Fractures Read online

  The heavy steps and cursing drew closer.

  “It’s okay. I’ll be right behind you. They are filling the ships one at a time. We’ll be on the same ship,” Dawyn whispered. He gave a gentle shove. Thaleon shook his head and buried his face into Dawyn’s chest, eyes burning with tears.

  “Thal—”

  “Get over here!”

  The dark-haired man ripped him off Dawyn hard enough to nearly dislocate his arm. He dragged him to the waiting boat all while Thaleon cried and beat at him, his hold unyielding.

  Thaleon tried to jump out the side but strong hands pushed him back down. Black wisps began filling the air as his panic heightened, barely visible in the faint moonlight. His entire attention focused on getting off the boat, Thaleon failed to notice the shadows lifting off him. He fell silent only after one of the rowers smacked him up the side of the head.

  The boat pushed off and began rowing towards the red-sailed ships soon after. Thaleon watched, dazed, as Dawyn’s ashen face grew smaller.

  The ship leaned sharply to the right as yet another violent wave crashed against its side. The captives trapped in its bowels smashed into each other, younger children screaming in fright over the pained groans of the injured. Those susceptible to seasickness retched, soiling themselves and others near them. Thunder rumbled over the tumultuous waves and lightning flashed overhead, blazing over the heaving sea.

  A particularly aggressive wave thrust the ship sharply to the left and Dawyn grit his teeth as his body slammed against the wall, pain shooting up the side where he had been beaten repeatedly for resisting capture in Alfhum. Thaleon whimpered next to him, a small sound, and the pair of slender arms wrapped about his waist tightened.

  Dawyn could barely make out the small figure huddled against his side but felt the heavy tremors running through his brother’s body. He pulled Thaleon against him, an arm about his small shoulder, and stroked his head in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

  “Dawyn, do you think the storm will sink the ship?” Thaleon said, soft voice barely audible over the waves.

  Dawyn pulled him closer. “No, of course not,” he said with more confidence than he felt. Thunder roared as if challenging him.

  “I don’t want to drown—like Ella,” said Thaleon.

  A chill ran down Dawyn’s spine at the name.

  Ella, the baker’s girl, had drowned the past summer in the river after slipping on a rock and falling into the white rapids. Dawyn and Thaleon had watched as the adults pulled the body from the water—her swollen fingers had looked like sausages.

  “It’ll be all right, Thal. The ship is going to hold.”

  Dawyn hoped he was right.

  The storm lasted through the entire night and calmed mid-morning.

  Slivers of sun strayed in through the tiny cracks in the wood, lending minute light to the ship’s dark bowels. Dawyn stared down at the head of inky locks resting against his shoulder, his fingers continuing to thread through the fine strands gently. Other children slumbered all about, exhausted after the frightful night—none of them had gotten a wink of sleep with the ship in the throes of the vicious storm.

  Thaleon had fallen into fitful sleep some time ago, one hand curled into Dawyn’s shirt as if afraid he would be gone when he woke. Long dark lashes trembled as if he was caught in an unpleasant dream, casting delicate shadows across the too-pale face.

  Thaleon had always been thin but he was losing weight fast. He barely ate the meager portions of food their captors provided and hardly slept, closing his eyes only when his body succumbed inevitably to the need for sleep. Even those brief moments of rest did not last long—he often startled awake minutes after, screaming for his parents.

  Dawyn’s throat tightened as he recalled the sickening sounds of the swords ripping free from Merek and Aleth and the river of red spilling from the wounds. Aleth had tried to crawl to Merek with her fading strength only to have her husband’s murderer drag her across the streets by her hair—screaming all while a torrent of blood poured from her heavy wounds and soaked through her dress.

  He became aware of the wetness against his cheeks and wiped them away hastily, grateful for the dim light. A glance down revealed Thaleon still asleep, lips slightly parted. Relieved, Dawyn wiped away the last evidence of the tears. He had to stay strong—if not for himself, for Thaleon.

