The Breakers Ultimatum (YA Urban Fantasy) (Fixed Points Book 3)

by Conner Kressley

  Taking it in, I saw the blood splattered message read ‘Damnatus’.

  “Oh God!” I yelled, jerking away from it instinctively. “What’s happening? What does that mean?”

  Echo and Dahlia were behind me now, inspecting the wall. Peering from me over to the message, Dahlia answered, “It means things are much, much worse than we ever imagined.”

  Chapter 4

  Ancient Laws

  Owen

  I fully expected to wake up in a dungeon. Traitors who were deemed unfit to be banished or executed were placed in the Hourglass’ dungeons. And I was, after all, a traitor; a traitor twice over actually. Or was it three times? With all that had gone on lately, the twists and turns that fate subjected us to as it forced me to give away the person I loved most in the world, it became harder and harder to remember what the ancient laws were, let alone how many times I had broken them.

  I didn’t wake up in a dungeon, though. The bed was too soft. The walls were decorated with paintings and, on the counter beside me; I found a plate of fresh fruit and a cup of cold water. I wasn’t sleepy or weak, but I felt more than a little tired; the sort of tired you only get after you’ve slept for way too long and allowed your body to become accustomed to the lethargy. How long had I been lying here unconscious, wherever here was?

  I pulled myself up from the bed, bypassing the fruit and wrapping the sheet around my waist because, for whatever reason, I was stark naked. The sheets were silk, softer than I would have liked, and certainly much nicer than I expected the Council to fit a prisoner with- even if I was a special case. As the Dragon, the Breaker prophesized to kill the Blood Moon and bring an end to her reign of terror, killing me or even banishing me would be a tough sell. I was too necessary for that. Still, I imagined some sort of punishment. I had betrayed them, betrayed my entire race by sticking to my guns and helping the Blood Moon (who also happened to be my girlfriend) escape the Council’s clutches and the certain death she’d have been dealt.

  Everything I knew about the Breakers and about this incarnation of the Council particularly told me that I should have been made into an example. They should have strung me up in the center of the Main Square and shamed me; denying me food, water, and shelter until I broke down for all to see. But I wasn’t. I was gifted this room, which looked like it belonged in a palace, with silk sheets and a comfortable mattress. What was their goal here? Did they think that they could coddle me, soften me up until I saw their side of things? If that was the case, they’d be sadly disappointed.

  I hadn’t gone this long, fought this hard, and given up this much, to be bought off with a plate of fruit and the promise of mercy. I was ready for whatever horrors the Council had in store for me. So why not get on with it. I dared a glance out the window as I made my way to the door, the silk bed sheet around my waist swishing along the floor like a dress. I needed some pants bad.

  I grabbed the handle. Locked. Here we go. Now the façade would break. Now the truth of my imprisonment would rear its ugly head. I pounded against the wooden door. “I demand to see my mother!” I shouted, still pounding. There was no response, so I set my fist upon the door again. “She is my chosen council and I invoke my right to council of the accused!” Still no answer. Fate’s alive, I knew there was no way my door would be unattended; even for a minute. If the Council was as paranoid as I knew them to be, they’d assume that Cresta and the others would come to save me. They’d have assumed that I was a tragic consequence of our battle, and have no idea of the true reason that I stayed behind. How could they? What the crone said was confidential; a principle built into the very laws that made up the Breaker’s code. No one, not even the Council of Masons, could bypass that.

  They wouldn’t know that the crone warned me that, if I stayed with her, Cresta would die. They’d have no idea about the things she told me about Sevie; things that would ruin him if they ever came out. And, most of all, they wouldn’t know that the crone told me that the next time I saw Cresta would be the day I kill her. And that, because of that: I made her swear to leave and never turn back. She wasn’t coming back for me, not ever.

  After a few more moments of silence, I started beating on the door again. “I know someone is there, and I will not be denied my rights as the accused, rights that were afforded me by the Founders.”

