The Way of the Brother Gods (4 page)

The first to attack had four arms, several rows of teeth, and ghostly white hair. It leaped into the air, spreading its claws and opening its mouth. Malja jumped back. When the beast hit the ground, she kicked forward, knocking it into the crowd.

Another creature, this one with a head of bumps and bruises and no neck, threw a wide punch. Malja dodged it with ease and swiped Viper, cutting off the creature's forearm. The first attacker returned, and this time, it spurred the others on.

Malja's focus intensified as she fell into a rhythm of evading blow after blow, her body twisting and ducking, and then when the openings could be found, she struck out with Viper, causing damage and pushing back her enemy. There were too many. And they all had the one target — her.

Taking a chance, she whirled around, letting Viper slice at anything in its way. Two heads rolled and the rest of her attackers stepped back for a second. It was all the time she needed.

Malja dashed away from the group, sprinting until she reached the crossroads. "Fawbry!" she bellowed as she turned down the street.

Many of the creatures were too deformed to chase after her, but enough of them had speed to be dangerous. Their sharpened claws clicked against the cracked pavement as they closed in on Malja. Slobbering and snarling, they would catch her before she could reach Horse and the boys.

"Fawbry! Get —"

Something wet and strong wrapped around her throat, yanked her off her feet, and smacked her into the ground. She looked back. The same four-armed, white-haired bastard stood with its mouth wide open. Its huge, muscular tongue stretched out from its mouth to Malja's neck. With her free hand, she tried to pull it off, but the tongue tightened its grip. She struggled for air.

More creatures arrived, circling Malja, waiting for White Hair to kill her so they could feast. Malja rose to her knees, ignoring the jeering of the crowd, and tried once more to pull the tongue off her neck. No good. White Hair laughed — a disgusting sound with its tongue out.

Lack of air slowed Malja's thoughts, but one idea stood out — she had only used her left hand to pull at the tongue. Why?
Because I'm still holding Viper in the other hand!
Not wasting time to chastise herself, she flicked Viper over and slashed upward. White Hair laughed no more.

She pulled the severed tongue from her neck and watched White Hair run off, its clawed hands covering its mouth as it blubbered in pain. It left behind a trail of blood that a few creatures decided to lap up. The others had grown cautious, but hunger still ruled them. They inched forward, closing any gaps around her.

Bright flashes erupted from one building. The building Tommy and Fawbry were in. Sizzling sounds and anguished screams followed more flashes. All the creatures and Malja looked up.

The windows on the second floor exploded outward. Flames shot in the air. A fiery ball soared out of each window and struck the ground. Just before they hit, Malja realized they were not balls of fire but bodies of fire. The odor of cooked flesh pulled many of the creatures away from her.

From the hole where the window had been, Tommy floated out. Malja had seen him do this before — sitting cross-legged in the air with his hands resting on his knees — but she had never seen the way his eyes blazed in concentration. Fawbry peeked out from the second floor as Tommy hovered just above the street. All the creatures were mesmerized by him. They even stopped eating their charred friends to watch.

Nothing more happened for a moment. The still night air lacked any noise — all the surrounding animals waited to see the outcome. When the creatures attacking Malja seemed to think nothing more would happen, they attacked again. Two grabbed for Malja while four others charged Tommy.

Malja dropped to the ground, sweeping Viper through the legs of her opponents. Tommy raised a hand, his eyes fixated on his tattoos. Flames shot from his hand, lighting up the street. All four fell — one of them burned to ash.

This proved to be enough of a threat to outweigh their hunger. The creatures rushed away, whimpering like wounded pets. A few bold ones dragged the cooked corpses with them, but none dared to look at Tommy. In seconds, the street emptied except for Malja and Tommy.

Pulling debris from his hair, Fawbry stepped from the building and said to Tommy, "They're all gone. You can stop now."

But Tommy continued to float. Though the look in his eyes no longer blazed, it had not returned to normal either. His eyes had turned pinkish, and he looked ahead as if focused on nothing. And his sickness was gone. All the fever, all the weakness, had mutated into a floating magician.

"Tommy?" Malja said, her voice shaking a little.

Reaching out a hand, Fawbry said, "Come on, now. The threat's all over."

Tommy turned toward the south and glided down the street, his feet never touching the ground.

"Wait," Malja said but Tommy continued his steady pace. Malja kicked at the rubble on the ground. To Fawbry, she said, "Get the horses."

"Where's he going?"

"We'll find out if you get the damn horses."

From the Journal of Malja:

I don't know why I'm starting to write in this. I'm not the type and it's not even my journal. But I'm stuck on Horse with too much time, and if I read through this thing one more time, I'll go crazy. Though to be honest, and I suppose that's part of what writing in this thing is about, I've avoided reading a few sections. But there are lot of empty pages and there was a pencil in the book so here I am.

And if I don't do this, I've got to deal with the dead and I'm tired of that. I've tried to always listen to Uncle Gregor's advice and pay the dead their honor, but more and more I find myself killing things like those mutated creatures. How do I pay them their honor? They weren't warriors met on the battlefield. They weren't human. Not anymore. I don't know what they were. And that one that asked for mercy. Maybe writing in this will help. Maybe this is another way to pay them honor.

