by C S Vass
“Surely you see now why you must submit. I was unstoppable before, but now I am virtually a god. Don’t harbor any plans of revisiting the witch and trying to restore the power. It’s doubtful that you could after the ordeal you’ve put your body through, but in any case I’ve killed her. She died shortly before I came here, and with her all knowledge of how to orchestrate the magic to bring the power back. I alone have it.
“So here we are, brother and sister at the end of a great journey. Join with me, Fiona. Together we can bring the Vaentysh Boys to Haygarden and usher in a new world. You already wear my sword on your back. Inscribe my philosophy, my way of life, on your heart. We can make this a better Haygarden, a better Tellos. We can create a never-ending dynasty that people will sing of for all time to come. All I ask is that you take my hand.”
Fiona could barely keep her eyes open. Whatever small energy she still harbored had been totally depleted by Rodrick’s story. But there was no chance she could rest. Not until she dealt with this.
“Rodrick.”
“Yes? Yes, sister. Speak! Tell me you’ll join me!” His eyes were trembling in his head and the look of unadulterated hope and joy on his face made her shiver.
The demon-pommel blade was in her hand sweeping towards Rodrick’s head. She slashed at his face with every last bit of strength that was inside of her. It was her final chance to end it. She knew there would be no battle, she had no energy for one. There would just be the single swing of a sword and then whatever happened would happen.
Warm blood sprayed across the room as the sword made contact. Rodrick, so caught up in the fever-dream he had made for himself, had not expected the attack. He howled like a wounded beast as he fell back, clutching at his head. Fiona tried to leap up and finish him but she was falling to the wooden floor.
Rodrick cursed and stomped. She managed to roll over onto her back and look up long enough to catch a glimpse of him and when she did—a giggle burst from her. Then another. Her belly was shaking with laughter. The absurdity. The irony.
Rodrick swore again, but then walked to a mirror. When he saw the long cut across his forehead, essentially identical to the one he had given Fiona two years ago, he laughed as well.
“Either you or fate has an interesting sense of humor,” he said darkly. He wiped the blood with a cloth and then tied it tightly around his forehead. “Very well, Fiona. I can accept this. I did the same to you after all. I’ll even let you keep the sword on your back as a show of good faith. I suggest you become intimately aquatinted with it. It is my best gift to you.”
He paced back and forth for a few moments, and then sighed. “They’ll be most disappointed, but I’ll keep them in line.” He seemed to be talking to himself more than her. “The red path, no too guarded. The blue. No, but maybe…yes, yes it will work. It has to. Ahh, Fiona! You dissappoint me more than you know.
“Twice now you’ve denied me. There will not be a third time. I will spare your life again, just as I did on the last occasion. Think long and hard in the time until we meet again. I aim to rule this city one way or the other, but I would prefer to do it with the last of my family. Until then, I leave you this house. You’ll find the deed to it in your bedroom, should some miscreant or moneylender try to lay claim to it in my absence.”
She tried to do something, anything, as he walked out of her life again. But Fiona couldn’t even turn her head, let alone stand. She heard the front door open, but before she heard it close again blackness had taken her.
* * *
The next few days were an empty blur. Disappointment clung to Fiona like rainwater on a humid day. The world was grey, but not because she possessed any special powers. Somewhere along the way she had been transported to Sun Circle, but she really couldn’t have said when or why or how.
She had attendants that brought her food, but that was largely an effort in futility. Even when she tried to eat a little fruit or drink some broth it immediately came right back up. She spoke to people only when she had to. Oftentimes she was told she had to and still didn’t.
Martin was one of the first to come and see her. He was angry and sad about his dead friend Jamie. She briefly suggested that he ask to personally execute Aiyana, but the Forgotten leader had been given a full pardon. It had to do with the secret arrangement she had made with Geoff Hightower, but nobody seemed to have any information about that. Fiona didn’t really care. Martin said he carried his anger around like a knife he just needed to plunge somewhere, but there wasn’t any place he could put that knife so he just had to walk around with it in his hand. It seemed to Fiona like he wanted her to comfort him, but she didn’t know how.