  Two days had passed since the voyage began. He wondered how many more days would pass before they felt solid ground again.

  He shifted a bit to the side in an attempt to relieve the dull ache which had taken permanent residence on his back, being mindful not to disturb his sleeping brother. He stretched out his legs and his foot brushed up against something soft. It flinched.

  “Sorry,” said Dawyn to the dark figure. It looked like a girl but he could hardly make out her features in the low light. Minutes passed with no response and he spoke again into the air on a whim. “I am Dawyn. What’s your name?”

  Only the crashing waves answered him.

  He wondered whether she was mute or simply did not care enough to speak. Thaleon shifted against him, a small sigh falling from his lips as he murmured something in his sleep.

  Dawyn, fully expecting the question to go unanswered, asked, “Where do you think we are going?”

  A hostile female voice answered him. “All slave ships go to Scyrta, idiot.”

  The name of their destination gave Dawyn a pause.

  A large island off the western coast and the busiest merchant port in the known world, Scyrta answered to no king or queen—its enormous wealth allowed it to defend its independence from even the Crown. It engaged in many practices foreign to Itothia—including buying and selling of people like livestock.

  Unwilling to let the conversation die just yet, Dawyn said, “What’s your name?”

  A pause, then the voice came again softly. “Myra.” Hot anger had abandoned her voice and resignation had seeped through to claim its void.

  “Where are you from?”

  Only the sound of shuffling clothes answered him.

  Minutes passed until Dawyn gave up all hope of continuing the conversation and settled back against the wall in acquiescence.

  Dark thoughts of Scyrta rolled over him like storm clouds.

  Everyone tensed as the door flung open and heavy steps descended the stairs.

  A raider appeared—a tall man with a bald head and dark eyes. He had visited the bowels about an hour ago to drag away a sandy-haired Itothian boy about fourteen. He held the same boy now before him with a harsh grip to the back of the slim neck, forcing him to march even as the boy swayed and winced with each step.

  They reached the bottom of the stairs and the boy crumpled to the ground when the man released him. He made no move to rise.

  “What did he do to him?” Thaleon whispered.

  The boy’s tunic hung open, the laces undone and the fabric torn in multiple places. His right cheek flamed a bright red and a bruise bloomed on his neck in the form of a large handprint, sure to turn an ugly deep blue in the next few days. More fresh bruises marred the exposed skin of his body and blood soaked his trousers, staining the tan fabric a deep crimson.

  The boy curled into himself, obviously in a great deal of pain. The man hardly spared him a glance as he left and a heavy silence fell over the captives as they stared at the trembling form on the floor.

  A few seconds later, the boy began to cry. He hid his face in his hands as violent sobs wracked through him.

  It happened again and again, different raiders coming to scan the captives to have their pick. Every single one returned in a similar condition—clothes torn open, face streaked with tears and body mottled with bruises.

  None of them spoke of what happened. They didn’t have to—their limping gait and the blood soaking through the bottom half of their clothing said enough.

  Dawyn fell into the habit of pushing Thaleon behind him every time the door opened. With his jet black hair and unusual golden-brown eyes, Thaleon stuck out in the sea of Itothian children like a splash of ink on white paper.

  He desperately hoped they would reach land soon.

  Dawyn jolted awake at the sound of the door opening. Thaleon stirred beside him then shot up in fright, eyes wide.

  Heavy feet sounded down the stairs and a pair of men came into view, speaking loudly to each other and appearing to be in a fine mood.

  One of the raiders—the one with deep brown curls and gray eyes—Dawyn recognized as the man who had grabbed Thaleon back in Alfhum. He knew Thaleon recognized him too from the way his brother’s hand curled about his arm.

  The two stood idly at the bottom of the steps, their eyes scanning the captives hanging their heads and shrinking into themselves to avoid drawing attention.

  The gray-eyed man’s lips pulled into a smirk as his gaze landed on a pretty girl with soft honey curls and large brown eyes. He seized her by the arm and began pulling the terrified girl to her feet but stilled at a harsh word from his companion.

