Fractured Magic: Chapter Fifteen

Fractured Magic is a fantasy webserial about political and personal accountability, ghosts both figurative and literal, and a pair of estranged friends who act like they’ve gone through the world’s messiest divorce.

When Roman finally attacked, alarm quickly swept away the Enforcer’s irritation. He could barely keep up with Roman, could barely block each new swing in time. It wasn’t that he moved slowly. On the contrary, he moved faster, than anyone Maebhe had ever seen, almost too fast for her eyes to follow. Roman just moved faster.

Despite her various athletic pursuits, Maebhe knew little about fighting. Kieran had taught her basic self-defense, but watching this was like a farm boy with a plow horse judging the worldwide dressage finals.

When Roman attacked, the Enforcer dodged. When the Enforcer dodged, Roman feinted, spun, and swung, each clash of steel a sharp staccato, a squeal of metal. Roman struck the first blow, and Maebhe only knew it from the Enforcer’s grunt of pain and the crimson that bloomed across his thigh when they broke apart. He favored his uninjured leg, after that, as that crimson stain spread down his leg and soaked into the rug beneath them. They both stepped in and out of it as they fought, tracking blood across the florals. Maebhe felt ill watching it—as ill as the Enforcer looked. Sweat dotted his brow, panic and pain sank into the lines around his eyes. When he stumbled, Roman caught him with a heave kick that sent him flying into the table of weapons, which splintered and collapsed under his weight.

Maebhe scrambled out of the way in time, but when she reached back and her fingers brushed warm skin, she yelped. Behind her was the Enforcer girl Roman had knocked unconscious. For a horrifying moment, Maebhe thought the girl had awoken, but her chest rose and fell as steady as before, steady amidst the chaos. This close, Maebhe noticed something strange on the girl’s wrist: a fresh brand, a swirling loop with a sword running through it.

“Are you all right?” Roman asked, making Maebhe turn back around.

Why was he worrying about her? In the time he spent asking, his opponent scrambled to his feet. Roman had wasted his advantage just to make sure she was unharmed. “Fine!” Maebhe said, quickly.

Then the Enforcer attacked, and Roman could no longer talk. Belatedly remembering the gun from Ivey, Maebhe drew it and trained it on the two men but had to lower it again only seconds later. They were moving too fast. She couldn’t risk hitting Roman by mistake.

Finally pressing an opening, the Enforcer tackled Roman, catching him by the waist and making him drop his sword in his surprise. By the time they’d hit the ground, though, Roman had flipped their positions. Straddling the man, he threw a punch that cracked when it struck the man’s jaw. Roman swung again and again, the Enforcer struggling to buck him off until eventually, his struggling stopped. Even then, Roman didn’t stop hitting.

Maebhe pushed to her feet. “Roman, stop! Don’t kill him!” she cried. If she’d ever thought she could be okay with killing, she was wrong. She didn’t want anyone to die here—not for her, not for Kieran, not for Íde. She knew that, now.

Roman froze, his arm drawn back to deliver another blow. “Maebhe,” he said, breathlessly. His head was bowed, his curls falling to hide his eyes. “If you knew the things he’d done in Unity’s name, you’d be thanking me. I’m doing the world a favor.”

“Why do you get to decide that? Why do you get a second chance and he doesn’t? If someone had killed you, back when you still worked for them, there would’ve been no one alive today willing to help me. So wasn’t it good that you lived?”

Roman sat back, stunned, and dropped his arm. He stared at his bloody hands, avoiding her gaze. “We should keep moving, anyway,” he said, finally. When he looked up at her, Maebhe took an step back. Had his eyes always been so large? She remembered them being striking, but something seemed different. It was like both pupils and iris had blown wider, the cold black fixed on Maebhe, reflecting her face. Maybe that’s all it was—her own fear, her frightened expression, presented for her so clearly.

