He turned away and began toward the door, before turning back around, a smirk on his face. “And one more thing. I used to be like you. I was so keen on not letting the prophecies dictate my life that I hated you. I hated you before I even knew you, and it was all because I thought I was going to be forced to love you.” His eyes traced the floor. “One day I realized something, though. Hating you without knowing you made me just as much a slave to the prophecy as loving you would. Feel any way you want to about me Cresta. I won’t try to change your mind. Just make sure you know why you’re feeling it.”
He turned again, and this time nothing stopped him from walking out the door and disappearing into the hallway. Echo and Dahlia had gone silent. I guess our fight had trumped theirs. I wasn’t sure what to think. Was Royce right? Was I making too much of this? It was all so much. None of this made any sense, and being without Owen was like running through the forest without a compass. He had always been my shoulder, been my strength. And without him, I felt like I was floating free in the air with nothing and no one to anchor me.
“You’re glowing,” Casper said from beside me.
“What?” I answered. “I’m mad and all, but I wouldn’t say I was-.”
“No Cress.” He grabbed my hand and shoved it in front of my face. My palm was pulsating with white energy again, bright and flashing. “You’re glowing!”
“Damnit!” I screamed. “Royce!” I yelled down the hall, hoping he could get back to me in time. Hoping the energy wouldn’t-
When I woke up, I was on the floor, sprawled out with my hands at my sides. I knew it wasn’t like before, that I hadn’t been out for weeks or even days. They would have thrown me in a bed or something. Leaning up, I saw that, this time, I wasn’t the only one unconscious. Dahlia, Echo, and Royce (who must have come running back in after I called him) all lay against the cabin floor.
God in heaven, what was going on?
The entire room had been thrown into chaos. The table had been flipped over, all the cabinets were pulled out, and their contents were strewn everywhere. And worse than that, worst of all, that awful word ‘Damnatus’ was carved into every inch of available wall. I felt the knife in my hand. I had done this. I had done it all.
“Y-you okay?” Casper’s voice came from the corner. He was balled up, a piece of folded paper in his hand with his eyes red and puffy.
“Oh God, Casper!” I leaned up. “What-what happened?”
“You-the light.” His eyes were on the paper. His hands shook. “It knocked all of you out. Then you got up and started carving into the walls. I tried to stop you, but- but-“
“Did I hurt you?!” I asked, my stomach dipping into sickness at the thought.
“I’m fine,” he answered. “What would they do Cress, if they found the Damnatus?”
“The Council?” I asked, crawling toward him, pushing away broken dishes and discarded bits of table and chair. “They would keep him alive, to stop the prophecy from being fulfilled.”
“But what else?” He asked shakily. “Would they hurt her? They would keep her forever, right? She’d never have a normal life?”
“Her?” I asked, nearing him.
“And there are others, right? Allister Leeman’s people are still out there, and they want you to destroy the world. So they’d kill her.” His hands shook ever more, almost ripping the folded paper in half.
“Casper, what are you looking at?”
“It’s Wendy’s letter, the one I got before I came here. After you carved up the walls, you went and got it. You-you drew something.”
He handed it to me. The drawing was better than anything I could have ever done without supernatural help. A woman stood, black hair and high cheekbones. I had half expected to see the disappearing woman, the hallucination. But this woman was someone else entirely.
“I think that’s the Damnatus,” Casper said, biting back tears.
“Do-do you know her, Cass?” I asked. Unfolding the paper, I saw that the bottom half revealed that the woman in the drawing was not only modestly dressed, but she was extremely pregnant.
“Sorta,” Casper answered, wiping his glasses on his shirt. “The baby, it’s mine.”
Chapter 11
The Breath of the Dragon
Owen
The hatchet flew at my face again, its blade glistening as it circled toward me in the sunlight. It was nice to be outside, especially after spending so much time in the dungeons. But this, dodging swords, spears, and other various weapons, wasn’t exactly my idea of a homecoming.
