Fractured Magic: Egil Interlude III

154 Years Ago
Year of Unity 1726

Egil’s first visit to Damael was anything but glamorous. He limped into the city with the setting suns, fighting a sea of farmers and tradesmen leaving after a long day at market. He hadn’t expected the crowds, but Damael was currently the safest city in the Ejeran province, the rest of it still reeling from the dissolution of an empire that had ruled since the Great War. While the empire’s scraps made desperate bids for control, quelling rebellions and establishing outposts, deserters and opportunity-seekers took advantage of the chaos to steal and fight and kill.

Then even Unity’s grip on the province had crumbled, letting lawlessness reign.

It was the lawlessness that had drawn Egil in. He’d thought to lend aid where he could, but he hadn’t expected to arrive at the same time as Unity’s reinforcements. He’d barely escaped with his life. That was why his first steps into Damael were slow and staggering, why a bruise bloomed along his jaw and a makeshift tourniquet wrapped around his thigh, slowing the flow of blood from a wound he hadn’t had time to stitch up.

Damael was easy to slip into, at least. Its people had no fear; their Oracle had told them all would be well. It was quieter than he preferred, though. His thoughts were too loud; he needed them drowned out. Worse than that, he always stood out in quiet places. He couldn’t afford to do so now, with Unity’s Enforcers on his trail.

He wandered Damael until he found the loudest pocket of it, a district where strangers passed by in large, merry groups, where strains of music and sweet perfume drifted out of questionable establishments, where patrons of taverns and opium dens and dance halls leaned out from balconies, calling drunkenly into the night. It was bright and loud and colorful and here, Egil could disappear. He rented a room at a middling inn, busy but not flashy, and retreated upstairs to tend his wounds. Only hours later, when he was hungry and could no longer stand the company of his own thoughts, did he venture back down.

In the common room, strangers sat in groups around mismatched tables. Warm firelight flickered over their faces and set the golden oak walls and furniture aglow. A group gathered at the bar, a man at the center animatedly sharing local gossip and a woman in red hanging off his arm. When Egil paused to listen, the woman met his gaze. A shiver ran down Egil's spine, surprising him; he ducked his head and hurried over to an empty table in the corner.

That the people could laugh and be at ease like this must have been because of the city's strange figurehead, the Oracle of Damael. She was supposed to be a true Oracle. Not a fortune teller, reading individual fates in cards and bones, not a rosanin with an unusual gift, but an Oracle ordained by the church and consulted by empire, rebellion, and Unity alike. While the empire had ruled since the Great War, the Oracle had ruled her city for even longer. Intrigued as Egil was, he had no time to investigate. By morning, the Enforcers would be here and he would be gone.

He jolted to attention when someone fell into the seat across from him, the knife at his thigh halfway out of its sheath before he recognized the red crepe fabric of the woman from the bar. She was nympherai — fae, Egil guessed, though she lacked the telltale wings. A thick braid secured her white hair and a glittering pattern twisted over her bronze skin like dancing flames. She watched him through long white eyelashes.

“You're new here,” she slurred, half-draping herself over the table.

“Is it that obvious?”

The woman gave a breathless laugh and tucked a lock of hair behind her pointed ear. “No, but I'd remember a face like yours.”

Egil smiled back. “It's best if you don't.”

“Don’t remember you? Ah, well, I probably won’t remember much of anything tomorrow.” She leaned in, her heavy earrings swaying with the movement; Egil expected the smell of booze to follow, but it never came. “Will you give me your name? We can make a trade of it: mine’s Dev.”

Egil raised an eyebrow at her. Usually, introductions with the fae were more of an ordeal. “Egil?”

Dev gasped, her dark eyes widening. “The Hound of Unity himself, here in Damael.”

Egil stiffened. “How do you know that name?”

“Everyone knows that name. They just don’t know Egil belongs to it,” Dev said.

“But you do,” Egil said, easing his knife out of its sheath.

“I've heard some things about you, Hound. For example, I've heard that you have magic. Is it true? Can you show me?”

“Only if you tell me why you sought me out.”