Before she could offer him a hand, he brushed her aside and hauled himself up. Maebhe looked away while he wiped his hands on a handkerchief, then his bloody boots on the rug so they wouldn’t leave a trail. He stepped over the Enforcer’s body, bloody but still breathing, and nodded at Maebhe. Together, they hurried through the common room, down a hall, and into a barren stairwell.

It was a good thing Dinara hadn’t come, Maebhe thought as they climbed. Good for Dinara and Roman, both, and for any future they might still have together. As if he was reading her thoughts, Roman looked back at her. His eyes were normal, Maebhe noticed. It must have been a trick of the light, before. “I have an answer to your earlier question.”

Maebhe looked at him, but his expression gave nothing away. “Yeah? Which one?”

“About Dinara. She...pushes. Right where it hurts. You’ve probably figured this out already, but I don’t like remembering my time with Unity, let alone talking about it. Dinara thinks all wounds can be healed by talking.”

“I get it,” Maebhe said. This time, she did. She had her own past that she hated to remember. “Kieran’s the same way. When I wouldn’t talk to him about our parents’ death, he found Íde. Someone who listens. But I...well, anyway, if this is your way of asking me not to tell her, I won’t.”

Roman sighed, and there was no mistaking the relief in it. “Thank you.”

“I should be the one thanking you,” Maebhe pointed out. When he made a face, she quickly added, “You can’t stop me. Thank you.”

Roman snorted. For all his talk of words not healing wounds, his step seemed lighter now that he’d spilled some of his secrets. “Hold your hands behind your back, like they’re tied,” he said, face settling back into a serious mask.

Before Maebhe could ask why, they rounded a corner, pushed through a door, and were greeted by a sudden breeze and the open sky. This must be the bridge connecting the barracks to the prison. It was a short walk to the imposing stone building, and Maebhe’s tail gave a nervous swish at the sight. But when she spotted the guard at the opposite door, she did as Roman said, just in time for him to spot them. He tensed and drew his rifle, but Roman strode confidently forward, dragging Maebhe by the upper arm as if she was a prisoner. Maebhe couldn’t help peering over the edge as they went, eyeing the blue-green water that stretched beneath them.

Once they were closer, Roman tugged up a sleeve and revealed a brand on his wrist, the same as the Enforcer girl’s but older, Roman’s scar dark, healed, and settled into his skin. The guard relaxed at the sight, returning his rifle to his side and nodding.

“Where are the other orinians being kept?” Roman asked, tone haughty.

“This floor, block six, sir,” the guard said, his eyes trained deferentially on the ground. Maebhe hoped he wouldn’t notice the blood spattered on Roman’s boots, but then, maybe that was a common sight when it came to these Enforcers. Maebhe doubted this guard’s fearful respect was merely a matter of rank.

She didn’t protest when Roman grabbed her arm again and dragged her into the prison, conveniently blocking the view of her unbound wrists with his body as he did. He released her as soon as they were inside, shot her a cheery wink, and started down a hallway seemingly at random. Compared to his demeanor back in those barracks, he’d lightened considerably, practically cheerful. In contrast, Maebhe slunk along quietly behind him. The normalcy of those barracks had lulled her into a sense of comfort; even with the fighting, she’d been able to forget where they were. Now, there was no forgetting. Stone floors, cold brick walls, and iron-barred cells surrounded her on all sides. This was nothing like Orean’s cramped, underfunded prison, which she’d toured when briefly considering a criminal justice major. Even without Unity’s crest stamped onto every flat surface, a prison of this magnitude could belong to no one else.

They passed cell after cell. Each contained a rickety bunk, a sink, a toilet, and little else—even including occupants. Most of the cells were empty, but passing the ones that weren’t, Maebhe ducked her head before she could make eye contact, guilt eating at her.

“Why...?” she whispered.

“Why is it so empty?” Roman finished. “Unity’s prison is only meant to be a short intermission for prisoners awaiting sentencing, execution, or transfer to a more permanent placement. The only exceptions are for those who’ve committed crimes with no prevailing jurisdiction, like maritime crime or crimes against Unity.”

