Call of the Chosen- Broken Kingdoms

by Michael DeSousa

  "What must I do?"

  Her Holiness gripped her cane tightly and knocked the ground with it. "You must put the blame completely on your sister," she said. "Any less and I may not be able to convince them to let you stay, or worse. Regardless if Gene is or isn’t at fault, we must—"

  "She is," Sil hissed, wringing the cloth in her hand as if it were her sister’s arm. "She is the reason!"

  "Regardless if she. Is. Or. Isn’t," her Holiness insisted with a white knuckled grip on her cane. "We must do what we can."

  "With all respect, Doyenne, she is the reason, I know it. It’s the only explanation."

  Her Holiness relaxed her hand and slouched a bit further on her cane's support. "With Mother Lyn on your side, if you can convince two more," she continued, blinking tired eyes. "Then you will have the majority. Your sister will bare complete responsibility and I can make a strong case to allow you to stay here."

  Sil closed her eyes, smiled, and fell back into the soft embrace of her bed. Just two priests to convince. Not impossible. Please Goddess, let me stay. "That would be wonderful," Sil said. “I can stay…”

  "I must leave now, Sil," Doyenne said, slowly standing up before hobbling to the door. "But, I will return later."

  "Oh wait," Sil said as she searched her— “Oh no!” She realized she wasn’t wearing her cassock, but a gray night gown. Her cassock… it wasn’t in the room. "Your letter,” she said. “I… I don’t have it."

  Her holiness turned and smiled over her shoulder. "I have it back, child. Worry about what you will say tonight. Be at peace." And she left.

  Sil smiled widely, hugging her pillow tightly. There was a way out; the Golden Lady herself must have inspired it. Gene would take the blame as she deserves, as she always deserved. And Sil would continue to live here, though not in her previous state. But that was fine with her.

  She let out long breath. By the end of the day, her ordeal would be all over. After that, a quiet life. She giggled. "A quiet life," she said. "After so many years of preparing for a good death." Such a strange new idea: now, she would grow old and live a life of anonymity. With her parents gone and Gene finally taking responsibility, Sil could right the wrongs of her family’s past. They were all finally free.

  A spiderweb of pain spread throughout her chest as her headache threatened to return. She must not be fully well yet, she realized, but she didn’t care. She now had all the time in world to heal.

  4

  Celeste Casmarus: Synod in the Blue Bell House

  “I pray this letter finds you, Mister M. If not, be it known to the reader that this is the property of the Rushnik Family and must be returned to them. Mister M, how is your search for one my daughters? I ask not to provoke you, but to collect on a favor I have done for you. How I showed mercy to you and your family. That should be enough for you to know that I am who I say I am. I am sending one of my daughters to you. She shares the same goal as you. She doesn’t know who you are, but you know that being one of my daughters, what she may think of you, your current loyalties, and station. She is idealistic, naive, yet powerful and impulsive. I fear for her and love her dearly. I don’t ask that you come here; I know how painful this place is to you. So I ask that you join her at Sato and be sure that she remains safe. I fear for her safety both home and abroad. Ever prayerful for your conversion, the Old Angel in the Ruin.”

  —Letter from the Old Angel in the Ruin to Mister M.

  “Any minute now,” Sil said, resting her head on her folded arms while staring out the window. Outside, she watched for any movement from the blue door of a small one-room building that housed a blue bell in its steeple. The aspirant's classroom, the Blue Bell House. The Doyenne was inside, and soon, she would come get her. And then the two would briskly walk the short distance to the Bell House, trying very hard not to be seen. She looked down at her clothes, the dull dreary gray of an aspirant's garb and hood. She had worked so hard to achieve her whites and now.... She blinked frustrated tears away. No, the Golden Lady has other plans for me. I must live now, she reminded herself. She bit her lower lip and wiped her tears.

  Besides, the Doyenne’s her advocate. How could they cast her out with her speaking for Sil? How could they cast out their own sister? She hoped; no, she was sure she could convince them that she should stay. No longer a priest, but a laborer perhaps, a lifelong endeavor to do penance for her sister's betrayal. She nodded to herself. Now that would make sense. But still the hollowness in her stomach remained.

