Splinter (The Machinists Book 2) (3 page)

Yes,
he decided,
I will make a habit of this.

“Do you remember the night Lukas left?” Leira’s voice was quiet and hesitant, as if she were afraid to interrupt their private retreat.

“Of course.”
How could I forget?
Lukas had splintered the McCollum Family, leaving with nearly a third of its members, then continued to spread his vitriol, verbally assaulting their most sacred traditions in an attempt to recruit from Families unsympathetic to Graeme’s philosophies. He sought the youngest and most ambitious magi, those with a chips on their shoulders. Those who felt they had something to prove—and they flocked to his message. Lukas had done more than decimate the McCollum Family’s strength; he had destroyed their reputation. The Families avoided them as if their presumed weakness was contagious, and even after Lukas’s downfall—and Graeme’s death—the Family still hadn’t recovered.

“I found my father in his study. It was dark, and he stood at the window, watching as Lukas led his followers away. To this day, I don’t know what hurt him more—their departure or their excitement in doing so.”

Jaxon remembered the evening clearly. It had been a blistering-hot late-August evening, and tempers between Graeme and Lukas had flared for the final time. They had fled at dusk when the sky was an angry mix of reds, oranges, and yellows. Lukas had turned the somber event into a celebration, throwing balls of fire into the air like fireworks. His followers danced, cheered, and made a mockery of those who had remained. Lukas enjoyed rubbing Graeme’s nose in it.

“A piece of him left with Lukas that day,” Leira said. “He became somber, bitter, and distrustful. He ceased being my father, instead becoming more interested in being my leader. And I
hated
him for it.”

Jaxon looked at her in surprise. Leira had barely spoken of her father since his death, but when she had, she’d never spoken ill. Her honesty made him uneasy.

“I don’t want to see you make the same mistake.”

“I’m not contending with a splinter,” Jaxon said.

“That’s not what destroyed my father. His downfall wasn’t circumstance—it was how he responded to it.”

“Your father was the strongest man I’ve ever known.”

“That’s where he failed,” Leira said. “He tried to shoulder the burden himself. Tried to turn himself into the manor and shelter us inside, but it was too much to bear. It wasn’t a coincidence that my father died the same night the manor was destroyed. They were too intertwined. One couldn’t exist without the other.”

“The Family needs a strong leader.”

“Strength comes from a strong foundation, Jaxon. You don’t have to be the walls and the roof, too.”

Her words echoed something Graeme used to say. “
You’re only as strong as your support structure
.
”

But who had been Graeme’s support structure? Who held him up when he would have otherwise fallen? His Family? Me?
If that were the case, then Jaxon had been a lousy pillar of support—he’d often used Graeme’s moments of council to question some of his deepest philosophies. Had he hoped for Jaxon to share in his burdens?

“You want to play a larger part,” Jaxon said.

Leira stopped and turned to face him. “I want to play
a
part, Jaxon. This is my Family, too.”

He studied the conviction in her eyes. It stirred something inside him—her conviction was one of the things he treasured most about her, even if it could be frustrating. “I’m not trying to shut you out.”

“I know.” Leira turned from him and walked into the sparse forest. She found a fallen tree, then sat down, and waited for him to join her.

He stood there for a moment, feeling awkward. The way her eyes bore through him, into his soul, made him self-conscious. But the way he cherished it terrified him even more. Hesitantly, he made his way to the fallen tree and sat next to her.

Leira slid closer until her leg touched his. “Will you tell me what happened back there?”

Jaxon exhaled, his breath billowing into the air. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “The anger came so fast. It’s just too much, and I got lost in it.”

“What’s all too much?”

Jaxon shot her an irritated look.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said. “Pulling words and feelings out of you is like pulling stars from the sky—damn near impossible and probably not worth the effort. The other half the time, your face is as hard as granite. So if you don’t tell me what’s going on, I have no way of knowing.”

“I don’t try to be difficult,” Jaxon said.

“I know. It just comes naturally.” Leira smirked and prodded him with an elbow. “So tell me. What happened with the call?”

Jaxon drew a deep breath. “My Family is unhappy that I’m the interim grand mage for your Family. They want me to anoint another and return home.”

Leira’s eyes fell from his, but her face remained placid. The news shouldn’t have come as a shock. She had been privy to his half of the conversation and should have come to the conclusion herself. “What will you do?”

“What choice do I have?” Jaxon asked. “They’re
my
Family. I can’t leave them any more than you can leave yours.”

