Call of the Chosen- Broken Kingdoms

by Michael DeSousa

  "Thank you," Sil’s tutor replied. "Thank you all. For coming. I believe we heard enough, and we’re ready—"

  "Enough," Sil had to stop herself from shouting. Enough? Enough what? Her heart set pounding inside her. She had hardly made her case. Had the Synod already agreed upon a verdict and sentence? “I haven’t even told you what she has done to me.” And for that, Sil had a well prepared list of her sisters selfish pursuits.

  “That isn’t necessary,” her tutor replied.

  Sil ground her teeth. Relax, Sil, she told herself. They can see you panicking. Be at peace. That voice! Sil immediately silenced her mind. We have not rejected you. The Golden Lady! We? The Valkyries? Sil almost jumped in excitement, but instead knelt down, tears welling in her eyes. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. What must I do?

  "What...what are you doing," one of the priests said, but Sil didn't care. After so many months of silence, so many long meditations and trances, she never heard her voice before. Trust their judgment, sounded the Golden Lady’s beautiful voice like a trickling stream by a thicket full of singing birds. Sil rose, fighting back tears, but these were different tears: tears of joy.

  With a smile, Sil said, “Yes, it is ‘enough.’ I am ready for your judgment."

  The Doyenne grabbed Sil's wrist. "Wait, child. No, it’s too soon," she whispered.

  "Thank you, Lady Celeste," the far-right priest continued with an approving tone. "We have been here with you for so many years. We know your devotions." Sil tried calming her excitement, bobbing herself on her heels. They must be wondering why her sudden change, but she didn’t care. She couldn't keep it in. "We have found no fault with you. Only with your sister. In fact, we have already decided on what to do." Yes, you have; the Golden Lady said so.

  "Already," Her Holiness objected. "No, we need a have a recess to at least—"

  "No, no," Sil interrupted. "It's alright. Please, tell me what it is." You were right, Lyn; I was worried for nothing.

  The priest opened her palm toward who Sil guessed was Lyn. "Present her with the knife."

  Mother Lyn reached underneath her white mantle and revealed a knife: a curved sheath made of some dark cracked leather attached to a wooden handle no bigger than one Sil had used to cut meat and vegetables. Lyn stepped down off the stage and extended the blade to her.

  Unsure of what to do, Sil received it clumsily, almost dropping it out her hands.

  The Doyenne stepped forward. "Sister Ava—"

  "What makes you believe Sister Ava is here," the masked priest said, pointedly.

  "Members of the Synod," Her Holiness corrected herself, clacking her cane hard against the floor. "What exactly are you thinking? Giving Lady Celeste a blade? She cannot take her own life!"

  "That is not what we are asking her to do," the priest continued. "Celeste Casmarus." Sil looked up at the masked priest. Expressionless, cold, impersonal, she trusted it now. "This is what you are to do, and by its accomplishment, your sister's errors would be absolved, and you will be restored to the priesthood and be offered up to Zandagor the Golden Lady again. But most importantly, our Goddess will be satisfied and the world made safe. The City made safe. That blade you hold has been imbued. Whoever has so much been nicked by it will be burned. If someone were to die by it, the body will be consumed in flame and reduced to ash. It is our judgment and your quest to find your sister, Genevieve Casmarus, and ask her to return here to fulfill her sacrifice to the Golden Lady. If she refuses to return with you, then….” The priest nodded toward the knife clenched in Sil’s hands. “You must use that knife and offer your sister yourself and then return to us for your own sacrifice in seven years."

  "That is absurd," the Doyenne shouted, smacking the bud of her cane on the floor. "Insanity, Immoral. Against the very principles we espouse! This isn’t sacrifice but murder, sisters! Murder!" She grabbed Sil's arm. "I will not allow—"

  "I will do it," Sil announced, lifting her chin high. "Yes, it is my mission to right this wrong against my family, against the Golden Lady, and safeguard the City."

  "Celeste," her Holiness whispered, her eyes searching. "Think of what you’re saying."

  Sil lowered her head and whispered into the Doyenne ear. "It’s alright. This is right. I heard her, Doyenne. I actually heard her." Then she snapped her attention on the Synod on stage. "I will do it," Sil said, clenching onto the blade and embracing it to her chest. "I will leave tonight. Now."

