Call of the Chosen- Broken Kingdoms

by Michael DeSousa

  "No, no. Glen, please. If you know, tell me. They must have been exposed too. Are they alright?"

  "The Doctor knows. Ask him," Glen said, avoiding eye-contact.

  "That bad...?" He tried remembering what happened. He was overseeing the construction of runic shielding…when Captain Marabaunze…. No, she wasn’t there, was she? Damn it! He couldn't remember. At least, not yet.

  "Oh, I overheard you having some interesting conversations while you were passed out," Glen began again.

  "I...I don’t remember. I must have been dreaming."

  "It must have been a good dream because I was there. And so was—"

  "Ninn," Ed said, feeling the heaviness press on his chest. "I saw him. Gene too. Umm...I still don’t. The Gorge. That's what I dreamed."

  Glen shook his head. "Working even in your sleep? Beast, that was more than seven years ago. I wonder what they’re all doing now." Glen cracked a wide smile. "And Gene, I miss her the most. Loved taunting her. Never got to see her face."

  "I did."

  Glen's eyes widened. "You’re joking!"

  "Yup, at the Gorge. Her mask broke free from her lower lip to her chin."

  "Yes, yes; I remember! She wrapped her face up with some cloth she had. Looked ridiculous. What was the penance she had to do for that?"

  "Drink vinegar."

  Yes, I remember," Glen continued, chuckling. "She put half vinegar in her water canteen for a whole month. That was fun to watch…those days were fun. Not the warring…but everything else.…no, definitely not the war,” Glen’s smile faded, his eyes cleared. "You think we made the right decision, Ed. Staying on, I mean, when the war ended?"

  "Yes, without question," Ed replied, coughing. "Our loyalties are to our Princes. And...our Princes made the right decision too. The armistice was all they could do. I suppose the emperor still has a soft spot for his brothers, but that soft spot is where we’ll get him.” Ed tried grinning but his cheeks fluttered. “It’s not as though we’ve given up. Time, we needed time and we got it. Look at what we’re doing here in Landrie's mountains. We're still fighting, the only way we can. We’re still in it, Glen."

  Glen nodded slowly, looking unconvinced. "I hear Gene joined a mercenary group," he piped up. "I thought she would have gone back to her Holy City. Gotten tired of seeing men burping and scratching themselves all the time."

  "Keeping tabs on her?"

  "One of the benefits of being on the parchment side of the government. Lots of reports get pushed by my bench. Besides, it gets boring here sometimes. Need to spice things up with a pious priest now and again."

  Ed cracked a smile. "You just want to win one more argument over her. I know."

  "She was actually able to keep up with me," he said, tapping to his head. "It was fun." He then stood by up, raised his cup to his face before realizing it was empty...again. "But, well ...speaking of my bench, I better be going. I've got another full case load. Even here in the middle of no-where in a supposed secret excavation, people still find things to argue about.”

  Ed closed his eyes, feeling drowsiness taking him again.

  "Oh, I almost forgot, I'd imagine you probably want to know, we have newcomer in the city," Glen added. "Passed screening, background. Captain Tham Olsen did all the work since you've become such a lazy flake lately."

  Ed grumbled. "I am not looking forward to my own 'full case load.' Who is it? Which Prince? What division?"

  "Maintenance," Glen replied. "She's a foreigner from the Islands, just like Ninn. Araa is her name. The weird girl talks like him too."

  "Mantras," Ed mumbled as he drifted off into another sleep. "I never...under..stood..."

  "To better dreams, my friend."

  2

  Princess Zana Ladress II: The Youngest in the Middle

  “This discussion is moot. They have already gone too far south. Perhaps they will be destroyed. Perhaps not. Perhaps they will only find more ice and snow and the bones of our past. What is certain is they no longer concern us. We, who remain, must carry out the memory of our ancestors and weather this Catastrophe until we know for certain humanity is no longer jeopardized.”

  -Chief Polopilio the Uniter of the Glacial Barbarians’ Red Tribe

  Seven Months Later…

  Sovereign Crowned-Princess Zana Ladress II, Zana read from a letter sent by her brother, Landrie, as her royal stagecoach jostled her inside. The shaking made it difficult to read, but she had read this letter so many times already. She could probably recite it by heart. Sovereign Crowned-Princess. What exactly did that mean? Much, she answered herself before letting out a long frustrating breath. If her mother hadn’t been murdered, politics surely would have done it for her.

