Fractures (Facets of Reality Book 2)

by Jeremy Bullard

  Interesting little trick there.

  "Aye, it is at that."

  If ye were gonna kill me, ye woulda done it when I wasn't lookin', she Whispered. If I were gonna kill ye, I'da done it soon as ye pulled back the field.

  He chuckled at her bravado, then shrugged graciously. "We could debate the outcome of that fight, but suffice it to say I'm just looking for some neutral ground with you."

  Neutral ground, then. Talk.

  He nodded. "The attacks that've been happening around here. The lost memories. That you?"

  It was. Ye gonna try and stop me?

  "Not unless I have to. I just wanna know why."

  Why do ye care?

  "Way I figure it, our aims are aligned -- at least in one regard, possibly more, if that granite really was of House Cyphem. If I help you achieve your aims, you might not have to attack any more innocents, and certainly no more shol'tuk, which is what I'm after. Everybody wins." She was still listening. Good. "So again... Why?"

  Patrys was still and silent for a moment, then raised a hand hesitantly to her throat. The attacks on Sal... the one that killed Cedric and took me voice... they all came from one place. If I can find that'n... this Heramis fella... She sighed, her stoma cover billowing out from her throat with a hiss. I canna bring Cedric back, nor me voice, but I can make sure Heramis dinna bring such evil upon any other.

  Retzu nodded his approval. "A worthy goal, mate. And one I'd be pleased to partner with you in." He quirked his head toward the would-be beggar, still out cold. "Starting with him."

  Patrys considered him silently for long moments, finally cracking a minuscule grin. The wind bears the seed to new fields. In case ye dinna hear me the first time. Which I kinda hope ye didn't.

  * * *

  "Sun up, mate," came the voice from the void, drawing Faisal toward ugly, ugly wakefulness. He struggled to push the voice away, to go back to sleep, but a jolt came from somewhere in the void and echoed through his skull. And another -- his cheek, he decided. And another -- a slap? Reflexively, he opened his eyes.

  A man in black leathers squatted before him, jumping in his wavering sight with each strike. The man had a neatly trimmed shortbeard and stache, with obsidian hair pulled back in a tail, draping over one shoulder like it was meant to be there. He had kindly features, for all that they looked chiseled from stone. His eyes had a cheery glint to them, as if lit by a joke that nobody else knew. And the lass behind him---

  "YOU!" he shouted, scrambling backward as if to retreat into the very wall behind him.

  "Ahhh, there he is," the man in black -- a shol'tuk if ever he'd seen one -- said with satisfaction. He offered Faisal a reassuring, lying smile. "Glad the rock to the head didn't break nothing permanent. Yet."

  "Look, I don't know what she told you, but I didn't do nothing," he gibbered. Gibbered? Yeah, that's what he was doing. And really, he didn't care. He knew the kind of reputation shol'tuk had, and he'd seen more than enough of the sapphire git's manner to know that she wasn't to be trifled with. Oh, he wished he'd listened to Mama and gone to Do Naish. He coulda been a sailor for a merchant ship, or a---

  We were talkin' 'bout Heramis before we were interrupted, said the lass, in that monstrous way she had. Speaking into his head without ever speaking. He supposed the hole in her throat had something to do with it, but that made it no less creepy. To the contrary...

  "I don't know what you're talking about. I---"

  His breath caught in his throat as his head erupted in pain. Blessed Crafter, it felt like she was dragging the tip of a dagger across his brain!

  So I'm creepy, ay? Ha! Dinna think ye've seen me creepy yet.

  "When did he say...?" said the shol'tuk, first confused, then thunderstruck. "You can hear his thoughts? I didn't think that was possible."

  Ye'd be surprised what's possible when ye're forced to make do.

  Ice water filled Faisal's veins as he watched the assassin's face go contemplative... then inspired.

  "Does he have to be thinking things for you to hear him? Or are you able to open him and read him like a book?"

  The lass' grin took on an evil twist as she considered. I canna say, but sure'n I can find out...

  Faisal's breath caught again as she dragged the dagger tip across his mind.

  He screamed as she drove it home.

