Call of the Chosen- Broken Kingdoms

by Michael DeSousa

  Sil looked away, outside to the blue door with the morning sun shining against it. "Can it be that easy?"

  The Doyenne rose, trembling to her feet. Her cane knocked on the wooden floor as she made her slow way to the door. "I don’t think finding her is going to be that difficulty. She'll know you're looking for her; I would trust in that. The true difficulty will come when you do find her. I'll see you off when you are ready." And with that, she closed the door behind her.

  "She'll know I'm looking for her," Sil repeated out loud. How? Maybe if Sil were to go home and ask for her. Home...no, it wasn't home anymore. No one would remember her. Ten years of the Empire's annex must have changed everything. Gossip then? A covered-up girl with tan eyes and silver hair looking for another woman with tan eyes and silver hair asking for 'Gene Casmarus.' She laughed to herself. Yes, that would be obvious. "But that doesn't matter," she said. "I want her to know I'm looking for her."

  She may not want to be found. "Yes, I suppose that can be true too," she said, looking at the knife resting on her bed. "Then, I'll have to hunt her down." She frowned. "We will both become Valkyries in heaven, won’t we?" But the Golden Lady didn't answer. She was right, however. And so was the Doyenne. Gene would have come back if she wanted to.

  Sil turned away from the window and grabbed the knife. She unsheathed it halfway, admiring its clean metal. It was nothing remarkable: thin, not very long with a metallic silvery look to it along with a hint of a red gleam that danced along its length —the burning enchantment. Imbuing like this didn’t last very long; the blade’s contact with the air made the magic leak out. It didn’t even hum or feel warm. Maybe the sheath protected it? Imbuing wasn’t her expertise. In fact, if she hadn't been told, she would have mistaken it for a boning knife. Perhaps it was at some point. The faded leather sheath cracked in several places. It was old, Sil could see. On one side was embroidered a familiar symbol that stirred her curiosity. It was simple in components, lines, curves and shades that depicted a deepness to it, as if it could exist in reality. Yet the symbol taken whole was incongruent, defying three-dimensional sense. She’d seen symbols like this before; they were written in her parent’s books, and they would sometimes use them to protect the family from the Ragnarok Cults. But that was impossible in this case; those symbols drew their efficiency from the Warmonger Ragnarok and needed a Ragnar citizen to draw it —or so her parents explained. Surely, this was decorative.

  Another oddity, kitchen knives usually don’t come in sheaths, at least when Sil worked the kitchens. But none of that mattered. Somehow, this very knife would have to— She stopped herself, dropping the knife onto the bed. I must, she told herself. Gene accepted her calling. She accepted being a sacrifice. ...She will be happy to see me. But the burning in her chest gave her pause. "I just have to talk to her. Make her see reason."

  She'd have to ask people, gather information, sneak around looking for clues. "Oh, dear," she said, overwhelmed with thought of it all. Clandestine things, searching and investigating hidden information with hidden motives. ...Like the Synod. "No, I won't wear a mask. I want her to know she's looking for me."

  "Who are you looking for," Sister Ryl said, pushing the door with her backside as she slid in a cart of food. Warms smells of cinnamon and turmeric filled the room. Her stomach still cramped at the thought of food, but as famished she was, she’d have to force herself to eat. This may be the last time she could have—

  "She isn't looking for anyone, Sister Ryl," another voice, Mother Gracie said. She entered along with Ryl. White hair pulled back and tied up into a petal design, her smooth face and clear brown eyes belied her age. Sil knew she was much older, had to be from the stories she told. "And how is our young guest? Ready for her pilgrimage," she asked, placing a brown package by the door.

  Sil stood from the bed too quickly, feeling dizziness fill her head for a moment. "Yes, I am. And eager." Though, now she regretted not sleeping.

  "Good, Lady Casmarus. I’m happy for you."

  Ryl positioned the cart in front of her and lifted the covering off a large plate. The smells almost overwhelmed her: honey-sweet smoked meats, eggs boiled, pouched, and fried in olive oil. Rye bread and butter. And turmeric tea with a small cup of cinnamon to season it. Off to the side was a cup of a clear blue liquid. No pilgrim had ever eaten so well.

