321 Years Ago
Year of Unity 1549
Egil’s first visit to Damael was anything but glamorous. He limped into the city with the setting suns, fighting against the sea of farmers and tradesmen leaving after a long day at market. In peaceful times, the road wouldn’t be so busy, but Damael was currently the safest city in the Ejeran province. Outside, Ejera reeled from the dissolution of an empire that had governed since the Great War. While its scattered remnants made desperate last-ditch bids for control, establishing outposts in cities and quelling rebellions where they could, other factions fought to take their place. Lawlessness prevailed, deserters and opportunity-seekers taking advantage of the chaos to steal and fight and extort.
But here in Damael, the people didn’t worry. Their Oracle had told them all would be well.
It was the lawlessness that had drawn in Egil. Few places in this world boasted freedom from Unity’s watchful eye: when the empire crumbled, so too had Unity’s grip on the province. But with Egil’s rotten luck, he’d arrived in Ejera right alongside Unity’s reinforcements. He and Unity didn’t get along, these days. He was lucky to have escaped with his life. He was lucky to have made it to Damael, even though his first steps into the city were slow and staggering, even though a bruise blossomed along his jaw and a makeshift tourniquet wrapped around his thigh, slowing the flow of blood from a gash he hadn’t had time to stitch up.
He’d expected a tense city, a loud city, a city with chaos he could slip into unnoticed, but he soon found that Damael was quiet. He hated quiet. His thoughts were always too loud; he needed them drowned out. Even worse, he tended to stand out in quiet places, and he couldn’t afford to do so here. Not with Unity’s Enforcers on his trail. Not with the injuries he’d taken fighting them.
He wandered Damael until he found the loudest neighborhood, where strangers passed by in groups, talking and laughing, where strains of music and sweet perfume drifted out from questionable establishments, where the patrons of taverns and opium dens and dance halls leaned out from balconies, calling out drunkenly into the night. The growing dark only made it all louder, and Egil felt himself begin to relax.
He rented a room at a perfectly middling tavern, not too flashy, not too empty, and immediately retreated upstairs to tend his wounds. Only hours later, when he was hungry and could no longer bear the company of his own thoughts, did he venture back down. The common room had filled out in that time. Warm lamplight flickered over the golden oak walls and tables and the faces of strangers: various groups sat scattered about, circled around tables that had clearly been shoved hastily together to accommodate them. The biggest group gathered at the bar, where a man talked animatedly — sharing local gossip, by the sound of it. While Egil eyed him and his companions, the woman beside him looked Egil’s way.
She was slender, wrapped in bright fabrics, and when their gazes met, a jolt ran down Egil’s spine. He looked away quickly, unnerved by the feeling, and focused instead on finding a table for himself.
For living in a province in ruins, the people here were too carefree. This must be the effect of the city’s strange figurehead, the Oracle of Damael. She was said to be a true Oracle. Not a fortune teller, reading possibilities in cards and bones, not some rosanin with an unusual gift, but an Oracle ordained by the church and consulted by Empire, rebellion, and Unity alike. The Empire had ruled since the Great War; the Oracle had controlled it like a puppet on strings since its inception.
Intrigued as Egil was, he had no time to investigate. By morning, the Enforcers would be here, and he would be long gone.
He jolted to attention when someone fell into the open seat across from him. The knife at his thigh was halfway out of his sheath before he recognized the crimson crepe of the woman from the bar. She laughed breathlessly — whether at herself or Egil’s surprise, he wasn’t sure.
She was nympherai — most likely fae, though she lacked their telltale wings. It was possible she had dryad blood as well. Her hair was stark white and twisted into a plain braid, and a faintly glittering pattern twisted over her bronze skin. It was different from the feathery texture of a maranet’s and the tattoo-like birthmarks of an orinian: it resembled flame dancing across her skin, subtle and alive.
“You’re new here,” she slurred, half-draped over the table.
Egil frowned, hoping to frighten her away before she could even get started. “Is it obvious?”
“No, but I’d remember a face like yours,” she said, predictably. She tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear, coy and wholly unphased by Egil’s scowl.