“What makes you think I—,” Dev started. Swiftly, Egil drew his knife and drove it into the table — right into the space between Dev's first finger and thumb. She squawked and pulled her hand to her chest, cradling it there. “What is wrong with you?! You could've stabbed me!”

“The Hound of Unity doesn't miss,” Egil hissed, pulling his knife out of the wood. “Call me that again and the next one goes into your hand.”

Dev bared her teeth into a snarl. “You—”

“That was the first real reaction I've seen from you all evening,” Egil said cheerfully, pointing his knife at her. “No more pretending. You knew who I was the moment our eyes met. I suspect you even came here looking for me. If you’re ready to talk like adults, tell me what you want.”

Dev sighed and straightened in her seat, draping an arm over the back of the booth. “What gave me away?” she asked coolly, the slur gone from her words.

“I can always tell good acting from bad. Yours may be good, but it’s still acting.”

Dev tsked, then smiled. It was sharp, predatory, and nothing like the saccharine one from before. “Is it so hard to believe I came over simply because I find you attractive?”

“I'm covered in dirt and blood. I haven't slept under a roof in a week, and I’m long overdue for a bath. Yes, it's hard to believe. Especially when I know for a fact I'm being hunted.”

“By the Enforcers, I presume?” Dev asked. She said the name so casually, without fear — it was a name sensible people whispered. “Aren't you worried I'm with them?”

“No,” Egil said.

“Oh?” Dev asked, raising an elegant eyebrow. “Should I feel insulted?”

“You can always recognize an Enforcer by their eyes,” Egil said, ducking his head slightly to meet Dev’s. Hers were dark and warm. “Killing for Unity makes you hollow. Their eyes are always cold, empty.”

“Like yours?” Dev asked.

Egil rapped a knuckle on the table. “Exactly.”

“The Hound was supposed to be the best of them once, wasn’t he?”

“The best and the first,” Egil agreed. He tipped his head to once side, letting the candlelight fall on the blossoming bruise on his jaw. “But that was a long time ago. The student has since surpassed the Master.”

“Oh,” Dev said, leaning in to examine it. “A gift from someone you knew?”

“My former apprentice,” Egil said. “Are you really here to chat about Unity, Devikra? Or do you prefer Oracle?”

Devikra stilled, then laughed. “From you, still Dev,” she said, smiling. It was wide and honest. “I was wondering how long it would take you.”

“In my defense, I’ve lost a great deal of blood,” Egil said, matching her smile. “To what do I owe the honor? Unless the famed Oracle of Damael often frequents grungy inns in Damael’s pleasure district?”

“The Enforcers are coming for you, and sooner than you think,” Devikra said plainly, making Egil's stomach twist, “They'll be here within the hour. If you're still here by then, you won't leave this place alive.”

Egil kept his smile carefully in place. “I've escaped them before.”

“Not this time. Not tonight. You should know that the Oracle’s visions are never wrong,” Devikra said with utter surety. Egil scanned the room, already planning a quick escape, but Devikra halted his thoughts with her offer: “Come back with me. They won’t find you at my temple. I'm feeling generous, so I'll even lend you use of my bathtub.”

Egil narrowed his eyes. “The Oracle has been known to work with Unity. How do I know you won't turn me over to them?”

“I work with Unity because it would be bad business not to. It would be just as silly to turn you over to them when I could employ you instead. So come back with me and hear my offer; that's all I want in exchange for my hospitality,” Devikra said. She reached out, placing her hand over Egil’s, and he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. “Besides, I have a vested interest in keeping you alive. Don't ask me more, because I can't tell you.”

Across the room, a waitress dropped a glass, shattering it on the ground. Egil jumped at the sound, and Devikra said, “Better decide quick, Hound: this is the start of the vision. Will you come with me?”

Egil met her warm gaze. To his surprise, he found he wanted to trust her, if only to have someone to trust. He'd been alone for so long. Warmth flowed from her hand on his, and he couldn't remember when he'd last been touched so gently.

He nodded.

