Severance Lost (Fractal Forsaken Series Book 1)

by Unknown

  Then I’d like to thank the people that helped turn this story into a book. Ben Barnhart provided the editorial feedback for me when he wasn’t dropping a bunch of knowledge on his writing students, and Abby Haddican did the amazing cover art. I quickly learned to trust anything she said. She also designed the website, and Josh Labau built the bones of it so that it runs as good as it looks (please visit www.jllorenquill.com). I’m extremely lucky to have found a team of people that can act professionally without sucking the fun out of everything. I can’t thank you enough and look forward to working with you again.

  Finally, I’d like to thank you - the reader. I’ve tried to write the type of book I like to read and if I succeeded, please tell me (email), your friends, or the millions on the internet by graciously writing a review. Even if I failed in some regards, please let me know and I might do better next time. I had so much fun writing Severance Lost that I kept writing my next book in the Fractal Forsaken Series. Please enjoy the sample chapter and consider purchasing Shadow Cursed (available now). Did you notice the available now comment? That’s because I didn’t publish this book until I knew how the whole story plays out. I can’t wait to share it with you!

  OTHER BOOKS BY J. LLOREN QUILL

  Shadow Cursed – Fractal Forsaken Book 2

  Please enjoy a sample of the prologue and first chapter from Shadow Cursed

  PROLOGUE

  Hunger. Farmers fight hunger during a long day working the fields. Travelers fight hunger with carefully packed rations. Gluttons fight hunger with eager excess. Like the land of Malethya, hunger inspires people to fight. They fight for different reasons, but they all fight.

  Rosana Regallo contemplated hunger while examining the plate before her. The blight had spread to the southern provinces and it was difficult to find food untouched by the disease. Spots of wilted brown lifelessness mottled the fresh red tomatoes. The speckled rot touched everything on her plate and she carefully carved around the sickened food with her throwing knife, conscious of the fact that all of this was her fault. She had used blood magic to save Slate Severance and blood magic had a cost. This time it was the blight. Even knowing the consequences of her actions, she would have made the same decision again. Her brother ruled the Kingdom and enslaved the minds of all those who opposed him, and she needed Slate’s help to stop him.

  If the people of Malethya needed to pick at their food and fight hunger, it was a small price to pay. Their concerns paled in comparison to Sana’s hunger. Food could not quench her hunger. She set the tomato down and pushed the plate away. Her hunger ran deeper.

  Some people had the slow, burning hunger for power or wealth, insatiably striving for more and more. Theirs was the hunger of greed. Her hunger ran deeper.

  Others fought the hunger of addiction. Their hunger changed to a physical need, a necessity of life that must be fulfilled, but even they could fight and overcome the hunger within them.

  Sana looked at her hand. Black specks periodically interrupted the smoothness of her skin. The blight slowly devoured her from within. The inevitable hunger of the blight devoured all that it came in contact with and spread until there was nothing left. The hunger could not be satisfied. The more it devoured, the hungrier it became. It would kill her, and she bore this burden by choice. It was the only way to save Malethya. If she were given the chance, the opportunity, to relive those decisions, she would make them again. The Sicarius Headmaster did what needed to be done, because others lacked the strength to do so…

  CHAPTER ONE

  DECEPTION OF THE INFIRMED

  “Who are you today?” The infirmary wizard in charge of her care asked. Rosana contemplated that same question with every sunrise.

  Rosana sat in her padded room and obediently answered. “I am the sister of the blood mage that rules Malethya from the shadows.” Rosana could convincingly play the part of many Malethyans, but the truth was often better than a lie. “He is controlling King Darik and will bring ruin to this land.”

  The wizard from the mental health unit of the infirmary scribbled some notes on a piece of paper. He had introduced himself as Master Meikel, and he had been in charge of Rosana’s care since her admittance. Meikel raised an eyebrow slightly while writing. Rosana read the mannerism as part academic intrigue mixed with pity and the slightest bit of contempt for his inferiors. After contemplating the mental state of his patient for a while, Meikel delivered his professional, slightly exaggerated smile that he reserved for masking his emotions while addressing the insane. “There hasn’t been a blood mage in Malethya in centuries. They are terrors from campfire stories told to frighten children. You have nothing to worry about.”