  Foreign words exchanged between the pair and, looking rather disappointed, the raider released the girl and allowed her to fall in a heap by his feet. She crawled away immediately, small whimpers escaping her lips.

  Blood drained from Dawyn’s face when the gray eyes landed on Thaleon and recognition flashed across the man’s face. The raider advanced towards them in long strides, eyes darkening and a crude smile spreading over his lips.

  He felt Thaleon’s hand tighten on his arm.

  “No!” Dawyn cried when the man clamped a callused hand over his brother’s bony arm, hauling Thaleon to his feet.

  “Dawyn!” Thaleon screamed. He thrashed and kicked but the hands holding him might as well have been made of iron for all the good it did.

  “No!” Dawyn threw himself at the man, trying to pry Thaleon out of his grip.

  Unfazed, the raider smirked down at him—a skinny fourteen-year-old boy—then pushed him aside with as much effort as swatting away a fly, sending him crashing against the wall. A wave of dizziness washed over him as he pushed himself up.

  He heard Thaleon’s cries and the frantic scrabbling of his feet against the floor as the man dragged him away like a ragdoll, not caring if he stumbled or fell. Bruises bloomed on Thaleon’s knees as they hit the hard floor repeatedly but the man continued forward, his brutal grip unwavering.

  “No! Take me instead! Please!”

  Dawyn rushed forward then found himself faced with the broad sword of the man’s companion.

  “Sit down and shut up,” the man said, but Dawyn wasn’t looking at him.

  He tried to slip past, eyes focused solely on Thaleon’s struggling form. With surprising speed, the raider caught him around the waist and threw him into the wall with a growl of irritation.

  A sharp pain ran down his already injured side and Dawyn slid to the floor with a cry, vision going black and blood roaring in his ears. He distantly heard his brother’s screams but his limbs wouldn’t obey and by the time his vision cleared, Thaleon was gone.

  4

  “Shut the hell up.”

  Thaleon flinched at the harsh, thickly accented Itothian words. The hand curled about the back of his neck tightened savagely.

  He tried to stifle the sobs pouring from his lips but couldn’t help the small, terrified whimpers as his captor manhandled him down a hallway lit by a row of oil lamps.

  A pair of men leaning against the wall in conversation looked up and smiled lewdly as their eyes raked him up and down. One of them spoke loudly as they passed and the man holding him laughed.

  They continued down the hall to come to a stop before a heavy door. It stood open and the man gave a rough push, shoving him inside and sending him crashing to his knees.

  Thaleon clambered to his feet and retreated to the back corner, wide eyes taking in the strange room. The air hung cold and damp in the space filled with rows of crates. Several bags of grain sat against one wall and next to them stood large barrels made out of dark wood. Glass jars filled with small fish sat on the shelves lining the other wall.

  While the raider secured the door, Thaleon searched for another exit with desperate eyes—he found none.

  The man turned to face him and the expression upon his face sent a burst of terror through Thaleon, leaving him unable to draw air as his pulse crescendoed sharply. He pressed himself against the wall, eyes showing too much white and breath coming in rapid, shallow gasps. A cruel smile spread over the man’s face as he sauntered forward, movements unhurried. The only exit lay behind him, locked.

  Thaleon screamed when a rough hand twisted in his hair and craned his head back. Brute strength forced him to his knees and curses came from above when he refused to stop struggling. Thick fingers forced their way into his mouth, trying to pry his jaws open. The man crowded him against the wall, holding him down, his free hand busying with the laces of his trousers.

  The raider drew back with a string of curses, small teeth marks imprinted on his fingers.

  Thaleon acutely felt the following three blows. His scalp burned as the man dragged him by a fistful of hair to a nearby crate.

  He cried out when the man threw him against the box and—before he could even recover his lost breath—found himself yanked up and bent over the crate.

  He struggled to rise, legs kicking in the air—brutal hands slammed him back down. A heavy weight came over him and crushed him against the wooden surface. Impatient fingers tugged at his trousers.