Devikra had already planned them an escape: out the back, a messenger dragon waited to bear them to safety. He bowed low when he saw the Oracle, cheating one shoulder down so Devikra and Egil could climb onto his back. While Egil followed the Oracle up, he winced, the movements tugging his new stitches.

The dragon was off as soon as they'd settled, treating Egil to an aerial view of Damael. It was larger than he'd realized; even with the dragon's speed, it took them twenty minutes to reach the other end of town, where the dragon finally made a circling descent in front of a towering stone Temple of Ellaes. As he climbed down, back to solid ground, Egil craned his neck to admire the statue of the goddess that stood in the square, with her enigmatic smile and dragonfly's wings spread in warm invitation.

Ellaes, the patron goddess of the nympherai. He hadn’t realized the Oracle made her home in one of the goddess’s temples.

“My suites are at its heart,” Devikra explained, as if guessing his thoughts. “All of the Oracle's work is to honor Her.”

Devikra led him around the building, then down a hidden staircase. Before she even reached the door at the bottom, it was swinging open, answered by an alfar woman with long ears and close-cropped hair. She glanced over Egil curiously before dropping into a curtsy.

“My handmaiden, Wilhara,” Devikra told Egil, skipping the last few steps to where Wilhara waited. “Did anyone notice I was gone, Wil?”

Wilhara answered with another curtsy, then stepped aside to let them in. “All was quiet.”

“Thank you for watching the place, dearest. I know you don't like being left alone,” Devikra said to the girl, dropping her voice low. Egil looked away, not sure he was supposed to hear.

The room beyond was wide and comfortable, lit by a smattering of candles and a lively fire in the stone fireplace. Near it, two sofas faced each other, pillows of varying sizes stacked on and around them. There were no windows, but a corridor at the back led deeper inside, the faint smell of incense wafting through. Once the door was bolted behind them, Wilhara dismissed them almost entirely. She sat near the fire, on a cushion on the floor, and pulled a large book into her lap. She didn't so much as glance up at Egil or Devikra again.

“I'm sure someone noticed our arrival, just now,” Devikra said, heading for the corridor at the back. “Wait here; they don’t like me leaving unannounced, so I have to go smooth some ruffled feathers.”

As soon as she was gone, Egil moved to the sofa across from Wilhara, foregoing it at the last moment to join her on the ground. When he winced at the movement, Wilhara looked up, watching his mouth and not his eyes. “You're hurt,” she said, more fact than question. “The Enforcers found you on the road today.”

“Does everyone here know about them?”

Wilhara dropped her gaze. “The Oracle has seen them many times.”

“She tells you what she sees?” Egil guessed, subconsciously lowering his voice to match Wil's soft tone. She relaxed, at that, looking back up at him.

“Dev tells me everything.”

“I see.”

Wil tugged nervously at the fabrics of her skirt, jostling the book on her lap enough that Egil could see the pages of a sketchbook covered in charcoal. “What are you drawing?” he asked.

“I don't know yet.”

“Do you mind if I watch?”

Wil bit her lip, considering, then shook her head. When she drew again, her eyes were distant, her hand seeming to move across the page without conscious thought. Egil felt content to watch in silence, enjoying the rare peace of the moment.

“She must like you,” Devikra suddenly said. She didn't startle Egil — he'd heard her coming down the hall — but he wasn't prepared for the sound of her voice and found himself tensing. “She never works with other people present.”

“Works?” Egil asked.

Devikra didn't explain further, claiming the sofa behind Wil and sprawling out. Her head tipped back, her eyes closed, she asked, “How much do you know about my operation here?”

“I know you take appointments, that people ask you about their futures,” Egil said.

“There's much more to it, though I try to keep the rest quiet. If the general populace knew everything, they might think of me as...well, not a false prophet, but perhaps a disingenuous one. The Oracle's visions predict the future — that much is true, but the visions are only flashes without context. There's no controlling what's seen or when. I'm sure you can imagine how inconvenient that is, seeing only fleeting glimpses of such a great world.” She looked over at him. Same as back at the inn, he found it difficult to look away from her dark eyes.