  Suppose they rule Sil must to leave? Cold chills ran across her body. Outside, she thought to herself. I've never been outside alone since I was so young. Whenever she had to travel on pilgrimages, she was always part of an entourage of other priests with carefully planned events and schedules, nothing so uncertain as fending for herself. Other than those pilgrimages, her memories of the outside were mostly of her home town, Sato’s Mines, where she helped her parents make a living. Surely, she couldn’t go back to that old life; the mines were under imperial control now, and she’d never work for them. 'If the Synod insists on casting you out, then let me talk,' she remembered the Doyenne saying. 'I've got one last thing to try. But please, do all you can before then."

  The Blue Bell House door opened, and the Doyenne walked out, hunched over her wooden Shepard’s cane, and hobbled her way to the Aspirant's apartments where Sil had been staying. A few priests and their aspirants curtsied before her as they passed on their way. The Synod made the right decision holding the meeting at night, and Sil thanked the Golden Lady for the dark concealment that would hide her shame. Besides, by now, most of the lay pilgrims would have gone back to the city for lodging; the yearly sacrifice —seventh year or not— was a very popular time, after all.

  A few moments later, her Holiness stood at the door, her eyebrows creased together under her wrinkly forehead. "It is time, child," she said with sympathy in her voice.

  "Did they tell you anything," Sil asked, leaping from the window, but winched when her ankles buckled.

  "They are your friends, Sil. Be at peace."

  She hooded her head and masked her face with a scarf except for her eyes. Tan eyes! Someone might recognize her, but she put that thought away. Concentrate. Her heart fluttered, and weakness took to her legs, but thinking of Lyn as one of the Synod members encouraged her.

  Once outside, the cool autumn air chilled her face despite the scarf. The sun had set, and the sky was in deep twilight. Gem lamps casted bubbles of vivid yellows along the cobblestone path to the Bell House. They walked slower than she expected, her Holiness's hand holding onto hers for support while her cane clacked against the stone with each step.

  "How are you feeling," Her Holiness asked.

  "Well, surprisingly," Sil replied. "When I first woke yesterday, I was in a dreadful pain."

  “Ah, that medicine is truly remarkable,” she added, brightly. “Without it, you might have suffered worse than simply dying from exposure.” Shame stung Sil, but the Doyenne patted her hand. “I know you’re thinking it might have been better if you died anyway. Trust, trust.”

  “I don’t remember taking any medicine?”

  “Intravenously, child, while you sleep. Sister Lyn saw to it, and some of the Synod used their healing expertise as well.” Sil noted sarcasm in those words. “If anyone were to survive exposure to divinity, it would have to be here, where the greatest healers are.” She patted Sil’s hands again. “You see, there are no coincidences.”

  “And it treated my exposure,” Sil said, wide eyed. “I didn’t think medicine like that existed.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “Where did you get such a medicine? Could it be used to treat priests if the runic suits fail? This might allow even the public to visit the Golden Lady like when you were young—”

  “Sil, stop,” the Doyenne said, gently squeezing of her hand. She clacked her cane on the stone floor, stopping in her walk. “Now listen here, Celeste. Before we go in there to meet the Synod,
remember: That medicine didn’t save you. The Golden Lady saved you. That medicine only treated your symptoms, but the Golden Lady healed you.” She then continued walking, “You must convince them the Golden Lady hasn’t abandoned you.”

  “Yes, of course” Sil answered, though she was still confused.

  The Doyenne sighed. “Did you have plenty to eat today?"

  "Yes, I did. I haven't eaten so much and so well in months."

  "Good, very good. You may be asked to do much today." Her voice sounded grim, taking away some of Sil's encouragement.

  "Has anything changed since our talk?"

  She looked up at Sil, her blue eyes, still vibrant in her old age, tightened, almost pained. She parted her mouth, but then smiled. "Trust in the Almighty," she said.

  "Yes, I will trust in his Golden Lady. You’re right; she does have a plan for me."

  "Trust in the Almighty," She replied again.

