Call of the Chosen- Broken Kingdoms

by Michael DeSousa

  “Damn, the Regent,” he muttered, rolling over to his side with his back toward her.

  “Ha, see I knew you were awake. And mind your manners, don’t be so antisocial, and remember to smile. He’s here to put a medal around your neck.” And, if the Regent would be so kind as to strangle him to death with it, he’d consider it a favor. How much more could he screw up this job? With morbid curiosity, Mend would find out for sure. He already failed his simple mission, saved a conquering empire, and gave false hope that some boss lady’s brother still cared about her. Though the thought of seeing his crew’s faces as he walked …well, crawled… back with medals every which way on him almost brought a smile to his face, until he realized Roach would have some snarky sarcastic comment ready. See, Roach, I did fail my way to the top!

  Lora grabbed his shoulder, turning him on his back.

  Mend groaned. “But, I feel sick. Can’t he come another day.”

  He felt her hand on his forehead. “It’ll only take a few minutes, Glen. You should be proud.” Proud? No Stupid—

  A knock came at the door and despite himself, Mend opened his eyes to look. There was a woman in blue leathery armor and a man in shimmering chain mail. They glanced around the room before nodding for Lora to join them. “Be right back. Try to get comfortable.”

  Comfortable? His body was a festival of sensations, but comfortable wouldn’t one of them. And how could he get comfortable? Those two guards or soldiers or —maybe executioners— weren’t here to pin medals on him. Mend gulped, his throat still dry. Sera must have told them he was an impostor, and now they were coming to pick him up. Gallows? Fire? No, they wouldn’t execute him, Mend thought. He saved their island after all…right? Mend slid down his bed. Probably going to put me in another tower again.

  Lora returned, her face beaming brightly. “Oh Glen, you’re not going to believe this. His Majesty Siga is coming to visit you along with his sister, Princess Zana.” Mend let his mouth hang open. She closed his mouth with her hand before taking hold of his shirt, fluffing it, pulling it straight, and buttoning some open buttons. “Now. What am I going to tell the Doctor Yah’v? He wanted the morning off and he’s going to miss our His and Her Majesty! But not me! How wonderful is that?”

  Mend nodded slowly, but inside he wanted to scream, to curse and drag his wretched hurt body back to the shore and swim to land —preferably drown. But the only thing he managed to do was squeak out something halfway between a coughing laugh and shriek sob. “Oh, luck me,” his sandpaper voice cut into his throat.

  Lora hummed, continuing to dust him off and do her best to make him look like some expensive vase she wanted to show case. The other two —the broad in blue and the brawn in metal— marched in and stood at the far corners by the door and the far window with faces so stoic Mend doubted they had ever smiled. No, that can’t be true. They were security and Mend knew from experience, they could smile —sadistically, just before throwing their fist across his face. But here in a building full of patients, they’d go on looking like statues, unless of course, one of the patients here suddenly had the wild idea of killing the emperor. And with Mend’s luck, he’d probably end up saving the evil bastard and getting the crown as a reward.

  “Water,” Mend asked, more to stop Lora from mothering his clothes to death than thirst.

  “Oh, yes, of course, Glen. I’m sorry.” She ran over to a pitcher and poured a cup half way. Then she opened a drawer and picked out two bottled —his medicine, which tasted like liquid-fire blueberries.

  She came back and Mend, now with more strength in his neck, leaned his head forward as she helped him drink the concoction down. Cool, sweet blueberry flavor refreshed his throat like magma flooding a cracked desert. He gagged, and she pulled the cup away, but he would rather take it all down quickly, so he tipped his head forward and drank it down.

  “Good,” she said, wiping his face with a cloth. “You’re getting stronger every day. Maybe the doctor can get you moving again this evening.” Only if it’s straight off a cliff.

  “Hello there,” an elderly voice sounded. “Is that our hero?” Mend rolled his eyes as Lora quickly placed her finger on his lips, snickering quietly at him.

  She turned. “Good morning, Ward Doctor,” she said, walking to meet him. Mend sighed, enjoying a moment of peace before the ‘fun’ of more conversation, or rather lying as he probably should. But Mend was a terrible liar, and he knew it. So, he decided, he’d play up his debilitation, which wasn’t much to play up. His legs still felt like dead weights and his voice, though stronger, sounded like one of those drunk patrons waking up in the afternoon after a night of ‘curing the thirsty plague.’