I lunged to the left, letting the hatchet bury itself in the tree trunk behind me. Cursing under my breath, the ground came up hard to meet me, jarring my shoulder.
“Unacceptable!” Chant’s voice boomed from behind me, or was it in front of me? Truth be told, the old bastard was broadcasting in my head, so he could be anywhere. The Council member came trudging toward me, shimmering out of thin air and leaning against his cane. He had been a Council member, head Council member since before I was even born. It was my sacred duty as a Breaker to answer to him, to abide his orders and, most of all, to obey without question. But fate forgive me, I hated him.
Every time I looked at him, at that wrinkled face, at that salt and pepper receding hairline, all I could see was what had been stolen from me. I didn’t even care about the fact that he shot me. Bullets can be removed, wounds can heal. But what he took from me, what this place stole from my life, could never be reclaimed.
“I’m doing the best I can!” I sneered, a bit more aggressively than perhaps I should have.
“I doubt that very seriously,” Chant answered. “Especially given what you’ve showcased in the very recent past.” He nodded slightly. “Again!”
Suddenly more weaponry came hurtling toward me out of nowhere. This time, it was a mace and a bunch of arrows. As with everything that Chant conjured up, they were aimed straight for my face.
“Do what you know you are capable of!” Chant ordered just as the mace passed harmlessly through his chest, confirming my suspicion that the man before me was no more than a mental projection of himself. The weapons, however; they were more than real.
I stared at the mace, still able to see the arrows from the corner of my eye, and tried to concentrate. They wanted me to do what I did before, when I was tied to that chair and debased in front of the entire Hourglass. But I didn’t really understand what happened that day, and I certainly didn’t have the control to manifest it again.
I had set things on fire, set myself on fire. That’s what they told me after the fact. It had burned every stitch of clothing I had been wearing, burned the stage around me. But my body, my flesh and the hair on my head, remained untouched. They said it was because I was the Dragon and that my powers were changing. And not only that, but they had always been meant to. It sounded like garbage to me, and definitely not something I wanted to be part of. But what choice did I have? I was stuck here. Fate had seen to that in her infinite bitchy wisdom. And even if I hadn’t been, even if some magic exit door opened up leading me to Cresta, I wouldn’t be able to take it; not after what the crone said.
The mace was inches from my face, with the arrows not far behind, when I threw myself back on the ground. My already throbbing shoulder hit against the ground again and I winced and grunted. The arrows and mace whizzed by me, but this time, instead of slamming into a tree, they vanished into thin air.
“You disappoint me, Dragon,” Chant shook his head at me. “You disappoint me greatly.”
I rolled over, winded from all of this. It had been hours of throwing myself on the ground, of trying (and failing) to recreate the pyrotechnics of before. And it had been like that every day since I left the dungeon. The venue was always different. Sometimes, I was on a roof. Other times I was underground. Last week, I found myself standing on a floating plank in the middle of the lake, dodging menacing shade shark fins.
I couldn’t do this, not again. Whatever surged through me on tha
t stage, whatever produced that fire; it was beyond me now. But the Council didn’t believe that. They thought I was unable to recreate the phenomenon because I didn’t want to. And that was absolutely true. But who could blame me? They were training me to kill the woman I loved. Was it really a bad thing that I was a purposely slow learner?
“Maybe I just need a little incentive,” I stammered breathlessly, sitting straight up. The wind picked up, tickling my hair and setting Chant’s robe to swinging. Okay, so I get that they were ancient and sacred and all of that, but I never understood why the Council always had to walk around in those stupid robes. Maybe they were comfortable.
“Have you not had enough incentive?” Chant asked through clenched teeth. He was trying to be threatening and, to that end, he was terrifyingly successful. But we both knew that wasn’t what I was talking about.
I hadn’t seen my family since the day I had been taken into custody. I imagined that after I was released from the dungeon that would change. But it turned out that I was just moving from one prison to another.
