The Way of the Black Beast (3 page)

Malja nodded. "Jarik and Callib."

"No other magicians are so brazen. We resisted, but it was a foolish thing to do. We had no hope of winning. They overpowered us the first day. It only took one week for them to notice Audrex and only one day to seduce her. They were handsome, powerful, and different from everything Blissgar had ever offered her. She willingly became their consort. The idea alone nearly killed Mother. The day she went off with them was the last I saw of her for thirty-four years.

"I went on with my life. What else could I do? I thought of her all the time, but it became like a mourning period, like I had to accept that she was dead. A few years later, I married Ven Nolan. We tried to consolidate the towns in the area — form a government, but there were never enough people. Still, my husband was respected and we ran several farms. When he died, I took control.

"Then, as the Korstraprime rains fell, she appeared at my door — changed. It's been hard. The cage protects her and us. But it's hard."

Audrex prowled her cage and stared at her tattoos. Whatever her magic needed, the cage kept her from it. Malja tensed as a thought hit her with frightening force. "Magic ability is a family trait."

"And yet I'm not a magician." Ms. Nolan shuddered. As she spoke on, her voice cracked. "Nor were my parents. Nor our grandparents. That's why she's insane. They stole her from me and did Korstra alone knows to turn her into a magician. But we are what we are born to. It can't be changed."

"So they threw her aside," Malja said as the coals in her heart burned.

Nolan's eyes dropped to Tommy. "Your boy is a magician. Be careful around him."

"He's not like that."

"Not yet. But every magician is unique in how much talent they possess. He has one spell now. But as he grows older, if he learns more, well, magic takes its toll."

Malja knew that price. She had seen it first hand in Jarik and Callib. Each time a magician cast a spell, it ate away at the brain. Little by little. The more powerful spells took away more of a magician's sanity. The weakest magicians, the ones that could only create electricity, became feeble old men and women lost in delirium. The strongest magicians ended up mad long before they became old. That madness had led to the lunatic thoughts that brought on the Devastation. It led to two brothers stealing a little girl.

Malja glanced down at Tommy.
He's not like that.
Besides, if he doesn't use his magic, he won't suffer any damage.

With a sharp, cleansing breath, Ms. Nolan stepped away from her sister. "Your assassin tried to cut off a trail you have followed and his next target was me. If my information is correct, and it is, you seek Jarik and Callib. I can help."

"Then help."

"I want a promise, first. Promise me that whatever you do to them, promise me you'll make them suffer extra for Audrex."

Malja bared her teeth. "With pleasure."

Tommy clutched the saddle's pommel as they headed west through the forest. His tense heartbeat pattered against Malja's skin. She had tried letting him ride in back of her, wrapping his arms tight around her waist, but he near-wet himself. His anxiety subsided only slightly when seated in front, protected by her arms. How anyone could grow up not knowing how to ride a horse — never mind absolute terror of the experience — baffled her. Then again, a slave on a thief's boat had little call for horsemanship.

The chestnut quarter horse Ms. Nolan had supplied (Orla was its name, but Malja tried not to put names to horses — they never lasted long around her) did not react to Tommy's fear, although Malja swore the animal took care to provide a smoother ride than usual. She just hoped they wouldn't need to gallop. Tommy would have a heart attack.

The morning air smelled crisp as the sun poked through the trees. Already the heat rose, and Malja wondered how long the horse could endure. Later the air would be stifling. The horse better hold out. Ms. Nolan gave the impression that time mattered in this case.

Fawbry, she had said, was a minor nuisance in Terrgar. All the surrounding towns belonged to Ms. Nolan (according to her), but Terrgar remained a dark hole on her map. It caused problems getting supplies to the far-end towns, caused problems with communications, and caused problems forming a solid front to her greater enemies in the western countries. Allowing Fawbry to continue to disrupt her holdings or escalate his activities invited an attack.

"Fawbry knows who you need to see. Bring him to me, and I'll get the information you want," Ms. Nolan had said.

The politics didn't matter to Malja. Warlords, politicians, businessmen, magicians — all the same. They sought to rule over others using the laws of people as tools for their personal advancement. They hid beneath lofty ideals and utopian promises they never intended to keep. Or they simply bullied their way from behind a sword. Malja had no use for it. Anarchy worked just fine.

They camped in the shade of a fractured bridge. Half the bridge spanned the far side of a dry bed. The other half was a mere skeleton. Its concrete pillars rose to hold up nothing like musicians standing on stage without their instruments — awkward and wrong.

Malja let the heat of their campfire soothe her weariness. Tommy nestled by her leg, wrapping his arms around her calf and resting his head on her knee. With a tentative touch, she stroked his hair, recalling the first time he had hugged her knee — the night she rescued him. It was such a simple act of affection, the very act that had won her over, yet she found it difficult to reciprocate more than her gentle touch on his hair.

Like horses, people didn't stay with her long. If she managed to keep Tommy alive long enough to become an adult, she expected him to go off for a life of his own. She couldn't expect him to stay. And she refused to force him to be what she wanted — that was Jarik and Callib's way.

Before she could spiral down into blistering memories, Malja cleared her thoughts with several deep breaths. She watched Tommy's hair trickle through her fingers. She listened to his slumber. She fought off all other concerns until an hour later, she fell asleep.

After another day traveling, Tommy had relaxed a little around the horse. By the time they reached Noograff, he could act like he had been born riding. But it was an act. He put on a brave face for the townspeople, yet Malja felt his tensed muscles clinging to the saddle.

The town of Noograff looked like many towns Malja had seen. An amalgam of single-story buildings cobbled together with materials from the nearest ruins. Rock, wood, and concrete chunks formed the foundation of materials. Old pavement, metal bars and pipes, and sharp bits of glass were more typical for extravagant homes. Noograff appeared to be more foundation and less extravagant.

