“That’s all I can do now,” she said only a few moments later. “The worst of it is better, and you should be able to walk. I wish I could do more, but there are so many wounded.” She looked past him to the battlefield beyond, where too many bodies to count lay motionless. The McCollum Family was decimated. Only a handful of them remained alive, and their cries of pain and loss rang through the early morning.
“It’s more than I deserve,” Allyn said. “Thank you.” He sat up, gingerly moving his leg, expecting pain. Nyla had done more than she’d let on. A thin layer of translucent skin covered the wound, creating a delicate barrier against the elements. His skin was still black, but that would heal in time.
Jaxon helped him up. He couldn’t put his full weight on the leg, and he would walk with a limp, but he was mobile—and alive. Together, they slowly crossed the battlefield to where Graeme lay. Leira sat beside him, holding his hand and fighting back tears. She had closed his eyes and covered his wound with a coat. Except for his motionless chest, he looked as though he could be sleeping.
Liam charged out of the trees, coming to an abrupt halt several feet behind them. He was covered in blood, but he appeared uninjured. Had there been another battle somewhere else? Where were the ones he was supposed to be protecting?
Allyn took a small step toward him. “Liam—”
“What happened?”
“Liam, listen…” Allyn was suddenly at a loss for words, having flashbacks of telling Kendyl their mother had died. He wasn’t sure if it was his place to tell Liam about his father. He turned to Jaxon and Nyla.
Jaxon exhaled deeply, then began to say something but stopped. Tears already welled in Nyla’s eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Liam asked. “Where is my father?”
Allyn deflated, his shoulders going slack. “Liam, I’m sorry. Your father… your father is gone.”
“No,” Liam said, shaking his head, face contorted in pain. “No… he’s…” Liam rushed forward.
Jaxon stopped him with an arm and pulled him close in a tight embrace.
“Let me see him!” Liam shouted. “I need to see him!”
“Liam.” Jaxon’s deep voice was soft and tender.
His emotions making him stronger, Liam continued to fight, trying to shove Jaxon aside. “Why won’t you let me see him? Let me see him!”
“Liam?” Leira stood.
Liam saw her, then the body at her feet. He fought savagely, kicking, stomping, and flailing. Jaxon let him go, and Liam raced toward Leira and the fallen body of his father. He slowed in front of the body. Leira’s firm expression hid the torrent of emotions Allyn knew she must be feeling. She wore a mask for her little brother. Allyn knew the guise well.
Kneeling, Liam took his father’s hand. “What happened?”
Leira circled her father, then dropped to her knees beside Liam. “He fought bravely.”
Liam squeezed his father’s hand hard enough that his own knuckles went white. “Was it quick?”
Leira stole a glance at Allyn and the others. “Quick enough.” She wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close. Liam didn’t fight it. Leira trembled slightly, her strength fading.
“We should bury him,” Allyn said. “He deserves better than to be left here.”
“They all do,” Jaxon said, keeping one eye on the driveway as though he expected the police to arrive at any moment.
“I’ll gather the rest. Go console her.” Allyn nodded at Leira. Jaxon hesitated.
He’s scared, Allyn realized. Jaxon could stare down a host of magi that intended to kill him, but consoling the woman he loved terrified him.
“She doesn’t need you to say anything. Just be with her. Be her rock.”
Jaxon nodded. He could do that. In many ways, he was a rock—a dense, stubborn boulder that wouldn’t move for anyone else. He shuffled over and knelt behind Leira and Liam, awkwardly rubbing Leira’s back. She leaned into him, resting her head on his chest.
That was when she broke down.
Half an hour later, distant sirens, still miles off, whined in unison. Too many to count, they echoed across the canyon.
Graeme lay across a hurriedly constructed funeral pyre in a small space within the manor that had been cleared of debris. His arms were crossed, and his white battle attire had been scrubbed as clean as possible. Allyn stood with the others around the pyre, humming softly. The other fallen magi had been burned where they fell, Lukas’s magi included. For some, it was more than they deserved, but it was the magi way, and Graeme would have wanted it done.
Jaxon led the funeral procession, bringing the humming to a crescendo, then raised his hands to the sky and released a stream of fire. Thirty hands shot up, and those who could wield followed Jaxon’s example. Allyn shot a series of jagged red static charges into the air. The display would likely be seen from the road, but it didn’t matter anymore. They had been found.
The humming stopped, and Jaxon directed his fire at the pyre. The rest of the wielding magi did the same. Graeme disappeared among the flames. The pyre burned faster and hotter than it would have naturally, and Allyn was thankful he couldn’t smell Graeme’s burning flesh, though he did occasionally have to look away. Watching Graeme burn reminded him of Lukas’s gruesome death.
As the sirens drew closer, Jaxon ordered them to move, leaving the pyre to smolder. Running at a steady pace, they fled the manor in an organized file, two men wide. Once they entered the forest, the pace slowed, but they continued, heading for the homestead, where Liam said the rest would be waiting.
Jaxon lagged behind, and Allyn fell into step with him. They stopped just beyond the tree line to watch as police cars screamed around the bend, up the driveway. The manor’s remains obscured Allyn’s view, but the red and blue lights pierced the early morning light. Earlier, the scene had been drastically different—an empty manor that had stood for decades and would stand for even longer. Now it was laid to rubble, and dozens of faintly human bodies littered the grounds.