  I hated talking like this. My time in the outside world had changed me more than a little, and as a result, I’d be more comfortable saying something like ‘Hey Dude, you wanna let me talk to my mom or what?’ But I wasn’t in the outside world anymore. I was with the Breakers, and letting them see how much my mentality had shifted wouldn’t do me any favors- even if I never planned on actually getting out of here.

  No, leaving the Hourglass meant that the Council had put the Dragon into action, that the hopefully avoidable day of them pitting me against Cresta had finally come. I had no interest in that ever happening, but I needed to talk to my mother. I needed to know what was going on with me and be sure that the Council wasn’t punishing my family in my place- because they obviously felt they couldn’t do so to me.

  The wooden door swung open, and an old woman wearing a poufy purple gown came shuffling in. She looked familiar, like someone I had seen before but not actually registered. Had I seen her before here, in some sort of semiconscious state? Or was this not the first time I had been conscious at all? I knew there were Breakers here who were powerful enough to make minutes seem like days and years melt away with a touch of their hand. Those Breakers could have successfully done what I botched with Merrin in instants, and they could most certainly do the same thing to me. I could have been here for years. I could be an old man at this point, having been made to kill Cresta, having spent the entirety of my life here- wherever here was. Looking around the room, I realized with a thud that there were no mirrors here, not even one.

  “Hello Dragon,” the old woman purred. She was holding a pair of red pants and a folded green shirt. If I was on the outside, I’d say that it was probably Christmastime. But these colors meant nothing to the Breakers and, as such, offered me no clues.

  Still, I was happy to have the pants. I grabbed the clothes from the woman, slipping the shirt over my head and deciding to wait until she left to do the same with the pants. “How long have I been here?”

  “A few days,” she answered without hesitation. “You exhausted yourself in the battle and the Council wanted to make sure you were thoroughly rested before they brought you back to consciousness.”

  I studied her face, really wanting to believe her, but knowing that I probably couldn’t. I’d have pressed, but there was little point. If she was lying to me, then she was doing so with the blessing of the Council, and there was no way I’d be able to get her to renege.

  “I know you,” I said, trying to go at things at a different angle.

  “I’m flattered,” she said simply.

  “How?” I asked firmly.

  “You do know I’m under no obligation to answer your questions,” she said, a smirk tugging at her aged lips.

  “I understand that,” I answered. “Tell me anyway.”

  She stared at me for a long instant, and then said,” I was in Weathersby for a while. I took lead on the Blood Moon’s imprisonment there.”

  “Mulva,” I muttered, remembering a story Cresta had told me about a woman she thought might be Dahlia’s mother. I decided not to tug at that thread. Dahlia had been called upon to take care of my brother from time to time when we were younglings. But I had never been close with her, and I had no interest in her parentage. “I’d like to speak to my mother,” I continued, clearing my throat. “She’s my chosen council and, invoking my right to council of the accused, I-“

  “Yes, we’ve heard your pleas,” Mulva gave me a dismissive wave. “Unfortunately, those rights only apply to people who have actually been accused of something. You, Dragon, are not a prisoner.”

  “What?” I asked, blustering. “Of course, I am. I’m a traitor. I
’m locked in here. If I wasn’t a prisoner, you wouldn’t be keeping me.”

  Another smile, this one more fiendish, spread across her lips. “Unless, of course; you were a flux case.”

  I wasn’t sure if my eyes bugged out or narrowed, but I was flabbergasted as I answered. “A flux case; like a Seer?” I almost let go of my sheet, as stunned as I was, watching her glare at me. “We both know I’m not a flux case, Mulva.” It was ridiculous. Of course, I wasn’t a flux case. Flux cases were Breakers whose powers showed signs of mutation like they might evolve into Seers. They were very rare, and my powers hadn’t changed since they manifested.

  “You would have to take that up with the Council,” Mulva nodded with mock kindness. “As you know, they’re the only people who can deem a Breaker to be in flux.”