  “Where is Doctor Yah’v? His Majesty and his sister, Princess of Zanf’r, are both outside,” said the Ward Doctor, an older man with a head so full of white hair and beard, Mend doubted the man had a face at all. “At least you’re here. Please tell me he’s well enough to see them?”

  They both turned to him.

  No! Mend screamed in his mind.

  “Yes, he is,” she said, almost vindictively —at least that’s how Mend heard it. He’d have to...bite her fingers or roll onto the floor so she’d have to pick him up.

  “Good, good! I’ll have to leave them with you then. Please, Lora, be…well, you know.”

  “I’ll make sure our hero doesn’t embarrass himself.”

  Mend smiled a crooked smile at her, but she didn’t flinch. He should have known she’d have experience with unruly patients.

  “Thank you.” The old man hobbled off as Lora returned to his bedside. She dusted off her white uniform, checked her fingernails and touched up her auburn hair which she barely even touched. She dyed it too, he noticed; the original black color appearing in slivers on her locks. Could be natural, but Mend’s used that kind of dye treatment before and recognized it. It flakes away too easily in the sun and the salty air couldn’t help either. But, what in the hell does that even matter now? Nothing!

  With her beaming a wide obnoxious smile and Mend wishing the Almighty would start his apocalyptic judgment right about now, they both waited for the evil emperor and his ‘saintly’ sister to arrive. He thought about turning away on his side again, but Lora would just turn him back, and his body would thank him with a stray cramp. Just get this over with and don’t say anything stupid!

  A moment later, the old man returned and behind him stood a much taller man, short black peppered hair with blond highlights, graying sideburns, a beard and wearing a sapphire encrusted silver circlet around his head. Don’t even think it, Mend. He would definitely miss that. He wore simple clothes too, but they looked expensive by how they were so clean and wrinkle free. But Mend had seen more impressive looking people in Roach’s tavern —he’s stolen from more impressive looking people too. Could this man really be that ‘evil’ apostate emperor?

  Mend had expected him to look hideous with horns, a red face, or maybe some diseased mess, fat with food flopping off his face and paid naked women giggling by his side. This man looked more like he had been carrying lumber his whole —He glared at Mend, right into his eyes, and for a brief moment, he imagined hearing a voice in his mind. Are you finished insulting me? And then the emperor turned back to his conversation.

  No, can’t be. His heart sank. For an island supposedly forbidden to memorizers, he had single-handily found the only two. And this one was a powerful one. Mend only met one other in all his travels that was skilled enough to read minds, a man in Sat’r, but just his luck, this evil —lovely gentlemen— just had to be second. But as much as it should, it didn’t worry him, or he wouldn’t let it worry him. There was a flaw to that skill, Mend knew all too well. It cut both ways. If he peers into Mend’s mind, he’d notice, and then Mend could steal what’s in his mind. So, Siga wouldn’t dare use his skills on him or risk giving away all his secrets. Mend would just have to vigilant, that’s all. Eh, better just stick to the ‘too sick to talk’ story.

  Siga paused th
ere at the door and opened his hand before a woman came through. She, he recognized, Princess Zana from the Holy City, and the resemblance to her older brother was obvious. Roach had met her a few times too, but Mend only caught a glimpse. Luckily for him, she was a mage, not a memorizer. No way in the Depths would she recognize him—

  She locked eyes with his, her eyebrows flashed in a surprised expression, before turning to her brother. Oh, come on, Almighty! Send some good luck for a change! But that didn’t mean she’ll blow his cover. No! He got that book for her, damn it! He was stuck in a tower for a month because of her! Mend turned over on his side, trying to bury half his face into the pillow.

  Siga smiled and with his sister hand-in-hand they walked over. Lora curtsied with some flowery words Mend couldn’t care less about. He had to figure out a way to make this meeting short. No more surprises. Maybe he could fake a spasm, except it might cause a real spasm and he’d be in pain the rest of the day. He could pray for a heart attack. But the Almighty wasn’t that generous.

