The Way of the Soul (10 page)

Reon closed the door and stepped back to the desk. She checked the screens again — the dead clone had been removed and a new one had taken its place.

Is this the real test?
Was Reon being asked to choose between learning about these clones — and thus, possibly, herself — or serving Lord Harskill by proving her worth in finishing the fight with Malja? Lord Harskill had brought her to this world, clearly wanted her to see this factory, which meant he wanted her to know about the clones and possibly their relationship to her. And yet, he also brought in the other contender — Malja. The answer struck Reon hard, and though she didn’t like it, she knew it was right.

She slipped down the hall and followed the procession leading Malja away. Lord Harskill wanted an able warrior by his side. Someone to help with his great tasks. If this was the test, she had to show that she devoted all her being to him and his goals, not to her personal issues or curiosities. Clone or no clone — whatever she was didn’t matter. Only serving Lord Harskill meant anything.

Malja and Fawbry were escorted into a room as large as the factory floor. However, instead of pipes and workers, vats and grease, lights and noise, this room contained carved pillars, spotless floors, and beautiful furs. Off to the side, three female groyles plucked stringed-instruments to make a gentle, soothing music. At the far end of the room, two rows of desks were occupied by busy supervisor groyles. Behind them, on a raised platform, sat a groyle wearing a full business suit that even covered its multiple legs. His chair looked less like a throne and more like a university professor’s office chair. On either side stood a wooden table. A small computer sat on the table to his right. A large, golden ball about the size of his head sat on his left.

Keeping to the shadows and hiding behind pillars, Reon crept close enough to hear what transpired.

“Sir Ket?” the groyle on the throne said. He had white whiskers that hung as low as the tie around his neck, and the hairs puffed outward whenever he spoke.

A supervisor wearing a green vest stood. “Yes, Mr. Chairman. This Gate and her companion were caught trespassing by the southeast pipeline. They were apprehended and brought before you for sentencing.” The supervisor sat and returned to work.

“Very well.” He looked at his prisoners. “I am Chairman Kup. Who are you?”

Malja stepped forward, but the guards quickly hit the back of her knees, sending her to the ground. She glared upward and through gritted teeth said, “My name is Malja. This is Fawbry.”

“Look at the spirit in her eyes. Feisty. Well, Ms. Malja, with friend, Fawbry, why are you trying to sneak into my factory? Why are Gate spying on us?”

Fawbry went to his knees next to Malja. “Oh, your Highness, you misjudge us. We were not spying. We were —”

A guard smacked him in the back of the head, stopping him from talking more. Reon wanted to thank the guard. She couldn’t stand the sound of that man’s blubbering. Besides, she wanted to hear what Malja had to say.

Chairman Kup placed all four hands on all four knees and tapped his fingers as he thought. “I’m sitting here wondering to what purpose Gate are treating me this way. Are you not pleased with the do-kha I’m providing? I don’t think so. Your kind have been coming to my kind for generations. We’ve had a mutually beneficial relationship. So, no — that does not make sense.”

“We are not spies,” Malja said. “If anything, we’re here to stop a spy.”

“Then there are spies to be stopped? Which makes you a spy against the spies.” Chairman Kup rubbed his temple while rolling his eyes. “You Gate. You can never make anything simple. Always backstabbing and playing little games with each other. You know you would do far better if you would only spend time together, work together, instead of this ridiculous idea of trying to rule all the worlds. Just take one world for yourselves and be done with it.”

“I completely agree.”

“Yet here you are sneaking around my facility instead of coming through the front like a normal customer. You want to tell me that you’re here to stop another spy, yet you didn’t come to me. I would’ve personally met with you. That’s what you would normally do, if you weren’t trying to steal something yourself. You would have come in through the front, asked to speak with me, and you would have warned me of this problem, so that we could work together to solve it. That’s the troubling flaw in your story. Now I wonder, since you were here to spy or steal, what is it you would want? Certainly not do-kha. We provide those easily enough. Unless you wanted to control the entire flow of do-kha. But you would need more than just yourself to take over this factory.”

Reon’s attention lasered in on the Chairman. Could that be what this was all about? Did Lord Harskill want control of the do-kha?

“Enough games.” Chairman Kup stood and with two hands, he lifted the large, gold ball. “Admit it, this is what you sought — to steal the Soul of the Sun. The factory? No. That could come and go. You could destroy this whole place and rebuild a new one. But the Soul of the Sun, well, that’s a different matter. You Gate have no concept of where this came from. But I know. You all want it for yourself, yet you don’t know where to get one. So, you want this one. The Soul of the Sun — control over all do-kha.”

“No, Chairman, you misunderstand.”

With a flick of Chairman Kup’s head, two guards thrust their prods at Malja’s chest. Her do-kha jolted straight and once again, hardened around her, locking her to the ground.

Chairman Kup paced behind his chair. As he spoke, he stroked the gold ball as if comforting a favored pet. “Everyone pay attention, for here you will learn exactly why I run this company. Our prisoners were brought in and they refused to cooperate. They refused to speak the truth. Yet, through steady, deliberate deduction, I have sussed out the truth. And what is that truth? We have a Gate here who did not approach us in a business-like manner, but instead attempted to break into our facility. Why? Because she wants to steal the Soul of the Sun. Because as I have spoken for the last ten years — Gate cannot be trusted. We must branch out to serve do-kha beyond one client.”

A groyle supervisor stood on the far right of the desks. “With all respect, Chairman, you can keep repeating that idea over and over, but it will not change the fact that we have run this business the same way for generation upon generation. We have suffered through times of unjust Gate, and we have benefited during times of benevolent Gate. It does not matter. We hold the key — they need these do-kha. It is the source of what gives our entire culture its life and income. We are not going to bite that hand on the whim that maybe we can get others interested in this unique property.”