Before Maebhe could respond, Roman dragged her into a shadowy alcove. They stood pressed to the wall, side by side, until the jingle of keys Roman had heard faded into the distance. Fortunately, the rest of the way was clear. It was as they passed down the next row of cells that they heard an incredulous voice call, “Maebhe?”

“Kieran!” Maebhe cried, forgetting to keep quiet. She rushed to Kieran’s cell, Kieran meeting her at its iron bars. She was so happy to see him she could cry. His eyes flicked to Roman and narrowed, then widened again when Roman pulled out Ivey’s lock-picking kit.

“Where’s Íde?” Maebhe asked.

“Here,” another voice called from across the aisle.

“Maebhe, why did you come here? How did you come here?” Kieran whispered. “This is reckless, even for you.”

“Scold me later,” Maebhe said as Roman got the cell door open. He unlocked Íde’s even faster, now used to the arrangement of the pins, and soon Maebhe was hugging them both at once. They were grimy and dirty, Íde’s dress torn and Kieran’s jaw bruised, but they were alive.

“A jailbreak in Unity’s prison?” asked a deep, unfamiliar voice. “What loyal friends you have.”

Maebhe jumped, half-drawing Ivey’s gun, but they were still alone in the hallway. There were no guards to be seen. Looking around, she realized the voice came from the hulking figure crouched in the corner of the cell beside Kieran’s.

“Drys!” Kieran said. He gave Roman a plaintive look. “Could you...?”

Roman was already at the door, working the lock.

“Drys was here when we were brought in,” Kieran explained. “There were others, too, but they...I don’t know what happened to them. We’re the only ones left.”

Roman pushed the door open, but when the figure made no move to rise, he slipped inside and crouched beside them, using his tools again to unlock the manacles around the stranger’s wrists. While he worked, Kieran sidled closer to Maebhe. “Mae, who is this guy?” he asked. His whisper was loud in the quiet hall, and Maebhe flicked an ear. “Where’d you find him? Why’s he so good with thieves’ tools?”

Maebhe shushed him. In the cell, the lock clicked and the figure rose. Maebhe had thought their silhouette too large to be human, and she was right: when Drys stretched, a pair of wings unfurled behind them. Maebhe tried not to stare. She’d never met one of the fae before.

“Thank you,” the faerie told Roman. “I owe you a great debt.”

Evidently knowing a thing or two about the fae, Roman didn’t argue, only inclined his head in acknowledgement. When the faerie stepped out of the cell, into the light, Maebhe gasped. They cut an impressive figure, all willowy curves, corded muscle, and silky dark hair, but the gasp was for their injuries. Cuts ran along their wrists where the manacles dug in, and bruises covered their bare shoulders. Worst of all was the state of their wings. The feathers looked yellowish, but it was hard to tell their true color behind the filth, dried blood, and matted feathers.

Drys, standing tall despite their injuries, arched an eyebrow at Maebhe. The dark purple bags under their eyes should’ve lessened the look’s intensity, but Maebhe shivered all the same. She squared her shoulders, stuck a hand out. “Call me Maebhe. I’m Kieran’s sister.”

“Drys Homeborn,” Drys countered, shaking her hand. A smile played at the corner of their lips. “That’s a lovely name, Maybe.”

“May-vuh,” Maebhe corrected.

“And who are you?” Kieran finally asked Roman.

“Don’t look at him like that! He just saved you!” Maebhe hissed, elbowing him.

“It’s understandable. I am awfully good at thieves’ tools,” Roman said. Kieran flushed when he realized Roman had heard, but Roman ignored Kieran’s mumbled apologies and dropped into a hasty bow. “Roman Hallisey, at your service. I’d introduce myself further, but we should leave that for when we’re off this damned island. Let’s go, quick.”

And with that, Roman and Maebhe hurried the group back the way they’d came, the others dutifully following. When they neared the bridge, Roman said, “Maebhe, get Ivey’s revolver ready.”