The two roads were dirt with the odd bit of macadam poking through. Food and labor seasoned the air with a savory, rich aroma. Two wells marked sources of healthy water. To Malja — all signs of hearty, honest folk who understood these wild lands.

Good,
she thought. She wanted to be around people that made sense.

She had heard rumors about the North countries that they had many carpenters and stoneworkers. They had towns cleared of the ruins and even a city or two. But those lands were elsewhere and they were governed. She preferred these towns. What they lacked in beauty they made up for in heart.

When they reached the main road through town, Malja's initial assessment faltered. A crowd of forty men and women congregated in the road. Many were absent limbs. Some bore deep scars and one woman had lost a chunk of her left ear. They carried makeshift weapons and sweated under makeshift armor. Some wore animal hides and others wore stained and patched clothing from long ago. Everyone wore something bright yellow around the head, arm, or neck. Despite their roughened exteriors, they looked like children playing at war.

Standing on a table made from a door laid across four large rocks, a heavy-set man with salt-and-pepper hair spoke to the exuberant crowd. In one hand, he waved a pearl-grip handgun. In the other, he clutched a yellow cloth. "I say it is enough that we struggle to eat, it is enough that we labor our meager fields. Why should we pay this scoundrel, too?" The townspeople roared their agreement. "This isn't our first time facing some idiot that thinks we'll be easy to bully. Nor is it our second or even our third. Warlords come and go. We've faced them, fought them, and in the end, we remain. What makes this different—" The crowd roared and hooted again. "What makes this different, what makes this unique, is that for the first time we will bring the battle to them. We will not wait for the evils of the world to pick upon us, to try to tear us apart. We will not watch our children shiver with the fear of what might come our way. No. We will take on the evil where it lives. And when we're done, Mayor Fawbry and all his ilk will never bother the town of Noograff again!" The loudest explosions of support erupted complete with the banging of swords, stamping of feet, and fluttering of yellow.

Malja had seen plenty of armies do the same. She had even stood before a few, spouting similar lines about how great they were and how righteous their cause. In the end, blood flowed the same color.

The heavy man paused in his speech and squinted toward Malja. "You there. You've picked the wrong day to visit."

"I'm passing through, but I think I can help you."

"Help us? Why would the mother of a young boy want to help fight with strangers?"

"Ms. Nolan has sent me after Mayor Fawbry."

All eyes were on Malja and Tommy. The faces were firm but not threatening — not yet. The man on the table made a show of his confusion. "Don't know any Nolan, and we don't want your help."

Damn.
Ms. Nolan's power had appeared authentic, but obviously she claimed more than she truly held. That clouded the matter of Mayor Fawbry. If Ms. Nolan's claim of information turned out to be a lie, Viper would make her pay.

"Go away," the man said. "Pass through tomorrow."

With one hand, Malja eased Tommy to the ground. He didn't want to let go at first, but Malja shook him off. Pouting, he scampered to the side as she urged the horse forward.

"My name is Malja," she said, noting the stunned look on a few faces. "Those who know of me, know that I am an army within myself. We have a common enemy today. I will be in Terrgar. I will fight to get to the Mayor. There is no changing that. The question you face is whether to fight with me or to get in my way."

The man scanned the crowd. Malja felt his confidence drain away like snow melting in her hands. "Y-You're a liar," he said. "You could be anybody. You could be one of Fawbry's people. Prove you're Malja."

"No."

The man waited for her to say more, to justify her refusal, but the longer he waited, the stronger she became. She sensed the shift as it rippled behind her. A lackey of the enemy would stage some kind of display in order to prove herself. The angry crowd understood that Malja would do what she said, that only the real Malja would attack a town by herself, that they had no choice.

"I'm Pressig," the man said, trying to regain some ground through bluster. "You may join us, but do not impede us or you'll be brought before our judges."

Malja smirked. "Nice to see a town with some laws."

Pressig frowned, unsure if she mocked them. A second later, with smooth political ease, he broke into thick laughter. The townspeople followed suit, and Malja withstood the onslaught of merriment like a small animal caught in a storm. Another wave of yellow followed and more hollers. When they finished, Pressig raised his hands and said, "We have an ally, and that's good. But the battle still waits. Get what you can. Prepare your hearts and souls. We leave at second bell."

The town rushed to life as everyone handled their final business before war — providing for loved ones in case the worst happened and saying goodbye. Though she knew Tommy could take care of himself, Malja arranged for Pressig's wife to look after him. This act would gain Pressig's trust more than any display — she had given him a hostage.

Pressig's wife took the boy's hand with a melancholy nod. The woman's eyes spoke of deep sadness, and Malja suspected she had lost a child awhile back. It was common enough. Tommy brought a slight smile to her face that surprised Pressig enough to stare slack-jawed for a moment.

Nearby a small group of Korstrians knelt in a circle. One chanted a prayer and the rest bowed until their heads touched. The Kryssta followers were, no doubt, off alone praying in a quiet corner.

As Malja prepped her horse, she listened to the droning chants. She failed to see how people could think a little singing would influence the world, but she did like the rumbling of the sound. It seemed to soothe her horse, too.

When the second bell rang, warm goodbyes turned into passionate cries. Weeping and arguing snaked through the town. She helped Pressig gather people up, forcing them from their families, reminding them of the reason for the battle. Malja had expected this — she'd seen it before. She did not expect, however, to see Tommy astride her horse.

"You're not coming," she said, gritting at the parental tone she heard coming from her mouth.

Tommy pointed to the amassing force.

"No."

He made a muscle and when that failed to impress, he pulled back his sleeve and pointed to the tattoo.