“I’d argue people are afraid of what they don’t know,” Allyn said. “The monster hiding in the closet is scarier than the monster standing in the daylight, where people can see what it really is.”
“I don’t disagree with you there,” Graeme said. “But if people are afraid of the different because they believe that it’s dangerous, how will they react when they realize that we truly are dangerous?”
“Anyone can be dangerous,” Allyn said.
“True, but think of it this way. You restrict access to weapons. You have to have a license to carry one in public, certain kinds are illegal, and you can’t bring one into a school, hospital, or government facility. They have to be registered and stowed away properly. I am a weapon, Allyn. And I am every bit as dangerous as the weapons you have created. Will I have to have a license to live? Will my access to schools or hospitals be denied? Will you make me register my abilities? Will I be stowed away in the name of protection?”
Allyn didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything.
“This debate has raged for hundreds of years, and nobody has been able to solve it.”
“It’s all happened before, hasn’t it?” Allyn asked.
Graeme nodded. “Living openly isn’t a new aspiration. Acceptance isn’t a modern dream. I told you of a period when we were targeted, persecuted, and killed for what we are. It began when a man named Girak Klay started a movement within the magi order to live openly. By all accounts, Girak was a gifted speaker, and hundreds of besieged magi fled to his cause. The Council, still crippled from the Fracture a century earlier, was convinced Girak and his followers would leave the Order if they didn’t heed his movement’s demands. It began small. Magi advertised medicinal remedies and health services, hiding them behind flamboyant concoctions of bright colors that foamed, hissed, and bubbled. As the public became used to the relief of these colorful elixirs, the magi stepped out even further. The cycle repeated itself until an ailing person would see the cleric and not the fake potion they hid behind.”
“What happened?” Allyn asked. “Why the backlash?”
“Even the most powerful cleric cannot save everyone,” Graeme said. “Factor that with the rise of religion and the increased role of the church. We were associated with death and could perform the unexplainable. We were a threat to the establishment. The church called us witches and wizards and convinced the populace we were cavorting with the devil. They called for our heads, and hundreds of magi burned at the stake.”
“But they didn’t have any proof.”
“You don’t need proof,” Graeme said. “Not as long as you say it loud and say it often. Girak’s movement led to the largest massacre since the Fracture, and it was a death blow to our Order.”
“Wasn’t there something they could do? Some way to defend themselves?”
“A magi’s power comes from within. We use our own bodies, our own heat, our own water and air. If we overextend ourselves, we die. But yes, they could have fought, and some did, but most turned themselves in to avoid the stake, only to find their imprisonment a slower, more painful death. Because once captured, the magi were denied food and water, and the convicted witches and wizards more often died of dehydration, malnourishment, or exposure to the elements than fire at the stake.”
“They listened to Girak,” Liam said, “in an attempt to keep the Order together, but in doing so, broke it apart.”
Allyn had forgotten the others were listening.
“It would have happened either way,” Graeme said. “Whether this way, or if Girak had fled, it was inevitable. And it’s the reason we continue to hide today. It seems, however, that history has a way of repeating itself.”
Allyn thought for a moment. “Girak would have left the Order if they didn’t listen to him, but in listening to him, the Order doomed themselves. What can you hope to do so that Lukas doesn’t do the same thing?”
“We will unite the Families against him,” Graeme said. “Where Girak threatened to fracture the Order a second time, I aim to rebuild it and, with our combined strength, pull Lukas back from the edge.”
“And if he resists?”
“Then I’ll do whatever is required to save my Family.”
Allyn heard the ocean before he saw it. The steady roar of crashing waves hung in the air like a bass note, swelling and descending with natural rhythm. Its ominous vibrations rumbled against his chest, doing little to ease his nerves. Questions he’d done his best to smother crept to the surface. How much had Graeme told the Hyland Family? What would happen if they weren’t as welcoming as the McCollum Family had been? What if they saw him as a threat?
Jaxon followed the bend of the private driveway, passing a mix of pine and bare maple trees. The driveway straightened out, and the Hyland Estate came into view. A massive two-story manor sat atop a single green hill overlooking a perfectly landscaped garden. Even in the early winter months, it was alive with color. Oranges, yellows, and pinks mixed with reds, browns, and greens, all working to make the pale-gray color of the estate more inviting. Behind the estate, the ground dropped away abruptly, and dark-blue water stretched out below an overcast sky until it met the gray horizon. The ocean pounded the rocky cliff with steady crashing waves, blue water turning white, spraying mist two hundred feet in the air and coating the manor windows like a constant rain.
Jaxon brought the car to rest under a covered awning that led to the main entrance. No one was waiting for them. Allyn stepped out, stretching his lower back and trying to shake some feeling back into his legs. Four hours in a car was a long time. Four hours with little to do was an eternity.
He shivered. The cold air was more of a fine mist and smelled of salt and dead fish. Allyn couldn’t see another house or building anywhere. If the McCollum Manor was hidden, then the Hyland Estate was truly secluded.
“Graeme McCollum,” a high-pitched male voice said. “It’s been a long time.”