  She threw the letter onto couch beside her before gazing out the window. A beautiful morning, red sun lit the mountains that slowly encircled her caravan as they traveled west, their long shadows like fingers releasing their grip over the land. Landrie's Princedom, Father’s Mountain Lands. She smiled, enjoying the morning wind refresh her. She had requested leaving Faf’r before dawn for just this moment. Golden rays lit the few wispy clouds into a spectacular fire of reds and oranges, slowly burning them away. Steam began rising from the grassy plains, forming a thickening fog as the morning dew evaporated. Everything was so bright, so new, so immaculate. Could another Catastrophe be coming? The Doyenne and the Synod seemed far from certain, but Gene. Her letters talked of little else now: mysticism, prophecies, and theology, the Chills, fire and ash…apocalypses. How can a society be built on that? Zana had a hard-enough time keeping her brothers from ripping each other’s throats.

  Maybe she were wrong, Zana thought. Certainly, this tranquil view did contradict that opinion. What did the animals care for ending worlds? What did the mountains care for ambition, or even justice for that matter? They just were. That must be what Father saw in these lands: simplicity. Just being.

  But now it belonged to her brother, Landrie, and the alliance of her two other brothers, Advin and Makim. My dear sister,” the letter continued, your brothers Advin, Makim and I request your presence in a matter of our Grand Kingdom. I realize that this is much sooner than our usual family dinners, but we would like your opinion. Your Holy City has always been impartial and fair in all its dealings since the first days of the Kingdom’s shattering, and so we trust your counsel.

  "’Our Grand Kingdom?’ Trust your counsel," she said with a soft laugh, mulling the words in her mind as she extended her hand out the window to feel the sun’s warmth. “Landrie, you could have saved me the trouble and just sent the letter directly to him.” That must have been Landrie’s intention; written more for Siga and his spies than for her, the letter was darted with subtle insults and innuendos only her eldest brother, the ‘Apostate Emperor,’ would understand. But Siga wouldn’t care. He doesn’t care about much these days. He’s too committed to ‘saving the world’ too. So much saving and yet still so much hurting.

  She resisted snatching up the letter and tearing it in her hands. This is what Mother resisted, she thought. The Holy City swallowed up by petty feuds. Siga, the apostate, on one side. Landrie, Advin, and Makim, the so-called Brothers’ Alliance, on the other. A single line of neutrality —her city, a thin sliver of a line she danced on. Siga certainly had no respect for the Golden Lady. He had no respect for any of the Almighty's shattered remains. She had seen his irreverence for herself. He would take her Holy City in one swoop if not for thier mother’s last wishes. At least he respected her memory. But the other three would try to push Zana against her brother. She curled her gloved hand into a fist and rested her mouth against it. The Holy City of Zanf’r can’t become part of her brothers' contests. “No matter how hard they try,” she whispered

  She then rubbed her wrists; it helped comfort her. Yes, she convinced herself; they were counting on Siga reading that letter, trying to make him think she was titling her neutrality toward them. "Thank you, brothers," she whispered. "For making my life harder."

>   If her family’s kingdom had been torn apart by an outside aggression, that would have been better. Secretly, she would have wished that instead of this, torn apart by family—

  "Your Highness," said Eamark as he trotted his horse up to her window, blocking her serene view. She frowned, as his darkened figure silhouetted against the brightening mountains. Evgeni Eamark was the head of her Royal Guard who served under her mother in the final days. Thankfully, he and his family decided to stay with her when the Kingdom split. But deep inside Landrie’s Princedom, what kind of danger could he be worried about now? Unless—

  “The Chills,” she asked.

  He turned his helmeted head toward the distant plains and narrowed his dark red eyes, “We’ve spotted infected geese,” he said through his long red goatee “But nothing serious.”

  She relaxed into her cushioned seat.

  “But there’s something else,” he continued. "Lady Fiora Cortress would like to speak to you. Should I order the caravan to stop?"

