Broken Bonds (Mortal Intervention Book 1) Read online

  Broken Bonds

  Book 1 of the Mortal Intervention Series

  By

  Nick Loftis

  Copyright © 2016 by Nick Loftis

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  www.nickloftis.squarespace.com

  Thank you to everyone who supported this endeavor.

  Especially my wife Crystal.

  I

  Brax and Wil sat at a table in the back of the saloon, out of eyesight of the barkeep and as far as possible from the other two patrons seated at the bar. It was midday when the two of them entered and no one had come in after them. Wil's leather duster was spread out over the wood table between the two, his mechanical left arm lay on top of it, detached from his body. Brax was hunched over it with a pair of tweezers and a disapproving frown as he pulled out bits of bullet and shredded wire.

  "Well, it kept the bullet from killing you, but destroyed the wiring for your fingers. It's going to take me a couple of hours to fix it," Brax stated without looking up. His tone was indifferent, accustomed to his friend's reckless behavior. His right eye telescoped out to magnify what he was looking at. "It jammed your wand mount as well. What the hell were you thinking?" Brax was a Crellian; a race of mechanical-biological beings that disappeared centuries ago after the Purge Wars ended. He was the last of his kind left in the world. He was dressed in an all-black three-piece suit, with a wide brim hat on the table next to him. His head resembled a human's; but instead of skin there was a mesmerizing swirl of copper and silver metals with a glassy finish that made up the rest of his body as well. Walking around with any of his body uncovered attracted a lot of unnecessary attention.

  Wil leaned back in his chair, his thin face bored. He wore gray pants and a matching vest with black traveling boots. The sleeves on his white shirt were rolled up above his elbows, revealing a faded tattoo of a dragon on his right forearm while the left sleeve just dangled. "I was returning a gift." It wouldn't sit well with Brax if Wil told his friend that he had to kill a barbarian king's heir when he refused a gift of freshly dead cattle.

  He checked his pocket watch. Its silver body was worn down by centuries of handling, but its face was brand new diamond. "What time is your contact going to be here? Do we have time to grab the tools you need to fix my arm?" Wil didn't like sitting still. Especially when his arm wasn't attached. He did his best to look calm and collected, but failed amicably.

  Brax ignored him and rolled out a leather pouch, heavy with a variety of tools and common supplies. His work was definitely cut out for him this time. He picked up a small spool of thin copper wire and began measuring it out. "What I have on me should suffice."

  “Great,” Wil exclaimed, slapping the table. He stood up and stretched. “Want anything to drink?” he asked, pointing over his shoulder at the barkeep behind him with his thumb.

  Brax’s eyes dimmed to a pale violet, "How many years-"

  Wil shrugged and walked to the bar before Brax could finish. He knew his friend didn't need to eat or drink, but that hadn't stopped him from always offering. All the other tables, about two dozen in all, were empty. The only other patrons were a pair of cloaked and hooded figures seated on stools in front of the bartender. They were both roughly the same size, slightly larger than Wil but smaller than Brax. Everything except their hands were covered. Wil approached on their right side, making his missing arm clearly visible. Both men stopped talking to glare at him while he ordered.

  “Do you have any fairy brew?” he asked the skinny, red haired man behind the bar who had turned his attention toward Wil.

  “I think I got a bottle somewhere,” he drawled in a much deeper voice than Wil had been expecting before bending down to search his stock underneath the bar.

  “Why would you want to drink that trash?” the man farthest from Wil asked. His face, as well as his companion’s was hidden in the shadows of their hoods.

  Wil raised his eyebrows, doing his best not to start anything. “Trash? Have you ever tried fairy brew? You can't find a smoother drink. Fairies may be obnoxious and irritating, but they know how to make a good drink.” The barkeep handed him a hastily cleaned bottle that still had a ring of thick dust around the bottom. “Thank you,” he finished, taking the bottle from the barkeep and passing him a gold coin.