  “You are right.” It was impossible to argue with someone that thought you were insane. “If I’m not the sister of a blood mage, who should I be?”

  “That is a question for you to answer. I am here to listen and to help. All I can tell you is that you appeared at our doorstep several days ago with symptoms of schizophrenia. So far you have claimed to be the lost relative of a blood mage, a former member of a covert spy ring, an assassin employed by the king, and the lover of a notorious criminal. After observing you, I worry that your mind has been lost to your own fantasies.” Meikel thought for a moment and then came to a decision. “Treatment will begin tomorrow. Maybe then you will regain enough of your faculties to tell me your name.”

  The summary of her life did reek of fantasy, but she never anticipated that it would get her labeled insane. Rose Regallo was the compassionate sister of Lattimer, but as she grew up, she rejected becoming Rosana Regallo, splitting the older version of herself into a different part of her mind to keep the compassion of her youth alive. Her father, Brannon, noticed her internal conflict and enlisted the aid of his Ispirtu wizards to heal her. After months of experimentation, rumors of the troubled Regallo child reached the Sicarius Guild and the Headmaster got in contact with her. He viewed her condition, one in which she could split her personalities but access either of them at a given time, a rare and wonderful gift. Rosana escaped to the Sicarius Guild and became Malethya’s most deadly assassin. The necessity and brutality of her craft troubled Rosana and Rose, so she created the Sicarius Headmaster, a nameless figure who did what needed to be done regardless of the means. During the travels of the Sicarius Headmaster she met Lucus, a wizard searching for an apprentice and, seeing the opportunity for training outside of Ispirtu’s walls, created the personality of Sana, whose logic and attention to detail helped her studies in pattern-based magic. Now she was Rosana, Rose, Sana, and the Sicarius Headmaster. Her personalities changed based upon the situation although disagreements between herselves did arise occasionally. Right now, Sana’s plan required a diagnosis that kept her in the infirmary, and jumping between herselves while talking to Meikel was a simple way to execute the Sicarius Headmaster’s mission.

  Rosana leaned forward in the chair that was bolted to the floor to show her eagerness for treatment. She quietly gripped the front of her shirt in feigned trepidation and pumped the infirmary wizard for information by asking, “What type of treatment? Will it help me?”

  “The infirmary has made dramatic strides in the areas of mental illness by applying variations of our techniques for healing other parts of the body. For typical injuries, like stabbings or blunt trauma, we use probing spells to diagnose injuries to muscle or bone and then heal the patient. We cast these spells and move very methodically through the injured tissue without lasting consequences to the patient. In our studies of the human mind, we have discovered that some patients with similar cases to yours can benefit from probing spells conducted at high frequencies. It won’t hurt, so I recommend you get a good night’s sleep and try to relax.”

  Sana was intimately familiar with probing spells due to her training under Lucus, but she wasn’t familiar with this technique. It sounded like the infirmary wizards used the probing spell to jump back and forth within the brain to scramble the signals. When the spell stopped, hope
fully whatever signals were crossed in the schizophrenic mind became untangled. Sana didn’t want to find out what the spell would do to her brain. Rosana, Rose, and the Sicarius Headmaster agreed.

  Rose looked out the locked window of her room into the courtyards surrounding the infirmary and admired the immaculate gardens with their flowers in full bloom. It reminded her that a full winter had passed since her brother, Lattimer Regallo, seized control of the Malethya. He was the first blood mage in Malethya for centuries, and he grew in power with every second that passed. But he was the little brother who snuck into my room at night during storms because the thunder scared him. I don’t want to think of him as the blood mage who has subjugated King Darik’s mind and controlled the kingdom’s armies from his Ispirtu tower, choosing to rule through Darik and keeping the citizens unaware of the danger they faced. Sana looked at the beauty of the flowers in the gardens. How long will it be before darkness covers the land. Time moves too quickly. The Sicarius Headmaster needs to act before all the beauty in the world disappeared.