  Sil's eyes took it all in, hunger overcoming her stomach’s complaints. "All for me?"

  "Yes, yes, eat up," Mother Gracie replied. "And make sure to drink your medicine.”

  “This?” Sil examined the blue liquid curiously.

  “Yes. You should drink it after you eat. It may upset your stomach, but you’ll need your strength so drink it all. I'm sorry that you can’t have your lavender tea —I know it’s your favorite, but we wouldn’t want you drowsy on the road, would we? That tea will help you heal faster."

  "Thank you. Thank you," she repeated, grabbing hold of a napkin before placing it on her right knee.

  "And as I’m sure someone has told you by now," she continued. "You have been relieved of your dietary restrictions also."

  Sil stopped, lowering her eyes. "No, no one has, but yes, I know," she whispered. “Not until I return."

  "Yes, certainly," Mother Gracie added, making her exit. "Enjoy your meal. I’ve left here some clothes for you. When you’re finished, please dress and come to the Front Gate." And the door closed behind her.

  Sil raised her tea to her mouth, the warm aroma hugging her face and relieving some of her fatigue. 'Please dress and come to the Front Gate.' I must leave so soon? "Sister Ryl, can you please give me solitude." Sister curtsied and walked out, leaving Sil alone with her mixed emotions. We are here to instruct you. She smiled before beginning her meal.

  Having finished everything set before her —even all the croutons— her appetite was sated, and she felt rejuvenated and healed, if not for a quivering muscle here or there. But her blue medicine remained sitting on the tray. Taking it in hand, she sniffed it. No smell. Then with one gulp, she drank it all. At first, it burned her throat but that soon passed, warming her stomach pleasantly. It reminded her of drinking fortified wine, or more like grain alcohol her father would mix with his coffee. No smell or taste, but burned like coal fires. Very pleasant.

  Stretching her arms into the air, she exclaimed, "I can do this!” She then pushed the cart away and leaped off from her bed. She winched, expecting some part of her to cramp or joint to give way, but nothing did. Surer footed, she grabbed the package by the door and tossed it onto her bed.

  “Bland clothing," she sighed after opening it. She felt the fabric between her fingers. Wool dyed in an uninspiring brown, and poorly spun; she could see some of the threads already coming apart. It reminded her of back home where everything was used for years until worn down to practically nothing. "At least it's warm. Winter is coming after all." Though she was sure she’d be back before then. A month, maybe less. That should be enough time to find Gene and come back. Underneath the thick blouse and long dress was another woolen piece, a mantle very similar to the one priests use —like the one she used. She took in a deep breath. “Just get through this.” Nothing but her quest mattered now.

  Also inside was a rope necklace with a small warding stone attached to it. She hadn’t even thought about the Chills; she didn’t need to. The Holy City itself was built from the marbled rock, so anyone inside was protected. But out there, out in the wilderness, there was vulnerability and the chance for infection. She shivered, remembering the few infected that were brought here from time to time. How feverish and delirious they were. And how hopeless the treatment was; their reliving of their past as the infection ravaged their bodies. And after death, how they were cremated as to prevent them from rising again. A terrible, dreadful fate.

  She enclosed the stone in her fist and pressed it against her lips. Something she had never had a reason to fear before, she’d have to worry about now. I can do this.

  Lastly, there was another piece
of brown silk folded into a small square. She unfolded it, revealing a veil for her head. A bald woman would stand out. “My hair will grow back too,” she assured herself.

  Then she went to the wash room, washed her face, hands, arms as best she could while humming to herself. Her muscles still ached, but she was too eager to begin her travels to let them slow her down. She quickly dressed her warm leggings, ankle-length dress with enough play at the hem to freely move her legs, light brown blouse, brown leather shone shoes, no socks, a simple brown knife belt around her waist and the mantle around her shoulders that hung low enough behind her back to hide the knife there. And of course, her warding stone necklace, now comfortably hanging from her neck and under her bodice. Wrapping the veil over her head and neck, she dashed for the door.