  “Sir, this is too much. It was only-” the young man started. He was suddenly uncomfortable, darting glances at his other two customers who's attention had turned to the coin.

  “Sorry, all I’ve got. Can I get a glass? It tastes better once it's had a chance to air out a little." He winked at the man next to him. "I've always been a bit of a light weight. You can come by and have some if you'd like."

  “I can’t give you enough change,” the barkeep fretted, passing a frosted mug to Wil. He tried to say something else but it just came out as a garbled hiccup.

  “Well, keep my tab open. I have some friends coming by later and it's all I've got on me at the moment.” Wil took the mug and turned to walk back to the table when the hooded figure who hadn’t questioned him about the fairy brew pinched Wil’s shoulder. "Cover their bills with it too," he added, trying to shrug out of the man's grasp and avoid any conflict.

  “Who carries gold around these days?” the man asked, tightening his grip. His voice was much deeper than his companion’s. “Especially in a shit town like this?”

  Wil looked at the man’s hand and then into the hood. It was unnaturally dark- too dark to make out any of the man’s facial features- and raised the hair on Wil's neck. “Come on, don't do this. I only have one arm right now." He waved the stub in his shirt sleeve, making it bounce. "It makes it harder to keep you alive," he mocked in a loud whisper.

  The man shoved Will away from him, almost making him drop the bottle and glass. “We don’t need the charity of a cripple who spends time with those things,” he sneered, indicating Brax with a rough head jerk.

  Brax stayed focused on his work, oblivious to the confrontation taking place.

  Wil spun around with the push so he stood facing the man. He blinked once and then kicked the stool the man was sitting on. The leg his foot connected with snapped, dumping it’s occupant on the ground. Wil followed the man down and slammed a knee into his chest, cracking a rib and pinning him to the ground. He drank from the open bottle and then set it and the mug down next to the silver footrest underneath the bar, and drew a heavy, copper-plated revolver with dark red detail across the barrel and grip from his hip. “Sit back down and slide that across the counter to the barkeep. If not, I’ll blast your head through the wall,” he threatened, pointing the gun at the man he hadn’t assaulted.

  The man listened and threw the knife he had drawn onto the bar top.

  The wide-eyed barkeep ignored the knife. His hair clashed sharply with his now bloodless face.

  “Now, remove the hood.”

  “I- I can’t.”

  Wil took his time thumbing the hammer back, letting the tension build as it clicked down.

  “Please! I can't! It's against our scripture!”

  “One,” Wil began counting.

  The man pulled the hood back quickly. He was young, not a day over twenty, with smooth cream-colored skin and jaw length white-blonde hair that was baby fine.

  But no eyes. Where his eyes used to be was an empty socket with skin grown over them.

  “Damn it,” Wil groaned. He ground his knee into the man’s chest underneath him as he stood up. �
�You have the same seeing problem as your buddy?” he asked the man on the ground, waving the gun tip around his own eyes.

  “He will smite you for your insolence, “the man on the ground gasped weakly. “The True God has no love for abominations and machines. You will all perish.”

  Wil pulled the trigger with the barrel pointed at the man’s forehead. There was a loud clap of thunder and the man’s head disappeared from the chin up. Wil looked up at the blonde man.

  “Do you feel the same way?” he asked calmly. Pulling the trigger hadn't phased him in the least.

  “I- I don’t know,” the man answered. He was trembling and had lost the little bit of color in his face that he’d had.

  “That’s not good enough for me, “Wil informed him before pointing the gun at the man’s chest and pulling the trigger a second time.

  A door slammed open and closed behind the bar before the second man's body hit the ground.

  “We need to leave now, Wil,” Brax said, walking towards him with his hat pulled low, carrying everything in Wil’s coat.

  Wil set two more gold coins on the counter and holstered his gun before following Brax outside.

  They walked quickly across the unpaved street and ducked between two building and followed the alleyway out to the other side where it opened into a busy street market.

