La’Haja shot a hand out, and Bors’s arm locked up, fingers close enough to scrape the leather wrapping yet not enough to grip it.

“You are a fool,” La’Haja said. “You are going to die, and that sword will give me what I need.”

“She will never bow to you.”

“Don’t be too sure,” La’Haja said.

A shimmering ghost of the Mother appeared at Bors’s elbow. “My bearer, you are risking yourself far more than you need to.”

“It is needed,” Bors said mentally. “I have a mission to complete.”

“I am telling you to back down,” the Mother said, lightly touching his left arm. “Please. Stop resisting.”

Bors’s eyes bulged for a second, and he looked down. Her hands were pale, as was the rest of her face. He looked at the illusion for half a second and then snapped his head back to La’Haja. “You are a fool,” he said and, with all his might, shoved his hand closer to the hilt of his sword.

The moment his palm touched the sword, the song of the sword filled his head, and he was free. He drew the giant sword like it was made of paper, swinging it down to bisect one of the guardian Callistians in a single cut. He gave in fully to the song as he whirled around to meet another guard with a long metal pike. And above it all was the scream of rage from La’Haja.

He lost himself in the song until he was grappled by something. His arms were unable to move, and his body felt as though it was held by a giant hand. He turned to see Al’Kara moving closer and closer, but he also saw Rick running toward his woman. He grabbed her and whirled her around, pulling her into a kiss.

Bors didn’t have time to process what was going on, losing track of his friend as the mind-controlled Callistians surged around him, their nails tipped with small blades glinting in the strange hanging globe lights of the throne room. Their faces were devoid of thought, only rictuses of anger on bestial faces to show fangs drooling with venomous saliva. They only wished to do violence against Bors.

Taking a deep breath, he calmed his mind and felt the rage of the Soul of the Mother out of reach. Mother, I need—

“Oh, you need my help, my bearer? I thought—”

I die, you are left here. Is that what you want, Mother? Bors silenced her with that question.

His body moved automatically, dodging and blocking the worst of the swipes of the creatures as Mother hemmed and hawed, refusing to answer. He felt his lips stretch into a rictus of a snarl as he flung himself toward the creatures. “Bors of the Hidden Mountain will not die today! With or without your help, woman!” he shouted, opening his eyes.

The voice wasn’t his. He felt the ecstatic joy of the fight flow over him, the smell of blood being spilled in battle, causing the same thrum of rage to surge through him anew. He felt the rage boiling over from Mother, sweeping him away with the mindlessness of combat. Lost in the fight, he sang of the Hidden Mountain of his people. Of the Soul of the Mother.

And it was good.

* * *

Rick sprinted past the insane Callistians, though their fury was focused on Bors. One of them caught sight of Rick running and swung a clumsy arm toward him. Rick slipped under the last guard’s weak attack. The guard turned too late as Rick shot him in the back. Rick didn’t stop to think about what he did; he needed to get to Al’Kara. Find her. Focus on that!

He saw her moving into the throne room, her arms raised. Bors, in a whirl of motion, froze as Al’Kara’s powers ensnared him. Rick as he sprinted toward his love. Without pausing, he grabbed her, spun her around, and kissed her. “Al’Kara of the Golgoro, I love you.”

A look of joy spread over her face, then complete confusion. “Beloved, what . . . what is going on?” She looked around, confused beyond measure.

“You tell me!” Rick said, grabbing ahold of her arm. He pulled her close. “I thought I’d lost you.”

There was a blast of purple light, and a form loomed behind Al’Kara. La’Haja emerged from the light, screaming, “You have!” La’Haja lunged forward with her sparking staff, swinging toward Rick’s head.

Al’Kara wheeled around. “Cousin, what is the meaning of this? You said—”

The staff stopped at a gesture from Al’Kara. She lashed out with her other hand, trying to stab at La’Haja with her blue-tinged mind-blade. Rick took a step back as the two fought, looking for a way to get a clean shot off. He held back, not wanting to hurt Al’Kara.

La’Haja laughed, slapping away her cousin’s attack. She dropped the staff, and it hovered at her side, floating within reach at all times as she moved. “You are a banished psi-blade. I thought I could use your powers, but you can’t be trusted. Not with him around.” She gestured at Rick, and his body went rigid. “You’ve been a thorn in my side far too long, Rick Tavish. I will finally be able to do something I have wanted to do for far too long.”

Rick looked at the Golgoro woman, confused. “I’ve never laid eyes on you before.”

She smirked. “Nor shall you ever!” Her hand clenched, fingers bent as if clutching something in a tight grip.