The police would conduct a full-scale investigation. They would call in the arson unit and other crime scene investigators. The coroner’s office would be packed full of magi bodies that would have no dental or any other identifiable records. A morgue full of John and Jane Does would deepen the investigation. The library would be discovered. Its contents would be researched and catalogued. They would be exposed.
Then the real hunt would begin.
“What happens now?” Allyn asked.
Jaxon looked at him with fear in his eyes. “I don’t know.”
The hike back to the homestead was easier than the one from it to the manor. The sun hung low, and the first rays of morning cast light on exposed roots and sudden dropoffs. Wispy spider webs stretched from branch to branch, glistening in the light, as a black mass waited in the center of each, preparing for its prey. Chirping birds brought the forest to life, covering the sound of the traveling group’s footfalls. What had taken them an hour in darkness took them half as long in the light of dawn.
The reunion was well underway by the time Allyn and Jaxon arrived at the homestead. There were hugs and tears for those returning and more for those who hadn’t. A general sense of shock over the loss of the manor gripped everyone.
“Where are we going to go?” a young girl asked, clinging to her mother’s leg.
All eyes turned to Jaxon. He stammered, searching for words, and rubbed the brands on his arms nervously.
“I know of a place,” Allyn said.
“Where?” Jaxon asked, perhaps too eagerly to maintain his confident façade.
Allyn found Kendyl amid the expectant eyes. Her dark hair glinted with a touch of red in the morning sun. She smiled. She knew what he was thinking. He smiled back, knowing that he would never hear the end of it. You can’t put a price on everyth
ing. Having a place to call home was priceless.
“It’s an old family property,” Allyn said. “It’s small, and it hasn’t been used in years, but it’s private, and nobody will harm us there.”
“What about the police?” Jaxon asked. “Won’t they know to look for us there?”
“How are you at pottery?” Kendyl asked, stepping forward, grinning.
Jaxon looked at her, confused.
“If anyone comes asking, you’re a group of artists on a retreat. You rent rooms by the week, and you paid in cash.”
“What about you?” Jaxon asked.
Allyn shrugged. “We’ll take care not to be seen.” When Jaxon didn’t appear convinced, Allyn added, “Look, I know it’s risky. And I understand if you don’t like the idea, but it’s only a temporary solution until we can regroup.”
Jaxon pinched his forehead and thought for a moment. “We’ll need IDs.”
“Liam?” Allyn said.
“The physical IDs will be tough, but I can forge digital ones and create false identities. They won’t hold up under close scrutiny but they’ll buy us time.”
“What do you think?” Allyn asked.
“I think it might just work,” Jaxon said.
Relief spread through the group like a yawn. They knew that the McCollum Family would survive. They would endure. They would grow strong.
They just needed time.
The story continues in…
Splinter
The Machinists Series, Book Two
Coming Soon
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Acknowledgments
It’s said that writing is a lonely enterprise, and while I agree with that statement, creating a book is a surprisingly collaborative endeavor. There were dozens of people who helped me turn this story from one that resided in my head to the book you hold in your hands.
It begins with my wife, Tiffany, whose unflinching support, never-ending enthusiasm, and occasional, well-timed verbal motivation kept me working. This book exists because she told me not to wait. Because she pushed me upstairs to write on the nights I thought I was too tired. Because she nudged me out of bed in the early mornings when I would have rather slept. And because she never complained or made me feel guilty that I sometimes spent more time with fictional Families than my own. If you ever get a chance to thank her, please do. The husbands, wives, and significant others of artists don’t get enough credit for the achievements of their partners.
Special thanks also goes to my parents, Will and Lisa, who instilled in me a love for stories, and taught me that anything was possible. They told me to shoot for the stars, and helped me develop a work ethic to make sure I got there. I can never express how truly grateful I am to be their son.
To my own son, who while too young to know he was giving up his dad for the day, always welcomed me back with a smile and a hug. I want to inspire you the same way you inspire me.
To Gary and Gala Richey for raising such a loving, supportive daughter, and not laughing when I told them I was writing a book, but instead asked when they could read it.
To the team at Red Adept Publishing, headed by Lynn McNamee who patiently guided me through the editorial process. To Stefanie Spangler for her wonderful line-edits and continuously going above and beyond her initial job.
A huge thanks goes to all of my early readers: Tiffany (always my first reader), Will & Lisa Looney, Gary & Gala Richey, Mary Sharinghousen, Pamela Didier, Scott & Jami Hays, Anton Livingston, Tanner Vannett, Jehnna Pitts, Megan West, Abigail Winchester, Peter Arvidson, and Nick Hagen. Your excitement, kind words, and willingness to share the book with friends and family keep me going. Your advice and insights proved invaluable and this book is much better because of them.
And thank you lovely reader, for taking this journey with me. I hope I get the opportunity to do it again.
—Craig Andrews
About The Author
Craig Andrews graduated from Portland State University with a Bachelors of Arts in English. Growing up on a healthy diet of fantasy and science fiction, some of his favorite childhood memories include being traumatized by the TV shows Unsolved Mysteries and The X-Files. He currently lives in a small, rural town outside of Portland, Oregon with his wife and two boys.
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Fracture (Book 1) Page 29