"Lad," he spat up blood. Mend, Mend, this is bad. You have to go. "Lad, please. I can't see. I can't see."
"I'm here, you old man," Mend said, scrambling to his feet. Granger's eyes had clouded, and blood spilled from the corners of his mouth, down his neck and onto his gray jumpsuit. "What the hell happened? What's wrong with you?" Snap. Snap. Snap. A low muffled groan vibrated the floor underneath them along with a long crunching of metal on metal. A sound that reminded Mend of a waterfall splashed in the next room.
"Please, Tellerson," Granger said, gagging and coughing up blood. Mend tried prying his hand free. Get out of here, Mend. This is serious! This isn't like the tower. "I've been exposed," he uttered. "There's gotta be a breach here, somewhere in the shielding." Let go of my hand! "No, no, don’t run. Please. Don't be like the others." Snap! Snap! Mend felt his weight shift again like the world was moving underneath him. If not for Granger’s firm grip, he would have lost his balance again. "Open the floor hatch. Over by my key. Panel. Fall…pit."
Mend finally managed to pull free, Granger’s hand falling limp. Run, he screamed to himself. But Mend found it hard to pull his sight off Granger who was breathing shallower, staring his clouded eyes to the ceiling, and struggling to talk. "People...will…die. Lots."
"How the hell can you be exposed," Mend shouted at the old man. "We are nowhere near the Beast." You smell of him. I am sorry that he chose you. Now, die in peace. Mend's hands twitched; he gulped hard. "Oh, no. no. no," he repeated, turning around. The door. There! “I am insane enough for myself!”
"Lad," Granger's weak voice reached him. "Please. It'll...hurt...so...many.…" Mend stopped. Snap! His weight shifted like a passing wave of pressure building through him, forcing him to lurch forward to compensate. The door was right in front of him. Open too! Just a few more steps, Mend. Down and out the door. But he didn't take them. What was stopping him? He might get exposed like the old man. He could die himself, and no one back home would give a damn. So why should he care if people were going to die here either?
He turned, pointed at the old man and shouted, "But you’re the Empire! You deserve this! You all deserve this for messing with things like that!” He pointed to the coolant rippling window. “For taking what’s not yours! For all the cities you burned and lands you’ve taken!" Yea, that's right, Mend! You tell him!. Never mind the fact Mend was a thief too, but the Empire was different. Mend didn’t conquer and burn up entire cities just because he could, and murder! Ah! That was one thing he never did, would never do! Let's go! Let it crash and expose everyone! End this damn empire. He marched for the door with his chest out and chin up.
"Mendeleyev Von Mendevoch," he shouted out as loudly as he could. "Savior of the World. Destroyer of Evil Empires! I'm a freak’n hero!" He reached the lift. Paused. Closed his eyes. He pictured the hulking mass sliding through the streets, people collapsing, shaking, vomiting, their eyes turning white like Granger. It would pick up speed, wouldn't it? And smash through the Runic Shielding for the Beast downtown. Everyone on the island would be exposed. Mend might have time to escape. "But, that's good, right," he whispered. "A dead island. No more imperial war machines. Wouldn't that save people too?" Roach. What would you do? He remembered her saying once: 'You dumb brat. Give me that knife! I know you’re dumb as a brick-window, and twice as lazy, but get this through your tiny dumb skull: We steal. We con. We sneak. We don't murder! Let the Almighty do that.'
Mend cackled. Well, I suppose that’s a good enough excuse. "OK, boss! What happens now is your fault!" He turned back, quickly find the flashing green light and reflecting key underneath it. Rushing over there, he heard a strange high pitch whistling. He looked through the window to see many of the cables had broken free and the cylinder Beast object hung to the right. It was pressing up against the runic mesh now, smoking and sparking. Not good.
He found the panel the old man was talking about. Handle? Handle? Button? He punched it and the panel broke free. "OK, that works." Inside, there were a series of squares, very finely made. Some kind of push-buttons maybe?. On them were symbols he didn’t recognize, small groupings of curves, lines, and shades.