  * * *

  The updraft tickled her wings as Athnae darted over Bastion, making with all haste for Caravan. She could barely make out what Eshira had said -- only a few scattered thoughts regarding the Granite Spire, and metamorphosis, and pain -- but the images she'd received were all too clear.

  She shrieked as she approached the village green, and rebels scattered like so many mice before a raptor. Her talons had no sooner touched the grass when she Changed. Muscles, scales, and bone reshaped within her, grew smaller, more compact. She wrapped her wings around herself long before modesty would've demanded it, and these too shrunk to fit the body she melted into. She took off at a run almost before her Change was complete. Startled rebels and assorted villagers parted before her.

  She found Eshira sitting on a stool outside of the sapphire Menkal's tent, sipping tea or some such, her eyes doey and locked onto the withered husk of a man. "Did he do this to you?" she demanded, jabbing a bluish finger toward the mage as she stalked forward.

  "No, he didn't do anything!" Eshira insisted. "It was Sal... but it wasn't him either. We were exploring the Granite Spire."

  How did you manage to get in? Athnae Whispered. There was no portal before.

  I... broke... Changed... Athnae watched the Caducean struggle to form thoughts, her Whispers mixing with random images in a jumbled mess. Finally, she gave up, laying a weak hand against her forehead. "Sal got in first. He changed so that he could ooze through the bars. An Emerald thing, apparently. Once he was inside, he lifted me while I Changed into a woman. Then it was just a matter of sticking my talon into the window and... Changing back," she finished, beaming with accomplishment.

  "And that hurt you?" Athnae asked incredulously.

  "No. That was after we were inside. Sal started to go down to the lower levels of the Spire, toward some aura that he saw..."

  Blessed Crafter. "How did he describe the aura?"

  "He said it was white, like a beam of pearl..."

  "With rainbow colors?"

  Eshira's scaly brows furrowed. "Yes. Exactly. How did you know?"

  "What you found was somewhat dangerous to dragonkind," she said, neatly sidestepping the question. It probably wouldn't hurt to explain things to her, but the Master had been adamant that the diamond mage learn everything he must learn in his own time, by his own discovery. Anything she told Eshira might find its way to the Prism, and hinder him in his growth. "Your thoughts will return to you in a day or so, but you must rest."

  "Yes, but how---?"

  "Rest," she commanded gently. "Milord mage, you'll see to it, yes?"

  "Yes, of course," the sapphire averred, accepting the command without question. Either he knew the answers Eshira sought, or he understood why Athnae was reluctant to render them. In either case, she trusted him to keep faith with her. Eshira obviously didn't like being denied her answers, growling under her breath as she was, but she too nodded her acceptance.

  Satisfied that Eshira was none the worse for wear, she excused herself and angled toward the southern border of the encampment, the closest open space she could find. She could've returned to the village green, but she'd already disrupted life in Caravan enough. Much better that she try to steal away more quietly than she came in.

  Master, she said as she walked.

  Athnae, came his reply after a moment. A pleasure, as always. One of your Flight got too close to the hot link, I take it?

  Eshira, she snapped. I really wish you would warn us of these things. She could've been hurt, or worse, had she Changed in such a tight space.

  Pshaw, he dismissed. She'll be fine. It's something that had to happen, anyway, if onl
y for consistency sake. Never fear. She has a long and fruitful life before her with the mage, Menkal, no matter what happens. Two spawn before he passes, if memory serves.

  How do you know these things? she hissed, frustration and disgust in equal measure.

  You know better than to ask, just as I know better than to say. Just keep Eshira from the Spire, and keep this conversation to yourself. The Prism still needs to discover the hot link, but he must do it on his own.

  Chapter 15

  Sal chewed numbly at his toast, barely tasting the bread or jam as his eyes caressed the etched silver strip and its granite adornments. The marvel of the sword set's steel hilts had long worn off for him. Now, it was all about the tassel. Sure, there was a mystery to be unlocked regarding the set's original owner, but nowhere near the mystery that lay in the granite runes.

