The Way of the Soul (6 page)

To start, Reon straightened out her arm and attempted to reform the sword. She concentrated on her arm and pictured it turning into the long blade. She swore she felt the do-kha tingling along her skin, but nothing else happened.

She tried again. Nothing.

Next she tried to recreate the whipping motion of her arm that had coincided with the blade’s release when she cut open the seed pods. For several minutes she paced the clearing, snapping out her arm in different directions. She tried doing it while picturing the blade form. She tried commanding her do-kha with the word
Blade
each time she whipped out her arm.

Still nothing.

She thought about the times the sword had formed before. It first came as she prepared to fight Malja. It stayed during the fight — for a little while — and it came unbidden while she took out her anger on the seed pods.

Anger?

Lord Harskill had said emotions were part of it. Perhaps she had to be angry, or at least filled with a similar physical reaction — tense muscles, adrenaline, maybe even hatred. If she needed to be angry, then she had the perfect image to get her there — her enemy, Malja.

Reon pictured that arrogant woman with that big, curved blade. Her do-kha stretched into a sword without any strain. For the next hour, she repeatedly turned her left sleeve and her right sleeve into blades, changing their length and emergence speed, until she had a good, basic working of the process. She learned quickly that she did not need to be angry but merely focused on the emotion. Focusing on Malja made it easy.

Tired and sore, she settled at the base of a tree with flaky bark. Its roots formed a comfortable nook. She rested her arms on her knees, breathing hard and feeling the sweat pour down her face. To her surprise, a cold sensation crossed over her skin. The do-kha had changed its temperature.

She gazed down at it. Apparently, it had understood her physical need and responded without her asking.

“I think you and I are going to get along well.”

Once she had cooled, she stood and even let traces of a smile cross her face. Despite her mother’s warning, Reon felt hopeful. She might not have to spend long at all stuck in this swampy version of Middleland.

An idea struck her — at least she could try.

She put out her hand as a way to focus her thoughts on one spot. She imagined the air breaking open, ripping the space in front of her like peeling back the pages of a book, forming a portal. She concentrated hard. For a moment, she thought the air shimmered, but it had been her imagination. Nothing had happened.

She dropped her hand. She tried to keep her disappointment at bay. The problem was simple — she had no emotion to connect to the portal. When fighting, she had anger. The do-kha required no emotion for her physical needs — it simply responded. But what emotion could create a portal?

A strange tapping sound echoed down the pipe. Reon jumped behind the tree she had been resting on and watched as two bizarre creatures scurried along the top of the pipe. They had four legs and four arms and hard-shelled bodies — the source of the odd tapping. One wore a vest and the other had donned a hat shaped like its skull with a wide brim. And the eyes — a row of numerous beads.

I really am on another world.

She gripped the flaky bark and let her skin match the tree’s pale color. Her do-kha did the same. Part of her wanted to leap out and introduce herself. Her first contact with an alien species — first contact for anybody from her world — and she wanted to know them.

But, perhaps, they were a new challenge from Lord Harskill. Perhaps they were a new threat.

“How much further?” the vested creature said.

“Not far. Not far. Come, come. Help, please. Turn the wheel.”

“Why me? Not my job.”

“Please, please. Help. Not far. You be good.”

“I be good? When you think I’m bad? You think I’m bad sometimes.”

The creature with the hat slumped. “Not what I said.”

“I don’t like it. I go back. Get another to do your work.” The vested creature started walking away, then whirled around. “Or do it yourself.”

The creature stomped off leaving the one with the hat alone. It raised one hand and tapped the top of its hat making an odd, wet, clicking sound like raindrops. It looked off in the direction of the wheel, scowled, and then turned back. Rushing after the vested creature, it pleaded for help.

Reon’s heart rattled in her chest. She could not believe she had seen such a thing. Her mother would have thought them demons, but Reon knew better. Lord Harskill had brought her to another world and other worlds have other creatures.

Though small, these creatures appeared to be intelligent. They could speak, and they had made clothing. They would certainly be able to gather food and might even build their own shelters.

Reon would need those basics in order to survive during her training. Even if her initial training lasted only a few days, she had no idea how long she would be here overall.

She could still hear the little things arguing in the distance. “How can I understand them?” She looked at her do-kha. Could it really translate for her, too?

The creatures continued their chatter. One word drifted back to her. The one with the vest said the word clear and unmistakable. The word she had thought about more than ever lately —
do-kha.
That settled it. She climbed atop the pipe and followed it back up the way the creatures had gone. Even if they didn’t provide her with food and shelter, they knew something about do-khas. She had no doubt they would be able to help her in her training. Hopefully, they wouldn’t require too much convincing.

This had to be the right thing. Why else would Lord Harskill have put her on this path? At best, they would aid her. At worst, they would become another challenge.

Chapter 7

Malja

Malja looked out over the ocean
from Castle Tunistall’s waiting room. She leaned against the white stone balcony and let the wind catch her hair. The castle served as both home for the Artisoll and Tommy as well as the seat of power — until many years in the future when a new Artisoll would arise.

Tradition labeled her
Queen,
but the Artisoll preferred her original title, and though many bristled at the change, they learned to live with it. A lot had changed in Reo-Koll since the current Artisoll took over, but nothing exemplified the change more than Tunistall. What had once been a tiny land of fishermen and farmers had now become a major city — a center of commerce and justice.

Malja wondered if such success might corrupt the people. The soul of a country was its people, and having such great power so suddenly brought with it many dangers. The Artisoll, however, had done a fine job of keeping the world of Reo-Koll going. She did not allow the people of Tunistall to treat those of Dovell, Bechstallon, and Ro poorly despite having suffered under their thumb for so many decades. She let the city grow, the country grow, and the world thrive. If there was corruption, or even conspiracy, the actors in those parts had done a miraculous job of concealing their activities.

