“Markus,” sounded Gloria with a warning tone.
“Sorry, Gloria, it’s my job!” He then leaned close, whispering. “It’s always good to be nice to the locals.” He looked down at her plate. “Especially when they feed you.” He then leaned back into his seat, lifting his cup to his mouth. He blew the steam away. “Now, down to business. …You going to eat that?”
Sil broke her gaze for a second. Her appetite gone, she shook her head.
“Thank you,” he replied, reaching over before stuffing a small bread into his mouth. “I’ve been assigned to find Genevieve Casmarus, stop what she’s doing. It’s no secret she fought the Empire during the Brothers’ War, but that war is long over and she’ still fighting.”
“Still fighting,” Sil gasped. “But, is that why—”
“She never went back to your Temple,” Markus interrupted. “Probably.” He shrugged. “But that’s not my problem. My problem is that she’s been doing a lot of bad things, very bad things.”
“To the Empire,” Sil added, straightening her posture as confidence swelled from some hidden place inside her. Maybe a gift from Golden Lady’s?
“You’re not against the Empire, are you?”
“I’m not against anyone,” she replied, feeling more secure in herself. Thank you, Goddess. “I’m just on a simple search.”
Markus laughed. “You’re catching on quickly. They really know how to train you girls. Well, I just thought since we’re both on the same simple search, we can work together.” He smiled, widening his one eye as though he expected Sil to immediately accept his offer. It was tempting, Sil admitted. The Empire’s resources could find Gene quickly, but the Sea Roar God, Lairgor…and their spies in the Holy City. The wars, the displaced people…the deaths and destructions. No, they were not allies.
“How do you know so much about me,” Sil asked, grabbing the spoon and beginning to eat. “Have you been watching me?”
“I haven’t, no,” he replied. “But, we know Gene had a sister; we know she’s you. We know you were the High Priest this year, offering sacrifices. Something happened, and you were defrocked.” —He doesn’t know about the human sacrifices, she thought with a sigh of relief. “Good food huh? I’m guessing one of your superiors found out about Gene’s crimes. Maybe your association with her cost you your job?”
“It is not a job.”
He lifted his palms at her. “Oh, I’m sorry, vocation. Either way, I’m sure you want back in. I’d wager that’s why you’re on this simple search. I want to solve this case. Both can be achieved by the same ends, finding Genevieve Casmarus, formally Mother Whitewave Fallingstar.”
Sil didn’t know what to say, so she stuffed a spoon full of food into her mouth.
“Been hungry for a while, huh?”
“Yes, I have,” Sil replied between bits, noticing the deliciousness for the first time: a thick creamy soup of potatoes, egg bits, and sausage. She wished he hadn’t stolen the bread.
“Go on, Mister Montgomery. I’m still listening.”
“I’m glad to see you’re more relaxed. Good, but ‘Markus’ is just fine. We found out yesterday that you’ve been sent on a missionary pilgrimage. That sounded a bit strange. No other High Priest went on pilgrimages after the sacrifice. I assumed you went after Gene, being that she was your sister and the scandal she caused by not returning. And that poor priest who took her place seven years ago. She wasn’t prepared for the sacrifice like Gene was, died from exposure to your Golden Lady, didn’t she?” Sil noted his use of ‘your.’ Not a Ladress born? He looked old enough to be alive when Ladress was together, yet the kingdom held few dark-skinned subjects.
“If you’ve found this all out,” Sil answered. “Then why haven’t you found her already. We would certainly like to talk to her.” She tried hiding her anger.
He took a sip of coffee. “Listen, Celeste—”
“Sil is fine,” she corrected him.
“Sil, I don’t know why you were defrocked or what happened between you and her and —honesty first— I don’t care. I’m here to bring a murderous criminal to justice.”
“Murder,” Sil yelped. Gene, murder? Sil felt the cold sheath of the knife against her thigh. Losing her appetite again, she pushed the plate away.