“I want to see my family,” I said, certain of what his answer would be. It would be the same three words I had heard every time I had asked Chant or the other Council members that question.
“When you’re ready,” they’d all said. As though moving back into the house where I spent my entire childhood was something I needed to prepare for. Sure, seeing my father would be an unenviable task, but it always had been. And besides, seeing my mother and Sevie would more than make up for that.
Chant’s lips parted, and I prepared myself to hear those words again. “Very well.”
“What?!” I asked, jerking as he spoke.
“Personal peril has not provided the appropriate push. Perhaps we should try other methods.”
The way his words curled up made me uncomfortable. “What does that mean?” I asked, half dreading the answer.
A wicked smile drew across his face. He moved toward me and, even though he was nothing more than an illusion, his steps looked more than a little labored. “You’d like to see your loved ones. I’d like you to earn that luxury. Let’s see if we can’t, what do the Neanderthals say, kill two birds with one rock?”
The air beside him shimmered and suddenly I saw the Lightwood farmhouse. It was quiet and quaint, as it always had been in my youth. Still, the fact that I was even seeing it filled me with dread. What was Chant up to?
“Your father, mother, and ridiculously average younger brother have all been recused of their daily obligations.” His smile widened even more. “Which means that, at this moment, they are all currently residing in that house. “
“Chant, what are-“
“Do it!” He yelled into the ether. Suddenly, a streak of fire collided with the house, lighting up its modest wood and shutters.
“Chant!”
“I assure you, Dragon, there is no shade involved in what you are seeing now. The doors and windows have been locked. There is no way out. This is happening right now, really happening. And, if you don’t act quickly, your entire line will perish.”
“Me?” I asked, staggering to my feet. “What am I supposed to-“
“The fire, Dragon,” Chant said, leaning further onto his cane. “Put it out.”
Panic rose in my gut, licking up into my throat. “I can’t do that!” I moved frantically, darting forward as though it was really him, as though I could shake some sense into the hologram. “You know I can’t do that!”
“Well, then I suggest you learn. That is, if you value your family.”
My heart slammed up and down in my chest, begging to break through my ribcage. After all I had been through, the idea of my family in there; Mother, Sevie, and even Father, burning to death while I was forced to watch; was enough to break my psyche in half. My first instinct was to rush him, to either plead with Chant to reconsider this horrible course of action or to deck him across his entitled (and very wrinkled) face. But he wasn’t here, not actually. And pleading wouldn’t do any good. He had already proven that.
All I could do is what Chant wanted of me. I’d have to buckle down, grit my teeth, and throw up a prayer that this worked. If I couldn’t figure out how to put this fire out with my mind then the people I loved would all die fiery deaths. So, you know; normal people problems.
My fingers twitched at my sides as I squinted, trying to concentrate. I had seen Cresta do this sort of thing so many times, controlling shade all around her. She even said she could see the world as shade sometimes. If she were here, things would be okay. Even though Chant said this didn’t involve shade, that it was all real, she’d find a way to pull it off. That’s what she did. She won. And that was why they hated her. They were afraid, and rightfully so, that she was going to find a way to kick their collectively uptight asses.
That fear pushed everything they did. It was why I found myself where I was, and why my family was minutes away from being reduced to barbecue.
“I’m not going to forget this, Chant,” I warned, whittling a hole into him with my gaze.
“That’s a good dragon,” he smiled. “I’m counting on that long memory. It’ll serve you well in what’s to come.”
Disgust pooled in my gut, but I turned away from it long enough to focus on my house, on the fire that was licking its way up the walls. Something bit at my bones. I could feel it now, the fire. I felt the heat of it, reducing my home to ashes. I felt the way the wood bent and gave under its hungry onslaught. It seemed as though I was there, actually there and not just watching it from a distance. Hot wind blew on my face. Embers singed my skin as they landed on me. I had left my body. I was there, and I could stop it.
