The Way of the Blade (26 page)

And then, before he had time to react, he entered a tiny clearing with a low-ceiling. His eyes widened, and his skin prickled. In the floor, surrounded by flat, smooth rocks, Javery saw a Great Well unlike any before.

This one created the green light, letting it shimmer on every surface. This one had a more uniform shape to it. And in this one, he saw another place as if the Great Well were an open door that he could walk through and appear in that place.

What a lovely place it seemed. A city unlike any he knew with buildings tall on either side of a black road. Endless rivers of people flowed along the sides of the road while strange machines zipped in all directions. Black machines, silver ones, yellow and blue. And big red machines, tall and narrow, with people inside on two floors. In the distance, he saw a castle of sorts with a massive, square tower. At the top, on each face of the tower, he saw a white circle with symbols around it, and several dark lines that pointed at the symbols. It looked to him like a clock, but the symbols were all wrong.

He inched closer, and his foot bumped a rock. It tumbled down to the edge and into the Great Well. And it burned up. The rock flared away as if it were a leaf in a fire.

Sitting on a wide boulder, Javery glanced back the way he had come. This had to be a Great Well, one that provided the Witch with her power, one that she had cast a spell over to protect it from others. He licked his lips. This was what he needed — the magic, the power, the instrument by which he would vanquish the Carsite’s greatest enemy.

He only had to figure out how to get to the magic it held.

Time slipped away. He considered what he knew about the Great Well, the Pali Witch, and magic spells in general. Not much, it turned out. At least, not as much as he had hoped.

After gathering a handful of stones, he threw them into the Well one at a time. Each one hit the surface with a sizzle and a puff of dust. Nothing of the stone remained. He threw the stones at different points, hoping to find a weak area, but the Witch cast her magic strong. He found nothing.

Fawbry
. The name popped into Javery’s head, and he knew his brain well enough to follow such thoughts to their ends. His mind linked ideas together, making intuitive leaps that he had learned long ago to accept. So, Fawbry.

Fawbry did not have magic. Fawbry’s hand had been burned off. Could he possibly have attempted to get magic from this Well and paid the price? Javery tried to recall Fawbry’s reaction when taken to see the Great Well — there may have been some recognition. But it was also clear that Fawbry did not know these lands. If he didn’t know Carsite or Scarite, he most certainly did not know Pali. Which means that he did not lose his hand to this Well, and thus, whatever protected the Well was not a spell by the Pali Witch.

Lacing his fingers behind his head, Javery leaned back and stared at the Well. Somehow the Pali Witch had captured the magic from the Well, and that meant he could do the same.

While he pondered, he noticed the sizzling noise steadily repeating. Above the Well, he found the source — a stalactite dripped water into the Well. Each drop burned up as it hit the surface. Except something more happened.

Javery leaned closer, lowering his head as far as he dared, his pulse quickening. He waited for another drop. When it came, he could not believe what he saw. He waited again. Saw it once more and waited for yet another drop. Each time, the same thing — as the drop came down, just before it hit the surface, a piece of the Well — green and smooth — reached up to connect with the drop as if drawn to it. Then when the drop finally hit the surface, it burned away.

“A conduit,” he whispered. He needed something that could connect with the magic above the dangerous, protected area. If he could get the Well to reach out towards him, he could receive the Well’s great power.

But what to use that wouldn’t simply incinerate?

Faced with a problem that required testing, Javery set about in a methodical fashion. He collected what objects he could find nearby and laid them out near the edge of the Well. One by one he tried each item to see the result. Rocks, sticks, and torn pieces of his clothing all burned up without getting the Well to reach out of its protective spell. Larger rocks and sticks lasted longer but as the Well ate them up, Javery saw no evidence of the Well’s reach. It simply waited for the objects to burn.

Lowering his head once again, he watched the Well’s surface and waited for another drip from the stalactite. When it came, he confirmed that the Well did indeed lift up to meet the drip of water. Water? Perhaps the magic required a liquid for the reaction he wanted.

He picked up a rock and set out on a rat hunt. What he lacked in skill, he made up for in determination. The fact that the two rats he caught had been cornered with no escape helped, too.

Taking one by the tail, he held it over the Well and lowered it slowly, letting its blood dribble into the Well. Like a charmed snake, a tendril of green magic sprang forth and reached for the rat. The rat inflated, and Javery felt a strange vibration in his fingers that held the tail. Then the rat exploded. Its body rained into the well, its bones and tissue sizzling like animal juices over an open pit.

Wiping bits of rat off his arms, Javery looked to the second rat he had caught. This time, as the rat inflated, he pulled it away. But the Well’s grip proved stronger than he expected, and while he held tight, the rat’s tail snapped off. The body flopped into the Well, leaving Javery holding a wiry tail attached to nothing.

“Damn,” he said, glancing at the entrance and listening for any sign of the Pali Witch. He couldn’t have much time left. “Well, she survived, didn’t she?” His voice echoed on the walls with less enthusiasm. “And I won’t be held by a weak tail.”

No time to argue with myself. If I want her power, it’s here to be taken.

He placed his feet on the edge of the Well. With the sharp edge of a rock, he gouged out a deep cut of his right arm and held it over the green swirls. He averted his eyes from the Well — seeing the city with the big clock bustling under his feet upset his sense of balance. Dying by falling into the Well would be the height of stupidity.

The Well reacted fast. Once the first drop hit, it shot out its green tendrils — seven of them — and wrapped its tingling embrace around his arm. Even while his blood poured out, he could feel magic energy coursing in, hot and thick, like a root soup injected into his veins.

And he felt strong.

Not muscular. Not able to lift or punch. But strong with power. His breath shortened, and his heart quickened. His stomach knotted up, and his face flushed. The skin around his feet strained as everything from his knees to his toes puffed up.