  "No, too soon, too soon," her Holiness objected, waving her cane about. "Please, we are rushing things. She still must address the people. Mister Conner—"

  “Mister Conner and that contemptuous Night Lady only care about secular matters. The Golden Lady needs a sacrifice, or she will take sacrifices. Celeste, the sooner you can do this, the better.”

  “But maybe her Holiness is right, ” Lyn finally chimed in, a stammer in her words. She broke form and walked down to stand beside the Doyenne. “A few words to calm the people and throw off suspicion. She would be able to move more freely afterwards.” Lyn, what are you doing? I want to go now!

  The three on stage glanced at each other before the far-right priest spoke, “Very well. Then it’s decided. Tomorrow morning, at first light, you will go to the Outer Gate. If there are people gathered, then you will make a small speech. If not, go on your way. Mister Conner promises a sympathetic crowd, so be quick to quell their curiosity. There will be no fanfare. You will depart from there and begin your search. We will gather what information we have about where your sister was last seen. I suggest you ask the Doyenne for any advice she may offer. She was in considerable contact with your sister before she disappeared. Tomorrow morning, one of us will come to fetch you from the apartments. Is that understood?"

  "Yes, morning then," Sil answered, already knowing she wouldn't be able to sleep.

  ***

  As Sil expected, she didn't sleep, nor did she really try. She leaned against the same window sill as the night before staring hour after hour at the Blue Bell House door as the yellow gem light grew dimmer and dimmer with each passing hour. It all started there, she said to herself, imagining the first time she stepped inside for orientation. She was thirteen, surrounded by so many young girls like herself, so many potential friends. Her parents and even her sister —when she actually wrote home— prepared her for that. 'A mining town is full of grimy grumpy men doing grimy grumpy work,' her father told her. 'So, don't be nervous about going. Nothing’s here for you. And there'll be other girls just like you.' And they were right once she grew accustomed to her new surroundings, but in the beginning, she remembered feeling so anxious and dizzy.

  The Holy City was one thing: enormous, loud, noisy with foot traffic and what seemed like a half million conversations cluttering up the roadways, bards singing, food carts after food carts filling the air with delicious aromas. The enormity of it all almost overwhelmed young Sil, but she didn't get to experience much of it, having to hurry inside the Holy Grounds for orientation. The Holy Grounds with all its baileys, segregated communities, apartment housings, and study halls, and the Temple and Inner Sanctum itself couldn’t strike a bigger contrast to the City. Quiet, solemn and so clean, were what young Sil first noticed. The clothes, the walls, everything: no soot, dirt, no dreadful metallic smell clinging to everything, even meals. She remembered feeling very out of place and visible like a lump of fool's ore in load of pure coal. Special wasn’t always a good thing.

  Sil smiled, remembering her sister coming to her orientation and the anxiety evaporating like the morning dew off rocks. Gene, with her pristine black on white acolyte’s cassock, introduced her to a dizzying number of people, many she had forgotten only to be awkwardly reintroduced later.

  Those first two and half years, Sil wished they could have lasted forever. Her, and her sister, studied together. Ate together. Prayed together. Not as often as Sil would have liked, but since Gene was so many years ahead of her, it couldn’t be helped; she had to prepare for her sacrifice, after all
. But the moments they spent together, she treasured. Watching her sister make her vows and enter the priesthood still warmed her heart as did when Gene was selected to be the next High Priest for the seventh-year offering —though Sil learned of the real honor behind the seventh-year sacrifice after she joined the Inner Circle. In those years, Gene seemed like an entirely different person: kinder, less self-preoccupied, and even maybe humbler; the result of her worship, Sil assumed. But she should have known better. There had to be a reason behind it; there always was. With her, everything had a purpose for some other goal, a means to an end. To become a Valkyrie? Was she ever serious about it? Sil suspected not. Gene probably only wanted to be trained in the martial magics so she could fight the apostate emperor, not help preserve the world. No. To other people, Gene was an ideal priest, but to Sil, Gene was the connived sister she always knew, manipulating her way to work on her own pursuits. The ‘fallen priest’? More like the ‘imposture priest.’ Tears dripped off her cheek and onto the windowsill, invisible in the darkness of the night. No more, Gene.