Pain pierced Ricke’s chest as if his lungs were being stabbed from the inside. Wet coughs wracked his body. Bloody spittle and phlegm flew from his mouth and painted his lips and the tile floor. Something wet oozed over his chin as he tried to draw a breath. He stared at La’Haja, trying to speak. Nothing came out except a ragged croak. He staggered and swayed as he continued to cough. Pain suffused him.

There was a sudden flare to his left, and La’Haja crumpled. Rick looked at the ruined body, then turned weakly to see Al’Kara holding his Tellic, her hand soaked in blood. His blood. How? How could—

“Your blood, beloved.” she said, kneeling down next to him. “We need to go.” She pulled an arm over her shoulder. “We have to get to the portal and get out of here.”

“What about Bors?”

Al’Kara turned to see the barbarian raging, cutting down the Callistian guards like wheat. “He will survive. La’Haja is gone. We need to get you to a place where you can be healed.”

Together, the two limped toward the doorway. Beyond stood the glowing blue and gold portal that had brought the two of them to Callisto. He didn’t want to go, yet he had to seek medical treatment. The witch was dead, and Bors would survive.

Goodbye my friend . . .

* * *

Bors found himself alone for a moment. The guards began cowering as soon as La’Haja was cut down. He’d seen her crumple to nothing and was ready to fall to his knees when the ground shook and the throne hummed to life, giving off a dark purple hum. The seat of the throne separated, and from it emerged La’Haja. She settled onto the seat, scowling.

“My cousin betrayed me! Only steel will do my bidding.”

A large metal humanoid emerged from behind the throne. Bors charged it yet jerked to one side as it leveled an arm at him, and a bolt of green light shot toward him. Only his quick movement kept him from being hit. He hid behind one of the pillars of the throne room and peeked around the corner, jerking his head back as another bolt of green burned through the first two inches of the thick stone column.

“Do not ruin my throne room! Kill him with your own claws!” La’Haja shouted.

Bors twisted toward the other side of the column and sprinted for the throne. He heard no movement behind him yet turned to see the thing had moved forward. It grabbed him, fighting for the sword. Bors pushed his arms forward, trying to shove the robot away, yet the thing clung to him. Then its clawed hand reached up to grab at the pitted blade.

The robot and Bors were knocked to the tile floor by an explosion of air and blue light. Bors hopped to his feet, surveying the now-armless robot trying to get up. La’Haja screamed at it to get up. She continued as Bors slammed the sword to the hilt in the robot’s chest and ripped upwards, letting out a feral yell. The thing sparked and jerked and was still a moment later.

When he turned toward La’Haja, she was alone, curled up on the throne, tears in her eyes. “All of them betray me in the end.”

“You are a witch! It is your lot to be betrayed,” Bors said, striding toward her. “You may cry and try to ensorcell me, yet I will—”

“I don’t care anymore. My people will die. I wanted to help, but it can’t be helped.” She sat down on the throne. “I give up. I am so tired. There is no reason to go on.” Her body slumped in the throne. Bors watched as she shrank in upon herself, growing more and more withered.

When he reached the throne, he found a desiccated corpse. “Your people will die. I know, for in my time, they are but a memory.”

There was a dry laugh from the corpse as it lifted its toothless skeletal face to Bors, eyes turning to dust, the tongue a dried husk of a wiggling worm. “Don’t worry, Bors, you have carried out your task. I am dead and will never hurt the Callistians again.”

Bors snorted at the witch and slammed his sword into the center of the corpse. A loud keening came from both the sword and the thing in the throne, and then he was rocked on his heels by the shuddering of his sword. On the throne, there was now nothing, not even dust—only a black, charred form where La’Haja the witch had sat a moment before.

Bors’s rage quelled and went silent. All around him was death. The altered Callistians had been slaughtered. He fell to his knees, feeling Mother’s hands on his shoulders as he came out of his rage. He didn’t speak; he could barely breathe, as his body was past any complaint. He watched as Mother consumed the Callistians in her macabre ritual, their blood turning into a purplish-black haze around Bors. He turned his head to see a glowing portal of purple and green wink out as Rick and the other witch ran through it. Yet La’Haja was dead and dust.

“The witch is dead,” he said, smiling. It hurt to smile, yet he had completed the quest he’d set out to accomplish. He hoped that Rick and the other witch had survived, but he wasn’t sure what would happen to them. Al’Kara had been a witch who’d helped in the end in the time before. It had not been the strangest thing he had experienced. Names are strange, he thought.

The witch is dead, Mother whispered in his head. Rest now, my bearer.

Bors dropped his head, waiting for Mother to finish her feeding. “Yes, rest sounds wonderful. Only a few moments, though.” He nodded off as Mother finished her macabre ritual, unconscious and dreaming of more pleasant things. His last thoughts were of the Callistians and his new quest to somehow get back to Mars.

TO BE CONTINUED