Free The Way of the Black Beast by Stuart Jaffe Page B

sweat prickled a line down her neck. She worried about the bubble having enough air. She worried about the old man dying suddenly. She thought about the pain of drowning.
    And she thought of the thief's ship and the way she had killed Captain Wuchev. Tommy better appreciate this.
    About halfway across, the river became shallow, and the Muyaza halted for the old magician to rest a moment. Water passed over their feet and splashed on their ankles. Malja glanced back to see the village had become tiny. That's when she saw the Bluesman.
    She whipped out her spyglass to check — another dark-skinned, dark suited fellow with a guitar. This one had a gray beard and one eye clouded over. He argued with the Muyaza. Probably wanted them to hurry.
    "Something wrong?" Fawbry asked.
    "No," she said, closing the spyglass. "Not yet."
    When they reached the opposite shore, they thanked the Muyaza. The men nodded. The village on this side mirrored the one they had left as if the river had cut one village in half. The two litter-carriers set the old magician down with great care as a young woman arrived to guide him to the food table.
    Malja mounted her horse, invigorated to be on an animal on solid ground again. "Let's get moving."

Chapter 7
     
    The hours that followed threatened to bring about the ghosts of Malja's memory, but she managed to deflect such thought by focusing on Dead Lake. Fawbry called it a reminder of how the Devastation had changed the world. Before, the area had been composed of hills and forests, roads and towns, houses and families. Children played in their yards, climbing trees and throwing balls. Mothers and fathers worked to better their families and society. Magicians strolled the streets like holy leaders of peace and prosperity.
    In the instant of the Devastation, the town vanished. A giant hole engulfed the land and rains filled it in. Those unfortunate enough not to disappear with the land and roads and homes floated in the new lake, adding their blood to the water.
    All these years later, little life had returned. The innocent blood poisoned the shores. Nothing grew. Gray rocks littered the ground and the occasional bone washed up in the limp tides. It reminded Malja of the Freelands — a dark, wet version.
    Hazy fog rolled off the waters bringing on night a few hours early. Tommy shifted in the saddle, and Malja tried to comfort him with a firm hold, but he shirked off her arm. The horses' various sounds — hoof against stone, air forced through nostrils, headshakes jingling reins — amplified in the narrowing visibility. Malja's eyes never ceased searching for threats.
    "Almost there," Fawbry said, his eagerness unmistakable.
    All of what counted for civilization lay so far back that Malja understood why Fawbry might feel safe here. Desolate and destroyed, the area would be lonely, but alone and alive sounded better than surrounded by others and dead. A figure appeared in the haze causing Malja to reconsider the "alone" part.
    "It's okay," Fawbry said. "They're just the Chi-Chun."
    "I thought they were a story."
    "No, the Chi-Chun have existed for a long time. I'm not saying they really have the magic to ward off the dead. Frankly, I don't really believe the dead are going to rise. But they believe."
    As they rode by, Tommy's hand trembled. Malja fought off the urge to respond. The Chi-Chun presented a frightening figure. He stood six feet tall, but seemed bigger, framed by bony trees and thin foliage. He wore a frayed, black robe — tattered cloth that draped him like seaweed. He stood motionless with his hooded head hung low and his arms outstretched. Malja imagined the pain his arms would radiate after only a few minutes. If the stories were true, he would stand like that for several hours.
    Fawbry explained that the Chi-Chun were a sect of Korstrians that had few but highly devoted followers. They believed Dead Lake was the epicenter of the Devastation and if not constantly kept in check, a second