  When they neared the door —a strikingly blue door Sil herself had passed through many times in her early years— it opened and holding the opposite end of that cold brass handle was a white clothed priest, her face hidden behind a white mask. Sil shivered, stopping a few feet before the door. Lyn? Sil had worn the same style mask so many times before on pilgrimages to Holy Sites around the country. But she never imagined…. This priest before her now, appearing in white and masked, frightened her. Had I always appeared that way?

  Her Holiness tugged at her hand. "Be at peace, Sil. They must be masked for their judgment to be objective." Then she whispered more closely. "But they cannot mask their voices nor hide their heights. Listen and watch."

  "Please hurry, Celeste," the priest at the door said, a voice ragged and aged. Not Lyn. "We are waiting for you."

  With slow short steps, she entered the one room of the Bell House. Like some foreboding dream, the dark room hid most of its contents behind shadows of a single dimly lit chandelier hanging at the very center of the room's roof. She slid her foot to a stop a few steps passed the door frame and steeled her courage. The once familiar room of chatter, desks, and exam anxieties had become a darkened room of childish nightmares and nothing more. She shook her head. Don't be a loaf, Sil. They are only people. But the windows sills were drawn in too —Click. The door closed behind them.

  "Is locking it necessary," Her Holiness asked. She sanctifies. She purifies. She protects. "Come on now, Celeste," she continued, tapping Sil's foot with her cane. "We priests love our rituals, but that is all they are. Only symbols."

  Up ahead, at the far end were four chairs lined in a row on top of the step-stage, a foot above the floor. Standing behind them were four more masked white-robed priests in varying heights wearing the priestly garb: long white cassocks buttoned up the middle and a white mantle that extended down to their chests with a hood drawn over their heads. No smiles greeted them, nor soft expressions of friendliness. Just the cold white impersonal mask. How could I have ever worn that, she thought. Which one are you, Lyn?

  The Doyenne walked ahead of her. "Isn’t this all a tad extreme, sisters? We are not a malicious clandestine order. Even the windows are drawn. Can't we at least have some more light?"

  "You know what might happen if we are overheard or if Celeste is seen. Everyone still believes she’s in the Inner Sanctum tonight burning the offerings."

  "Whatever happened to the hospitality of Priests of the Golden Lady," Her Holiness grumbled, then saying louder, she pointed to the priests behind the chairs. "This is only going to scare her. She will be less inclined to speak her mind."

  "It is more important that she realizes the gravity of her situation," the far-right priest said. Sil listened careful, but it wasn’t Lyn. Besides, that priest was too short to be her. It doesn't matter, she told herself. Just answer truthfully. "Lady Celeste, please come up here to the front, and speak your mind to us. We have decided not to record what is said here tonight."

  "Why am I not surprised,” the Doyenne whispered before telling Sil, “trust in the Almighty; I am by your side, child.” She then led Sil forward through the rows of desks and their long radial shadows. There, before the priests, stood a singular chair Sil hadn't noticed. Her chair, she guessed. She sanctifies. She purifies. She protects.

  "Celeste Casmarus," began the second priest from the right. No, that was definitely not her either. Northern accent. Sister Ava? But she's not even a priest yet. "Remove you're scarf and hood." Sil rose her hand to her head, but hesitated, remembering that coarse remains of her once beautiful hair, her one proud possession. Her hair was supposed to be a part of her offering. Tears welled up before the Doyenne nudged her with a gentle elbow. "Hurry—"

  Sil, with one quick act, removed the hood and unwound the scarf. A cold gust chilled her bristled hair and neck; she looked away, fighting back tears.

  "Now," continued the priest who Sil thought was Sister Ava. "Tell us in your own voice, your name and place of origin."

  She glanced at the Doyenne who nodded her on "I...," she said, before clearing throat. Just get through this. "I was born Celeste Casmarus in Sato's Mining Town—"

  "That's an imperial town, isn't it? And the mining company is incorporated into the Imperial Industrial Works?"

  "What isn't of the Empire," Sil answered, feeling heat radiating from her face; that old anger rising in her. "They devour both devote and apostate alike."

  "Good, good," Her Holiness whispered. Then, addressing the priests. "It's her. We all know it's her. You have torn the veil of her hair yourselves."