“It’s best if you don’t.”
“What, remember your face? Well, you’re in luck. I’m not sure I’ll be remembering much tomorrow morning, anyhow,” the woman said with a laugh. She leaned in, her heavy earrings swaying with the movement. “Will you give me your name, handsome?”
“That depends,” Egil said. “If you’re selling something, I’m not buying.”
The woman’s smile tightened. “It’s not like that. If you’d like, I’ll tell you mine first in a show of faith. You can call me Devikra.”
Egil raised an eyebrow at her. Usually, name exchanges were a longer ordeal with the fae. “Egil.”
Devikra’s eyes widened. Even her eyelashes were white. “The Egil? I don’t believe you. Prove it.”
Egil ran his thumb idly along the handle of his knife, under the table, and studied Devikra. Her expression was open, innocent; she leaned in toward Egil, listing a bit to one side. “How could I?” he asked.
“Use your magic! You do have magic, don’t you? The stories all say you do.”
“The stories say a lot of things.”
“Is that a no, then? Shame,” Devikra said with a perfect pout. “I would’ve liked to see some magic. Now how am I supposed to believe you are who you say you are?”
“Please,” Egil said, loosening his knife from its sheath, “I’m not in the mood for games. You knew who I was from the moment our eyes met, didn’t you?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Devikra said smoothly. Swiftly, Egil drew his knife and drove it into the table — right between Devikra’s first finger and thumb, narrowly missing. She squawked and pulled he hand to her chest, cradling it there. He suspected that surprise on her face was the first real emotion he’d seen from her yet. She stared at Egil, open-mouthed. “What is wrong with you?!”
“Cut the act. Did you come here looking for me?” Egil countered. “Who are you? How did you find me?”
Devikra closed her mouth, then opened it again, then closed it. Finally, she dropped her hand and sighed. Her black eyes seemed colder, now, in the way they bored into Egil’s own. “What gave me away?”
“Please. I can tell good acting from bad. You’re good, but you’re still acting.”
“Is it so hard to believe I just came over here because I find you attractive?” Devikra asked, her coy smile now only an echo of the saccharine one from before. She reached across the table to cover Egil’s hand with her own. He pulled back before she could.
“I’m covered in dirt and blood. I haven’t slept under a roof in a week, and I’m sure it shows. I hate to even think of how I must smell. Yes, it is hard to believe,” Egil said. “I also know for a fact I’m being actively hunted, so forgive me for being cautious.”
“By the Enforcers, right?” Devikra asked. She said it so casually, without fear — it was a word that sensible people whispered, a secret that only few on this continent even knew.
Egil narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you with them?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’d be dead already, if I was. They are coming, though, and sooner than you think. They’ll be here within the hour, and if you’re still here when they arrive, you won’t leave this place alive,” Devikra said.
Egil felt a chill run down his spine, but he forced a shrug. “I’ve escaped them before.”
“Not this time,” Devikra said, with certainty. Her drunken list was gone, vanished with her flirtatious smiles. “Not tonight.”
“How—,” Egil began to ask, and then it dawned on him. Devikra smirked, seeing the realization hit his face. “You’re Damael’s Oracle.”
“That took you longer than I’d expected,” Devikra said. Ignoring Egil’s answering scowl, she continued, “Come back to my suite with me. They won’t find you there. I’m feeling generous, so I’ll even let you use my bathtub.”
“Why should I trust you? You work with Unity.”
“If you’ve heard of me, then you know the Oracle’s visions are never wrong.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re telling me the truth.”
“Then how’s this: it would be silly of me to turn you over to the Enforcers when I could employ you instead. If you come back with me, I’m going to force you to sit through my full proposal,” Devikra said with an easy smile. It dimmed, though, when Egil refused to smile back. She dropped her gaze to the table, expression turning unreadable. “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. It shattered on the ground. At the noise, Egil’s hand instinctively went to his knife, but Devikra only frowned. Before he could pull away, she covered Egil’s free hand on the table with her own. “This is the start of the vision,” she said, gently. “Unity’s Enforcers will arrive soon. Will you come with me?”