  “I know why they’re doing this, Mulva, and it won’t work!” I said through clenched teeth. “Flux cases have no rights, and they think that, if they deem me one, they can keep me here indefinitely without cause or council.”

  “Well Dragon, “Mulva said, looking me up and down with an intensity that made me very self-aware. “I’m not saying that you’re correct in your assumptions about the Council’s motives. But, seeing as how you are here indefinitely, and that you are currently without council, I’d say that if that, if you were, then it most certainly would work.”

  “I want to see my mother,” I said through clenched teeth.

  “I’m sure,” Mulva answered, folding her arms over her chest. “But do you think she wants to see you? You’re a traitor. You said that much yourself. And, maternal instincts aside, your mother is under no obligation to serve as your council.” She chuckled. It was a sharp and callous thing, and reminded more of my childhood, of the hardnosed lecturers from primary education, than anything I had experienced in years. “Not that you even warrant council because, as I said, you’re a flux case.”

  Blood boiled up in my face. She had me and she knew it. There was nothing I could do here, trapped in this luxury dungeon and dressed in elf’s clothes. I opened my mouth to speak, to say something brilliant and revolutionary; or at least to say one of those stupid sarcastic remarks that Casper had always been so good at. But nothing came.

  “You have no one to blame for this but yourself, Mr. Lightfoot.” The look on Mulva’s face, like I was a child whose hand had been caught in the candy jar, infuriated me. I was a grown man; two years past that in Breaker time. If I had stayed, if I had seen past Allister Leehman’s machinations, then I would have had my Breaker name by now. I’d be a full-fledged agent. Of course, I would have never met Cresta either. I’d never have known love, or even that I wanted that sort of love. I wouldn’t know myself, not really. But the thing was, looking at Mulva’s smug eyes peering over at me, I wondered how much good any of it had done.

  I would never see Cresta again. I knew that much. Her path and mine could never cross, not with what the crone told me.

  The next time you see her will be the day you kill her.

  Those words had echoed in my head since the crone spoke them. They were all I could think about; playing on a constant loop between my eardrums. It had been this thought, in addition to another dark truth the crone saw fit to lay on me, that had colored Cresta’s last days with me. If I could have those back, if I could have used them to tell her how much she meant to me, how I would live the rest of my life thinking about her, hoping she was okay- then maybe I wouldn’t hate myself so much.

  But I had spent those days the way I’d spent every one since the truth about who she and I were to each other came out. I had spent so long trying to dodge the future, trying to undo what the Seers say must be done, that I forgot one of the most basic truths of what it was to be a Breaker.

  We were fixed points, Cresta and me; fixed points set in opposition with each other. And fixed points couldn’t be changed; not ever, not without death.

  So it was better that I never saw her again. I could imagine she was safe, maybe even happy. Maybe she’d settle down with someone; have a family and a life. Even if it was Royce, or Poe, or whoever he was. I think I would be okay with that, so long as she was happy.

  “Did you hear me, Dragon?” Mulva moved around me, shaking her head disapprovingly. “You are to blame for this. You knew the end. You knew there was only one way this could ever go.” She clucked, almost like a chicken, before she continued. “I’ll never understand this exuberance, to think your childish emotions could ever come before the good of all. You should be ashamed.” She moved toward the door, much more gracefully than I would have imagined a woman of her age was capable of. It swung open as she neared. “But you’ll have plenty of time to think about that.”

  I thought about darting toward it, but it was no use. There was no doubt in my mind that I’d never make it out of here. The door would either slam shut or my body would go limp; a victim of the Council members- who were no doubt watching me right now.

  And even if I did manage to get out, what good would it do? I was trapped inside the Hourglass; surrounded by people- my family included- who would never understand why I had done the things I did. I was better off in here, better off away from them. At least this way, locked up like an animal, I couldn’t be used to hurt Cresta. But, as the door slammed shut, leaving alone again, something deep inside told me that the Council would never leave it at that.

