Call of the Chosen- Broken Kingdoms

by Michael DeSousa

  Wake up.

  Sil shocked out of her sleep, panting with one hand on her chest and the other on her forehead, beading with sweat. The darkness of night pressed in on her except for dim orange lamps outside peeking through the window. Dreaming, it was all a dream, much like the dreams she and her sister had when they were little. This quest she was on would certainty bring them back up.

  One annoying close lamp just outside the window laid its brightness directly on her face. That must have been the light she saw in her dream. And that city? She’d read too much of history —her own family’s history in particular. Imagination, that’s all it was; imagination fueled by stress.

  Sil let out a long slow breath, feeling her heart calm, and laughed silently; how foolish it was to think she had two hearts. Thank you for waking me, she prayed before shivering. It had become quite cold, and she wished she had been given blankets too. But Markus’s stillness meant he had fallen asleep too. Or, maybe he was prone to oversleeping, but Sil doubted it. His wealth, she noted, must mean he was very successful at his post. And the way he carried himself with little deference to her priesthood; empire or not, skilled or not, subjects should show more respect. Still, she had to try to slip pass him. Not to escape, but to visit her parent’s graves.

  She peeked over the cot, seeing Markus laying alongside the bed and facing away toward the door with his arm underneath his head and his hat covering his face. Perfect. She sat up and slowly tested one foot on the floor. Nothing creaked, no giving way in the wood that would alert him. Another foot, she lowered to the floor, then slowly, she hoisted herself up, shifting her weight onto her legs. The floor boards bent softly, and Markus’s breathing gasped into a cough. Her heart raced. Would if he caught her? What would she say—Nothing, she scolded herself. She had no reason to explain to him where she was going. But neither did she want an imperial following her and desecrated the town graves.

  Thankfully, she didn’t have to explain herself. Markus shifted to his back with his hat still over his face. With slow deliberate steps, Sil made it to the door, wrapped her mantle around her and slipped outside into the night.

  A fresh breeze caressed her face along with that familiar sharp metallic and sooty smell from the mines. That smell was everywhere and rarely lessened except after a heavy rain. For some reason, the silence of the night or maybe the cool air made the smell stronger.

  Sil strolled her way downed the street of Markus’s apartment, Kato’s street. Fortunately, the graves weren’t far, just down this street passed the storage buildings to the edge of town —at least that was how she remembered it.

  Kato’s street was quiet and dark with only an oil lamp post at the far end of the road marking an intersection with another road she remembered to be ‘Hedge’s Street’ that lined the edge of town. No one was around and that didn’t surprise her. Even before the Empire, Kato’s street was always empty, sometimes even during the day. No wonder Markus decided to stay near here, most people would never even see him.

  As she reached the lamp post, she could see a high iron fence opposite Hedge’s Road. The Empire must have erected the fence around the town graves and planted huge hedges around the inside. She couldn’t see passed them.

  Determined, she walked along the fence, hoping to find a gate or entrance. Hedge’s Street had no lamps, nothing but the windowless backsides of storage buildings on one side and the town graves on the other, so she lit a palm-light —soft orange— to help her see. With the light, she noticed the craftsmanship of the fence, high thin bars topped with decorative arrowheads. Every few yards stood what she guessed were warding stone pedestals with a small two-foot icon of the Golden Lady’s Valkyries, a four-winged human standing with hands closed in front in prayer. Strange that the Empire would do that after dissecting the Sea Roar God. Maybe they had to keep up some semblance of reverence for the public’s sake. Sil snickered. Piety couldn’t be faked.

  Before long, she reached towering wooden double doors that struck a contrast with the iron fence that ran from either side. Hoping it was unlocked, Sil tried to push it open, but it wouldn’t move. Using her light, she searched for a handle or some kind of —a key hole? Why would they lock this? It’s only our dead! Her light palm flickered, turning hotter in her palm. “No,” she whispered, before releasing her light. “I’m sorry, father, mother—”

  “So, this is where you ran off to,” Markus’s voice sounded from behind her.