  The assaulting feeling of helplessness became a bottomless pit swallowing him whole. Thaleon's breath came too fast even as his lungs struggled to draw air. Tears clouded his vision until the room became an indistinguishable blur.

  Memories of his parents’ bloody corpses came to his mind unbidden. He wondered if they had felt as helpless in the last moments of their lives—before they were skewered through like pigs being slaughtered. Dark despair broke over him in waves until he began to crack under the pressure.

  And in the terrible black maelstrom, Thaleon became aware.

  It began as a speckle, like a tiny light streaming through a hole in the fabric when a cloth is held up to the sun. The moment he noticed it, he could not stop paying attention to its wonderful presence, and the minute light soon grew into the full force of the sun beckoning him, refusing to be denied. He reached out without a thought, a strange longing in his heart for a thing he had not yet known.

  It rushed to fill every inch of him with sweet bliss, a heady rush. It left him reeling yet more alive than he had ever been as time seemed to slow, the entire world coming to a halt. It left him breathless, stupefied. His heart beat furiously, pumping out scorching blood, filling his veins with liquid fire.

  The room began to spin, the stacks of crates and the lambent light of the lamps bleeding into a swirl of colors. Unrelenting waves of grief then rage broke over him, churning with the fury of the ocean on a stormy night. Pain like a twisting dagger seared through his heart as he remembered his mother’s unseeing eyes and the mangled body of his father.

  Thaleon’s mind snapped.

  The thunderous pounding of his heart ceased. The unrelenting flow of the burning blood stilled. Dark shadows surged out of him, reaching upwards viciously and building with terrifying intensity until it burst inevitably. Writhing dark wisps flooded the air, bristling like a thousand black lightning.

  Every single crate toppled over and flew outwards, crashing against the walls with heavy thuds. The man shouted when one slammed into him, pinning him down. The walls began to warp and twist, the heavy wood splintering as if a giant hand slowly squeezed the entire ship.

  The raider succeeded in breaking free with significant effort and stared at Thaleon who stood motionless amidst the chaos, watching the black tendrils dance in the air.

  “What the hell are you looking at!?” the man shouted even as the shadowy wisps set upon him.

  He stopped mid-motion, eyes going wide, as his limbs began pulling impossibly taut. His clothes ripped at the seams, and chilling screams filled the room as his flesh followed. The cries continued even after every single one of the limbs had been torn off—blood splattered Thaleon’s face as the pieces fell to the floor with wet thumps.

  The dark storm spasmed and exploded outwards, tearing the thick wood of the ship like paper. The vessel groaned like a wounded beast, a terrible sound.

  The walls of the stockroom burst open and water gushed in through the holes, growing chest-high in a split of a second. The freezing water snapped Thaleon out of the trance-like state and he watched, transfixed, as the entire ship split down the middle.

  Dawyn went sputtering into the bone-chilling water as another body crashed into his. An involuntary gasp escaped him before he could stop himself and saltwater rushed into his lungs, burning. He coughed violently as he resurfaced then cried out as yet another body slammed into him, crushing him against the wall before he could regain his breath.

  The ship groaned, drowning out the high pitched, panicked screams filling its bowels.

  More cracks ran through the vessel and another wall gave away. He lost his footing as a torrent of water poured into the ship’s bowels and pulled him under, holding him captive in its merciless embrace. He floundered, unable to see anything and having lost all sense of up or down while his lungs burned, begging for air. Panic filled him as he wondered if he would drown after all.

  When he came back up, the water had risen nearly to the ceiling. A large piece of wood smashed him into the wall and someone grabbed him from behind, their hands frantic—he yelled over the chaos for them to let go.

  The girl didn’t seem to hear him as she screamed hysterically again and again. Her dress coiled about his legs and her arms wound too tightly about his neck. He began to go under.

  A massive piece of a broken wall crashed into them and she fell away, swept off to be lost in the mayhem. A deafening sound, and Dawyn stared as a crack ran down the middle of the ceiling.