Egil met her 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 even remember when he’d last been touched so gently.
“Fine,” he said. “As long as I can use your bathtub.”
Devikra led Egil out the back, then out of the bustling corner of Damael he’d settled into. They traveled by foot, deeper into the heart of the city, Devikra leading the way with her proud bearing and utter surety. By their reactions, it was clear that several nighttime passersby recognized Devikra, though Egil beside her, with his weapons, bloodied clothes, and dark scowl, kept them from approaching.
They passed Damael’s Temple to Ellaes, goddess-guardian of the nympherai species, where the Oracle of Damael was said to share her visions. Egil craned his neck to admire the carvings above its wide arches, including the one at the center of a nympherai woman with wide dragonfly’s wings.
Not long after, Devikra turned down a quiet side street, then down a darkened staircase, finally stopping at a plain door. When she knocked, it swung open almost immediately, a young alfar woman with close-cropped hair and long, pointed ears on the other side. Curvy silhouette outlined against a warm glow, she tipped her head to one side, gaze flicking curiously over Egil before she dropped into a curtsy.
“My handmaiden, Wilhara,” Devikra told Egil. “Did anyone notice I was gone, Wil?”
Wilhara answered with another curtsy, then stepped aside to let them in. “No, all was quiet.”
“Oh, good. I wouldn’t have heard no end of it. Thank you for keeping watch, darling. 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 open, lit by a smattering of candles and a lively fire in the old stone fireplace. Near it, two sofas sat facing each other, pillows of varying sizes stacked on and around them. There were no windows, but a corridor at the back led deeper inside. It was faint, but the smell of incense hung in the air.
Once the door was bolted behind them, Wilhara dismissed the two of them 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. Odd behavior for a handmaiden, Egil thought, but Devikra herself had a very informal attitude. He supposed it was a good match.
“Are we underneath the temple?” he asked, trying to peer down the corridor.
“You have a good sense of direction,” Devikra said. “Yes, and on that note, I need to go check on things upstairs before we get too comfortable here. I’ll be back in a moment.”
Egil watched her go, then moved to the sofa across from Wilhara, foregoing it at the last moment to join her on the ground. The movement jostled the stitches he’d put into his thigh earlier and he grimaced. Wilhara looked at him, at that, watching his mouth and not his eyes. “You’re hurt,” she said, more fact than question. “You got in a fight with the Enforcers and stitched yourself up.”
“Does everyone know about the Enforcers here?”
Wilhara dropped her gaze. “The Oracle has seen them many times.”
“And she told you about them?” Egil asked, subconsciously lowering his voice to match Wil’s soft tone. She seemed to relax at that, looking back up at him.
“Dev tells me everything.”
“About my injuries, too? That was also a vision?”
Wil nodded and tugged nervously at the fabrics of her skirt. The movement jostled the book on her lap enough that Egil could see the pages of a sketchbook covered in heavy charcoal. “What are you drawing?” he asked.
“I don’t know yet.”
“Do you mind me watching?”
Wil bit her lip, considering, then shook her head. When she began to draw 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. The longer they sat, the more tension eased out of him.
“She must like you,” Devikra said. She didn’t startle Egil — he’d heard her coming down the hall — but all his tension returned at the sound of her voice. “She never works with other people present.”
“Works?” Egil asked.
Devikra didn’t answer, sitting on the sofa behind Wil, who didn’t glance up or stop drawing for even a moment. Devikra lounged back into the cushions, the picture of ease.
“Thank you,” Egil told her.
If she was surprised by the sentiment, she didn’t show it. Her smile stayed pleasant. Egil was beginning to suspect everything she was was hidden behind a mask. “What for?”
“If it’s true the Enforcers would have found me, then I owe you my life.”
“Oh, that. It was nothing.”
Egil laughed, the sound bitter. “Nothing? How much do you know about the Enforcers?”
“I know they’re trained soldiers in Unity’s employ,” Devikra said with a shrug.