  "Yes, we have," Sister Ava said. "But these are spiritual matters, Your Holiness." She then opened her palm toward the priest next her, the third from the right. This one wasn't the tallest but stood much straighter with a surer posture. Her hands were clasps in front and her fingers neatly intertwined with one another as if submissive to the others. "Can you please lead us in an opening prayer," she told the third priest from the right.

  Sil perked her ears, listening intently. Lyn, is that you? Help me. Each bowed their heads, and so did Sil. A moment passed, then two. After a short time, Sil saw the priests raising their heads again. Her stomach knotted. They prayed silently? Why?

  "Celeste," began the far-left priest. "We will keep this short. The reason we have summoned you. Here. Was to ascertain why the Golden Lady. Didn't accept you. And. What can be done. A sacrifice must be made. Animal and Grain. Are ineffective. The Empire's sins are as scarlet as blood. And multitude as the locust. Our world is in danger of God's judgment. Do you understand this?" Sil recognized her immediately, the long dramatic and pointed pauses with every word pregnant with authority. Her Master Tutor, Mother Morn Stella. She’d want pithy and precise answers or receive a thumper on the knuckles if Sil replied too slow.

  "Yes, I do." Sil replied quickly more out of instinct than forethought.

  "What is your opinion? What has the Golden Lady shown you? In your meditations?"

  Sil felt nausea coming up her throat. Stick to the dreadful truth, she told herself. "Nothing," she said, her lips quivering. "She hasn’t shown me anything for some time now." Some of the priests gasped, but not the third from the right, not her standing straight with a youthful mien. That priest had already known. Lyn. Just knowing it was her calmed Sil’s hands and freed her stomach. I won't be sent out of here, she told herself. I won't be sent out of here, she repeated feeling more confidently. You will be, a voice seemed to answer in her mind.

  "That is not unusually," the Doyenne chimed in. "Any time the Golden Lady wishes to make her voice known is a privilege, but not an indication of piety."

  "Why then," one of the priests continued. "Why was she not accepted? Lady Casmarus, you are at the heart of this. Tell us your opinion." Genevieve.

  "My sister," Sil said in a clear voice, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin. "Mother Whitewave Fallingstar. By birth given the name Genevieve Casmarus by my parents. You know her history. You know what the pilgrims call her—"

  “The ‘fallen priest,’�
�� said her tutor. “Are you saying. You know for certain. The two are the same? Your sister. And the ‘fallen priest.’” Yes.

  “Must be—”

  “Speculations,” the Doyenne clucked her cane against the floor. “We don’t have proof of that. This so-called ‘fallen priest’ has been—”

  “A stain, a scandal, a sore source of embarrassment for our Order, a blight on our religion and a crime against the Golden Lady herself,” the far-right priest quickly stammered out in one breath. “For what the fallen priest has done—”

  “Been accused of,” corrected the Doyenne.

  “What. She. Has. Done,” the priest replied with earnest. “No other than Gene could have known to even do. Then, Lady Casmarus, what say you for your sister?”

  Sil blinked a few times, stunned by the quick rapid exchange. “Uh, just that,” she gathered her thoughts. “Just that I must have been made unacceptable to the Golden Lady by my association with my sister and her actions.” Be at peace. We are here. Sil sucked in a sharp breath. Now I know I heard that! She lean down to the Doyenne’s ear. "I'm sorry your Holiness, have you been saying something?"

  The Doyenne shook her head quickly before nodding toward the Synod. “Pay attention.”

  Her tutor cleared her throat. "For the record. State. What Lady Genevieve has done?"

  The priest on the far right answered, "she was allowed to leave Holy Grounds to fight the Empire in Ladress. For some time, she kept correspondences with Her Holiness, the Doyenne, at which point she made it plain she would not return for her appointed hour. A substitute, Mother Majestic Wind, was selected and offered in her place" —Sil noticed the Doyenne tapping the end of her cane on the floor, muttering angrily under her breath— "Afterwards, by the Golden Lady's will, Celeste was selected for the next sacrifice seven years later and nurtured for her appointed hour. During all this time, Gene has continued to illicitly use her blessing in her surreptitious ‘fight’ with the Empire, increasing their scrutiny over us.”