A tall wiry man with short and styled blond hair stepped out of the house. He was young, in his late twenties, with a square face marred by a large nose that looked as though it had been broken more than once. He was wearing a pair of denim jeans and a loose fitting T-shirt instead of the compression armor the McCollum Family wore. His narrow eyes, pale blue in color, scanned the six of them.
“Grand Mage Hyland,” Graeme said with a bow of his head. “We appreciate the hospitality.”
“Please,” he said. “Skip the traditions. We’re excited to have you.”
“This is Darian Hyland,” Graeme said, turning to his group, “Grand Mage of the Hyland Family.”
“Welcome,” Darian said.
“You have, of course, met my children, Leira and Liam.”
Leira and Liam nodded to Darian.
“Of course,” Darian said with a smile. “It’s good to see you again.”
“This is Jaxon, an exchange from the Green Family. He is also our instructor and point man.”
Jaxon shook Darian’s hand. “Thank you for your hospitality.”
“Exchange?” Allyn asked quietly, turning to Liam.
“Every family sends one of their own to neighboring Families and receives one in return,” Liam said. “It’s a way to keep the bloodlines from interbreeding as well as keep Families in contact. Jaxon is in line to become the next grand mage of the Green Family and came to us to mentor under my father.”
“Is there a member of your Family with the Hyland Family?” Allyn asked.
Liam shook his head. “Under Grand Mage Hyland, the Hyland Family doesn’t follow many of our traditions.”
“Allyn!” Graeme said, his face stern, hiding embarrassment. “Come over here, please.”
Darian Hyland smiled as Allyn approached, revealing yellow teeth stained from coffee, tea, and cigarettes or a combination of all.
Allyn left Liam behind and stepped forward to shake Darian’s hand. “Thank you for having us.”
“He’s not a…?” Darian turned to Graeme.
Graeme shook his head.
“Such confidence,” Darian said. “Such a presence. Are you sure?”
“That’s why we are here,” Graeme said.
“Of course,” Darian said. “Please, come in. Our archives are yours. They aren’t as extensive as yours, but I hope you can find what you’re looking for. If there’s anything we can do to help, just let us know.”
Darian opened the door to let them in.
The Hyland Estate was different from the McCollum Manor in nearly every way. Where the McCollum Manor was a house built prior to modern comforts of electricity and running water, only to have been updated later, the Hyland Estate felt new. Instead of private, compartmentalized rooms, the interior used an open concept where people were free to gather and socialize. The main room, a large living quarter with vaulted ceilings, had multiple couches, a bar, and even a TV.
The McCollum Manor felt like a library where occupants were expected to be quiet and have little interaction, but the Hyland Estate felt like a fraternity house. Young magi hooted and hollered, chasing each other through the house, while others lounged on the couches, watching television. Windows were open, allowing the sea breeze to blow through the house, and Allyn could hear music playing somewhere in the estate.
Darian introduced them to the people in the living quarter, and Allyn was quickly lost in the steady stream of names. As he turned to leave, something on the television caught Allyn’s attention—a picture of his sister. “Can you turn that up please?” Allyn asked.
The local news anchor, Cynthia Wu, an Asian woman with a nasally voice and a tendency to overenunciate, gave her report from the parking lot of Kendyl’s apartment. “…been ten days since Miss Kaplan’s disappearance, and authorities are no closer to locating her. In the most recent development, her brother, Allyn Kaplan, who had earlier been named as a person of interest, is now the prime suspect.” An outdated college picture of Allyn, probably something taken from Kendyl’s apartment, replaced the reporter’s image on the television. Then the screen went black.
Allyn gaped, turning to Darian, who held the remote.
“It’s a distraction,” Darian said. “Focus only on what you can do, not what they’re doing.”
It’s not that simple, Allyn wanted to say. These people didn’t understand the complexities of law enforcement or what it meant to be a wanted criminal. Every beat cop, state officer, sheriff, and detective was looking for him. And if this story gained traction—and it looked as though it had—then the police wouldn’t be the only prying eyes. Vested citizens taken by Kendyl’s story would find ways to help. All it took was one person with one tip to bring Allyn into custody. If that happened, he would never find Kendyl, she would never be saved, and Allyn’s only opportunity to clear his name would be gone. Only she could corroborate his story and prove his innocence.
Allyn nodded, realizing he partially agreed with Darian. He needed to focus on his efforts.
The library was on the second floor, in the northern wing of the house. Liam frowned upon the sight of it. Books were thrown haphazardly onto shelves, tables, and chairs. There was no semblance of order or organization. Wherever the books landed was where they stayed. Dust had settled onto the shelves and book covers. Daylight streamed in from the large window, bleaching the texts. The room smelled old and musty, as though no one had set foot in it for years.
“It’s not much,” Darian said, “but it’s what we have.”
Liam didn’t waste any time. He stepped forward and began pulling books from shelves and flipping through the pages, scanning the content inside. Within a matter of minutes, he had begun to create his own organized mess—diaries with diaries, histories with histories, and parchment with parchment.