  "They're not going to just jump off the strip and sing to you," Marissa commented, scrubbing the cooking surface of her skillet, and dumping the burnt leavings of breakfast onto the grass before her. "The runes, I mean. That we have them is good. But now we have to figure out what they mean."

  "Why don't we just stroke the silver strip and find out what it does?"

  She chuckled, and wiped her hands on her dish towel. He almost wondered if the movement were symbolic of her wiping her hands of his ignorance. "Stroke it how? Where on the strip do you start? Which direction do you run your fingers? How many fingers do you use? Each artifact works differently. They all activate differently. Unless you know what you're doing, and what magical spell to expect, you may never get the spell to activate." She quirked her eyebrow in warning. "Or worse, you could activate it and turn yourself into a slab of bacon. But by all means -- stroke away."

  Sal scowled, as much for his inaction as for her insufferable logic. He very nearly entertained the idea, if only to spite her, but decided against it. Of course, if he had to be turned into a breakfast dish, there were worse things than bacon to be turned into. But he didn't imagine the world would be better off if its only diamond mage died clumsily -- if tastily -- at the hands of his own bullheadedness.

  Sighing, he sheathed the blade in a flourish, and laid it in his footlocker next to its mate. "I need to tell Retzu about them. And soon."

  "Won't he want to take them?"

  "Yeah, but he's my sen'sia. It's an honor thing. And besides, if anybody can tell me anything about them -- and about that tassel -- it'd be him."

  "Well, just in case, I'll see about copying the runes before I head to the Archives. We may not know what they mean yet, but we'll know a whole lot less if he hides the swords away where we can't study them."

  "He wouldn't do that..."

  "He wouldn't?"

  Sal opened his mouth... and shut it again. He honestly didn't know what Retzu would do. He was as variable as the wind. One minute he's running up the broad side of a mountain to avoid responsibility, and the next he's taking leadership of a hopeless rebellion against an immortal tyrant. Show him a set of shol'tuk blades absolutely unlike anything he'd ever seen...? No, he couldn't say what Retzu would do.

  Sal shrugged and stood to his feet. "Either way, I've got time. He's off in the city doing... something, I dunno. I got all day to think about how to talk to him about it."

  It was Marissa's turn to scowl. "I really wish you'd let me go with you," she said for the umteenth time. "You still have no idea what made Eshira lose control like she did. Whatever this 'hot link' is In the middle of the Granite Spire, it can't be conducive to a long and fruitful life."

  "No, I need you in the Archives with Gaelen," Sal said adamantly. "We still need to squeeze whatever knowledge we can from those books before the Earthen Ranks get here. And it's not like I'm leaving you behind. As long as you're wearing that sapphire earring, it'll be like you're right there next to me, telling me how stupid I am."

  She laughed brilliantly, planting a chuckling kiss on his lips, her unruly red hair falling in waves around his face. "At least tell me that you're not going alone."

  Sal smirked -- disarmingly, he thought, though it was probably closer to smarmily. "Of course not. In fact, you might say that my backup is... uniquely qualified."

  * * *

  Lightning speared the clouds high above Stormhold, briefly illuminating the fortress' toothy parapets before once again blanketing the walls in darkness. Delana had spotted the walled city the previous afternoon, barely a speck on the horizon where the patchwork autumn forest met the overcast sky. The pulsating patchwork aura of the living city, peopled with mundanes and mages alike, was evident by early evening. About ten leagues out, she made camp, expecting only a few hours rest before setting out again. She'd hoped to reach the fortress before breakfast, but the threatening storm clouds finally delivered. By Midwatch, the rain wicking through her already drenched cloak convinced her that she'd seen all the sleep she was likely to see that night. With bleary eyes she set back out, cloak pulled tightly around her, the storm winds forcing her to travel the rest of the way on foot.

  The hard rain turned the pitiful excuse for a highroad into a sticky soup and played havoc with her amethyst sight, the torrential downpour refracting the energies that normally carried the image of her surroundings. She was careful to stay out of the ruts, but try as she might, she still found the occasional mud puddle. The world wavered and danced before her, rippling sickly through the raindrops. It was all Delana could do to trudge onward to the sucking sound of her boots as she pulled them free of the mud, and trust her wavering magical sight to be better than the pitch black of the early morning.