  “We should be good now,” Brax sighed with relief. He readjusted everything he was carrying so he could hug the bundle. “Things are not the way they used to be, Wil. There are consequences for your actions. Being right isn’t enough anymore,” he reprimanded.

  Wil picked up a hat off a table and tried it on. The vendor, an old lady missing her teeth, held up a mirror for him. Wil studied himself momentarily and set the hat back down, shaking his head politely as she picked up another one.

  He didn't appreciate Brax's remark. It reminded him of a parent scolding a child. “Why am I here, Brax?” Wil asked. He moved from stall to stall, studying everything for sale. They were about to have an argument that neither wanted to have again.

  “Because Crell-”

  “Exactly,” Wil cut him off furiously. “Because your fucking god decided for me. He didn’t ask or give me a choice; didn’t even pretend to. No- instead the pile of dwarf shit kidnapped me at my lowest point. I don’t even know what year it is or what city we're in!” Wil suddenly looked exhausted. He knew what Brax would say next and braced himself for it.

  “This is Melding- or where it once stood at least- I can’t remember if they’ve changed the name yet,” a young woman interjected from behind Wil. She fluffed her short blonde hair and smiled up at them. She was tiny; the top of her head only came to Wil's chin and the middle of Brax's chest.

  Brax bowed his head in respect as Wil stared at the woman. She continued to smile as Wil stared, trying to make a connection as to who she was.

  “Show your respect,” Brax growled at Wil after he rose from his bow.

  “Why?” he grunted in response. The woman’s silver robes didn’t indicate any sort of status in a church he recognized, and no one else seemed to notice her. What made her so deserving of unwarranted respect from his stoic companion?

  “Wait; you’re a god, aren’t you?” Wil’s anger slowly turned to exasperation as his realization dawned on him. He was never going to get a break.

  “I’m a goddess, yes,” she answered. “Tell your friend who I am, Metal-Man.”

  “No. Why can’t you tell me who you are? What gives you the right to order him to do it?” Wil pushed. He was getting mad again. The Pantheon never had respect for mortals. Especially him.

  “This is the Silver Daughter. Talgun fathered her not long after Crell saved you from death.” Brax obeyed, ignoring Wil's rudeness.

  Wil raised his eyebrows. “Just Talgun? No mother worth mentioning?” he asked the Silver Daughter, locking eyes with her. He rested his hand on his revolver. It wasn't an aggressive act, just something he did when he was thinking.

  She smiled wider, watching him think. “She was an Elven princess murdered by my father after I had come of age. Why?”

  “So you're a mortal goddess, which means you aren’t a full goddess; if you were,” he ran on, cutting off Brax before he could remind him of his manners, “my god-fearing friend here would have given you an offering of some kind on the spot.”

  Brax clinked his jaws together in anger while the Silver Daughter doubled over with laughter.

  “I like you,” she managed after several seconds of uncontrollable laughter. “So, what are my uncle's servants running from?”

  “A couple murders I just committed,” Wil shared casually, watching Brax's reaction. “Is it my turn to ask a question now?”

  “If you'd like,” she replied, still smiling.

  “I would. How did you find us? Crell was supposed to ensure we couldn't be tracked by other gods.”

  “My uncle was also supposed to ensure that no mortals could ascend to godhood and gain a following,” she said, evading the question. “But after looking at what you left in the bar I would assume that he failed in that as well.” Her smile was starting to wane a little bit.

  Brax's purple eyes turned red in anger at the insult, but he stayed quiet.

  Wil nodded knowingly. “The Cult of the True God. You're familiar with their work as well?” The conversation was getting interesting for him. Crell had ignored him when he'd asked the god about them and none of his own informants had a lot of information on them; that's why him and Brax had been at the saloon here in the first place. Brax had a friend who'd had extensive experiences with the Cult. “I thought the Pantheon would be ignoring this problem altogether.”