“I see,” Leira said softly.

“But that’s not the worst of it,” Jaxon said. “The Forum held a session without a McCollum delegate.”

Leira looked up from the ground, meeting his eyes. “But—”

“They’ve disbanded us, Leira. This Family no longer exists in the eyes of the Forum.”

Leira stood, covering her gaping mouth with her hand. “They can’t! We… I… they can’t!”

“It’s done.”

Leira turned her back to him, her body tensing. She shook her head. “No.”

“Leira—”

She spun on him, cold fury in her eyes. “No. They have no authority to do this.”

Jaxon raised an eyebrow. “It’s the Arch Mage, Leira. And he has the consent of the Forum—they have the only authority.”

“No,” Leira said again. “The Forum can no more destroy a Family than they can create one. We are held together by the bonds that brought us together in the first place, and I will not see them broken. I won’t let this Family splinter.”

Jaxon stood and stepped toward Leira, reaching out a compassionate hand. She recoiled.

“What do you mean to do?” Jaxon asked.

“They must have given a reason.” She said it as much to herself as she did him.

“Their charge,” Jaxon said slowly, “is an act of war against a magi Family without the consent of the Forum.”

“If the Forum had acted in the first place, we wouldn’t have been forced to…” She bit her bottom lip angrily.

Jaxon held up a hand. “But,” he said, letting the word hang in the air for a long second, “I believe their true reason remains unspoken. My mother said something I can’t seem to shake free from. She said the members of the Family would be absorbed by the other Families, that their magi bloodlines would continue. Only the McCollum Family name would cease to exist.”

“I don’t understand.”

“They want us,” Jaxon said. “But they don’t want our Family.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re weak. We have nothing to offer and would be a drain on any Family that took us in.”

“But that’s not true,” Leira said. “We have Liam. And Allyn. We know about a new kind of magi.”

“I know.”

“We have to speak to the Forum.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Jaxon said. “They won’t assemble for us. Remember, we no longer exist in their eyes.”

“Then what do we do?”

“We force them to look at us.”

“How?”

“We show them our strength.”

Chapter 3

A
llyn held his breath as Kendyl removed his bandage. Her dark hair was pulled back in a quick ponytail, and a couple of strands hung loose to frame her face. She wore the black magi compression armor, though hers was untarnished—unlike his, hers had never seen battle. It had never seen death.

Allyn grimaced. The bandage had a way of sticking to the wound, so that when Kendyl pulled the strip away, it tugged painfully on his blistered skin.

Kendyl sighed, her eyes darting to his before returning to the wound. “Why don’t you just have Nyla or Leira heal this?”

The brand looked worse than it had the last time she’d changed the dressing. The skin around the edges was dry and leathery, and the angry-red center looked wet, even though she hadn’t yet applied the salve. Small crimson droplets spattered the inside of the bandage, but the wound didn’t bleed in the open air, though it did seep when he moved his arm to look at it. Liam hadn’t cauterized the edges of the brand as thoroughly as Rory had his.

“That’s not how the ceremony works,” Allyn said. “It has to heal on its own. It’s a magi rite of passage.”

“It’s barbaric.” The heat in her voice surprised him.

“I think it’s kind of beautiful.”

Shaking her head, Kendyl grabbed the bottle of water off the windowsill. She poured some over the top of his arm, just below the shoulder so that the cool liquid trickled down over the brand.

Allyn grimaced as the water washed over the wound and dripped from his elbow onto the bed. Kendyl’s room, like his, was full of childhood relics. A princess pillowcase accompanied the pink frilly comforter that covered her bed, and the door was covered in faded Barbie stickers. They had found old toys hidden under the bed and inside the small closet. Kendyl displayed them on the windowsill. She wasn’t embarrassed; she was proud.

When they had first moved in, she had attempted to give the room to someone more valuable, but Jaxon hadn’t allowed it. The McCollum Family were guests in the cabin, and as the host and hostess, Allyn and Kendyl had the privilege of their own rooms.

“You confuse me sometimes, Kendyl. I know you like tattoos and piercings. How are these any different?”

Her hand went to her hip, gently rubbing her pants, as if she had a tattoo hidden beneath. “A tattoo is voluntary.”

“So was this.”

Kendyl’s expression told him she didn’t believe him.

“Jaxon said they don’t always do it that way—that they only tied me to the ground so they could get a clean burn—a good brand.”

“They didn’t think you could handle it.”

“What’s gotten into you?” Allyn asked. “You’ve been on edge all day.”