If not for Tommy, however, Malja would still worry. All of Reo-Koll’s magic resided in the Artisoll. Such massive power, holding all of it in one being, could taint even the purest soul. But with Tommy at the Artisoll’s side, there was a chance. He had the strength to keep her from falling into poor choices — after all, he had done so with Malja for years.

The tender warmth of the sun and the invigorating smell of seawater felt good upon her. She didn’t mind the ocean from this far up. She could see a handful of small homes dotting the stony beach.
I’m not afraid of you. Just because bad things always happen on the water, I’m not afraid. I could even live in one of those houses. Wouldn’t bother me a bit.
The ocean responded with a crash of waves that sounded like laughter. Hearing the waves crash and the wind blow, she could almost delve into her old self, think about how she hated the ocean and all the trouble it had brought to her, and allow herself to forget the swamplands and the fight she had with the strange Gate, Reon.

Almost.

Something didn’t feel right about that fight. Mostly, Reon would not leave Malja’s mind because of the girl’s inexperience. The naïve way she spoke of Harskill reminded Malja more of villagers on worlds where Harskill played god and less of another Gate. Plus, Reon showed a lack of control over her do-kha. That was odd, too. Perhaps Harskill’s army was nothing more than novices seeking power. With a simple display of his do-kha, he could have promised them anything, and they would give all their being to attain such strength. That would be worse than an army of experienced Gate. Novices were too unpredictable, too irrational.

Malja walked back into the narrow waiting room, its white walls reflected the sunlight, making the room appear brighter and cleaner. Pink and white seashells the size of breastplates adorned the area above a wide couch. Malja hesitated before sitting on the soft furniture. She felt the dirt of a hundred worlds caked upon her.

She tapped rhythms out on her knees and made clicking sounds with her mouth. Whenever she stopped, only the wind and waves would fill the silence. When the door opened, Malja sprang to her feet. It was only Fawbry.

“Don’t look so disappointed,” he said.

“I thought you were the attendant. Seems I’ve been waiting hours to see the Artisoll and Tommy.”

“I know. Hirasa said that it gets harder and harder to see them. They spend most of their day dealing with the problems of running a world.”

Malja raised an eyebrow. “So you visited with Hirasa?”

Fawbry reddened. “Of course. She’s always the first person I want to see.”

“And you’re back already? Poor Hirasa. I would’ve expected you to take longer.”

“Hey. I don’t hear any complaints coming from her.”

“Maybe she tells me and not you.”

“I highly doubt that.” Fawbry hesitated and cocked his head to the side. “Has she talked with you?”

Malja’s sly grin was her only answer.

Whether to change the subject or out of honest curiosity, Malja couldn’t tell, but Fawbry gestured to her hair and said, “I think all this fighting is finally getting to you. I see a bit of gray there.”

“You’ll see the red of your own blood, if you say that again.”

Fawbry chuckled. Malja, however, was not amused — the shaking hands, the soreness, and now the gray hairs.

As she headed back towards the balcony, the door opened once again. This time, a well-dressed attendant stepped forth. She wore a yellow and red cape, formal clothing embroidered with vines and flowers — a regal look that amused Malja. With a slight bow, the attendant said, “The Artisoll will now see you.”

As they headed out of the room, the attendant put out her arm and blocked Fawbry’s way. “Just her.”

Malja looked at Fawbry and shrugged. “Wait here.”

She followed the caped attendant down a series of halls that ended in a wide double-door. They walked through, entering Castle Tunistall’s large throne room. Marble statues lined the walls depicting hard-working villagers standing with strength and humility. An exquisite mosaic of colored stones decorated the floor. Representatives of Dovell, Bechstallon, and Ro each stood by one of the walls with their entourages surrounding them like soldiers. In the middle, the smaller countries each had their representatives. They mulled about like nervous children at a school dance.

A hush overcame the room as all eyes turned toward Malja. The attendant ignored the crowd’s attention and headed straight across the room. Malja followed.

Whenever she had visited Tommy and the Artisoll in the past, she had come at night. She would meet them in their private rooms where they could conduct their business without the whole of Reo-Koll knowing. The Artisoll thought it better that her people remained unaware that she spent any of her magical energy on the problems of other worlds. Even with all that power, the Artisoll still had to deal with politics. Malja hoped her brazen daytime appearance did not hurt things.

At the far end, atop two wide platforms, sat the castle’s old throne. Dust collected upon the gold arms and deep cushions. The attendant climbed the platforms and opened a door off to the side of the throne. She glanced back and gestured.

Malja wanted to whip out Viper and cut out all the staring eyes. But nobody entered the castle armed. Viper lay on her bed back at her apartment — a small, practical, one bedroom provided by the Artisoll.

As Malja walked through the doorway, the attendant bowed. She would not be coming further. Malja pressed on alone, down a short empty hall that ended in a plain, wooden door. Before she could knock, the door opened. Another attendant bowed. Inside, Malja saw the Artisoll and Tommy smiling back at her.

They sat at a chipped, wooden table in a barely furnished room. The low ceiling looked close to collapsing while the scuffed floor felt uneven. The wall to the right consisted mostly of an enormous window looking upon the ocean — the only luxury to be found.

The Artisoll and Tommy rose from their chairs — as did a young man dressed as one of the Holy Men. The Holy Men spent most of their lives searching Reo-Koll for the next Artisoll. This one, however, had a different task. This one served as the Artisoll’s voice.