  "The Golden Lady has other plans for you," she whispered, remembering her Holiness's words. She turned from the window. The knife, nestled in its sheath, rested in the middle of the bed, waiting for its chance to right a wrong. Sil froze, staring long at the knife. "Can I really do this…if she says no to coming back?" She turned away, returning her gaze outside. "I’ll have to," she whispered. It was Gene's fault this happened. It was her choice to not return after the war.

  The Empire, after a year of talks, invaded the Brothers’ Alliance. She remembered her sister arguing on what to do. 'The Princes have united,' she said. 'Ladress has a chance! Am I not meant to fight for the Golden Lady anyway?' Sil shivered thinking of the fire in Gene's eyes; it scared her. Not the sublime nature of a priest at all. 'A spiritual fight,' Sil remembered the Doyenne arguing. 'You took your vows, Mother Fallingstar. This is what it means to sacrifice.'

  But Gene was an amazing battle mage; she even took the prior year to learn healing and warding as to be more useful to the Prince brothers. Eventually, Gene was allowed to go. A sudden heat flared in the pit of her stomach. Anger, she recognized with a bit of shame. No, this was righteous anger. Her sister never came back. How much more good could Gene have done if she allowed the Golden Lady to take her?

  The soft hues of dawn startled Sil back from her daydreaming. She relaxed her clenched fists. Why didn't you come back? You forgot me. I won't. She smiled.

  Before long, priests and their aspirants gathered outside for the early morning lessons. Mother Clare was there welcoming them all inside the Blue Bell House to smiles and laughter with some moaning not used to the early morning routines. They were beginning their adventure; now Sil would begin hers.

  Knock. Knock. "May I come in?" It was the Doyenne's voice but it seemed strained and tired.

  "Yes, yes," Sil jogged over and opened the door. "Come in. Come in." And she did, slowly, using her cane for more support than usual. Her white cassock appeared wrinkled and weather worn, and she wore a stern expression on her face. Her blue eyes were less lucid, veiny and irritated. She silently hobbled to a chair and sat with an exhaustive exhale. "Are you alright, your Holiness?"

  Her eyes lit up. "I wanted to ask you the very same question?"

  "Oh, I’m fine. A bit tired, but eager to begin all the same."

  The Doyenne seemed disappointed. "Have you sleep?"

  "No," Sil replied, walking back to the window beside her bed and staring out again, more of her colleagues walking by. "I haven't eaten yet either. When Sister Ryl comes, would you like to join me?"

  "No thank you, child," she replied with a heaviness in her voice. "Have you prepared for your travel?" Travel. The word excited her more than anything now. To see the world. She quickly put the thought away. No, that's probably what tempted Gene. "You don’t look like you’re prepared nor preparing?"

  "No, Your Holiness, Sister Ryl said she’ll have a pack of essentials I can carry along on my back. A few hundred currency vouchers. Though, I suppose they won't be any good outside the City, will they?"

  "They may, they may," the Doyenne replied. "Especially from a priest, you will be more respected outside the city boarders—"

  "—I can’t," Sil interrupted, feeling her stubbed hair and smooth neck. A little more grown back, she thought. "No, I will go as I am—"

  "Don't be foolish, child," Her Holiness exclaimed, slamming her cane onto the floor. Sil jumped. "There are dangers outside I know you’re not ready for."

  "The Golden Lady will protect me," Sill replied, taking a moment to listen to her mind and hoping for reassurance. Nothing.

  Her Holiness closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Sil, you do realize what they have asked you to do, don't you?"

  "Yes," Sil said, straightening her back and righting her chin out. Then, she softened her posture. Be watchful of pride, she told herself. "Your Holiness. Last night. I am sorry I didn't listen to you. I am truly grateful for you being there but please, understand me. My sister's actions have done so much harm and now, I am responsible. This judgment is a mercy shown to her and me." She pointed to the knife. "I will bring this knife to her and give her another chance to offer herself to the Golden Lady as she should have long ago."

  The Doyenne chuckled as though some joke had been played on Sil. She felt a small ember of anger rising from within her, a fire in her throat. Use the knife! Startled, she buried the anger deeply, smothering it like a mound of dirt on a fire.