Mend clenched his jaw. "Really," he shouted. "You imperials have to invent your own letters!" Next to the push-buttons was a large inset circle. It had an exclamation painted on it and two lines that could resemble a floor separating. Mend smiled. “That I understand.” He went to push it in when a painful stomach cramp gripped his abdomen. He grabbed his knees with wave after wave of nausea. He felt the urge to —vomit shot up his throat and splattered onto floor.
He searched for the button again, but his head swam, and eyesight darkened. He made a fist with one hand and felt for the inset button with the other. There! He slammed his fist onto the button. Nothing. He hit again. Nothing. “Damn useless. So useless,” he screamed, slamming both fists. He threw up again, and his strength drained with it. “What the hell was the point? Why the hell was I even born then,” he whispered. “All my life…no difference.” Then, he heard a hiss and the button popped.
He chuckled, easing himself to the floor as convulsions took over his body. He heard what sounded like a whistle, then long scrapping followed a satisfying crash.
With his weakening eyesight, he saw the room brighten. Lights are back, he thought. He couldn’t stop smiling. His throat and mouth burned like hell fire. His muscles cramped; stomach knotted so much tears ran down his cheeks. The little light he saw spun and spun as though he had ended one of his infamous drinking matches with the rest of his crew. A dull ache grew behind his right eye, thumping slower to the beat of his heart.
He tried chuckling again, but his cheeks fluttered instead. So, this is how it ends. The adventures of the great Mendeleyev Von Mendevoch ends now... his infamous streak of luck over. Is this was why I was born...to save an Evil Empire? It made sense to him, in a sadistically ironic way. He lived through so many impossible situations. ‘Born under the bad star,’ Josie Summers told him. And her apprentice, Roe; he’d never get another chance to tell her to lighten up. In an odd way, he wished she was here so she could see that his special brand of luck meant something after all. It meant this. He would die doing something as stupid as saving an evil empire.
Roach. Don’t go crazy now because I’m...I’m —He spat up blood. Because I’m dead. Thanks for taking care...for everything, but a useful death for a useless life sounds like a good deal to me. I’ll try to haunt your dreams —And blackness took him.
***
Why didn’t you save yourself? "Are we awake today," Mend heard a female voice, soft and sweet, but it aggravated every part of his body. With a throbbing headache, his right eye felt swollen shut and pulsed painfully. Breathing tubes stuffed up his nose and cold dry air scraped at his burning parched throat. His chest weighed two tons and ached as if one of Roach's kicks broke a couple of ribs —all of the them more likely. His leg muscles were so soar that they felt oddly good, until they jerked into a cramp, sending a shock through his entire body like a town crier calling on all the other pains in his body to step up their own torture. His arms felt like numb dead weights; his right hung in the air somehow and left seemed separated by miles. Alright, which one of Roach's ‘important patrons’ did I try to rob this time, was his first thought.
"I’m opening the window today," that gentle voice continued...unfortunately. "I hope it’s not a bother. The summer heat is over, that’s for sure. But the breeze," —Shut up, Mend thought— "is rather nice. Brr, it is chilly. Amazing how fast the weather can change on this island." Island? Am I still in that Tower hallucinating? "Ah, but can you smell that?” —Please, for the love of all things Almighty, shut up— "Sooooo Wonderful," she sighed like nails into his temples. "Going to be a fine fall." He felt a hand on his wrest. Then a finger lifted his right eyelid. A piercingly blue light flinched them shut followed by a quick succession of thumping pain in his head. "Still sensitive to the light, are we? Not good, Mister Tellerson. Not good at all."