  Once outside, she paused noticing the eerie silence. The door closed on its own and she jumped, the echo exacerbating the emptiness of the hall. She saw no one in sight, but rows of closed doors. How strange, these were the aspirant apartments, and as the morning waxed, there should be plenty of girls much younger than her hustling, chatting, and making a circus out of the hallway. But no, nothing but silence, broken only by her clacking footsteps which followed her down the hall to the stairs. She focused her hearing. Surely, there must be someone. Maybe everyone was sleeping in because of the late sacrifice last night? She reached the stair and turned back, one last look. Had they evacuated everyone? Why?

  She then descended the stair and still heard not a sound but her own. "There must be a reason—" She caught her reflection in the window, distorted and unclear, but there were her features. Her father's tan eyes. The brown veil covered her head, hiding the stubs of her mother's silver hair. She’d used to think her and her family’s features were monstrous compared to others in Sato; she even had nightmares about it as a child. Her father as a hideous scaled beast watching over her; her mother, another beast too, outstretched wings and taking flight. Gene used to have the same nightmares too, though in hers the entire family were monsters. “Our sisters’ secret,” she whispered with a growing smile, remembering how they used to pretend to be those monsters and play in the fields. Majestic, powerful, and ancient like queens of the sea and air personified, existing above the natural order. Her smile widened; it was on one of those occasions she first learned the Golden Lady had gifted her with magic. She remembered how freeing it was to pretend to be one those creatures, free and so…at home, but that was before she learned of their evil significance. Stupid innocence, she thought, giggling into her hand.

  But that innocence quickly ended when her parents found out about the sisters’ secret. They were so angry and scared, Sil remembered vividly, and with good reason. They explained that they must have let slip something about the old cult rituals, and the sisters’ imaginations grabbed onto it. How the Ragnarok Cults tried to create new Ragnar citizens out of a cultist members, citizens that were —from unreliable folklore— said to be beastly dragons. Sil shivered thinking of such abominations and how innocently she played with the idea as a child. And nonsensical too. Wouldn’t one want to remain human and not lose the faculty of the will to become a beast?

  Her parents went on that night to explain everything, their role in the cults, the Purge they were both grateful for and feared, and their struggle for a new life. That the rituals never worked, a trick from the Warmonger to cause more suffering. All their struggle and hope in their daughters to make amends for their parent’s past and Gene had to go on and— She frowned, lifting her chin. At least now, she’d be able to visit their burials for the first time since they were laid. You are free. And not alone.

  "Sil," The Doyenne's voice echoed up from downstairs. "Is that you, child? Come, hurry. We’re waiting. The streets outside will fill soon, and you still have to speak." Sil rushed as well as she could down the stairs to the first floor. The Doyenne stood there appearing much stronger than before, a soft concerned smile on her.

  "Hello, Your Holiness," Sil said, curtsying slightly. "Are they waiting for me?"

  "Yes, yes. I want to walk you to the gate. Mother Gracie is there along with your friend Mother Lyn. They have a backpack of supplies ready for you." Sil joined her, walking, almost skipping with excitement —a stark contrast to yesterday’s despair.

  But the eerie silence still unnerved her. "Where is everyone," she asked.

  "The Synod had everyone relocate for a time," the Doyenne replied. The echo of her cane clattering on the floor gave the ground floor a mysterious expansiveness to it, as though this floor stretched for miles, notched out with thousands of very large and very empty rooms. "I wish I could say it was done out some concern for you. This is rather extreme to isolate an unclean woman from aspirants. Wouldn’t you think so, Sil?"

  "I…I don’t know—"

  She clacked her cane harder against. "They lied to them," she whispered. "They told them you carry a curse of the Golden Lady."

  "Isn't that true?" Sil lowered her eyes to the floor.

  Another loud clack echoed around her. "The Almighty doesn't curse anyone," the Doyenne said. "If he doesn't, then neither can a part of him, neither can the Golden Lady."