“They’re more than that. They’re assassins, spies, sleuths and butchers. Unity takes them in young and spends decades training them and forging them into the perfect weapons. They’re ruthless and unwaveringly loyal. They bloody their hands so Unity doesn’t have to — so the world doesn’t see what Unity really is,” Egil spat.
At some point during his speech, Wil had looked up, eyes wide. Devikra watched him curiously. “Interesting. I also know they’re not what they used to be, not since they lost the Sword of Unity. You’ve heard of him, haven’t you? The strongest of their number, the first Enforcer?” she asked with a smirk, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “They used to say he walked in shadows, that he could beat entire armies with nothing but a pocketknife and his wit. That if he wanted you dead, you were already as good as gone. Then about forty years ago, he up and vanished. But you look sapien; maybe that was before your time. Come to think of it, though, I’ve been hearing Egil stories for about thirty years now, haven’t I? What a strange coincidence.”
“Don’t play games, Devikra,” Egil said through gritted teeth. “And don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”
“I’ve only guessed. I don’t know,” Devikra said, sitting forward and resting her elbows on her knees. “Are you Unity’s Sword. Egil?”
“Not anymore,” Egil said. “And never again.”
“You don’t seem so unwaveringly loyal, after all,” Devikra said.
Egil dropped his gaze to the woven rug, tracing the pattern with his eyes. “I used to be. Unity reels them — us — in with impossible promises, carrots dangled just out of reach. And while we’re distracted, they break us down. Mess with our minds and make it impossible to leave.”
“What changed?”
Egil sighed. “They gave me an apprentice, someone young and kind. I couldn’t do to another person what they’d done to me, so I escaped.”
“But left that person behind to meet the same fate at another’s hands?” Devikra guessed.
“Not on purpose,” Egil snapped. “We were supposed to escape together. I’m going to go back for them.”
“Have you been telling yourself that for forty years? Time won’t stop for you while you build courage,” Devikra said. It clearly wasn’t meant to be cold, but that was the effect. “I could help you.”
Egil eyed her. “How?”
“Now it’s my turn to interrogate. How much do you know about my operation here?”
“I know that you take appointments, that people consult with you about their futures,” Egil said.
“I do much more with my visions, but I do try to keep it quiet. If the general populace knew what I do with them, they might think me…well, not a false prophet, but perhaps a disingenuous one. The Oracle’s visions predict the future — that much is true, but it’s only ever brief moments without context. There’s no controlling what is seen or when. I’m sure you can imagine how inconvenient that is, seeing fleeting glimpses of such a great world.”
“I suppose.”
“For a long time, I struggled with what to do with this gift. These visions would predict terrible things, and I didn’t know enough to interpret them — not until after they came to pass. Over the years, I’ve found that knowledge is key. The more I know of the world, the more I see and experience, the better I can understand my visions before they’ve come to pass. Taking visitors — that’s useful as well, in its own way. I get to put faces to names. If they ever appear in future visions, I will know them,” Devikra explained. “So in the end, I created a…business around collecting knowledge. I have employees everywhere, listening to the happenings of the world and reporting them back to me. I even have people inside Unity, who could pass you essential information.”
“If I work for you,” Egil guessed. “You’re asking me to be a spy again.”
“No, I imagine you’ve had enough of that.”
“Then what do you want from me?”
“There’s another step in the process, and that’s what comes after the visions. If I can interpret them quickly enough, I can soften the damage. If, for example, I see a building burn down across the street, I can go make sure the building’s evacuated before the match is even lit. 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?”
Devikra smiled, sharp and wide. “Because I know you have the skillset. Because I’ve watched you, and because I see someone who’s trying to do good. And because you remind me of someone very dear to me.”
Wilhara looked up again, at that, searching Egil’s face closely. When Egil met her eye, she ducked her head again. Devikra ignored the short exchange, instead saying, “What do you say? You’ll be able to help countless innocent people, working for me. I’ll help you rescue your apprentice. Maybe you’ll finally be able to atone.”