  Her eye twitched. “Leave me alone, imperial.”

  Of course, he wouldn’t. He walked up beside her, his coat buttoned only from the chest up and the collar folded out to protect his face.

  “Shouldn’t you be getting our ‘provisions’ ready?”

  “Don’t have to,” he said before nodding somberly toward the doors. “I’m sorry. I’m the one who had this place locked.”

  “What? Why?”

  “In case Gene came ‘round to do what you’re doing now. I didn’t want her to slip in and out if she decided to come by here.”

  “She could simply climb over the fence, Mister Montgomery.”

  He chuckled as though she made a joke. “Nooo, she wouldn’t,” he said. He then reached into his pocket, removing a set of two keys. He unlocked the door, saying, “Go ahead. But we have to leave soon. This is as quiet as the town gets.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered, pushing open the door. She tried closing the door behind her, but Markus’s hand stopped her.

  “I’m not staying out,” he said, pushing through and locking the door behind them.

  “Don’t you think your presence on holy ground is inappropriate?”

  Markus cocked his head, grabbing hold of his hat. “Because…of that blaspheming apostate I work for?”

  “Among other reasons.”

  He shrugged, “I guess I’ll be inappropriate then.”

  Sil thought of berating him further, but she didn’t want to lose her temper here. And how could she anyway, here in a cemetery that seemed like a serene respite from her troubles. Rows and rows of tombstones shinned against the orange light of the dying lanterns inside, each one housing the remains of resting souls whose toil here on Gen Shemver was done, now joined to the Almighty in a land behind the reach of the Dark Well. Each row of the departed was separated by a column of various flowers, their fragrant smell barely recognizable in the sooty metallic air.

  She whispered back to him, “I’m happy see the Empire kept care of this place after you took it from us.” She couldn’t herself from giving him a jibe.

  “You were all the same countrymen before the brothers broke up, weren’t you,” Markus replied, his eye searching among the names on the tombs. You were…? So, he was a foreigner.

  “Broken for good reason. Siga Ladress will never be my liege.” Sil walked among the departed, trying to remember where her parents rested. Toward the back, right side.

  With Markus following, he added, “Doesn’t Zanf’r still belong to the Ladress Family? And he is the eldest, isn’t he? One would think people living in a ‘holy city’ would be more loyal—"

  Sil spun and dug her finger into his chest. “Siga murdered his own mother to dismantle a god. Who could stay loyal to that? Besides, Princess Zana is still Ladress. He betrayed us.”

  Markus shrugged before swiping her pointing finger away. “Sil, you don’t have get so angry with me. I really don’t care. I’m just making small talk in all this morbid graveyard silence.”

  “Holy ground,” she reminded him. “And, well…you should care,” she added, feeling deflated by Markus’s subdued exchange. She slunk away and resumed her search. She should have expected he wouldn’t care about reverence for the sacred.

  “Where I originally came from,” he continued. “The leaders there rarely had to kill to gain power.”

  “How altruistic.” At least that confirmed it; he wasn’t strictly imperial, a small reprieve on his character.

  He chuckled. “They killed for other reasons, but no, not fo
r power,” he said, obviously missing her sarcasm. “Most of the time, they would mesmerize their opponents. Seduce them. Entire crowds too.” His voice grew dark and small, forcing Sil to stop and listen closely. “They can convince you to kill yourself, and you’d be happy to do it, dying with a smile on your face.”

  “How…dreadful. Where were you originally from?”

  “I already told you,” he replied. “I’m an imperial.”

  “I…see.”

  “Doubtful. Hurry it up. We have to get going.”

  After a bit of searching with the aid of her palm-light, she found her parents resting place. A small square stone up to her knees marked it. ‘Rufus and Dalina Casmarus. 5th of the Month of the Red Mountain. 1495. Year 32 of Founding,’ was etched into it below the etched and blue dyed figure of the Valkyrie icon.