  Rose asked Master Meikel with sweetness and innocence in her voice, “Could I take a walk in the courtyards? I’m nervous about the treatments tomorrow and walking through the gardens may help me relax.”

  Meikel smiled at her, and this time Rosana knew it was genuine. “We believe in many forms of healing in the infirmary and encourage our patients to explore our gardens as a holistic form of therapy. I will ask an orderly to escort you there.” Rose smiled in gratitude as the wizard left the room.

  In her few moments alone, the Sicarius Headmaster hurried to her bed. A room in the mental ward of the infirmary provided precious few opportunities to hide anything, but the frame beneath the feathered bed had a small recess where the rounded pieces of wood formed together. In that recess she had hidden a length of string painstakingly chewed from the drawstring of her hospital-issued pants after the lights went out at night. She then remade her bed and sat in her chair when the orderly knocked on the door.

  The orderly came in, looking at her chart. He said, “Good evening, Miss…umm…” He scanned her infirmary records for her name and blushed after failing to find it.

  “I would like to take a walk in the gardens. Would you escort me?” Rose asked politely. The orderly held the door for Rose and led the way to the courtyard entrance. Rose stepped out into the failing light of day and headed toward the gardens. The orderly followed her until they reached the garden paths and then Rose requested some privacy. Sana’s plan required it. “Will you wait here for me? I start a new treatment tomorrow and would like to spend a few moments by myself. I just want to stroll through the gardens and watch the setting sun.” Politeness went a long way with orderlies accustomed to behavioral issues in the mental ward.

  The orderly appeared conflicted. “I’m required to accompany you, but if you stay within my sight at all times, then I think it will be ok.”

  Rose thanked the orderly and walked casually through the gardens, stopping to smell flowers and idly gaze at the setting sun. The centerpieces of the gardens were a hedge of rosebushes that encircled a catalpa tree. Sana scanned the branches inside the hedge and found the object of her search. Deep within the thickest part of a rosebush was a small bag. The Sicarius Headmaster plunged her arm into the thorn covered bush to retrieve the bag while Rosana maintained a look of tranquility so as not to alert the orderly. When she pulled her arm back, the thorns had scratched and cut her forearm up to her elbow. The superficial wounds were just deep enough to draw blood and look serious.

  Sana tucked the bag into her pants and secured it with the drawstring. She then tied the string she retrieved from her room to the rosebush. Simultaneously, she lowered her head to smell a nearby flower to maintain appearances. With this stage of her mission accomplished, she walked back to the orderly at a casual pace while squeezing her arm above the elbow in an alternating pattern to increase the blood flow. She returned to a normal, if slightly hunched walk as she exited the rosebushes in the gardens and came back into full view of the orderly.

  He caught sight of her bleeding arm and rushed into the gardens to help. “You’re bleeding! What happened?”

  Rosana looked down at her arm soaked in blood and answered for Rose, who hated to lie, “I didn’t notice. Isn’t it pretty though? It looks like the roses in the garden.” Politeness had its uses but so did insanity. The orderly concentrated on Sana’s arm so much that he never noticed the slightly hunched posture she used to hide the bag in her waist. After rushing her back to her room and dressing her arm, the orderly left her alone again while mumbling about finding a new job.

  Once he left, Sana stashed the bag and pressed her ear against the wall. From the adjacent room, she heard a man singing softly. The room belonged to Ibson, a famous wizard throughout Malethya who had suffered a tragic fall that left his brain permanently impaired. Ibson’s legendary intellect was reduced to simple rhymes and a childlike demeanor. The song Sana heard through the wall had perfect pitch and a melody too complex for such a condition. Sana’s resolve hardened, and she waited for her medications to arrive.