  "No, no," she replied. There was a reason why she wanted to ride alone for this stretch, and Eamark’s armored build blocked most of it. "I already know what she wants. Tell her I’ll say a prayer tonight while it happens." He bowed and slowed his horse as the bright mountains returned to warm her smile. The sacrifice back in the Holy City to Zandagor the Golden Lady. That must be what Fiora Cortress wanted. Zana would miss it and she was glad too, to be away from that terrible secret.

  Every year, the Priests of the Golden Lady would offer animal sacrifices, bringing them into close contact to the Golden Lady. Afterwards, they would burn the offering along with scents of fall flavors, cinnamon, pumpkin, sweet scents of raspberries and grapes rising from the Temple and filling the City, giving comfort to the people that the offering was accepted —another year of blessings. Her childhood was filled with such wonderful memories of the ensuing festival around the sacrifice: the street carnivals, the dancers, parties, music, shows, balls, and the gossip she relied on from the other ladies. She’d miss all that this year, but it was worth missing if she didn’t have to be there for the secret behind the sacrifices, that terrible secret. This was the seventh year. There would be one additional sacrifice. She closed her eyes tightly. Mother Evening Sky had been selected this time. Zana had been too busy to meet with her, and by the time she would return to the City from this trip, Mother Sky would be gone. Never enough time for everything. "I had seven years," she scolded herself. But the sacrifices were important, or so she was told. More of that mysticism, her cynicism rose. But, even the Doyenne had her doubts, Zana could tell. But if it wasn’t Zandagor’s will, wouldn’t she have stopped them by now?

  Gene and her crusade didn't care so much about that anymore. What would happen if they stopped the seventh-year sacrifice? The Golden Lady would awake again and take a sacrifice herself? ‘Those sacrifices kept the City safe from the Zandagor’s wrath,’ she remembered being told. But doubt lingered in Zana’s heart. Never happened with Siga’s Shard and he’s dissecting and conquering with it.

  "How can human sacrifices be from the Almighty," she whispered, letting her eyes rest on a flock of geese rummaging on a section of grassy plain empty of fog. “Then again. The Almighty is dead, isn’t he? His spirit back in heaven. And all our efforts are to keep the embers of life smoldering.”

  The fog slowly evaporated before her eyes; the veil torn. And what did she see? Nothing but nature trying to survive the coming winter. If those geese didn’t migrate —infected or not— they would freeze. Yet there they were surviving generation after generation without a care for appeasing gods or worry over the Dark Well. Sadly, for the humanity, living wasn’t as easy. She snickered to herself; now, she sounded more like Siga. She pulled the release cord as a curtain fell to cover the window. “Gene can’t be right.”

  ***

  By twilight, they had reached the Red Rock, Landrie's Capital City. The ‘Red Rock’ was what Father’s subjects first called it, and at the start it was just that, a settlement under a large red outcrop from a cliff face. Or as Zana’s mother told her; she wasn’t born yet when her father began work here. Landrie, in his usual grandiose fashion, renamed it some monstrous unpronounceable name after he made it his capital. Zana forget —or rather didn't care to commit to memory— the name but it meant "Bearer of the Mountain Jewel" in some codex only Landrie would know. She shook her head. Landrie and his double meanings. Of course, there was no ‘Jewel.’ The word had another more abstract meaning.

  She had been here only a few times since the Kingdom shattered, each time leaving more disappointed than the last. The animosity between her brothers hadn’t change. This time would be no different. When Siga offered peace terms —quite generous too— the other three decided to ban together instead, hoping by doing so, none of the other three would show weakness and accept those terms. Big Sig should have known that would happen, but he was always too obsessed with the Sea Roar.

  She rubbed her tired eyes, trying to avoid her make-up. “All day dwelling on this isn’t going to help me be my best gracious self. No, no; I am a noble. I must be a lady.” She laughed to herself. These were her brothers after all, and they would certainly be eating alone together; they couldn’t care less. She could be as crass as she wanted to. A small blessing.