  The Silver Daughter’s smile was in full effect again. “There are some of us looking into the cult as discretely as possible. Because of their barbaric rituals however, it is difficult to infiltrate their numbers.”

  It was Wil's turn to laugh; well, more of a chuckle really. “Barbaric is one way to describe it. Would you be willing to trade information about them?”

  “How would you like a job instead? I can use an assistant of your… caliber.” She was intensely somber all of a sudden.

  “Sorry?” Wil stuttered, taken aback. He hadn't been expecting a job offer for mouthing off to the divine. “You’re asking me to work for you after I gave you so much grief? Isn’t that counter productive to how your kind typically work?”

  “Don’t Wil,” Brax interjected quickly. His eyes flashed to a concerned blue. “She may be a goddess, but she’s evil; she can’t be trusted.” His eyes darkened back to red as they settled back on her.

  She suppressed a smirk and raised her eyebrows. “Is that so?” she goaded.

  “But your god can?” Wil challenged. “For fuck’s sake he abducted me- forced me into his servitude- and then plucked me away from everything I cared for and dropped me someplace in the future, refusing to tell me where and when I am.

  “That’s all okay though because it was in his name and he represents everything good in life; I’m sorry, but I'm calling bullshit.” He stared down Brax until the mechanical man looked down at the ground, clinching his fists.

  “What is it you can offer me?” Wil asked stiffly. If this meant his servitude to Crell could be broken it was worth almost anything to him.

  She snapped her fingers. A moment later Wil’s mechanical arm was reattached and repaired. “Lets not set a price until I show you what needs to be done; but consider that payment for your consideration; despite your friend’s mistrust.” She smiled condescendingly at Brax.

  Wil took his copper wand out of a sheath attached to his revolver holster and slipped it into the newly repaired slot on his arm. Runes etched into the wand and his forearm and hand glowed a violent green before dulling into the paint. He flipped his hand up and cupped it. A small emerald fireball flashed into existence inside of it. It continued to grow in density and brightness. “I’ll take you up on your offer, “he said, squinting against the bright light. He extinguished
it by clenching his fist over it.

  “We should get going then,” she said, clapping her hands together. “How about you, Brax? Would you like to come along?”

  He ignored her. “Wil, if you go, our friendship is over; I cannot enable an agent of evil.” He ignored the Silver Daughter, focusing entirely on Wil.

  Wil held out his newly reattached hand. Brax hesitated before giving him his jacket and watching him put it on silently.

  “Just because Crell’s name symbolizes everything that’s supposed to be good, doesn’t make it okay to do something in his name; good people do bad things all the time. And even gods make mistakes. Hope to see you around,” Wil said as a goodbye before turning to the Silver Daughter. “Ready when you are.”

  “Okay,” she said, snapping her fingers, teleporting both of them.

  It wasn’t flashy. One moment they were there and the next they weren’t. It took Brax a moment to process it as whatever magic she had worked bled away and left him alone in the middle of a noisy crowd.

  “Crell, Maker,” Brax mumbled as he walked away from the market, his head down in prayer as Crell’s symbol- a crescent moon over the bottom right of a full moon- was clutched in his hand. “Your divine plan for Wil has failed. He has joined the Silver Daughter’s ranks. I’m ready to join you.”

  He glimmered in silver light as he entered an alley with a dead end and disappeared moments after his prayer was finished.

  II

  “Gah- Fuck!” Wil shouted. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He began pacing. He had just screwed himself. He knew Brax would go straight to Crell, but what would Crell do? Was he going to have a vengeful god on his tail?

  “Be quiet; we don't have time for you to act out?” the Silver Daughter ordered after his string of curses stopped. She was nervous, which caught Wil off guard. He hadn't known her more than ten minutes, but it seemed out of character.

  “What?” Wil asked, stopping mid step. Her change in mood almost distracted him from his thoughts. He probably shouldn’t share any of the information with her about the predicament he had just put himself into. She would probably just dig his hole deeper if she tried to help at all.