We've been traveling for a few days now. Tommy's been leading the way while Fawbry and I dutifully follow. I hate watching him float. He never touches the ground. I suppose burying myself in this journal keeps me from seeing what he's become. He only stops when we refuse to go on and that only happens in the evening when the horses need a break and we need food and sleep. I have to force Tommy to eat. I'm not even sure how much of Tommy is still in there. He's used so much magic in the last few years. Powerful magic. Opening portals and fighting superior forces. If he's lost his mind to magic because of me ... I can't think like that. We'll get him help. He has to be okay. Cole Watts understands magic and machinery and can get the two to work together. She'll be able to help us.

The other thing is Harskill. I've always been good at keeping these kinds of thoughts shoved far down and only dealing with them as needed. The sections of this journal about him, I avoid. Mostly. But as I write this, it all is pouring out. Harskill is a big part of what I think about. How can I not? Not that I think he's a sibling or a real family member. That would be crazy. But it's become clear to me in the last few years that my people, whoever my people are, have the ability to travel through portals. So why couldn't one of them come here? And if one can come here, then it must be possible to find my home. So why do I keep hesitating to read too much about him?

Chapter 5

Malja had seen most of Corlin and even some of the northern country, Penmarvia, but as far as she knew, nothing was further south than the Freelands — the land most ruined by the Devastation. Yet not only had Tommy taken them further south, but he had led them around the Freelands altogether. Malja had assumed the Freelands encompassed everything that was south for that had been her experience. Tommy, however, had avoided that desolate land and brought them into the most bizarre place Malja had ever seen — a waterless swamp.

The land consisted of deep runs where swamp might have once been. When she pictured all these natural chutes and paths filled with water, it made sense. What were now miniature buttes had once been the little islands of trees, dirt, and rocks that dotted the swamp. Lacking enough water to support the area, most of the land had become desert-like in vegetation. Some of the trees still stood, though, with thick roots that stretched far down into the pathways like aged fingers, digging deeper, searching for whatever bits of water flowed beneath.

"It's like walking through the skeleton of a giant monster," Fawbry said.

That would have been a comfort. It would have been evidence of something once alive around here. Fawbry held on to Tommy's horse, and whether from being riderless or being tugged along, that animal did not seem comfortable with their surroundings. Even Horse acted uneasy, and twice Malja had to redirect the mare back to following Tommy. She couldn't blame Horse, though. Not only was this land eerie on its own, but Tommy's floating form surrounded them with a tension like being prey.

She pulled out the journal. She knew what parts she hadn't read, and she needed every bit of information that might be relevant. With a hesitant hand, she opened the journal.

Harskill continues to be of immense help. He's understood the project from the start and has, once or twice, nudged me away from making crucial calculation errors. Clearly, his people understand mathematics and portal physics quite well. He's also a darling young man, and I'd be lying if I said he hadn't piqued my interest. It's been a long while since I've enjoyed a man. I'm not sure if his interest in me goes beyond the scientific, but I think I'll find out tonight.

Malja closed the book, unsure if she should read on. It bothered her that Cole Watts might sleep with Harskill. It bothered her more that she was bothered at all. What did it matter? Yet, however rare, Malja had felt jealousy before, and she recognized the sensation again. She wanted Harskill for herself. Not sexually. Probably not. But she wanted him untainted by this world. And of all people, the idea that Cole Watts would be his lover bothered her more. Refusing to give in, she snapped open the book and read on:

This afternoon we finished all the preparations for our first full test of the new portal frame. If all goes well, we will form a controlled portal within the frame near the center of town. Everyone on my team has worked hard this last year and I can see the excitement among them all. And since we won't run the test until morning, I decided to seduce Harskill. Well, I tried, at least. It appears he is not persuaded by my charms. I've gotten old, I suppose, and for many men, age is not as attractive on a woman. It's a shame because my years of experience could have given us both a passionate night that would not be forgotten. Not ever. I must admit, though, he was most gracious in declining me. Makes my desire even stronger.

Malja put the book away and tried not to smile. Fawbry trotted up next to her. "Something amusing?" he asked.

Shaking her head, Malja said, "Just a bit in the journal about Harskill."

Fawbry shifted in his saddle. "I don't mean to upset you, but perhaps you shouldn't read the rest of that journal. You might be building up an image of Harskill that he can't fill."

"I'm not a child."

"But you are alone, and he's one of your kind — supposedly."

"Supposedly?"

Fawbry tapped the pommel of his saddle, his face scrunched as he made a decision. "Don't misinterpret this, but you may not like what you find in Harskill. Before you say anything, please listen. See, when I was little, there was a boy at my school, Teeco, and we weren't great friends but we got along at school just fine. He was an orphan. One day he told me that he found some paper in his adoptive father's desk. This paper was about his real mother, the one that gave birth to him.

"It wasn't much. Just a tag that had been attached to his coat when he was left at his father's door. He spent weeks going over every little detail he could remember from that slip of paper. Each day, he told me more and more. His mother had been born in a fishing village, so he built up an image of her based on that fact — she must be hard-working, she must be strong, she probably needs a good night's sleep but is beautiful nonetheless. He talked on for days.

"I guess his father discovered that he was sneaking peeks at the paper and confronted him. Teeco told me that after their long talk, his father agreed to let Teeco meet his mother. That boy was so excited, he practically danced in the classroom. Well, I'll never forget the day he got back from this wonderful visit. He didn't want to talk, he didn't want to play, he didn't want to do anything but sit on a rock. And, of course, he didn't smile.