  “You must be Glen Tellerson,” Siga said, giving him a tight smile and curt nod. I must be. Siga turned to the princess. “This is my sister the Archduchess of Zanf’r—”

  The princess cleared her throat.

  “The Princess of Zanf’r, Zana,” Siga corrected himself. “How are you, boy?”

  “Fine,” he said, trying to exaggerate his raspy voice, which didn’t take much. He started playing that piano in his head just in case Siga tried crawling into his mind again.

  “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but his voice is still weak,” Lora said with such politeness, it curled Mend’s stomach.

  Siga smiled again, giving Mend a hardy shake of his shoulder. “Where’s his doctor?”

  “House summons,” Lora answered. “But I know everything about his treatment, Your Majesty. Glen has acute case of exposure. Internal burns, tumor growths, dilution of vitals, cramps, even some paranoia.” Paranoia? —Mend didn’t remember that. Ah! That voice in his head back with Granger. Or was the emperor? No…Siga was no where near the building, and that voice was different…as if afraid of Mend. He almost snorted— “He had temporary blindness when we found him unconscious, but we didn’t have to try resuscitation. He was still breathing on his own. We’re trying that new treatment, so his physical recovery is much slower than expected, but Doctor Yah’v opted out of brain surgery since his mental functions weren’t too affected.” ‘Could have been an improvement,’ Roach would say. Shut up, Roach!

  “Interesting,” Siga said while Zana looked Mend over with her eyebrows scrunched together as though something perplexed her about him…like maybe why he was there in the first place. Mend tried getting her out of his mind, burying his face deeper into the pillow. The last thing he wanted was for Siga to learn Zana and Roach had a connection. Losing that contract, Mend wouldn’t sleep for years slaving to make up the money. “Is he sane,” Siga asked. “Hallucinations?” Sane? That’s right! Exposed people usually went insane almost as bad as the Chills inside them. Mend never saw it himself, but he’d heard from others who had to mercifully kill the infected. Wait—

  “Yes, I’m sane,” Mend coughed.

  “Wonderful,” Siga said with a widening smile. Why was he so damn happy? “Lora make a note of it. Every detail. I want to know everything. Listen Glen, I’ve got some news for you. Favorable news and Unfavorable news. The favorable news is that you are the only human we know who has survived exposer to Lairgor without risking cutting your head open. Our new treatment works!” He seemed more pleased with himself than Mend’s survival. “Unfavorable, however, that you won’t be returning to your duties.” Siga turned to the nurse. “We need to find out how he survived with his mind intact. Our animal trials didn’t pan out so well. I want all numbers, concentrations, doses, vitals.” What? Wait! No! Mend had to go. Leave! He failed his mission; he couldn’t stay here. That Chief Engineer was onto him and if he stayed longer, they might find everything out.

  “I have to go,” his throat burned. He tried rising, but Siga’s hand pressed him back down. His body sank into the bed, relieved. “I wasn’t exposed. Just some small part.”

  “A moment, Glen,” Siga said, before turning back to Lora. “Would you excuse us, please? I would like to have a word with our hero alone.” Siga accented the ‘hero’ in a mocking way that reminded him of Roach. Had he crawled into his mind again? No, Mend would have felt that. Had Sera told him? She said she wouldn’t. Damn imperial liars! Doesn’t she know you’re not supposed to lie to thieves! Lora walked to the exit, the other two guards following her out before closing the door. No, Lora! Stay. Somebody else stay!

  Mend was alone now with a sinking feelings settling inside of him. The emperor. The princess. And the thief. And the windows too far for him to jump through. Almighty! Earthquake please!

  “Would you like me to go too,” Zana asked, her eyes never leaving Mend, making him feel even more uncomfortable. She was probably nervous too, but that was fine. More pressure, more stakes! Why not?

  “No, it’s fine,” Siga said, turning back to Mend. “Glen, I’m sorry, but you’re not going anywhere. Besides, as soon as you’re better, we’ll have a parade in your honor.” Siga leaned in and grabbed his shoulder. As he tightened his grip, Mend’s mind began to wander. His thoughts on the piano giving way to the past, to reason he was there—No! Mend launched his piano thoughts into Sig’s mind, not really knowing what he was doing. He’d never done anything like that before, but he just imagined himself —as comical as it was— lifting a self-playing piano and throwing it into Sig’s mind —suddenly an image of an explosion boiling the sea flashed in Mend’s mind, the princess shivering in her seat on a stone roof tower, and Siga feeling completely relieved.