True to his word, Rodrick had spared Donyo. Apparently he had been in the house while they fought, and was scared out of his mind at the demonic noises coming from downstairs. He has been chained with irons to a large piece of furniture, though personally Fiona thought he wouldn’t have left the room anyway because Rodrick had been savvy enough to leave him with a large bottle of very expensive and very old malt whiskey. Geoff Hightower’s men had found him singing a sea shanty to himself with his trousers dropped and twisted around his ankles. When he was told that the scroll he made was destroyed he disappeared into his chambers with the stores of half the castle’s wine cellar and hadn’t come out since.
After many conflicting thoughts she decided to ask about Sasha, though she still felt a mixture of betrayal and sadness at the thought of Sasha’s unfortunate marriage. She had tried to help. She had tried to do everything that she could. But now it was out of her hands. They told her that Sasha Downcastle was perfectly fine, living with her loving husband Reggie in the Leaf District, and that she could be sent for if Fiona wanted. Fiona politely declined.
In the end it seemed like almost nothing had changed since when Fiona had arrived. The politics of the city had certainly shifted, but to Fiona that all seemed rather miniscule. Her brother was alive, more powerful than ever, and would certainly come back with hell at his side to conquer Haygarden. Fiona was glad that when she encountered him then it would be the last time. So far she had lost twice, and when he said he wouldn’t spare her a third time she believed him.
She recovered eventually, but not fully. She didn’t understand what happened with the magic of the manjeko, but something horrifically profound yet barely detectible had taken place. Her body was not the same. Her mind was not the same. She felt light and weak. Even when she could do her training exercises to the same degree as she could before, it wasn’t the same. Some part of her had been damaged, probably beyond repair. The swirling red orb had gone inside. Maybe her soul had shattered like a pane of glass struck by some blow but not fully shattered. Was that what she was now? Broken glass?
Finally the old knight Geoff Hightower came to visit her. He looked even more tired than she did. He approached her at sunset in the room she stayed in, and sat at the foot of her bed while fingers of red light slipped down the wall beside him.
“I vowed as a young man to live by the sword until I died by the sword,” he said after a time. “I have kept that vow thus far, but a young man cannot comprehend the weariness an old man feels after so many thousands of sunsets.”
“Then stop bitching and break your vow,” Fiona said without looking at him. “Everybody else does.” She didn’t mean to be so cross with the old knight, but she didn’t seem to know how to control herself these days.
To her surprise Hightower laughed. His deep baritone voice was comforting to her. “I should know better than to complain of the problems of the elderly to one so young. All the same, I’ve broken enough vows in my time, Fiona. I don’t need one more to atone for.”
Fiona didn’t answer him. She was starting to get tired of people coming to visit her just to tell her of their own stupid problems. After a time he spoke again. “There is not a day that goes by that I don’t wonder if there was something I should have seen, something I should have done, to prevent the madness that has infested Rodrick�
��s mind. This city will not know peace until he is captured.”
“Or killed,” Fiona added darkly.
“Yes, or killed.” Geoff agreed. “You know, I know something of what it means to be a rebel. In my youth I was banished from my native Laquath. Perhaps you’ve heard the tale?”
“I know as much as you’ve just said. Why were you banished?”
“For many reasons. But I spent years searching for death in the places it was most likely to find me. It never did. After a time I came to the conclusion that death was a coward. When you throw down your steel and expose your naked flesh to be consumed by the gods of eternal night they cannot look you in the eye.”
“That’s stupid,” Fiona said. “Death doesn’t care about any of that. It does what it wants.”
Geoff smiled. “You’re much wiser than I was. Looking for death no more makes death afraid than it makes you brave. They were cowardly, self-indulgent years that I could have devoted to a higher purpose. But all of that is in the past. The gods of time do not let us revisit such things.”
Fiona rolled her eyes. “I didn’t know you were so religious. I guess most old people are.”
I was speaking in metaphor. A metaphor you see is a kind of speaking device used for the purpose of—”
Fiona kicked him hard in the leg from her bed. He was openly laughing at her. It actually made her feel better but all the same she complained. “Don’t be an ass.”