Kendyl spooned out the antibiotic ointment and dabbed it on with her fingers. “You don’t even like body art.”

What does that have to do with anything?
This was the third time she had helped him clean his brands, and each time, she’d grown more agitated. Allyn appreciated her help, but if it was going to come with an assortment of verbal barbs, he would just as soon go to Joyce. Kendyl was acting like a…

“You’re jealous!” Allyn couldn’t believe it—Kendyl didn’t get jealous. “They dragged me out of my room in the middle of the night. No warning. Nothing. I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“You just said you did.”

Allyn hesitated. Kendyl didn’t have much of a temper—he’d inherited that trait—but what little she did have, she reserved for him. “I don’t know what to say, Kendyl. I didn’t ask for these, and you’re right—given the choice, I’m not sure I would have wanted them. But
the Family
feels I earned them, and that means something to me.”

She exhaled long and slow then reapplied the bandage. “It’s not about the brands.” Her voice was quiet, almost as if she were talking to herself.

“But you said—”

“You’re about as perceptive as a rock sometimes. You know that? Honestly, Allyn, how were you ever a successful attorney?”

“My clients
wanted
to talk. They didn’t say one thing and mean another.”

Kendyl laughed.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t play that game. Something is bothering you, and you obviously want to talk about—”

“I don’t know what I’m doing here! Okay?” The words came out of her mouth so quickly that Allyn struggled to keep up. “While you’re out there saving the day and getting brands and whatever else, I’m here, twiddling my thumbs, trying to find a way to be helpful. But I’m not. I’m useless.”

“Kendyl…”

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said.

Like what
?
I’m not smiling, am I?
He had a tendency to smirk when he was uncomfortable. “Do you want to leave?”

“No.” Kendyl took a deep breath. “I know I’m here for a reason.” Her tone had become softer. “I just need to find out what that reason is.”

“Whatever it is, I’ll help you find it.”

“I don’t think it’s something you can help me with.”

Allyn didn’t know what to say, so he remained silent. The floor squeaked behind them, and Allyn turned to find Jaxon standing at the door, mouth agape, his hand raised as if he were about to knock. He looked uncomfortable, as though he had been standing there for a while, unsure of how or when to interrupt.

“I need to speak with you,” Jaxon said, his eyes darting to Kendyl. He had definitely been standing there for a while.

“Okay,” Allyn said, looking at Kendyl, feeling their conversation was coming to a premature end.

“It’s okay,” she said.

Allyn gave her a small smile and withdrew into the hall.

Jaxon leaned in close. “Is everything okay?”

“To be honest,” Allyn said, “I don’t really know.”

Jaxon nodded knowingly. “We’ve got other problems.” He gestured to his room across the hall and pushed open the door for Allyn to enter. As the new grand mage of the McCollum Family, Jaxon had been granted the privacy of one of the bedrooms. Lightly furnished with a twin bed and a rickety bedside table that Jaxon used as a desk, the small room housed the few artifacts they had rescued from the manor.

“Sit.” Jaxon motioned toward a small chair in the corner.

Allyn sat.

“I spoke with my Family today,” Jaxon said, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. “And… I’ve been summoned back.”

“Summoned back?”

“My time with the McCollum Family was to be spent shadowing Graeme, studying his leadership. Now that Graeme is gone, they feel that my time here should end.”

Allyn fumbled for words. Jaxon was the de-facto leader of their Family. Ever present. Strong. Reliable. His strength held this fragile Family together. “You can’t. This is where you’re needed most.”

“I have other responsibilities than this Family. But I will leave at a time of
my
choosing.”

“When is that?”

Jaxon looked at the brands in the holder near the door. Three in all, they were the black color of pure iron, with a handle on one end and an elemental design on the other. Allyn’s wounds burned at the sight. Lifting one of the brands out of the holder, Jaxon peered at its head, then at Allyn, and back at the firebrand. His face grew determined. “When I’m sure the McCollum Family is strong enough.”

“You mean to find another grand mage.”

Jaxon nodded.

“Who?”

“It’s Liam’s position by rights.”

That wasn’t entirely true. While the line of grand mages usually traced the hereditary line, it wasn’t an absolute. Like the medieval line of kings before it, the tradition said that when the heir was too sickly to rule or there was no suitable heir at all, Families could anoint one of their choosing. And even then, a suitable heir had to be ratified by the Family in a form of monarchal democracy.

“Do you think they’ll follow him?”