He tried moving his legs. Nothing, too weak. …And then, they cramped —again. Fine! I'll start smaller! He tried closing his mouth. Nothing. Smaller. He managed to lift his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Success! He tried remembering what had happened, but only the memory of a piano song came to mind. His heart sunk. I really am still in the tower, aren't I? No, that didn't make sense. He was alone in the Tower and that girl cared for him, even called him a hero. Chief Engineer? Mend pondered over it, more like pounded over it; his head hurt so much to every beat of his heart. OK, Mend. Pick up the clues. She called you a hero. Something about being on an island. And a chief engineer wants to meet me. ...I've got it! I finally left Roach's crew. And they found me, beat me, but I managed to turn them all in! Yea that’s—
“Hello, Glennie," a familiar voice sounded, older and authoritarian, with a hint of anger. Roach? No, can't be. "Nurse says you're still in too much pain to talk, but that you’re conscious. She said your reflexes are getting better though, quicker. That's good. ...So, I came here to say I'm sorry for doubting you. When I first saw you, I knew right from the start that you were a memorizer. I had planned to send the guards in to arrest you. You’re such a bad actor, Glennie, or whatever your real name is. And no tools on your belt? That tipped me off too.” —Damn it!— “I checked the records. There never was a Glen Tellerson. Dale never heard of you either. Memorizers can't work on the island. You would have known that if you really applied. We screen them out. All this stuff around us is very sensitive." There was a pause. "So," she said, taking in a sharp breath. "The questions are: who are you and why are you here? You almost died saving us. More than that, if that Beast fragment had managed to break free, everything, everything we’re trying to do here… Yea, well, thank you. I can't imagine that you're a spy or our enemy. Unless you really are that incompetent ...which after watching your performance should make me reconsider what I'm saying." He felt her grab his hand, his fingers cramping painfully in her hand. "I have to know,” she said with earnest. “’Glen,’ your alias couldn't have been a coincidence. …Did my brother hire you to find me? Is Glen Gallegos still in Ladress? ...And...Edgar Omen too?" Mend burst into laughter in his mind. "I...I suppose I have to wait for the answer." He felt her move away. "I found your black clothes, by the way. Really, you thought a rock would hide them? I got rid of them, so there's no way off the island except through my questions. Oh, and as soon as your well, the Regent’s coming to meet you. You're a hero, Glennie. For now, I'll keep your little secret." Then she tapped her feet away, leaving Mend alone with his battered body. I wish I was in that Tower right about now. No, I wish I died. Roach is going to kill me.
6
Rowena Lions: Araa from the North
"Rowena, my daughter. I'm very disappointed in you. I knew it was only a matter of time before someone came for me, but you? How far have the Shadows fallen that sect members are forced to shadow their own?”
"The…the others don’t know. I…was giving this mission from the One-Night.”
“The One-Night, directly? Ha, Rochelle was right. Am I to understand that neither does Josie, your own sponsor, know what your doing? Not our way—”
“Tell me the truth, pai. Did you do what they accused you of? You and mai?”
“What did they say we did?”
“They showed me the record. The Shadows found her. I know they had to kill her for betraying us.”
“‘They’ who?”
“Those from the Hecate sect.”
“Hasn’t Josie taught you yet, you should only trust those within your sect?”
“I. Saw. The. Record. You can’t deny it. You and mother betrayed us.”
“Betrayed? Then, go on, Rowena. Tell me what you mother and I have done.”
“You…you were supposed to…end…”
“We were tasked to shadow a pregnant woman until she gave birth, and then kill the mother and the baby boy.”
“If you couldn’t, you should have said no to the mission. You betrayed us, broke the Oaths, and left. No one leaves!”
“I think I’ve taught my daughter better than that, Roe. Say what they really asked us to do, murder.”
“Their deaths would have served a greater purpose!”
“Really? Do you know who you sound like?”
“But the Shadows need us! The Veiled Goddess needs us. Look at what that bastard One-King is doing. Look what he did to Reid, your son, pai. And you stand there like you don’t give a damn. Like you’re above all this!”
“Answer my question. Who do you sound like talking about, duty, oaths, no one ever leaving? Asking us to murder our own countrymen! Sounds awfully like what we hear now on the farms, the mills, and factories. Duty to country. Oaths to the One-King and his Counts. Foremen, our own people, killing and taking us away to make the remaining ‘more productive’”
“…”
“Ha, ha, oh, my poor little black leaf. So good at hiding, you can hide even from yourself.”