“For a long time, I struggled with how to use this gift. The visions would predict terrible things, and I didn't know enough to interpret them, to recognize what was happening — not until after they came to pass. It’s knowledge, I've found, that is key. The more I know of the world, the more I see of it, the better I can understand what the visions predict. I found you today only because an acolyte recognized the inn when I described it — goddess knows how. That's not my business. Do you see? I consult with world leaders so I can put names to faces. If they ever appear in visions, then I will know them.”

“I see.”

“In the end, I created a...well, I suppose you could call it a business around the collection of knowledge. I have agents everywhere, listening to the world and reporting happenings back to me. Painting images of places and collecting information.”

“This is your proposal? You're asking me to be a spy?” Egil guessed.

“No, I imagine you've had enough of that.”

“Then what do you want from me?”

“There's another step in the process, one that comes after the visions. If I can interpret them quickly enough, I can soften the damage. If a vision shows a house burning, while I can't stop the fire, I can evacuate the building before the match is even set. But I'm only one woman; I can't be everywhere at once. I need help.”

“Why me?” Egil asked. “Knowing who I am? What I’ve done?”

“It's because of your work for Unity that I'm interested in you,” Devikra said with a smile. She sat up, leaned forward, eyes bright. “In all the world, there is only one information network better than my own: the Enforcers. And you used to lead them! That, and you remind me of someone very dear to me.”

Wilhara looked up at that, searching Egil's face closely. When Egil met her eye, she ducked her head.

“What do you say? If you work with me, I can make you a hero,” Devikra said.

Egil dropped his gaze to the woven rug, tracing the pattern with his eyes. He’d done terrible things for Unity. No matter how much he wanted to, he could never fully atone, but that wouldn’t stop him from trying. He wanted the Hound dead. He wanted Egil to be someone who does good. He wanted, so desperately, to be a hero.

“Count me in.”

Present Day
Year of Unity 1880

Aleksir jumped at a sudden clang in the darkness. A dim light flicked on in the hallway, and Aleksir hastily sat up when he heard footsteps headed his way. He may be cold and hungry, dirty and mussed from his day spent in the county jailhouse, but damn it all, he still had his pride.

The shadow of the constable that had caught him stopped at his cell door, his wide mouth pulled into an ugly frown. “You’ve got friends in high places, kid,” he grumbled. “You’re lucky.”

Aleksir’s breath caught. Had Devikra come to rescue him? So quickly? Disappointment followed his initial burst of excitement at the thought. She’d almost certainly pull him from the field for this.

But the voice that answered wasn’t Devikra’s. “And you’re lucky he’s still in one piece. If you’d hurt him, I would have been very unhappy.”

The speaker stepped into the light, his black eyes unusually bright, his dark curls falling into his face. His smile was softer than Aleksir had seen it, forming two perfect dimples on his cheeks. It froze over, though, when he looked at the constable and asked, “Well?”

The constable scrambled to unlock the cell door.

“Egil,” Aleksir breathed, but Egil held a finger to his lips. His hand was heavily bandaged, Aleksir noticed, a red stain leaking through the white fabric right over his palm.

“Come on, kid,” Egil said, once the door was unlocked. “We’re leaving.”

Aleksir didn’t hesitate, shooting the officer a glare as he scurried past. “How—?” he started to ask Egil.

“I called in a favor,” Egil said, simply. He glanced at Aleksir thoughtfully as they walked, and after a moment, ruffled Aleksir’s hair. “You did well today.”

Aleksir almost tripped over his own feet. It was almost alarming, how quickly tears sprung to his eyes and threatened to spill over. He watched Egil, eyes wide. “You...really?”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

Aleksir sniffed. He scrubbed surreptitiously at his eyes. “Oh.” Slowly, a smile spread across Aleksir’s face. By the time they left the small jail, there was a new spring in his step. He could’ve sworn Egil was biting back a smile, too.

“What about Maebhe? Did your friend get her family back?”

“He did,” Egil said. “They should be on their way back to Orean, by now.”

🙂

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