“She has a revolver?” Kieran asked. “She’s never shot a revolver in her life!”

“Just because I haven’t doesn’t mean I can’t. I know the theory,” Maebhe sniffed. “And I’ve fired dad’s hunting rifle.”

Roman gave her a stern look. “Give the gun to your brother.”

Maebhe sighed and passed Kieran the revolver.

Of course, they wouldn’t make it past the guard on the bridge so easily a second time. Not with the size of their new group. When the guard saw them, Roman held a finger to his lips. Somehow, that simple action was enough to freeze the guard in place, staying his tongue so quickly he choked on his own saliva. Maebhe suspected it was thanks to the brand on Roman’s wrist, peeking out from under his sleeve cuff.

“Speak,” Roman warned, voice low, “And my friend shoots. Or worse, I’ll kill you myself. You don’t want that.”

The guard must have agreed, because he stayed miraculously silent while Roman used a length of rope from Ivey’s bag to bind him to the iron sconce protruding from the prison-side wall. Their luck couldn’t last forever, though, and neither could the guard’s silence. They’d only made it halfway across the bridge when duty finally outweighed fear and the guard started shouting for help. Roman swore and broke into a run, and the others followed suit.

They passed back through the doors and over to the stairwell, but before they could even start down it, Maebhe flung an arm out to stop them. In the silence, they all heard what Maebhe’s sensitive ears had caught first: several sets of footsteps hurrying up toward them. “What do we do?” Maebhe asked, her long ears pricking toward the sound.

“Get back to the bridge,” Roman said, his tone leaving no room for questions.

Back in the salty air, a second guard had arrived from the prison side to untie the first. Both groups froze momentarily, and then the new guard scrambled for his gun. Kieran was faster, though; he aimed the revolver and called, “Step away with your hands up!”

The guard hastily obeyed, his hands held above his head.

“Why did we turn around? Do we go back through the prison?” Kieran asked Roman.

Roman shook his head. “A group this size? We’d be caught before we even reached the front doors. The barracks are the only way out, but I can’t protect you all in that wide stairwell. This position will be easier to defend. Just make sure we’re not ambushed on the prison side.”

Maebhe peered over the low brick wall, down to the water. Maybe the barracks weren’t the only way. “Drys, can you fly? How many can you carry?”

Drys grimaced, but said, “Yes, but with my wings like this, only one at a time.”

“Take Íde down to the beach,” Maebhe said, pointing over the wall, “Then come back up for us. If you can carry all of us, Roman only has to stall, not beat them.”

Drys’ grimace grew, looking over the four of them, but they only sighed and promised, “I will try.” With that, they scooped Íde into their arms and launched them both into the open air, the snap of their wings accompanied by the rushing wind and Íde’s screams. Kieran’s eyes widened, watching his fiancée go, but he resisted the urge to run to the wall and watch, his gun still steadily trained on the guards.

Just then, the barracks-side door flew open and three people stepped onto the bridge. One was the Enforcer from their earlier fight, his face ghastly but his spite keeping him on his feet. His leg had been wrapped in a makeshift tourniquet, and he’d recovered his sword. The second was a towering dryad, the third, leading the group, was a woman with vivid red hair and feather-textured skin. After spending time with Ivey, Maebhe recognized her as maranet. She stopped abruptly, her eyes widening when she saw Roman. Though already pale, she seemed to go paler at the sight of him.

“You,” she breathed. “That’s impossible.”

“If you think so, then let’s call me a figment of your imagination and let me pass,” Roman said with a grin. She clearly knew him, but if he recognized her, he gave no indication.

The woman bared her teeth at him, revealing two sets of sharp fangs. Before she could respond, the Enforcer from before pushed past in a rage, even as she tried grabbing his arm to stop him. This time, there was no great fight. Roman dodged the man’s messy swing and grabbed his arm, using his own momentum to carry him into a spin that launched him over the side of the bridge. He screamed as he fell, and Maebhe knew she would never forget the sound.