  Sil found herself not wanting to reply. The Doyenne was right, of course, but only strictly. She wasn’t cursed by the Almighty nor his Vassals, but how different was being unclean? The Synod was right in segregating her, Sil wanted to argue, but the Doyenne’s words lately had become confusing and worrisome. She is not one of us—

  "I don't believe you've ever met the Princess Za’nina, have you?"

  "Zana? No, I haven’t.”

  The Doyenne sighed before stopping at the double doors of the apartment house. Sunlight streamed in, yet that eerie silence seemed to stream in with it. Surely, there would be the sounds of others passing by, muted whispers of private conversations, the laughter and commotion of off-season pilgrims and visitors, but Sil couldn’t hear any of it.

  “It’s so quiet,” Sil whispered, fighting off a shiver.

  “Yes, it is. They are preparing contingencies.”

  “Contingencies? ...If I fail?”

  The Doyenne faced her and looked up to Sil. Her smiled softened to a frown. “Princes Za’nina,” she began, “would have visited you if not for business with the Empire and the Princedoms.”

  “Visited me? Why—”

  "I've talked to her about you, about your election and preparations. She knows about our seventh-year sacrifices. Her mother did also. She would meet the sacrifices and so does her daughter.” The Doyenne paused a moment. “I also told her that you survived and about your quest—”

  Sil opened her mouth, “but—”

  The Doyenne rose her hand. “Not to worry, I have not told her why you want to find your sister or the business you have with her.” Her eyes searched underneath Sil’s mantle, probably looking for the knife. Her frown deepened. ”She told me to tell you that so long as you’re within the boundaries of the Holy City's territory, she has given standing orders to keep you safe if the country guard should see you. And ...should you become wary of your quest, and have to return. Go seek her out first. She might be able to find Gene for you."

  "She knows where my sister is,” Sil shot out in one breathe. “Then, I'll see her now—"

  "You may," the Doyenne said. “But think of what you have agreed to do. You would be asking someone else to aid you in murder.”

  “This is not murder,” Sil protested.

  “Not to you, perhaps. But why wouldn’t our princess think so? If Gene’s ashed corpse were to be found after the princess reunited you two. What else would she think? And what would she do about it?”

  Sil squeezed her eyes shut, feeling frustration mounting. This one is manipulating you. “Fine, alright,” Sil shouted. “I won’t ask her.”

  The Doyenne narrowed her eyes on her. “Are you alright, child? Perhaps you should stay in one of our lodges in the City—”

  “No, no,” Sil said, patting her flush face with her hands. “
I’m quite alright. Tired is all. I need movement. Cooped up in that room and my limbs are still stiff.”

  She eyed her a moment longer, letting her eyes linger on her dress as if searching for the knife one last time before opening the doors. “Come,” she said. “We do not have much time.”

  Outside, the scene matched Sil’s guess. No one, anywhere. She grimaced against the cold wind, the morning sun already rising high over the Apartment’s Court, but it was a weak sun, doing little to warm her chilly head.

  The Doyenne turned left, walking unusually slowly with her cane clacking shallow echoes on the stone ground. The buildings were shut, windows closed; the eerie silence made her shudder more than the cold.

  “Out here too,” Sil whispered despite herself. “Isn’t there supposed to be a feast and games after last night’s offering?”

  “Inside the auditorium,” the Doyenne replied. “Some of the organizers are in the Blue Bell House. The games will go on.” So that’s who they were.

  Up ahead, the stone path led to a high wall with simple gate beyond which was the Gathering Court, a large stone yard where pilgrims would first assemble. Small stone buildings lined its edges for refreshments, small accommodations, registrations, and information. Normally, this court would be a bustle of life much like the city it served, but not today. Not even here, there was no one. Such a big place, now such an empty place. Sil felt anxious about to cross, except that there were two priests at the far opposite end by the main double doors, closing off the City and Holy Grounds.

  One of the priests stood erect, waving her hand and holding a brown backpack in the other. Lyn. Thankfully, Sil would be able to see her before going. The other priest wore a white mask and hunched over slightly. She grabbed Lyn’s waving arm, stopping her.