  “Seven years ago,” she whispered. In front of the stone stood a small vase of lavender flowers, Sil’s favorite. The comforting aroma brought a small smile to her face. Fresh? That couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? Had Gene visited her parent’s grave despite Markus locking the gate? Her smile widened, but not for her sister evading Markus, but for the fact that she knew it was possible now. Possible to find her.

  Markus groaned. “Well, that’s not good,” he said, flapping the unbuttoned portion of his jacket around his hips and darting his eyes around, all while keeping his hands behind his back.

  “Can I be alone,” Sil asked, before kneeling.

  “Those flowers,” he whispered. “They’re you’re favorite, aren’t they?”

  She spun a look over her shoulder. “How would you know that?”

  He met her eyes with a worried look before scanning the darkness again.

  “She isn’t her,” Sil said, returning to the stone. She fluffed the flowers to release more fragrance. “She would have introduced herself.”

  “Sil,” he warned. “I don’t think you appreciate how dangerous your sister is.”

  “To you, maybe. Please be quiet while I pray.” Sil opened her hands out but stopped, remembering she wasn’t a priest anymore.

  “She’s been here,” he said. “She placed those flowers for you.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Sil shouted. “How would she know I’d come here?”

  “I knew you’d come here. And I knew you liked those flowers.”

  “That’s because you spied on me.”

  “And your sister’s above all that, right?”

  “Yes, she is. She’s a High Priest of the Golden Lady—”

  “Fallen priest”

  “One cannot fall from such a height to such a depth to resort to spying and murdering. Whatever you think she did…” Markus’s expression flattened, raising his seeing-eye’s eyebrow. “I’m not being naive!” Gene was selfish, self-centered, and self-preoccupied, but not a murderer.

  “Priests are people, Sil. You’re a High Priest and you tried killing your transportation earlier today. Tried to attack me too. Or did you find some absolution while I wasn’t looking?”

  Sil snorted. He deserved it, Sil wanted to say, but instead, “I didn’t want to harm him, just stop him.”

  He reached down and grabbed her arm. “It’s time to go,” he said, still scanning the darkness around them. “She or maybe one of her operatives came here.” Sil ripped free from his grip, giving his hand a wary look. “I’m sorry, but I can’t protect if you’re not close.”

  “Protect? Don’t be a loaf. You saw what I can do….” Something caught her eye sticking out from the base of the vase, a piece of parchment. She tugged it free, opened and read it: Do not seek me. Fifth of the Red Mountain.

  “A note? What’s it say? Tell me.”

  Sil slowly rose to her feet, a tremor in her hands. “Don’t seek me out. Fifth of the Red Mountain,” she said. The day her parents died.

  “Fifth of the Red Mountain? What? When? Last spring? Last year? Wait, wasn’t that just after the armistice was signed seven years ago?”

  Sil crumbled the paper in her hand, her lips quivered. The leather of her knife’s sheath pressing against her hip flashed to her mind. “She doesn’t want a second chance. She doesn’t want to go back,” she said to herself.

  “You know she would have gone back already if she wanted to.”

  “And, she’ll kill for it? Kill me for it.” Sil lowered her eyes to her parent’s stone. She got her answer even before she could talk to Gene. Wasn’t that just like her, always avoiding everything important and then sending messages days, months after the fact. Going off on whatever whims she deemed important only to blame Sil from a far for everything. Gene wasn’t there; neither of them were; she didn’t know what happened! And Sil knew damn well Gene wouldn’t have gone either even if she could have saved their parents. And now, she invoked that hurtful letter again? Blaming her for not helping them and wishing Sil died with them?

  Sil’s chest, throat and face grew warm as a scowl deepened on her. No, I won’t make this that easy for you, sister. You can’t just do whatever you want. You made oaths. After everything Gene put her through: the humiliation, the atonement, the loneliness, and now even her dreams were shattered because of her selfish self-centeredness. No longer could Gene pretend that everything outside her head didn’t matter. Damn her. I’ll will make our parent’s sacrifice worth it.