Trying to take advantage of the chaos, the guard on the prison-side raised his rifle, but Kieran fired a warning shot at his feet. “Drop it!” Kieran called. “Over the wall, or I shoot!”

The guard obediently threw his rifle over the side, right after Roman’s Enforcer. When Kieran lowered his gun again, though, the guard launched himself through the door into the prison, the heavy door slamming shut behind him before Kieran could get another shot off. He was gone, and it could only be to get reinforcements. Who knew how quickly they’d arrive.

Kieran swore and took a step as if to follow, but Maebhe grabbed his arm. “Just wait for Drys!”

On the other side of the bridge, the maranet woman also sprang into action. She drew the sword strapped to her back and surged forward, as fast as lightning. Roman raised his own sword to meet her, but instead of charging him, she ducked past and headed for Maebhe instead. Only Roman’s speed saved Maebhe; he shifted his weight and launched himself at the woman, slamming her shoulder-first into the bridge wall and nearly making her drop her sword over the edge. She grunted in pain, but between one moment and the next, a knife appeared in her free hand. Roman had to push away fast to avoid its blade.

Fast as he was, though, he couldn’t dodge it entirely. He flung himself to the opposite wall, but he was grimacing by the time he hit it, the cream of his shirt sleeve rapidly turning vivid red. The woman followed him, slashing with her knife, a snarl on her face. Roman dodged each time, but when she brought the blade down in a clean arc toward his heart, he only had time to raise a hand against it. It pierced through his palm to the other side, but the sacrifice at least stopped the knife’s progress: it stuck in his hand with the tip less than an inch from his chest. Gasping, Roman used the leverage to wrench the knife from the woman’s hand, his expression twisting even further with pain.

“Roman!” Maebhe cried.

The woman retreated several steps, as if to give Roman time to recover. Maebhe thought it odd, but then the woman clicked her tongue disappointedly and said, “The last time we met, you didn’t fight back. I see you’re holding back this time, too. Why won’t you give it your all?”

Roman smiled as he pulled the blade out of his hand. It wasn’t one of his cheerful, fake smiles; it was dark and twisted and made Maebhe shiver. “If I gave it my all, Bellona, you’d be dead in seconds.”

“It’s Evelyne!” the woman snapped, charging him again.

Maebhe couldn’t watch. He was only injured because of her, because this Evelyne knew that Maebhe was a weakness to exploit. She peered nervously over the wall just as Drys reappeared, their wings causing a gust of wind that blew her hair back.

It was then the maranet realized what they were doing, how they planned to escape. She whipped around to shout at her remaining comrade, “Gather as many as you can and get down to the beach!”

The dryad nodded and turned to run back into the barracks.

“No, you don’t!” Roman threw the knife, and Maebhe watched it spin as if in slow-motion. It hit its target, sinking deep into the dryad’s shoulder and making him stumble, but he managed to push through the door anyway and disappeared from sight.

With reinforcements coming from both ends, they were officially out of time.

“Get Kieran!” Maebhe shouted at Drys. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll make my own way down!”

“What does that mean?” Kieran asked, but Maebhe was already climbing onto the wall. Behind her, Roman and the maranet woman were circling each other, but seeing this, they both paused to stare.

Maebhe met Roman’s gaze. With the orinians out of his way, he wouldn’t have to hold back. Roman seemed to understand her plan, because he nodded. “Go! Don’t wait for me,” he called.

Maebhe’s heart clenched. Despite the fear running through her in violent tremors, she nodded back. “Good luck.”

“Maebhe, wait—,” Kieran started.

But there was no time. She steadied herself and jumped, hearing Kieran shout her name as the sea rose up to greet her.

Whew, this chapter is intense! I think it's one of my personal favorites, in terms of streams crossing. Evelyne and our orinians, face to face! And what's up with her and Roman? What past do those two have? Also, quite the cliff hanger, huh? (Or maybe cliff jumper?)

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