  In short order, a new orderly brought in a dark liquid. Sana knew what it was before he explained. “This is wormroot. We give it to all our patients with the ability to perform magic. The wormroot temporarily blocks your ability to access the spark and prevents you from accidently casting a spell that could harm you or those around you. Please drink it.” Sana pretended to swallow and smiled with a closed mouth. The orderly left the room and Sana spit it out. By the time the infirmary wizards discovered the small pool of wormroot on her floor that signaled her disobedience, she would no longer be a patient in the infirmary.

  With her last visitor gone for the night, Sana retrieved her stashed bag and laid the contents on her bed: a lock pick, a knife, and a piece of smoothed wood that fit nicely into the palm of her hand. Only the lock pick was functional. The knife collapsed when she applied pressure to the dulled blade. People throughout the kingdom feared the piece of wood known as a shockstick, but it was a tool of deception. The shock that people feared came from a spell cast by Sana, a spell she couldn’t cast if she had swallowed the wormroot.

  Sana ran through her plan in her head and listened against the wall for the singing to stop in the adjacent room. Long after the stars were the only light in her room, the singing turned to silence and finally the silence turned to snoring. It was time.

  In the mental ward, doors locked from the outside, so the Sicarius Headmaster used the lock pick to exit. It was a standard lock, and she made quick work of it. A soft click signaled her success and she opened the door slowly, peering into the hallway. Orbs lit the hallway, but the orderlies had finished their rounds, so the corridor was empty. The Sicarius Headmaster slipped into the hallway, entered the adjacent room, and left the door slightly ajar to expedite her exit.

  Inside the room, the sound of snoring and the familiar layout of the room led her silently to Ibson’s bed. The Sicarius Headmaster pressed the knife against Ibson’s throat, rammed the shockstick into his stomach, and whispered, “Listen to what I say or die. I know you drank wormroot and are completely defenseless. You are at my mercy.” That last part was a lie. Any mercy that Ibson received would be from Rose.

  Ibson’s eyes went wide and his body went rigid, fighting his instinct to bolt upright because of the presence of the knife. He stammered,

  Knives are mean,

  Knives are scary,

  My soul is clean,

  Don’t kill…

  The Sicarius Headmaster interrupted his poem, “Save the nursery rhymes Ibson.” Then she changed the inflection of her voice to alternate between high and low octaves. “Do you know who I am?”

  Recognition of the distinctive style of speech invoked a fear that broke through Ibson’s façade. “Yes. You are the Sicarius Headmaster and the wizard’s apprentice that I once knew as Sana. What do you want from me?”

  “Your life means nothing to me, since you have f
ailed to live it. You choose to hide your recovery and ignore the world. Information, however, is valuable to me, and I believe you have been hiding information.” The Sicarius Headmaster spoke. Rose tried not to think of the deeds the Sicarius Headmaster had carried out in the pursuit of information.

  Ibson protested, “If you need information from me, then I am in no danger until I tell you what you want to know…”

  Sana appreciated his deductive reasoning, but she countered with her own. “I disagree. You locked yourself away and pretended to be mentally ill to protect yourself from the threat of a blood mage. You value your life, and this knife can take it, regardless of my motives. Stand up slowly. We are leaving.” Ibson rose from bed slowly but didn’t try to resist. He was an old man, and he fought with magic. Without the spark, he was simply old. “Take the knife,” Sana commanded. A surprised Ibson reached for the knife at his throat. Before he reached it, Sana applied some pressure to the blade and caused it to collapse. “Don’t get any ideas. This knife is harmless and you still have a shockstick in your stomach. Just play the role I tell you to play.” Ibson grabbed the knife and nodded. Sana twisted so that her arm was behind her back but still pressed into Ibson’s gut. “Grab my waist and hold me tight against you. Place the knife against my throat with your other hand. Now walk out the exit to the gardens. If anyone tries to stop you, threaten to kill me.”

  Sana, the hostage, led Ibson to the door and opened it. Ibson walked dutifully toward the exit, while Sana pretended to struggle against him. Ibson’s wide-eyed, frightened stare even passed for a crazed hostile attacker. Halfway down the hallway, an orderly rounded the corner. Before Ibson could speak, Sana yelled, “Help, help me! He has a knife!”