The groyle sat and a little more than half of the other supervisors pounded their tables in agreement.

The Chairman placed the Soul of the Sun back on the table with a firm, controlling thump. “Thank you, Sir Cacksle, for once again spouting your familiar, if not tiresome, party line. But the fact is that while you keep spouting that line, you threaten to spout us right into the grave. Yes, our relationship with Gate has provided us with stability, culture, and income for generations. But just because something has always been done does not make it right nor does it mean it will always continue to be done. Here before us is evidence that Gate are plotting against us. If we do not act soon, they will act upon us. Are we to sit back and wait for that day to happen? That is the question we hold before us. That is the issue. The real issue.”

Another supervisor, this one wearing a forest green coat over loose, wrinkly skin, said, “Chairman, there’s been no consensus to support you. Until that day comes, we must continue on the path we have always been on. Your prisoners certainly give some of us evidence to consider, and perhaps a decision in your favor will occur ... when it is time.”

“
When it is time.
I know what that means. You want to wait another generation, maybe two, before there’s enough consensus. But if we don’t act soon, we’ll suffer for it. Look at her. She has come here to steal the Soul of the Sun and you do nothing.” As he passed by the Soul, he scooped it up in his hands and held it above his head. “I may not have the authority to alter the business practices of our entire world, but I do have the authority to use the Soul of the Sun. I assure you, Ms. Malja the Innocent Gate, that I can force your do-kha to hurt you terribly. I can make it shrink and shrink and shrink until every bone you have has cracked. Your lungs will be punctured and blood will be all you breathe. You will die a painful, slow, agonizing death, drowning within yourself.”

Sir Cacksle smacked his hand on the table. “Chairman Kup. That is uncalled for.”

“I will take your body, Ms. Malja, and spew it across all the worlds so that every Gate knows not to steal from the groyle.”

Three supervisors jumped from their chairs and shouted — but not in protest, not even directed toward the Chairman. Rather they pointed beneath their desks, their eyes wide, as they gibbered, “Snakes! Snakes!” The other supervisors looked around in concern and confusion.

From where Reon observed, she could see below the desks with ease. What she saw, she could not explain — not snakes but vines. They shot in through every crack in the floor and headed straight for the groyles. They wound around each supervisor, clinging tight enough to immobilize, and then stopped.

Fawbry perked up his head. “Tommy.”

Magic,
Reon thought. It had to be. Since neither Malja nor Fawbry had shown any magic ability, she assumed this “Tommy” was the magician. Though he hid away somewhere, he appeared to be powerful enough to cast this huge spell.

She also thought an opportunity had opened and she would be foolish to miss it. She bolted from the shadows and headed straight for the Chairman. Lord Harskill had brought her to this swamp and challenged her with fighters and revelations and danger. She had overcome it all to get to this point, and the final answer to this test shined before her. As she soared over the desks, she felt electrified.

The superiors screeched and several threw their hands up. Reon hopped upon the platform and snatched the Soul of the Sun. Three rough hands grabbed her — the Chairman.

“Another Gate! You see, everyone? Another Gate tries to steal.”

With his free arm, the Chairman reached for the Soul of the Sun. Reon refused to let this ugly tangle of arms and legs mess up her success. She brought her foot up in a firm front-snap kick, landing the blow between the Chairman’s first set of legs.

She had no idea if she struck a vital point of his anatomy, but she shocked him — that accomplished enough. His grips weakened. Reon broke free, spun around with a swift horseback kick, and watched the Chairman knock into his chair before hitting the floor.

When she turned to leave, she caught Malja’s eye. Reon cocked her head toward the Soul of the Sun and winked. As she dashed away, she couldn’t suppress a wide grin.

She had the power over all do-kha now. This had to be what Lord Harskill wanted. Together they would be able to free the do-kha from this slavery. Together, they would change all the worlds.

Chapter 11

Malja

When Malja watched Reon
race across the immense Chairman’s room, leap upon the platform, and swipe the Soul of the Sun, she knew she had been right all along — Harskill had planned this. But knowing that this theft played a part in that plan, and knowing that Reon definitely worked for Harskill, did not equal knowing the plan itself. Catching Reon might solve that mystery and thwart Harskill from furthering his agenda, but most importantly, catching Reon might give Malja the leverage she needed.

As Reon sprinted out of the room, Malja forced her legs up to her chest and rolled to her side. The do-kha resisted, but not as badly as before. When the groyle had struck her and shocked the do-kha, it had not dealt as serious a blow as the guards that had caught her outside.

With her limited motion, she pushed with her shoulder and arm until she rolled up onto her knees. The more she attempted to move, the more her do-kha responded. The vines continued to cause enough commotion that none of the shrill supervisors or clumsy guards bothered with her. By the time she stood on both feet, she had no trouble breaking off into a run.

She tore by Fawbry and caught a glimpse of Tommy in the back corner. As she entered the main hallway, she looked for Reon. The young woman made it easy — she stood at the far end shaking her free arm at the wall.

Malja approached, showing a little caution — the girl attempted to get her do-kha to do something, but Malja could not tell what. Based on the fight from before, Reon had limited experience in controlling her do-kha. Malja didn’t want to be accidentally skewered by a wild blade thrusting out or worse.

Behind, she heard footsteps and the click of weapons. Three groyle guards appeared down the hall.

“All stop! If not, we hurt you.”

Malja looked back up the hall. Reon had seen them but did not run. She continued to work on her do-kha while focusing on the wall.

Malja took three steps closer and froze. She had a terrible idea of what Reon attempted. “If you don’t know how to control one, do not do that. You’ll kill us all.”

Reon glared at Malja. She smirked as she raised a fist and threw it at the wall with all her strength. The air in front of the wall crack open and an odd, purplish light burst out.