“Oh yes,” he replied, resting his elbows in the table again and looking off to the left. “Like I said, the war’s over but Gene still believes it’s going on.”
“What has she done?”
“Well, you know what they call her, don’t you?”
“The ‘fallen priest,’” she whispered, shame reddening her face. “What is the Empire accusing her of?”
“A long list of crimes that I would rather not sully your sensibilities—”
“No, tell me,” Sil insisted. “I need to know what my sister did.”
He smiled as though he had won an argument. “Well, your sister was responsible for four hundred and ninety-three deaths since the end of the war. Assassinations both royal and civil and plenty of collateral victims. She’s caused millions in damages to the Empire. And…”
“And?” Sil gulped.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded.
“She’s responsible for putting down a rebellion against the One-King in Drakendor. She helped gather up all the warding stones along the border, so those poor people can’t even leave. They tried, anyway; poor fools. The Chills got to them and they all had to be…you know.”
Sil lowered her head, feeling a sickness in her stomach that threatened to spill her food back out.
“She must have heard of the Empire’s asylum program,” he continued. “We’d welcome those people, if they can get to us.”
“I…never…knew,” Sil uttered. Even if it was to fight against the Empire, would Gene go that far? Assassinations and murder? Preventing captives from freeing themselves? No…she couldn’t, Sil answered her question. Yes, Gene tended to care about nothing except what she chose to care about. And what she chose to care about always had everything to do with her, but even she wouldn’t go that far. Sil must find her —now for more than one reason. But, by the Goddess, Gene, if you did those things… That is why you have the knife.
Markus leaned further. “Will you, Celeste —Sil, help me bring her to justice?” He looked at her with his one eye, clear and eager, while extending his hand out to her.
She lifted her own hand to meet his but stopped. No. This was the Empire, and he was one of their investigators. Blasphemers, conquerors; he talked about murder. How much murdering had been down by that emperor’s thirst for new lands. How many were dead in Sosh’r, the port city decimated at the start the Brothers’ War? Certainly more than four hundred and ninety three.
Sil shot to her feet, pulling her hand close to her chest and massaging it as though she could rub out the evil it almost touched.
Markus frowned, shaking his head. “Once a priest always a priest, eh?”
“I… what you’ve done to the Almighty’s body is—”
“I have done nothing,” he shouted, pointing his finger at her. “But, you can still do something.”
She turned away. “I cannot work with the Empire that desecrates the Almighty’s body,” she said. “I’m sorry. But this quest is my own.”
“Damn it woman, Gene will murder more people because of your piety. You willing to live with that?”
No, was her first answer, but she had no choice. She would not work with a man of his allegiances. And besides, just what was Markus’s plan once they found Gene. Not to allow her to travel back home to perform her priestly duty, Sil guessed.
“I’m sorry,” she said before walking away. “We can’t help each other.”
“Wait,” Markus shouted after her. “What will you do when you find her? I need to know.” Her thoughts flicked to the knife, and for another moment she thought maybe joining him would be a better idea. He seemed fairly professional, trustworthy and honest. And
he did confide in her. —No! Why was she even thinking like that? She wouldn’t work with him. She had already decided.
“What am I going to do? Make her see reason,” she answered him, before rushing outside, afraid she might reconsider.
Once outside, she inhaled deeply, sweet cold air with a musty mineral scent filling her lungs, before exhaling deeply. Her suspicions of that investigator returned to her. He couldn’t find Gene before she does. He’d take her to some place where Sil could never find her. Luckily, it seemed he had no idea where to start, but neither did she. Still, the idea of the Empire spying on the Temple all this time and not even having a clue about Gene seemed…unrealistic. He was lying, Sil told herself. The Empire does that. She had to find Gene and get her to come back. Then deal with the consequences afterwards. And if she doesn’t want to come back, then… Sil thought of the knife by her thigh. She just had to.
But none of that mattered if she couldn’t even find Gene in the first place, so she walked back to the town center, hoping to get directions to the Main Office. The stage couch was still there with two men in gray clothes stacking boxes inside. By the looks of what was being loaded, she doubted there would be much room for her inside. She’d have to travel on top.