“Forgive me for finding humor where I can,” Geoff said with a smile. “We will need to do what we can to lift our spirits before the journey that lies ahead. Shifter is already making arrangements for us.”
“Journey, what journey? What’s Shifter doing?”
“We are going to Morrordraed.”
Fiona wrinkled her nose. “I’m not interested in being a part of whatever half-baked war effort you have planned.”
“Who said anything about a war effort?”
“Why is Haygarden going to Morrordraed then?”
“Who said anything about Haygarden?”
“You—What are you talking about?”
Geoff leaned in close to her, his emerald eyes deadly serious. “We are going to Morrordraed. You and I, Fiona. Tell nobody. It is of the highest important that this secret stay between us.”
In that moment Fiona felt something, some small flicker of emotion. It was so bare and fragile that she didn’t know what it was. But it was the first thing she had felt in days. She had to cling to it. “Why?”
“Because you have encountered a mortally serious and profound magic and you will need help. Help will not be found on this continent. If there is hope for you, it will be found there. I am the only one who has a prayer’s chance of guiding you through those swampy lands, though I confess it has been many tens of years since I have set foot there. We may both die.”
“So why would I do that?”
“Because if you stay here you will also die. It may take as long as a normal human life, but it will be a life that would be indescribably cruel to make you endure after what you have gone through. There are traces of the true sight still within your body. Our mages have told us as much. They have sensed it within you while you’ve slept. We need to know what it means.”
“I don’t understand. Are you saying that I still have the manjeko?”
A shadow crossed over Geoff’s face. “No, Fiona. I’m saying that something far worse is going on. Something I don’t understand, but I aim to. I will help you. But we must leave this land. Don’t lose hope. I plan on surviving and returning here. You will be the better for it.”
“When Rodrick opened that portal, I could sense something. Something large and terrible. Does that have something to do with this?”
The room grew very still. Geoff Hightower sighed, and rubbed his tired eyes. “There is nothing I can tell you until we find more knowledgeable minds in Morrordraed.”
“There’s more,” Fiona continued. “When I was learning how to use the manjeko there was a creature, a Beast—”
“You will learn all you need to in Morrordraed, Fiona. That is, if you should choose to join me. So I ask you, will you come?”
Fiona would have thought that she might need more time to consider such an offer, but as soon as she started to reflect on it she knew that there was nothing to consider. What else could she do?
“When do we leave?”
“I need one week. Do not act as if anything is out of place. I will let Sandra know of our plan. Perhaps Donyo too. I think he has earned some of our trust.”
“How do we get there? The Tellosian scryers—”
Geoff held up a hand. “I will take care of that within the next seven days. You must trust me.”
Fiona nodded. “Alright. I’ll go with you. Just promise me you won’t bore me to death on the way there with stories about the good old days.”
“I’ll have you know my tales are both informative and interesting.” He grinned. “If you’d rather spend the time counting each time a bird takes a shit then you’re welcome to do that.”
That got a laugh out of her. “We’ll see how good the stories are.”
He left, and Fiona felt a sense of excitement slowly rise in her chest. She realized that she wanted to go then and there. She had grown so much since the days of her youth. She knew how to be patient now. Especially for the important things, and what could be more important to this? She was going on an adventure. She was going to heal.
Just maybe all would be well.
* * *
I hope you enjoyed Fractures. I’d like to ask you to consider taking a spare moment to leave a review. As an independent author, reviews are essential for helping others navigate cyberspace and find my books, as well as helping me hear your thoughts. Thank you and stay tuned for Song Three, coming soon!
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C.S. Vass is an up and coming fantasy writer. He completed the writing program at the University of Pittsburgh, graduating with very good grades and a pat on the head. Tired of long grey winters, he moved to New Orleans where he played music, honed his writing, and developed a fondness for the furry little ball of daggers known as Sebastian the Cat.
Now, realizing that the ever increasing risk of his city breaking off into the sea might abruptly end his ability to produce books, C.S. Vass has gotten serious about delivering quality fantasy fiction to legions of adoring fans (or at least more people than his mom).
Always eager to hear from lovers of fiction, if there's anything else you'd like to know or let him know, you can contact him via the link on this website.