  "Oh, my dear child," Her Holiness continued, shaking her bowed head. "Hasn't it yet occurred to you that you might have to force your will on your sister? Fight her?"

  "Fight her? Why should I need to? She’s a priest. She should be happy I'm coming to help—"

  "Listen to yourself. Gene doesn’t need you to remind her of her duty. If she wanted to offer herself to the Golden Lady, she would have returned long ago."

  "But she must. Her curse has been laid on me too! How will I be made clean?"

  "Oh, Almighty," the Doyenne sighed. "Then what will you do, Sil? When Gene refuses your offer to return?" Sil glanced at the knife. "She will not simply take that knife, thank you for your troubles, and use it on herself, will she?”

  No, she won’t, she answered in her mind.

  “Then if she refuses to return, you’ll have to fight her, won’t you? And if you were to succeed? Sacrificing her against her will. Wouldn't your actions resemble something like murder?"

  Sil turned away, frowning. "No, it's not murder, Doyenne. Gene was already supposed to be a Valkyrie! She's already dead."

  "Then, how will it happen," Her Holiness pressed. "Will you sneak on her, instead? Stalk her from the shadows like the Chills?"

  "No," she shouted, balling her hands into fists. "I won't. I will see her and I will ask her to…" Sil glanced at the knife again.

  "Ask her," the Doyenne laughed tiredly. "Oh, child. Your sister has spent considerable time in war. She would know how to defend herself. She has warding skills to blunt blades and is more than handy on managing runics. Again, how will you succeed if she refuses?"

  "Why are you saying that," Sil whimpered. She is casting doubt in you! Reduce her to ashes! Sil flinched, then sat on the edge of the bed, sinking into a slouch. "Why are you testing me like this? If I don’t do this, how can I live with myself? Zandagor might take a sacrifice, or she may wake the Golden Lady again and destroy the City.” And Gene will get away with her selfishness again.

  The Doyenne rose from her chair and hobbled over, placing her hand on Sil's shoulder. "Will she wake,” she whispered. “I’m not as sure as I once was about a great many things, Celeste. Something is amiss. For a very a long time now. A darkness clouds our hearts and a zealousness has risen pride in us."

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she said, tearing up as frustration mounted inside her, that anger threatening to flare up. She felt it as heat in her stomach and shaking hands, but most of all at the
pit of her throat like a warming lump of coal she wanted to spit out. She turned to the Doyenne, eyes of wisdom, quick to console and inspire, but not now. They appeared as doubtful as she was becoming. "I must do this," she said slowly as though she needed to convince herself.

  "I know, child," Her Holiness replied with a slight smile. "I’ve always admired the fervent idealism of the young and you have that. May I share a secret with you?”

  Sil nodded.

  “I know how much it pains you that the Golden Lady hasn’t spoken to you,” she frowned, turning a distant gaze onto the floor. “Well, my secret is that she hasn’t spoken to me in over seventy years.” She then smiled timidly. “But I do believe Zandagor is present within the Golden Lady—”

  “Oh, but she has spoken to me,” Sil exclaimed, grabbing hold of the Doyenne’s aged hands. “That’s why I’m doing this. She told me to. Told me to do everything the Synod says.” The Doyenne sat up straighter as her face fell and eyes searched Sil’s face. “Oh, but…I’m sure she will speak to you again one day.” She is jealous of my favors. Give her to me. Use the knife. Sil pulled her hands back. No, she must not have heard correctly, probably just her mind giving voice to her smothered anger.

  “She speaks to you,” the Doyenne asked, narrowing her eyes. “And told you to do as Synod commands?”

  Sil smiled, nodding eagerly, trying to put the Doyenne at easy.

  “I see,” she frowned, allowing herself to slouch again. “Sil…may I ask a favor of you? Perhaps it is more a favor for you. When you leave here, the Synod and I have arranged for a stagecoach to be ready outside the gate—"

  "Thank you!"

  "You may not thank me for it may cost you something. We have instructed him not to speak to you, but only to transport you to where ever you may wish. My favor is that you ask him to bring you to your home in Sato first. You can refuse, of course, simply by asking for another destination. A two-trip fare has been already paid. This is your quest, Sil, your decision. And I’m afraid for all the talk of the Synod, we have no idea where Gene may be. But, perhaps, your hometown might hold clues."