"Fine! Whatever. I know I shouldn’t care; Josie taught me better. So, this is nothing personal, just a means to a goal. Please, I'll give you a chance. Grab a knife."
"Oh, my little black leaf. I won't murder my own daughter."
"Then... be quiet at least. The others don't need to know."
"Others? You mean Thorn and Zoey? We’re your family!”
"Are...are you ready?"
"Are you?"
"Yes. Mostly. I've never...actually…"
"I can help you, then. You see, since you’ve decided to reveal yourself to your mark, the custom is to grant your mark a last request."
"I can't let you go. No one leaves the Coming Shadows."
"Oh no, no. Both your mother and I knew that long ago. I have no intention of surviving the night. But, let's go for a walk. The waterfalls…the place where I met your mother. We used to take walks there, remember? Yes, one last treat."
-Conversation between Roe and her father
Roe awoke to a cold sweat, beating heart, and out of breath. That dream again, she thought, grabbing hold of her mouth to smother her panting. She closed her eyes and thought back, way back, when the world was simple: the calm lake side, the one towering mountain, the gentle stream. Cool breeze, warm sun, laughter of her family. Though it was never like that, not even remotely close, pretending helped calm her. In a way, that was her job: to pretend.
Her breathing slowed, and heart calmed; that familiar undercurrent of calm melancholy and persistent foreboding rose in her again —her normal self. She sat up from the floor she slept on as a cool chill sent waves of anxious hairs prickling over her body. Bad dreams are a very small price to pay, she said to herself. Ironic that she took to the mantras her ulterior persona obsessed. But a little bit of every person she pretended to be remained in her. The more personae, the further she was from Rowena, further from her paranoia that someone —those two people— had been following her since the beginning. Truth was, she never found anyone, no matter how well she stalked and waited. No one is that good. But still that ominous feeling remained unsatisfied. Irrational; if someone was stalking her all this time, they would have pounced long before now. Ghosts? The Chills? That would make sense and there would be plenty reason to have them haunting her.
She grimaced, looking up to the window with its shudders closed. Even closed, she saw the morning light brightening from outside. Damn, I'm late. S
o, she rose from the floor and began her exercises. Stretching, deep breaths, squats and push-ups. All very automatic by now, her body had gotten used to it. She sat back down on the floor, closed her eyes, and began her meditation. Breathing in, she thought, I am Araa from the North, here to work. And exhaled. Three times, she did this and hoped it was enough for it to stick. Unfortunately for her, Islanders were known for their punctuality so she’d have to skip most of her prep.
She rose again, feeling her assumed persona take more of a hold on her. The slow wittiness of the Islanders. Their mysticism. Superstition, everyone else would say. “No, they’re true,” she said, letting her slide into her act. Islanders were naive, overly agreeable, and dumb as a house fly. “No, I am an Islander and I am kind, polite, and unassuming. Life is fundamentally simple. Be true. Be good. Be industrious. Falsehoods complicate life.”
And with those words fresh in her mind, she went for the door but stopped herself, noting the sunlight peeping through the bottom. Am I too late for my run? In her line of work, physical and mental fitness meant life or death. Being able to out run and out hide her adversary saved her many times in the past. Though if she was good enough, she wouldn’t have adversaries to run from. Until then, she promised herself to keep up her fitness even if Araa wouldn’t.
“Damn, I’ll have to run later,” she decided before walking back to sit on a hammock that was issued to her, hanging from two wooden poles. Staring at the door, she sighed. “Anytime now,” she said as pre-dawn commotion rose outside. Mostly useless pleasantries; sometimes, she would hear gossip, but nothing pertinent to her mission. Being assigned the maintenance camp, Roe was housed in a small dwelling community of the same workers. Most were looking forward to their five-year tenure to be over. Roe had been working here for a little more than a half a year on this contract and watched as the town around her grew into a small city with its own hospital, governing offices, and even a bustling main street with fresh commerce. Most produce came by way of wagon transport from Faf’r, but she’d heard of demolition crews leveling land for farms. Wouldn’t that be the first thing to do when building a new city?
Call of the Chosen- Broken Kingdoms Page 17