Graeme and Darian offered them well wishes and turned to leave. Jaxon and Leira left a short time after, leaving Allyn alone with Liam and Nyla.
“This is a mess,” Liam said when they were safe from prying ears.
“It’s sad,” Allyn said. He held up an old newspaper. The paper was stained and yellowed, and the faint text was impossible to read. “How much do you think was lost, just in this room alone?”
“Hopefully, nothing important to our search,” Liam said lightly, but Allyn could hear his pain. Liam had made preserving the library at the McCollum Manor his mission—without thanks or show of appreciation from his Family—only to see so little care taken in another library. Allyn imagined he must have been feeling a mix of pain, frustration, and helplessness.
Nyla ignored Liam’s organized piles and began sifting through books of her own choosing. She had asked to come, and Graeme had obliged. Allyn thought her interest had little to do with their search.
“I found the reference to the Capalonian Family in a diary,” Liam said. “So I think we should start by looking in other diaries. We don’t have time to read them all, so just skim them. If anything jumps out, take a closer look. When you’re done, make a pile over here, and I’ll go through them a second time to see if you missed anything.”
Allyn cleared a spot on a leather armchair, then sat and slid one of Liam’s piles of diaries in front of him. They varied in size and binding. The first one was a thick leather tome with elegant cursive script on the inside. The first entry was dated April 22, 1784, and the flowing handwriting made it difficult to skim, so Allyn found himself reading entire entries.
From what he could tell, the author was a woman in her early adult years, living in New England. In one particular entry, she wrote of having kept a secret from her husband. Their young boy had fallen and broken his arm, and after the local doctor struggled to set the bone, he told them that it wouldn’t heal correctly and that the boy would never have full use of his arm again. The woman had the ability to heal her son, mend the bone, and provide a more hopeful future for him, but doing so would risk exposing her secret and putting her life and the life of her son in danger.
Allyn flipped the page and read the next entry, then the next, and the next, hoping to find out what she did. But there was no further mention of the issue. Whatever she decided, she hadn’t written about it.
The next volume was a thin book held closed by an elastic band that snapped apart like a dry twig as Allyn tried to slide it over the cover. The content held little that supported their search, but it offered another gut-wrenching portrayal of the struggles of underground magi trying to assimilate into the world of humans. Halfway through it, Allyn had to put it down.
“I can’t do this,” Allyn said. “It’s all death, struggle, and more death. Are they all like this?”
Liam put down his book. He’d stopped organizing and started scanning with Allyn. “Not all of them, but they will all tell of some sort of struggle.”
Allyn pinched the bridge of his nose.
“What would your diary look like?” Liam asked. “I’m sure your own life has had its share of problems.”
“Nothing like this.”
“Maybe not.”
“How do you do it?” Allyn asked. “How do you read these without becoming an emotional wreck?”
“I’m a teenager.” Liam smiled. “I’m already an emotional wreck.”
Allyn laughed, the tightness in his chest easing a bit.
“They’re just words on a page,” Nyla said, never looking up from her own book. She sat straight backed and cross legged in the corner.
“They’re more than that,” Liam said.
“Not if we don’t read them,” Nyla said.
Liam looked at Allyn with a confused look on his face.
“What she’s saying,” Allyn said, “is that only when we read these books do the words become real and
the authors live again. That’s how you can read them without having a nervous breakdown. If you don’t read them, if you don’t preserve them, then their struggles were meaningless.”
Liam smirked. “Makes sense, I guess.”
Nyla watched Allyn from the corner as he opened his book again. A small smile appeared on her lips. Allyn smiled back and started to read. After a while, the air, trapped within the confines of the small room with three occupants, became hot and stale. Allyn removed his coat and threw it across the back of his chair. Liam’s forehead glistened with sweat, and Nyla had even rolled up her sleeves. Allyn thought about suggesting opening the window, but he already knew what Liam’s answer would be. Besides, the window didn’t look as though it had been opened in years, and Allyn doubted it would open at all.
Allyn’s stomach growled, letting out a slow, drawn-out cry that could have been heard from across the room. Liam didn’t look up. He looked invested in the text in front of him. What time is it anyway? Dawn had arrived hours ago, and they’d missed breakfast. The dull-gray overcast sky didn’t offer much in the way of suggesting the time, but it had to be past lunch. Were they supposed to find Graeme when they were done, or was he planning to come get them?
“Look at this,” Liam said. He sat on the ground with his legs crossed in front of him, hunched over a red hardback book.
“What is it?” Allyn asked.
“I don’t know, but it’s old.” Liam climbed to his feet, his knobby knees popping as he shuffled toward Allyn. “There’s no way it can be an original text. It’s too old. It would have to be a copy of a copy.”
“How can you tell?” Allyn asked, taking the book from Liam. It looked unremarkable. It lacked an author, title, engraving, or other identifying mark. Allyn would have probably skipped right over it. He handed it back.
“It speaks of a time before the Fracture,” Liam said. “Which means it’s at least a thousand years old. They wouldn’t have used a cover or binding like this, and it has obviously been printed, even if it was on a primitive printing press.”
Fracture (Book 1) Page 10