“In time.” Jaxon returned the brand to its place. “His powers grow every day, and his influence with them. Liam is the first of his kind, and I mean to make the McCollum Family the first of its kind, too. This will be the Family that the other machinists flock to. And they’ll want one of their kind to lead it.”

“How are you going to find more?”

Allyn and Liam remained the only machinists discovered inside the McCollum Family.

“You believe that the machinists lie within the ranks of the non-wielders, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m seeking them out. Here at the McCollum Family, we’re offering a fresh start, free of judgments and condescension. Once they’re here, we’ll show them what we’ve discovered with you and Liam.”

It was a gamble. If he and Liam were correct, they could populate the machinist numbers through the non-wielders, and their Family would grow stronger. However, if the non-wielders were unable to develop machinist abilities or were unwilling to try, the McCollum Family would be left with the burden—a burden they could ill afford to take on.

“Why not come out with our discovery and use that to regain influence? That’s what Graeme had intended.”

Jaxon grimaced. “That was before his death and the loss of the manor. Before we were wanted by every police officer and detective in the Northwest. I’ve sought an audience with the Forum, but we’re alone for now.”

Allyn shook his head. That didn’t seem like the magi way. The Families had come together out of necessity, for protection, because the magi race would have dissolved into oblivion if they had not. It felt odd that no other magi Family was willing to come to the McCollum Family’s aid in its time of crisis.

“When we’re strong enough, the other Families will listen,” Jaxon said. “But first, we need to grow into the first machinist Family and show our strength.”

“How will we do that?”

“By growing our numbers and reclaiming what is rightfully ours. We’re going to take back the library and all of its contents.”

Liam missed his library. He missed his ergonomic workstation and the way it kept his body from aching after a long day’s work. He missed the steady artificial light, the feel of the abnormally dry air, and the constant hum of the air purifiers. He missed the smell of aging paper and leather. He missed the silence. He even missed the occasional loneliness. But above all, he missed having a place that was
his
.

Since moving to the cabin, he’d tried working at the giant redwood table, but had been quickly forced to move when his computer battery had died, and there wasn’t a convenient power outlet nearby. He’d tried working on the front porch, but in the cold mountain air, his fingers had grown stiff, and he’d been unable to concentrate on anything but keeping his teeth from chattering. He’d even attempted to work in Allyn’s and Jaxon’s rooms, but anytime he’d worked himself into a groove, they had kicked him out.

So he had resigned himself to the dark, noisy, uncomfortable corner of the loft where he slept. He sat with a pillow against the wall and his computer on his lap. His legs would eventually grow stiff and fall asleep. His back would ache and spasm. And the single dim light would strain his eyes enough to give him a headache. It wasn’t ideal. Then again, nothing about their current situation was.

Liam picked up the thin black book and flipped to the page he was currently transcribing.

Unto each, they sacrificed their soul.

Liam quietly read the words aloud, typing them into his open document, then checked again for accuracy. He hadn’t made any mistakes, and satisfied, he continued.

Given freely, their heat, their water, and their blood. Their very lives. Seven in all, they sacrificed.

He’d been at it for the better part of the morning after nearly all of the previous day. The thin book he’d recovered—Allyn liked to tease him, saying that he’d stolen it—from the Hyland Estate was the only book he still had in his possession, and as far as he knew, it was the only one of its kind. It was too important to wait. Their situation was too precarious. The book
needed
to be preserved.

Even now, the cold iron glows with their lifeblood. White hot, it will burn for generations so that we may continue. Let it not be forgotten of the sacrifice of the seven.

The passage ended.

Liam closed the book and rubbed his eyes. He was little more than three-quarters of the way done, and under normal circumstances, he would have been only a couple hours away from completing the transcription. But this particular work was more difficult than most. He was used to faded or damaged texts, and in many cases, he’d been forced to guess or leave the transcription incomplete. This was something else.

The book was written in a series of first-hand accounts of a single event. What made it particularly difficult was the inclusion of early modern letters, abbreviations, and the lack of standardized spelling. He made an effort to leave the text as unaltered as possible, but he’d been forced to adapt the long
S
into the modern short
S
simply because he had no way to type it into his document as written. More than that, it was nearly impossible to read.

Many words like
crosse
or
newe
used additional silent letters that he was unaccustomed to, while others used vowels interchangeably or based on their position in the word. Even the word
the
was abbreviated strangely
.
He wasn’t transcribing—he was adapting, translating, and it gave him a headache.