  About a mile out from Stormhold, the mud track finally gave way to paving stones. Delana sighed, silently thanking the Crafter for the respite, but berating the local government for neglecting one of its major land routes. One would think that the highroad between Stormhold and Jakar'tei would demand greater care, but given the overwhelming popularity of the city's shipping lanes, Delana decided that she should be grateful that the local government at least had the afterthought to pave even the shortest stretch of highroad. Didn't make them any less shortsighted, of course.

  She was still lost in thought when she rounded a stand of violet-glowing ivyleaf trees and came into full view of Stormhold's eastern gates. In her amethyst sight, she saw clearly a quartet of white-lavender skeletons, standing or sitting in various stages of vigilance.

  One of those skeletons bore crimson eyes and aura. Salt of the Abyss...

  She toyed with the possibility of snapping a quick null field about herself -- thanking the Crafter again that the journey to Stormhold gave her opportunity to consider Sal's spell -- but discarded the idea almost instantly. If she was close enough to see the ruby standing at rest, she was close enough for him to see her as well, not just her body heat but also her amethyst eyes, lit with wielded mana. And if she were to vanish into thin air? She might as well sound the alarm herself.

  She studied the area quickly -- one ruby and three mundanes at the shack, a ruby and a sapphire walking the parapet at regular intervals. There was no way she was sneaking in, either through the gate or over it. No, if things went awry, she'd have to take care of it quickly and quietly. She released her magical sight as she approached, effecting as harmless a stance as possible. She liked her chances against the quartet, but she'd just as soon not find trouble where there needn't be any.

  The watchmen turned slightly to "welcome" Delana as she drew closer, their hushed conversation tapering off. "State your business, Violet", the ruby demanded, his manner informal, but not insulting.

  "Centurion, Footman, mornin' to ye both," Delana clipped in her thickest Plainsman accent, noting their respective insignia as she stepped into the light cast off by the shack. She hitched her pack meaningfully on her shoulder. "I got business in Soleis Harbor this Courtin', so I'm need'n t' book passage on a ship, if'n I can."

  As soon as they heard her very feminine voice, both guards' faces shifted from indifference to surprise to a hungry leer. She groaned inwardly.
"Well, we can certainly help you with that," said the mundane with a malicious grin. "But what's so important that a nice Southie like you gotta get out in weather like this?"

  "Yeah, come on in out of the wet before you catch your death of cold," the ruby suggested with mock compassion. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the shack, where the other guards had taken notice of the conversation and were moving to join in.

  "Pish tosh, lads, I'm right as rain," Delana said, holding her hands up as she took a step back. "There's no need fer ye t' be concerned fer my sake. I only need t' get int' th' city so's I can be on me way."

  The ruby clicked his tongue sympathetically as his fellows moved to surround Delana. "See, that's gonna be a problem. We're charged with the security of this gate, and we can't open it until Watchbreak but for the most dire circumstances."

  "Ye could let me Lift meself o'er the wall there," Delana suggested, already knowing his response.

  "Sure I could... but the wall watch would cut you down as soon as you were in the air," the ruby countered predictably. "Orders, ya understand. No, the only way you get into Stormhold is through this gate, and this gate don't open until Watchbreak."

  "I wouldn't want t' impose on ye lads," she said as the mundane guards slowly closed the circle around her. She looked each one squarely in the eye, and then cut back to the ruby. She wielded the barest trickle of mana, preparing her spell as quickly as she could without raising suspicions. It was all that she could do to keep her lips from curling in contempt when she spoke. "I been known t' be terrible comp'ny."

  "I'm sure you'll warm up to us," the ruby leered, eliciting laughter from his fellows.

  All at once, the mundane guards reached for Delana. As soon as they made contact, she wielded. Amethyst magic flooded her body, arcing to her would-be captors through their rain-slicked grips. Lavender lightning danced across their jerking bodies and through the puddles at their feet. The mana-borne explosion blew them all back a full five paces. Bodies landed heavily to a chorus of splashes and grunts, the acrid smell of singed hair and burnt flesh souring the air.