  Markus’s hand fell on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  She shoved her shoulder free. “Sorry for what,” she said, sniffling. “I am going to find her, and I am going to find out why she abandoned everything we believe in.” And she had better not give Sil another one of her self-righteous lectures.

  Markus remained silent and he was lucky he did. She would find Gene and will offer her one opportunity to redeem herself; that much Sil promised. No more than that.

  Sil spun around, squared her shoulders and raised her chin before marching pass Markus with her eyes fixed on the dim reflection of the wooden doors —the exit. “Let’s go to Sat’r as soon as we can. I have a lot I need to say to her.”

  11

  Mendeleyev Von Mendevoch: The Hero of the Island

  “But, he’s lying! He was there! I remember his stinky breath and that hole in his nose.”

  “Shut up, Mend. Let the grownups do the talking.”

  “You can’t tell me to shut up anymore. You’re not my mother, Roach!”

  “Disrespectful little brat, I’m not telling you again. Shut it!”

  “Ha! Rochelle, why in hell did you bring that crying kid here? This isn’t a place for him. He’s way too soft. But you’re right though, if he keeps running his mouth, it’ll be your own damn fault if something happens to him.”

  “If you dare, I swear every last one of you Money Changers will find a grave for a bed.”

  “That’s assuming you’ll leave here alive.”

  “Don’t ever think I can’t get things done after I’m dead, Pakrice.”

  “Ha ha, alright, Night Lady, I’ll play nice, this once. Just take care of our little problem for us and we’ll call it even.”

  “Even? Cocky bastard. No, I’ll take care of your problem and you’ll owe me for it.”

  -Conversation between Mend, Rochelle and Pakrice Sesaphon of the Money Changers

  Mend woke to his nurse, Lora’s, humming as a cool salty breeze flowed over him. His eyesight seemed back to normal, or normal enough now that he couldn’t see through his closed eyelids anymore. A pity. He could have gotten away with a lot if he still could. No, Roach would still find out…and then she’d worked him twice as hard. Mend would have shivered at the thought if he wasn’t still so exhausted. But, he owed her so much for all she did for him…and for trouble he caused with the Coming Shadows…and that Red Bay Job…the Money Changers…and that whole not letting him die on the streets as a baby thing. Damn. How did Roach get everyone to owe her so damn much? Maybe even the Almighty himself owed her a favor or two. It would explain why Mend’s luck was so terrible, Roach pulling some
favors with the Almighty to play tricks on him.

  Lora’s light clacking footsteps took her far from him, probably opening the other window. He had the entire room to himself, probably because the powers-that-be didn’t want people living on the island to know how close they were to dying horrible agonizing deaths. Mend didn’t mind; he had more living space than he ever had. He would have enjoyed it even more if he could actually walk.

  Mend heard Lora’s voice mumbling from the door at the other end of the room. Early morning, he thought. He learned her routine by now: first open the two windows, stare out for a minute, talk to Doctor Yah’v about his daily treatment —something he desperately wanted to avoid— and then she would tend to him, all while humming. Her singing reminded him of a lullaby, a slow sleepy song that used to do wonders to sooth his headaches and even calm his spasming muscles —for the first thousand times he heard her singing it. After that, the rhythm had clawed its way into his dreams. He even found himself longing for his headaches again. Doesn’t she know any other damn song?

  “Good morning, Glen,” she said cheerfully as she checked his pulse before opening each of his eye lids. “I know you’re awake. You’re not going to fool me.” Mend still didn’t move. His plan might still work: he’d pretend to sleep so he’d interact with as few people as possible. And his other, better plan, was to get well enough to crawl out of here before Roach found out. Slim chance. She probably already knew. And worse of all, he didn’t even get to snap that huge Beast into his memory, so he’d go home a failure. She might actually kill him this time. “Visitors are coming to see you in a few minutes,” she added, cranking the top half of the bed up, pushing Mend into a seated position. Visitors? Sera? o, she usually just shows up—