kill you. And they're organized again, right? This Wolf fellow?"

"Would you rather settle down here? Make a lovely home? I'm sure we could find your parents and the arranged bride you ran from. You could have a calm little life here. Make a few little Fawbrys even. Until the Bluesmen find you anyway."

"All I meant was —"

"Cole Watts kept detailed notes in this journal. What she thought, what she was doing, and where she was doing it. We're going to follow it like a map until we find her."

"She's not a healer."

"She'll be able to help," Malja said with too much force. "Besides, she can work with us to open a portal. That's the important thing. You can make a home here because this is your home. But I'm not from this world."

"I know, I know," Fawbry said, scowling as he turned to Tommy. "No need to tell me all of it again."

Malja didn't respond. She wanted to, though. She wanted to assure Fawbry that her strong desire to find her home would not turn into anything like the obsession that had driven her years before. At that time, she had wanted revenge on the bastard magicians, Jarik and Callib, for stealing her from her world, for raising her knowing only violence, and for abandoning her in the woods at age ten.

But she had her vengeance. This was different. She would not sacrifice Tommy or even Fawbry for a chance to get home. They had become a family and that was just as precious.

She couldn't tell him any of that, however, because he would ask more questions. And the fact remained that the deeper one looked within her, the more damages one would find. All the people she had killed. All the anger. If Fawbry knew just how dark she was inside, this fragile family would crash to the ground and shatter. She wanted to reach out to them, to comfort Tommy, protect them, but the thought of destroying what they had built was too great. She refused to take this bit of family away from Tommy. It wasn't much, it was far from perfect, but it belonged to them.

"Here," she said, pointing to the last written page in the journal. "Cole traveled South to a town she hoped would 'meet my unique requirements.' What does that mean?"

"Knowing Cole, we don't want to find out."

"If there's a town just south of here, we might find help for Tommy."

Fawbry scrunched his face but nodded. With a resigned slouch, he walked over to a closet door. "I found something for you that you'll need," he said.

From the closet, Fawbry pulled out Viper. Malja brightened as if seeing a lover return from years away. She took the weapon in hand, felt its well-balanced weight, and inspected it for any damage. Viper looked good.

"Thank you," she said.

"Guess we should head south then."

"Relax," Malja said, giving Viper a few practice swings. "We'll be fine, now."

* * * *

They rode out. Despite his size, at fifteen years he reached Malja's chin, she cradled Tommy as she guided Horse through the woods. Until Horse, she had never connected with an animal before, but this particular mare had proven itself in battle and responded to Malja's needs often before Malja could express them. Even now, Horse appeared to move with a gentler gait and to pick out a smoother path as if the creature sensed Malja's worry over Tommy. She hoped Tommy could sense it, too.

The land flattened as they traveled further South. They passed several burned out buildings — mere skeletons to remind passersby that once, long ago, the world had been a civilized place filled with technology powered by magic. Back then, a group of magicians attempted to open a portal to another world, but they couldn't control what they had created. The Devastation resulted. The generations that followed had only these remains to remind them that there was time when they didn't live as scavengers amid the scarred ruins, the mutated creatures, and the fouled lands.

Malja pulled out Cole's journal and while holding Tommy tight with one hand, she held the book with her other. The Bluesman McGhee had read to her about a man dressed like her, a man named Harskill. Fawbry had been wrong to worry about her obsessing over finding Cole Watts. If there was anything Malja couldn't stop thinking about, it was Harskill. Another person wearing an assault suit like hers? She had thought it impossible.

The suit, until now, had been unique in this world. She had worn it since she was a baby. It grew with her. It reacted to her needs and adjusted for her — kept her warm in the cold nights, cooled her under a blazing sun, and dried her during a heavy rain.

The only times she had ever seen another person with such a suit was when looking through a portal to another world. Never had she heard of somebody here having such a thing.

Malja glanced over her shoulder at Fawbry. He watched the trees and a few white-spotters flying overhead, their wide wing span lending them uncommon grace. He had no idea that she was thinking about Harskill over and over.

Scanning through the journal's pages, she found the name she sought and read:

Today has been the most unusual day of my life, which is saying quite a lot. While working on the details for the Dish, a man was brought before me. He wore an odd black suit, the kind I have only seen once before in all my life and never thought I'd see again. But there he was. Another from Malja's world. His name is Harskill. He said he sought me out because he had learned of my attempts (and somewhat success) at creating portals. He wants to help me and he's the perfect person to do so. Until Harskill, Malja was the only person I knew who could enter a portal without dying. But Harskill is one of her kind and seems to believe that he can do what she can do. If so, my research will progress faster than ever before.

Malja had to close the journal. There was more about Harskill and she planned to read it all later, but just seeing the reality on paper — another like her in this world — filled her with such a hurricane of emotions, she had to digest it all before reading on.

* * * *

Two days later, they came across the scattered remains of a paved road. Black chunks marked the path where nature had yet to take over. They followed the road, noting the lack of ruined grounders or rusted road signs — even before the Devastation, this was apparently a remote area — until they saw a figure standing ahead. Clad in the scraps of a moldy tarp, the figure waved at them and shuffled closer.

"Go back," the figure called out — the voice of an old man.

Malja pulled up Horse and Fawbry halted just behind. Malja eased Tommy into Fawbry's arms. She made sure Fawbry held the boy tight and secure. Then she turned toward the man and watched as he continued his approach. No need for Viper. Yet.

Thin, filthy, and bruised, the old man pointed northward when he reached them. "Go back. The evil brother god, Kryssta, has forsaken this land. Go back, and Korstra will protect you." The old man's gaze fell onto Fawbry and took in his reaction. "You curl your lip. You don't believe me?"

"Kryssta doesn't forsake lands."

"Oh, I see. You're a fool. Well, then, go forth and see what your beloved Kryssta has wrought upon a town of good people just because they follow Korstra."

"Kryssta doesn't —"

"Of course, He does. He brought on the Devastation when he couldn't steal the love of the Goddess from Korstra, and then He has you all believing that the only way to praise him is in solitude. Right? You aren't allowed to pray together? It's all about the self."

"It's about improving the self."