Pull back
, he thought calmly.

He tried to step away, but the tendrils on his arm refused to let go. They held tight, even pulled him closer to the Well. Even as he placed his left foot behind him, he could feel his right slipping forward.

Not slipping — willfully inching forward. The power surging through his blood, his muscles, his organs, even his nerves — it filled him with a desire for more. He craved the Well. He wanted it all.

“No!” The power in him reversed its flow. Like a fish’s spine raking the wrong way, he felt the magic rush back toward the tendrils. It blasted out of his fingers, shredding the tendrils. He jumped back, but his awkward footing failed to land sure. His tailbone hit hard against the rocks. But he was free.

An odor lingered in the air like burned flesh.
No. Not that
. He glanced down at his hand, the one that he had held over the Well. From the elbow to the end, his flesh had become a bizarre mixture of gray rock and green fire. His fingers had fused into two elongated, charred talons.

But no pain.

Instead, he felt strong. With each beat of his heart, he could feel the magic pulsing in his body. It had worked. He had survived. Once he learned to control it, he could blast those Scarites like he had the Well.
I’m going to do it
. He stood, wanting to dance and sing and wishing Druzane had stuck by his side so he could take her against these rocks, but it didn’t matter — he had the power now. He would save his people, punish those who betrayed him, and rule them all.
I’ve got power now
.

“Foul betrayer!” The Witch stood at the entrance, her burning eyes bright against the reflecting green. “You will die for this.”

Chapter 27

Malja

On the edge of Raxholden, behind a thick growth of rock, the air cracked open. Malja and Tommy emerged through the portal. She had her arms wrapped around him, letting her do-kha protect them both from being incinerated by the portal’s unique energies. Once she released him, Tommy quickly closed it. She held his face and shared a smile.

“I can’t believe you can do that. You really are amazing,” she said.

Tommy gave his old salute. A bead of sweat trickled down his face, but otherwise, she saw no sign of effort on his part. He wriggled out of her hands and climbed one of the rocks. Peering at the town, he waved for her to follow. She climbed next to him and looked.

The town had been demolished. It reminded her too much of the ruins of Corlin as if the Devastation had followed her to this world. All but a few buildings had been flattened. Columns of black and gray smoke drifted upward. Three of the thick, rope anchors had been severed, and Malja looked up to find two of those farming islands pushed against each other. The third island was gone.

She climbed down and pulled out Viper. “Be careful,” she said as she headed into the town.

Tommy followed close behind. She knew he would be readying an attack spell. That action had always worried her in the past. But this time, she discovered an odd sense of comfort — he really acted as a team with her, looking out for her.

As they approached the main street, Malja noticed the bodies. They were spread about like leaves scattered across the ground. Some were covered with magic burns, some had been simply hacked to death. Blood pooled under the bodies and streamed away.

Several buildings still stood together forming the corner of the street. As Malja passed by, she jumped back and motioned for Tommy to crouch down. Two Scarite guards waited down the road. They hadn’t been facing her, so she felt confident they did not know of her presence. To Tommy, she motioned two snakes coming out of her back — at least, she thought each one had only two snakes.

Tommy patted her arm and then pointed to himself. He took a slow breath and focused on his arm. A tattoo consisting of three intersecting squares appeared. Tommy’s lips raised as he rolled his head and closed his eyes. He reached over and took hold of Malja’s hand.

And then he faded from sight.

Malja knew she must have looked foolish with her mouth agape. Like Fawbry in his worst, most flabbergasted state. She could still feel Tommy’s hand, but there was nobody to see. When he patted her hand, she jumped, but thankfully she had enough control not to make any sound. When the patting hand left, she felt a soft kiss on her cheek, and then saw his footprints appear in the dirt road. Staying low, she peered around the corner of the building, watching as those footprints neared the Scarite guards.

The guards stood on either side of a door. They looked bored, and neither one appeared to pay any attention to their surroundings. Now that she had a closer look, she saw that each guard had only one snake growing out of the back — which explained why they each carried a staff with a sharp blade at the end.

Tommy’s footprints hugged the wall of the building and tiptoed behind the guards. He started by tapping each on the shoulder. They looked at each other, confused and perturbed. Then Tommy shoved one. He stumbled forward and whirled on the other guard, growling but refraining from talk. Malja wondered if they were under orders to stay silent.

Tommy circled the guards, prodding them repeatedly. The guards figured out they were not alone but could not understand what was happening. They stood back to back with their bladed staffs pointed out. Neither could hold still — hands shaking and feet shifting.

Finally, Tommy lifted a large branch into the air, twirled it in front of the guards, and charged. One guard yelled, “Spirit!” and the two raced off, sprinting down the street, straight towards Malja.

Perfect
. She crouched lower and waited for the last possible second. When they were only steps away from her, she shot into the air, pouncing down and brandishing Viper. The terrified guards fumbled with their weapons, giving Malja more than enough time. Two swift slashes, and it was over.

Tommy reappeared several feet away. With his hands planted on his hips, he threw his harsh disapproving frown at her as he pointed at the dead guards.

Malja looked down at the blood-soaked mess. “I wasn’t supposed to kill them?” When she faced Tommy, her adrenaline lowered, and she put Viper away. “Sorry,” she said.

She wanted to question Tommy about this new spell, about his growing abilities — did she need to be concerned? He had promised it wasn’t hurting his mind, but how could he know? Magic had proved to be dangerous, even deadly, more often than not. But he had already walked back to the door the guards had stood watch by, and as she jogged over to catch up with him, she heard Fawbry in her mind warning her of the hypocrisy in using Tommy’s magic whenever she needed it. She heard Fawbry tell her that Tommy was a man now and he could handle his abilities himself. She heard it all in one echoing word,
Trust
.