Free The Way of the Soul by Stuart Jaffe Page B

through the castle halls until she calmed enough to face Fawbry and Tommy. They waited for her — as did their mission. That’s what mattered now. The rest of it — she would shove it down with all her other darkness.
     
     
    “Is there anything dry in this stinking place?” Fawbry swatted swamp water off his pants after he had sat in an unseen puddle on a log.
    Malja walked a wide circle around Tommy and Fawbry, making sure they were safe from any immediate threat. Jutting her chin toward Tommy, she said, “He seems to be fine.”
    “He probably cast a spell that’s keeping his pants dry.”
    Since the moment they had returned to the swamp, Tommy had sat on the ground, focusing on the tattoos of his right arm. Unlike the other magicians of Corlin, most of Tommy’s tattoos formed and disappeared as needed — though some seemed permanent. Malja wondered how much of his uniqueness came from the trials they had faced over the years. Perhaps she had unleashed all this magic in him by trying to stop that very thing.
    Fawbry slapped a bug on his neck. “How long is this going to take? He can usually locate something a lot faster than this.”
    Malja kept her attention on the shadows of the deep swamp. “It’ll take as long as it takes. He’s not looking for a person or a creature this time. He’s looking for do-khas.”
    “So? A do-kha is kind of a living creature, isn’t it?”
    “Look, that girl I fought wore a do-kha. Only Gate wear do-khas. That makes her Gate. So, if we find the do-kha, we find the girl. It’s that simple.”
    “Why not look for the girl?”
    “Look around you. Everything is teaming with life. It all blends together. This way he can focus on something he knows that has a separate signature from everything else that’s around.”
    “You’re making that up. You have no idea how this works.”
    “Maybe. But that’s probably close to what’s going on. Best I could understand from what he was signing to me. Anyway, it doesn’t matter, does it? We only have to keep him safe so he can do what he does. He’ll cast his spell, he’ll find the girl, we’ll move on.”
    Fawbry flicked a bug off his shoulder. “I hope he finds her soon. I’m really sick of this place.”
    Malja agreed. Not only was the swamp sticky, humid, and awful smelling, but the longer Tommy took, the more time Malja had to think. The more she thought, the more she questioned bringing Tommy in the first place. Maybe the Artisoll had been right to worry.
    Malja just couldn’t let him go.
    She wanted to. She wanted him to be happy. But whenever she looked upon him, part of her saw the little boy chained to the battery of a rusting cargo ship. He had been an abused slave, forced to create magic energy to power the boat. She had saved him from that. She had killed for him. In doing so, she had built a connection that refused to be severed.
    She thought of Uncle Gregor. When she was only ten, the old man had saved her from living feral in the woods. He took her in, educated her, protected her — just as she had done for Tommy. Which brought up a vital question: Had Uncle Gregor lived long enough, would he have let her go? Or would she still be living in that small shack in the woods of Corlin? His murder had set her free.
    It was a stupid question because she knew the answer. Of course, Uncle Gregor would have let her go. He would have pushed her out the door. As much as he wanted her to stay, as much as he loved her, he knew that all people had to grow up and continue on.
    She could hear him lecturing as he cooked up some eggs. “The mother bird pushes the baby out of the nest, forcing the baby bird to learn to fly. We all must do it. And some day, my little one, you too will have to learn to fly.”
    The memory struck her hard. She had never realized he had said all of that, but he had. All along, he had been preparing her to take on her own role.
    Malja glanced at Tommy. She had let him grow up. She had watched him