The coachman was there, too, wearing a change of clothes, all black and dirtied with loose dust. He stood on top of the stagecoach’s seat box, giving orders. When he saw her, he waved her to come over with tightness in his eyes and worry on his lips. First time seeing his face —clean shaved and hallow like he hadn’t slept for days— it matched the unfriendliness she sensed in him.
“Find what you’re looking for,” he called from the stagecoach roof.
“No.” She frowned.
“I’m sorry about that,” he replied before jumping down to join her. “And, I’m sorry about this too.” He nodded behind him toward the boxes being loaded.
“I don’t mind. I’ll manage on top.”
“No, not that. My plans worked out better than I thought. I’ll like to leave tonight. It’ll make our ‘sick’ story about you work better with the guard.” Our sick story?
“But I can’t, I haven’t finished.”
He leaned closer in, whispering, “I see you’re getting noticed, priest. I think it’s for the best we go.”
“Noticed?”
“Don’t turn around. There’s a man in the alley behind you,” he said, his breath smelling like he had been chewing on peppermint.
“One eye, brim hat. Doesn’t look like a miner.”
“That’s because he’s not,” she fought herself from shouting. “So, he’s intent on following me, is he?” Sil snickered, before noticing how close the coachman had gotten to her, his minty breath nauseating her. Was he purposely breathing on her? She pushed him away with her hands.
“You know him,” he asked, eyes narrowing into slits.
“Yes, I know him. He’s an imperial investigator, if you must know. He offered to help me. I turned him down.”
The man’s eyes shot open suddenly. He straightened up, putting his palms out. “Oh, sorry miss,” he said, shouting over her. “I don’t have room for passengers.”
“Room? I thought you said I can ride on the box seat with you?”
“Nope, nope,” he said, again loudly while glancing behind her and wringing his hands together. “That wouldn’t be safe. Oh, great! You guys are finished loading already. Well, bye miss. I’m out of here!” Her coachman jumped back onto the box seat, grabbing the reins.
“You can’t do this,” Sil shouted after him. “We agreed. Two days.”
“I said no,” he snapped back before ordering one the loader men to untie the horses from their posts.
“Fine, tonight then,” she pleaded. How could he do this! Leave her here, alone, against their agreement. What kind of man was he? “We’ll leave tonight. Please, you agreed to bring me back!”
“I never met you before in my life, miss,” he said before cracking the whip and the horses sped away. No! How could he break his word so easily? And now what was she going to do? Walk? It was at least a full day’s walk back to the City. She’d have to stay outside, alone in the dangerous night, vulnerable to Almighty knows what just because this loaf’s selfish—
“Stop,” she screamed after him, with an initiation spell flaring in her palms. But he still rode away, increasing to a full gallop. This is intolerable! Then she saw her coachman’s right hand rise and wave. Mocking? Was he really mocking her?
Her face flushed red, the pit of her stomach grew hot, sending heat up her throat. The urge —no, need— to break something, anything flooded her mind. Burn him. Yes, she had to stop him, burn the stagecoach down with all his cargo. He deserved as much. With her hands sweating from the initiation spell, she lifted them, palms out toward the speeding stagecoach. He couldn’t get away with this injustice, and it was her duty to stop injustices. She was going to become a Valkyrie after all. Yes, you will. Sil sent the intention to her hands as an enormous flame shot from her palms, torching the air as it careened in ripples of heat and fire, before engulfing the entire stagecoach and rider. The horses let out a horrifying whine before galloping faster into a stamped, sending the flaming stagecoach tottering to pieces behind them.
Sil lowered her hands and raised her chin, feeling very justified —and very satisfied— for what she did. She still had no ride, but that loaf deserved every bit for taking advantage of her. Broke his word and then mocked her? She wasn’t some peasant’s girl. She was a High Priest, handmaiden to a goddess. The other two men in gray stood frozen, staring wide eyed with their jaws gaping. Good. She’d burn them too if they’ll cross—
A hand grabbed her arm and pulled it quickly behind her, then her other arm, painfully stretching her joints. Braces locked on her wrists.