I lifted my arms, letting the connection between me and the flames grow stronger. It wasn’t like anything I had ever felt before. I had trained since I was a youngling in the ways of the Breakers. But this was different. This was real. It was deep. It was primal.
The flames began to recede and relief rushed through me. But no sooner was I beginning to make progress that something threw me off course. Pain, sharp and chaotic, pricked at my mind. I tried to hold my concentration, but it was no use. I was back in my body again, unable to stop the fire from continuing its rampage.
“Fate’s backhand!” I yelled, reverting back to an exclamation from my youth. “What the hell are you doing?! I can do it! Isn’t this what you want?!”
I expected to see that sick methodical smile on his face, but it was gone; replaced by cold seriousness…which was somehow worse.
“What I want is for you to fulfill your destiny. Your abilities are certainly unique and, given enough work, they might even be considered impressive. But that work cannot come easily. Anyone can flex a muscle with no resistance. To be the Dragon, to be the Breaker of lore, you’ll have to learn to be extraordinary even with the greatest of hindrances.”
“My family is going to die! What more hindrance do I need?!” I shouted. Fire overtook the house now, dancing up onto the roof. The smoke had probably already rendered them unconscious. I needed to act fast or there wouldn’t be anything left for me to save. I tried to focus back in on the flames, but the pain returned, rendering me as useless a clear sunglasses.
“That, dead Dragon; is motivation.” He pointed to the mouth of the forest. “That is a hindrance.” A form appeared in the distance, hazy at first, but as it neared, I saw that it was a man.
The man moved achingly slowly out of the darkness, inching forward as fire destroyed my home and very likely roasted my family.
“Chant, stop this!” I yelled, but as soon as the words left my mouth the pain spiked back through my mind. It was more now, so strong that it made my knees buckle and sent me sliding to the ground. Leaves crinkled under my body as I looked up. The figure came closer, out of the darkness. My eyes were blurry now though, watering from pain, but I could tell who it was. And the sight of him made my teeth grit.
“You’re a docile individual, Mr. Lightfoot,” Chant said, his voice creaking.
“We’ve delved into the unprotected pieces of your mind and found a shocking lack of edge for a Breaker who’s destined to engage in history’s greatest battle.” I heard his cane clap around my head. “Hate is what fuels a warrior, Mr. Lightfoot. It builds our defenses and steels our resolves. Hate is fire, and fire is the breath of the dragon.” The hilt of his cane slammed down into my line of sight. “We combed through your memories, through your mind. Your father was hard on you. He expected much. And, while your coldness toward him is founded, you do not hate him. You did not even hate Allister Leeman. Though he ruined your life, your feelings toward him are best described as terse pity. In fact, you have only ever hated one person in your short life.”
I looked up at the shaved head and broad shoulders that now towered over me, at the cackling smile that colored so many of my childhood nightmares.
“And Mr. Lightfoot,” Chant continued. “He’s standing in front of you.”
Chapter 12
Dead Boy
My life had never been an easy one. Father was a difficult man to live under. No matter how hard I tried, no matter how many of his bars I managed to clear, he never seemed to be satisfied. I used to think it was because of my destiny, because I was slotted to die young. Maybe Father thought if I was tough enough I might somehow manage to overcome what the Council called a ‘fixed point’.
But I had done that. With Mother’s help, I had managed to trade one fixed point in for another. And here I was, years past my expiration date and as alive as ever. But Father’s treatment only worsened.
Still, Chant was right. I never hated him. But Luca James, he was another story altogether.
When I found myself in baseline high school I realized that bullying was a petty, prevalent thing. Though they shouldn’t, it’s what kids did. They ostracized any tiny differences. But with Breakers, none of those differences mattered. Fate had a role for all of us, and no one was more important than the other. We all had our parts to play; everyone but me.
The Breakers Ultimatum (YA Urban Fantasy) (Fixed Points Book 3) Page 10