  Siga released his grip, staring coolly into Mends eyes, saying. “Hmm, you have plenty to explain, Glen.” The threat in his voice sent shivers down his back. Ah! Now, there’s that evil emperor Mend heard so much about.

  “I’ll explain everything,” Mend said.

  Siga pulled for a chair beside the bed. He offered it to Zana, but she refused. “I already know what happened,” he answered, sitting down.

  “That’s great. I’m really tired of telling that story.”

  Siga didn’t seem angry; almost bored, a very hard expression to read, but of course, crazy people usually were. “Glen,” Siga began again. “How did you get here?”

  “I applied. Was accepted,” he said. Just keep to short, simple statements. “I’m a coolant engineer so…,” his voice cracked into a cough.

  “Za’nina,” Siga said, turning to his sister. “Look at his eyes. Tell me what you see.” She had never stopped looking into his eyes, but at Siga’s prompting, Mend looked away.

  “A frightened boy interrogated by his liege.”

  “He’s a memorizer like me,” Siga said with tightening jaw. “Glen, I don’t allow memorizers on the island. Again, how did you get here?” Didn’t allow? In a week, he’d meet two, Sera and Siga. Maybe there was a whole underground metropolis here playing a joke on Siga. Mend laughed in his mind. “This isn’t funny, Glen.”

  Mend jerked his attention back to Siga. He read his thoughts again, and this time Mend didn’t even feel anything. He thought of that piano tune again, just in case.

  “It’s difficult to talk,” Mend coughed out.

  “That’s fine. Just say what you can. Now, my question.”

  “I lied about not being one,” Mend said.

  “Why?”

  “This is where the action is, isn’t it? For glory and empire.”

  “I know what you think of me, Glen. So, I ask you one more time, why are you here?” Again, his words implied a warning. Those warnings weren’t going to last forever and Mend didn’t want to find out why everyone thought Siga was so evil. Siga sighed, rubbing his forehead while shaking his head. “If I’m so evil, why did you save my island?”

  Mend gasped. “Water, please,” he choked. Damn it, Mend. The piano! But he c
ouldn’t remember the melody, his concentration wavering again. No! Don’t let him in! She’ll lock you up in her own tower! —Then a new image flashed into his mind. Deep waves of blue hues. Shimmering black that resembled hundreds of congregating schools of shiny fish that swam together and then danced away. Immense and majestic with an indescribable grace about it. But incomplete somehow with parts of it hallowed out; Mend recognized it, or rather he ‘just knew’ what it was. The Sea Roar Shard and it exuded a longing and a rage. So strange that he knew exactly what it was, but it wasn’t ‘his knowing,’ but ‘Sig’s knowing’ of the Shard that Mend saw. And Siga described it as a tool and proof of man’s ingenuity, a desperate hope against some cataclysm. Mend saw a man there too, sitting at the base of the Beast. He had blue skin and was bald, bobbing his head like he was sleeping. His name, Siga knew too, and now so did Mend, ‘Mister Blue.’ The name definitely fit. —Then the image disappeared, and Mend quickly put up his piano song defense. Only then did he realize his heart racing as he fought off a smile. Yes! Yes! Yes! Maybe that was his imagination or maybe he hitched a ride on Siga’s skills —or maybe he’s getting better at his own tricks. No, that can’t be. Either way, he now had a perfect mental picture of the Empire’s Beast. I win!

  Zana poured him a glass of water.

  “Who is this woman,” Siga asked calmly as if he didn’t notice what Mend saw. Maybe he didn’t. Of course he didn’t! Mend was amazing! He was incredible— “Pay attention, Glen,” Siga’s warning snapped his attention back. “That woman who threatened you with a tower? Who is she?” Zana looked back over her shoulder, concern oozing from her face —Play the damn piano Mend! What you saw isn’t worth a damn if you can’t get out of here. Something crashed by the princess; the cup had fallen to the floor, splashing water.