“Don’t just stand there,” Markus’s voice barked from behind her. “You two. Untie those horses and go after that stagecoach!”
As the men scrambled to do as he commanded, Markus leaned into her ear. “Thanks, priest,” he whispered with a short laugh. “Now, I have an excuse to keep you with me.”
Sil closed her eyes. How treacherous was the world outside the Temple.
10
Celeste Casmarus: A Message from a Falling Star
“…do not end the project yet. Princess Zana must see reason. I have not completed my investigation, but I am convinced our patience will bare out. Those dead will reveal more messages. Afterwards, they made be terminated and buried easily. As before, your intuitions seem correct, unfortunately. I have gathered evidence while out here and even found someone with whom I can spar ideas. He is intelligent but agnostic about spirituality, so there is little to worry. As I’m sure you’ve heard, the first incursion of the apostate didn’t go well, and I suspect I will not be delayed too much longer. There is one more lead I am pursuing, an Islander trader in Sat’r. He sells relics of the ancient world to those he is convinced they belong to. Relics, so it is claimed, even from before the Whithering Catastrophe. May be a charlatan, may be not; in either case, I hope to be back soon, absolutely in time for my offering. Perhaps in the Goddess’s embrace, this will all make sense, but what good will that do for the rest of you…”
-An excerpt from a letter to the Doyenne from Genevieve Casmarus.
Sil fretted on a chair in the middle of a dark room lit by a single lantern in the corner. After dragging her inside, Markus had her sit, where he clamped a metal brace to her right ankle attached to a chain that disappeared into a hole in the stone ground. He chuckled when she tried to pull free, telling her he’d be right back. ‘Right back’ had turned into a few hours and in those hours, her fury simmered into indignation. How could this man treat her like a criminal? He, being a so-called Servant of Justice, had to keep his word, or were all men’s words as vacuous as smoke. Sil snickered. Markus deserved to be torched himself. She was a priest, a High Priest …was. Wasn’t that how she justified burning her coachman?
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She let out a frustrated groan, lowering her head to her chest. Her anger had gotten the best of her, she admitted to herself. She needed structure, routine, time to meditate and gain control over it, but that was not going to happen anytime soon. She stood and paced back and forth in the little range the chain gave her. Of course, she thought of using her magic to free herself, but that loaf used runic cuffs around her wrists and restrained them behind her back. She couldn’t even cast a light spell without the cuffs absorbing the magic, converting it to heat and burning her wrists. It didn’t stop her from trying though; her wrists still stung. She imagined them red and irritated.
She kicked the chair, toppling it over. I’ll help you. Her heart leapt, and she exhaled slowly. The Golden Lady was with her and that was enough. This was her mission as much as Sil’s; she wouldn’t let her fail like this.
“Thank you,” she whispered. She’d just have to trust that a way out of this would be provided.
Looking about her, she soon recognized the room and the building, the pantry house for her old town. This room used to be where she and others would order and pick up mining supplies. Now, the walls were all bricked up and even the door was replaced with some heavy oak and an iron lock. Just how the Golden Lady was going to get her out of this, she couldn’t guess, but she would get her out of this.
Sil frowned, looking at the chair, tipped to its side. Patience, I have to be patient. With her hands cuffed behind her back, she awkwardly squatted beside the chair to upright it when the door lock clanked, and the door ground open against the stone floor. The daylight outside silhouetted Markus, his brimmed hat and long coat giving him away.
“Having trouble with the chair,” he asked before closing the door behind him. “I don’t think lighting it on fire would make it cooperate either.”
Sil stood, rolled her shoulders back and lifted her chin up. She demanded, “How dare you do this to a priest of the Golden Lady. Release me at once!”
Call of the Chosen- Broken Kingdoms Page 27