Egil considered her, with her honeyed words and her careful mask. His answer was made before he’d even opened his mouth. “No,” he said, getting to see Devikra’s true surprise for the second time that night. He climbed to his feet, careful not to wince in front of Devikra. “I don’t need your help or your hospitality, and I certainly don’t need your games. I thank you again for your help, but I think I’ll be on my way. It was a pleasure meeting you, Wilhara. Devikra.”
With a bow, he left the Oracle of Damael to steep in her shock, heading out into the cool night.
Present Day
Year of Unity 1880
Egil slammed the door of Aleksir Bardon’s hotel room behind him, cursing to himself as he stalked down the stairs, out the door, and back into Gallontea’s streets. The joke was on him, thinking one of Devikra’s men could ever be helpful. Her visions, he’d learned over the years, were like a drug. Now that he knew a little he needed to know more. But if he wanted more, he’d have to speak to the Oracle herself, but he couldn’t bear to be in Devikra’s presence for even a moment.
He took winding side roads through Gallontea, a long-engrained habit, and was so lost in his own thoughts that he almost missed something strange. Gallontea’s streets were full of the downtrodden and houseless; it was, unfortunately, a common occurrence to look down alleys and find small encampments, though Gallontea’s police were notoriously ruthless about that sort of thing. There was a small one up ahead, tucked alongside a dumpster. From where he stood, stopped in the street, Egil could see a pair of bare feet. He could also, however, see the tip of a tail.
When he ventured closer, the tail and feet both disappeared into the makeshift wooden shelter, out of sight.
“I’m not with the police,” Egil called. “I’m not going to hurt you. Are you orinian?”
There came a long pause. Egil waited, patiently, until a messy blond head of hair peeked out from inside the shelter. It was an orinian girl, one with dark bags under her eyes and a wary expression. She looked to be about twenty, maybe older. When she saw that Egil wore no uniform, she relaxed some, but she said, “Go away. Leave me alone.”
“If that’s what you want,” Egil said, “But Gallontea isn’t a safe place for you right now.”
“No shit,” the girl said, startling a laugh out of Egil. “It’s not like a have a choice.”
“Do you need money?” he asked, venturing further. As if wanting to be on equal footing, the girl climbed out of her shelter, standing proudly to face him.
“No. Well, yes. But no, what I really need is my brother back.”
Egil raised an eyebrow. “What happened to him?”
“Why should I?” the girl asked, still wary.
“Because I can help you.”
At that, the girl laughed. “You can help me break onto Unity’s Island? Sure. Who are you, Egil?”
“Yes, actually.”
The girl paused, waiting for a laugh, then took a step back when Egil did not. “Please don’t be insane. I really can’t handle that on top of everything else I’m dealing with right now.”
Egil sighed, then offered a hand out to her, palm up. Slowly, the veins at his fingertips began to glow white. As it spread up his arm, up his neck, over his face, the girl took a frightened step back, eyes wide, ears pressed to her head. Egil held his hands up in a placating gesture. “I won’t hurt you. But if you want proof, see my magic. I’m telling you the truth. Tell me what happened to your brother.”
The girl broke down quickly after that and told Egil the whole story — about her neighbor, a Magistrate’s brother, about her own brother and his fiancé’s abduction, about her day since, evading police. By the end, Egil already had a plan.
“He’ll likely be held at the prison,” Egil told the girl, “I can’t help you now, but to even get close to Kieran you’ll need someone who knows the island and its dangers as well as I do. Go to the Rinehart Festival grounds — to the east is a camp, where the performers stay during the festival. Ask for a man named Roman Hallisey.”
“What if he won’t help?” the girl asked, her long, cow-like ears pressed to her head again.
“He will.”
A lot of different threads were dropped in this chapter. Did you pick up on any of them? Do you have any theories forming? :)
Thanks for reading, and for your patience! I’m all moved in to my new house. It’s still a mess, but the cats all love it!
This email is a part of Fractured Magic, a gothic fantasy webserial. At emrowene.com, you can find a character guide and gallery, a full list of content warnings, and other works by the author. Supporting the story on Patreon will give you early access to chapters plus character art and exclusive content.