  The caravan slowed. The spitting and popping of rocks underneath quieted to a grinding and rolling motion. Ruby Road, she thought, the Red Rock’s backbone street. She still had her curtains closed, not wanting to rouse a clamor outside. Voices rose outside anyway with whispers of 'Za’nina' which meant affectionately ‘Zana’s little girl’ in her mother’s native language. For as long as she could remember, her mother used to introduce her as Za’nina since the two shared the same name. It brought a smiled to her face that the people hadn’t forgotten, but when it came from her older brothers, it sounded more like a challenge.

  The crowd’s clamor soon died down, however, and quicker than she expected. She laughed, shaking her head. Are you so afraid of the poor too, Landrie? Even with the curtain closed, she could tell the crowd outside were the wealthy sort that prided themselves in their detachment to royalty. Detachment or equality? Landrie encouraged them too much; she’d have to remind him of how well that attitude played for their mother’s homeland, now run by those Demos. As if he’ll listen to me.

  Often, in her visits to nobles or sovereigns, there would be an effort made to rid her caravan’s path of the ‘lowly’ —the best adjective she heard said of the poor. She knew that attitude had more to do with politics than malevolence; no one wanted a foreign power to be more gracious than the host. And if some ‘lowly’ found their way close enough to her caravan, she would do a little politics of her own and give them alms in honor of the Golden Lady. But she couldn’t do that here in Landrie’s city. No, he was too smart to fall for that; he would never allow the poor to even enter his capital city.

  And the Red Rock was luxurious, of course; Landrie made sure of that by making it a major trading point, and full of rich merchants and traders hoping to convince their prince to sell them some of his land. Makim had his farms. Advin, his factories. Landrie's wealth was in his mountains. Gold, silver, and his prime source of security, runic. The metal, once alloyed, can be strong enough to absorb magic without shattering. But, most importantly, when lined with an enclosed suit, it allowed a person to temporarily come into proximity with a Shard of the Almighty, a very important commodity for Sig’s sacrilege. How Big Sig was able to procure enough of it without going through Landrie was one of his proud secrets.

  Noise outside rose again but this time they were the voices of anxious servants and the clatter of the their hurrying feet as her carriage came to a stop. Any minute, she would be expecting the usual fanfare —none. Tradition. Landrie loved tradition. So, instead of a Master of Ceremonies announcing her arrival with local dignitaries in line to meet her, she’s be lucky to have the castle chef escort her to her brothers who were probably drinking spirits and smok
ing pre-dinner cigars. Good thing she didn’t overdress, the smell would never—

  "You hiding from us, Za’nina," Makim's voice shouted from outside.

  "We were supposed to wait," Advin said.

  "But, Z hates surprises," Makim replied.

  She pulled open the curtain and outside were her two brothers. Makim, short and plumper than before, wearing his usual green theme, overcoat, pants, white silk shirt buttoned up the middle, and green felt hat that covered his…bald head? Sabina never mentioned that in her last letter. Must be recent.

  Advin, stood taller and leaner, wearing his dark blues: a casual royal suit, pants, white shirt with a dark blue tie and a simple dark blue jacket. He never liked showing his wealth. He kept his blond hair cut short underneath a short-brimmed hat where his glasses rested. Both wore their silver circlets around their foreheads, a green emerald encrusted on Mak’s and a purple-blue topaz gem on Ad’s circlet. Topaz. How embarrassing.

  "Yes, this is a bit of a surprise," she said as Eamark opened the door for her. She stepped off the carriage with Eamark at her side with his gleaming blue armor set freshly polished for the occasion and a blue cape flowing down behind his shoulders. Sadly, her brothers wouldn't notice.

  "You didn't bring your steam-driver," Makim asked, sounding disappointed.

  “So that’s why you’re both here?”

  Advin cleared his throat. "Hello again, Z. Hope you had a great travel."

  She sighed, grinning inwardly. They were already acting so strangely. She couldn’t read their intentions —yet.

  She first hugged Advin, whispering, “It’s going to be a long night, isn’t it?”

  “Is that how you address the Lords of Ladress,” Mak replied, sticking out his chest with a mock expression of pride.

  Her mother taught her better, of course; how nobility should act, the protocols of royal culture. But...it was still good to the see them. She softened with a smile. "You're an idiot, Mak,” she said, hugging him too. “If I rode in here with one of those devil-machines, you know Big Sig would rip up your armistice just to get it back. Besides, it came to me by very immoral means.”