  Chapter 5

  The Strangest of Places

  I didn’t see anyone for days after that. The sun would come up and it would go down. I would go to bed, get up, and go back to bed again. Sometimes I would beat on the door, demanding justice, or family, or an explanation. But never mercy; no matter what, I would never ask them for mercy.

  The doors never opened, of course; save for three times a day, when it would creak open, revealing a covered plate that sat unattended on the floor. The door would stay open until I grabbed the dish. No matter how long I waited; a minute, an hour. After a few days, I made a game of it, inching the plate through the threshold a bit at a time. But I must have pissed off whoever was watching because, after a few minutes, a gust of frigid air blew the door closer and the covered plate on my lap; splashing its contents, chicken pot pie, all over me.

  I never saw Mulva again. She had said what she needed to, I guess; telling me how wonderfully screwed I was, and how I was never going to get out of this place – not unless I did what they wanted me to. They were going to smoke me out with solitary confinement, I supposed. Because no one came. The door swung open, leaving me my food, and then it closed. Sometimes, I’d get a fresh pair of clothes with the food. On those days, the room would morph and a shower would appear in the bathroom; which meant that not only was I not able to see the room as it really was, but that someone was very likely watching me bathe.

  All I could think of was how much I wanted Cresta around, and not for the obvious reasons. Okay, well not only for the obvious reasons. If she was here, she’d be able to look through this shade. She’d know what was going on, and she’d probably be able to get me out of it. Although, if she were here; the Council would very likely be trying to force me to kill her. So, I guess a couple of Breaker peeping Toms weren’t the worst things in the world.

  I wasn’t sure how long I had been there when the dreams started; a couple of days, a couple of weeks. It all started to blur after a while. They were soft at first; a gentle calling that I shrugged off as nothing. But after a few days, the noise became louder, and then it became cleared. It was a Monday, I think, when I finally recognized it. A person, a man was calling my name over and over again. I called back the next night, finding myself standing in a large stone tunnel. No one answered though, and then the dreams stopped completely.

  As I lay here now, watching the stars twinkle from my barred window and cursing the new moon and what it meant, I realized how much I missed those dreams. It was laughable really. I had no idea what they meant; probably nothing. They were very likely just the products of my under-stimulated mind. But that
was the thing; the dreams, those echoes and yells, they were the voices I ever heard. It was the closest I’d come to a conversation since Mulva left. Though, no matter how lonely I got, I couldn’t manage to make myself wish she’d come back.

  There was a time when I was never alone, when even my mind was shared with someone else. But I hadn’t been able to hear Cresta in there since I’d sacrificed Merrin. She was awake now. Or she was last I’d heard, at least. I wondered if she hated me. Fate knows I’d hate her if our roles were reversed. She was my perfect, the one person in the world that I was meant to protect above all others. But I didn’t protect her. I put her at the greatest risk I could think of. Still, what choice did I have? My intentions were noble and, if fate was good, maybe she’d understand that someday.

  I hadn’t realized my eyes had closed until I felt myself drift into sleep. And then, as though it had never left, the dream returned to me. My name was the first thing I heard, soft and distant; like from the far end of a tunnel.

  “Owen!”

  It didn’t take more than once this time for me to respond. “I’m here!” I yelled. I had no idea who was calling for me but, at this point, I’d have spoken to Allister Leehman himself so long as he was willing to listen.

  The voice sounded again. “Owen!” And with it came a light that illuminated my surroundings. I was in the tunnel again. Stones surrounded me, arching overhead. Torches sat lit in intervals along the walls, allowing me to see symbols carved into the rock. I moved closer to them, tracing them with my fingers and trying to decipher them. But they were foggy and unreadable.

  “Owen!” The voice was closer now, and I almost recognized it.

  “I’m here,” I muttered, but my attention was on the symbols. They called to me, begging to be read, asking to be unraveled. But the more I looked at them, the foggier they became. And I knew I’d never be able to read them, not here, not like this.